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#but i was too determined to do everything myself after you refused to help me
incognit0slut · 5 months
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Right Kind of Wrong (15)
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She ever thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.
Part Summary: Spencer is determined to find her whereabouts. wc: 3.5k
Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA
A/n: I want to thank everyone for sticking to this series, don’t worry, I didn’t forget it, life has just been weird lately😔 Also I want to mention there’s like 5 parts left? I think
Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
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"REID, NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT."
Spencer wasn't sure how many times he heard those words. He knew they were told to bring him comfort, something his team members kept on reciting, yet a sense of skepticism gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were nothing more than lies. How could he not when the only thing he could do was blame himself for what happened?
His shoulders slumped, his eyes were filled with anguish, and his heart held a heavy burden of guilt.
He should've deduced the real Unsub.
He should've been the one keeping her safe.
You also should've never left her fucking house, you idiot.
He hated swearing, even if it was in his own mind—which, truthfully, was so much worse considering he despised being trapped in his own head. Possessing a psychology degree enabled him to understand the detrimental effects of being trapped within one's own thoughts, yet he couldn't escape the clutches of his own mind. The knowledge of this predicament weighed heavily on him, a cruel irony that he understood all too well.
"Pretty boy, are you even listening to me?"
He was, he just didn't want to respond. Morgan was the third person to say those words to him. The first came from JJ, who was the first one to assure him when he had a panic attack at the warehouse. Second was from Prentiss, who he met when he rushed to Y/n's house after collecting himself. And now Morgan was cornering him at the hospital as they waited for Sandy, laid in one of the rooms, to recover from her concussion.
"Reid."
"I heard you," he snapped. Then a thought occurred to him at Morgan's sudden knowledge of his involvement with their witness. "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"The reason why I'm acting this way." He had to elaborate when Morgan merely raised his eyebrows. "Why I'm... blaming myself so much."
"Everyone knows you're involved with her. Heck, I knew it the first time we met her that night. Remember that? You pretended you didn't know her," Morgan recalled. "You weren't as subtle as you think."
God, that night seemed like it happened yesterday. He couldn't believe how much had happened, and to think she was just a stranger when he first met her, a stranger he would never see again... now all he could think about was her. Her smile. Her safety. His stomach churned. The guilt he felt was a relentless, gnawing ache that refused to let go.
Morgan suddenly pulled him. His sudden, determined grip propelled him toward the vending machine stationed at the far end of the hospital corridor. Irritated, he couldn't help but drag his feet along the floor. "What are you doing?"
"You need coffee," Morgan replied, "you function better with caffeine in your system."
"We need to wait for Sandy—"
"She's not going anywhere, Kid. There's no use hovering in front of her door now."
Reluctantly, Spencer gave in. He allowed his friend to pour a cup of coffee; the warmth and aroma offering a small comfort amidst the hospital's stark surroundings. Slowly, with a nod of gratitude, he accepted the cup from his outstretched hand.
"How are you holding up?" Morgan asked.
Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding to the question. "It's hard to process everything."
A heavy silence hung between them. Morgan's sigh broke the stillness, and he began, "Look, it's not—"
But Spencer cut him off, his voice tinged with guilt and self-blame. "Not my fault?" he said with a mix of frustration and anguish. "Morgan, I was there before it happened. I was at her house before I left to check the warehouse, just to step into his trap. The Unsub managed to pass through Officer Anderson and hurt her closest friend at the same time. If I was still there..."
"Reid, it's not about placing blame. You couldn't have known what would happen. The Unsub's actions were calculated and malicious, even if you had stayed, we can't predict how events would have unfolded." Morgan gave him a pointed look. "Blaming yourself won't help her, and it won't help you either."
Spencer's head shook with regret as he leaned against the cool hospital wall, his thoughts consumed by the painful memories of that night. "I hurt her," he confessed, his voice filled with remorse. "My words were hurtful, and so were my actions, and the thought of... the thought of her being in danger with the last thought of me—"
"We'll find her," Morgan assured him. "And when we do, you'll apologize to her for whatever happened."
Spencer gazed at him with a sense of desperation. In that instant, he unearthed a deep, previously unrecognized truth buried within his heart. It was a stark revelation, an understanding that struck him like a bolt of lightning amidst the storm of emotions he was weathering.
For the first time, he comprehended the true extent of his feelings. Until now, her presence in his life had been a catalyst, a spur-of-a-moment he never expected. He had taken her warmth for granted, never fully appreciating the depth of his attachment to her.
However, the threat to her safety had shattered his complacency. The fear of losing her, coupled with the regret of leaving their last interaction on such a bitter note, had awakened a realization within him. It hit him with a force that was as terrifying as it was enlightening. It was a moment of clarity, a realization that his feelings were far more significant than he had ever allowed himself to admit.
"You really like her, don't you?"
Spencer looked up, but before he could respond, his brief moment of vulnerability was abruptly interrupted by a sudden commotion. Without a second thought, he hastily left his coffee on a nearby chair and rushed toward the end of the hallway, Morgan following closely behind, as a doctor rushed into Sandy's room.
Between the flurry of medical staff, Spencer spotted a passing nurse and stepped into her line of vision. His voice was urgent, laced with concern as he asked, "What happened?"
The nurse delivered the news, "She's gaining consciousness," before swiftly disappearing into the room.
"We'll get some answers," Morgan reassured him from behind. "Don't worry, Reid, we'll find her."
Spencer nodded, his heart filled with a renewed sense of determination. The fact that Sandy had woken up was a glimmer of hope. It wasn't until a few minutes later the doctor emerged from the room, regarding the two men waiting in front of the door.
"She's awake and stable, but we'll need to monitor her for any potential complications." After a brief pause, the doctor continued, "It's apparent that she's still quite shaken. I would recommend that only one of you Agents speak with her."
They both nodded in agreement as the doctor left. Morgan turned toward Spencer. "You should talk to her."
He hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Morgan confirmed. "I'll go check on Oliver in the meantime."
Spencer's thoughts swirled with unease at the mention of Oliver, their suspected Unsub who had turned out to be a pawn in a larger scheme, who was lying unconscious on another floor. He nodded, and as Morgan walked away, he slowly gathered himself and entered the room.
Stark, white walls greeted him as he stepped inside, followed by the beeping sound of the monitors rhythmically punctuating the silence. Sandy lay in the bed, a fragile figure amidst the pristine white sheets. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he called out to her.
"Sandy?" Spencer carefully addressed her, observing the way she shifted on the bed before her gaze slowly met his. "I'm Dr. Spencer—"
"Reid," she finished for him, locking her gaze onto his with a surprising familiarity. "You're the FBI agent she's been talking about."
A moment of surprise shot through him, the realization that she had been talking about him caught him off guard. "She told you about me?"
"On a few occasions," she confessed, and then her gaze sharpened as she looked at him. "You hurt her."
Spencer's heart sank deeper, a heavy burden of guilt weighing him down. "What did she say?"
"She never really told us why she looked so sad that night, and considering you were mostly the topic of conversation when I was with her, I just assumed you had something to do with her mood swings."
His guilt deepened, yet he couldn't help but notice Sandy's choice of words. "Us? You both weren't alone?"
Sandy's gaze held a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What happened?" she pressed instead, her brows furrowing. "What happened after I passed out?"
Spencer took a hesitant step closer to the bed. "What do you remember?"
"I remember inhaling something disgusting."
He nodded gravely. "We suspect the Unsub used Chloroform on you."
Sandy's furrowed brow reflected both her confusion and unease. "What's an Unsub?"
"Unknown Subject, it's a term used when we haven't yet identified a suspect in a crime."
A heavy silence enveloped the room as Sandy absorbed the information. Her thoughts churned, and a growing sense of unease gnawed at her. A thought suddenly hit her. She glanced around the room, her anxiety mounting in the absence of her friend.
The question escaped her lips with an anxious edge to her voice. "Where's Y/n?"
Sandy didn't like the expression that crossed Spencer's face. It was a look that confirmed her worst suspicions, and a wave of dread washed over her as she braced herself for what he was about to say.
"We don't have that information," Spencer confessed, and the shock in her widened eyes was unmistakable. Her lips quivered as her thoughts raced, grappling with the gravity of the situation. She found herself haunted by guilt that this had somehow happened because of her.
"It's my fault," she whispered, her voice a mere breath, but the weight of her confession carried regret.
Spencer now understood what Morgan meant about avoiding self-blame. "It's not your fault," he reiterated. "Listen, there's no use in blaming yourself, what you can do is help us by recalling what you remembered that night."
Sandy's gaze remained troubled, but she eventually opened up about what had transpired, something he didn't see coming.
"I- It was Eric," she admitted, her voice trembling with the admission. "Eric came with me to her house."
Spencer was struck by shock and disbelief, his mind racing to process this revelation.
"Eric Adler?"
She nodded in confirmation, and his world collapsed.
Spencer wasn't perfect. He knew that, like anyone else, he could make mistakes. Typically, he accepted his humanity and the occasional errors that came with it. However, now was not the time for him to make any mistakes, not when her life hung on the line.
He felt like a complete idiot. He was renowned for his intellect and now it seemed as if his stupidity was mocking him. The realization of his own oversight infuriated him and a storm of anger surged through his veins. He was mad at himself, seething with frustration. He hastily fished out his phone and sent a message to Garcia.
Find everything you can on Eric Adler. Now.
Turning his gaze back to Sandy, his features shifted to a more grave demeanor. The urgency in his voice was palpable.
"Tell me everything you know."
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Her head was spinning. Y/n groaned at the relentless ache throbbing inside her head. It felt as though a sledgehammer was pounding her skull, every throb sending ripples of pain through her. Her body felt heavy, each limb an effort to move, and her eyelids seemed to be fused.
She managed to shift, and it was at that moment, as her fingers brushed against the coarse bedcover, that she realized she was lying on what appeared to be a bed. The mattress beneath her was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the chaos inside her head. She shifted again, and after countless attempts, she finally managed to blink her eyes open.
"Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty."
The voice sent a jolt of panic surging through her, eyes widening as she strained to focus on her surroundings. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint, flickering glow of an old lamp perched on top of a crate. Occasional beams of moonlight pierced through the dusty window panes, casting eerie, uneven patterns on the wooden floor.
The unmistakable scent of hay filled her senses, reinforcing the realization that she was in an old, rustic barn, long past its days of use. The walls, rough and weathered, seemed to close in on her, the space surprisingly narrow with the mattress beneath her positioned by the floor.
But that wasn't what surprised her the most. It was Eric, seated on a wooden chair that had clearly seen better days, watching her intensely with a smile on his face.
"If you hadn't woke up earlier, I would have resorted to my own methods," his smile looked even more ominous. "And I can assure you, you wouldn't have liked it."
Her wide eyes remained fixed on him. What happened to her kind coworker? Or her good friend? This was an entirely different man that she knew of. The eerie smile, so out of place in their past interactions, was etched onto his face like a sinister mask.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he pondered, leaning forward, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. In his hand, she now realized, was a glinting knife, pointed at her way. "It's just me, Y/n, I'm no stranger to you."
He wasn't a stranger then, but he certainly was now. She stared at him, a creeping realization dawning as she slowly sat up, her fingers brushing against something cold and unyielding, and her heart sank.
"I wouldn't move too much if I were you."
Her eyes moved to the chain holding her, the metal bolted securely into the wall. It was a thick, unforgiving shackle, the links rough against her skin, the very sight of it sent shivers down her spine. Fear took a firm hold of her, like a vice squeezing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She trembled, her voice shaking as she finally managed to speak, "W-Why are you doing this?"
"You're seriously questioning me when you should be thanking me instead?"
Her voice wavered as she responded, her fear making way for a touch of anger. "Thanking you for what? Murdering people?"
"They weren't innocent,” he spat, his anger flaring as he glared at her. "You should know better than to act as if you didn't want them dead."
"I didn't," she assured him.
"You resented them."
She let out a shaky breath. "...maybe, but I would never wish any of them harm." Then she choked out, "Why are you doing this, Eric?"
His features softened, his gaze locked onto hers as he leaned closer. "You really want to know the reason?" He held her gaze with a disturbing tenderness as he whispered, "Because I love you, Sweetheart."
Her heart pounded as his words hung in the air. "No, you don't," she quickly responded, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "If you did, you wouldn't have—"
"I said," he pressed on, the knife still pointing toward her, his eyes locked onto hers with an eerie intensity. "Because I love you."
She knew it was best not to provoke someone holding a knife. Instead, she carefully asked, her voice trembling, "Since when?"
"Ever since you started working with us," he replied with a smile that felt more disconcerting than affectionate. "You've always been very special to me."
"Why... why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, I was scared of rejection, I guess. You never took any interest in me, and surprisingly I was fine with that, so the only way I could care for you was to be your friend." He grinned, his smile devoid of any warmth. "And kill people who hurt you, of course."
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and streaming down her face. Her trembling lips caught them, the taste of her own despair lingering on her tongue, a bitter flavor that seemed to confine the darkness of the moment.
"Oh, stop crying. They were never good enough for you," he chided. He got up and started to pace in front of her, his words steeped in a delusional justification for his actions. "Your scumbag of an ex? He should've seen it coming. That pervert of a lawyer? Should've cut him into pieces. And Jamison? Well, I honestly think I was doing a favor for everyone who hated him."
He gazed at her with a mixture of pity and disdain as she continued to cry, his expression an eerie blend of false sympathy. "Don't worry, I didn't kill them all..." He let out a sigh. "I took pity on Oliver."
"W-What did you do to him?" She cried, her voice breaking with a mix of fear and desperation.
"Gave him a few stabs, but nothing too serious," he replied casually, waving the knife through the air as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "He'll be fine."
Her heart sank at his callous response. "I thought you grew up together."
"I lied about not being close with him the other day, you know? We were best friends, actually. But that's another story to tell," he admitted, his words revealing a chilling aspect of his twisted psyche. He then glared at her, a mix of frustration and hostility in his eyes. "You seriously need to stop looking at me like that. I spared him, it was only a few stabs."
Anger surged within her, ignited by his disturbingly casual demeanor, and she found herself unable to suppress her mounting fury any longer. "You're fucking sick," she spat.
He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he loomed closer. "You shouldn't talk to me like that," he emphasized, pointing the knife at her once more. "You're chained to the wall, I could do anything to you."
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of her heart, though the horror still gripped her like a vice. Her face was etched with a stark, unmistakable expression of fear and disbelief. He rolled his eyes.
"Don't act so scared now, I won't do anything—well, not now, at least," he stated with a laugh, taking a step back, as if he were granting her some temporary respite. "For now... I have yet to finish my vengeance for you."
"V- Vengeance? You think of them as vengeance?" She asked in disbelief. "Oliver didn't even hurt me."
"He kept pestering you when you clearly weren't interested in him, he needed a little lesson," he explained, a chilling justification in his tone. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. "But there is one person who has hurt you recently, and I think we both know who that is."
His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, filling her with a growing sense of dread. Her eyes widened, her voice heavy with desperation. "No! Eric, no, please, don't hurt him—"
"He's not good for you, Y/n. He never will be."
"Eric! Please!" She was beginning to wail, her pleas filled with anguish and despair, as she felt the walls of her world closing in on her. The chains rattled ominously when she moved. "Please..."
"I need to punish him, Sweetheart, he hurt you," he said with a chilling detachment. He gave her a pitiful look. "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."
"Please—Please don't, Eric," She pleaded desperately, her voice shaking with an overwhelming fear. "No..." She shook her head and sobbed, "Don't h-hurt him... please..."
Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and the disturbing determination in his gaze made it clear that he had made up his mind. He turned around, leaving her in a state of helpless dread. "I'll see you later," he added with a sinister remark. "Don't cry too much while I visit your FBI boyfriend."
As he walked away, the barn's shadows seemed to close in around her. She did exactly the opposite—she relentlessly cried herself to sleep, seeking solace in the safety of her dreams, however fleeting, as she yearned for an end to this nightmare that had somehow become her reality.
>> NEXT PART
a/n: y'all can stop cursing poor Oliver now😭
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aethes-bookshelf · 3 months
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we promised we'd save you || astarion/tav/halsin
This chapter took me way longer than I expected it to. I had to finish my biggest commission to date a few weeks after posting part one. It seems it took a lot out of me ^^"
But! I promised comfort, I deliver comfort. I hope you enjoy!
Pairing: Astarion/Tav/Halsin
Warnings: implied/referenced past character death, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)
Wordcount: 1.3k
Summary: The first thing Tav felt was pain.
ao3 link || part 1
When they came back, Halsin carrying Tav’s dead body, stunned silence washed over the camp. The entire time the party knew Tav, they seemed indestructible. Larger than life, powerful and confident. But now, with their limbs limply swaying with Halsin’s movements, they looked like a little doll; fragile and lifeless..
Their skin was much, much paler than usual, dirty with dried blood and grime. They weren’t wearing their armor; it might have been lost or destroyed at the bhaalist temple. Without their shoulder guards they seemed so much smaller, dwarfed by Halsin’s broad shoulders.
‘What happened?’ said Wyll, eyes wide.
‘Orin happened,’ said Karlach. She had a look of grim determination on her face. ‘Where’s the skeleton?’
* * *
The first thing Tav felt was pain. Every single muscle in their body ached with that deep, crushing kind of pain that made even the slightest movement hell. Their head wasn’t doing any better. Their pulse pounded in their skull, each beat of their heart bringing an uncomfortable sensation in their temples. They were parched, their throat so dry and tight they were sure it would start bleeding at any moment.
They were hurting all over. But if they were hurting, that meant they were alive.
That realization slammed them right back into themself. The last thing Tav remembered before everything went black was being thrown onto the sacrificial altar in the middle of the bhaalist temple.
Tav opened their eyes. Above them was the fabric of their tent — they were back at camp. They were back at camp! Relief flooded their system. Their friends must have come for them before it was too late.
Granted, they couldn’t really move much because of the pain, but it probably wasn’t anything a bit of healing magic couldn’t fix. And a little pain was to be expected after whatever the hell Orin did to them. They would manage with a few more healing potions and Shadowheart’s help.
Tav groaned at the ache as they tried to adjust their legs under the covers. A puff of white hair suddenly came into their vision. It disappeared almost immediately when someone crashed into their chest with a relieved sob. Tav made a short, pained sound.
‘Shit,’ Astarion hissed and reluctantly moved away. He settled for holding Tav’s hand instead. ‘You made me forget myself there, my sweet.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you must’ve been so worried,’ Tav said, their voice teasing and hoarse. They squeezed Astarion’s hand just a little bit tighter; he squeezed back. ‘Still, there’s no need to break my ribs over it, is there?’
Astarion was strangely silent for a beat too long. Tav tried to rise to get a better look at his face but decided against it after the pain pushed them back into their bedroll. ‘What, no witty banter? Are you okay, love?’
That made Astarion snort, unamused. ‘It’d be quite hard for me to be okay after you went and quite literally died on me.’
It was Tav’s turn to go silent. ‘...What do you mean “died”?’ They said after a few moments.
‘I mean “died”.’ He sounded annoyed. Still, his voice shook all the same. ‘You… you died. Orin killed you.’
‘Oh.’ Tav cleared their throat. They refused to let the true weight of that statement reach them. ‘Well, then I’m glad you brought me back. Though we’ll probably have to restock on scrolls of revivify. We’d been running low for a while now, anyway.’
‘See, that’s the thing,’ Astarion had to grab onto the fabric of his pants to stop his hand from shaking, ‘we couldn’t bring you back. We tried the scrolls, they…’ He swallowed, grief thick in his throat. ‘They wouldn’t work. We had to rush you to that blasted skeleton. For a moment I thought I’d…’
…lost you.
Astarion couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He felt as if he was on the brink of a cliff, staring down a bleak, lonely future. He’d rather not think about what his life would be like if Tav had not come back to him.
Tav wished to sit up and cradle Astarion to their chest. But they couldn’t; and they cursed all the gods, devils and hells for it.
‘Lovely, look at me,’ they said instead.
Astarion did as they asked. He was trying very hard not to cry again; he wasn’t sure if he had any tears left to spare.
‘I’m here now, okay? I’m still here.’ They tried to give Astarion a reassuring smile, but it came out as a weak grimace. He smiled back anyway.
‘I know, love. And am I not grateful for it,’ Astarion said, quietly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. ‘Give me a moment, I have to tell Halsin you’re okay.’
‘Is he alright?’
‘He’ll be now.’
The tent fell into silence when Astarion left it. Tav’s world shrank down to the pull of their muscles and the pounding in their head.
They died. Almost for good this time. The reality of that crashed down on them so suddenly they felt like they couldn’t breathe.
But they were still here. Was Orin dead then? Did the rescue party get her Netherstone? What of Gortash? Had any progress been made while they were out of it? Just how long had they been out of it?
Their racing thoughts stopped when the flaps of their tent parted and both of their lovers came in. Halsin rushed to their side, worry clear on his face.
‘My heart!’ He was by their side in an instant. He grabbed their hand, just as Astarion had before, and planted a kiss on it. He held it to his face like a drowning man would hold a piece of driftwood.
‘Hi,’ Tav smiled. ‘Glad to be back in the land of the living.’ They could taste the copper tang of blood in the back of their mouth.
Astarion settled next to Halsin and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you big oaf,’ he said, doing his best to sound exasperated, ‘they’re okay.’
‘You say it as if you, too, haven’t been beside yourself with worry.’
Astarion scoffed. ‘Yes, yes, the pot calling the kettle black and all that.’ Despite his tone, Astarion’s eyes, locked on Halsin, remained soft.
Halsin rested his and Tav’s intertwined hands in his lap. ‘How are you feeling, my heart?’
‘Like I just died,’ Tav said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Everything hurts, I can’t really move.’
Halsin’s brow creased with worry. ‘Let me.’ He lifted his free hand and passed it over Tav’s body. The soothing coolness of healing magic did away with some of their pain.
Relief must have been clear on Tav’s face; Astarion perked up almost instantly. ‘I take it you’re feeling better already, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose I do,’ Tav adjusted their legs under the covers, this time without most of the pain. ‘I wager I’ll be up and about soon enough.’
‘You should rest for a few more days at least,’ Halsin’s voice was firm. Tav suspected there would be no changing his mind.
‘I know, I know.’ They sighed, bored already. ‘And thank you for the healing spell, honey.’
Halsin smiled. ‘The pleasure is mine, my heart.’
‘How long was I out?’
‘Almost a week,’ said Astarion. His head was resting on Halsin’s shoulder. The druid laid his free hand on the vampire’s lap. ‘None of the others knew what to do without you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t, either.’
‘None of us did.’ Halsin sighed. ‘Until now,’ he said and gave Tav a look so full of pure, unfiltered adoration they had to look away for a moment.
‘Until now,’ whispered Astarion.
‘Rest, my love.’ Halsin’s voice was warm and soft. ‘We’ll be here, watching over you.’
Tav nodded and closed their eyes. Sleep came for them quickly.
Their head was no longer pounding.
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inflamedrosenkranz · 3 months
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Bi-Han marking Kuai Liang with a large gash across the eye is a much more subtle punishment than it sounds. It's a message. A message that means: 
"I counted on you. I've pursued my vision in silence for years, swallowed my frustrations, lied and schemed when I wanted to scream the truth and my anger at the world. I hatched all this in the dark, when I wanted to see the sun and live in the broad daylight. To ensure that my vision would one day triumph, I had to hide my true nature and subject myself to a sheer inhuman discipline under the yoke of which many would have succumbed.
After all, what were a few more years of suffering in exchange for a free life and full control over my destiny? Wasn't it worth giving up my youth if I were to live the rest of my life free from the shackles of determinism? So I waited in the shadows. For years, for what seemed to be eons even, waiting for my time to come. For our time to come. I waited for you. In my vision, it wasn't just me. There was room for two. Maybe that's what kept me going, what kept me patient, what saved me from discouragement and despair, and enabled me to stoically endure injustice and humiliation. Thinking of you and of us has certainly kept me going. In the worst moments of distress, it even galvanized me. But what happened? All of a sudden, you rejected my vision and turned against me. I spent years shut away in the antechamber of life for you, longing and yearning for the great promises that I was sure our future together would hold. I denied myself many pleasures; had to tear myself away violently from all the drives that animated me, only to lock myself up in the non-existence of a slave to his own cause—a willing victim self-sacrified on the altar of his own obsession. Because the truth is, if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have done it. And I'd rather not think what would have become of me if I hadn't had this illusion to help me live. But of all this, all of this superhuman labour that I built hour after hour, night after night, grain of sand after grain of sand, just for us, at the risk of my own sanity, you refused it. You trampled and spat on it, viciously mocking, despising and denigrating it. Impassable abysses now separate us, and perhaps that was always the case. Was I blind? Did I fail to see that our paths were bound to diverge from the start? That, albeit physically similar, inwardly we were as far apart as fire and ice? Never mind. I've got nothing now, because you've taken everything away from me. All you had to do was sweep it all away with a wave of your hand, and it was gone. A cloud of smoke, a handful of dust and ashes, showing me the precariousness of my construct. Have I minted counterfeit money all these years? Have I built card castles destined to collapse at the slightest gust of wind, once my cell door has been opened? Never mind. In my inner vision, you've always been there by my side. We would have been one, like the twins we might have been had fate decided otherwise. But although not twins, we were brothers all the same. I would have dreamed of you as a cryomancer. Maybe you'd never have given up on me. Deep down, I'm sure that's what drove you away from me, what made your nature so different from mine, that cursed anomaly, that notch in the perfect genetics of our centuries-old lineage. What would it really have been between us, if you too had been a cryomancer, like thousands of our ancestors before us? Every time I thought about it, it made my heart bleed. If only that damned god hadn't ruined everything... If only you had been like me, brother... Perhaps in another life—perhaps in another timeline...
But never mind. It's no longer time to dream of hopes now destroyed forever. It's no longer time to weep or to explain. I'm not our father, this being so vile in his principles dripping with weakness that he managed to corrupt you, to possess you even after his death. Did I only get rid of him so that he could be better incarnated in you? Never mind. Now it's time to look at the smoking ruins of my dead aspirations, of my shattered desires, and leave without looking back. You couldn't, wouldn't see that everything I did was for you. And you don't want to see me anymore. So go now, go far away at the other end of the world and never come back. Once and for all, put an end to this sham of a brotherhood, enact our ontological divorce. Leave. And in return, I'll never mention your name again. I'll have my memory erase it, and in the memories of your former clan too (your blood family!), you will slowly fade away, just as I let our father die a pitifully long agony. Damnatio memoriae is what awaits the traitors. But because you didn't want to see me, because you fled from me over seas and mountains, I've still condemned you to see me in spite of yourself. Do you think this mark I've made on your face is the result of an impulse? I've given it a lot of thought. Rest assured, I didn't mean to poke your eye out. Quite the opposite, in fact. For you still have your two eyes to see that I'll always be with you. Every time you run your hand accross your face and feel it under your fratricidal fingers (because didn't you symbolically kill me?), every time you look in the mirror, pay heed: I'll be there. With both eyes wide open, you'll see that infamous scar staining the perfect beauty of your face, and you'll think of me, of me who did this to you, of me who claimed my due after you destroyed my life's work. For you, there's no escaping of it, when I've long since forgotten your name, having banished it from my mouth and those of my disciples. At the end of your life, I may already be dead, but I'll still be there, at your side, like a ghost, like a shadow, forever haunting your memory. Wherever you are, I'll be. Because I'm part of you now. Alive or dead, I'm inside you, engraved in your flesh, reminding you of your treachery every hour of the day and night without respite. Don't try to skin half your face with a knife or gouge your eyes out, because I'll still be there too. I'll be in that flayed flesh, in those empty sockets, in your thoughts, always. Every second, everywhere, at all times, you and I, together. In the mirror, you won't see your reflection, but mine. I'll die when you die, and I live as long as you'll live. Now farewell, he who was once my brother. You no longer exist for me. I am Abel, you are Cain. You have killed me in spirit by rejecting my love and the hand I extended to you; and I, in return, have marked you with the seal of shame. Everyone who sees this mark will see your turpitude. All you will see when you see your mark will be your tormented brother that you forsook out of faithlessness and disloyalty. May your flames become the flames of the inner hell that will consume you, a trap of your own creation. The foolish longing and now disappointed affection I once had for you are equal to my hatred, and it will spread over the whole world.
Yes, brother. Ice will cover this world. And it's all your doing."
************
The complete version can be found here:
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taintedtort · 1 year
Text
prompt ✧ how long they last during NNN
characters ✧ albedo, kazuha, scaramouche, xiao, childe, itto
warnings ✧ gn!reader, suggestive, no nut november
authors note ✧ i know november is over already, and i didn’t plan on actually writing this prompt… but i caved. it’s a tad late but that’s ok
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ALBEDO
✧ lasts 2 weeks. he’s usually busy with experiments, so when kaeya suggested this idiotic game to him, he reluctantly agreed. he had a feeling it wouldn’t be difficult at all for him, seeing as he’s artificial and doesn’t fully comprehend or have human emotions. but he was proven wrong. the first two weeks were fine, he stayed occupied like normal while still giving you the soft attention you needed. but on the two week mark, you were both getting ready for bed and it suddenly hit him. his mind was unoccupied with work matters and simply just took over with thoughts of you. you and your cute, slightly revealing pajamas. you and your soft lips. you and your beautiful moans as he pleasured you beyond satisfaction. he lost the challenge that night,
“such a tease… did you do that intentionally?”
KAZUHA
✧ 4 days. kazuha is a true romantic, and part of that romance comes intimacy. it’s a big thing for him and he can’t go without it for very long. he did try though, he knew the other crew members who forced him to participate would make fun of him for only lasting a simple four days. he’d never live it down. but god he just couldn’t help himself, everything you did unintentionally turned him on. and it was all your fault for looking and sounding so cute when you called his name, innocently requesting his attention. he couldn’t help the plagued thoughts of you underneath him, calling out his name as he made you see stars.
“you were tempting me, i just couldn’t help myself.”
SCARAMOUCHE
✧ the entire month. out of sheer will and spite, he’d be determined to throw his victory in childe’s face. he only agreed after a lot of name calling and teasing, but he’ll be damned if he looses. then again, he’s so extremely clingy in private, he cannot keep his hands off you. and you had needs of your own! he couldn’t just take away that valued part of your relationship for an entire month! you’d intentionally tease and poke at him, begging for him to pay attention to your needs for at least one night. but again, he’s spiteful so he refuses. once december hits (he stays up till 12:00am to watch the date change) he’s on top of you and stripping your clothes off.
“times up, come here.”
XIAO
✧ 3 days. he tried to make it to five, but ultimately failed. it honestly just wasn’t a lucky day. he’d gotten back early from slaying demons, something that doesn’t often happen, and he wanted to spend some time with you. usually when he has off time, you two end up fucking. but with the challenge at hand, he tried not to. he really did, but just couldn’t help himself. everything about you was so inviting; your alluring eyes, your plump lips, your divine body, your seductive voice. it was impossible to ignore you.
“you’re so beautiful, i can’t hold myself back.”
CHILDE
✧ 3 weeks. god it was absolute torture for both of you. after the first week, everything you did got him worked up. it got to the point where he couldn’t touch you without getting hard. he was determined to win though, knowing scaramouche felt the same way. after making such a fuss about his friend being “too scared” and “having no self control” he knew he couldn’t loose. that victory would be so sweet. but alas… his dick just couldn’t take it, and the lack of affection you two were not receiving got to the both of your heads. you ended up having multiple rounds.
“fuck— i can’t do this anymore.”
ITTO
✧ less than a day. when he accepted the challenge, he was so sure he’d win. “easy breezy!” he said, completely confident. that was until… the two of you were finally alone. once you kissed his mouth after stepping inside your shared house, he couldn’t help it. his usual roaming hands were just as shameless as always. when it started to get a bit too heated you pulled back, asking about the challenge. he was confused at first, completely forgetting he had agreed, then just shrugged and continued.
“i won’t tell if you won’t.”
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eyesofshan-if · 3 months
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Hi, I hope you are doing well. Could you please tell us the enneagrams of the Ros. Thanks in advance.
i think i've answered this before, but now that there are new ROs i'll include their answers, with some explanation about their character motivations!! this is more of a personal character study than anything coherent, so feel free to skip it all!! mightttt contain some spoilers for the characters' routes
hansol: two
hansol is a textbook example of an enneagram 2. the key motivation behind most of his actions is to feel wanted or needed by others. he derives meaning and purpose from life from how 'useful' or 'helpful' he is to the society he belongs to, and much of the way he views the world is in related to that. he lives to serve: his country, his family, and you.
"Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you with every single thing I have Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess Or calm waters, if that serves you best I will love you without any strings attached."
yongsun: nine
enneagram type 9s are called the peacemakers, but not necessarily because they are pacifists. yongsun is one of those devoted to seeking peace, both internal and external. however, while most others would simply come to peace with the chaos and troubles of the world, they were born into a unique position that gives them the power to make the necessary changes to achieve that desired peace.
"It looks like empathy To understand all sides But I'm just trying to find myself Through someone else's eyes."
wooyoung: seven
enneagram sevens fear being deprived and need to have their desires for freedom and fresh experiences fulfilled. still, this comes with a tendency to uproot themselves far too easily and often, leaving those they care about behind. wooyoung finds it difficult to settle anywhere, wanting all the new experiences, the new friends, everything — and fears getting too attached to anything too strongly. perhaps you will be the one to change that, commander.
"It feels like sinking when I'm standing in one place So I look to the future and I book another flight When everything feels heavy, I've learned to travel light."
raon: four
out of everything, raon fears mediocrity the most — to fade into obscurity like the rest of the women in her life did. there is no space for women in the male-dominated spaces of hae, yet the contributions of females in households — the foundation of every haeian's life — often go overlooked. after seeing this happen, raon refuses to let the same happen to her as well. enneagram fours have a strong desire to forge a unique identity that has significance.
"Flashlight in hand determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin to try to describe Bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust For a moment we get to be glorious."
no-eul: eight
although the oldest of the ros, no-eul has the most childish and simplistic heart. they do things as they desire without consideration of of much else. eights feel the need to prove their strength, to demonstrate their importance, to dominate wherever they are — yet all this is done with the strangely vulnerable motivation of not wanting to be hurt by others.
"I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit."
????: one
enneagram ones strive to be always be right, beyond criticism, and no one believes that more than the herald of change. it does not matter that they actively pursue a vision that only a madman would dare to dream of. to rebel against the natural order, to crush the status quo under their feet. the high leader will stop at nothing to make those softly whispered childhood dreams a reality, even if they have to declare war against the entire world to do it.
"Now hold on, let me finish No, I'm not saying perfect exists in this life But we'll only know for certain if we try."
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jeewrites · 2 months
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Hold Fast - Sneak Peek!
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Rating: 18+ MDNI (no smut in sneak peak)
A/N: For my first Frankie Friday I'm posting a sneak peek to my first fan fic Hold Fast (a one-shot? part one? possibly more?). Thank you to @vyduan for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. Full piece coming Friday, Feb 16th!
Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, swearing (I'm new to this so please lmk if I missed anything!)
Word Count: 591 of ~3.9k
Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down. 
"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over. 
"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.
"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."
"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.
You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing. 
"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."
"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed. 
"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.
"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.
"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."
"I'M YOUR FRIEND!" 
"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell. 
Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."
He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."
"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come. 
You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"
With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed photos. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.
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mad-world-of-meyrin · 3 months
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What we have done...
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Notes : This writing comes from my Hogwarts Legacy story We had it all available on Wattpad in English and French (Nous avions tout). Enjoy !
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Synopsis of the story : ' All my life I've been heading for hell, but never had I thought I'd drag you down as well ' - Sebastian Sallow
' They sold their hearts for diamonds and gold. I refuse to go down the same path as them. You and I have everything. ' -Omnis Gaunt
❗Warning : Hogwarts Legacy game spoilers❗
Y/n is a young witch who entered Hogwarts in the 5th year, and who found her place among the Slytherins. Between her many outings to explore the surroundings of the castle, or her fights against poachers, giant spiders or even trolls, her year was eventful.
Ranrok now defeated, and Hogwarts saved from a disastrous fate, y/n must face new dilemmas : the death of her beloved professor Eleazar Fig; and her budding feelings for two of her closest friends, Omis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow. Two handsome boys with tortured souls. They are the opposite of each other, but have one thing in common : their love for y/n.
The OWLs are fast approaching and the year is coming to an end. Y/n hopes somehow that her 6th year will go well. But between her mixed feelings, the responsibilities that will be entrusted to her at Hogwarts and the new threats that will hang over her and her friends, can she hope to one day find a peaceful and safe life ?
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I get up and rush out of the Great Hall. The sounds of cutlery slamming against the plates, the students' discussions that go through my head and the smell of all the food made available to the students for their greatest pleasure...all this makes me nauseous and only increases the feeling of oppression that assails me at this very moment.
As I keep running and finally reach the exit door, I nearly bump into someone. This person is obviously taller than me, considering that my head hit his chest. I know I bumped into him as I wasn't looking where I was going, but I can't help grumbling.
' Seriously, can't you watch where you're going ?! ' I snapped, holding my head.
Still without looking ahead, I turn away from this guy and walk out the door, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me towards him.
I finally raise my head to find out who I'm dealing with and to give him a murderous look that only I have the secret. But any urge to confront this person immediately disappears.
He's there. Facing me. He dares to stand in front of me, after all that has happened.
Images from the last time we were together come to mind.
A week ago
' Flipendo ! '
' Protego ! '
I managed to shield myself at the last second from my assailant's spell. This idiot is starting to tire me. I know he will soon be out of breath, he is getting tired. Hold on Y/n !
' Crucio ! '
My spell hits the middle-aged man in front of me, who immediately arches his back in pain. I continue to attack him without stopping, my wrist becomes painful.
' Incendio ! ' I hear behind me. Great, he manages to kill those damn Inferius.
My attacker gets up with difficulty, immeasurable rage in his eyes.
' You still haven't had enough ?! ' I said to him, a sarcastic chuckle crossing my lips.
' You're both oblivious, you don't know what you're doing. You are dangerous to each other ! ' he said, casting Bombarda at me.
I fall to the ground a few meters further. My ribs hurt horribly, my ears ring.
Hearing the crash produced by my body against the ground, my friend rushes in my direction, and turns to his eldest, determined to get it over with. He takes over from me and bombards him with spells, he gets out of control.
Out of breath but still standing, our assailant addresses my partner.
' She cannot be healed, Sebastian. You must stop. '
He limps and is no longer able to attack us, struggling to hold his wand. But Sebastian doesn't want to hear anything and continues to weaken him. I too fought against him, but the young Slytherin is despite everything more violent than me in his gestures. He'll end up killing him if this continues, I have to stop him.
I try to get up, but my body hurts so much that I let out a little howl of pain. I can't even articulate a single word, I can only watch the scene unfolding under my eyes. Sebastian continues to hammer his uncle with spells, uttering a few cries of effort.
' Argh ! I won't let her suffer. Avada Kedavra '
' NO ! ' I finally manage to shout, reaching out my hand to Solomon Sallow.
But it's too late, his lifeless body collapses to the ground, defeated. Tears begin to flow from my eyes uncontrollably. I cry silently. I can clearly see that Sebastian is struggling to realize what he has just done. He slowly lowers his head to his wand and drops it to the ground. None of us speak. We look at the body of the man who was once her uncle, dead by his will.
' Depulso ! ' I hear from across the room.
Sebastian finds himself thrown backwards, his head hitting one of the stone walls violently. I see the person to whom this voice belongs more clearly when she advances in the middle of the room. It's Anne, Sebastian's twin sister. She was cursed by goblins a while ago. Therefore she is very weak and can hardly leave her house, she even had to leave Hogwarts.
' Incendio ! ' Anne turned, her wand facing her, killing the few remaining Inferius.
She then rushes to her uncle, gently turning his remains towards her, sobbing. Sebastian looks at her sadly, trying to catch his breath and fighting the pain. Oh, my poor Anne...
She gets up and her gaze lands on Salazar Slytherin's dark magic book that we had found during one of our explorations, Sebastian Ominis and I.
' Bombarda ! ' she yells while pointing her wand at the book. The latter burns immediately under our eyes.
' NO ! ' Sebastian cries, reaching for the now charred book.
Anne arches her back in pain, she is exhausted both physically and psychologically, the dark circles under her eyes and her pale face may indicate this. She looks up at her brother one last time.
' You've made your choice. ' she said looking at him painfully.
Then she comes back to her uncle, and soon both of them disappear from our sight. Sebastian gets up immediately, as if all the pain had left him, and rushes towards the exit of the crypt.
' Sebastian ! Hold on ! ' I whisper, unable to raise my voice.
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silverynight · 6 months
Text
By blood
<---Previous
Part V
This time, Akaza doesn't bite him immediately or tells him he needs a little bit of his blood. Instead, he pays him a visit to the inn he's staying in and even says 'hello' to little Nezuko.
"Why did it take you so long?"
Tanjirou explains to him that Genya kept him company during his last mission.
"Actually, about that–" he doesn't get to finish the sentence; Akaza pushes him towards the futon and starts nuzzling him.
Nezuko giggles and gets closer to them for cuddles; Akaza immediately changes their positions so Tanjirou can hug Nezuko while the upper moon cuddles him from behind.
"Are you sure you don't need blood?"
"Maybe... later," the demon mumbles, almost shyly before rubbing his nose against the back of Tanjirou's neck. "I just missed you a lot."
Nezuko goes to sleep during the day and Tanjirou makes sure the windows are completely covered because Akaza refuses to leave his side.
"Did you sleep well?" The upper moon asks, rubbing his nose against Tanjirou's cheek.
The redhead is still sleepy, but he makes an effort to open his eyes a bit, the truth is that sleeping next to someone makes him feel warm and fuzzy and it helps him sleep better every single time.
"Yes," he smiles; he rolls on the bed with difficulty because Akaza refuses to untangle himself from him, not even an inch. "Are you sure you want to stay here? Wouldn't it be safer for you to seek refuge in the woods?"
The arms around his waist tighten their grip even more and Tanjirou knows he has his answer then.
"Can I bite your neck this time?" Akaza asks quietly and softly, nuzzling against Tanjirou's cheek like a very affectionate cat.
"You know you can't."
"Fine."
Tanjirou blushes immediately because he knows what comes next; his heart skips a beat as he feels very gentle hands pulling his uniform down.
This time Akaza presses a couple of extra kisses against his tummy and thighs before and after the bite.
"I need to tell you something," Tanjirou finally says in a whisper, once he puts his uniform back on. Akaza sits and pulls him into his lap; his arms are around him with his chin resting on the top of Tanjirou's head.
"Alright."
"Genya saw the bite marks."
"Do you want me to get rid of him?"
"What? No!" Tanjirou blurts out, a little bit alarmed by the sound of determination in Akaza's voice. He didn't even hesitate. "He doesn't know! He thinks I'm dating someone!"
"He thinks we're lovers?" Akaza asks; Tanjirou can't see his face but he smells happy or maybe it's just amusement what Tanjirou can sense coming from him.
"Not 'we' because he doesn't know anything about you; he thinks I met a boy."
Tanjirou turns around (because he can tell that Akaza is not entirely happy at the moment) and sees the upper moon pouting.
"What's the–"
"Wait." Akaza cuts him off, demeanor changing suddenly; he's angry, although Tanjirou can tell he's not mad at him. "How did he see the marks? What was he doing to you?"
"Nothing!" Tanjirou says immediately, trying not to roll his eyes at the demon's protective behavior. Sometimes it seems like he thinks it's his duty to take care of Tanjirou and his sister. "He was helping me undress because I was too tired and hurt to do it myself."
"I could've helped you."
"You couldn't be there, he would've seen you."
Tanjirou thinks about it for a second and moves a little bit until he's facing the demon. Akaza closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing their noses together and relaxing immediately.
"I've been thinking of telling Genya about you. He's a very good person, I know he'd keep our secret. Besides," Tanjirou can't help but chuckle. "It'd be better if he knew because right now he thinks I have an abusive boyfriend."
Akaza looks so outraged at that Tanjirou can't help but laugh again at his expression.
Then they both speak at the same time and everything goes from a very casual conversation to something Tanjirou doesn't quite understand.
"I'd never treat you like that! I'd give you anything you wanted, I'd treat you with kindness and love, like you deserve!" Now, if Akaza would've said that sooner, Tanjirou wouldn't have blurted out at the same time (still with amusement in his tone) his next words: "I know the idea of us dating is ridiculous! Stop making that face! We would never!"
But they do speak at the same time, and the silence that comes next is uncomfortable and it hurts.
Then Akaza hisses like he's in pain and moves away from Tanjirou in the blink of an eye, like he had been burnt.
"What do you mean by 'ridiculous'?" Akaza grimaces. "Is it because I'm a demon? Do you only date hashira?"
Tanjirou doesn't understand why he's so upset out of the sudden.
"No, it's just... our relationship is not like that." If he's being honest, Tanjirou thought Akaza was outraged at first at the mere thought of dating someone like him. Maybe he doesn't want to be considered heartless. "I'm not saying you're not capable of caring for someone else. It's just that we don't... We are not..."
"That's enough," Akaza cuts him off, voice trembling with hurt and anger. He's shaking. "I understand."
"What?" Tanjirou is even more confused now. "I mean we're friends! I consider you my friend!"
"I said THAT'S ENOUGH!" Akaza shouts, looking away, although not fast enough for Tanjirou to miss the regret written all over his face. "I didn't mean to yell at you."
Tanjirou rises from the ground and takes a couple of steps closer to him, but the upper moon moves away.
"I know, it's okay. But I don't understand... Why don't you explain it to me?"
Akaza shakes his head.
"Are you crying?" Tanjirou asks, feeling completely lost.
"No, of course not! I don't care!" Then his shoulders fall as if he just gave up out of the sudden. He looks devastated. "I need to go."
"What? No! The sun is still–"
"Don't act like you care about me!" Akaza hisses and Tanjirou can see a single tear falling from his eye and down his cheek.
"But I do care about you!"
"Stop lying to me!" And he goes, jumping out the window. Tanjirou just hopes there are enough trees and houses he can use to hide from the sunlight.
If he's being honest, he doesn't understand what just happened, but he feels like he made a terrible mistake.
He misses him already.
***
Genya spends a lot of time with him now; Tanjirou knows it's because he's worried sick about him; apparently his friend thinks Tanjirou's boyfriend is either going to leave him or break his heart. But mostly he's concerned about the "boy" using Tanjirou for selfish reasons.
His friend has been so kind to him lately that Tanjirou feels extremely guilty for not telling him the whole truth.
They go on missions together now; the Pillars feel more relaxed knowing someone is with him and it seems that they trust the youngest Shinazugawa boy.
He hasn't seen Akaza since that day and Tanjirou can't help but feel sad and worried; he's not exactly sure what he said or did wrong to make him leave like that. Mostly he's worried about the upper moon needing his blood again. What happens if he gets hungry again? Akaza has come so far it'd break Tanjirou's heart to find out he hurt an innocent person and it'd be his fault as well because he was the one who decided to give him another chance.
And yet he's almost sure that won't be the case; he trusts Akaza now, he knows he would do the right thing.
But why did he get upset with Tanjirou? He was clearly hurt the last time the redhead saw him, not physically of course; it was a very deep emotional wound.
Tanjirou is not sure what happened exactly and he doesn't have anyone to ask.
"Are you alright, darling?"
His Pillars are worried about him again. Tanjirou can see it in Kanroji's eyes and the way the others try to pretend they're doing other things, instead of listening to their conversation.
"I'm fine," he lies, looking away from her. He feels terrible about it, but it's not like he has any other choice; telling the truth would involve telling them everything about Akaza.
And he's not ready for that.
"You know you can tell us anything, right?" Tomioka puts a hand on Tanjirou's shoulder; his eyes are so full of worry and sincerity the redhead can't help but feel a squeeze in his heart.
He nods, even though he's not sure that's entirely true. Can he really say something about Akaza without having them all hunting him down?
And yet... he'll think about it; he's getting a little bit tired of keeping such a secret from the people he loves.
Besides, it seems like Akaza doesn't want to see him again. Maybe it's for the best. Although Tanjirou still worries about him.
***
He's sleeping in the middle of the woods next to Genya; he's his traveling companion now (the only one), much to Zenitsu and Inosuke's irritation. Tanjirou needs to talk to them soon as well.
"Are you sure he's not... hurting you?"
The sound of Genya's voice brings a soft smile to Tanjirou's face; he turns around to look at the other boy, who blushes immediately.
"No, he isn't."
"But–"
"Genya, can I tell you a secret?"
"Of course," the tall boy says without hesitation and Tanjirou feels a wave of affection towards him. However, he still needs to make sure.
"You need to promise me you won't tell anyone, no matter how bad you think it is."
Concern is written all over Genya's features, but he takes one of Tanjirou's hands and nods again.
"I promise."
The shock in Genya's face after Tanjirou tells him a part of his deal with Akaza is too much for him.
"Your boyfriend is actually a demon?"
"No," Tanjirou shakes his head, feeling his cheeks like they're on fire. "Maybe I should start at the beginning..."
And then he tells him everything.
"Tanjirou, that's... you should tell the Pillars," Genya insists, blinking a couple of times, like he still can't quite believe it.
"I can't! They'll kill him!"
"Maybe that's for the best..."
"Genya!" Tanjirou scolds him and even though the other boy blushes under his tone, he doesn't look away.
"I know you like to believe in people, that everyone deserves a second chance and that there's good in them. But that's a demon..."
"My sister is a demon," Tanjirou reminds Genya, stubbornly. "And she's good."
"That's different and you know it. You told me this is an upper moon; he's obviously close to Muzan himself..."
"Not anymore."
"Maybe he's just pretending to get closer to you."
"I know he isn't."
Genya sighs, but pulls Tanjirou into his arms because it's obvious the redhead is distressed at the moment.
"He's the one who was biting your thighs?"
"Yes."
"Maybe you're right; don't tell the hashira. Besides, you're not seeing him anymore..."
Tanjirou shakes his head and sobs a little; he misses Akaza.
"What happened?"
He tells him; perhaps Genya can help him find out why Akaza got so mad at him.
When he tells him everything there's an uncomfortable silence that follows; Tanjirou needs to gently push Genya away a bit in order to see his expression: he's in shock.
"This is worse than I thought..."
"What do you mean?"
"Tanjirou, that upper moon is in love with you!"
***
Next--->
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papasbaseball · 5 days
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Raphael x Tav (Clubs and Spades: Chapter 1)
Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav
Rating: Teen (Rating to go up)
Warnings: Alcohol
Summary: Tav finds herself on the bad side of the President of the Fae Run Country Club. She agreed to work there as a favor, but he's determined to make her life a living hell. Will they both make it out of the summer without catching feelings?
Word Count: 2,187
Notes: I changed some of the names to help blend in the characters better with the AU setting. Here is a translation if you would like to know: Tav - '' "Tav" Baldur Karlach - Karlie Ackerman Raphael - Raphael Hope Mizora - Ms. Zora Wyll - Will
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If all the stories were true, the president of the Fae Run Country Club was the Devil himself. I’d had the fortune of not running into him all summer, enjoying the close proximity to what otherwise might be considered ‘good people’, as I served drinks, folded towels, and did whatever else my manager had sent me to do. That particular day, I limped after my coworker Karlie — the cooler filled with ice and Evian between us making us as useful as a horse with a lame leg — as we brought the beverages out to the 8th hole of the golf course. The community carts had been forbidden from use, much to the dismay of my shoulder.
A quarrelsome two stood beside the green, too rich to stop their argument for us. The one’s shoulders were cast back, face tilted up as if God was also privy to the conversation he was having with the pink-faced man. I’d seen a dozen of his type infesting the green lawns of Fae Run. What set him apart was how quickly he cut down the man with words I’ll never know, courtesy of the lawnmowers. Weak arms were quickly uncrossed and the WASP wannabe buzzed back to the safety of the clubhouse hive.
“Ha!” Karlie scoffed, setting her end of the cooler down with a hard rustle of ice. “Bob had that one coming for a while.”
There were a half dozen members named Bob, but she came to know every one of them over the 8 years that she’d been working there. I’d barely met any of them and I’d been there for 2 months.
“Is Bob a problem?” I asked, setting my end of the cooler down. The ache of carrying it almost a mile thrummed in my arm, thrilled to have been released.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to be his server at dinner,” Karlie said. Her face fell and quickly she was tucking her polo back into her khaki pants, slicking back the wild fly-aways the walk had earned her.
“Ladies.” The remaining man approached us, his shirt unbuttoned past regulation to show off the tan earned from hours spent by the poolside. “Less chatting more working, yes? I would hate to have to speak to your manager about disciplinary action. I want this golf course as immaculate as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Karlie replied.
“You’re breaking the dress code,” I offered, nodding to the undone button and soft curls of chest hair it guarded. If he wanted everything to be perfect he could start with himself.
He whipped off his sunglasses, mouth disgusted as he gave me a once over. “What is your name, girl?”
“Tav,” I said.
“I doubt that.” He hooked the glasses into his illegal shirt and turned to Karlie. “Ms. Ackerman, does Tav have somewhere to be?”
She stumbled over her words, unable to make eye contact with him.
“I know you are short-staffed,” he cut in, “but I could make much better use of her as my personal caddy for the day.”
“That’s not the job that I applied for,” I said. I had no interest in following some dumbass who only got to his position in life because his daddy foot all his bills and covered up all his mistakes. It was bad enough that I was working here — I owed my friend Will a favor — but I refused to sequester myself to such agonizing mediocrity.
“All employees of the Fae Run Country Club are required to know how to perform any duty they may be called upon at the drop of a hat,” he said. “Clearly you’ve missed training in more than one area.”
I opened my mouth to shoot back a retort when I heard Karlie’s voice tremble.
“Mr. Hope, please.”
She could have poured the chest full of ice over me and it would have been less bone-chilling than those three words. My eyes dart over him, trying to place those features to the portraits of board members that hung in the hallway leading to the main office. Maybe the sunglasses and casual attire had fooled me, but the disappointed frown was unmistakable: I was standing before the Devil.
“Tell your boss to make the necessary shifts,” he said. “I will take care of our darling Tav, here.”
Karlie tucked tail and turned back to the clubhouse. The sun baked a degree hotter with each step of hers, pushing me further into the custody of the Devil of Fae Run. The urge to run after her pressed itself, but I held it back. I couldn’t get myself fired: I still owed Will for lying for me, getting the charges dropped, and scrubbing my record. I just needed to get through this summer free and clean.
“Don’t worry, I will take good care of you,” he said. The words reeked of lies, but I tailed after him anyway. His cologne whipped back with the breeze as I followed him to the golf cart. The sweetness and warmth sent a shiver through me. It must have come from abroad, the undernotes speaking of warm sands and late-night dinners, and probably costing twice my seasonal salary.
I hesitated as I slid into the fine leather seat next to him, not any further than I had to, and watched as he turned the key.
“You really think I am going to bite you?” he said. He pressed the pedal and the cart jerked forward.
I slid further into the seat as I saw the sharp grass zipping by the floorboard more quickly than I would like it to. His chuckle at this was quiet under the whine of the cart. It was going to take more than the threat of turfburn for me to take his treatment lying down. I couldn’t refuse his orders, but I didn’t have to like it.
“You were threatening to fire me and Karlie a few minutes ago.”
“Was I?” he asked. “You’re not very good at listening, Tav.” The corners of his lips pulled back in disgust. “What is your real name? Tav sounds like something you’d call a dog. Although, you would make a pretty picture fetching my golf clubs.” He paused at the thought.
“My friends call me Tav,” I said. Mr. Hope steered the golf cart back onto the path and I almost gripped his leg to steady myself as the cart wobbled back onto its steady charge forward. I tucked my hand quickly under my black golf skort, taking comfort in the weight of my thigh.
“I’m not your friend: I’m your employer.”
“If you want to know it so bad, why don’t you just look it up when we get back to the clubhouse?” I should have bit my tongue, but Mr. Hope was not going to be calling me by my government name if I had anything to say about it.
The cart coasted to a stop, the clubhouse within sight. “If you want me to call you like a dog then you can get out and run after the cart like one.” He nodded for me to step out. “Go on, Tav.”
My legs were still twitching from the hike out to the 8th hole and I was maybe enjoying the custom fans on the cart a little too much. But between that or telling him my full name, I stepped out, cringing as the sun baked my skin once more. It didn’t take long until he was pressing the cart forward. He drove it just fast enough that I was always on his heels, no matter how hard I ran.
As my sneakers thumped the white pavement I imagined they were stomping that stupid handsome face of his. It looked all-natural – there was a small scar on his forehead and plenty of wrinkles that cut from his amber eyes – but the soft curl to his hair and all-linen outfit told the world that he could afford plastic surgery if he wanted to. He could probably afford to buy the plastic surgeon too if the rumors were true.
Mr. Hope parked the golf cart with the herd of others after what felt like a day of running. I heaved heavy breaths in and out, hands on my knees as I considered a nap on the blinding concrete.
“I’m surprised that you made it, Tav. Such a good girl.” Mockery highlighted his voice, but the words caught me off guard. I turned them over in my mind, wondering what other sweet praises the Devil liked to stab with.
“It was a piece of cake,” I lied.
He turned and headed towards the clubhouse, tossing a come-here whistle over his shoulder. I scrunched my face up, swallowing the nasty names I was already starting to come up with for him. I’d share those later with Karlie and Will.
The clubhouse wrapped its welcoming chill around us. I didn’t even mind the goosebumps on my arms, rubbing them only once as I followed him back to the foyer. He pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text before stopping a server carrying a saran-wrapped tray full of chicken salad croissants to the meeting room.
“Have you seen Ms. Zora?” he asked.
“I’m right here.”
Ms. Zora’s white polo and black skort could have gotten her mistaken for club staff if it wasn’t for the glowing pearls that encircled her swan-like neck. She was the secretary for the board and seemed to have a habit, I noticed, of showing up when you least wanted her to.
Raphael waved off the server, not even watching as she scurried away, head down muttering a prayer of thankfulness. He gestured to the walls and ceilings of the foyer.
“Where are all the banners that we ordered?” he asked.
Ms. Zora rolled her eyes, huffing a sigh of exasperation. “Supply chain issues. Don’t worry: I got us a full refund and have contacted that little print shop down the road.” She laughed, “You should have seen how grateful they were that I wanted everything ASAP and at a discount too.”
“I do not care about a discount. I want this foyer decorated now,” he said.
“I’ll give them a call,” Ms. Zora smiled. Her cunning gaze soon fell on me, her smile dropping with it. “Is there a reason why you are here Ms. Baldur?”
“Oh, so she does have a name?” Raphael laughed. “Ms. Baldur is my caddy for the day. I do have to say, I have grown quite accustomed to calling her Tav, though. It has a certain peasant charm to it.”
My clean-cut nails bit into my palms as I balled my fists up. Just get through the day, that’s it. If he used my name any more times I might have to start going by my full name just to get the stink of him off of it.
“I need to go make that call,” Ms. Zora excused herself. He didn’t watch her leave, instead smirking and staring hungrily down at me as if I were the chicken salad sandwiches.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Ms. Baldur,” he said, rolling the r with a flourish. “Such a nice ring to it. Maybe I’ll call you that if you do a good enough job today. Please me and I’ll please you.”
“I-“ He knew he had turned my nickname into an annoyance. I expected him to sprout horns any minute now. “What makes you think that I want you to please me? Can’t I just do my job?”
He turned, heading back out to the golf course. A group of men had managed to gather in the few minutes we’d been inside, chattering and guzzling Bud Lights as if they were college frat boys born again in the heat of the summer.
“Raph!” one of them exclaimed. “What took you so long?”
“I was just making sure everything was ready and attending to a few stray animals.” He looked at me with that remark, before continuing, “Nothing exciting.” He popped his sunglasses back on as the cloud cover retreated. My eyes were drawn once more to the unbuttoned violation. I stared a bit too long as I found his eyes peeking out the peripheral of the shades, waiting for mine to see them. He gave a smile and I went off to his golf cart to sulk in my rosy cheeks.
They chatted and chatted until one of them finally clapped his hands together in anticipation. Beer can after empty beer can clunked into the trash can, and one by one the carts started.
“Out,” he said.
“What?” I said.
“Do you have cotton in your ears? Out. You want to be named like a dog, you’ll run like a dog.”
I got out, folding my arms as I watched him get in. “I thought we were done with all this.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are, but I’m not done with your lesson, Tav. If you keep up, I’ll drive you back after the 18th hole.” And with that, he backed the cart out and zipped off after the pack.
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Blinding Lights Chapter Six
Hey guys, welcome back! Chapter Six is finally done. Sorry about the impromptu break. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to continue yet. I had a small amount of writer’s block. This wasn’t what I pictured initially but I think it’ll work. I hope you guys like it! Send me any asks or questions you have! I try to respond to those when I can!
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Warnings: Fighting, Threats, Allusions to sexual assault, Kidnapping.
Word Count: 3,322
Masterlist
Previous Chapter, Next Chapter
It started as a normal day, the day that the peaceful bubble around us came crashing down. It had been weeks since I had come to live with the boys, weeks since they had rescued me from that hell hole. Days of working out with Jungkook and practicing self-defense, days of painting with Taehyung, cuddling with Jimin, talking about books and gardening with Namjoon, napping with Yoongi, shopping with Hoseok, making dinner with Jin and helping him relax after hectic days at work. They had even set me up with an online therapist, to deal with some of the trauma. Peaceful days that felt like a pretense to the terror now racing through me.
Breakfast started normal, everyone bickering and getting ready for the days ahead of them. Everyone had the day off, for the first time in a while, and we were planning on a nice day in, movies and take out. Low stress, high affection. It started when we all separated to get ready for the day. At first, I didn’t think much of the crash down stairs. Namjoon has tends to break things and he was the one helping Jin with the dishes. The shouting that followed, however, was not normal. Sure, Jin shouted at Namjoon sometimes, but not like this.
My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. I slip on my tennis shoes, creeping out onto the landing. Smoke fills the room, making everything hazy and hard to see. Someone shut the lights off, maybe the wires were cut, but my feline counterpart allows me good night vision. Sound surrounds me, almost too much to take in at once. This can’t be happening. Not now. I won’t let them hurt my mates. I have to do something. I won’t just sit in one place.
I sneak toward the stairs, my feet noiseless on the carpet. That’s another bright point about being part cat. I see two figures wrestling near the stairs, familiar tiger striped ears glinting at me in the fog. I move without thinking, throwing myself onto the back of the man fighting Taehyung. My arm goes around his neck in a chokehold, like Jungkook taught me. His fingers scrabble at my arms, trying to pry me free, but I refuse to relent. I hold until he stops moving, climbing off of is slumped form.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” My words are hushed and hurried as I crouch by Tae. His hands shake a little but she shakes his head.
“You need to hide. I overheard them talking. They’re after the Omegas. I was looking for Jimin and Jin when he found me,” Taehyung explains in a rush.
“I won’t hide, Tae. I’m going to help. I can’t just sit back anymore,” I say firmly,” You search up here, I’ll search downstairs. If you find Yoongi or Namjoon, let them know. Jungkook or Hoseok would do too.”
He looks like he wants to argue but his shoulders slump a little at the determination in my eyes. He takes my hand and squeezes it, then he’s gone, swallowed by the smoke. I start down the stairs but the sound of someone coming up from downstairs causes me to pause. The stepped on the squeaky stair. Anyone who lives in the house knows to avoid it. I jump over the side railing, landing noiselessly on the floor below. I hide in the shadow of the stairs, listening to the sounds around me. It sounds like there are more people upstairs than down, many feet hurrying around. A familiar chirp, though it sounds panicked, draws my attention. Jin.
I scramble toward the sound, ending up near the sliding glass doors to the patio. An all too familiar man has Jin in his grasp, a growling Namjoon in front of him, his metaphorical hackles raised. The man is the last picture Namjoon had showed me, the man who forcibly marked me.
“I would keep still, if I were you,” The man growls, the hand he has on Jin’s throat tightening imperceptibly,” Wouldn’t want your little Omega to get hurt, would we?”
I can see that it is taking everything in Namjoon to hold back, his Alpha filled with anger at someone else threatening his Omega. I move silently, slinking behind the grand piano. I’m glad it’s closed currently, and silently apologize to Yoongi for what I’m about to do. I grab a heavy glass vase from a nearby cabinet, jumping onto the piano to use it as a landing deck. I dash across its’ surface, jumping and slamming the vase into the back of the man’s head. He crumples, nearly taking Jin down with him. I land in a crouch, watching him for any signs of movement.
“Lets get you somewhere safe, baby, okay?” Namjoon quietly murmurs to Jin. He holds Jin’s shaking form to him tightly,” Are you okay?”
“I’m o-okay,” Jin croaks through his obviously sore throat. Namjoon turns his attention to me.
“The green house should be safe, right? Or the pool house? Taehyung says they’re after the Omegas. That he overheard them talking. I have to find Jimin,” I speak in a flurry, trying to avoid Namjoon’s eyes. I can feel his discontent with that answer.
“If they’re after the Omegas then you need to go and hide with Jin. I will look for Jimin,” Namjoon gives me a pointed look but I shake my head.
“I can’t. You know I can’t. I can’t stand back anymore. I’m going to help,” I finally stand, my hands going to my hips to make a point.
“You can help by keeping Jin safe,” His words are meant to be a compromise but I won’t compromise on this. I shake my head again.
“I won’t let them hurt Jimin. If they do, it’ll be all my fault. I won’t hold back,” Before Namjoon can argue back again, I’m gone. I take off toward the front of the house, looking for my pink haired mate.
Realistically, I know that Jimin can take care of himself, probably better than I can, but I also know that he’s much softer than the rest of the boys. A soft Omega who becomes pliant with praise and cuddles, who can’t hold himself up when he laughs. Who has to cling to people when he’s scared, and likes to have his ears scratched while we watch movies. He’s my softest mate and I won’t let anything happen to him.
For a while, I don’t see anyone. It feels like it’s just me and the dark fog around me. Then, I see a flash of pink from the corner of eye. I follow it, it’s trajectory taking it out of the front door and onto the front lawn. It’s easier to see here, alleviating some of the burning in my eyes. A man is carrying Jimin, who seems to be tied up. He struggles, his whole body shaking with the effort. For a moment, I see red, a bruise already forming on Jimin’s cheek. He drops Jimin on the ground carelessly, like a sack of potatoes. I can see the grunt and wince Jimin gives, even if his mouth is muffled.
Once again, my body moves before I can think. The man hasn’t noticed me, turning to face the front of the house. I hadn’t even noticed that I had moved away from the front door, hiding by the bushes near the front of the house. I move softly, quietly, creeping behind the man and to Jimin. Jimin looks up at me in panic. I pat Jimin’s pocket, finding the pocket knife he keeps for emergencies. The ropes are tough but I manage to get the ones off his wrists. I’m just working on his ankles when a voice causes me to freeze.
“Well, well, well,” The voice is all too familiar and I can feel my anxiety growing. The man that stands before me is my old owner,” I should have known that one cat would lead me to another. My little kitten.”
My mouth tastes like blood. I can feel my chest freezing with anxiety. A hand closes around my own hand and I almost panic, but it’s Jimin. He helps me saw through the last of the rope, pulling me to my feet and backing toward the house. His body covers mine, blocking me from view. Master tuts, his expression sour. He would never allow me to call him anything else.
“Stay away from us,” Jimin growls, his arms caging me in. I press to his back, my whole body shaking. I need to move, to do something. He’s too close to Jimin. I can’t let him hurt Jimin.
“Little cat, you seem determined to stand between what’s mine. Maybe I should take him with us, hmmm, Little Kitten?” He practically purrs, his eyes meeting mine,” I bet you would do even more things for me if I brought you a playmate, huh? And he’s just so pretty.”
He reaches his hand forward, as if to touch Jimin’s cheek, but I smack his hand away. His expression is shocked, and honestly, mine probably is too. My expression is quickly replaced with a glare. He won’t touch what’s mine, won’t hurt what’s mine. Hurting Jimin would hurt everyone else and I can’t let that happen.
“Don’t touch him,” I growl, my words bordering on a hiss.
“Awe, no faith in me? You know I’m always kind to what’s mine, Little Kitten,” Master’s lip curls, his eyes dark.
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl,” That name doesn’t belong to you. And you’re not going to touch him. I won’t let you hurt him.”
Jimin seems surprised by what’s happening, which makes it easier to change our positions, my body now in front, shielding him. He struggles a little, though belatedly, but he doesn’t seem to want to distract me. I can feel my nails lengthening, like claws, my own rage possessing me. Knowing everything that he’s done to me, the idea of him wanting to do that to Jimin, to put Jimin through the same things I went through? That won’t happen. I’ll tear his throat out.
“Little Kitten, you seem to forget who you belong to. Whose brand you wear on your shoulder,” A clicking sound as my blood running cold, and then there’s a gun pointed at my forehead. Jimin stiffens behind me,” Do I need to kill him? To remind you? I’d rather not wound something so pretty. Maybe I should hurt one of the other ones? The Tiger or the Bunny? I could probably make money from the Panther and the Wolf.”
“Please. Please don’t hurt them. Please. If I go with you, will you leave them alone? Please?” I’m pleading, almost begging,” I’ll be a good girl. I won’t try to run.”
“Hmmm,” He taps his chin in contemplation. I can feel Jimin shaking at my back, his fingers curled into the material of my t-shirt,” Sure, I can take you back, Little Kitten. But, I will be taking the Calico too. Male Calicos are so rare. He’d be a good commodity to add to my collection.”
“No, please, please no. Leave him alone,” I feel like screaming, like tearing him limb from limb. His hand closes around my arm, yanking me forward and out of Jimin’s finger tips. I can hear a grunt and the sound of fighting behind me,” Jimin!”
“Let her go,” The voice is dark and almost unrecognizable. I look up, expecting to see someone like Yoongi or Namjoon, but the dark voice belongs to Jungkook. There’s a gun in the Bunny hybrid’s hand, his eyes dark and stormy. Master moves me, my body now a shield for him as his own gun rests against my temple. I can see Jimin from my angle, struggling with the same man from earlier.
“Kookie, please, you have to help Jimin,” Jungkook’s eyes meet me with a surprised look,” I’ll be okay, but you have to help Jimin, please.”
“I won’t let him take you,” Jungkook almost snarls, his knuckles white on the gun.
“I can’t let him hurt Jimin, please,” I can feel tears filling my eyes. Jungkook falters, but a pained sound behind him kicks him into gear. He lowers his gun and run at the man holding Jimin, practically throwing him off. We shuffle backward awkwardly, heading down the driveway toward the estate gates. Once we’re further away, my nails dig into his arm, causing him to flinch.
I sink my teeth into his arm, blood filling my mouth. My hand goes up to twist the gun away from my head, the heel of my foot slamming into his foot. I pull away from him, leveling the gun at him. He freezes. He’s never been much of a physical fighter, relying more on his gun. He doesn’t need to know that I don’t know how to shoot.
“Leave,” I snarl, a fierce glare on my face. He seems shocked, surprised by the look on my face.
“This is the only opportunity you’re going to get, Kitten. I will not be so nice next time,” He backs toward the van I can see just inside the gates.
“If you come here again, I will kill you,” I pull the trigger, the bullet hitting the dirt near him. Then he’s running, climbing into the van and the tires squealing as it drives away. Before it’s out of site, I see a pair of terrified eyes in the back window. A choked sound leaves me. Taehyung. They have Taehyung.
I drop the gun, my feet scrambling in the gravel to run after the van. I’m so stupid. I didn’t think that they would have someone in the van already, that I didn’t stop them. Arms close around me from behind, stopping me before I leave the gates. I scream, fighting against the body holding mine.
“We’ll get them. We’ll bring him home,” Jungkook’s voice is tired and sad in my ear. I slump into him, my whole body shaking with my sobs.
I don’t remember him carrying me back into the house and setting me on the couch. I just remember Jimin’s collapsed form on the floor, his whole body shaking. His best friend, his soulmate, taken. The two have always been close, the separation hitting him harder than anyone else. I don’t know when the interrogation started, when they started to question the ones who were left behind, including the man who forcibly marked me. A numbness has settled in. After a while, I blink, a dark shadow coming across me. I get up and walk to Jungkook, who sits outside of the theater room.
“I want to talk to him,” My voice is void of emotion. Jungkook looks down at me in shock.
“I don’t think-“ He starts but I quickly cut him off.
“I want to talk to him,” I repeat, my voice louder. His eyes meet mine for a moment, before he nods, moving out from in front of the door. I pause before I open it, listening in.
“You should have heard the way she cried after I bit her. The way she begged to die, and screamed,” The man inside boasts, obviously trying to get a rise out of the men inside. I can hear the growls from here. It’s obviously working.
I push the door open, silencing the men inside. I slam the door behind me, marching forward. Yoongi’s hand closes around my shoulder, stopping me. I shake him off, not acknowledging it.
“Baby, you shouldn’t be in here,” Namjoon is the first to speak, seeming to get over his shock first.
“Where is he?” My voice is dark and I can feel a snarl building in my chest,” Where did they take him.”
“Listen, if the panther doesn’t work, you think some pint sized cat will?” The man seems annoyed, even offended. I shove passed Yoongi, getting close to the man’s face.
“The only reason you’re still alive is because of me,” I grab a knife from a nearby table, slamming it into the arm of the chair near his fingers. I can see him flinch, though I miss his fingers and just slam it into the wood,” You think they’re the ones you have to worry about? If you don’t tell me where they took him, it’s me you need to deal with. Me that will hurt you. Me that will end your life.”
It feels weird, giving in to the anger. I’ve never been this angry in my life, yet so in control. I want to kill him, to put an end to his life, but we need him. I can hear Namjoon and Yoongi murmuring behind me, but I can’t focus on their words. My blood rushes in my ears, my hands shaking in rage. This is my fault and I will fix it.
“I’m not scared of you,” He sounds more confident than he’s acting.
“You should be,” My voice is a dark whisper. I lift the knife, tapping it against his chin. His lip quivers a little.
“Look, I don’t know which one they went to,” He starts but I quickly cut him off, the knife leveling with his nose. He swallows.
“Where are his hide outs? Why don’t you start there?” I can see him giving up, the fear becoming evident in his eyes.
“Fuck, fine, I’ll tell you. Just get this crazy bitch away from me,” He finally relents and I back up, dropping the knife on a nearby table. Yoongi hustles me out of the room as Namjoon writes down what the man says. Yoongi takes me to my room, making me sit on the bed and glaring at me.
“What the fuck was that?” His voice borders on a growl.
“He had information, I got it for you,” I shrug, not meeting his eyes. I can feel my anger deflating under his gaze.
“I know you’re worried about Tae. I am too. But you can’t act reckless. Reckless is stupid and it gets you hurt,” His gaze is intense.
“It’s my fault!” I feel like I’m finally exploding, everything bursting out of me,” They should have taken me! I’m the one they wanted! They tried to take Jimin! They did take Taehyung! I didn’t know they had him! I couldn’t do anything!”
“Kitten… It’s not your fault,” His words are soft as his arms wrap around me. My whole body shakes, but I try to push him away. He won’t let me,” You saved Jin. You saved Taehyung once, you saved Jimin twice. You did everything you could.”
“It’s not enough. They’re gonna hurt him. Oh god, what if-“ I choke, realizing all the things that they could do to him, all the things they did to me.
“Hey, hey, hey. Thinking about it will drive you crazy. We need to think about how we can get him back,” His lips whisper across my forehead,” Jimin needs you right now. I don’t think any of the rest of us can break him out of this break down right now.”
Once I’ve calmed down some, Yoongi brings me downstairs to Jimin. I crouch in front of him, running my fingers through his hair. He should blame me, should be mad at me, but he flings himself in my arms, sobs wracking his body. His sobs eventually turn into whimpers, his tears wetting the skin of my shoulder. I nuzzle his cheek, pressing little kisses to his face.
“Will he be okay?” Jimin’s voice I small, his eyes red and swollen.
“He will be,” It feels like a lie but Jimin doesn’t need the truth right now.
“We have a lead,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind me, causing me to jump. I hadn’t seen him since breakfast this morning,” I know where they are.”
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
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wedreamedlove · 1 year
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Deadly Sin of Pride - Osborn Character Study
My favourite concept for personalities is this: "Your curses are your blessings, and your blessings are your curses". It can be understood as there being no such thing as a character flaw, just a strength that has been stretched too far.
How this applies to Osborn is that one of his most magnetic traits—his unbending spine and confidence—is also his curse. In another perspective, this trait can be seen as being bullheaded and his refusal to admit that he could be wrong has pushed him to the brink of death many times and made him treat the other half of his soul (his "goodness") with contempt.
[CHAPTER 17-7]
Osborn: When we first met, [the other Osborn] said something to me. Osborn: He said that I was actually self-abased and cowardly. That regardless of whatever it was that failed, I would always find the reason on myself. Osborn: That I thought it was because of him I ended up in those circumstances. Osborn: Maybe, back then, I only had self-respect left and so I was determined not to lose anything more. Osborn: I thought that if I got rid of him I would have absolute control over the external world and things would get better. Osborn: In the end, I spent an even longer time to make peace with this half of the soul in my body. As if he made a decision, Osborn withdrew his gaze and placed it on Zhou Weicheng. Osborn: He's right, the things I can truly control are very few. Osborn: For so many years, I've never faced him squarely. In fact, it's just me refusing to admit that I made a mistake. Osborn: It was my choice to abandon him back then and I don't regret it, but I have to bear that responsibility now.
Unexpectedly, Osborn's attitude was hinted at in [SSR The 400 Blows TRAJECTORY - 14 Years Ago Early Spring].
I'm incomparably looking forward to the moment I kill myself. At least that proves that, at the very end, before the world abandons me, I severed my relationship with it first.
I had thought this came out of spite or anger, but turns out it was pride all along. There is a myriad of ways abandonment trauma can manifest on someone and for Osborn it looks as if he internalized everything—in [SSR Blazing Love Song], he admits that he thought his mother left him because he wasn't good enough—and also developed a desire to control what he could and the one thing you will always have absolute control over is yourself.
[CHAPTER 17-11]
Osborn: First, imagine your life after going abroad and then imagine your life if you stay in the country. Osborn: Have you noticed that, even if two options are similar, people's hearts will definitely have a leaning? Osborn: Being unable to choose is just because you're distracted by "what ifs, maybes, and worst case scenarios". Osborn: Ask yourself what it is that you want most, and then trust your own judgment. Osborn: Making a choice isn't difficult, what's difficult is believing that you chose right. MC: But how can I be sure the path I choose is the most suitable one for me? Osborn: Do you have to be sure? Can't you make a choice first, and then properly walk the path you choose? Osborn: Besides, what counts as most suitable? MC: It's... the path that's most helpful to my life. Osborn: How old are you? You can wait until you're eighty to think about these things and it won't be too late. Osborn: Moreover, do you think you can walk on this path until you're old? Osborn: Are you certain there won't be any new forks in the path, or that it's actually very short and you can finish walking it in a year? Osborn: And then when you walk to the end you find that there's no more path and it's turned into a sea. At that time, won't you need to learn how to cross the sea? I followed his words, nodding from time to time. Osborn: Anything can happen, you can't predict them all and you can't control them all. Osborn: But they haven't happened yet, so why worry about things that haven't happened? But— MC: What if I walk a few steps and discover that it's completely different from what I imagined and regret it? Osborn: Then go back and start all over again. Or grit your teeth and keep going. MC: I already regret it but I still have to walk on, isn't that making my own misery? Osborn shook his head and his expression seemed to say that it wasn't so absolute. MC: Have you run into this sort of thing? Osborn: I used to be afraid of water. One time, I jumped into a river and my foot was cut by a discarded drainpipe, leaving a scar. Osborn: So later, Ye Chuan advised me to change my major. MC: But you didn't change it? Osborn: Mhm. MC: Why not? You didn't need this major, right? Osborn: Because I refused to accept this. I wanted to prove that my choice wasn't wrong, and I wanted to prove more that even if I was wrong I could make it right. Osborn: Who says that if there's a right path, there must be a wrong path? Why can't everything you choose be right? Anything chosen was right...? Osborn: Once a decision is made, don't regret it. Living is the best trump card, keep looking forward.
First, a moment of appreciation for Osborn's "Chicken Soup for the Soul" because his outlook on life is so motivational. He's personally experienced every advice he gives to people and that's what makes it convincing and powerful. Second, you can see his stubbornness here again where he forcibly overcomes his trauma over water.
Now, the picture of Osborn drawn for us after all this is a free-spirited man who barely has attachments to this world because he only has control over himself. He will offer a helping hand to people who need it, but he knows that everyone has their own lives to walk. The world doesn't care for whether or not he gets disappointed and stops on a path, and so he chooses to never regret the paths he chooses and makes them right in his eyes. This actually reminds me of a Buddhism concept where you can and should choose not to suffer. Life can be painful and you can be unhappy, but it is your choice as to whether or not you are "suffering" in that moment.
So, what happens when this man with a titanium sense of self, independence, and pride falls in love?
[CHAPTER 17-11]
Ke Yang: But why did he suddenly bring you here? If he said a word, I could have made something for you to eat. Gu: Look at us, are we normal? Reliable? If I had friends, I wouldn't bring them here either. MC: Are you guys saying Osborn didn't want to bring me here? Ke Yang: You didn't know? Ke Yang: Little sister, don't blame him. He's afraid you'll have a bad impression of him after seeing us, that's normal. There was no embarrassment on his face, on the contrary, he seemed to be used to this situation and he could even use it to jeer at himself. I didn't know what to say and just shook my head. MC: He wouldn't think this, he's not that kind of person. Zhou Zhou: Look at my big sister and her generosity. Zhou Zhou: But, sis, don't be surprised. You see, once my big bro meets someone he cares about, he won't like anything about himself. Zhou Zhou: He won't show it on the surface, and instead he'll be super prideful but, in fact, he treats feelings very seriously in his heart, even making it more important than himself.
Falling in love is like giving someone direct access to your self-respect with a blade and trusting them not to bring it down, to say nothing of what it might mean to someone like Osborn who only got this far because of his unbending spine and pride. His abandonment trauma makes him this oxymoron of being both confident but also inferior when it comes to the person he loves because it would be too heavy a blow if someone abandoned him again, and so he becomes so so so careful in a relationship.
[CHAPTER 17-11]
I gave an eloquent and long speech and thought that Osborn would support me and be happy for me, but his brows actually furrowed. MC: What's wrong? Don't tell me you think I shouldn't give up on going abroad? He nodded with great seriousness. MC: Why? His silence made me understand immediately. MC: Do you think it's because of you? But you're only one of the reasons. Osborn: I shouldn't be in your reasons. Did this mean that I didn't need to consider him at all when I made any decision? Osborn: You also said this opportunity is rare, what if you regret it later? MC: Just now, didn't you say not to be distracted by "what ifs"? How come, when it comes to me, you're distracted? Osborn opened and closed his mouth as if he didn't expect me to use his own words to refute him and now he didn't know what to say for a moment. But he still had that expression, one that disapproved of my decision. I could feel that he didn't want himself to influence my future at all. This knowledge made me feel the joy of being cherished, but it also made me especially sad. MC: At the time, didn’t you also stay to study at the local university for Uncle Ye? Osborn: We’re different. MC: How are we different? Osborn: If I was Ye Chuan, I wouldn’t wish for you to stay for me at all. Osborn: I want you to be selfish, and think about yourself for anything. He said this resolutely and there was a ball of flames that burned in his eyes as he looked at me. I grabbed his hand and pressed my question, unreconciled. MC: Then why can’t you be a bit more selfish? Weren’t you happy when you heard it? Osborn: Yes. I was very happy. Osborn: But if you delay yourself because of this, then regardless of whether or not you regret it, I’ll regret it. Osborn: So, my happiness isn’t important at all. My hand was held to the point of pain. He was trembling. He also didn’t want to let me go. I could feel it; this clear and obvious feeling that filled my chest. However, in the next second, he let go. Osborn: Think about it carefully again.
It's revealed in the next scene that, even if the heroine decided to go abroad, Osborn would have moved to that country to be with her because there are R1 races in that country too and he trained abroad when he was 17 years old.
Look, Osborn may be a dog-type boyfriend but I will die on the hill that his core nature is a cat. He's fiercely independent and proud, but he'll reveal his soft belly only to you. Because he himself craves the freedom to live however he wants, he gives others this same respect (it's why he can pick up and put down relationships in his life, such as his friends and his mother); but the moment he decides on someone romantically then they are infinitely more important than anything in the world, including himself.
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Dressing For Revenge
I don't start shit but I can tell you how it ends. Don't get sad-get even.
Summary: When the end of the war with Hybern finds Lucien unexpectedly crowned High Lord, he realizes everyone he's ever cared about has been lying to him.
The new High Lord of Day Court vows revenge.
Elain Archeron is determined to see him get it
Evil Elucien AU
Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | AO3
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Elain paced the patio until she’d worn the lapis lazuli tiles to near dust. Just behind her, Lucien clicked his teeth with exasperation. 
“Just read the godsdamned letter, Elain,” Lucien ordered, his patience running thin. She didn’t turn to look at him, unappreciative of his tone. She knew what she’d find, besides. Lucien without a shirt, lounging in that white cloth draped around his hips with nothing beneath. She was so dangerously close to seeing his cock before they were married, which she was trying to avoid. Despite all his innuendo, Lucien had done nothing outside of kissing her in that pool of blood.
And making her sit in his lap each morning. His little trophy of war, though he’d never said it. He didn’t need to say so—Elain understood why he kept her spread out the way he did. Let everyone see how virile, how masculine and dominant he was. She was merely a pawn. Lady of Day, sure, but a pawn, too. Her beauty was a decoration he could put on display whenever he liked. 
Elain peeled the black wax seal from the letter with a long nail. She ignored the silver dusted mountain insignia, well aware this came from Feyre. Azriel would have returned, shadowless and injured, with the news she was being held by Lucien.
Willing. She could almost taste how Azriel would whisper that word. Elain swallowed the rising amusement that felt too cruel to acknowledge even to herself. The horror Feyre would have felt, the shock and surprise on the High Lord’s face. 
Elain? 
Surely not. 
Surely. 
Elain didn’t want to know what her sisters made of it. Turning, she let her eyes rake over the broad, muscular chest attached to Lucien’s beautiful, smug face. He held out one of his large hands and she gave him the letter.
“Cowardly,” he taunted her, unfolding the letter with open amusement. He cleared his throat, and then with a voice pitched comically high, began to read the letter.
“Elain,
I cannot begin to the describe the horror of the last few days. From learning you were gone to finding out you helped trap Azriel in the Day Palace, I am just beside myself with hurt and anger. Neither of you had any right to attack a member of our court, let alone what you’ve actually done to him.
And to flaunt it so brazenly with your sham wedding, well…I thought you were better than that. I would like an audience with your High Lord. After everything I’ve done for him, he owes me. I didn’t write him directly given how he refuses to be mature about our disagreements, but he has officially taken matters too far.
I expect a response before the end of the week. Given I doubt the sincerity of your wedding, it shouldn’t be much trouble.
Feyre.”
Lucien chortled as Elain ripped the paper from his hand, unable to believe the tone of Ferye’s letter. 
“There is no way,” Elain breathed, scanning the words.
“I’m impressed it wasn’t written in crayon,” Lucien replied. “I wonder if Rhys taught her some new words for this. Brazen seems a little advanced for Feyre.”
Elain ignored Lucien’s digs, outraged by Feyre’s demands. “She thinks we should drop everything and what? Apologize? He had no right to be here—”
“Ah, but that's where you’re wrong,” Lucien murmured, rising from his chair. “Rhysand believes his presence in the other six territories should go unquestioned. Our treaty is very clear on what happens to traitors and spies. I wouldn’t expect Feyre to know, of course, given I doubt she can do simple multiplication. She ought to be grateful Azriel returned with his head.”
“I wish you would have taken his wings,” she said. Lucien’s calloused hands skimmed over the sides of her arms.
“In time, Elain,” he offered, sliding his nose through her hair. Elain pushed away, frustrated Lucien had chosen that moment to make his arousal known. She was right across the hall from him—all he had to do was walk ten paces and he could have her. 
“I’m not meeting with her.”
“She has no right to demand it of you,” Lucien agreed with a  shrug of his broad, naked shoulders. “Would you like me to correct her grammar and send the letter back?”
Elain paused, eyes lighting on his face. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Lucien laughed. “Just because Rhys wanted an illiterate wife to rule his territory doesn’t mean I have to respect his decision. I like to think she’s learning something—every time she sends a new letter, her penmanship is a little better, at least.”
It was so deliciously cruel. Elain knew it should abhor her to know how petty Lucien could be. Perhaps there was no length Rhys could stoop to that Lucien wouldn’t meet. Elain took a step towards him, pressing her hand to his chest. 
“That’s so cruel, Lucien,” she murmured. He reached for that hand, bringing her palm to his mouth. 
“I can smell your arousal, Elain.”
He pulled her closer, until her body was flush against his own. Eyes made of flesh and metal searched her face, waiting to see what she’d do. Would she rebuff him? Rebuke the male he was and retreat? Elain didn’t think Lucien would let her go even if she asked.
Not that she would. The threat between them hummed with approval, pulled taut from their shared need. 
“They made me apologize to Feyre for those years when we were mortal,” Elain whispered, thinking of that first meal with Rhysand. Afterwards, Nesta had quietly cried in the room just beside Elain’s. Humiliated by creatures far older than them, that seemed to enjoy watching them squirm and suffer. Cassian had never given Nesta a moment’s reprieve. He’d decided he’d have her—but not as she was.
As he wanted her. 
“How did that make you feel, Elain?” he asked, cupping her face. Lucien forced her to meet his gaze, his thumb rubbing over her lips.
“Feyre hunted. No one asked her to do that…and no one asked how all that meat was cooked. Who cleaned her clothes, her sheets, their cabin. Who chopped wood, Lucien? Who sewed the patches in the clothes she wore? Who made soap, or fetched the water for bathing? She’s invented this reality where the only thing that mattered was the carcasses she dumped on the table, that what she provided was the only worthy contribution, and Nesta and I need to apologize that she was forced to do it at all.”
Elain’s chest heaved, not from desire, but her long pent-up anger. “She didn’t even notice us. Feyre never cared that Nesta sewed up her clothes every time there was a tear—without being asked, without demanding praise. She never commented on how we always had soap and where or how we got those supplies. Just complained how we spent her money. Poor, long-suffering Feyre. She made herself a martyr without ever consulting the rest of us, and then demanded we atone for it.”
Lucien stroked her cheek. “That’s certainly not the story I was told.”
“Of course it wasn’t!” Elain shrieked, furious with Feyre and her manipulative family history. “Because she didn’t value anything we did. It was all just a given! Like Nesta and I were supposed to be her mother, were supposed to read her mind! We fell into poverty at eleven, tell me why Feyre never learned to read! We had a governess from the time we were toddling about, but Feyre couldn’t be bothered. She was somehow both above us—better than us—-while also victimized by us. It’s unfair that only her pain counts. Nesta and I suffered, too. I always thought, before Rhysand came, that we were in that cabin together. That we didn’t have much, but we had each other.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Lucien reassured her softly. “He poisoned her mind long before she came to see you again.”
“I think she was always like this,” Elain whispered, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I want Nesta back. She was mine first.”
“We could try,” he offered, kissing the top of her head. “But if she accepted her bond…”
Elain’s own unaccepted bond threatened to drive her mad some days. She couldn’t leave him and she knew it. Call it a cruel trick of fate, but Elain wanted Lucien beyond reason. She could excuse anything he might do—had already enjoyed what she’d seen thus far. 
Nesta, too, would be lost under that same spell. Cassian would never betray Rhys, and Nesta would never betray Cassian. It was unfair. Nesta had been her sister first. It was Feyre who was the interloper, the intruder—even their mother had noticed.
“We have to focus on us—our court,” Lucien finished, peeling her off his body. “Which means letting your sisters go. Can you do that, Elain?”
She didn’t know. Still, Elain nodded yes all the same, if only so he wouldn’t threaten to send her back. 
“Good girl,” he praised, kissing her cheek. “Do you want me to respond to Feyre on your behalf?”
It was cowardly to agree to that, and yet Elain nodded again. What would she even say? When Feyre could ignore every wrongdoing or worse, twist it until she believed she was in the right? How did Elain begin to argue that? Azriel would have his shadows had he not intruded in their palace. Surely Rhysand must have known. 
Lucien, seemingly reading her mind, caught her by the wrist before she could scamper off. “If we had truly done something wrong, we would have the might of the Illyrian Army bearing down on our doorstep. Feyre is merely playing on what she perceives to be your weakness.”
“Which is what, exactly?” 
“Your goodness,” Lucien breathed, lowering his mouth. “Which she assumes is all there is to you.”
“She doesn’t know anything about me,” Elain replied, wishing he’d kiss her. It was hardly the right moment for it, and still she wanted to taste him, if only a little. 
“Nobody does,” Lucien agreed. She wasn’t given a chance to tell him he didn’t, either. His mouth slanted over her own, effectively silencing what would have been an argument between them.
Lucien assumed he knew everything because they were mates. That his wants were her wants. His feelings were her feelings.He wasn’t wrong, at least at that moment. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted that, too. Elain slid her hands up the broad, muscular planes of his chest, tangling her fingers in his long, auburn hair. Lucien moaned softly, gripping her tight against him. It was Lucien who deepened the kiss—his tongue slid over the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Elain opened for him, losing herself to the onslaught of sensation. His lips were soft, but firm. When his tongue stroked over her own, she swore she could feel it between her legs. 
She didn’t mean to bite his bottom lip. Standing on her tiptoes so she could reach him made the kiss a balancing act, and when the sole of her sandal slipped, her teeth sliced into his bottom lips.
Lucien growled as blood flooded the kiss, gripping her hair tightly. He liked it, she realized. Like that tinge of violence. 
“Go,” he panted, grinding his cock into her hip all the same. “Before I fuck you here and now.”
“Lucien—”
“Go,” he ordered, magic lacing his words. She had to obey, had to pull herself off him when all she wanted was to please him. Heat flooded between her legs, her arousal so potent she could scent it, too. 
She did as she was told, ignoring the urge to tell him that maybe she wanted that. No one spoke to her that way, and hearing Lucien so dismissively objectify her was almost thrilling. Offensive.
But thrilling, all the same. She was a real person to him and not some fragile object best housed behind glass for display. Beautiful to look at, but never to touch. 
Elain had the sense he would not be gentle. That he would bruise her skin, would leave imprints of his teeth, would fill her mouth with blood and stain the sheets of her bed so irrevocably the only thing to do in the aftermath would be to burn them.
Elain wanted Lucien to so thoroughly debauch and defile her that the very thought of letting her walk back into the prudish Night Court made everyone sick to their stomach. That when they averted their eyes, cast down to the floor, it was not because they found her too lovely, but too terrifying. 
Their separation was odious. Elain could barely stand it and when it came time to meet him in the throne room, she all but tripped over the hem of her white dress, pulling the deep slit between her breasts wide open for everyone to see. The gown itself was merely one carefully folded piece of cloth, tied together with a rather lovely gold belt. Easy to remove if Lucien wanted to.
He reclined on his throne, legs spread suggestively. Head resting against his hand, the other beckoning lazily as he ignored the salty musk of arousal in the air.
These little parties always devolved into raucous orgies she was not allowed to participate in. Only watch from the safety of his lap while his rigid cock nestled against the small of her back.
Tonight would be different.
“What are you thinking, pretty wife?” Lucien asked when she reached him. He slid his hand over her waist, fingers brushing the bottom of her breasts. “You look like you’re plotting.”
“I’m not your wife,” Elain replied primly. She regretted the upcoming, drawn-out affair. Elain could see the wisdom in Feyre and Nesta’s quick ceremonies, even if she appreciated Lucien giving her something she’d always coveted as a human.
An actual, honest-to-goodness wedding. 
“You are my wife,” Lucien replied, lips against her neck. One of his fingers idled over her knee, teasing towards her thigh. “You have been since you fell out of that cursed Cauldron.”
“I always knew you were crazy,” she replied, reclining against the solid musculature of his chest. A laugh rumbled through him. 
“And yet here you are. In my lap. Reeking of arousal.”
“Untouched, still,” Elain dared to remind him. A growl slipped from Lucien’s throat, his fingers slipping beneath one of the pleats of her dress to rub against her bare skin. 
“Are you asking me to touch you?” he asked. She’d forgotten his court was still in the early throes of partying—everyone was still dressed, still touching politely.
Or, as politely as anyone ever was in Day Court. 
Elain slid her hand behind her, running it over his bare thigh. Her fingers met the cloth draped around his waist, and instead of pushing it to the side, she merely gripped him over the fabric. With one teasing stroke, Elain offered up a bored gaze to the courtiers beneath the dais she was perched on.
And shrugged. 
She had no road map for teasing a man—and certainly not a male. What she knew came from the near-pornographic books she’d found in the library and what she’d seen in Rhysand’s Court of Nightmares. Elain was hoping unchecked confidence would take her most of the way, and Lucien would pick up the rest. She stroked again, the angle awkward. Lucien shifted, spreading his legs further until she was practically straddling one of his nearly naked thighs. She knew he could feel she was wearing nothing beneath the dress, and when he rubbed, her own wet arousal stamped over his skin. 
His teeth tugged against her ear. “You’re making a mess of me, Elain.”
Could he tell how nervous she was? Whatever remained of her humanity was mortified, was screaming with shame—close your fucking legs. Elain could have snapped her knees together and sat primly, could have pretended she’d never touched the thick length of him—that she didn’t know how big he was. 
Elain arched her neck, looking upwards at the vaulted gold of the ceiling. Lucien’s fingers passed higher and higher over her thigh, stroking her just as absently as she was touching him. Elain knew he was hardly unaffected. His heart pounded violently against his chest, drowning out the sensual music playing around them. 
No one looked directly at their High Lord, and yet Elain was certain everyone was watching. Egging them on. While they writhed and touched and tasted, Lucien had remained utterly unmoved. Elain wondered how often he’d descended into the fray before she arrived, losing himself to the pleasure of his court. And, perhaps just as wicked, she wondered what it would be like to climb out of his lap and pick her favorites. To invite them into her bed, to see what the other immortals had experienced without an ounce of guilt. 
“What happens when I become your wife?” Elain asked, thinking of how possessive her own sister's mates were. 
His finger dragged up the soaking-wet center of her without warning. Elain twisted, squeezing the base of his cock without thinking. Lucien inhaled not from pain, but obvious pleasure.
“I’ll start calling you Elain Spell-Cleaver,” he replied rather flippantly, rubbing over her cunt with idle, soft touches. Her thighs fell open of their own accord, stripping her of the last vestiges of her whatever modesty she clung to. Elain’s gaze turned to the corner of the open room, where two females were currently kissing against a large, carved pillar. They wanted to be watched.
So did she. 
“Will you lock me away?” she asked him, releasing her awkward hold on his cock so she could readjust herself into his hand. Head lolling over his shoulder, Elain could look up at him from this angle. Could incline her head and drag her tongue over the hollow of his throat. 
“Lock you away…breed you mercilessly until I double Beron’s record…parade you about only when it suits me…” Each statement was more absurd than the last. Elain bit against his collarbone hard enough to leave an imprint of her teeth and Lucien groaned. 
“I do intend to breed you, but as for the rest…” His fingers threaded through her hair, jerking hard enough that her throat was exposed to his lips. “You’re my wife, not my pet and if you want to play at court, all you have to do is ask.”
Lucien teased at her entrance, circling the sensitive skin without ever penetrating. He knew what she wanted instinctively and Elain wondered if it was because mates were evenly matched. He knew what she wanted because he wanted it, too. She arched upwards, trying so hard to get him to plunge into her, to fuck her with his hands.
Lucien slid up to her clit, back to teasing the nub with the soft, slick pads of his fingers. 
“If I fuck you, I’ll be too tempted to put food in your hands,” he whispered, teeth scraping over her skin. “But cauldron boil me, you’re so wet. I’ll bet you’re tight, too.”
She whimpered. 
“I’ll make you a deal, Elain. I’ll do something for you and you’ll do something for me.”
“Yes,” she agreed, not caring he could have demanded anything. He chuckled, removing his hand from between her legs entirely. Elain watched as he brought them to his lips, sucking them slowly until they were entirely clean.
“Just as I thought. Sweet.”
He slipped his arm beneath her knees, setting her on the throne as he stood. The outline of his straining cock was almost comical. Elain was afraid he was going to make her watch someone service him, that she’d be trapped on that throne while Lucien had his fun, returning only when she was a quivering, miserable mess.
He slid to his knees before her, his back to his court. Golden crown atop his head, Lucien made a mockery of the pageantry of the High Lord. Placing his large hands on her knees, Lucien slowly spread them obscenely, pushing aside the fabric of her dress so she was entirely exposed to him—and anyone else who cared to look. 
“Messy,” he praised, his one russet eye drowning in lust. “Someone has to clean you up.”
Elain moaned when he lowered his mouth against her, his tongue lapping at her arousal like he was some kind of untrained, feral animal. Maybe he was—that first taste certainly seemed to undo him. Lucien’s fingers dug into her thighs, holding her open and keeping himself anchored in place. 
She should have told him no. She certainly shouldn’t have grabbed at his head, threading her fingers through his hair to keep him where he was. Nothing in her entire life could have prepared her for how divine his tongue felt against her sensitive flesh—how softly he’d circle over her clit, drawing maddening shapes until she was writhing against his face. 
Lucien pressed one of his fingers against her, teasing her with the possibility of being fucked, all while licking and sucking. She was desperate, was wiggling in an attempt to force him into her just so she’d have something to grip. Elain wanted—needed—to be filled.
He plunged two of his fingers into her body without warning. She screamed, forgetting where she was or that she had an audience. Elain rolled against him, meeting him thrust for vicious thrust. It wasn’t enough, would never been enough. Release danced up her spine, pooling in her gut and when he pushed that third long finger into her, it was enough to send Elain spiraling over the edge. His lips sucked around her clit, tongue teasing as she came in an explosion of dancing golden light. He didn’t stop when she came down, still pumping, still licking, until she was sobbing and sensitive. It was too much.
Elain pushed at his head, but Lucien didn’t budge, dragging her back up over the edge before letting her freefall over. Pleasure was edged with pain, a bittersweet sort of bliss. One she prayed he freed her from when she came back to herself, boneless and shaking on that throne. 
Lucien lips came off her with a loud, sucking pop. Red lips glistened from her arousal, and when he drew forth sticky fingers coated in her orgasm, it was her mouth he pressed them into, making her taste her own release. 
“Your turn,” Lucien murmured, rising to his feet. She knew it was coming, and still felt nervous at the thought of kneeling between his legs and pleasuring him. He replaced her on that throne, legs spread while Elain shakily arranged herself between his knees.
“Have you done this before?” he asked, noting the way she hesitated.
“No,” she admitted, still hazy from the pleasure he’d pulled from her. A flash of what might have been regret streaked over his features. She didn’t want his pity. Elain pushed aside the bolt of fabric that kept Lucien from exposing himself to the world, freeing the thick, swollen cock she’d felt the last few nights. It was nothing like Graysen’s, which seemed almost polite—cute, even, when compared to the heavy appendage bobbing in her hand. 
“We can take this to my bedroom—”
“How hard can it be?” Elain interrupted, drawing a steadying breath. She understood the mechanics of what he was asking her. Put him in her mouth, suck, and try not to vomit in his lap. If he could get on his knees and eat her out, she could certainly repay the favor. Besides, the bargain between them tugged, demanding she uphold her end. 
Elain licked the underside of his cock, letting herself taste the bead of fluid pooling over the tip of his cock. Lucien shuddered, throwing his head back when he felt her tongue swirl against him. Elain watched him closely, drinking in the way he panted when she took only the head of him in between her lips. There was no way to take him all—she wasn’t practiced enough to even try. 
Not that Lucien seemed to care at all. Elain kept one hand braced on his thigh, delighting in how rigid the muscles were just beneath his skin when she made a fluid, wet pass over his cock. 
It was obscene, pulling her mouth off his so he could watch a rope of saliva connect the pair of them. She held his gaze, moving in near slow motion just to see what he’d do. She braced herself for him to grab her by the back of the head and force her back on him, to punish her with the throbbing cock standing erect between them.
Chest heaving, Lucien gripped the arms of the throne he sat on. He looked wild.
“Elain,” he panted, his knuckles white with the effort it took to keep him rooted in place. “Elain please.”
A thrill shot down her spine. Was the High Lord begging her? She licked the underside of his cock and Lucien whimpered, eyes all but burning a hole through her. She could hear his thoughts.
More, give me more—
She sucked as much of him into her throat as she could, gagging when there was no more give. Lucien’s hips flew off the throne, pushing further and robbing her of any ability to breathe. It was pain all over again, and Elain liked it. No one else would have dared at all. Elain wondered if it had ever occurred to Lucien that he shouldn’t fuck her throat—that he ought to be kind and gentle with her.
He was her mate. He liked to be fucked rough, and just assumed because he liked it, she must too. After all, what kind of cruel goddess would pair him with someone who didn’t?
He was right, though Elain lacked experience to know the finer aspects of it. She knew she liked the careless way he gathered up her hair and held her face still, how his hips pumped into her until tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Fuck me, Elain,” he gasped, thumbs swiping the moisture from her skin. “Look at my pretty mate and her pretty mouth. You suck me so well. Gods, you suck like you were made to do nothing else.”
She couldn’t respond, though she did try and widen her jaw to take more of him. She was rewarded by another loud groan. Lucien’s back arched, his legs bracketing her against his body. He was trembling and she understood why—thrusting viciously, Elain gagged as his salty release poured itself hot and fast straight down her throat. She couldn’t swallow it all, still choking on his cock. His come dribbled over her chin and down her neck, marking her as his. 
Lucien withdrew himself, pulling her back into his lap for a messy, claiming kiss. She knew he could taste his own release on her lips, on her tongue, and was aroused all over again at the realization that he liked it. 
He swept her up, still kissing her like a frantic madman. The noise of the room slipped back into the bubble around them, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of sex. She didn’t care enough to look, was too lost in the kiss, in the jostling of her aching body against his own. 
“After the frenzy, I want you to pick your favorite female to bring to our bed,” Lucien gasped, pushing through the throne room doors.
“What if I want a male?” she challenged.
“Bring him, too,” he said against her lips. His steps were hurried—rushed. She wondered if he’d abandoned his plan to have sex with her. If they’d forget their political plans and give in to instinct instead. Rationally, she knew it was a terrible plan.
And still, when Lucien dropped her atop his bed and shed himself of the last of his clothing, revealing himself in all his naked, bronzed glory, Elain wished he would. She was quick to do the same, laying herself out for his ravenous gaze. 
She realized far too late that what Lucien really wanted was just to touch her. Pulling back the blanket and nestling her against his chest, Lucien ran his fingers up and down her bare spine with unguarded reverence. She didn’t realize how badly she’d needed that until it was just them between those silken sheets, far removed from the world around them. 
She felt the mask he wore slip. Lips against her shoulder, he whispered, “I’ve been thinking about this for years. Since I first saw you.”
“What? Holding me?” she asked, brushing strands of hair off his face. She wondered who had. If anyone had ever touched him outside of sexual gratification. He was so beautiful, so lovely it made her ache.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one treated like a breakable object better left behind glass. Something to admire, too pretty to mar with oil slicked fingers. She inched forward, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. 
“Yes,” he admitted, eyes fluttering shut. “But more than that. Not just being held, but wanting to be. Wanting me.”
There were a million good, reasonable reasons to ally with Lucien. He could give her everything she wanted. Her feelings, outside of her common sense, were impeded by their bond. She couldn’t think straight for wanting him. Giving in had helped clear some of that way, if only for a little while. She knew it would all come rushing back in the morning, that she’d be back to panting over him like an animal in heat. 
He traced her lip with the pad of his thumb. “I’d choose you, too,” he whispered as if he knew she needed to hear it. Elain kissed him again, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Lucien’s arms tightened around her body, holding her like she’d evaporate into the air if he didn’t.
“I know,” she said, mouth against his skin. “So would I.”
And at that moment, lost in the glittering dark, nothing she’d said had ever been quite so true. Elain held him, too,
“So would I.”
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Text
From committer of a crime
A woman who has had a powerful presence in my life, who inspired me to persevere, overcome obstacles, and not back down? That person is my Mum. She is the most kind-hearted and fair human in the whole world. Our relationship has not always been so easy because I think paradoxically we have so much, even too much, in common. She had a tough childhood and marriage. My father is not a bad person but addictions have significantly impacted his personality and attitude to life. My childhood was neither an easy one, but my Mum did everything she could for me. Each time I failed, I knew I would receive constructive criticism from her. But I also knew that she would protect me from this world. I frequently heard from her ‘I will love you despite everything’. And she did. She taught me how not to be afraid but to be determined. I suppose all my achievements and even that I am still alive are thanks to her. She taught me how to combine kindness and strength (I did not believe that these two traits could be combined in one person). She was a very beautiful woman who could shine despite the bleak situation in her life, especially in our house. Her blond hair and appearance reminded me of Marylin Monroe…. her personality too, so it isn’t a surprise that Marylin Monroe still is my idol. 
Let’s come back to my life. I was 19, I suppose when my Dad woke me up with the phrase ‘Your Mum is dying’. She had lost consciousness. Since that time I have hated mornings. Sometimes I would rather never wake up again. 
My Mum had breast cancer which she didn’t want to treat. She refused to go to the hospital. She wanted to die. I couldn’t bear that. I started my investigation of hospitals that can perform urgent operations. There were none available because of COVID-19 measures. My Dad was too helpless to take responsibility so I realized that if not me then who? That evening we called the ambulance. I suppose if we hadn’t she would have not suffered so much.
The long days and nights began. I abandoned my studies (fortunately teachers understood and gave me the opportunity to pass exams later), and spent all the time next to my Mum’s hospital bed. I had never been responsible for somebody ill. It was new for me. I had time to think and consider my life. My attitude to Mum. I was and still am a rude person who can say tough things to important people. I blame myself for not being humble and understanding. I am a monster. My Mum always wanted to help me with my life and support but she did not receive the same attitude from me. Knowing she had been ill (despite the fact she hadn’t wanted to be cured) I had let her make all household chores by herself, I had not offered my help. Knowing that she had been suffering enormous pain, I had not taken responsibility for any physical work which should have been done. When she had been suffering mentally when she had yelled at me…I had not recognized these signs as a call for help but had become in a defensive position making her suffer more.        
One day I came back home to rest for a couple of hours. When I returned back to the hospital I saw my Mum deadly pale. I immediately forced the nurse to do a blood analysis. Mum was taken to the resuscitation ward. I was not allowed here so I returned home. That was one time I saw my Dad crying and believed that he could change (spoiler: he cannot). It was May. Everything was green. It was raining. I was standing under that rain. I was not crying but praying. The sun appeared. I thought it was a good sign. 
Eventually, in a couple of weeks, my Mum was taken to a big city for an operation. She was so tiny after that. Then I realized how much she suffered. I saw her tiny body in her tiny clothes. She was so weak. I believe it was that time when I saw her inner nature…. So vulnerable and fragile. It was different from what everybody used to see. She was always a strong woman who knew what she wanted, and how to achieve her aim. Now she needed protection. And I couldn't give her that. My Dad was drinking again so I couldn't rely on his help. 
Then she started recovering. Long courses of chemotherapy began. She lost all of her fabulous hair. I do not know whether she wanted to survive. My Mom always had been the kind of person who wants to help everyone, to make other people’s lives easier. With this illness, she started realizing that no one cares about her. That she always had not been ‘enough’. Not enough supportive, not enough kind, not enough beautiful. She frequently said that she feels guilty about something she even did not know. 
I committed a crime. My Dad had gone to Poland to earn money for Mum’s treatment and I… I went to another city to continue my studies. I left her alone. How could I? I even could shout at her through the phone if she told me things I didn’t want to hear. Oh my goddess what kind of a bitch I was. 
Some months passed and I received an offer to go to Lithuania as an exchange student. My Mum was enormously happy about that. I was doubting whether I should go. She persuaded me that everything will be okay. That was the first time I went somewhere abroad. I was so excited about the plane because I hadn’t ever traveled by plane. Finally, I reached the dormitory where I was supposed to live. It was night. Thanks to my incompetent teacher who was responsible for these studies I hadn’t been aware of the requirement to fill in the form to be able to live in the dormitory. My Mum was constantly writing to me because she was worrying of course. I was rude. Taking into consideration that I did not fill in the form, I was forced to spend the night in the dormitory hall. There were sofas where I tried to sleep, and it was very cold. 
In the morning when a manager of the dormitory came and let me in the room, I was crying. I saw a fabulous view from the windows and the dawn. I recorded a video for my Mum and sent it to her. She started calling me but I was not able to connect to the dormitory Wi-Fi and didn’t have a Lithuanian sim card so the connection was horrible. I was crying and in despair. I let my emotions fall on my Mum. She was soothing me to the fullest extent. She was so supportive and I was a monster. 
After a couple of hours of sleep, I tried to call her again. The connection was worse. I was so irritated. And again she received my negative emotions. I was supposed to attend the excursion so I started preparing for it. I sent a message to her saying sorry for my behavior. She answered that everything will be okay and I shouldn’t blame myself for that. ‘It is just an aggressive chemotherapy’ was the last answer I received. I had a wonderful time on the excursion and after coming back to the dormitory I received a call from my aunt that Mum is in hospital. Her condition became worse and Mum was taken to the resuscitation ward. I wrote her another message with apologies. This message was never read. I was praying again. 
With no more news, I started preparing to go to bed. Then I received another call from my brother. He said that my Mum passed away three hours ago. The spectrum of my emotions is difficult to describe. During all the years she was ill I prayed before sleep for her health. Everything was in vain. I was furious. Why didn’t she call? Why didn’t she say goodbye to me? Why was I so rude to her? Why was I such a monster? I almost didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t even attend the farewell ceremony because I would be disqualified from the program. Everybody persuaded me that she wanted me to stay there. Probably such a way of things is better for me. Thanks to her I knew I must live. I must be as strong as she was. This was my first time abroad, and I lost the most vital person in my life. 
P.S. I don’t know what others write here. I will just write some thoughts with the hope that you, the person who is reading this, will hear. Keep your emotions. Keep your rude words. Remember that each conversation can be the last one. Do not repeat my mistakes. Say words of love to people who you love. Memento mori.
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tev-the-random · 10 months
Text
(Technically a distant continuation of this, but can be read on its own!)
His skin was an imitation of life that refused to age or scar. Although the years had moulded Jimmy into someone near unrecognisable, he looked no different than he did when he left Tumble Town. It was quite anticlimactic, to think he had nothing to show for his trials other than some patches on his clothes and perhaps a sharper wit to his eyes — metaphorically, that is. His actual eyes looked just as glassy as ever.
So after everything he went through to find himself here, he supposed the location was fitting. It, too, was rather anticlimactic: nothing but an old shack in the woods. It didn't even look dilapidated enough to be haunted. The forest didn't bother to have ominous crows cawing at him or any particularly disturbing tree — on the contrary, there were small patches of sunlight shining through the leaves above, and the smell of morning dew was fairly pleasant. If not for the peculiar plants growing in the little garden in front of him, which his cat sniffed suspiciously, he would have thought this was the wrong place.
These weren't plants you could normally find in the Overworld, that much Jimmy was sure of. From bushes of glowing, multicoloured berries to herbs that floated in the air like little leafy balloons, their roots hanging loose. The red vines crawling up a trellis close to the wall reminded him of the Nether, though the blossoming black flowers that grew on it would suggest otherwise.
"Awfully poisonous, those flowers."
He jumped, sword in hand.
Without producing shadow or sound, a person stood beside him, towering over Jimmy. Their silvery hair, washed out robes and sickly pale skin made them stand out against the background; a desaturated figure in the otherwise verdant woods.
There was a moment of silence in which Jimmy tried to gather himself. Any information he had about the one who supposedly lived here left his brain entirely. All of his well-thought-out bargains and self-confident arguments were startled out of him, leaving an uncertain tremble in his voice.
"Um..." He blanked.
In order to give him some more time to think — or maybe they just didn’t care enough to pay attention to him, — the stranger walked past the small man to take a closer look at their garden. They merely shooed Norman, who hissed at their approach before moving to stand beside his owner.
“You ever seen prettier experience bushes?” They said casually, getting rid of a few dead leaves on one of their plants. They examined its colourful berries carefully, only to let them go with a disappointed sound. “Incredible magical properties, but it’s so difficult to grow them right this time of the year...”
"Are you— are you the person I'm looking for?" Jimmy finally spoke. "I was told I could find a wizard in these woods that could help me with a curse."
By their curious demeanour and wise, elderly face, Jimmy expected them to respond with some enigmatic question of their own, something a mysterious master would say. Perhaps a meaningful silence and a sharp glance. Instead, all he got was a quirked eyebrow.
"Well, does it look like there's anyone else around here?"
He made a conscious effort to not look bashful. What a talent he had to surround himself with people who loved patronizing him, huh? But he had had enough time to learn that, if he took the bait and let himself be played for dumb, he wouldn't get anywhere. Seize the discussion.
His determined eyes didn’t move from the grey figure.
"I just got here. Don’t waste my time—"
"Yes, yes. You sure did take your time," said the stranger, moving to the red vines on the trellis. With a pair of small pruning shears they fished out of their pocket, they started cutting away at the flowers. "I, myself, thought you had keeled over and died somewhere along the way. I've been waiting for years, Jimmy! Surely you can hold on for a couple more minutes?"
"You— what?” His focus wavered ever so slightly. “How do you— you've been waiting for me? Like, for me specifically?"
"Who else would I be waiting for?" They chuckled. The sound ringed in Jimmy’s ears, bothering him the same way it always did when people laughed at him. In that regard, he only changed for worse.
Even though he felt like it, he didn't groan. He stared at Norman as if the cat could tell him what the deal with this unusual character was. If he knew how to, Norman would shrug.
Taking a deep breath, Jimmy forced calmness into his tone.
"How would I know?" He'd gotten better at not gritting his teeth at frustration, though he still sounded like he had swallowed a lemon. "You could be waiting for a hundred other people, maybe that’s your deal. I don't know you."
"Ah, but you certainly know of me! Otherwise, I wouldn't be the person you're looking for."
"Oh my g— Are you them or not?"
"Yes." They still didn't bother looking at him. Once satisfied with the number of black flowers they had gathered, they turned around with a swish of their robes and opened the door to their hut. "Well then. Come on inside."
Jimmy hesitated to follow. Norman, on his part, sniffed every inch of the chipped wooden door before sitting resolutely by the entryway. Jimmy took it as a warning. I’ll keep an eye out.
When he stepped inside, he concluded that this was, without a doubt, a wizard's house — a very disorganized one at that. The cabin was much larger on the inside, tall bookshelves extending far into a ceiling that seemed never-ending. Manuscripts littered the floor and desks alongside scrawled notes and old hardback books of all sizes. There were a multitude of coloured candles on nearly every surface, illuminating vials and more vials of the most peculiar ingredients. Jimmy consciously chose to believe that the blood in all those organised flasks on top of the nearest shelf belonged to some wild animal.
From the walls hanged more vines of strange plants, as well as all sorts of animal skins and various paintings and pictures — some pristine, others completely defaced. But they all seemed to depict a same theme, a same character: a very familiar deity with a golden trident and exaggerated grandeur. It was hard to ignore such clear obsession for someone Jimmy thought to be so incredibly unremarkable. The so called god of Stratos was the very reason he ended up like this to begin with. Religious fanatics were the last thing he needed right now.
Completely oblivious to their guest’s discomfort, the mage stood hunched over a counter, surrounded by multiple powders, herbs and and fluids in jars. Their hands worked on a mortar and pestle.
"You could have come sooner, you know?" They commented. "I don't know why you'd go through all that trouble with witches and pirates and whatever else you were doing when you could've just asked Scott for my address, I haven’t moved. But then again, you are the second pettiest individual I've ever seen. Leave it to you to go on some wild goose chase."
Jimmy stopped eyeing the room to stare at them. His brows quickly furrowed, suspicion immediately arisen.
"What does Scott have to do with this?" He asked. His hand itched to grab his sword again. "Actually, no: how do you know me in the first place? How did you know I was coming, huh?"
They hummed. "I’ve got eyes everywhere. You just happened to stumble upon one of them a long time ago."
The wizard stopped their motion to point at an open cabinet to their left. It was low enough that Jimmy could see its contents, and it made him raise an eyebrow: it was a human skull. Inside of one of the eye socket, there was a bright pink jewel; in the other, an unique blue stone caught his attention — it was intricate, as if it had been made to truly look like the iris of an eye.
Absentmindedly, Jimmy reached his wooden hand to touch the artefact, looking for something that could explain its purpose.
But when he blinked, he was on a hill. Vibrant flower patches stretched along the brick roads of a colourful kingdom, where glowing clouds of all colours painted the sky, constantly pumped by tall chimneys on cyan rooves.
Right in front of him, an excitable man dressed in orange spoke; Jimmy couldn't hear any of it. The man, too, glowed ever so slightly, and it made him want to squint at the vibrancy of the scene. The entire world was in deep silence, despite how much it looked like it was screaming at him.
Jimmy raised a hand to run it through his hair in exasperation, only for it to hit something. The cabinet. He blinked again, and back he was at the wizard’s hut as if he had never moved at all.
“What in the world—?”
“Funny, isn’t it?” The mage chuckled. Adding a few drops of a green liquid into the mortar, they went back to crushing. “What was he doing this time?”
“He was— I was just... in Chromia,” Jimmy murmured in disbelief, not knowing how to feel about it. Haunted, he stared at his strange host. “What was that?”
“The eye I gave Scott Smajor has many perks for him. But mostly, it has perks for me. It pays well to have such a well-connected informant. Don’t tell him about it, though, I’m sure he would hate it.” They didn’t sound apologetic at all.
“What do you mean you gave him an eye?!”
“Did he never tell how he got that magical yellow eye of his?”
“I assumed he was just born like that! You know, like, it’s a condition! Het- hetochro- heterochromia? Don’t look at me like that!”
“Oh, trust me, there is nothing hetero about that man.”
Jimmy continued to stare. For the sake of his own sanity, he tended to avoid thinking about any of the emperors he left behind. It had been so long since he last uttered the name of Scott Smajor, and the memories he held weren’t exactly the fondest. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel bad for the collector: this was, at the very least, a huge breach of privacy. Did he even want to know why this random guy in the middle of the woods needed unaware spies? Were they just a creep, or were they looking for something in particular? Did they assume Jimmy was coming over eventually, or had Scott been following him this whole time? Could they even make him do that? Could they control him?
The thought of being a mere puppet to someone made him sick in a horribly familiar way. He had half a mind to get back to Norman and leave.
But, he thought to himself, what if this is the only chance he has? In the years Jimmy had spent travelling, looking for a way to reverse this stupid toy curse, all he’s ever found was disappointment. Rejection. The frustrating loneliness that comes with learning people can’t be trusted; nobody cared enough to help, and those who did were never able to. When he was told there was a powerful wizard in a far away forest who could fix him, he took the lead with multiple doubts.
Now, he faced them all at their full force. What if they were to scam him? What if they were, in fact, nothing more than a massive creep? What if they killed him? Tortured him? Locked him away?
Just what price would he have to pay for his humanity?
He didn’t want to spend another hundred years running around looking for what he had lost. Jimmy was an imitation of life that couldn’t age or scar, but he was tired. So very tired of being a thing, tired of being a walking reminder of his own weakness in the eyes of others. He was tired of being so pathetic, no matter how hard he tried.
“You know what I’m here for, then,” he stated dryly. Resolute.
The mage hummed once more.
“Well, I have an educated guess.” They finally turned their head to look at the toy. The little glass eyes they met were unwavering. “You want your old body back. To be human again. Am I right?”
“You are. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But don’t you try anything silly!” His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, pointedly displaying its netherite shine.
“Oh, don’t bother with threats. This is just as worthy an exchange to me, you know?”
“... And what do you want? In return, I mean.”
They didn’t respond immediately. With an amused smile on their face, they turned back to their workstation and, one by one, started tearing the black flowers from their garden into pieces. Into the mortar the shredded petals went, and after a minute of silent work, the wizard seemed satisfied with the solution they had made. There were another two or three minutes in which they put it through an old brewing stand before transferring it into one of the glass vials scattered around their desk.
With that, they handed him the concoction. Although it may have seemed like there wasn’t much of it in there to begin with, to Jimmy it felt more like a bucket full of bricks. He blinked, as if to ask ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’
“Drink it, boy, drink it!”
Their eagerness wasn’t lost on him. The small man stared down at the inky substance, which smelled no more pleasant than spoiled milk.
“I thought you said those flowers were poisonous,” he pointed, stalling.
“Hm, yes, I do pride myself on growing the finest wither flower hybrids.” They waved Jimmy off as if he had said something particularly flattering. “But alchemy works in fascinating ways, so really, that mixture should be fine. Well, at least I haven’t killed anyone with it yet.”
The toy looked back at the front door, where his cat sat like a gargoyle. Upon noticing the his gaze, Norman got up with all that feline grace of his and approached to sniff the potion. His reaction wasn’t encouraging — he let out one of those tiny cat sneezes that often made Jimmy laugh, — but if he didn’t make a fuss about it, it was probably fine. Either that or the cat didn’t know a thing about magical ingredients either.
“And... what does this do, exactly?” Jimmy asked, still grimacing.
“In theory,” the wizard said from an unknown corner of the room, where they were now heaving an old-looking box from another one of their cabinets. He definitely hadn’t seen them move, “it allows me to freely tinker with you. Think of it as a surgery of sorts,” they quickly added at Jimmy’s horrified expression.
“You do realise this is the most suspicious situation ever?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to just drink this, then?”
“Well, if you don’t want it, you can leave.” They shook their head at him while they examined the instruments inside of the box. “I do have other things to do.”
“No, no, just... how can I know you’re not trying to trick me? You know, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Jimmy, if I wanted to do you any harm, I would have done it already.” Their sigh came from somewhere behind him. What were they, a transporter? “Do you think I let just anyone find me here? No. Now, you might have never heard it before, but you are quite special. And I personally would hate to let your potential go to waste because of some tasteless joke.”
That was it. Not pity, not scorn, not condescendence. It was as simple as ‘you deserve better.’ He did deserve better. So he did it.
The potion was thick and oily, and it burned on the way down. It was a mix of spicy and sweet that frankly made him want to throw it right back up. But the vial was small enough that he managed to down the whole thing in a few gulps.
He couldn’t remember anything after that.
---
When Jimmy woke up, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he had to have been buried alive. There was a suffocating weight on top of him, while his body sank heavily on an unstable surface. His chest was impossibly tight, and some horrible, almost painful texture seemed to envelop every inch of his skin.
His skin.
 He bolted upright.
The room Jimmy found himself in felt claustrophobic; not because it was particularly small, but because he fit inside of it. It made him dizzy, like it was too foreign to process. But it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as what he was feeling.
What was he feeling? It was hard to name it all.
A breeze made its way inside through the ajar window, and he could feel it on his face and shoulders like cold knives. The hairs along his arms stood up, goosebumps seeming to make their way into his very soul. There were no more ball joints, no more creaking, no wood grain — instead, he could faintly she the lines of his veins under pale skin.
He kicked away the covers he was tangled up in. The itchy, heavy thing had so many little loose threads, it felt like bugs crawling up his legs. The mattress was no better: his weight made it shift under him; he was almost sure it would swallow him up.
Jimmy touched his face to find that he could feel his own stubble, the lack of hinges on his jaw — it felt so loose, so free that he feared it would somehow fall from his skull. Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes felt weird. His cracked lips, glued together from sleep, also felt weird. His hair— gods, it was so smooth! The knots were less like fraying yarn and more like he just hadn’t washed it in a few days.
His chest was wrapped in the most uncomfortable bandages possible. They were tight, rough, and Jimmy could feel every last fibre digging into his sides. But he could still run his fingers over his own ribs, touch his own stomach — it was squishy, not like cotton filling, but like flesh.
From the tip of his toes to the top of his head, he was flesh and bones and skin. And gods, he could feel it all — there was so much more surface to feel than he remembered! If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was about to combust.
He laughed in disbelief, only to immediately hug himself when it startled him; since when did his voice vibrate so much? Why was he so hot, yet so cold? So heavy? Why did his skin feel like it was melting underneath his fingers? Why was the sun so blinding, the room so small, the shifting of the bed so loud? Why was his chest even tied up, it didn’t have enough space to breathe—
“Woah there, let’s not do that.” A formless voice ringed in his ears.
Rough hands took hold of his wrist, and Jimmy pulled away like they burned him. His nails had dug bloody marks into his arms.
“Come on, deep breaths,” the owner of said hands told him. They sounded oddly close by, but Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to look at anything other than his own knees. “Yes, like that. Everything is fine, you just gotta readjust to it. Take your time”
He took in air that didn’t quite seem to fill his lungs. Without making a sound, someone closed the window and drew the curtains, cutting that cold breeze and bright light. It became easier to focus on the sting of the bruises he had produced, clinging to himself to confirm they were there.
A new weight dipped the mattress beside him and a mass of greys, browns and whites invaded his vision. Norman stared at him, sniffed at his hand, but was kind enough to not jump on him. If anything, the cat seemed suspicious.
Jimmy cleared his throat; it gave him a headache. But he was smiling fondly. Norman was so... tiny, like a kitten. Had he always been that small? His owner at times thought of him as an impromptu horse, tall and strong. He was a fluffy little thing.
“Hey, big man,” Jimmy murmured hoarsely, surprising himself with his own tone. Raising a hesitant hand, he caressed the cat’s waiting head and promptly melted.
He had forgotten what it was like to run his hand through Norman’s soft fur, to bend down and place a kiss on his little forehead. He’d forgotten the warm weight of the animal on his lap — or his own weight, for that matter. To make the floorboards creak under him, to leave a dip in the bed, to cast a long shadow on a wall. Oh, it was horrendous, too much at once — yet it was every fantastic bit like he had longed for.
“I’m not a toy.” He could shout it from the rooftops. Instead, he let out a wet and true laughter into Norman’s fur. He didn’t even realise he had started crying. “I’m not a toy.”
The wizard observed ominously. They left him a glass of water before exiting the room without a word.
For the first time in years, his own blood underneath his nails and sweat running down his back, Jimmy was alive.
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slytherhys · 1 year
Note
could we get Elorcan for I or O? Thank you ❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
A/N: this one was a challenge because I'm pretty sure it's the first time I write canon-compliant Elorcan, but since their dynamic is pretty similar to Elriel I hope I did them justice. Also, I thought of a completely different ending last night but I didn't write it down and now I'm just mad at myself 🥲 I hope you enjoy it tho x
Elorcan - "You bought me hot chocolate?"
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Lorcan watched with amusement as Elide tried to stuff yet another gift inside the carriage. He had offered his help, but she had simply sent him a glare that had him backing off without another word (he might’ve stollen a kiss or two, but that was beside the point). She was on a mission, determined to fit everything and herself inside the spacious, yet small, cabin of the carriage. How she’d be comfortable inside with so many things surrounding her was a mystery to Lorcan, but he didn’t dare ask – he liked his head right where it was.
“Is it really necessary to bring all of these with us?” He raised a brow, his arms crossed as he watched Elide struggle with a heavier box. “Can’t we just send some by courier?”
By the lovely scoff Elide let out of her perfect lips, a puff of air forming in front of them, he assumed that was a no. He didn’t exactly see the issue, and he told her just as much.
“The issue, Lorcan, is that I handpicked these gifts myself and I want to see our friends” She sent him a pointed look. “Open them on Yulemas.” She finished, as if no further explanation was needed. That critical glance ought to mean something, but he couldn’t really tell what, exactly, that was.
Lorcan was well acquainted with what Yulemas was – he was over 500 years old, for Hellas sake. But most of his life he had celebrated the holiday with full cups of mulled wine and random company, and he had certainly never traded presents with anyone. Something Elide was clearly too adamant on doing this year – even if their queen was hosting a public ball.
“And how, exactly, will that work? Open the gifts in front of your queen’s people?” He teased, watching as Elide eyed the carriage with a thoughtful expression. “Will it happen before or after the dancing begins?” He asked, but she simply turned to him, a light smirk on her pretty lips.
“Is this your way of telling me you’ll dance with me, Lorcan Lochan?” She said his name with a bit of a flare, making him chuckle darkly as he stepped closer, pulling her into his arms. She could jest all she wanted. He was proud of his name – and to hear it coming from her lips certainly did things to him that begged for more time than what they currently had.
“I’ll save all dancing for when we’re alone, lady.” He smiled, pressing a peck to her lips, making her giggle as she squirmed in his arms.
“You’re a menace.” She laughed, slapping him slightly on the chest as she pulled away, sighing as she eyed the open carriage once more. “Do you think Dorian would mind if I sent his present to Rifthold instead? I’m not sure there’s enough space for everything with it.”
Lorcan eyed the biggest box in the carriage, not sure the new King of Adarlan even needed a gift that large, but he refrained from commenting, instead furrowing his brows as he noticed plenty of space still available. Mainly considering his wife was tiny – something he refrained from commenting as well.
“Are you taking anything else?” He looked at his mate, her pretty pale face tainted pink from the cold. She looked adorable, even if her lips looked a bit blue-ish. He reached for her hand, leading her to the carriage so she could hide herself from the December cold.   
“Well, no, but how will you fit?” She asked as she stepped inside, her head turning so she could look at him. Lorcan frowned.
“What do you mean, how will I fit?” He asked, his eyes easily spotting the stable boy as he approached with Farasha by his side. Lorcan couldn’t help but smile as the mighty horse seemed to refuse following the boy, trying to lead him instead.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re quite big-”
“I might remember you saying something along those lines recently, yes.” He teased, loving the way her cheeks darkened.
“And-” She sent him a glare that had him chuckling. “I think I might have miscalculated how much space you’d take, exactly.” She sighed as she ran a critical eye over the boxes.
Lorcan huffed, frowning as he watched his mate try to lift a heavier one. “I won’t take any space at all.”
Elide went still under his eyes, her own narrowing on him. Lorcan didn’t dare more, nor blink as he watched her.
“What do you mean, you won’t take any space at all?” Her voice was deadly quiet and Lorcan wasn’t ashamed to admit he had to look away for a second before having the nerve to look at her again.
“I have Farasha, El.” He said, as gently as possible, hoping it would soothe her.
She smiled at him, but it did little to calm him down. “I know that, but why would you take her to Orynth?”
Lorcan raised a brow. “Because I take her everywhere.” And it was true. Farasha was his trusty sidekick. There was something to be said about having the horse from Hellas by his side at all times. The people of Perranth respected him, but he couldn’t deny the fact he enjoyed the fear in their eyes when he rode with the black beauty.
If he was being forced to see the cadre for the first time in months, why not try to instil the same kind of reaction from them as well?
“Your take her everywhere in Perranth!” She scoffed. “Not to another city – one hours away for that matter.”
Lorcan eyed the stable boy, suddenly not feeling as amused as he saw the horse fight the little man. It appeared to be winning, too. He shrugged. “She can handle it.”
“It’s freezing out, Lorcan!” Elide bellowed. “You can’t possibly believe you’ll be fine on horseback for over 12 hours in this weather.”
Lorcan had to admit he was still adapting to the Terrasen weather – so different from sunny Doranelle – but he barely even felt the cold. The barren, frozen lands bothered him, but the chilly air? Not so much.
“I have gone through worse.”
Elide rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she sent him a daring glare. Hellas, he loved her. “What is the real issue here, Lorcan?”
He furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”
“Lorcan.” She threatened, her tiny frame shivering. Was she that annoyed?
“I have never been inside a carriage Elide.” He said as neutrally as possible, trying to reason with her.
She frowned, eyes flickering between the cart and him before she dropped her voice to a murmur. “Are you scared of it?”
Lorcan sputtered. “What?”
“Well, you seem-”
He stepped closer, dropping his voice as well as he noticed a few sellers paying entirely too much attention to their conversation. “Elide, I’m bigger than the carriage. Why would I be afraid of it?”
She smiled sweetly. “Good thing you’d go sitting down then.” She said, sitting down on the cushioned bench without a glance back, stubbornly waiting for him to follow.
“Elide.” He tried, but she didn’t move. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me-”
“Appropriate?” She choked on the word, failing to hide a laugh Lorcan wasn’t entirely sure she wanted hidden. If the wicked smile on her face was any indication, he was sure she had wanted him to hear her make fun of him. He rose an eyebrow, waiting for body to stop shaking with mirth.
“Something funny?” He drawled.
“It’s freezing.” She said matter-of-factly, and he couldn’t help but notice how her teeth clattered slightly, how her face seemed paler than what it was before. She cleared her voice, standing straighter even if her body still shuddered. “You’ll get sick, Lorcan.”
He frowned, watching her attentively. “I can’t even remember the last time I got sick.” He muttered, more to himself than her as he eyed her blue-ish lips again.
“Well, must you reminisce it because of your male pride?” She narrowed her eyes, and Lorcan was sure that if she had the strength for it, she would toss the closest box towards his head.
“That’s not-” He trailed off, realization settling in.
How had he missed it? They had been outside for over 30 minutes loading the carriage and though Lorcan barely felt the cold pierce his skin, he sometimes seemed to forget Elide wasn’t the same. She had, luckily, put on some weight in the last couple of months, but they had only recently started to work through strengthening it. She shouldn’t have been outside for this long, loading a carriage, nonetheless.
“What?” She asked, a bit restless as she grabbed a small blanket to her side, covering her legs with it.
Her blue lips, her red-tinted cheeks, her large coat that she kept trying to cover her body with even though it seemed to do little against the severe cold of the Perranthian winter… Elide was freezing, and he suspected the reason she wanted him inside had more to do with that than her concern over him riding a horse for 12 hours straight.
He eyed the vendors that usually set shop around what would soon be the palace square – if the palace ever ended up being built, that was. There were a few tents already open for business, selling trinkets and imported goods, vegetables, and fruit – but he focused on a smaller one to the side, steam coming from the few cauldrons boiling behind an old lady that was wrapped in a big shawl.
He was walking before he even realise it.
“Lorcan,” Elide called, but he was already storming off, his heart racing with the need to see her well. He huffed, refusing to feel embarrassed as he approached the wide-eyed seller, her entire complexion red – from the cold or the fact he had heard their fight, he couldn’t say.
“Can I get one of those?” He mumbled, nodding towards the closest iron cauldron. It smelled sickly sweet, but he had a feeling Elide would like it. The lady nodded frantically, grabbing a small clay cup before grabbing the ladle. “Bigger.” He simply said, making her drop the cup to her feet. Lorcan couldn’t bring himself to care, not as he watched the wooden carriage and cursed himself over not seeing the signs earlier.
Was she so stubborn she would rather freeze to death than simply ask him for his company?And why hadn’t he helped her? He sometimes forgot their bodies weren’t exactly the same – that where he had strength and endurance, she had will and stubbornness. His fae body barely let him feel the cold scratching his skin and yet Elide couldn’t help shivering when they stood outside for too long.
And it had been too long.
Lorcan thanked the seller, giving her a gold coin as he made his way to the stable boy who still struggled with the iron-willed horse.
“Lord Lochan, I-“
“Farasha won’t be joining us in our trip to Orynth,” He simply said, hiding the smirk that threatened to break free at the look of pure relief on the boy’s face. He must be new then, if he didn’t know how much harder it was to take Farasha back into the stables. “You can take her back.” He said, petting the horse with his free hand before resuming his path to Elide.
He momentarily wondered if she would throw the boiling liquid into his face, but quickly let the thought go as he saw her nearly trip on her own two feet as she jumped from the carriage to the ground, her brown, determined eyes locking on him with a fury that amused him more than scared him. And it scared him quite a bit if he was being honest.
He fought the urge to growl at seeing her outside again.
“Changed your mind?” His beautifully stubborn mate asked as he stepped closer, her eyes quickly dropping to his hand, where the liquid steamed against the cold air. Her mouth parted slightly, her eyes flickering between his hand and his eyes. “Is that-”
“Get back inside.” He nearly snarled, making her eyes widen in surprise before she glared at him. Much to his chagrin, she completely ignored him, staring at him with an unimpressed look instead. He handed her the cup, but she simply narrowed her eyes, as if not trusting his offering.
“You’re shivering.” He simply stated, nodding towards the cup once again. But Elide merely stared at it, as if not entirely sure what to do with it. Hellas, maybe he should’ve grabbed some soup instead? There was-
“You bought me hot chocolate.” She simply said, her brown eyes finding his once again.
Lorcan frowned. “Do you not like it?”
She shook her head, as if clearing her own thoughts before wrapping her hands around the cup. “No, I love it.” She smiled softly, and Lorcan felt himself relax the pleased tone in her sweet voice. “You can be a big softy when you want to, Lorcan Lochan.”
Lorcan grunted, not entirely comfortable with how his face seemed to heat under the weight of her appreciation. “Just get inside.” He muttered, holding out his hand to help her up, but she looked around instead. Lorcan stifled a sigh – wasn’t she cold?
“Where’s Fashara?” She furrowed her brows, ignoring his hand and his command.
Lorcan thought about putting Elide inside the carriage himself, but he doubted that would make things better. “At the stables.”
“So…” She trailed off and Lorcan shook his head, entirely too amused at her hopeful expression.
“Just get inside, El.” He sighed, warmth spreading through his body at the smile blooming in her lips. She held his hand, climbing up, her other hand still wrapped around the liquid chocolate.
He grabbed two gifts as she sat down – and if they were tagged for the Queen and King of Terrasen it would’ve been purely coincidental – handing them to a servant and sat down next to his mate. And as Elide snuggled against his body, her free hand reaching for his, the thought of being inside this walking torture device for over 12 hours turned much more appealing.
Sure, he wouldn’t show their cadre his horse and sure they would probably make fun of him for arriving in a carriage, but suddenly none of it really mattered. Not when his mate was cold, not when he was the only one who could possibly warm her up.
And as the carriage lurched forward, Lorcan eyed Elide – and if a small smirk painted her lips as she took another sip of the liquid chocolate, he was sure that was coincidental as well.
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bmckay1120 · 5 months
Text
The Healer
Summary: After Chris Argent is left on her doorstep it falls to Brylee McCall to take care of him. Old feelings start churning and she’s not sure how to handle them while her new house guest settles in.
Pairings: Chris Argent x Brylee McCall and past Derek Hale x Brylee McCall
Warnings: Blood, nursing things , lots of fluff in this part!!
*Not my Gif but all my writing!!
Part 3
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As the day progressed so did his infection. It was as if nothing I threw at it worked. His fever would drop then spike again. The red lines thankfully didn’t grow, but they refused to recede. One promising sign was he had gained an appetite. He held down soup and crackers well, though I didn’t want to risk him eating anything heavier.
Chris refused to go to bed during the day. However he dozed on the couch for a little while in the afternoon. Anytime I mentioned moving to the guest room, he brushed me off. Claiming he wasn’t tired, which was a lie anyone could see. And that he wanted to be alert for a few more hours. I couldn’t determine if he was afraid to go back to sleep, or if he felt something might be coming for the house. Maybe he was afraid of the beast that had attacked him.
I hadn’t ever seen the man afraid before. Scared. He was steel through and through. So seeing this softer, more vulnerable side of him was something new for me. I had watched him slay beasts, chase my brother, and hunt down Derek. It was harder than I realized watching him be a weaker version of himself.
Dark rolled around and I finally coaxed him into the bed of my guest room. To his displeasure I pampered him and made sure he was comfortable. With the placement of his new scar it was difficult finding a position that didn’t agitate it. Eventually, with more pillows than I could count and at least fifty flips, we finally found something that controlled the pain.
I had checked his wound along with his vitals one more time before finally leaving him for the night. I set an alarm for three to check him again. I was hoping the new round of antibiotics would send him to sleep. He wouldn’t take any kind of pain killer despite how much he was hurting.
I took a fast shower. Cleaning up blood I had missed and the overall stench of gore. Once I slipped into my pajamas I allowed myself to relax in bed. The softness of the mattress overtook me and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Too soon I was woken by a loud thud and a groan. I was up on my feet in less than a second, rushing into the guest bedroom. Chris was laying on the floor, blood pooling on his tee shirt, looking more annoyed than I had ever seen him.
His blush still hadn’t left his cheeks. I kneeled beside him, “What are you doing?”
He let out a huff of annoyance. “Just wanted some water. Thought I had the strength to make it to the kitchen.”
“Well, you don’t. You should have called me.”
He only groaned again in response. Most likely he had torn some stitches loose. His IV was still placed in his arm and everything else looked to be normal. Though I feared his fever was starting to spike again with the sweat covering his forehead.
I slowly sat him up to face me. “You’re going to have to help me get you back into bed. Hold on to me and I’ll help you stand.”
Easily he stood up, leaning heavily on me. The warmth coming from him was unnatural. Once he was up I eased him back into bed, lifting his feet to rest comfortably like we had done before. Only I laid him down a little flatter than before so I could look at his wound.
As I pulled up the tape I saw four ripped stitches which had already stopped bleeding. I let out a huff of my own. Without another word to him I went to the exam room, grabbed gloves and a suture kit, then poured him a glass of water. He was fidgeting with the IV line when I entered.
“I’m sorry,” he said while I sat down on the bed and started getting things ready to stitch him up again. “I really thought I could make it. I didn’t want to wake you.”
The red lines and puffiness were still prominent around his three slashes. If they didn’t clear up soon I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I doubted he would let me take him to Beacon Hills for treatment. Not to mention, how was I going to explain his condition to the doctors?
“It’s okay, just please don’t do this again. I don’t have enough suture kits to replace all of your stitches,” I answered as I put on my gloves.
He smiled at me. “Okay.”
“Do you want something to numb the area,” I asked, though I knew the answer before he gave it to me.
“No, thanks.”
I set to work, cleaning the area and trying to keep any other kind of bacteria out of the wound. I don’t know how he was sitting still. With the infection I was sure that the edges of the deep slash were extra sensitive. But the only sign of discomfort that he showed was furrowing his brow and grinding his teeth.
As I started the first stitch I asked him a question. Something to distract him a little from what I was doing. “So where did you go when you left last year?”
“What,” he asked, not taking his eyes from my hands on his side.
“You never said where you were going when you left. A few hunters that came in two months ago said they knew you, and saw you in Virginia,” I continued my work. Undoing the broken stitch and replacing it with a new clean one.
“I ended up in Virginia before I was called here. But when I left I was only a few counties away. My wife grew up there, and I knew a few hunters who could get me some work,” he answered.
“You don’t talk about her often.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as I pulled another broken stitch. “There’s not much to talk about really. We weren’t… in love. We really only married each other out of necessity, mixed with a bit of loneliness. When she died it was more like losing a good friend rather than a wife.”
“That sounds…”
“Sad, I know. But it worked for us. And it gave us Allison.”
I wondered if he would have gone back and changed anything now. If he wished that something hadn’t brought him to Beacon Hills. If he wished he had never married Allison’s mother so he wouldn’t have the heartbreak of losing them both. But he seemed a little better about it now. Not bitter about how things ended for him. Rather just nostalgic.
“Are you still seeing your lover boy,” he asked in a playful tone.
I yanked a little harder on the next stitch that I pulled out. “What lover boy?”
“Derek. I thought you two had become an item when I left,” he said a little more cautiously.
I thought back to the few sparse nights Derek and I had spent together. It made me wonder how Chris had known about it. We had never told anyone else about it. Mostly because I didn’t want to freak out Scott. And Derek wasn’t one to go prancing around about the details of his love life.
Fighting the blush that came to my cheeks I continued to tie the new stitch together. “It wasn’t really anything. Didn’t last long. I was sad, and lonely. He was too.”
This isn’t the conversation I had in mind to distract him. It felt weird talking to him about my love life. About Derek, whom he’d tried to hunt down on multiple occasions. About any of my past romances in general.
I started on the final torn stitch. Pulling it out slowly and steadily. Then starting on threading and tying the new one. I felt the strap of my tank top fall off of my shoulder as I worked. But with my hands gloved and in the middle looping thread through an open wound, I couldn’t reach up and fix it.
One strong finger looped under the strap and returned it to its rightful place. His gentleness tickled my skin, making chill bumps appear on my skin. I repressed the shiver that threatened to run down my spine. When he was done his fingers still lingered close to my skin. “It’s his loss,” he whispered.
I went on as if I didn’t hear him. As if the words didn’t send butterflies into my stomach. Like nothing had transpired between us. But the warmth of his fingers still lingered on my skin. And that feeling alone made me want to burst at the seams.
“Where will you go after this,” I asked. Trying to shake everything his nearness made me feel.
He finally let his hand drop back to the bed, making sure to keep some distance from my bare thigh. “It depends on a lot of things. How fast I get out of here, and if Maddie and Josh have caught the monster two counties over yet. Are you determined to get rid of me?”
“With your condition, I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon. You’ll need some time to recover, and kick this infection.”
“You don’t look too happy,” he said, his eyes starting to fade again as his energy started to deplete.
I finished the last stitch and returned the bandage to where it rested before. I’d put a fresh one on him in the morning. Slipping off my gloves I put everything in the bag of the suture kit to throw away later. I finally looked at those blue eyes of his. “I’m not happy about your condition. I am happy that you’re in my care though.”
Small, tired smiles filled both of our features.
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