#high heat makes me feel physically ill and low cold hurts my body

[anotherpapercut]

"summer is the worst" "no winter is!!!" actually both are. down with Big Temperature. spring and autumn for the win

#one thing about me is i hate an extreme temperature #high heat makes me feel physically ill and low cold hurts my body #it should be 55-75 fahrenheit year round

[portraitoftheoddity]

A Fic Writer’s Guide to Cold Weather Whump

Maybe you got “Hypothermia” on your hurt/comfort bingo square. Maybe you want an excuse for your OTP to cuddle together for warmth. For whatever reason, you’re writing a fic where the cold is the enemy for your characters. But... maybe you aren’t especially familiar with the perils of cold weather.

I rambled a lot about hiding tracks in snow in this post and got some feedback from folks who had never encountered snow, which made me realize that this guide might be handy for writers who live in warm climates!

(Please note that I am not a professional and this information is presented for writing purposes, not actual medical or survival advice)

What Are We Dealing With - Exposure Conditions

The two biggest dangers for characters stuck out in the cold are Hypothermia and Frostbite.

HYPOTHERMIA -- the condition of dangerously low body temperature. Normal body temperature is around 98.6 F (37 C). Hypothermia occurs as your body temperature falls below 95 F (35 C). Usually hypothermia is a danger in freezing temperatures, but it’s possible to get it in the 30-50ºF range if you’re wet or not dressed properly for an extended period of time. Basically, any time your body loses heat faster than it produces it, hypothermia can happen.

Three main ways to lose body heat (apart from regular heat loss through radiation) are:

Direct Contact with something cold -- A character chained to a cold stone wall, or a block of ice, for instance. If you’re in contact with something that is very good at conducting your body heat away from you, rather than insulating, you’ll chill down faster. (Important for characters with cybernetics or metal limbs! Lookin’ at you, Winter Soldier...)

Water/Moisture -- a character taking a dunk in ice water, even for a matter of seconds, is in a serious situation. You can freeze to death very fast in cold water, and even if you’re just wet, moisture conducts heat away from the body. Clothes made of cotton that are wet from snow (cotton is the enemy in winter!) or damp from sweat are also going to contribute to heat loss; a character that’s been sweating from exertion will get chilled quickly once they stop moving. 

Wind -- Wind whisks warmth away from your body, cooling you down faster. In cold climates, you often have a weather forecast that includes windchill. This is because, even if the ambient temperature is, say, 25ºF, with 25 MPH wind, you could lose body heat as fast as if you were standing in an ambient temperature of 9ºF (this would be a windchill of 9ºF).

So your character locked in a walk-in freezer will lose heat through radiation, but it will take them longer to become hypothermic than say, a character who fell through the ice of a frozen lake, or a character wandering through a snowstorm with no coat -- even if the actual temperature is the same in the freezer, the water, and the snowstorm.

Other risk factors for hypothermia include age (young children and the elderly may fall victim to hypothermia faster), exhaustion, malnutrition, and alcohol (booze makes you feel warm, but it also makes your blood vessels expand so you lose heat faster!).

So, what happens when you’re hypothermic?

Symptoms of mild hypothermia (core temperature of 95ºF) include shivering, and rapid pulse and breathing, minor clumsiness. Your character may also start to experience low blood sugar, exacerbating other symptoms as they develop.

As your character gets colder, moderate hypothermia symptoms may include confusion, slurred speech, and loss of coordination. At a core temperature of 91ºF (33ºC), amnesia/memory loss can happen.

No longer shivering, and decreased heartrate, pulse, and blood pressure are signs of severe hypothermia. Reflexes may no longer be present, eyes are dilated, person is incoherent/irrational, and hallucinations can happen. At 82ºF (28ºC) a person will likely lose consciousness, and can expect a heartrate of 30 beats per minute.

Below 70ºF (21ºC), profound hypothermia occurs, and potentially death. (The record for the lowest body temperature at which an adult has been known to survive is 56.7ºF (13.7ºC))

In moderate-to-severe hypothermia, paradoxical undressing can happen -- this when someone abruptly feels warm and starts to pull their clothes off, often speeding up the process of hypothermia to a fatal conclusion. Another strange behavior that happens in severe hypothermia is terminal burrowing -- a primitive, instinctual urge to find and curl up in an enclosed space like a hibernating animal in some last-ditch effort to survive.

A severely hypothermic character may appear dead. They may be rigid, blue, and curled up in a fetal position. Another character can determine if they’re alive by trying to open their arm up from the fetal position; if it curls back up, the person is alive. Dead muscles won’t contract!

Because hypothermia inhibits brain function and causes confusion, people with hypothermia often don’t realize they’re hypothermic, and then proceed to have poor judgement, further endangering themselves. If you think that REALLY STUPID decision to go back out in the blizzard is out of character for your protagonist -- not when they’re hypothermic, it’s not!

But cold weather danger doesn’t stop with hypothermia. When you’re cold, your body will prioritize keeping your brain and your core warm by shutting off circulation to your extremities. This increases your chances of survival, but it also puts you at greater risk of:

FROSTBITE -- tissue damage caused by extreme cold, either from the formation of ice crystals within tissue or loss of circulation. Frostbite typically affects fingers and toes, though it can also affect ears and the tip of one’s nose.

Frostbite is a risk when a character is exposed to severe cold for a long period of time, when a character is out in the elements and there’s cold plus wind, or if they’re at high altitude. If you’re committed to realism but don’t wanna have to write your characters dealing with frostbite, consider giving them adequate gloves and boots!

First degree frostbite, or frostnip, is a mild condition that is reversible without lasting damage. When you have frostnip, your skin turns white or red and cold to the touch, and may begin to feel numb or experience a prickling sensation. It hurts like a bitch on rewarming (you might have some swelling and redness for a while), but it should be fine within a few hours, as long as there’s no further exposure. It’s possible to experience peeling, such as with a sunburn, in the following weeks. If your character is out in extreme cold that they aren’t dressed properly for, frostnip at the very least is likely (I’ve gotten it just from trying to dig my car out of the snow with bare hands for 10 minutes on a really cold day).

Second degree frostbite, or superficial frostbite is more serious. Skin might start to change color, turning red, or very pale and waxy, or even blue-ish. The area might be hard to the touch and swollen, indicating the formation of ice crystals in the skin (you know how your body is 70% water? Guess what water does when it gets real cold!). Rewarming is painful, and will result in some really nasty fluid-filled blisters, which are at risk for infection. You can recover fully from superficial frostbite, though it’s also possible that the affected area may have enduring cold sensitivity, pain or numbness.

Third/fourth degree frostbite, or deep frostbite, is when we start losing body parts. At this stage, not only is the skin affected, but also the underlying tissues. Skin will look blue-ish and mottled, the affected area will likely be numb and not move properly. This is when tissue death and permanent damage happens. On rewarming, there’s a risk of blood clots, and the frozen area will be black and hard and may require eventual amputation. Severely damaged/dead tissue may fall off on its own (auto-amputation) within a couple months.

Frostbite is treated with rewarming, but only start rewarming if the tissue won’t be refrozen again! More on treatment below.

(Side note: if you ever find yourself with either second or third degree frostbite, please seek medical attention immediately!)

Cold and Other Injuries & Illnesses

What if your character is already hurt before they wind up in a winter not-so-wonderland?

Well, hypothermia is a pretty big deal for trauma patients, and adding hypothermia on top of a serious injury reduces survival rates significantly. Part of this is due to the double-whammy that the body’s vascular system is now enduring, with stress from injury & blood loss as well as from cold. Another part of it is that hypothermia can impair clotting mechanisms, leading to more internal bleeding. A character who has suffered from physical trauma is also more likely to develop hypothermia before an uninjured character, as shock impedes the body’s ability to control temperature.

The stress of cold on the body can also exacerbate sickness. Frostbite and hypothermia weaken the body and its immune system, so a character already dealing with illness or infection will likely get worse, even if the cold itself isn’t going to make them ill outside of hypothermia. (Being chilly isn’t going to spontaneously give you pneumonia).

Surviving in the Cold - Staying Warm & Alive

So the temperature is getting pretty cold. What should your characters do?

If they’re prepared, they should be wearing layers of appropriate warm clothing and have plenty of gear. But since we’re talking about fic and we’re all here for the drama, let’s just assume these idiots are unprepared and are therefor gonna be having a bad time.

If they’re outside in the elements, their priority should be finding shelter. They want someplace ideally warm, dry, and out of the wind -- though I’d recommend starting with out of the wind above all else. If they’re in the wilderness and there’s no convenient abandoned cabins, a natural cave, or a pine tree with lots of low, thick branches might form a shelter. If it’s snowing, they can also build a snow cave or snow shelter -- fresh snow is actually a really good insulator, and while a snow cave isn’t exactly toasty, it’s a lot better than being out in the wind!

Once shelter is achieved, your characters will probably want to make a fire, if possible, to warm up by. However, if there’s nothing dry and flammable around, a fire might not be possible, and if bad guys are chasing them, either the light or smoke from a fire might give away their position (though if they need rescue, that might be a good thing!)

If your characters aren’t in the wilderness, they’ll still want to look for shelter that’s out of the wind if they’re outdoors, and any possible means of insulating body heat. Layering as much as possible is good -- if they don’t have enough layers of clothes, they can layer newspaper or plastic bags between what clothes they have to create extra insulation. Plastic is a good insulator, and also protects them from getting wet (though they wanna be careful about wrapping too much of themselves in plastic in case they start to sweat -- that’s also dangerous!). I’ve definitely worn plastic bags as liners inside my boots to protect and insulate my feet in winter. If your characters need to sleep in the cold, finding some insulation between their bodies and the cold ground will help them.

Your characters are also going to have to worry about food and drink. The human body uses up a LOT of energy trying to stay warm, so your characters may be suffering from low blood sugar on top of everything else. Dehydration is also a concern. Melting snow is an easy enough source of water, but you’ll want to have them melt it before drinking, instead of just eating snow. Eating snow chills you from the inside and uses up valuable energy!

Warming Your Characters Up - Treatment

Once your poor frozen darlings are out of the elements, they’re gonna wanna warm up!

If your characters are in wet clothes, they’re going to want to get out of those -- if possible -- to dry them off. Wet clothes -- especially cotton -- leech away precious body heat. (If your face just lit up at the idea of getting your characters nekkid, my friend, it gets better!)

Getting a hypothermic character out of the cold is step one, but warming them up is step two. Placing them somewhere warm and dry and wrapping them with blankets to trap their own meager body heat against them will help -- google “how to make a hypothermia wrap” for directions on how to turn your character into a toasty blanket burrito. If their own body is seriously chilled, adding external warmth might be needed (note: warmth, not heat. Too much direct, intense heat can cause a shock to the system! Hot baths are a BIG NO)  --

If they have access to warm hot compresses/chemical heat packs, placing those in the groin, neck and chest areas will help rewarm a person.

Consider giving one of your characters a metal canteen or water bottle -- they’ll be able to fill this with snow and then stick it in their fire to melt the snow and warm it for drinking and a source of heat they can hold to their body. Sipping warm water will help them warm up internally!

In absence of other options: NAKED CUDDLING. Another person’s direct body heat via skin-to-skin contact will help warm up your character (and makes for great UST).

If your characters have been hospitalized and have severe hypothermia, they may be treated with blood rewarming (pumping the blood out of the body, warming it up, and pumping it right back in) or warm intravenous fluids.

Hypothermic characters should also be kept awake, if possible, until safely warmed. Feeding them is also going to help! Give them calories to burn, and hydrate them up!

If they are severely-to-profoundly hypothermic and are struggling with their breathing, rescue breathing timed with the hypothermic person’s breathing can provide supplemental oxygen and, more importantly, heated air going directly into the person’s body core (rather then the cold environmental air).

For characters with frostbite -- there’s the temptation to have them rub warmth back into their extremities since we seek heat from friction, but they may damage themselves further this way. Rubbing a frostbite-affected area will cause additional injury. The best way to warm frostbitten skin is with lukewarm water, though you can also warm frostbitten fingers by tucking them into your armpits to warm them with your own core body heat, or blowing warm breath on them. Intense direct heat from heating pads or a fire are NOT a great idea. Since the tissue is numb, frostbitten patients may experience burns from direct heat sources without realizing.

If your character is frostbitten badly enough to have blisters, they will want to loosely and gently bandage the affected area if possible.

Frostbitten skin should only be rewarmed if there’s no risk of refreezing, since freezing and thawing repeatedly is gonna really hurt your character (or, I dunno, maybe that’s part of your whump plan, in which case -- go for it!!)

Obviously, you can write your whumpfic as realistically or as unrealistically as you damn well please, and you can choose to have your characters make bad choices that go against conventional wisdom and medical recommendations. This guide mainly provides suggestions if you wanna incorporate realistic details one way or another, but ultimately, it’s your story to tell however you want. Have fun, and stay warm!

Additional Resources:

Windchill chart:  https://www.weather.gov/media/safety/windchillchart3.pdf

Frostbite calculator: https://public.tableau.com/profile/adam.crahen#!/vizhome/BabyitscoldoutsideWindChillFrostBite/Brrrrrr

How to Build a Shelter: https://adventure.howstuffworks.com/survival/wilderness/how-to-build-a-shelter.htm

#long post for mobile #hypothermia #whump #fic resource #writing resource #cold weather #frostbite

[xo-dragonette-xo]

Searching for You

A/n: Again, this was another idea that was swimming in my head. Sitting at the local Starbucks made me observe people on their behaviors, habits, and social interactions. We hear many love stories that occur at Starbucks. So, why not write about it? This is my second fanfiction. I haven’t abandoned the first one! Constructive criticism is always welcome. I apologize in advance for grammatical errors in this fanfiction. English is not my native language.

Warnings: Violence. Rape (implied). Swearing. Mentioning of mental illness (anxiety/ panic attacks). AU. OOCness(?).

“ ... ”  talking to oneself 

“ ... ” regular/ normal conversation 

Word Count: 2305

Alone. This is the exact word that describes you. Your life had been a train wreck since your parents’ death. It was all your fault really. You begged them to come home from their dinner function because you were experiencing a mild panic attack. Of all days, that particular night it had to be raining hard. One thing led to another; a drunk driver was driving on the wrong side of the road with no headlights on. It was an instantaneous death for your parents. Quick and simple. The drunk driver on the other hand, simply walked away from the incident without any injuries, a slap on the wrist, and no charges. You learned that the world is a cruel and unforgiving place that was unjust for innocent people.

This was your breaking point. You built a mental and physical shield from the world around you. Your extended family members wanted nothing to do with you – they offered no condolence, support, or even a simple hand to help you. Why would they help you when your only bond that connected you to them were buried 12 feet in the earth. And here you thought your immediate and extended family was sunshine and rainbows.

You moved from city to city, not quite fitting in. Perhaps the problem was you. The guilt, anger, and remorse you felt were radiating from your body and maybe that is why people never gave a notice to you.

It took a long time for you to settle in a new city – a city with a possibility of starting a new life. As if some divine spirit was watching you, you were finally blessed with a place to call home with a steady job. You had a chance to be a new person and start over.

It’s 2:45 P.M. Your phone alarm jolts you from your daydreaming. You quickly get up from the comfort of your couch, grab your things and out the door in less than two minutes. Today’s a new day you tell yourself. You take the eight flight of stairs instead of the elevator – you always hated elevators – there’s so much potential death scenarios associated with them. Or is that your paranoia talking?

You go into a trance-like state: your autopilot mode because that’s how you cope and not deal with social interactions and social obligations for pleasantries. “Shit” you mutter under your breath. You clearly misplaced or forgotten your subway pass. You search your purse frantically. You found your iPhone headphones so that’s a start. As you being to turn around and head home you notice a tall, dark, and handsome creature of a being walking towards you with your subway pass.

Time quite literally stands still and the people around you are slowing down. “Am I dying? I think this is my adrenaline spiking to a dangerous level. No. It’s my fight-or-flight response. Well, that is your adrenaline silly. My gosh, he’s hot. Wait… why is he holding my subway pass?” He’s only a foot away from you and smiles gently. You crane your head up to meet his gaze “he’s so tall…”

“I’m so sorry to startle you but I noticed you dropped this,” he hands you your subway pass but you’re frozen in place. You can’t move and your heart skips many beats. “Snap out of it! Stop being weird. Accept the subway pass, thank him, and get the fuck to work in that order”. Your body begins to move, your left hand touches his hand and immediately sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He clenches his jaw, pupils dilate, and his nose flares and you notice all of this. You run – run from whatever that was – onto platform B to catch your subway

“Ok. Breathe. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale”

“ATTENTION LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. PLATFORM B SUBWAY WILL BE DELAYED AN EXTRA FIVE MINUTES DUE TO ONGOING TRACK MAINTENANCE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE”

You pull out your headphones and plug-in. ‘Cruel Summer by Bananarama’ starts playing. “Of course it’s a cruel summer. I drooled and acted like an idiot in front of Mr. tall, dark, and handsome. Why am I like this?” You go into autopilot mode: boarding the subway you take a seat at the very rear, away from people. But you then notice, your eyes and his eyes meet, Mr. tall, dark, and handsome is in the same subway as you. “What the actual fuck?” Your body starts to heat up, your face is red, and you avert your eyes down to look at your black jeans. Were they always this black you wonder.

You jump a little from your seat when he sits down beside you. Your body reacts to his scent – his cologne and pheromones – and it’s intoxicating. You want to tell him off for sitting beside you but you see the amount of people crammed into the subway so you advise against it. “It’s just three more stops. You can do this. Just hold on for a little while longer. Calm. The. Fuck. Down.” But you can’t. His very presence is making you dizzy with something you can’t quite describe. You lean towards the window hoping you would fall out, but you don’t. You try to give him more room. He’s a big person – not in the sense that he’s fat – but in the sense that he towers over you and you feel so small and meek.

His legs are long, lean, and well sculpted. His thighs are something else. So powerful looking and you being to daydream. Mr. tall, dark, and handsome occupies your mind and you immediately snap yourself out of it.

“AVONDALE STATION”

You and him stand up in unison. He lets you go ahead and walks behind you. Exiting the subway and entering the same Starbucks. Together. “This is God punishing me fo-” you get cut off “God isn’t punishing you. This is fate. Us meeting like this”. You again stare at him in utter shock but remember that you start your shift soon. Again, you run into the backroom, your coworkers not noticing your little exchange. You hang your purse on the coat hanger, put your hair into a tidy ponytail, put your green apron and name tag on. “Surely he’s gone by now. Ok. Well today’s going to be a good day”. Giving yourself a mental pep talk you’re ready to work. The job at Starbucks is quite simple: greet customers, make authentic connections, talk to your customers, make drinks, and most importantly have fun.

You’re on POS for the first half of your shift. It wasn’t too busy for a Friday evening which was quite odd. Your supervisor tells you that you’re doing good job so far and you can take a half. You make yourself a well-deserved soy cappuccino and sit at the back of the café away from everyone. At the back of the café there are two out-of-this-world comfortable hybrid sofa chairs that has your name written on it. You browse through the only one social media account you have. It seems that your cousins are getting married. That’s nice, but you hate the fact that everyone is doing so much better than you. “Yup. God is so punishing me”.

Time slows down but you’re not impacted by it. You sense him. He’s fogging your perception of time and space. He’s walking toward you with the same gentle smile. His strides have meaning and he’s coming closer, but he makes his way to the restroom instead. Time restarts and everything is back to normal.

Your half is done and your supervisor wants you on bar for the last half of your shift. Easy. What could possibly go wrong? You start prepping for a grande cappuccino, you look up from your beverage making routine and notice him waiting for his drink. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck! You need to ‘talk’ to your customer. It’s part of your job and your supervisor is watching you”.

“So…” you look at the cup for his name “Keanu any plans for the weekend?” you inquire. Your eyes meet with his soft brown eyes and you finally take in all of his appearance. Perfectly symmetrical face, defined jawline, high nose, kissable lips, well-groomed beard, soft looking hair that’s in a low ponytail, a mole on the right side of his adam’s apple, defined collarbone. You continue to inspect him, he’s wearing a plain grey shirt with a black blazer that frames his shoulder nicely. Your tongue peeks out from the safety of your mouth to wet your dry lips. He instantly takes notice of you and replies, “Hmm. Not much. I live a boring life. My life’s a tragedy. I’ll be spending my weekend alone in solitude”. You place his beverage down on the counter. His voice is calming, soothing but there’s so much sadness attached to it. A longing and yearning for something.

You let a single tear drop from your pretty face. Keanu notices and reaches over the counter to wipe it away. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry”. You excuse yourself and inform your supervisor you need to use the restroom. You turn on the cold water tap and wash your face. Looking at the mirror you felt as though you connected with him on an intimate level.

“No stop. Remember everyone will leave you in the end. You can’t trust anyone. You’ll get hurt, used, and abused if you let people in. Destroy whatever that was with Keanu and wake the fuck up”. You bring back your metaphorical shield to your heart and go back to work. Keanu’s sitting by himself, back against the wall, closest to the entrance of the café, observing his surroundings and you. You give him the cold shoulder and ignore him completely. Some time passes and he’s gone.

Continuing with your shift, you’re in autopilot mode and don’t notice the lights turning off in the café. “Hey! Excellent job today” and pats you on the back. Blinking a few times you look lost. “You need to loosen up and relax more. No one here is going to bite you. You’re safe and you can call me if you need anything”. Was that flirting from your supervisor? You brush it off and begin to walk to the subway station. “Do you need a ride home?” “No thank you see you next week”. You put your headphones on and continue to walk into the night.

‘Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne’ plays. You’re so lost in the music you fail to realize three men following you. Standing on the platform you patiently wait for the subway.

“ATTENTION LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THIS WILL BE THE LAST TRAIN OF THE NIGHT. THE TIME IS 11:50 P.M. WE WILL BE RESUMING SERVICES TOMORROW AT 4:00 A.M. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE”.

You take in your surroundings and finally notice the three men. One of them leers at you and you feel so naked and exposed. You’re panicking inside. “Please. I don’t want anything to happen. I don’t want to die. Not yet. Please. Someone help me”. You enter the subway in haste hoping these thugs don’t follow you. But they do. You’re backed into the corner of the train and start whimpering. Out of nowhere, Keanu appears. Although he’s wearing mostly black attire, he’s emitting a white aura of hope. You feel safe in his presence.

The three men approach, but Keanu blocks their path. “Move the fuck away old man. We finally have her and you ain’t getting that piece of ass. We’ve been following her for days and you ain’t gonna mess up my plans fuck face”. Keanu stands his ground. He’s unfazed by these empty threats. The shorter man gets impatient and swings a sucker punch at Keanu. Keanu allows the punch to be connected to his face. His ponytail unravels and his hair covers his eyes. Keanu’s eyes have a red glint to them. Keanu grabs the short man by the collar and punches him square in the face. You hear a bone chilling crack and see Keanu simply toss the short man like a ragdoll.

The taller man pulls out a switchblade and lunges forward. Kean sidesteps, grabs the attacker’s wrist turns him around and flips his over. The switchblade is lodged into the attacker’s throat. The leader of the group pulls his gun and points it straight towards Keanu. “Fuck guy. This shit ain’t right. Just give up while you can”. Keanu steps forward. There’s no hesitation in Keanu’s step. The leader pulls the trigger and time stands still. You’re positive you’ve been shot at and died. Keanu is moving towards the leader in regular speed, the bullet seems to have stopped in mid-air. Keanu simply flicks it with his hand and the bullet goes flying straight into the leader’s heart. He collapses. Blood. There’s so much blood. You’re in shock: pale, wide eyes, shallow breathing, and whimpering. You tell your body to move. To run. Just run. But you can’t. You’re in too much of a shock to even respond to this whole situation.

Keanu turns around and walks toward you. He offers you his hand, you haven’t realized your legs gave out. You haven’t the slightest idea how, but your body reacts and reach for his hand. Keanu embraces you, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I should’ve taken care of them before you boarded the train. I’m sorry”. Your adrenaline runs dry and black out. Your body goes limp but Keanu continues to hold you, not letting you go. “I will search for you through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes until I find you. Do you remember that my love? I have finally found you.”

#Keanu x reader #Keanu x you #I'm so sorry if this is utter shit

[rcris123]

Isaac was up before any of them. And maybe to his own surprise Arthur slept throughout the night with Sebastian’s hand into his own. More or less at least. The medallion was on the ground. A light squeeze of the palm he’s holding. Eyes dart up – Sebastian’s still asleep, leaned against the foot of his table. Poor bastard; came all this way and for so little as himself...

Thoughts were all over; his forehead burned up like a furnace – but he knew that. Everything else, one big goddamn mess in his head.

Colm wanted to sell ‘em to the Pinkertons, using him as bait. It’s the one thing he told Dutch when he came back...

And Isaac. All that time he couldn’t forgive himself for leaving Isaac alone like he did. And the boy clearly ran off to Sebastian wondering where the hell his Pa’s gone. And nothing tore his chest apart more than knowin’ they barely survived another one of these...

This one was worse... He hoped, prayed the shoulder ain’t gonna come down with gangrene, ‘cause at this point it’s already feelin’ numb, itching up and down like an ant’s nest. He still felt Sebastian’s hand in his own.

He should try getting-

“Augh- Shit!” Well that woke him up. “I’m sorry...”

He can’t move. Just getting his head off the pillow made it feel like it was made of lead and like the brains fell out of the back of his skull. A light tug of the arm from Sebastian; teeth grit, air’s sucked in with a wheeze.

“Shouldn’t of done that-” Sebastian’s voice is thickened by sleep.

“Ah, you couldn’t of known.” And he still hasn’t let go. A pang inside his guts. The gang met him, that much was obvious, he wondered what Isaac told them about him. But words don’t come help him.

“How are you feeling?”

“About as well as I look, I guess...” Arthur sighed. “What ‘bout you?”

“I ain’t feelin’ half my body.” Sebastian cracked a laugh, and he tried one for himself, but the groan bubbled inside his chest regardless.

A short silence, allowing the pain to settle: “So... They let you stay?”

“Don’t know.”

“What did Isaac say-”

“I escorted him back to camp the day he couldn’t find you. John and the Irishman brought me in thinking I’ve done something to the kid.” A deep breath in from Sebastian, as if drawing courage: “He said we was lovers. So they won’t shoot me then and there I guess.”

Lips purse, another pang inside his guts and a shiver flowing up: “Guess that’s that then...”

But they ain’t lovers. Far from it. They-... What the hell was they that they ended up like this.

Do he have to play enamored now? He ain’t no actor and he rather despised pretending.

“You don’t have to-”

“I ain’t intending to.” Arthur had to be blunt, and it might of come off as rude, but he just ain’t knowin’ what he’s feelin’. It ain’t uncomfortable, just rather odd, ‘cause he still held onto the man’s hand like his life somehow depended on it. Heart picked at a gallop; he just had to say this: “Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I can’t make heads or tails of it all.”

“I ain’t much smarter on the subject, Arthur...”

“Guess we gotta figure something out-”

“We?”

He ain’t noticed how he used them words until it came outta his mouth.

“Guess there’s a we now... At least if you intend on stayin’.” Do you?

“Ain’t decided yet...”

Somehow the decision seemed to of been made the moment they put their hands together the night before ‘cause they ain’t let go yet.

Miss Grimshaw checked up on Arthur not much later, and by extension that meant Sebastian too – who got a scolding only Susan could pull off. She would of kicked him onto his feet. That’s when she notices, both of them did: Sebastian screamed in pain, trying to get up, grabbed his shoulder. Miss Grimshaw seized him and yanked the shirt off. Bandages, a fresh wound.

“Where’d you get this Mister-”

“Castellanos...”

“We gotta find you a bed. Quick. Arthur how’d you let him sleep like that-”

Arthur didn’t know, just looked on with concern as he was dragged off; and Sebastian looked back at him. Isaac just returned then from where-ever he’d been gone before.

“Pa?...”

“Someone’s hurt him...” Again.

 They found him a spot somewhere by Kieran, not too far off his tent. That kid’s been nothing but kind, to them all and Sebastian too; both outsiders. It’s been fun for a while, makin’ fun of the ‘O’Driscoll’ but that clearly ain’t the case no more. Boy’s been delegated to goddamn nursemaid. Arthur insisted on apologizing. Then Sean came and chewed Sebastian’s entire ear off. Sat on a chair, accused him first, then started talking of his Da and other things of his homeland. Bedridden both o’em they got no place else where to be, so it was Irish history hours for the both of ‘em. Ain’t been so bad after a while: slept like a baby to that, or maybe it was just the fever that made him so goddamn drained. One thing’s for certain he’ll be hearing Irish slang in his dreams from now on.

All week Ms. Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson swung by often; both trying their best to keep Sebastian down. He knew the feelin’ all too well. But they got fed well, bandages cleaned.

Still Arthur’s fever ain’t subsided well. Bouts of sudden dizziness and heat. No matter how much he tried to get back to functioning like a human it ain’t seem to be possible.

It took two more days until he could sit up for more than half an hour.

At least Sebastian’s doin’ better than him. Dutch got rather sick o’ him one time thou, squawked about a wounded dog in his camp; so Kieran took him fishing for most that day. Pearson was ecstatic to have so much fish. He made a fish broth, and it’s been something he ain’t known he needed or longed for.

Both Isaac and Sebastian stood on his bed, slurping hot soup like they ain’t ever had it before. And that somehow stuck with him. He pushed himself to draw that, even if it wasn’t one of his brightest ideas, a monster of’a headache split his head by the end. He ain’t known what to write beneath it thou. Not yet.

Days pass still and the camp’s getting all the friendlier to Sebastian, what Isaac said about them felt almost like a memory and the man like he’s always been there. He was a father. He could tell, by the way he’s taken to the youngest in the camp, and especially the girls; he snuck in to help Tilly and Marry-Beth with the chores Grimshaw gave ‘em. Arthur was sure they ain’t ever got cleaner clothes. Sebastian even taught Isaac how to properly scrub a shirt.

He got pangs inside his stomach whenever he thought about that. About, well, Sebastian, and what a whole ‘nother breed of man he was. How’d they even end up in the same place. How’d Sebastian end up in a whore house! That man laying down for others... And he ain’t sure how all that’d be working; lay on one’s back, spread his legs and hang his mouth open. Did his cock get hard-

Jesus.

It ain’t like that...

 No. There ain’t no denying it.

One day, Sebastian came to him. His shoulder was doing only better; at last he could move it with at least somewhat more accuracy. He was thinking of going hunting again, but Sebastian came to him.

“I saw you writing a lot.” He did. Kept him busy all these long dreary days where he was in-between ill and well. “I thought you’d have more use for this than I do.” Sebastian hands Arthur a pen.

A real fancy one: polished copper, and it ain’t no fountain pen, it had all the ink inside, and on the side two arrows. Jaw clenches. It was the first time since they held hands all those weeks ago that Arthur got that physical or affectionate: he pulled Sebastian into a hug. Man huffed against him.

How thy hell was he supposed to thank for that. He ain’t got no words. Nothing, nothing at all than a heart that drummed. He ain’t deserved any of the kindnesses Sebastian did to him.

Arthur ain’t deserving nothing...

“Thank you.” It was low, a rumble, spoken right next to the man’s ear. “Thank you.”

 That day, Arthur tied that medallion ‘round his neck, the Saint Sebastian one. It had to be a lucky talisman. And he finally knew what to write in his journal next to that drawing of him and Isaac eating fish broth; with the new pen to boot. That day he went up to Dutch:

“How are you feeling?” man asked, smoking his afternoon cigarette like it was a ritual; the gramophone blaring its high pitched song.

“Much better.” Arthur replied; inhaled to gather courage:  "Guess I need some days away after beein' cooped up in 'ere for weeks. Just me and the kid."

Dutch looked at him before puffing out the smoke, voice was inquiring: "And Sebastian?"

"And Sebastian."

Dutch threw the cigarette away, stomped the butt with his heel and moved closer to him:

"You know it smells of rotten business to me"

"Dutch!” Arthur got insulted plenty times but being called a fool for trusting a man he knew he could trust really offended him. Arthur can fend for himself and Sebastian ain’t no danger to the camp, just like goddamn Kieran. But that ain’t what Dutch meant. Lips purse, Arthur draws away; the remark is cold: “You know that all that matters to me is loyalty. ..And Isaac. Isaac's been all uppity these past few weeks. He needs some time with his Pa."

“Ye’r coddling him Arthur.”

“That ain’t ye’r call to make.” Don’t talk to him about parenting, Dutch. They were both outlaws and that ain’t a gentle life and not one fit for a kid that ain’t asked for none of this, least of all his Momma getting murdered like she did. “The kid ain’t an outlaw and I ain’t makin’ one o’ him. I want him to have better than I had. We all do.”

Dutch fell silent for a moment, then next he spoke his accusatory tone was gone:

“I hope you know you’re like a son to me, Arthur.”

“I know...”

 They still left that day.

“Where we headed, Pa?” They barely left camp, but the boy was smart enough not be heard.

“Sebastian?” Arthur ain’t really got much ahead of him, while he reckoned the man had something to return to.

And in all these weeks he still ain’t learned what exactly happened that Sebastian got his shoulder stabbed; he only said the obvious: someone was displeased and took corrective action. Arthur could only wonder if he was from the Molly-house, or maybe a client, to say it delicately.

“Well... I should be heading back to Saint Denis.”

“Then we’re comin’ with you.”

“No-” A purse of lips, a deep inhale. “No matter what I say you’ll still come with me, won’t you?”

“Guess that much is obvious. Lead the way, pardner!”

“How the hell did I get stuck with you?”

“We have a bad habit of getting nosey.” Isaac said in Arthur’s stead. This kid...

“You’re a menace and a half, boy. Hope you’re well aware of that.” Arthur intervened; yeah there was still a smile on his lips.

“Yes, sir.”

Laughter from all three of them.

“You raised quite the son there, Arthur.” Sebastian spoke. “Knows how to talk back, but for Christ’s sake can’t wash a shirt.”

“It ain’t like that!” Arthur chucked and the offense in Isaac’s tone could be felt, not just heard. “Pa!”

“Settle down, Isaac. He means you no harm.” Father talked to son; Isaac scowled but the road went on regardless.

It took a while before more serious topics arose:

“Where are you intending to stay? In Saint Denis I mean.” Sebastian asked.

“Can’t we stay with you?” Isaac replied with another question.

“Don’t think it’s a great idea to be staying in a Molly-house of all places.” Arthur tried, but he knew where that sentiment came from. Kid got used to Sebastian.

“It’d be for the best...” Obviously Sebastian ain’t enthusiastic either. “But there’s plenty hotels around the city. The Grand Hotel has plenty rooms, you should check there.”

“And now that leads to the question of money. We ain’t the richest people...”

“One dollar per night.”

Shouldn’t be too bad, but-

“How long are we gonna stay?” Isaac took the thoughts from his head.

“Dunno. I...” He looked at the boy. “I gotta think of some things over.”

More exactly: how to honor Isaac’s wishes without leaving any of the gang behind. John’s got a family of his own, wife and child. The girls, they can’t keep living like this. There’s a few men he reckons would fit better someplace else; the young ones: Sean, Lenny, Charles, even that Kieran kid, get the boy to work at a stable or something. But it ain’t easy talking to stubborn idealistic men: Sean might sooner die than give up robbing rich folk. Well he ain’t wrong, but their goal’s always been getting the money then getting out.

Seems there ain’t enough money in the world for people like them. They almost had all they needed in Blackwater, but that’s done and over-

Or was it. They ain’t knowin’ Sebastian, if only he and maybe that Kieran kid went back to collect, they might just get their hands on those money. It could give Sebastian a life. Whatever he got hurt over ain’t worth it and he reckons the man should pack his things and go.

But he can’t without the money, and Arthur ain’t sure he wanna pop that question to him.

A sigh.

“Everything a’right?” Sebastian sounded caring, and truth be told Arthur’s been silent for a while now.

“Nothing worth ruining a good mood over.”

“We in a good mood?” Sebastian cracks a laugh.

“Would you wanna be?”

“If I wouldn’t know you any better, I’d be sayin’ you’re flirting with me, Arthur.” Was that a dare, Sebastian...

But the kid had to speak up: “Everyone in camp think that anyway...”

“In no small part thanks to you.” Sebastian says.

“My own son snitching on me...”

“But the two of you are getting along.” Isaac continued with his statement. “You held hands- ”

“Isaac... It ain’t like that-”

“I just wanna know, Pa.” Isaac bowed his head then picked it up again: “You ain’t got sweet on anyone since I can remember. And it ain’t like you gotta be Dutch, bringin’ in girls once every few years, but... Well, Sean and Lenny all got sweet on the girls in camp, and it made ‘em happy! Thought someone might make you happy too, ‘cause Momma’s-”

“Isaac... You sweet kid. I’m well enough happy just to’ave got you.” He’d smooch the boy’s forehead if he wouldn’t be galloping.

He saw that, Sebastian, he saw that smile. And he ain’t quite sure what to make of this feeling; the heart’s heavy thinking that somehow he led the kid to think that it’s his job or someone else’s to keep this poor fool happy, at the same time’s filled with warmth ‘cause Isaac was, despite Arthur’s worst, shaping up to be a real good man. The boy has a chance at a real family, if only Arthur could gift him the freedom of a steady life.

There ain’t nothing easy...

Silence falls again and Saint Denis opens at their feet. They left Sebastian at his place, while they went on towards the Grand Hotel. They lodged in.

He was thinking of ways to earnestly earn money and maybe get Isaac involved as well to try and give him the chance of a honest livin-

“Mary?...” His mouth hangs open and he holds Isaac back, pressing the boy against his body.

“Arthur...” She was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. “I... I would have wrote you a letter...” She looks down at Isaac, whose head whipped back looking for an explanation from his father. “That’s your son.”

“Isaac. Yes. He was real young when we- uhm...” The explanation was for the boy.

“How old is he?”

“17 this upcoming October...”

“I didn’t know- I. Arthur, I didn’t think you- You raised the boy an outlaw too.”

“No!” Don’t go accusing him, Mary... “He ain’t ever robbed someone- He’s always helped people, Mary. He’s most considerate.”

“Oh, Arthur, but if you couldn’t get out of your ways how’d you ever expect him to do so? You’re so tied up in your, your ideology-”

Isaac snapped: “We will get out.” Arthur kept him down. “We just gotta take care of a few people.” His son’s sounding more and more adult by the moment.

Mary looked at Isaac most shocked, a hint offended, then back at Arthur: “I’m sorry, Arthur... I see it now, no matter how much I still think of you, it would never have worked between us.” Arthur pins Isaac down when the boy tried to speak up again, shooting a glance back at his father with irritation. “You’ve been lying to yourself and your brought up your son to think the same! You think this ends somewhere? If it does, then change something, Arthur-”

“Don’t you speak to my Pa’ like that.” Isaac growled.

“Isaac.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur... I... I have to go now.”

Mary passes by them and trots downstairs. Arthur inhales deeply.

“C’mon. To our room.” A gentle nudge, and of course the boy picks up on the shift in his voice, the way the tone lowered and got drained of it’s usual sarcasm.

“Pa’, you can’t let people, that know nothing of us, speak to you like she did. It’s unfair.”

“People ain’t always fair, Isaac.”

“But you cared for her. She should have been.”

“Ain’t you getting your lil’ head wrapped up in some drama it ain’t supposed to be in?”

“You loved her, Pa, didn’t you...”

“Long time ago. Yes. You were real young.” Arthur sighs, opens the door to their room and steps inside after Isaac. “She couldn’t compromise and I couldn’t neither; ‘cause I was an outlaw.”

“But you tried.” Isaac sat on the edge of the bed. “I know you did.”

Arthur sits beside him: “That ain’t meaning I did my best...”

“I ain’t no outlaw.”

Arthur drags the boy onto his lap and presses a kiss on his back: “No, you ain’t.” A hand goes to comb that always messy hair of his: “You got gentleman material about you. You’ll be a great man, a great husband. Don’t let me stop you.”

Isaac shifts in his father’s embrace to wrap his arms around him.

“We gonna get out. And it ain’t only gonna be me.”

That’s a big dream, son...

 Night fell. He couldn’t sleep, but Isaac found it soon enough, sprawled on the expensive bed. Instead Arthur found himself on the narrow balcony smoking a cigar; cause just a lil’ bit of tobacco won’t do right now.

Mary just had to come in and make it all the more complicated – well, more like heartbreaking. At one point he dreamed, he really dreamed that he could be a husband to her, and her a mother to his son. But there was no way that was ever goin’ to happen, just ‘cause he is who he is. And how can he blame her and say he ain’t at fault that he’s an outlaw that can’t leave the life.

He should of left now, with Isaac for his sake. And he really wanted to. But it ain’t that easy. Arthur ain’t alone out there; John, Abigail, Jack, they’re going through the same struggles as him. They need a way out too. And if Arthur just left the guilt’ll follow him to his grave. Him and John grew up almost like brothers, annoying and dumb as he was Arthur cared ‘bout him, but mostly about his family, ‘cause the moron became a father almost entirely by accident.

And it wasn’t like Arthur became a father by design.

He can barely remember Eliza’s face. He saw her few times...

The cigar was reaching its end...

He left the balcony after the butt was thrown away. A hand goes in the satchel to grab a bottle of whatever liquor he had in there. And it all went down his throat in one go. Then Arthur went out the door, downstairs and out into the street.

He thought back to Sebastian-

He found a few more bottles of alcohol on himself. He stumbled half drunk into the brothel:

“Hi there mister-” language is slurred. “Hav’you seen Sebas-”

“Arthur?” he climbed downstairs, barely in a shirt and suspenders.

“Sebastian!” a big smile, a stumbled forward.

They more or less landed in each other’s arms. The lil’ saloon was quite busy tonight-

“You drunk, friend?”

“Just a lil’ tipsy.” And kind of missing a friend, hey- did Sebastian just call him friend...

“How’s Isaac?”

“Asleep- Can I talk to you ‘bout something-”

“Anytime.”

A hand lands heavy on Sebastian’s chest and stays there, fingers finding their way underneath the suspenders; head bows:

“I met Mary today.” He doesn’t know who Mary is, Arthur. “Mary’s- You see, I loved her a long time ago. I missed her so long.” Sebastian’s body stiffens. “I met Mary today an’ I made a fool o’myself... Said I wouldn’t- couldn’t change. And Isaac’s... Isaac’s told her off-”

“Sebastian, take him upstairs!” the bartender shouted.

“It ain’t like that!” Arthur shouts back at the man, returns his head to Sebastian soon after- “I ain’t wanting sex-”

He guesses he just wants a companion.

“Come outside with me.” Sebastian drags him outside, more or less pulling him on the hand; Arthur follows.

“Sebastian- I ain’t got ‘nough words to, just, thank you- Oh, I’m afraid you caught a fool...”

“At least you ain’t a moron.”

Arthur laughs: “Guess I got that...”

“I was thinking you got more than that...”

He’s not sure what he was alluding to: “You?”

“What?”

Voice gets low and raspy: “Do I got you?...”

It ain’t that cold out, but there’s goosebumps raised on Sebastian’s arms. The man looks down; a pause:

“You’re wearing it-”

“You saved me countless times, I-”

“I didn’t bring you back when Isaac needed it.”

“But that ain’t the point! You saved me.”

“You have any idea what place you pulled me from.” Sebastian grabs the collar of his shirt and brings him closer. “Those three weeks in the camp were the most pleasant since-”

“Don’t think ‘bout that-”

Sebastian’s head drops again, fists pull Arthur closer and he just leans in. “I ain’t no Saint.”

“Like that’s what we’re meant bein’. I’m an outlaw for Chrissakes...”

A bitter laugh bubbles out of Sebastian: “Maybe I should be one...”

“And I who though we were tryinna become more upstanding citizens.”

“We... We.” His fists clench in Arthur’s shirt. “You still ain’t told me what you’re wanting to talk about.”

“Do I gotta ask again, goddamnit-” He’s feeling light on his feet. “What’s it with you? Do I. Got you.” He leans into Sebastian.

Silence. Bent over each other on the side of the road, Sebastian’s fists into his shirt, Arthur’s arms at ease beside his body, breath stinking of all sorts of cheap alcohol they just sit like that, like some broken down statue that you can’t tell what’s was ever meant to represent.

It’s a strange feeling bubbling in his gut, sweet and sour, tastes and burns like bourbon on his tongue; the more he sits like this the warmer his insides become, his palm, his temples, and heart starts beating like a drum, heavy. He remembers Mary for some reason... An electric shiver runs through his body, from the chest down, into his guts.

Arms lift at last, place themselves on Sebastian’s waist. Head dips up and closer in. He only catches the sound of a breath cut short when his lips press onto the other’s neck, just above the collarbone.

Retreat came quick.

Sebastian tilts his head away from where Arthur kissed, as if ashamed, as if allowing him for more.

Silence once again until Arthur couldn’t handle him looking at him like that, hair swept to the side of his face, eyes half lidded and expecting.

“That’s what I am to you?” Arthur speaks up at last.

“If you want that...” Sebastian’s lips tremble.

“Dunno what I want.”

“You seemed pretty convincing to me-”

The second one is ravenous, mouth presses wide and wet onto Sebastian’s neck, lips draw skin beneath them, then teeth. He moaned.

Arthur pulls away, startled, until bodies are no longer together. Breath is quick and shallow. He looks away. So does Sebastian, but his gaze quickly returns:

“Anything you want to take upstairs?”

The word that bubbles in his mouth is different that what his mind’s thinking, but lips purse and he’s got the notion that he has to weigh the heaviest feeling: that part of him wants this. Sebastian cares...

His name dangles from his neck, and his pen in his pocket.

“Yes.”

#rdr2 tag #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #sebastian castellanos #isaac morgan #sebthur #mary linton #WE L L THINGS HAPPEN THIS CHAPTER

[thesilverdragoon]

The Second Night

The cool mountain air and the golden rays of the morning sun were always pleasant things to wake up to. Even in a tower full of snarling dragons.

Ves squeezed his eyes shut tighter momentarily before reluctantly opening them, immediately seeing that one of Sihl’s damaged wings had been covering him out of habit. He gently pushed it aside as he sat up, blinking several times.

There was the sun, just appearing from over the mountains to the east, skimming the tops of the forest trees.

Marvelous.

In his back he felt a twitching sensation before movement followed after that, and a separate yawning noise all together. Puffy seemed to be doing all right. At least until he sluggishly ‘crawled’ out, wobbling around back and forth like he was sick.

Down below at the foot of the tower, however, Ves heard the low beat of wings. Quietly he got to his feet and came to the edge to look.

Black wings, black, elongated body-

His breath hitched, before he sped back into the tower as quietly as he could making his way down to the ground level and in front of the aetheryte.

Immediately he was greeted by a familiar and usually friendly face

“Rise and shine old boy.” Lev said, smiling wide with one brow furrowed, the other arched. “I thought I smelled you around here. Glad I was right.”

Ves stood there, mouth slightly agape, hands at his sides.

“What, think I’ve come to yell at you?” Immediately the knight looked away.

Lev’s smile faded. “We should take a walk. It’s quite lovely in the morning around here, as I’m sure you’re very well aware.” Without hesitation he turned his back and walked back out of the tower.

Ves lingered behind briefly, before jogging and finally joining up with him further down the road. “Where have you been?” “Oh, you know, around. Here and there. A bit of everywhere really. I don’t typically stay in one place for very long unless I need to do something important.” Lev gently kicked a small rock aside out of their path.

“Oh.” Ves answered quietly, holding his hands behind his back. “...You uh...seem to be all right at least.” Lev let out a snort. “I was a bit roughed up after the fight but else-wise, I’m in a whole piece, thankfully. You, er...” He stopped and turned back to face Ves now, hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he eyed the prosthetic. “Seems you’ve found assistance well enough. That’s good?” Ves glanced down, holding his new left arm up, flexing his fingers and turning his hand over a few times. “...Er yes- actually-” “It’s all right. You’ll have to tell me about it over a meal sometime.” Lev interrupted, and kept walking.

Something about the tone of his voice suggested he knew something Ves didn’t, which confused the knight. But he never followed up with it. “Uh- all...right…”

They walked on, neither of them knowing exactly where to begin verbally.

Finally, Ves was the one who broke. “...Lev I-” “It’s funny I-” They both paused and stared at one another. “Uh- you first-” “No no I insist old friend-”

Ves pinched the bridge of his nose. “...All those things I said back there at the altar, Lev I-” “Oh come now, you make it sound as though you decide to thrash me in front of a priest! In front of a crowd! I do want my ring then if that’s the case.” Immediately Ves’ face flushed red and Lev laughed.

“In all seriousness though...I understand. I’d been gone for so long. Thirty years even. And without explanation- I-” Lev sighed, looking down at the floor. “Well...how could I expect you to act any differently? I abandoned you.”

Ves cleared his throat. “Well- y-yes.” He stammered. “Yes you did. I’m still angry about that.”

Lev made a faint exhaling noise through his nose and smirked a little.

“...Just...Everything after...about what I said- I-” Why couldn’t he find the words NOW? Every time he tried, they all stopped up in his throat. His stomach churned and he felt terrible and nervous. It was awful. Would it ever END? “Hhhhhhhhhh,” Came a sound from his arm. A sound he did NOT want to hear now.

Lev’s ear twitched as he furrowed his brows in confusion. “What in the world-” “Hhhhh-UH NOTHING- nothing it was nothing.” “What do you mean-” Slowly, Puffy rose out from the gaps in the prosthetic, wiggling back and forth unsteadily like a dancing cobra.

Lev’s breath hitched and Ves immediately shoved his arm behind his back, startling the worm and causing it to make another noise of surprise. “AH!!!” “SHHH-” “Oh- oh Twelve is that-” Lev was already starting to look kind of pale.

“It’s-” “IT’S ME!!! PUFFY!!!”

Ves looked rapidly back and forth between the two, trying to gauge their reactions. Puffy seemed oblivious as usual, while Lev only stood there, eyes wide and clearly afraid.

“It-...He won’t hurt you-” “Sorry. Sorry. Tried to bite last time. SORRY. CRIES.” Puffy lamented, drooping dramatically.

That much caught Lev off guard, and his nervous expression was forced into a slightly less nervous smile. “...Oh, erm...” A very uncomfortable one at that. “Th...that’s fine,” In his head he was reliving the whole thing at a rapid pace.

Puffy made a few more crying noises before retreating back into the prosthetic, growing quiet once more.

Ves looked on, distraught. “...Sorry- it-” “No no it’s… it’s all right. I just uh...didn’t expect to see the creature so soon was all. I’m glad you seem to be doing well even together at least.” He was truthful in that. Concerned, but truthful.

The knight swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes erm...”

It grew awkward again.

“...You must be hungry. I’ll fetch us something to eat.” “Oh- Lev-” Before Ves could protest any further, there stood the massive black dragon in front of him, unfurling his dark wings against the early morning daylight.

A strong gust of wind blew overhead as he took to the air, sailing off and away.

Only then did Puffy come out again, albeit cautiously. “Where go? Go? I say something wrong? I’M SORRY-” The worm cried.

Ves kept his head tilted back and towards the sky, then sighed a long sigh.

“...No...You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He felt his stomach forming even tighter knots.

“Oh...Oh good.” Puffy wobbled a little, sounding sick.

Coincidentally, it was Ves who ended up vomiting off to the side.

“SORRY.”

______________

“So, how do you like it? Tastes like beef doesn’t it??” “Hardly.” Lev had fled for the remainder of the day and returned when night fell, carrying Ves off further south, towards the Coerthan mountains and in the general direction he needed to go in order to get back to the Mythale estate.

By then, Ves had said his goodbyes to the dragons of Anyx Trine, meaning Sihl and a few of the more curious whelps. The rest of them seemed rather unconcerned.

For the time being, they sat under an overhang that shielded them from the snow. The winds were calm, the sky was clear and the moon shone brightly overhead, illuminating the land as far as they could see.

Still they avoided any deep conversation. Always ducking out at the last moment. They both knew it couldn’t last much longer.

Puffy remained relatively silent for the rest of the day. Even now, he hadn’t said much, food or not.

Ves was starting to grow worried. But he refused to address it. Not here. Tomorrow…

Once their meal was over, they sat and gazed on into the night, watching snowflakes delicately billow down from the dark. They almost glowed with the moon behind them.

“...It’s nice when it’s not storming.” Ves muttered, voice low.

“It is. Sometimes I forget that it CAN be clear, every so often. It seems to be turning into a rarer occasion actually.” Lev sat with his arms crossed.

Then he peered over at his companion. “Hey,” Ves’ ear twitched as he turned his head.

“Remember that song?”

“Which one?” “The one the soldiers would sing sometimes. You were with them longer and more recently. Did you all still sing the old songs?” Ves smirked, amused and shook his head, turning his attention back to the land below. “Sometimes. Not as often. The young ones were always embarrassed about it.”

Lev smiled. “Oh? They were for keeping up morale! I’m surprised. I thought they would have been all for it.” “Some of them were. Not all of them. Towards the end, I had several more, sheepish recruits who weren’t accustomed to physical labor.” The smirk faded.

“...There were so many coming from the city. Ill-prepared. It was like the Holy See was just tossing out anyone of age they could find, whether or not they had the mindset for it. That didn’t matter to them.” “Oh...” “I tried my best with them, but…” Ves trailed off, expression falling. “There’s only so much one can do.” Lev said quickly. “It wasn’t your fault.” “...No.” The knight sighed. “But I was their captain all the same. It was my responsibility in the end.

It was only later on I maybe started to understand why you had gone. Things...only got worse.”

Lev sat quietly, eyes unable to focus on any one particular spot. His fingers dug into his palm as he squeezed his hands in his lap.

A small snort escaped him and the two sat silently once more, until a hum came forth, trying to catch a tune.

“From icy gales on high,

From dark, death descends nigh,

With mighty beats that stir the wind...” He paused as Ves looked back at him.

“Dark wings… black sky...” The old knight nearly mumbled, before continuing on himself.

“Where mighty dragons roar

'Neath his eyes, we feel his scorn,”

“Our Fury guides with blinding light,”

“Spears aiming true, now poised to strike,”

“Against the wind.” They sang together now.

“Our foe, our fight

Our endless night

Fight on for the dawn

For Her light…”

Ves kept on. “And should we fall on this cold night

She welcomes us, we know no fright…”

“Against the wind.” Lev finished. “...See? You sing well. I always told you.” “Too bad it’s not something I made a career out of.”

“No, I suppose not. But, at the very least, maybe you could impress that lady friend of yours.”

Ves grunted and immediately broke eye contact as his face heated up. “I don’t know.” “Come now! I’m sure she’d love it! She played piano for you didn’t she??” The knight furrowed his brows. “...How did you-” “She told me.” Lev lied. “Anyhow… I suppose we should put all that’s happened behind us. Or, I’d LIKE to, anyway. So long as you’re willing. I know I am.”

Ves frowned hard, feeling slightly reluctant about it, until finally deciding that he too wished to forget about it all. Well, most of it anyway. There were some important parts he needed to remember. “...I am.”

“Thank goodness for that. My stomach’s been churning all day long. I was afraid you’d say no!”

“YOU were afraid of that?” “Well of course!” “...I-...I was too.”

“You know,” Lev leaned towards him, putting an arm around his companion and pulling him closer so that they were right next to each other. More than they were before. “We’re a mess, us two. But, I didn’t expect anything less. That seems rather typical of us doesn’t it??”

Ves grunted. “I wish it weren’t.”

“Oh I’m not so sure, life might be terribly boring otherwise!”

The response was met with a groan, to which Lev gave a hearty laugh as he slapped Ves on the shoulder several times.

“Soooo...”

“…So??”

“So! Have you professed your undying love to her yet and attempted a kiss??” “Good night.”

#the song is sung to the main melody of Against the Wind the coerthas daytime theme #because im just like that ayooooo #anyway both of them are stupid and dont know how to words because theyre embarassed so they just throw everything under the rug #and try to forget about it all and move on #stupid boys both of them #lev hates having to be serious #btw ves threw up the loftbloom puffy ate at mei's ship so im totally not gona use that later no #dovah writing

[virmillion]

The Sun is Running Late

in celebration of finishing my big bang fic (!!!!!), have some self-indulgent not-quite-angst

Warnings - death mention, implied suicide, the entire thing centers on the end of the world, first person POV (its roman), let me know if you need anything else tagged

Words - 3400

You know what? Everyone always has a different view of how the apocalypse will come about, what they’d do, how they’d survive it. Even in more common situations, like school and workplaces, I guarantee you everyone in that building has, at one point or another, figured out their plan for when they met their end. So many different notions for the same situation, whether it’s to defend everyone around you, to run for cover, to go on the offense, but no one can really know what they would do until they’re put in that situation.

    I guess that’s why I was so accepting of my own complacency with my looming demise—I had planned to stand up and fight back all along, so proving myself wrong was less of a reality check and more of an inevitable surrender.

    As it stands, waking up to a sunrise isn’t the worst way to spend my last day alive, I suppose. If you wanted to get into the specifics of how bad a nine am sunrise is, more power to you, but I’d rather take the streaking pinks and melting oranges than contemplate how deadly such a beautiful sight is. Even with the sky in tatters, shot through with angry reds and blinding yellows, it’s a welcome view in an otherwise empty town. After everyone left, there wasn’t a whole lot to do besides admire, so I’ll take what I can get, thank you very much.

    Okay, so I didn’t technically see the sun rising, but I did get to see the residue of it in the shards of mirror beside my mattress. Atop a pile of blankets, all intentionally familiar smells, I could just barely see the sun demanding my attention, of which I have a surplus. Naturally, I took the most logical step to follow and tumbled my way onto the hardwood floor. With the cold resistance serving as a reminder that I still had a life to live, I made my way outside.

    Awesome. All caught up. I’m facing my last day, the town is empty, the sun is running late, and the world is silent.

    With the smallest of grimaces at the quickly rising heat, I turn back to check everything in the building—okay, the shack, if we’re being honest, but I’m trying to be polite here. That photo of them still hangs proud over the door, the edges tattered and burnt. We all looked so happy when we took that, it almost feels like a mockery to look back on the memory with fondness. The mattress stolen from a warehouse down the street remains where it always has, and where I suspect it always will—I’m sure I won’t make it through the day, but I’ll be damned if that mattress ever disappears.

    Speaking of not making it through the day, I glance up once more. The sky—it used to be blue, I remember, just like his eyes, but not anymore. Now nothing would dare come between the sun and the planet, nothing would dare try to put out the small fires littering the street. Beside me, a stray old newspaper rolls away, burning like an ant under a microscope. Above it all, the sun, glowing yellow and orange and proud. It’s the center of that ball of fire, truthfully, that makes me so certain of my looming demise. The sun has never been purple in the center before.

    The funniest thing, though, is that this isn’t too different from normal anymore. Yeah, I still feel a pang in my chest when I think about them, and I know I’ll be making the daily trek out to the cemetery like always, and I know it’s always been my fault, but that doesn’t mean I can change it. It just means that I’ve gone numb to the pain. Would’ve been better if I’d been the one to go instead of Thomas, but what can you do, right?

    Finally content with the inevitable, I reach down to grab the red water pitcher. I’m not quite clear on how its contents haven’t evaporated under the relentless heat, but I’m not about to question convenience, either. Every flower, every tree, and every little weed gets a splash of water on my way down to the main road, leaving the shack behind me as I go. By the time the pitcher runs dry, the neighborhood animals have all started coming out of the woodwork.

    I offer each of them the usual bits of food from my pockets, careful to lure the shy ones further away to prevent fights. A fruitless endeavour, I know, since they’ll all be gone tomorrow, but it’s nice to feel like I’m making just a small difference, just for a little while, you know?

    Even the birds flock to me, demanding food I don’t have, attention I can’t give. I have one task to carry out today, one more apology to make, and they aren’t involved in it.

    A single bead of sweat trickling down my back turns into a torrent as the sun rises still, drawing closer to me with every step. Weaving between the cars, all abandoned in everyone’s haste to escape, I duck to avoid seeing the side mirrors. I haven’t seen my face in two years, and I’m not about to start now. I looked perfectly fine in that picture with them, and even if they’re gone now, I’d rather pretend I haven’t changed.

    A cough wrenches its way from my throat, reminding me why, exactly, they left me here. I hate it, the remembering of why they left me, of the hurt in Virgil’s eyes, of the cold acceptance in Logan’s. Once he knew I wouldn’t make it, he severed all ties as if we hadn’t been friends for years at that point. It’s understandable, I guess—no one wants to take an asthmatic off the planet, especially not one prone to illness. Much easier to lose one life than risk thousands.

    Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but I see his point.

    I flinch away as a car beeps loudly at me, still unused to the curious animals that have taken up residence in the unlocked vehicles. Granted, they’ve inhabited several more than they would have, had I not smashed in the windows to create new homes, but still. Just pretend that I did it so there were less opportunities for me to see my own face. Humor a dying man’s last wish, won’t you? Or, well, no, don’t do that, I guess. Can’t really honor the wish if I’m already gone, huh? Ha, yeah, that’s a little more logical. That’s what Logan, would say, anyway.

    I wish he were here.

    I shake the thought from my mind, continuing on my way. The path is treacherous, to say the least, what with the drastic climate changes lately. Warped roads and new hills appear at every turn, intent on blocking me off from my destination. One thing I will say in the sun’s favor—its refusal to submit has certainly forced me to be more physically fit. As much as I can be, at least.

    Another car rolls down a hill, missing me by mere inches as I hop onto the curb. That was Patton’s car, I remember. It crunches over some loose limbs before bumping to a stop, evidently not high enough in the momentum department to outdo a complete body. Stoppable force, meet dead object. I believe you two have interacted before, but reconciling with old acquaintances is always fun.

    Oh, right. I might’ve forgotten to mention how many lives we lost trying to escape. Mostly skin and bones at this point, all separated and unidentifiable after so long in the sun. I wonder if they all knew it was the end. Maybe no one did. Logan knew, that’s for sure. He knew exactly what he was doing when he left me here, and he knew exactly what Thomas would do when he found out.

    That doesn’t mean this is Logan’s fault, don’t get me wrong. This is just because of my faulty genetics. Logan was acting to preserve humanity, regardless of what planet that would happen on.

    I finger at the red sash roped over my shoulder, rubbing my thumb over the stump where my shoulder ends. Yeah, burying my old friends was a little difficult to do with one arm, but someone had to do it. The only reason their bodies still litter the streets is that the graveyard ran out of room. Probably would’ve been able to find a new burial ground if it weren’t for the bum leg, either.

    I suspect you’re starting to get a better picture of why they left me behind.

    Somewhere overhead, a bell tolls—the only real sound I’ve heard in the last two years. There’ve been hallucinations and everything, sure, but those are just in my head. This ringing bell, this is what reminds me that I am, in fact, still alive, no matter how much I might hate that reality. It chimes off nine more times—ten am, if I’m to believe that matters in any way. It doesn’t, really, so much as it means the sun is lurking ever closer, a deadly beam of unstoppable heat that’s probably going to kill me where I stand without me even noticing. I’ll be gone before I know what happened.

    Wishful thinking.

    I think it’s right about here, dear reader, that everything sort of hit me. You know how that happens? How all at once, you realize just how awful everything is? Yeah. Yeah, right here, as I remember the pain in Virgil’s eyes as Logan dragged him away, as I reflect on the resigned acceptance as Patton turned away, didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t even give me one last hug because it would’ve killed us right then and there, neither of us would’ve made it, I would’ve held on too tight and never let go and the sun would’ve obliterated everything and still I wouldn’t have let go—

    Yeah.

    Yeah, that’s right now.

    I feel my legs give out beneath me, collapsing to the pavement and leaning up against a blue car. It might’ve been Logan’s, maybe not, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. He’s gone, and I’m certainly not about to drive it. I can hear the animals calling in the distance, bemoaning the rising temperatures, and I can even see the steam hovering low over the black concrete, but it doesn’t really matter by now. I’ve accepted it, so I shouldn’t be so upset about what’s coming.

    People always talk about how they don’t realize they’re crying until someone else points it out, how they don’t notice the tears until their sleeves are stained with snot and salt. A nice sentiment, that your mind removes the sadness before you can notice, but it’s not me. I feel it all the way in my gut, that same stabbing ache as my eyes burn, as I press the heel of my hand against them. The world turns black behind the safety of my makeshift blindfold, spots popping up that vanish when I try to see them. Everything has vanished, including my will to stop crying, because what’s the point? No one’s going to see me, and certainly no one will care that my last moments were spent in tears.

    By the time a sizable puddle builds up beneath me, I’ve gathered the sense to press my head between my knees. I don’t know whether this helps at all, but it certainly can’t do anything to diminish my bravery—I never had enough of that, anyway.

    Running, though. Running, I can do. Running, I can do quite well, because I can focus on the burn in my chest instead of the burn behind my eyes. Encouraged by this smallest of sentiments, I rise on annoyingly shaky legs, taking off and letting my legs do the work. I’m sure the rubber of the soles is nearly melted through with every slap against the pavement, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? No one else is going to be using these shoes.

    This might be about where you ask what’s going on here. Why didn’t you off yourself after everyone left? Why are you running when there’s nowhere to run to? Why are you crying out of nowhere? Why are you avoiding how truly terrified you are of the world ending?

    This might also be where I would give you some answers, if I thought you deserved them. Do you? Have you earned the right to see the final thoughts of a dead man? How do you measure that, even? Did you think to yourself, oh, I wouldn’t have left him behind, so surely I’m a good person? Did you think that? Maybe you did, and maybe it’s true, but that’s just what you want to think. You weren’t there, not when they were. You weren’t there to see Logan’s sleepless nights, where he was so determined to find a way to bring me along. You weren’t there to see Virgil’s rage, when he started shattering glass and lighting buildings on fire, because there was nothing else to do. You weren’t there to see Patton’s desperation, to see him curled up in a corner, his face expressionless because he didn’t want anyone to know just how much he was hurting—no, he wanted to comfort me in our last hours together. You weren’t there to see that. You’re walking in on my story in the final pages, and you assume you know what the author was thinking from chapter one.

    Well, I have some news for you.

    You don’t know what the author was thinking.

    I’m the author of this doomed story, and I don’t like knowing how it ends.

    So maybe you’ll lend me your ear, just a little longer, before I run out of ink.

    Sorry.

    Sorry for going off on you like that. I know it’s hard, and I know I have no excuse, but seeing my splintered reflection in shattered car mirrors is apparently more than I can take. I pause in the middle of the road, entranced by my own eyes, ringed in red, soaked in hate. They stare back at me, and I hate to think they’re mine. I hate to think what manner of empty husk I’ve become by now, just how awful of a person I must have been to get here. I’m not trying to play the victim game, but maybe you’ll forgive me for it—you are, after all, reading this, after I’ve been long gone. It’s probably been thousands of years for you to have gotten this far. I hope the future is nicer than the now.

    Up ahead stands the cemetery I unintentionally overstocked with people I barely knew. At the farthest point from the entrance, nestled among the sprawling roots of an oak tree, is that slab of concrete. I will admit that I never learned how to engrave, so the sharpie ink is streaking down, but I like to think that makes it look more unique. Thomas always wanted a cooler name, but I was the one creating the headstone, so I got to pick what went on it. Even now, his name looks painfully beautiful in the careful calligraphy.

    This is the part where a normal person might talk aloud, voice their feelings to the indifferent sky. I don’t do that. I haven’t heard my voice since they left, since I swallowed the goodbye and merely waved from the mattress. You would think I could conjure up the willpower to talk to Thomas one last time, to apologize for not noticing, to apologize for not getting there in time, to apologize for not knowing the way to the bridge, to apologize for not paying enough attention to him, to apologize for watching Patton instead of looking out for him, to apologize for—

    Yeah. Yeah, you would think I’d be humane enough to talk to my own dead brother, but no. I can’t make myself do it. Maybe it’s out of solidarity, that my last words to Thomas were my last words ever, but there’s no real way to say for sure. In all likelihood, this won’t affect you in any way once you lose interest in my story, but thinking what I can’t say is the only closure I’ve ever had. I love you, I thought to Thomas, but I never said it. I’m sorry, I thought to Thomas, but I never said it. Please come back, I thought to Thomas, but there never would have been a way for him to hear it. In a world melting down by its own source of life, his headstone is the only thing cold anymore.

    You know, this started as a way for me to chronicle my last days before the end of the world. I don’t even know if you found the volumes preceding this one. I’ve always had so much to say, but what are the odds a stranger will pick up a random set of a few thousand words and care about them? Not very high, I suspect, but again, you’re reading this, so what do I know?

    The way back to that stupid mattress is relatively clear, save for the usual bodies and cars. I sidestep them like any other day, readily ignoring the glaring light that just won’t go away. By the time I make it back to the shack, almost everything is gone. Far more stray animals litter the path, well into their stages of rigor mortis, and I’d like to say I don’t shed a tear at the loss. It wouldn’t be true, but I’d still like to say it.

    More streaks of red pierce the sky, a much angrier pink than before as the backdrop. The yellow has all but vanished, and the orange is on its last legs as the red takes over. That same purple pinpoint, right in the center of the sun, is far too close for comfort. I can see the door to the shack now, burning away like little more than paper. I know it’s guaranteed death, but I also know I have to do this. Even as the sun sinks lower, even as everything takes on a pinkish red sheen, I know I have to see that picture again. It’ll be the last thing I do, that much is certain, but it matters.

    To me, it matters.

    I almost wish I were gone already, that the world had taken me at Thomas’s side. I wish I weren’t here anymore, because then I wouldn’t have to fear never seeing them again, I wouldn’t even have time to worry about it. It’s because the sun is running late, it wasn’t here on time this morning, and it’s just dragging out my end.

    The screen of red is nearly blinding now, shutting out almost everything in sight as I force my way through the smoking front door. The picture is right where it should be, all five of us grinning out as if nothing was wrong. That was back when they were convinced I could come, when no one knew anything was wrong with Thomas, when Logan hadn’t given up on me.

    With a blistering hand, my palm cracking, I take down the picture and admire my smile. Still had a full set of arms then, too. Such is life, I guess, that part of me left before the rest of me could follow. How insensitive of my own limb, to abandon me like this. Downright rude, is what that is.

    My vision is but a pinhole now. My head aches, I can’t feel my legs, and my tears are evaporating faster than they can fall. I can feel my eyes drying themselves out, but that doesn’t mean I can make them stop. Even my lungs are giving up, protesting against the suffocating air.

    If I focus, I can just barely make out the edges of the photo, curling in as they blacken in my hand. The world tunnels as the sun becomes fully blinding, only the smallest pinprick of sight left.

    As the picture falls from my stiff hand, already in ashes before it hits the floor, the last thing I catch a glimpse of is Thomas, grinning bright and wide.

    A similar smile adorns my own face.

Tag List: @sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @mollycassmith @zerogettie @five-hour-anxiety @ashrain5 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @faacethefacts @rileyfirstname @sassy-in-glasses @virgil-has-a-houseplant @redundant-statements-for-400 @zennyo @extremistwateragenda @breloomings @jamthefan @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @crownswriter123

Roman Tag List (from LJ’s Taglist): @thats-so-crash @ffsas-side-account @yonnie-boy @notveryglittery @Sander-sides-shambles @cashmeredragon @bubblegum-borb @the-feels-are-coming @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @neko-ereri @hanramz-the-fander @callboxkat @faacethefacts @karmicmayhem @anachronistic-cat @reba-andthesides @AskolotlQuestions @dreamsshadowwashere @katatles-the-fish @sassy-in-glasses @elvishfrenchassassin @ocotopushugs @goodonebadgirl @kirsten-the-freak @haikyuupaladin @thisisshien @someshinningideas @angeliclogan @poundland-twoface @i-will-physically-fight-you @nightlovechild @siriuswhiskers @anastasialestina @ace-v-p-d @radioactivebread @theshipqueenarrives @allthemetalsoftherainbow @dudlebuggs @cinquefoilelove @rptheturk @roman-is-a-gay @ono-its-ryane @evilmuffin @k9cat @trashypansexual @idiotauthor @roman-is-a-dramatic-prince @vulnerablevirgil @confinesofpersonalknowledge @candiukas @patchworkofstars @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @muontsy2 @katesattic @spacenerrrd @purplepatton @toujours-fidele​ @planetsanders @divinemammal @anonymouseandkeyboard

#sanders sides #roman sanders #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #death mention tw #suicide tw #the sun is running late #labhwrites #mine #ok so this was ORIGINALLY supposed to be a songfic of 'how far weve come' by matchbox twenty #so i guess listen to that if u wanna? #i went SUPER off track tho idk #ye there was no dialogue here... idk how i feel about that #i dont really know what happened here tbh #it was gonna be super different #also sorry for calling out the reader so much yall #just felt right yaknow #ok just gonna post this i guess idk theres not a whole lot to say here really #also if you think i went in and spent ten minutes grinding it so it was exactly 3400 you are exactly right good job go u #also if you remember that post i made asking for opinions on first person pov? #yeah this is why

[corellian-smuggler]

2- this was a mistake

#2.

“This was a mistake,” Leia hissed, her bad mood worsening with every passing second. She knocked her elbow against the metal and almost swore. “I don’t know what I was thinking letting you two moon jockeys talk me into this ridiculous plan.”

“Ridiculous?” Han asked from behind her, his gruff voice an echoing, indignant whisper in the enclosed space. “Will it be ridiculous if we get the data? Huh, Your Worship? Would it be ridiculous then?”

Leia huffed and continued moving forward as quickly as she could, but she’d reached a corner and it was difficult to shimmy around the sharp angle.

They’d been on-planet for three days, camping out in the depths of the jungle a day’s walk out from where they were supposed to meet their contact–an imperial traitor who’d claimed he could get them a data card encoded from the main memory bank of the imperial weapons facility that the rebels had been attempting to sabotage for months. The central memory bank not only served as the main server for that facility, but was networked to nine other bases across the galaxy. When Leia had learned just what exactly the supposed deserter had been offering them, she’d thought it’d been too good to be true. With that data card they’d have been able to track and intercept imperial weapons shipments, access their ongoing technological research and developments, steal schematics… The intelligence would be invaluable.

Then after two days of abject misery huddled together in the pouring rain–soaked to their skins and extremely ill-tempered (even Luke had started getting irritable, for once)–Leia had finally had to concede that their contact was not coming.

Which was what had somehow resulted in her current predicament–shimmying on her elbows and stomach inside a ventilation duct, because Han had come up with the bright idea of infiltrating the imperial weapons facility through the environmental control system.

“Besides,” Han griped from near her feet, “I didn’t see you coming up with anything better, Your Highness.”

“What are you talking about? I had a plan!” she snapped, curling around as best she could to glare at him down the length of her body. It was so dark in the cramped tunnel that she could hardly see him anyways, but his tone of voice was more than enough for her to know exactly the infuriating expression that must’ve been on his face.

Han snorted.

“I know you had a plan. I said you didn’t have a BETTER plan.”

“For your information–”

“Would you two cut it out?” Luke’s voice crackled through the comm link in her ear. “I can’t see a thing in here and I can’t hear Threepio over your bickering.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Her High and Mightiness–”

“Shut up!” Leia and Luke hissed.

Luke was somewhere in the vents in the north sector of the building. In order for Leia to manually download the Intel onto a data card, Luke needed to loop the security feed so that she could access the server undetected.

Han had flat out refused to be left behind. His original suggestion had been that he insert the data card while Luke took care of security, but when Leia had pointed out that she was the smallest person and also in charge of the mission, Luke and Chewie had agreed that it’d made more sense for Leia to crawl through the ventilation ducts than Han. She rolled her eyes as she listened to him struggle to get around the corner she’d just turned. His long limbs and broad shoulders were not at all conducive to vent crawling, but he’d insisted that he had to accompany her to watch her back in case she was spotted trying to hack into the mainframe. Leia had bristled at his tone, but logistically she’d had to admit that he had a point, and begrudgingly she couldn’t deny that she was starting to like that he was protective of her. He wasn’t worried the mission would be compromised; no, he was worried about the danger for her, which might have been why she couldn’t stop criticizing him and his plan.

Arguing was safer than confronting her own feelings. Arguing was invulnerable.

Threepio’s voice in her ear directed her to the right, and so she shimmied around another corner, listening to Han grumble as he anticipated the difficulty he was about to have coming around the bend behind her. She was just opening her mouth to point out how obviously right she’d been about being more suited to breaking in through the air ducts than he was when a sharp pull at her scalp stopped her voice in her throat.

Leia froze, startled by the sudden pain, head tilted back at an uncomfortable angle as she tried to wriggle backwards and get her hands around behind her head to find out what was yanking her hair.

“Hey Princess, do you mind? I’m folded in half back here.”

Leia grimaced.

“I’m stuck.”

“What?”

“My hair is caught on a screw,” she huffed, attempting one-handed to pull the braid coiled over her head away from the metal. She was making little progress, however, and beginning to worry.

“Did you get loose?” Luke asked over the comm, and Leia felt herself starting to sweat even in the chilled conditions of the enviro system.

“No, I can’t see… what I’m doing…”

She felt Han shifting around at her feet, and then his hand gripped her boot as he started crawling towards her. She wanted to look over to see what he was doing, but her braid was caught so close to her scalp that she couldn’t even turn her head. Then she felt Han’s hand on her thigh, and his body on her shins, and she realized that he was trying to squirm his way in next to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as he struggled his way over the top of her. It was obvious that he was trying to keep his weight off of her, but as his head appeared near her shoulder it became clear that the only way for them to fit side by side was to remain jammed together as closely as was physically possible. “There’s no room! Go back!”

“Do you want to be stuck in here all night?”

His mouth was right next to her ear, his breath hot against her neck, and suddenly they were pressed together down the entire length of their bodies. Abruptly Leia broke into goosebumps. His body was incredibly warm–even through their clothes, the heat of him was apparent, and his masculine scent was suddenly in her every breath. In the pit of her stomach she felt a bloom of heat, and a strange, sudden thrill that she attempted to tamp down immediately.

“Move over,” she breathed, leaning herself as far to the side of the vent as she could, so that she was flush against the cold metal.

Han shook his head and tried to squirm his arms into a good position to help her.

“Yeah, I’m lyin’ on top of you because I got plenty of space,” he quipped. “There’s no ‘over’ to move to, Sweetheart.”

The two of them squirmed around until Han was lying on his back beneath her and Leia was propped over him, both his hands finally free to fiddle with her hair. She could feel his fingers probing over her head, trying to find the caught hair, and then he worked in silence for several long moments. His efforts resulted in soft tugs at her scalp as he attempted to untangle her braid from the screw.

Leia’s heart was pounding. She had never felt so hyper aware of her own body–of every inch of herself that was touching him. Her legs tangled with his. His arms looped around hers. Her palm on his chest to steady herself. She could feel his own heart beating beneath her hand and the rhythm of his breathing–could feel it beneath her palm as his chest rose and fell, could feel it against her temple where his nose almost brushed her skin.

She was startled to realize that she was barely breathing herself.

“Are you almost done?” she asked tensely. Even that quiet whisper suddenly seemed absurdly loud in the vent. She was feeling more incredibly claustrophobic than she had since they’d climbed into the ducts in the first place, and it wasn’t really because she could barely move with Han squeezed in beside her, but more because she couldn’t escape–because there was no way for her to hide her reactions from him. Was she trembling? Could he tell? Could he feel her frantic heartbeat, like she could feel his, strong and steady? Did he notice that her breathing had become shallow and quick, or that her body was tense and rigid–more profoundly affected by his closeness than she had any right to be? Her distress rose as she tried futilely to get control over herself. Hadn’t she told herself again and again over the months since Yavin that she couldn’t indulge in this–whatever it was? What was wrong with her that she was so frazzled from just his simple proximity?

“It’d be a lot easier if I could see what the hell I’m doing,” Han grunted. The low timbre of his voice brought heat to her cheeks.

Leia winced as he pulled a bit roughly at the strands caught on the screw, and although she bit back any gasp of pain, he still seemed to have sensed he’d hurt her. She could feel his redoubled efforts to be gentle in the softer movements of his fingers.

“Almost…”

The sharp tug at her crown and the ache at her scalp finally eased just as he breathed a quiet cry of victory that told her she was freed.

At once she bowed her head to soothe the ache in her neck, her muscles protesting the awkward position she’d been in, and in doing so her forehead brushed against his shoulder.

“Bet you’re glad I’m here now, huh, Your Worship?”

Leia rolled her eyes. Leave it to Han to help her and infuriate her simultaneously. But as she glanced back up to reply that she could have gotten herself unstuck eventually, she realized just how incredibly close their faces actually were.

Han’s nose was practically touching hers, his eyes directly before her own, glinting even in the low light. Seemingly absently, his fingers massaged her scalp where her hair had been pulling, and just that simple touch was sending tingles all the way down her spine. At some point she must have lowered herself down off her elbows, because she was resting completely on his torso, though she couldn’t remember having done so, and her chest was pressed against his, one of his hands resting against the side of her neck, and by the look on his face he was as stunned as she was by the intimacy of their position.

Leia knew she should have moved, but her limbs were entirely frozen. Their breaths mingled between them in the chilly air of the vent–she had completely forgotten all about the cold, hard metal closing her in on all sides. Her awareness extended only to him, to his long limbs touching hers and his eyes boring into her, his lips so close to her own… She’d taken note, before, privately and perhaps a bit forlornly (and begrudgingly, at first), that his mouth was incredibly sensual… the ironic tilt to his smirk… the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating… she wanted to know how those lips felt against her own…

Her heart was thundering against her ribs, but she could feel that his was, too. His hand had frozen over her hair, and she was both frightened and thrilled to realize that his lips were moving closer… closer…

She closed her eyes…

“Guys? What’s going on over there? Is Leia still stuck?”

Leia reared back so violently at the sound of Luke’s voice that she managed to both bang her head against the metal and also bash her skull on the screw she’d just been caught on. The resounding crash reverberated through the vent, her cry of pain barely audible over the echoing clamor.

“Are you two alright?” Luke demanded. Leia could imagine how loud the crash had sounded through the commlink in his ear.

For one awful, frozen second she caught Han’s eye even as his hand flew up with her own to grasp at her freshly hurt head. She could see his own surprise and chagrin on his face, surely mirroring her own stunned expression.

“Han? Leia?”

“Yeah kid, I got her loose,” Han muttered, eyes still locked on hers. “Just trying to maneuver in here.”

His gaze remained trained on her face for one more crippling moment, and then finally Leia snapped back to her senses.

“Let go,” she hissed, mortified by her own actions and by the fact that Luke had inadvertently been present throughout the entire encounter.

At once Han’s hands left her. Almost frantic, Leia shimmied around, narrowly avoiding kneeing him in the stomach in her attempt to crawl out of his embrace. Han remained mercifully quiet as he worked with her to let her pass, and finally with her face on fire she was crawling ahead of him and around another corner.

She couldn’t think of anything to say to diffuse the embarrassing, awkward tension as she heard Han start crawling in her wake, once her feet had cleared his head. There was no excuse she could think of to explain why she’d almost kissed him. Goddess, was she insane? She had to force herself to breathe evenly as she moved, because she could feel herself beginning to panic. Would he make fun of her? Tell Luke? Taunt her with what she’d clearly almost done? How could she possibly defend herself? How could she have lived it down? With every second that passed she waited for him to speak, to comment on what had almost happened, but he didn’t.

He said nothing.

For once, Han Solo held his tongue.

#when you're wine tipsy on a Thursday #otterandterrier #my fic #hanleia

[booksbandspizza]

“Games“ (Nesta x Cassian Fanfiction)

Nesta and Cassian is OTP. And when you have an OTP what do you do?

Write fanfiction about it.

Feel free to read and comment below for feedback and suggestions.

{Set in The House of Wind, after Cassian is injured in Hybern}

(This fic isn’t finished, this is only a small part of it.)

- Tris

I was lying in bed and the entirety of my body hurt like hell. The healers had administered a pain killer but it was beginning to wear off. But it wasn’t the fact that I had received a physical beating that weighed on my mind so severely. It was my wings.

My wings. An Illyrian’s pride. My pride. The only part of me I cared and treasured more than my nether region. Shredded and wasted. When Rhys and the healer were speaking in low tones last night they had believed me to be unconscious. But though I couldn’t move, couldn’t even bare to blink, I heard them with perfect clarity.

“Will his wings be fully functional do you think, after this?” Rhys had asked the healer quietly.

A pause, and then, “Truly High Lord, it’s hard to say at the moment. We must wait and see and pray to the Mother for healing.”

Now I was awake and my throat was impossibly dry. Moving was impossible so instead I had to wait till someone came along. I didn’t have to wait long though, because Mor came bustling in looking agitated.

I saw her face perk up when she saw me awake and I managed to smile weakly at her.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, obvious relief flooding her features.

I had hoped to say something annoying to get on her nerves, to assure her that my tongue was still intact, but my throat, my mouth, my lips, they were all too dry. I managed to croak out, “Water.” Pathetic.

Mor didn’t hesitate, she brought me the water and held the glass to my lips. I drank in slow, painful gulps until every last drop was finished. After recovering, I said weakly, “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Mor asked

“I remember...” What did I remember? Feyre freeing us with a bit of acting and Hybern, that prick, forcing Nesta and Elain into the cauldron. Nesta. “Nesta,” I say quickly. “Where is she? Did Hybern...Is she alright?”

Mor looked amused. “She’s fine. Funny you’d inquire after her before your own High Lady.”

High Lady. Feyre. Of course. I remembered that.

“IS Feyre alright?”

“I think so. Rhys says she is anyway. They have this strange way of communicating. I’m not sure if it’s from the mating bond or because Feyre has a kernel of Rhys’ power that allows her to contact him.”

I sighed, and leaned further into the pillows. I was relieved, glad, that Feyre was okay. That Nesta and Elain were okay.

Nesta and Elain. They were both fae now. As I remember how the two of them were so prejudiced against the fae, I’m suddenly curious, suddenly concerned about how they’re dealing with their new...transformations.

I ask Mor this.

“Not well,” Mor says ruefully. “Elain, sweet thing, told us she’s just glad to be alive. Although I think she’s taking this harder than she lets on. And Nesta...” Mor’s voice trails off.

I can only imagine the fire and wrath Nesta must be experiencing. I remember her final moments as a human. The finger she lifted towards Hybern. It was an expression of damnation. If Nesta had lifted that finger to me, I’d have been terrified.

“But you’re getting along with them, Nesta and Elain?”

“Elain’s polite but afraid of me and Nesta is cold and distant.” Mor smiles, “But Az.... Az has a way with those two, especially with Elain. She gets her to talk to him, to smile and laugh even.”

“Are you jealous, Mor?” I ask carefully.

Mor looks at me with an expression that says that if wasn’t handicapped, she’d have smacked me by now. Probably in the low area. “Don’t be a busybody,” she snarls.

Ah. So she is jealous. I doubt she’s jealous of Elain. No one can harbor an ill thought about that girl. But of the closeness Az is demonstrating towards her. Well.

Generally, I try to keep my nose out of their business. Safer for me and safer for my favorite parts. But still, there are times when I cannot help but stick my face in between them.

There’s a million things I want to say to Mor. To Az. But instead I shrug and Mor is her chirpy self again. As Mor speaks in her usual cheerful tone, I can tell it’s just a mask. I can tell that she’s not quite as cheerful as she tries to make herself seem.

Likely it has something to do with the fact that I’m injured, and Feyre is in the heart of enemy territory, and our mission to nullify the Cauldron failed. And also that Jurian, that vile and cruel creature, has come back from death.

No, not likely. It has everything to do with those things.

But I allow her to talk. I know that it distracts her like it is distracts me.

Eventually, Mor glances at the clock and stands up. “I have to go,” she says. “But I’ll tell Rhys you’re awake.” Not bothering to use the door, Mor winnows out. Moments later, Rhys winnows in.

“What does an injured male have to do for some damned peace?” I demand jokingly.

Rhys ignores me and moves to stand at the foot of my bed. He surveys me with a critical eye and then he asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Physically or emotionally?”

“Don’t joke Cassian,” Rhys says sternly. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth? I’m feeling like hell. I’ve taken many a physical beating, but it’s not that that that weighs on me. It’s the state of my wings. And Rhys knows this. He knows damn well how I feel.

“Where’s Az?” I say instead.

“Patrolling,” Rhys replies simply.

“And Nesta...and Elain?”

“In the cabin.”

When I don’t respond, Rhys continues speaking. “I consulted Healer Wrayne about your injuries and she says-”

“I know what she said,” I interrupt. “That my wings won’t likely heal. Don’t dance around the fact that I’ll soon be flung into the most shameful situation an Illyrian can find himself in.”

A bastard. And not just that, an Illyrian bastard who can’t fly. Gloom clouds my thoughts. The thought of never flying, of never tasting the skies again. It carves a hole more painful in my heart than I care to admit. I shut my eyes and turn away.

“Well,” Rhys drawls, “those are fitting thoughts for a flightless bastard.”

I open my eyes and snap them back to glare at Rhys. In my anger, I snarl at him. Every depressive thought in my mind is replaced by an urge to tackle and pummel my High Lord into the ground.

It occurs to me that Rhys riled me up on purpose. To get me to snap out of it.

My anger fading, I murmur, “I know what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Then stop thinking things like that,” Rhys counters.

Rhys’ gaze is fierce as he says this. But I can’t let go of it. So I say slowly, “If...if in the event my wings can’t be healed-”

“Don’t,” Rhys says sharply, cutting me off. “Your wings will be healed. By the Cauldron Cassian if I have to burn this world to ashes to find a cure, I will. You will taste the skies again, I swear it.”

I swallow. I’m grateful for Rhys’ outburst and for his faith in my getting better. I say nothing though, simply nodding to convey my thanks but Rhys understands the depth of my gratitude and that’s all I need.

“Are you in communication with Feyre?” I ask, changing the subject.

Rhys nods then he smiles. It’s a smile I have only seen him wear for when he is truly happy. “She says that she will skin Hybern for what he’s done to you.”

“Thank the Mother, the Cauldron, and all the gods, the skinny human is going to avenge me,” I sigh.

“She says you’re a prick Cassian,” Rhys replies. Then he cocks his head at me, “Also, don’t talk about your High Lady like that.”

I roll my eyes. Territorial males.

Rhys then frowns, like he’s listening to something. Then abruptly he turns to leave. “I have to call Mor, Amren, and Az. Feyre’s found something.”

I try to sit up, but pain racks through my body and my head. I fall quickly back down on the bed.

“Rest up Cassian,” Rhys says. “That’s an order. I’ll be back later to fill you in.”

He leaves and I stare at the spot he just vacated.

Bedridden, sick, and utterly useless to my court’s efforts, I feel that burning throb of anger fill my veins once more. Flightless bastard. Those two words are whispered repeatedly in my ears by an ugly voice that refuses to be shut out.

~

A knock sounds at my door. It’s my dinner I know and damn good too. I’ve been starving for half an hour. The knock sounds again and I’m confused. Mor usually brings me my food and she never knocks.

“Come in,” I call out.

My heart nearly stops when Nesta Archernon stands in my doorway holding a steaming bowl of stew. I know that shock now shines clearly on my face because Nesta glares at me defiantly, daring me to tell her to leave. I do no such thing.

Nesta closes the door behind her and I don’t say anything as she moves to sit in the chair by my bedside usually reserved for Mor. I watch her as she moves. It’s a game of silence. My eyes gaze at her body, at the clothes that cling to it. She’s wearing a loose white shirt, tight black pants, and leather boots. Her reddish-gold hair looks as though it was done hastily, tendrils of it curl at the sides of her face.

I study her face. As a human, only a blind male would deny that Nesta Archernon was anything but beautiful. But now, with immortal blood coursing through her veins, her beauty is more vibrant. It was as though someone had enhanced every part of her that made her beautiful.

Good for her, bad for me. Because now whatever appetite I had vanished and was replaced with a deeper need that throbbed and burned in the pit of my chest.

Nesta dips a spoon into the stew. She starts to move towards me but I manage to growl at her. It comes out sounding more like a whimper. “I can feed myself,” I mutter.

Nesta rakes her eyes over me. I can feel her gaze on my body and somehow, the weight of it is worse than if she actually touched me. Slowly, she stares at my injuries; her eyes trace the outline of my wings.  Then, she lifts her gaze to my face and sneers, “Obviously,” she says in that cool, viscous voice that heats my blood.

Mother help me. That voice. That beautiful, brutal face. The heart coursing through me soars. I want to pin this woman to the ground, I want to graze my teeth against her neck and claim her mouth as my own.

We stare at each other and it’s a game. It’s a battle of who can yield first.

Nesta wins. After what seems like an eternity, she wins. And I yield to her. As gently as I’ve ever seen her, she helps me eat that damn stew. Though she doesn’t look at me I’m staring at her. More specifically, I’m staring at her pointed faerie ears.  The mark of her new-found immortality.

We’re both silent as she feeds me the food, and I’m wondering which one of us will break first.

This time, she does.

“Thank you,” she whispers softly.

I almost choke on my stew. “For what?”

“For what you did in Hybern. You tried to help us, and I thank you for that.”

“I made a promise to you,” I say evenly, “and I plan to see it through. Although, a fat lot of help I was.”

Nesta shrugs, “You tried all the same.”

The silence commences again and when I finish the stew Nesta stands up.

“Wait,” I say.

She stops. Sits back down.

“How....how are you and Elain doing?” What I mean to say, how are they holding up with their new fae abilities? But Nesta understands what I mean because she frowns.

“Your....friends have been good to us,” she says. Then she asks, “Rhysand, what is he to my sister? Is he her husband?”

“He’s her mate,” I reply. “And he may as well be her husband. They haven’t made it official, but essentially, he is her husband and more.”

“This bond,” Nesta continues, “what is it exactly?”

“It is.... a romantic bond between two fae. It’s when one faerie finds another who is equal to them in every way.”

“And is it something you cannot escape?”

“You can decline a mating bond,” I say carefully, “But it will always be intact for if you change your mind.”

Nesta is quiet and I know she is thinking about Lucien. About the bond he shares with her sister.

“Lucien,” I say softly, “you’re thinking of him aren’t you?”

“Do you mean the red-haired man?”

I nod. “Lucien isn’t bad,” I say slowly. “And I believe he will take good care of your sister, should she accept the bond.”

“She will do no such thing!” Nesta snaps. “Elain and I, we’re going to be human again. I’m going to find a way to fix this, to fix her.”

“And are you sure that’s your decision to make?”

Nesta glares at me.

“Hear me out,” I say. I try to sit up, so as to speak to her better. Instantly, Nesta moves to help me. With fae strength she manages to lift me so that I’m in a sitting position. I thank her.

Nesta sits straight up in her own chair, arms crossed over her chest, “Well?” she demands, “Let me hear what you have to say.”

I clear my throat, “What if,” I say slowly, “what if Elain wants to be with Lucien? What is she wants to stay immortal?”

“Elain is in love with a human boy and he won’t take her like that, I have to find a way to fix.. to fix all of this. She has a wedding in the summer and I plan to carry it out.”

“If this human boy won’t take Elain the way she is now, then he doesn’t deserve her.”

“You don’t understand,” Nesta snaps.

“Perhaps I don’t. But I think you should let Elain make her own decisions.”

“You don’t understand,” Nesta says, but this time it comes out weaker. “Elain is a good thing in this ugly world. And if you had a good thing,” Nesta looks at me, “wouldn’t you want to ensure that it stays safe?”

“Of course I would,” I say looking at her, my gaze unwavering. “But Elain is more than a good thing. She is a good woman. A good woman who deserves to make her own decisions. She’s not your child Nesta, she’s your sister.”

“She may as well be my child!” Nesta says. “She is good and she is pure, and I will protect her at all costs.”

“So protect her,” I reply. “But don’t suffocate her.”  

Nesta doesn’t reply to this. Instead, she bites her lip and again I feel that heat in my chest, but I manage to shove it down.

“What do you know of this Lucien anyway?” she asks.

I ponder over this. What do I know of Lucien? Any other time, I might refer to him as Tamlin’s dog but now.... “Lucien is loyal,” I say. “And I believe that his heart is good. Beneath any sort of swagger I believe that he thrives to love, serve and protect.”

I do believe this of Lucien. There is anger on my part for him for his abandoning Feyre in that manor, but I believe he can be better than that. “Lucien is confused at the moment as to where his loyalties lie. Perhaps Elain can help him with that.”

Nesta stands and she takes the bowl with her. “Well,” she says, “I’ll think on what you have said.”

I grin at her. “Listening to me, are you?”

She snarls, “Only because Elain’s happiness hangs in the balance."

“Still,” I say, pushing it, “It’s a start.”

She calls me a few choice words. And shows me a particular finger on her way out.

Once she is gone, I laugh.

Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with her for as long as she lives close by.

~

When Rhys shows up to gives me updates, I ask her who sent Nesta and who thought it would be good idea given our previous spats.

“Nobody sent her,” Rhys says raising an eyebrow, “She asked to do it.”

This surprises me and Rhys can evidently see it.

“We were all betting she’d injure you further after your little meeting, but,” he surveys me, “you don’t look any worse.”

“Well thanks,” I mutter.

The door to the room opens and Nesta, to both mine and Rhys’ surprise steps in once more. There is another bowl of stew in her hand. She greets us both with her usual glare.

Rhys looks at the bowl, “I thought Mor was supposed to bring that.”

“Mor asked me to do it.”

Rhys looks at me, then at Nesta. A small smile plays on his lips as he turns to leave me. “Well, I have things to attend to. Have fun you two... but not too much fun. I think he’s too weak for too much fun Nesta, darling. Go easy on him.” With that, he vanishes from the room leaving Nesta and I indignant.

“Prick,” I mutter at the empty space.

And she. Nesta. Smiles. She smiles like she can’t help it and I blink at her.

She bites her lip again as she nears me.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

She frowns and I continue, “Don’t bite that lip, because when you do.... when you do I can’t think properly. And I hate not being able to think.”

Nesta looks as though she doesn’t know if she should be angry with me for telling her what to do. I grin at her, “When I’m better Nesta Archernon,” I say, “I promise you, we’ll have fun, you and I.”

“Don’t you remember how your last attempt at fun ended?” she coos.

“How could I forget?” I say darkly, “I think you left a mark.”

“Are you sure you want to play, Cassian?” she says sweetly, “I might leave worse marks on you.”

“The only marks you’ll leave on me when we’re done are those on my back, made by your fingernails.”

Nesta puts the bowl on the table beside the bed and I hold my breath as she nears me. She sits beside me on the bed. Slowly she crawls towards me. Her face is so close to mine. I can feel her breath on my skin.

Cauldron boil me.

I lie still as she presses her face to my neck. I can feel her nose graze my skin. “When you’re better Cassian,” she whispers on my skin, “we’re going to play, and you’re going to lose.”

She kisses my neck then and I go liquid and hard at the same time. I want to reach for her, to pin her to this bed as she uses her teeth to graze my skin.

Oh gods. I’m burning and I won’t stop now.

Just as I try to turn my head to take her mouth on mine, I feel a sharp pain on my neck and I cry out.

Nesta pulls back until she is gone from my side and from my bed. She stands before me, grinning wide. I can see her elongated canines, they shine with blood. My blood.

I reach my hand to my neck and it comes away with blood. She bit me. The bite isn’t deep and already, it is starting to heal.

Nesta lets out a low laugh as I look at her, half anger, half desire.

“I suppose this fae body has its uses after all,” she drawls.

She leaves and I’m left hanging and burning. My body is still on fire. I can still feel her mouth on my neck, her teeth grazing my skin.

I see her, grinning, my blood staining her canines, and never in my life have I wanted a woman more.

The stew lies on the table forgotten.

#sarah j maas #acomaf #acotar #A court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #cassian #nesta #nesta archernon #nessian #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #nesta x cassian #writing

[facesofopioids-blog]

💜💙💚This Post Can Be Shared!💚💙💜 Spotlight Sunday "Escaping the Shadows" By: Amanda Skye My name is Amanda and I was born in California on June 30th 1990. To protect the information of family, I will not get into too much detail about my early years aside from key components that lead to the decisions I made as an adolescent. My parents had 4 children, my two older brothers, me and my sister. We were raised in a drug filled home and my parents struggled to feed us. My aunt, uncle and grandparents did their best to help where they could but ultimately both of my parents were hooked on methamphetamines so you can imagine, it wasn’t the best upbringing. In 1995, my grandparents moved us all to New Jersey. My sister and I lived with them for a while until my parents were able to afford an apartment for all of us. They got off of the meth at this point. We moved to Franklin NJ where I was made fun of for being overweight and wearing dirty hand me downs. My brothers both being a few years older than me, made friends and began partying. My sister and I were the best of friends. I smoked weed with my oldest brother at around age 9. By the age of 11, I was blacked out drunk for the first time. It didn’t take long for me to get involved with the wrong crowds and activities. I hung out with other kids who couldn’t quite find their place and we would get high on whatever was available. At around age 13 I had a flashback. I stopped in place and spaced out remembering horrible details of being molested by my dad. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but I still can’t explain where such vivid memories came from. After some digging around, I found out that these memories were in fact true and was still living in a home with the man who did this to me. My father passed away last year on August 20th 2017. I do not want to speak ill of him but I also am tired of keeping my story a secret. This is my first post admitting what he did to me for strangers to read. I can’t recall each time that it happened, but he wasn’t the only one. I had been sexually abused many times before I hit my teens. Like any person would, this lead to me acting out, cutting myself, failing all of my classes and becoming your typical “product of her environment.” I hated my dad and on top of the abuse he’d already put me through, he was also mentally and physically abusive as well. By the time I was 18, I had done handfuls of different drugs but had some how turned all of my grades around and graduated high school with honors. In 2009, my dad moved to North Carolina and this is where things really went down hill. After graduation, I no longer had choir (which was basically what had kept me motivated to stay in school) my house became the party house it always was when my dad wasn’t around, but this time there was no stopping it. I had been doing opiate pain pills not realizing the affect they were having on my life. I thought I could stop at anytime. I met a guy in December 2009 who introduced me to heroin. I cried my first time sniffing it because I knew what I was about to do to my life but I couldn’t stop myself. I was shooting up within a week. That relationship was not only physically abusive, but I was sure he would kill me. When I’d try to leave, he would hurt my animals, try to drive my car into on coming traffic or beat me so bad that I would stay. He once threatened “I could kill you and no one will ever find your body.” One day I had had enough and I escaped him. I turned myself into jail on warrants I had accumulated to make sure I stayed away from him. I thought for sure with him out of the picture that I would stop using heroin. I was wrong. My addiction grew even more fierce. At this point I was about 22 years old. My family and I were evicted from yet another apartment and my mother, brother and I decided to make our way to New York. We found a shelter to reside in for a while, and I was able to stay away from dope for the most part, but it didn’t last long. Fast forward, I found myself in yet another toxic relationship (he did not abuse me) where we were constantly getting high together. I bounced around from place to place, state to state, shelter to shelter. Till eventually all of my luck ran out and I wound up homeless. I milked my mom for every penny that she had, would throw fits and threaten her if she didn’t give me cash or bribe her anyway I could. A lot of my story is jumbled at this point because it would be very hard to go in depth about all of these years. After a lot of hardship and pain, that boyfriend and I decided sleeping on the streets was our best option, no rules, we made hella money panhandling and it was still kind of warm out. The weather started to change and it got colder and colder, the money started to stop being as good and the next thing I knew, I was crying everyday of my life wondering how I was going to continue living that way. The highlight of everyday was praying I had enough of a cotton shot left to get me through long enough to pan handle some money to cop. Waking up was so hard. It was soooooo cold. We would bundle ourselves under the blankets people donated to us and breathe in them to produce heat. We were sleeping on a mattress that we dragged from Brooklyn to Manhattan in a park by the Brooklyn bridge. Every day I’d wake up cursing God for waking me up again. Getting out of those blankets was horrific. I’d be so dope sick that I’d have to get up, find a tree to urinate as well as defacate behind, while bystanders walked all over the place. It was humiliating. I had stooped to the lowest of low and saw no way of making it out. I contemplated my suicide daily. I nearly got frost bite on my feet from walking around in shoes a size to small that were soaked from the snow. We would sometimes try to sleep in the subway station when it rained or snowed but would be woken up by police saying we had to get out. One day we had gone to go cop some dope. It was January 21st 2015. I was so dope sick that I could hardly walk so my at the time boyfriend went to get the dope while I waited in front of a bodega near the projects we shot up in. A man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen approached me and began to ask me my story. I lied to his face, but he was persistent. He eventually got my story out of me and took two pictures along with it. I had no idea this guy was well known and had a blog/page called Humans of New York. Long story short my photos and story went viral. The people who didn’t know the truth now did and I found out when a young girl approached me as I was panhandling in the subway station. “You’re the girl from humans of New York!” Confused and embarrassed I asked what she was talking about, she then proceeded to show me my photos that had gone viral. I was livid and mortified. That day we went with the little money we had collected and were on our way to cop. While sitting on the subway platform I began to plot my suicide. I was crying but could no longer feel. I was numb. I was weighing out my options, either I jump in front of the next subway that comes through, or I continue on living a miserable life. My mind was made up. I pictured my mom identifying my body, how much pain I would cause my family and thought about what I would never get to do. In the midst of that pain, God reached out to me and I felt a glimmer of hope. I decided in that moment that tomorrow was no longer an option, I was going to a state funded detox. I explained it to my boyfriend and told him I couldn’t wait anymore. I shot up that night looking for a vein for 45 minutes as blood gushed down my arm. He looked at me and said “you’re really done aren’t you?” I didn’t have to answer his question. I went into a detox where I stayed for 6 days. As soon as I got out, I was high again. I decided to look at the comments on my photos and all of the horrible and mean comments were replaced with strangers telling me they believed in me and offering hope. Among 15,000 comments I came across one from a woman who owned her own treatment center. She offered to fly me out to California and help me for free. I agreed but still had a hard time believing I would go through with it. I postponed for about 4 days and in those days I drank, shot heroin and cried. My last shot of heroin was on 2/7/2015. The next day I was flown to California. My life has completely changed. I had some bumps in the road with my behaviors but ultimately did not relapse at all. I stuck with it, got involved in my program and started working. I have been able to build a life I never thought I would have. As I shared in a previous post, I lost my brother Michael to an overdose on 3/12/2017. I did not get high. I wanted to but I did not. I miss him everyday of my life. I try to live sober in his memory. 5 months later my dad died from lung cancer. I had been able to forgive him and my last words To him just days before he died were that I loved him. I was able to be there to help my family through both of these tragedies. I was able to show countless others that there is no reason to get high again. I was able to prove to MYSELF that I am worth it. I have 3.5 years completely sober. I have a daughter due any day now and a wonderful boyfriend, home and relationships with my family. I call to check on them. I work in recovery and am blessed to be able to live a sober life without the need for drugs or alcohol. Some days are hard, just because you get sober does not mean life gets easy. In fact, it gets harder. Adulting is tough, walking through deaths of loved ones is horrific but I feel so much more accomplished than I ever have in my life. Today I live for so much more. I may not be perfect but I like who I am. Recovery isn’t easy but it’s 100% worth it. Sorry for the length of this story but it feels good to let it out. Thank you for taking the time to read this and god bless everyone. If you’re still struggling, you can make it out too. Never give up. https://m.facebook.com/groups/1685500114824029?view=permalink&id=2331108240263210