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analoceits · 2 months

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mourning tea

A03 link

summary: He bit his tongue to stop the spiteful feeling suddenly building in his gut, shaking it off of him like a dog that was freshly hosed down. He was being uncharitable; this was an olive branch, Patton should be appreciative. They were trying to get along more, he had asked for more effort like this, he had no right to be angry or annoyed. Just.. did Janus have to pick today? - - - It’s the anniversary of the day that king died. Things are somber.

note: hi!! when i wrote this fic i forgot that that would also be the twins birthdays just. uh just ignore that for me. pls and thank you <3. uhh enjoy!!

taglist: @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat, @thegoldenduckie

As soon as the bumps in the table cloth settled under Patton's fingers he took a quick glance around the room, and everything was practically flawless. The tea cups were lined up to the inch, the morning sun filtered through the barely parted curtains beautifully, and the tiles were practically glowing in the light. Even if perfection wasn’t achievable, this was close, he thought. He was proud of his work.

(It was too good, though. It couldn’t last. Perfect things rest on a thin line, and they’ll tip and topple with the slightest push of the wind, and even if you try to be gentle dust will seep in with time and either way you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t and-)

And Patton really needed to stop letting his mind wander today.

He cleared his head, taking a deep breath in - unclenching his jaw and unclenching his fists - and a deep breath out - easing the tension from his shoulders and lower back. There, back to focusing. He drew his attention to the little digital clock in the corner of the room and read the time - 7:28 AM. Janus should be here soon, he thought.

Of course he would be, this was Janus’s ideas after all. This.. meeting. The meeting he had proposed after the 5 year anniversary video, the one Patton accepted without missing a beat because he wasn’t paying attention to the date and was just so happy for them to get along. This tea party for grown children.

He bit his tongue to stop the spiteful feeling suddenly building in his gut, shaking it off of him like a dog that was freshly hosed down. He was being uncharitable; this was an olive branch, Patton should be appreciative. They were trying to get along more, he had asked for more effort like this, he had no right to be angry or annoyed.

Just.. did Janus have to pick today?

He shouldn’t blame Janus for the choice, it wasn’t intentional. He doubt any of the other sides remembered, let alone Janus. Thomas was so, so young when it happened; Patton was sure that after all these years he was the only one who even remembered what day it was, really. Who would hold the grief so close but him?

After all these years he could barely remember Romulus’s face himself; he was starting to blur in old pictures as the memory waned. Still, the thought of him - his smile, his patience, his calloused hands - it made his chest ache and always left him dazed. The grief never really left or eased, he just had to grow around it.

Usually, he would spend today curled up with his knees pressed to his chest in the darkest and warmest corner of his room and he would pretend. He would pretend to himself, without telling a soul - that there were four other sides. Virgil, Logan, Janus, and Romulus. He would pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, as if it would save him the grief.

(It never did.)

It was the only way he could get through this day, at least he thought. Now, though, standing and biting back the sickly aching pain, he thought - just maybe - he could actually survive this. Painfully, but he could make the table and talk to Janus and breath like his lungs were still right, and it’d be fine. He’d numb his wounds and it’d be fine.

As soon as he pulled himself from his thoughts the toasted dinged behind him, to which he rushed over. Two slices, on for him and one for janus. He smeared a healthy helping of butter and jam across the modest breakfast, his hands barely shaking despite himself. He could survive this.

Right as he was setting the dishes on the table, there was a swish of the door and a settling click. Janus. “Oh, it looks perfect, thank you so much dear,” Janus’s voice was sweet and thick like honey, a soothing balm. Patton looked up to thank him and offer him his seat, and he choked on air.

Golden lace dripped down his shoulders across the edge of his capelet, rippling in beautiful waves and interspersed with black teardrop gems. His - what Patton now realized was a dress - faded to a beautiful golden at the end, occasionally dotted with those same black tear drops in am intricate pattern. His bowler hat was replaced for a sun hat - complete with a golden ribbon and a black veil. He looked beautiful.

Patton seemingly stared longer than he thought, because after a moment Janus laughed tensely and he averted his eyes, in what Patton half registered as embarrassment. “It’s alright, dear,” he soothed, “I didn’t expect you to be all fancied up like me - I’m just doing the for fun, anyway. The theatre of it all, you know.”

Patton wasn’t worried about being presentable, not today, but he didn’t dare look the gift horse of Janus ignoring his bright red face in the mouth. Instead, he nodded as firmly as he could and spoke, “thank you, Jan.” With a smile that managed to be only a little awkward. His thoughts were off-topic, severely off-topic.

After one more second of awkward pause, Patton forced himself to move, pulling out Janus’s seat for him and offering it to him with a soft smile. “The foods all still warm,” he promised as Janus settled in the seat and Patton took to his own across from his. Janus gave him a warm smile - with a tint of something else, and Patton tried his best to beam it back, asking “how are you?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” he answered smoothly, blowing on the tea before taking a sip of it delicately. That same odd smile stayed after he drank, “I would ask you the same, but.. it feels a stupid question, considering the day and all.”

It took Patton a long moment to process the words as he stared blankly at Janus. As soon as the implication caught up to him, though, his shoulders seemed to knit together into one entity with how tense he got. Oh. Oh. Janus remembered. He picked today on purpose, didn’t he?

(Briefly, in the back of his mind he finally registered what the emotion lingering behind Janus’s smile was: grief.)

Janus watched his reaction with a mix of concern and mild confusion, a hand half reached out to him like Patton was something volatile to be treated with caution. Something seemed to click in his head, though, the moment after Patton came to his realization, and he quietly asked, “Patton.. you were aware I picked today with intention, weren’t you?”

Patton looked to the side and a gave a small, sad smile, and the lie was slipping out of his mouth before he could even think to stop himself. “I.. just forgot what day it was, I guess that’s why it didn’t register,” he had a mildly forced smile on his face as he spoke.

Janus frowned at him. “.. Patton,” he said slowly and painfully, painfully gently, “you don’t have to lie to me, we both know it’s a good idea to do that.” He said, and despite the sarcastic words - he never seemed particularly snappy with him. All of his motions and words were slow, gentle, like Patton could break with the slightest push.

Patton wrung his hands out tensely, seemingly trying to look anywhere in the room but at Janus. After a tense second of this anti-staring contest or whatever he should call it, he forced out, “I just.. thought you wouldn’t choose a day like this for a tea party, that’s all.” The bitterness in his tone was guttural; unintentional but inevitable.

Before he could stumble out any forced apologies or reassurances to go with the surprisingly harsh words that just escaped him, Janus spoke first. It was a question, a simple one at that. “Ah, would you.. prefer I reschedule? It wouldn’t be a problem, you know.” He asked, still so gentle.

Patton stared at him, and in the thick of his gut he knew the correct answer was probably a ‘yes, please’. It was what he had wanted all along, but now - in a warm kitchen with nice lights and Janus smiling at him so sweetly, spending the rest of the day in his room seemed unbearable. He wasn’t sure he would survive that.

“It’s, uhm.. it’s not bad.” Patton promised, a bit of desperation seeping into his tone, pleading that Janus wouldn’t insist so they could stay like this - lovingly uncomfortable or whatever he could call it. It was better than alone, he realized, so much better than alone.

Luckily, though, Janus seemed to relent with ease, letting out an all too easy, “if you insist.” Patton watched his expression and had a very strange, but comforting thought. Maybe Janus didn’t want to spend today alone either.

With that on his mind, he took a warm drink of the tea. It was sweet in his mouth and down his throat. It was a little nostalgic, too - going over to Thomas’s nanas house when they were nothing but young boys.

When there were just five sides.

The pang of pain ate up the entirety of Patton’s chest with that thought, but before he could speak in an attempt to distract himself, Janus did. Outrunning him yet again, he asked, “what kind of jam is on the bread?”

It was a simple question, but one Patton couldn’t help but giggle at. “Crofters,” he said - then added, leaning closer and whispering as if it was a big secret, “I don’t think Logan will let us buy any other kind.” It was true, in his defense.

Janus smiled and gave an equally hearty laugh at that answer, “I’m not sure why I asked, of course it’s crofters.” After that he took a bite from the toast and smiled with satisfaction, “it’s sweet and toasted just right as well.” Then he gave Patton an oddly soft look, “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Padre.”

The words were warm, and sweet, and the pain of the day was less in Patton’s chest with that mind. This.. was easier than being alone, wasn’t it? Suddenly, in a warm kitchen with Janus smiling at him like he was the sweetest thing, a warm but dark room was unimaginable.

Despite those sweet thoughts, Patton’s mouth ruined the moment instantly. Before anything normal could be said, he blurted out the thought that had been on his mind since Janus had asked him that little question months ago, “why.. today?”

Janus gave him a surprised stare and Patton cringed, wishing he could take back those two words more than he had ever wished for anything. After a long second, Janus just very politely said, “it felt fitting.”

Patton knew for a fact that he should stop digging there. He had gotten what he wanted, which was Janus to not leave, and so it should be fine. But, staring at him as he stared back, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, “what does that mean?”

Janus sighed and Patton worried it was out of annoyance, but he kept up his polite demeanor nonetheless. “The..” splitting, Patton filled in mentally, “death, of king, seemed to sever the bond between us. So, having the fixing of that bond - or at least the start of it, be on the anniversary felt fitting.”

Patton stared. Death. He hadn’t ever called it a death before because, really, it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Sure, king was gone - but he didn’t die. The twins were still there. If the twins were still there, he was still there, but.. no. The twins weren’t him, were they? He had died.

It was somewhat inevitable that Patton was going to cry today. He was tired, and he was grieving, and he had woken up at an ungodly hour to set up the kitchen. It didn’t make it hurt less, though. He choked out the tears, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars like it would help.

Patton managed to whisper one, choked word through his tears. “Penance.”

Janus cursed under his breath, awkwardly reaching out and setting a hand across Patton’s arm. “No, no, Patton please,” he begged, “that’s not what I meant. You aren’t guilty, you were seven, this isn’t a punishment. I..” He sighed, giving in, “I was lying. I don’t have any greater reason to this, I just-” he reached for Patton’s hand, intertwining their fingers like he was afraid Patton was going to leave when he spoke, “I just didn’t want to be alone today.”

Patton looked up tentatively, eyes still brimming with tears but expression soft, staring silently for a long, long second, before carefully clamping two of his hands around Janus’s, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. “Oh,” he said before softly adding, “I think thats ok, then. I don’t want to be alone either.”

Janus gave him a soft smile back. The kitchen was warm.

#sanders sides #tss #ts sides #sasi #patton sanders #janus sanders #romulus sanders #king creativity #moceit #platonic moceit

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littlemisspascal · 5 months

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Part 2: Take What Comes

Summary:

Once Javi learns about the hour of free time you have after media training he starts seeking you out every day. Sometimes you both just play on your phones, scrolling through social media, showing each other memes and videos, but mostly you spend the hour talking, chatting about anything that comes to mind, growing more comfortable in each other’s company.

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)*

Word Count: 5000+

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Human AU, Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language, Food, Holiday party--reader wears reindeer headband, Reader's Mom included

Author Note: Been a year since last update and it's still just as super self-indulgent as ever ✨ Thank you anyone who gives it a read!

Winter Dividers credit here!

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

*see series masterlist for more info

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

You start collecting facts about him throughout the conversations, little tidbits filed away neatly in a box you’ve labeled Javi in your mind. His mom died when he was young, leaving his father to fill the void while also successfully running his multimillion olive empire. He’s an only child, but his cousin’s a year older and they were practically raised as brothers. (“Butt heads like brothers too,” Javi chuckled, but you didn’t miss how hollow it sounded.) He likes brightly colored shirts, oranges and greens and blues, the kind that only 1% of the world population can actually pull off. Besides racing and swimming, his third passion is life in script writing, but no matter how much you poke and plead at him he refuses to share any of his potential plots, nerves getting the better of him.

He started his career in karting a year before you did. Javi admitted he hadn’t been interested in racing until his father took him to the final Formula 1 race of the 2007 season where he witnessed Pietro Alvarez win his first of three championships. The older Spaniard became his idol, inspiring Javi to follow in his footsteps.

“You have no idea how jealous I was when I heard you were partners at the Ando Overland,” Javi told you, followed by a nudge against your side with his elbow. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, getting to race against him on the grid was…”

He’d trailed off, a soft smile brightening his face. And even without words, you’d understood. The opportunity to race alongside your heroes, some of the best drivers in the world—it’s like something out of a dream, one of those pinch me moments you pray you don’t wake up from.

You briefly entertained the thought of telling Javi he was one of your idols. That he’d been a part of the collage of driver posters adorning your childhood bedroom walls. But your fear and embarrassment of his reaction—whether flattered or weirded out—perished the idea as quick as it came.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you said instead with a matching grin. “A bit of a coffee addict, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Says the lemonade addict,” Javi said, laughing when you kicked at his shin. “What’s that saying about the pot and kettle?”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, but the smile on your face hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it’d stretched even wider.

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed your shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You learn Javi has a love-hate relationship with social media. Well, maybe not love-hate but rather love-indifferent. Unlike you who likes to tweet or post a photo at least every other day, he’ll go weeks without an update, then either go on a short spree of liking and commenting on stuff or just post a random photo of his food before bailing again for another month. Still, he never makes fun of you when he catches you live streaming or angling your phone for the perfect selfie, simply dodges out of the way until you’re finished.

“Did you suddenly become camera-shy or are you trying to be all mysterious and cool like Bigfoot?” you asked him once and he merely shrugged.

“I appreciate the fans, but it’s nice having this time out of the spotlight,” he’d answered. You were content to leave it at that, but then he smirked and added, “Also, everyone knows the only reason Bigfoot doesn’t show up on camera is because he’s naturally blurry.”

Bantering with Javi is easy. More than that, you enjoy it. You don’t have to worry about him not understanding the obscure film references you make or mistaking your sarcasm for sincerity. He even laughs at your stupidest jokes which spurs you on to make more stupid jokes, the sound of his laughter contagious and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes oddly endearing.

Javi can quote any Nicolas Cage film from memory, line for line, a talent which comes in handy winning bets against Melshi and some of the pit crew boys who underestimate Javi’s skills. He happily shows you some more photos of his memorabilia collection after you mention seeing the ones on his Instagram.

“When we’re in Spain for the race next season, come with me to Majorca and I’ll give you a tour,” Javi says decisively, looking like he’s already planning the trip right then and there. “You can stay at our house. There’s lots of spare bedrooms. I’ll take you to all my favorite places.”

Your head spins a little at that. You haven't even known each other a whole month and here he is inviting you to stay at his family’s home. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise though. Between the daily hanging out after media training and challenging each other in the simulator, Javi had inserted himself seamlessly into the narrative of your life like he was always meant to be there.

“Okay,” you say, smiling. “Sounds like fun.”

“We’ll have a great time,” Javi agrees, and it sounds like a promise.

From: Barbara Minerva ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]) Subject: Upcoming Interview w/ Speed Beasts

Oddball,

I’ve just finished confirming a future interview for you with Speed Beasts magazine at their head office in January. Their questions should be similar to what you experienced last time, mainly discussing your hopes and goals for the 2023 season, but regardless I’ll help you prepare as the date draws nearer so no need to worry too much.

However, they have expressed interest in potentially including Ben Miller and making it a joint article and cover shoot. Given your close friendship with each other, I don’t imagine you being opposed to the idea but I wouldn’t be a good PR manager if I didn’t check in and listen to your opinion on the matter.

Give it a thought and get back to me once your mind’s made up.

Barb

To: Benny (5:10pm)

I said yes to us doing an interview together

To: Benny (5:10pm)

Don’t make me regret this, young man

From: Benny (5:12pm)

Relax, O. I’ll only say nice things about you ;)

To: Benny (5:13pm)

And there it is. Instant regret

“That new teammate of yours certainly grew up cute, didn’t he?”

It’s only thanks to your quick reflexes that you don’t accidentally cut off a finger.

“ Mom.” Setting down the knife, you glare at the half-finished pile of chopped carrot pieces for your salad. They didn’t do anything wrong, but seeing as your mother is on a whole other continent they’re the unfortunate victim of your irritation.

“I’m just saying I have eyes, dear,” she laughs. “The hair, the muscles, those dimples—he’s quite the package.”

You make a strangled sound not unlike a choking cat, unable to believe her lack of filter sometimes. Your mother lets out another peal of laughter that has your thumb itching to press the hang up button.

“Mom…”

“Alright, alright,” she says, sobering. In the background you can hear the faint sounds of a television show with a laugh track. It makes your heart twinge a bit, recalling days the two of you spent lounging around the house binge marathoning sitcoms with a bowl of popcorn.

“I remember seeing him in those magazines you used to buy,” Mom continues, a soft smile in her voice. “Now you’re going to be right there beside him in the pictures. Funny how life works out sometimes.”

You hum. “Yeah, it is.”

Outside your kitchen window the sky’s a dark wintery gray, promising a dropping temperature as night gradually approaches. Your socked feet shuffle against the tile floor, already dreading the cold walk to your car in the morning.

“Are you getting along with him?” she asks.

“We had lunch together.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s…”

You rack your head for a word that can encompass everything that Javi is. Nice, intelligent, funny as hell and so genuine it’s almost unbelievable someone like him can exist in the world of F1. You don’t know what his personality is like during a real race when the pressure can make tempers ignite, but if he’s anything like the glimpses you’ve seen during shared simulator practices though—competitive and serious, determined to do whatever he can to achieve good results, but also fair, congratulating you on the rare, yet slowly increasing occasions when you do better than him with a smile and pat on the shoulder—then you have hope your partnership will be a positive experience this season.

“He’s Javi,” you end up saying with a tiny shrug. “He’s my teammate.”

“I see,” Mom replies in a tone you can’t quite identify.

Your brow scrunches, mouth opening to ask but before you can get the question out she’s already speaking again, beating you to the punch.

“Is Javi doing anything for the holidays?” The lightness of her tone is just a hair too innocent.

“He’s going home to his family,” you say, bursting her hopeful bubble of inviting him to Sorgan. She’s about as subtle as a bantha. “You’ll just be getting me.”

“The best present of all,” she declares, and the words warm you from the inside out as if she’s hugging you across the distance. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I’m starting to forget what you look like.”

“Same as always,” your mouth turns up at the corners with a teasing smirk, “plus a couple of new tattoos.”

“For your sake I hope you’re kidding.”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch me on the Drive Awards to know for sure.”

She exhales a quiet huff, and you imagine her shaking her head, eyes lifted towards the ceiling. “You say that like there’s any chance I’m gonna miss my one and only daughter appearing at the most prestigious award ceremony for motorsports. Don’t be foolish.”

“Me? Never.” Your stomach growls, reminding you of your interrupted lunch preparations. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom, food is calling me.”

“Be sure to text me as soon as you’ve got your flight home booked.”

“Will do.”

From: Vivian Etten ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]); Javi Gutierrez ([email protected]); Vulpecula Staff ([email protected]) Subject: Mark Your Calendars Attached: Upcoming Dates to Remember for Vulpecula F1 (pdf)

Hello,

Attached is a list of upcoming important events for the F1 team. January dates are still in the process of being scheduled and a follow up email will be sent in the upcoming weeks once everything’s properly organized and settled.

Please note this year’s Drive Awards will be held in London. Formal attire is a necessity and a gourmet meal will be served prior to the ceremony. If you plan to invite a guest you must register them with me beforehand. Swing by my office or respond to this email ASAP with their name if you plan on bringing someone.

Happy holidays to all!

Vivian Etten

CEO of Vulpecula Racing

You blink sluggishly, trying to stay awake. Stuck in a meeting room listening to Vivian and her top executives sweet talk investors to secure additional funding from them isn’t the most riveting way to spend your morning, but what Vivian wants Vivian usually gets. And this time she wanted you and Javi to be present so the investors could personally meet the new faces of the team.

A glance across the table shows Javi leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping a silent beat against the armrest. You wonder what it means, if it’s a trick to keep him alert or a subconscious tick like the way your leg bounces when you’re nervous. He’s probably attended several meetings just like this in the past. Knows when it’s necessary to listen and when he can get by merely pretending he has an inkling of what's going on.

Dressed in entirely black with a cobalt blue pocket square and tousled curls, Javi looks like a different person compared to the rest of your interactions. Less like a racing driver, more like royalty. You’re certainly not the only one who’s noticed his handsome looks. Of the dozen investors, at least three have eyed Javi with such blatant interest they might as well be waving neon signs.

Javi catches you staring, fingers halting their drumming. There’s a second or two where you simply stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away. Then he sticks his tongue out childishly, brown eyes crossing. It’s neither the time nor place for such an expression—you’re pretty sure Vivian’s talking about inflation or something else equally important and serious—and yet you find yourself stifling a giggle into the palm of your hand before your tired brain can summon enough energy to stop it from forming.

“Of course that’s all subject to change depending on the results of the season,” Vivian’s saying at the head of the table, flipping closed her folder. “Any final words you’d like to contribute, Odds?”

Every pair of eyes in the room turns to look at you, and your blood runs cold. You hadn’t spoken throughout the meeting, content to just smile and shake hands at the beginning and then let Vivian take the lead for the rest. You rack your head for a response that doesn’t sound completely stupid.

“Uh, well,” you straighten your spine, projecting as much of an aura of confidence as you can muster, “I’m extremely grateful to have been given the chance to be one of Vupecula’s drivers. I’m also proud to be a part of a team with such a long history, too. And I think I speak for both myself and Javi when I say that we’re determined to win as many points as we can to increase Vulpecula’s ranking.”

“We’ll keep fighting from the beginning to the end,” Javi agrees with a firm nod. “No giving up. No surrendering.”

“Fantastic,” Vivian says, beaming at you both with pride. “I think that about wraps everything up for the time being. Anyone up for some lunch?”

The investors all eagerly agree, neatly filing out of the room to be the first ones in the cafeteria line.

Javi waits for you by the door, walking out into the hallway close enough his arm brushes against yours. “What do you think about leaving headquarters for our lunch break?”

“Works for me,” you say, absently pulling at the sleeve of your sweater. It’s one of your nicest ones you own but it never fails to make your skin feel itchy. “Where were you planning?”

“Somewhere close by,” is his cryptic, grinning reply.

Somewhere close by winds up being Javi’s apartment, a quiet and private spot on the edge of town about fifteen minutes from your own place. The drive is pleasant, if not more than a little confusing for you, sitting in the passenger seat without a clue about the final destination until Javi’s suddenly parking and waving a hand towards an apartment complex as if to say ta-da!

“You like salmon?” Javi asks you as he unlocks his door, standing to the side to let you enter first. Apparently chivalry isn’t totally dead.

Still, you can’t help the teasing smirk pulling at your mouth. “They’re alright. Not as cute as clown fish though.”

“Well, duh, nobody can take away Nemo’s crown.” Javi rolls his eyes playfully before heading for the kitchen. He opens the fridge, poking his head inside as he calls out, “How about salmon skewers for lunch?”

“Sounds delicious. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got it all under control. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Despite only recently moving here, Javi’s created a warm and cozy home with bright pops of colors and personal touches, like the impressive collection of DVDs next to the television and numerous hanging plants in front of the windows. There’s a pair of checkered vans kicked off in the entryway, a dog-eared book about script writing on the coffee table, and a box of fruit loops left on the kitchen bar counter—a cheat meal that has you biting back a snicker, thinking of your own guilty pleasures stashed back home.

Javi hums as he moves around the kitchen, piercing chunks of salmon and onions on bamboo skewers to be grilled on a skillet. His actions are smooth, confident, same as the way he handles the sim’s steering wheel back at headquarters.

When he sets the plates down on the table, your mouth instantly salivates from the delicious smell as you lean in for a sniff. Fuck that’s good. Eggsy might have a rival for being the best cook amongst the drivers.

“Go on, I promise it isn’t poisoned,” Javi says before sinking his teeth into a massive bite of fish.

You snort quietly, taking a bite of your own.

And well, if you have to sink your fingernails into your palm to hold back a moan then that’s between you and your stinging hand.

Still, something must flash across your face because there’s a glint of amusement in Javi’s brown eyes. “You like it, no? Best meal you’ve ever had? C’mon, let me hear it.”

Swallowing, you hum a long note, pretending to think. “Top ten for sure.”

“Top ten? Ugh, you wound me, Odds.” Javi groans, throwing a hand over his heart as if your words had been a dagger. “First guest I cook for in my new place and I barely earned an honorable mention. Unacceptable.”

You laugh. “Just means you’ll have to cook for me more often.”

“Mm.” He nibbles on one of the onions, eyes narrowing. “Challenge accepted. I’m coming for the gold.”

After finishing your meals Javi grabs a couple of pomegranate popsicles out of the freezer for dessert. He stretches out his legs beneath the table, knocking the side of his shoe against your ankle. Smirks when you immediately nudge him back. And to think he’s supposed to be the older, more mature one. Vivian would be rolling her eyes if she saw you two right now.

“I like your place,” you say in-between licks. “You settling in alright?”

“Hmm?” Javi blinks, as if startled out of his thoughts. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, it was a smooth move all things considered. Nothing got lost in transit this time, gracias a Dios.”

Right, this isn’t Javi’s first rodeo when it comes to packing up all his belongings and moving to a whole new place. You’d faced a difficult enough struggle moving from Sorgan to Altair, you can’t imagine doing it again and again. Fingers crossed Vulpecula keeps you around for a long, long time.

“And what about Vulpecula? Good so far?”

“Everyone’s been very welcoming,” he answers, biting off a piece of his popsicle with a slight crunch. He offers a grin once he swallows. “I’m happy to be here. I think it will be a fun time for us. Hard as hell, but fun.”

“One for the history books,” you murmur, imagining the potential of putting Vulpecula back on top again. Where it belongs. “It’d be amazing, wouldn’t it? You and me on the podium.”

Javi laughs. “It would be pretty entertaining pouring my bottle of champagne over your head.”

“Oi!” You swat at his arm, but you’re unable to stifle your own laughter. “Forget it. You’ll be down in the crowd, looking up at me and my trophy in total envy.”

“You got it all wrong, Oddball. I’d be front and center, cheering your name louder than anyone.”

You feel a pulse of warmth bloom in your chest, and you look back to your popsicle, sticking it into your mouth before you say or do something embarrassing.

From: Eggsy (3:05pm)

Hey! My turn to host the holiday party this year so stick around London on the 19th. Better bring a good gift this time >:(

To: Eggsy (3:07pm)

Kk. You make it sound like what I brought last year was terrible tho

From: Eggsy (3:08pm)

You brought an empty tin of cookies and said you’d been swarmed by raccoons

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)

Those trash pandas are vicious beasts

From: Eggsy (3:09pm)

You had chocolate stains all over your face

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

I don’t know what you’re talking about

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

It was a longer driver than I anticipated, alright?

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

You’re one to talk Mr. Hoverboard. At least I didn’t set anyone on fire :P

To: Eggsy (3:13pm)

What time should I come with my great gift?

From: Eggsy (3:14pm)

See you at 7 :D

“A lot of famous faces from the motorsport community are coming to this ceremony tonight. Is there anyone in particular you’re excited about seeing, Javi?” asks the interviewer.

Javi offers a dimpled grin, a hand reaching up to adjust his glasses as a ripple of flashing cameras erupts at the arrival of another guest. “To be honest, if I named everyone I’m excited to see we’d be here all night,” he answers with a chuckle. “There are so many big names appearing on stage. True legends of motorsport I’ve looked up to since I was a kid. And then there’s also so much rising talent too, like rarita here.”

The interviewer, you think her name is Shelley, blonde haired with a beaming smile, turns the microphone to you. Your dress suddenly feels two times too tight, constricting air flow. God, you wish you had even a smidge of Javi’s confidence, charming everyone he talks to, looking like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine in his black suit. Even his glasses manage to come across as elegant rather than boring.

Focus, you tell yourself, remembering your lessons with Barbara. No slouching. No pineapple face. And absolutely no public displays of vomiting regardless of your level of anxiety.

“That’s right. You’ll be a full-time driver in F1 next season. Things can’t get much better for you at the moment Oddball, can they?”

You stand up straighter, imagining your parents watching back home, no doubt having bragged to everybody in the village about their daughter appearing on tv, on a red carpet no less. Thinking of them, of their pride and love, of their support and sacrifices, makes the smile stretching across your face feel a little less forced.

“It’s been an unbelievably great year,” you say, using every bit of self-control to keep your voice level. “I didn’t expect a second-place finish for the season. It was a very competitive bunch, including some of my best friends who I’m thrilled are going to join me on the grid. To finish 2022 with that ranking and gain a seat with Vulpecula is just amazing.”

Shelley nods, then proceeds to make an exaggerated show of looking you over head to toe. “Well, I’d bet all the money in my wallet that if you turned up to the paddock looking as stunning as you do right now you’d win the race by a landslide.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refraining from grimacing. She’s the third interviewer tonight to make a comment about your appearance, meanwhile Javi and the other male drivers have been asked questions about racing and their preparation for the upcoming season.

“I don’t think the FIA would approve of these heels,” you reply, adding a chuckle even though it sounds hollow to your own ears. You feel Javi’s hand on your lower back, a grounding touch. A silent message of reassurance that he’s on your side. An ally in this sea of fancy clothes and flashbulbs.

Stay together, Gabriella had said before you and Javi got in the limo to the event, a command echoed by an equally-stern looking Barbara. You’re not just teammates at headquarters and during grand prix weekends. As long as you race for Vulpecula, you’re partners through thick and thin. Even if one of you makes a mistake, no matter what, stay together.

“You want me to cough or something next time?” Javi murmurs in your ear as you scoot along the red carpet a couple more steps.

“What?” you ask distractedly, barely avoiding stepping on the extravagant train of Lauren Van Chance’s dress. The mauve fabric probably costs more than the budget of the whole award show. No way you would have left here alive if you’d torn a hole in it.

“If another interviewer makes an objectifying comment, I could have a coughing fit. Or try to trip them. Or stare down the camera like we’re on The Office —”

“As hilarious as that would be,” you say through a snort of laughter, genuine this time, “nah, that’s alright.”

“You sure?” Javi checks.

“I’m sure. Thanks, curls.”

Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Style Post #37 Sunday December 18 2022

Summary: See the best dressed at the most prestigious award event for the motorsport industry.

FOURTEEN BIGGEST MOMENTS AT THE 2022 DRIVE AWARDS

By Pippa Vitalis, Bubblefeed Updated 19 December 2022

Ricky Hauk wins Rookie of the Year Award

Robert McCall’s selfie with Eggsy Unwin, Oddball, and Ben Miller

Marcus Moreno dedicates his Racing Driver of the Year Award to his mother, Anita Moreno

Pero Tovar’s priceless facial expressions the whole night long

Javi Gutierrez calls his teammate Oddball “Rarita” on the red carpet

The night after the Drive Awards, you arrive at Eggsy’s place right on time wearing a reindeer antler headband and a present tucked under your arm. Eggsy immediately steals the gift away when you enter, shaking it for suspicious noises as he takes it to the small pile in the corner. Ben flicks one of the plush antlers because every party needs an asshole, and Ricky brings you a glass of his famous sparkling punch with a happy grin.

You’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow taking you back home with Sorgan. This is the last night you’ll spend with your friends for a long while, too busy and too spread out in the upcoming weeks to see each other. You hope you’ll see at least one of them at the start of the new year before the pre-season testing begins in February, but you also remember how virtually impossible it was for Ricky to carve out a spare day in his schedule before his rookie debut. For as hectic and rushed as things already seem, it’s only going to get worse for all of you.

“Benny brought his brother. You remember Will, yeah?” Eggsy says, gesturing with a nod of his chin to the blond chuckling at a wildly gesticulating Ben recounting a story. “He’s gonna be Benny’s new trainer, got a degree for it ‘n everything.”

William Miller. Of course you remember him. Can’t ever forget the boy who was your first crush once upon a time, heart beating a little faster whenever you saw him and his bright blue eyes at the karting races—not that you let anyone else know about your pining. Oh no, you had rather run over your own foot with your go-kart than let it slip you thought your friend’s older brother was cute.

And he’s only become cuter since you last saw him several years ago, growing up into a tall, ruggedly handsome man with a scruffy beard and arm muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of his snowflake-patterned sweater when he crosses them over his chest.

Cheerful notes of a Christmas song blast out from the speakers on Eggsy’s stereo system, adding to the festive atmosphere as more drinks are poured and conversations continue to flow. JB the pug darts about the room, body wiggling madly with every friendly scritch to his ears he receives, dressed for the holiday in a collar adorned with a little green-and-red plaid bowtie. Spoiled, critics might say, those who don’t know the story of how and when JB came into Eggsy’s life. Cherished, you say instead, because you do know.

Ben tells you what a great teammate Frankie’s been so far, taking him to The Chill Zone for the first time. The local snow cone stand in Altair has closed for the winter season, but you make a mental promise to take Javi to it as soon as the temperature warms up. You’d invited your teammate to come along to the party, certain none of your friends would mind, but he’d had an early morning flight back to Spain. Hopefully the trip soothes some of his homesickness.

“Just do yourself a favor and avoid lavender bubblegum at all costs.” Ben sticks his tongue out, face scrunching with disgust. “Frankie’s got a shit sense of taste.”

You congratulate Ricky again on his Rookie of the Year Award, surprised when he confesses how nervous he was standing up on stage in front of the crowd because he looked so professional in his suit and tie, thanking a long list of people who helped him on his journey. Will smoothly cuts into the conversation to offer some tips to improve self-confidence, saying he worked as a motivational speaker in order to pay for his classes. And you can picture it, him easily capturing an audience’s attention with his honeyed voice.

Ricky makes a hasty exit to fight Eggsy over the last sugar cookie, claiming he already called dibs, leaving you and Will alone in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but there’s a noticeable weight to it, neither one of you knowing what to say to alleviate the tension.

“You look like you’re enjoying the holiday spirit,” Will says finally with a crooked smile, glancing up at your antlers with amusement.

“I love it,” you answer with a wide grin, bells on your headband jingling lightly. “Are you looking forward to next season? I heard you’re gonna be Benny’s trainer. Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, I’ll definitely need it,” he chuckles and then shrugs his shoulders. “It’s going to be interesting—working with family always has its own unique challenges. But there’s no one else I’d like to help accomplish their dream more than my brother.”

You blink, watching as his eyebrows climb up his forehead, abruptly looking like a deer paralyzed by headlights.

“Not that I wouldn’t be excited for you if you became champion—or Eggsy or Ricky either!” He’s full-on babbling now, cheeks going pink. “We’re on opposite teams, but that doesn’t mean we’re archenemies, right? Right. I mean, I could-I could still take you out to dinner to, uh, catch up. Or a cup of coffee at least? Maybe?”

And suddenly you’re hit with the realization of what's happening. Will is asking you out. Your childhood crush is asking you out on a date. Wow. That’s—that’s hard to process. You feel as if your entire brain has forgotten words.

“Huh?” you say, more of a strangled noise than anything intelligible.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this. I must sound like an idiot.” Will’s expression turns sheepish. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other, in person at least. You probably have a boyfriend or—”

“No, no! No boyfriends for me,” you quickly interject, then internally cringe because now look who sounds like an idiot. You avert your gaze to the snowflake pattern, unable to meet his blue eyes. “Dinner sounds great. I’d like that. When were you thinking?”

Will chuckles again, a little shaky and relieved sound that has some of the tension draining from your shoulders. It gives you the courage to look up and see the gentle smile playing on his lips. “Ben said you two are doing an interview together for Speed Beasts in January. I could tag along, bet you and me could find something we both like.”

You smile, heartbeat fluttering as you raise your cup in a mock-toast. “I bet we could.”

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x you #javi gutierrez x ofc #pedrostories #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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strawberryrosess · 3 months

Text

Betrayal with a glimmer of light

Felix Catton x Oliver Quick

18+

Warnings: brief mention of smut, drinking, drugs, swearing, homophobic thoughts, toxic relationship

Summary: A take on what could have happened that night in the maze.

A/N You can also read this fic on A03! I hope you guys enjoy! :) 🍓🌹

Felix felt captivated the moment he caught Oliver gazing at him through his dorm window. Felix caught his eye by accident across the courtyard and the moment he saw those big blue eyes, Felix knew he needed to know the owner. But he didn’t approach Oliver right away, no, he studied the other boy. He would sit with Farleigh in the library and watch Oliver out of the corner of his eye, Felix would sometimes catch Oliver gazing at him. Of course the younger one would always look away the moment their eyes met, embarrassed about being caught staring. And then Felix’s chance to finally make his move came. By whatever grace of god, Felix’s bike had a flat tire and Oliver happened to be riding past him and saw his distress. Honestly Felix could have cared less about missing his tutorial, but the moment Oliver offered for Felix to take his bike he knew he couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Most people wouldn’t have shown Felix that level of kindness, they mostly just wanted to get close for his title or his money. But Oliver was in it for actual friendship, and nothing more. No strings attached. He finally got to know the owner of those gorgeous blue eyes. From then on, Felix invited Oliver to hang out with him and his friends whenever they went to the pub or the dance club. Farleigh of course thought Felix had other motives, and Oliver was just the newest toy in a long line of forgotten ones. Felix hated that Farleigh couldn’t see that this one was different, Felix actually liked Oliver and he liked hanging out with him. Felix was obsessed with Oliver, he would do his best to spend every waking moment with the boy. Oliver didn't seem to mind, he seemed happy to just have someone to spend time with. That day when Oliver showed up crying at Felix’s dorm room, was the first time that Felix started to feel something that wasn’t friendship, but more.

Felix invited Oliver to Saltburn for the summer in hopes of turning their friendship into something more. He also genuinely felt bad for the younger boy, after hearing about his parents and how his father had passed. Felix was excited to spend the summer with his friend, but of course Venetia had to get in the way. However, Oliver surprisingly shut that down fast and Felix was delighted to have his favorite friend back beside him.

That summer was Felix’s favorite summer in a long time, he actually enjoyed being back at his family home. Felix’s feelings for Oliver grew stronger every day, and it didn’t help that the blue eyed boy was so damn nice and kind. That just made Felix fall harder, seeing how kind Oliver was to all the staff at Saltburn. They would sit by the pond and read together, or swim, just mundane normal things but they meant the world to Felix. He admired everything about Oliver. Felix also knew that Oliver was watching him that night in the bathtub, if only Oliver knew that it was him Felix was thinking about. Felix wanted nothing more than to confess his feelings and kiss Oliver passionately, and though he was completely obsessed with the blue eyed boy, Felix didn’t want to ruin what they had. Their friendship meant something to Felix and he held that close to him.

Unfortunately Felix saw something he shouldn’t have and slowly things started to unravel.

It was nearing Oliver's birthday and Felix was just mindlessly wandering around the large house when he came across Oliver's phone in the dining room. Coincidentally it was ringing when Felix found it, and he was a little too curious for his own good so he answered it. It was Oliver’s mother, sounding very concerned on the phone, wondering where her son had been all summer. Felix was confused by some of what she had to say, but he reassured her that Oliver was fine. That was when Felix decided to devise a plan to go and visit Oliver's mum for his birthday, since it seemed very important to her. The morning of his favorite friend's birthday, Felix told him to dress nice, as he was going to surprise him. Oliver kept demanding to know where they were going, but Felix refused to give in. It wasn’t until Oliver saw the “Prescott” sign and the completely panicked look that followed, that Felix started to grow a little suspicious.

In the span of 30 seconds, everything about their friendship fell apart. Oliver’s parents weren’t raging drug addicts living in squalor, they were normal people living in a nice suburban neighborhood. And Oliver’s father was most definitely alive, since Felix spent most of the afternoon talking to him. Felix kept glancing over at Oliver, and he looked as if he was waiting for the floor to swallow him. The drive home was the worst part, Oliver tried pleading with Felix, but he just ignored Oliver. He stared straight ahead at the road with a death grip on the steering wheel. Felix had no idea how to feel about anything, Oliver had lied about everything and Felix wondered if any of their friendship was actually true. He started to question everything that had happened over the summer, and he started to feel guilty and embarrassed for becoming so obsessed with Oliver, only to find out it was all fake.

Once they had returned to Saltburn, Oliver once again tried pleading with Felix. Trying to salvage what was left in the wreckage of their friendship. Felix just pushed him away and hid in his room before the party. He felt stupid for crying over Oliver, and he felt stupid for crying over his romantic feelings for Oliver. Felix felt stupid for becoming so obsessed with Oliver. Despite what had happened, Felix wanted nothing more than to forgive Oliver, and go on as if nothing had ever happened. But he knew he couldn’t do that, he had to at least try and get over Oliver, hopefully before the new school year. However that was going to be extremely hard at the moment with Oliver living at Saltburn. Felix spent most of the party hiding in one of the large bathrooms in the house, talking, drinking and doing a line or two with his friends. Oliver did try to approach him, but Felix quickly shooed him away. He wasn’t about to potentially spill his and Oliver’s guts in front of his posh friends. They didn’t even know Felix secretly liked guys more than women.

Felix always knew he was different from other guys. He would catch himself staring at other guys' asses for a little longer than he should have. He also couldn’t relate to his guy friend's sexual conquest because Felix didn’t feel the same sexual drive for women as they did. Sure he had been with plenty of women and knew how to pleasure them, but he mostly did it to blend in and hide the fact that he liked guys. Felix worried what his family might think if they ever found out, he knew Venetia and his mother probably wouldn’t have an issue with it but he couldn’t say the same about his father.

And that’s how he found himself here, in the center of the hedge maze with his dick in a girl he barely knew, but alcohol made him do stupid things. Not that the girl was stupid, but him fucking her in the middle of a hedge maze was stupid. part of him wished it was a certain blue eyed man instead of the girl, but Felix knew that was unreasonable, right?

Felix was so mad at Oliver for lying about his life, but he was also mad at himself for becoming so attached and so obsessed. Usually Felix would be cautious with his friends, especially newer friends because sometimes people just wanted to use him. But Felix could tell that Oliver wasn't a threat and just a nice guy and it was really easy for Felix to become completely and utterly obsessed with the boy. Felix liked the idea of someone relying on him for everything. He specifically requested their rooms be just a bathroom apart so he could stay close to Oliver. There was something so fascinating to Felix about Oliver. He was so knowledgeable about the most random things and found any book interesting. Felix could listen to Oliver talk forever about anything. Which is why it hurt so much to find out that Oliver lied about everything, because Felix realized he was just like the rest. One thing Felix didn't know was why, why did Oliver lie about everything?

Felix heard Oliver's harsh irish accent behind him and he let go of the girl.

"Fuckin' hell, Ollie." Felix grumbled, turning around to face the shorter man. The nickname slipped out habitually, only this time it felt foreign on Felix's tongue. The girl mumbled some mean words under her breath before finding her way out of the maze. Felix took a deep breath and held the air in his lungs for a moment before letting it go. The cold night air felt nice against his warm skin, the alcohol making his body temperature slightly higher. Oliver stumbled towards Felix, stopping right in front of him. Felix gazed into those big blue eyes and his heart tightened and he felt butterflies in his stomach. He could smell the alcohol on the younger man's breath, both of them slightly inebriated.

"Why? Why did you lie, Oliver?" Felix asked, leaning back against the concrete pillar behind him. Oliver opened his mouth a few times to say something, but the words never came. Felix scoffed and rolled his eyes, he decided to keep talking.

"I trusted you Ollie! I told you private personal things, and I invited you into my home. I even felt bad for you when you told me about your father, only to find out it was all a lie." Felix exclaimed, avoiding the piercing blue gaze below him. Felix wanted to cry and scream at Oliver, but he also wanted to fuck the shit out of him right here.

"I just wanted to be your friend." Oliver mumbled quietly. Felix felt like the air around him stopped coming, and his breath got caught in his lungs. He honestly wasn't sure what to think of Oliver's words. A lot of people wanted to be friends with Felix, it was a byproduct of coming from a filthy rich family, and most of them wanted to be friends with him for his money or title. But Oliver's motives shook Felix, almost no one wanted to become friends with Felix just to be friends. It made Felix want to forgive Oliver for lying about his life, but Felix knew he couldn’t just ignore it. He finally looked into those stunning blue eyes to find them looking back at him, desperately trying to read Felix’s expression. Oliver seemed impossibly close to Felix, he could feel his body heat and smell the alcohol on Oliver's breath.

“Screw it” Felix thought and grabbed Oliver face, pulling him up a little bit and pressed his lips to Olivers. Oliver was tense at first, but he quickly relaxed into the kiss. Felix ran his tongue over Oliver's bottom lip and bit it softly before pulling away. They gazed into each other's eyes, speechless for the moment.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Oliver asked, breaking the thick silence that had fallen over the maze.

“Not quite.” Felix said with a slight smirk, and Oliver felt butterflies in his stomach at the lust in Felix’ eyes.

Felix knew their relationship was toxic and part of him was still skeptical of Oliver but at that moment he didn’t care. His obsession with the younger man was too deep for him to just leave it alone, and he had finally gotten what he had waited all school year and all summer for, a kiss from the man he was completely and utterly obsessed and in love with.

#saltburn #felix catton #oliver quick #felix x oliver #cattonquick

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thedo0zyslider · 9 months

Text

But I Know We'll Meet Again (Some Sunny Day) - 3k words

Martyn is not from this world, or any world he visits. But there is one man who is from all of those, one man he meets every time. One man he can't leave without, but has to learn how to again.

A03 Link

Martyn is a rat, but he has not always been a rat. Today is his last day as one, and he never expected to be given such a perfect opportunity to leave, or for it to hurt as much as it’s going to. As confusing as that all is, he is soon going to be a human again. And a large part of him doesn't want to be. But it is a part of his mission, a part of his one goal, so he must. His wants seem to not matter in this situation, and yeah, that might be a little frustrating at times. And by “at times” he means right now, and he stands in the cold snow, a little ways away from the others.

He can see the other rats just a foot or so ahead, all cluttered around each other for the most part. A few, like Oli and Tubbo, are off to the side a little, but for the most part they are all together. The ones that made it anyways, for none of them have any idea where Lizzie and Shelby have gone. Martyn’s heart aches for them for a second, worries over if they’re okay and if they’re alive. Lizzie did get shot with that crossbow after all.

Martyn knows he should get to leaving soon, before they notice that he’s lagging behind. But he can’t force himself to look away just yet, not until he’s etched all these peoples faces into his memory permanently. He’s going to miss these rats so much . More than he’d ever thought he could miss anyone ever before.

He’s going to miss Garbage Rat the most he can tell, mainly because he can’t tear his gaze away. Little rat Martyn had to fall in love with like, probably the scummiest NPC out there, because of course he did. Of course his tastes were garbage.

Martyn remembers the scuffles they’d been in together, how they’d offered to literally die for that guy, all the late nights at the bar together. He wishes he’d said I love you at least once. He has a feeling Oli already knows.

Before he gets too sentimental Martyn turns his back, still somehow unnoticed. He goes to where the portal out of here supposedly is, because if he stays any longer he won’t be able to leave. His insides are twisting and shattering into a million pieces, but he has to leave. He just has too.

Martyn jumps into the swirling purple vortex, and hopes his next mission is quick and easy.

__________________________________

A few missions later, Martyn is dropped into the middle of the ocean. He is not a rat, hasn’t been for a while now, and doesn’t think he’ll ever be again. This time he is a human, a pirate, and he is soaking wet. Which is the annoying part, thanks a lot for that one, Doc.

Once he stumbles onto shore, there’s quite a few people that catch his eye. The Kestrels they call themselves, the pirates who love treasure the most and are absolutely very rich. Because he’s in pirate land now, apparently. Compared to the other three factions Martyn learns about, this seems like the best shot at finding whatever L.O.O.T is hidden in this world. When it came to deciding which a faction to join, the choice was an easy one

And maybe it’s because, amongst all the other familiar NPCs, there is one in the Kestrels that catches his eye. A man called Oliver, from a place called Sheffield on Sea. A man lost to the sea, who’s supposedly trying to return to his wife and son. A man that reminds Martyn of a very particular rat.

He even goes by Oli as well, funnily enough. If NPCs were the same across missions, Martyn might even believe he’d run into the same guy again. Oh, a man could dream, couldn't he?

Martyn is drawn to Oli, and that latter seems equally as drawn to him. He gives him the same nickname he had all those months ago, calls him Marty. Martyn calls him Ponytail in return. The two are thick as thieves by the end of quite a harrowing and dangerous day, and Martyn decides to indulge in this world while he could. Indulging didn’t hurt his L.O.O.T quest last time, so he sees no reason why it should now.

He finds himself falling in love again, to no one's surprise. He falls fast and hard too, being enamored with Oil before even a week had passed. Martyn just can’t stop himself, even when he knows it’s going to end in disaster. Though Oli does seem to return the feeling just a bit, so Martyn will pretend that this wasn’t going to end in heartbreak, and will let them get closer and closer with every passing day.

Pirate life for Martyn gets better one day, when it’s just him and Oliver alone at the Kestrel base. The others had gone into town, or on a quest, leaving the both of them all alone. The blonde was feeling rather frisky that day, a little flirtatious even. And maybe Oli returned his advances, and flirted back.

Martyn, feeling a little encouraged after an hour of flirting (and many more prior moments of holding each other far too tenderly to be anything platonic,) gets bold. Oli’s standing on the second floor when Martyn walks up the stairs, back to the stairwell. At one point, before the blonde had landed in the ocean, Sausage had made him the faction's treasurer of sorts. Oliver seemed to be finishing up that job right now, money being scooped off the table and back into its usual places of storage, wherever that was.

In a second Martyn has crossed the room, letting his feet fall loudly so as to not startle his friend. His fellow Kestrel does not turn, just finishes what he was doing as Martyn stands behind him, chest pressed against the small of his back.

He wraps his arms around Oli’s waist, and the other Kestrel huffs in amusement. “Forward aren’t you?” He muttered, Martyn’s head resting on his shoulder.

“I thought this faction was normally very forward.” He muttered in response, nuzzling his face into the crook of Oli’s neck. And maybe Martyn smirked as well, knowing how the other would melt for such an action.

“You have a point, sadly.” Oli huffed, leaning into the touch fully.

“Good!” Martyn said, a giggle escaping him before he could stop it. A moment later Oli was yelping, his fellow Kestrel picking him up and dragging him onto the couch alongside him. The man shrieked out some string of words, but Martyn paid his protest no mind. The blonde was sitting in his lap soon enough, clinging onto the other for dear life.

“What a rude man you are!” Oli exclaimed with light indignation, arms unconsciously being draped over Martyn’s neck.

“C’mon, you know you love me~!” He teased, arms wrapping around the other’s torso again and holding him close. The other didn’t respond, only gave him an annoyed glare. The look held amusement as well, and maybe something a little more fond right next to it. So Martyn took it as a chance to move their faces closer, until they had to go cross-eyed to meet each other's gazes. Their lips brushed together for the smallest of seconds, and Oli was moving back to look at him properly.

“I have a wife, Marty!” Oli huffed in protest, yet didn’t try to break free of his grasp. It was a weak protest, anyone could see the way his eyes kept flicking down towards Martyn’s lips, almost in anticipation.

“Never stopped you before.” He muttered, leaning in more. Oli blinked, a little hesitantly, before moving to meet him in the middle. The blonde smiled into the kiss they shared, delighted by how familiar it felt. For all his protest, Oliver kissed him quite messily, like he was more desperate for this than Martyn was. Which wasn’t possible, by the way.

Martyn moved to grab the back of Oli’s head, deepening an already quite passionate kiss. He couldn’t help himself really, he’d missed this for far too long to have any sort of restraint. And as long as his partner didn’t protest, the blonde was very content to go to town.

Oliver ended up straddling him, kissing him roughly into the back of the couch. They’re both making a fair share of noises, sharp teeth catch on tongues and biting at each other’s lips desperately. When they pull away for air both men are flushed bright red, and diving back in for more as soon as they can. Martyn never wants to stop this, drunk of the feeling of kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.

His kisses start to move downwards after a bit, slowly moving from Oli’s mouth to his jawline. The blonde makes a noise at that, but again does nothing to stop him. So Martyn continues, all the way down until he’s pressing open mouthed kisses to his lover's neck. At some point he’d tugged the other’s collar away, unbuttoning his partner’s shirt for better access; and maybe a peak at his chest while he was there. One of Martyn’s hands, the one not gripping at dyed blonde hair, goes to rest on Oli’s waist after that; steadying him in his lap. His fingers sometimes slip a little…. downwards as well. Not very far though, just enough to tease, enough to fiddle with a waistband even.

Maybe they’re getting a bit too handsy in the Kestrels' usual hangout spot, but it’s fine. Martyn had picked a time when no one was home for just this reason. He’d known how far he would inevitably be trying to take this when they’d started.

“ Oh , you’re very forward.” Oli hums, the first word coming out as more of moan than anything. Which sends a pleseant thrill through the man under him.

Martyn smirks against his warm, sun-kissed skin. “It’s my specialty~” He bites down again, teeth sinking into the other’s neck delicately. Oli whines at that, and cranes his neck back to give Martyn better access. The blonde knows he’s lived too long without this guy then, because he’d forgotten how easily Oli folded at any sort of affection, and was just now remembering. Almost unconsciously, he grinds his hips against the others, and the action is a little returned as well.

He works a good few marks onto Oli’s neck, before there’s a distinct sound of voices and footsteps on the floor below. Their fellow Kestrels have returned it seemed, and Martyn is a little more than startled. Either that was a quick treasure hunt, or they’d made out for several hours straight. And honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if either of those options were true.

Oli moves away at the sound, running a hand through his hair hastily to fix it. Martyn makes a disappointed sound, and gives the other the best puppy dog eyes he can muster. “C’mon~” He says slyly, catching Oli by the hips before he’s able to stand. “They might not come up here~”

“I literally just heard Sausage asking about us.” Oli huffed, wriggling away slowly. Martyn isn’t one to give up easily though, and keeps the man tied to him for a little bit longer.

“This ain’t anything they’ve haven’t seen before.” He protested, positive that Kyle and Sausage have done much worse in this building than both of them could do in a single night.

“I don’t think they want to watch, Marty!” At that he finally let Oli stand, because fine, he supposed that was fair. They had been getting a bit too heated, probably. He stands after, taking a moment to stretch. Oli fixes his collar best he can, though Martyn doubts that will hide much. He looks obviously dazed, and bit more than he usually does.

Before Oli makes it to the stairs Martyn catches him by the wrist. His chest is pressed to the small of Oli’s back, breath landing on his ear. He hopes it’s as effective as he intended, and that it’s making the other Kestrel turn scarlet. “We can always continue this later, right Ponytail?” He whispers, maybe a little hopefully. He really doesn’t care what continuing it would mean under this context, he just needs to kiss Oli some more. Needs to kiss him d esperately , he’s going to lose it if he doesn’t.

“Naturally~” Oli purrs, turning around to place a small peck on the blonde’s cheek. He leaves Martyn standing there, obviously lovestruck, and makes his way down the stairs. Martyn waits a minute, mostly to not look too suspicious (and because he’s a lovesick fool ,) before heading down after him.

Even despite his tardiness the other two still catch on, Scar making a few jokes about the suspicious marks peaking above Oli’s shirt collar, about the way they stand far too close. But it’s all between Sausage’s exaggerated tale of the adventure they went on, one Martyn is content to sit and listen to for a while. Maybe he’ll have the drinks that are offered to him as well, and even whisper sweet nothing to Oli when he’s far too wasted and his thoughts are all astray.

And maybe Oli will whisper in return, and they’ll wake up in the same bed together the next morning, rumors about how they’d drunkenly run off together already festering around the Kestrel base. They’d both be far too hungover to confirm or deny any questions later, but that doesn’t matter. Not when Martyn can hold Oli close to his chest and never let go, until they have to get up, that is. Not when Martyn can admire his beloved during a slow morning, brushing hair out of his sleeping face gently and loving the way the morning sun shines onto his lover’s face. (And maybe he’ll pepper gentle kisses against his skin as well, in a rare moment of overwhelming affection.)

And maybe every night they fall into the same bed, one of their rooms only being used for storage after a certain point. A certain someone even stopped lamenting over his wedding ring one day, and that is when Martyn knows Oli will not sail off and leave him one day (even if everyone does think his wife is a crab.) Maybe they share a room every night, Oli begging for cuddles plaintively and Martyn happy to oblige. Happy to hold him just for another night longer.

Maybe they do this every night, until Martyn finds that treasure he’s looking for. And then he has to leave. He has to leave the love of his life again, after even more months spent with the man. And Martyn would be a liar and a fool to say he isn’t tempted to stay here, to abandon his whole life's mission just for one bloody stupid man. One man who’s probably some stupid NPC anyways, but he can’t help it.

It’s a stormy night, the night he has to leave. Most everyone that's still alive is at their own faction bases, or getting hammered in the pub. It’s dark, it’s rainy. There’s barely any light to see him in, and there will be no traces of his footprints in the morning. If Martyn can get out of the isles undetected, the only clue should be one missing ship at the Kestrel base.

But he’d waited too long, and hadn't seen Oliver at all that day. It was on purpose, because if he saw him Martyn didn’t think he’d be able to leave. But sadly his lover was not a fool, and knew it was weird to not receive any sort of loving words from the blonde. Sometimes Martyn would regret how much he indulged, only for a second though.

He’d only made it out of the Kestrel’s main building, pockets full of L.O.O.T and anything he thought the Datastream would maybe let him keep. He’s barely out the front door before he hears footsteps behind him, and Oli is standing in the doorway.

“Martyn?” He asks, and that the first time in so many months he’s dropped that silly nickname. The nickname Martyn will soon be aching to hear again. “What’s going on? Where are you going in this weather?”

“Just out on a little quest! I’ll be back in the morning!” The blonde smiles, lying through his teeth. His voice is full of forced cheer, and so is his expression, and it doesn’t even work for a second.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? You found that big treasure you needed, and know you’re leaving.” Martyn feels his heart shatter into thousands of pieces at the sound of his beloved’s voice. There’s so much pain in it, pain the other is clearly trying not to show. The rain has picked up, soaking Martyn and falling on his face. He can not tell if the wetness on his cheeks and the blurriness of his vision is from that, or tears he’s unaware of shedding.

He wants to see Oliver’s face one last time, just as he did last time, so he wipes the wetness away from his eyes. “I’ll see you again one day, yeah?” To him the words have some truth, because maybe they will meet elsewhere, in another world. To Oli they are a lie, a meaningless promise. They both know Martyn will never return to the pirate's life, he will never see this version of his friend ever again.

He wants to give Oliver one last kiss goodbye, but knows if he does so leaving will be impossible. So when the other man does not respond, he turns away and continues down the path and towards the portal location. Oli watches him go, not moving to stop him, until his ship has disappeared into the night. The Kestrels’ door is slammed shut in a fit of grief.

Martyn sails back to his destination, replaying memories when a departure last hurt so much. He remembers being small, and remembers running through snow. He remembers staring into the face of Garbage Rat, who little rat Martyn had never seen scared before, and committing his face to memory. He commits all the rats' faces to memory as best he can, and runs onto a frozen lake to leave them. He even thought he heard Jimmy and Garbage Rat calling out for him before he left, but that had to be his ears playing tricks on him.

If the universe gave him a choice between being a rat again, or finally leaving the Datastream, Martyn knows he would choose to be a rat again. Every single time. He would choose to be a pirate again too, even if this adventure had been far too dangerous for his liking.

Back on the isles, Oli sleeps in a bed by himself for the first time in months. It is not his bed, it is Martyn’s old one, because that is the one they used to share every day. A few days later, when the others start asking where Martyn is, Oli says he is gone. The only clarification he gives is that Martyn isn’t dead, he’s just never coming home again. No more poking and prodding will make him speak more on the manner, even if his friends start getting concerned for his mental state. So what if he’s acting all depressed? His lover had just left him because of some stupid treasure . He knows Kestrels are supposed to love money the most and all, but this is different. This time it hurts .

He even takes out the ring again. Before, Oli had no reason to sail home to his wife, but now there is nothing keeping him here. He is healthy, he is richer than when he first washed up on shore, he has a ship and all the supplies he needs, this place is getting far too dangerous to stay anyways, and there is no Martyn to tether him down.

The wife will never love him like that man has, no one ever will. In fact the wife will love him worse than ever before, he’s sure of it. But he has a son, a son who loved him perfectly fine before. A son who deserves to grow up with a father. So Oli decides to grow up, be an adult for once, and go home, even if the wife had probably given up on him by now. For there is nothing left for him on these isles, and maybe there is something at Sheffield on Sea. (He doubts it, but what is he supposed to do? There is nothing left for him here, at home. There is nothing left in being a Kestrel, not without his Martyn, not anymore.)

#ron.writing #ron.fic #LISTENNNN I KNOW I SAID ID WRITE MIRRIOR BIRDS AND HAD A POLL AND EVERYTHING #and i tried. but the demons. they were strong #anyways. more gay people in 3-5 buisness days #inthelittlewood #oli theorionsound #pirates smp #what the helll is their ship name #mratoli #stg it was smthing like that #rats smp #they r there. for a split second <33

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ratchelsatchel · 1 year

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So I’ve been pretty sick the last week or so, I had a fever and ended up having hunger games renaissance. I’m talking watched the movies, read the books, and also read Peeta’s Games on A03 for the first time. I don’t half ass a renaissance, even when I’m sick.

Anyways, after I reread the books and movies, I decided to leave a very long, at points chaotic review on Letterboxd for the hunger games to complain about all the important details they left out. Not only that, but explained how I thought a hunger games series would be so much better and basically rough drafted a season one. Here it is, please remember I had a fever of 101 and was on lots of cold medicine.

Listen, I get that this series was the start of the dystopian era for movies and such and when they were coming out I was 14 and obsessed. Probably would have loved almost any adaption they made. But as an adult rereading the books and watching the movie I’m so incredibly disappointed with them.

Katniss should have been played by someone younger, tinier, and honestly not been a white woman. I know the books never really address race and only describe her as olive skinned, but she is so clearly not coded to be white person. No offense to Jennifer Lawrence, she’s obviously a talented actress. The books also make it point multiple times to talk about how much smaller she was then the other tributes, even Peeta, who is supposed to be similar in size to Cato. And I think it takes away a LOT from the story to have her played by an actress that is so clearly not a child anymore. The whole point of the hunger games is it’s about actually children being forced into killing each other gladiator style! Katniss may be the “head of her house” even in the books but she is still a kid and taking that away changes the story drastically. I’ve read that the actress who played clove originally auditioned for Katniss and definitely think that would have been a way better fit despite being white as well. Also I hate how sterile they made Katniss in the movies, I know she is supposed to always be trying to be stoic, but they took away moments where she is overly emotional or laughing, or being angry with the capital. Another way of taking away an essential part of her character and humanity.

Aside from the main character problems, it’s frustrating to see how many little but significant changes were made.

Conversations between Katniss and Peeta were changed or omitted.

Hammitch and their stylists encouraging them to present themselves as a unit.

Peeta and katniss bonding because of their forced proximity and hammitch telling them to look like they like each other more.

Removing the avoxes storyline.

Madge not existing.

Not portraying the class differences within district 12 basically at all.

Katniss not loosing it, thinking she killed her family after firing the arrow at the pig.

So many little moments between katniss and peeta before the games to build up their story arc, it made it so hard to actually root for them and see romance between them. No fault to Josh hutcherson, honestly think he was very well cast as peeta. Maybe a little to old. (But that’s like the entire younger cast in my opinion, except Rue. Perfectly cast).

District 11 sending katniss the bread after she buries rue with the flowers. A support important detail in my opinion, and one that definitely upset snow and helped set up the catching fire and the upset in all the districts.

Even the tribute mutts at the end, I wanted them to be TERRIFYING like they were on the book. And yeah they were big and “scary”. But I wanted them to look like the tributes and do that creepy hind leg walking and have human like animation. Another way to drive home just how fucked the games are!!!!

The Cato rant and how quick his death was. In the books he fights off those mutts for what katniss describes as over the course of hours and is torture to her and peeta, until she is able to kill him.

Peeta not loosing his leg!! Another example of how even the winners of the games are left crippled physically and emotionally!!

Ughhh I know I’m missing a ton of other changes or omissions that upset me, but these are the biggest ones in my mind. I understand they were working within a pg13 rating and also a time limit. In my dream reality this book would have gotten a series adjacent in level to game of thrones or how books or even video games often get now. Would have given more time to explore the details and younger better casting. And definitely not a pg13 rating. These books are violent for a reason. Katniss would be quicker to anger and judgment. Hammitch would be less likable.

Shit here’s even an episode layout. The series itself would be three seasons. First season just the hunger games book. Let’s say 10 episodes for the whole book, each episode 30mins to an hour long. First episode ends with the reaping and katniss volunteering. Second episode goes up until the point of the night of their first training for the arena. Third episode ends after Peeta’s love declaration and katniss shoving peeta. Forth episode is all the start of the games up until when the careers find the other tribute by katniss and she realizes peeta is with them. Fifth episode ends with katniss being stung and barely escaping the tracker jackers. Sixth episode is all about katniss and rue together, ends with katniss honoring rue after she passes. Seventh episode is the rule change and katniss finding and nursing peeta back to health. Eighth episode is katniss going to get peeta medicine and ends with fox face dying. Ninth episode is the whole final battle between katniss, peeta, Cato and mutts; Ends when they announce rule change was not valid and that there can only be one winner, right as they pull out the berries. Tenth episode is the end of the games, aftermath and peeta & katniss finally making it home.

I’m def not a professional, just someone who loves this book series and wants to see it done authentically compared to the novels so it could be actually as impactful as the book series. Especially after seeing shows like the last of us succeed and be really well done compared to the story.

#the hunger games #katniss #peeta #letterboxd #ratchelsatchel

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extravalgant · 1 year

Text

title: crosspaths

summary: You were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But this one... you recognized this one.

notes: not much to say about this one... i edited this one about twice? before i thought it seemed good enough to post 👍 may this encourage me to make more switch up au stuffs....

READ ON A03

You think, after all this time, you would forget a name like his – a face like his.

The hustle and bustle of the late-night crowd is loud, but the air is filled with hearty laughs, the ambience of the denizens of this world having a good time; you hear the sounds of drinking glasses clinking together, cutlery sliding along plates, and spoons digging into bowls.

It would be comforting if you weren't running on very little sleep. You can feel your tunic bunch uncomfortably from underneath your coat, feel the itch of the fire insignia still fresh on the back from when you drew it in a rush, eager to get something warm over your body.

You feel as if you look a bit foolish standing there in the entrance to the inn, so you busy yourself with finding an unoccupied table. Regardless of how put together you look at the moment, your mind is still hazy from recent events.

Khrysalis had ended on... a semi-rough note, you reflect. The sting of betrayal is still raw, still twists something in the pit of your stomach if you marinated on it for too long, but you can’t help the wash of embarrassment that rushes over you at the thought of your kindness taken advantage so easily again.

You had gotten too complacent, and that’s why you were here—on the verge of frostbite and too tired to care. You had been too used to the idea that everyone was going to be on your side, that they wouldn’t lie to your face, extend an olive branch, offer any sagely advice that came with being trapped in a shadowy, guard-infested prison for thousands of years—

That train of thought stops very quickly.

The physical symptoms of that particular adventure still lingered within you—you believe it’s because you absorbed so much of Morganthe’s magic after she had fallen to her demise. You figure this may be your body's way of getting used to having the proper amount of magic again.

Perhaps, a little part of your mind speaks up, voice so quiet you almost wanted to ignore it, perhaps it would have been better to die a martyr – you would have liked to see the look on his face had you not decided to be obedient for once, and died with the magic he so craved.

It had initially been a surprise when Merle Ambrose summoned you to his office, with claims of ‘something important’ needing to be discussed with you. You hadn’t noticed the sharp curl of anxiety in your stomach until he presented you with your diploma, managing a quiet laugh at your shocked expression. The tension bled out of your shoulders almost as easily as it appeared, and your vision focused to better examine the document he gave you.

The paper had felt crisp and clean, so unlike the quest paper you bought from the bazaar, and so unlike the thin and flimsy paper you used when you used to turn in your assignments. It had felt warm to the touch, and your eyes narrowed in on the way ink pooled slightly in certain places, as if this certificate had recently been finished.

And then, there had been your name – printed neatly, slanted in Merle Ambrose’s cursive script, sharp and wondrous across the page, with a golden stamp reflecting in the light.

Graduation. You couldn’t help the small grin that overtook your features. It took this long, but I’m finally…

The following graduation ceremony had been… quick. You suppose Wizards hadn’t been much for celebrations, always straight and to the point, but it had been sweet. Try as you might, you could not discreetly wipe away the tears as each of the Ravenwood staff stepped forward to say a few words after the official assembly had ended, giving you their own words of encouragement as you stepped out into the new world.

It wasn’t hard to miss the sudden chill that blanketed the area, and the familiar pit inside you was starting to fester inside you. Bartleby got sick, you knew it had been your fault, in some way or another—and now you were here.

In cold and icy Polaris, tension is thick and heavy. The air is full of things unsaid, but you’re not quite sure what’s being said in the first place. This isn’t helped by the local inspector, who sniffs with disdain and squints disapprovingly at your lack of prepared attire for the weather. He doesn’t seem pleased by the smudged ink displayed almost proudly on your hand, but lets you pass anyway.

The quest was still fresh–you had to write it in a hurry and head to Polaris, after all. You had always been a bit sloppy with quest writing—there’s a bit of an excuse now. You have a time limit.

As long as it's legible, You said to yourself.

(A habit that would never die – a habit that lingered as soon as you learned the practice of quest writing. At the beginning your letters were neat and clean – this habit had stopped during Azteca, until you stopped writing them at all.

…

Spell Writing 101 had always been your favorite class anyways.)

You digress.

Now, you were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But you didn’t think you would ever run into one in Polaris of all places. You didn’t think anyone could stand the cold like the Pingouins. But this one... you recognized this Monquistan.

Because as soon as you laid your eyes upon the figure, you blinked, pausing in your descent of the steps.

“...Mister Gandry, is it?" You said, stepping close to the figure's table. He had been nursing a mug of... something. You detected the smell of something vaguely sweet and acidic.

Wine. You think, immediately. Wizard wine exists? Well, wine isn't exactly hard to make, is it? It's just... grapes.

That wasn’t important right now, you think.

He scrutinizes your dress for a moment, in a way that reminds you of the inspector at the world door, but he must have recognized you, with the way his eyes widened slightly at the edges.

"Can it be?" He said, and even his tone brings something like disbelief to the surface. It's almost hard to hear over the thick accent he has, and the sudden loud cheers a nearby table gives, but you nod in reply, breaking into a grin.

"The Wizard we met on the ship! My word, you're looking... a bit worse for wear."

He gestures for you to sit down, waving over the nearest waiter to bring them a drink for you as well. You can't even get a word in edgewise about your lack of drinking before the cup is being slid across the wooden table, red pooling deliciously at the edges.

"Worse for wear is putting it lightly." You say, chuckling a bit. Your hands come up to wrap gingerly around the pint, fingers tapping gently against the aged wood. It smells even sweeter than you thought. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where is, ah...?"

"Boochbeard?" He finishes for you, just as he polishes off the last of his drink. You nod. "Who knows. We got separated a while back."

“Aren’t you worried?” You ask, and he levels you with a stare, brow raised.

“It’d be a miracle if something around here manages to kill him.” He shifts in his seat, giving a lazy look around. “I see Polaris still hasn’t gotten back up on its legs after the war, eh? Figures.”

The words begin to blend together into his accent, but you can hear bits and pieces of what he’s trying to say. Something about the ‘armada,’ something about a ‘pirate.’

“The pirate?” You tilt your head to the side before the memory blooms behind your eyelids. Excitement bursts in the pit of your stomach. Yes, yes—the ship, those people, and most curious of all, that robot. “How are they doing these days?”

He takes a swig of his second drink – when he had ordered that one, you wondered – and shrugs.

“You... don’t know?” You’re dumbfounded. “I figured they were one of yours.”

“An orphan.” He amends, but the tone of his voice dips into something more casual, as if this were par for the course.

“Is that... common? Is this common?”

He nods without saying another word, and the two of you descend into another silence. This didn’t exactly astound you, seeing as Wizard City also housed these types—the city was safe enough as it was (with you there anyways, your brain supplies). You had surmised a while back that Ravenwood functioned more as a boarding school then it did a regular school, so the lack of parental figures wasn’t all that surprising to you.

But regardless, a pirate... you didn’t have any experience with them, minus Taylor Coleridge and the Monquistan in front of you.

“Is being a Pirate fun?” You ask.

His mouth twists thoughtfully before frowning. You think that has more so to do with the taste of his drink than your question. “About as fun as being a Wizard is.”

That was… Hm. You can count how many times you stood there and wondered if being a wizard was worth it. For all that it gave you—whether it was the joy and awe of seeing magic for the first time, or the warmth in your chest as you learn the words to another spell, or even just the fact that each spiral key you required earned you a glimpse into a new world, with new places to explore…

There were also things you… loathed about being a Wizard, no matter how hard you tried. Clearly there were things written in the fine script, but you had been reading that contract with younger, naive eyes.

In Wizard law there are no accidents.

You think your silence stretches on longer than usual – Gandry pauses, peering over the rim of the cup with inquisitive eyes. He puts his cup down.

"Tell me then," he prompts. "Is being a Wizard fun?"

The edge of your own cup reaches your lips. The first and only sip you would have. "...About as fun as being a Pirate is, I suppose."

He says nothing as you tell him your answer, but push your cup to the side and flag down the waiter for a steaming mug of something hot instead—the tea smells earthy and fragrant, warming your frozen fingers as you blow on it with cooling breaths.

"I wonder how they're doing." You muse quietly. You hadn't even gotten a glimpse of their face, or their personality—only gave words of encouragement, coaxed Mister Gandry and Mister Boochbeard into investigating whatever it is that the Maestro and his robotic friend were keen to stop before it started. “The Pirate, that is.”

You had touched upon their life – altered the course of their timeline, without ever seeing them. You think it's almost better this way, but you can't help the twinge in your heart that wants to meet the person they are today.

Did they have any friends? Do they have family? Did they have a favorite food, a favorite color, did they like the way the stars twinkled at night, or how the clouds stretched upon an infinity? Most of all—

Were they alive?

You wonder.

"Running from the armada, probably." Gandry’s dry tone snaps you out of your haze. "I want to say I'm surprised the armada hasn't touched this part of the spiral, but – you're here."

"... I'm here." You repeat softly. Almost fondly. You were here, fighting tooth and nail to prevent the rest of the spiral from falling apart. To give others the chance to do the same. You’re not sure what an ‘armada’ is and have no clue whether or not you’d be able to defend against it, but you recognize that the two of you are on different journeys.

You wonder if you’ll ever cross paths.

The silence stretches on until you stand, pushing your chair backwards as you relay to your companion that you had Wizardly duties to deal with. There's no note of change or expressions on his face, only neutral responses; he nods as he waves you off, and pushes the gold back into your hand when you attempt to repay him back.

"My treat, wizard." Mr. Gandry speaks. This time, there's a grin stretching across his face. "Welcome to Polaris."

#wizard101 #w101 #pirate101 #p101 #its 5 am so ur getting this rot at like 12 pm #also i will being going out . so i wont be on as much tomorrow... o_o!!#wanted to write smth about the pirate easter eggs we get with the arc 3 worlds... and now with novus saying way more pitty stuff #im like we are getting SPOILED #NOT MUCH HERE TO DUMP AS FAR AS. TAG TALKING GOES so . enjoy i guess #i was like wehhh do i tag pirate . yes u do gandry is a pirate character #and the pirate (pc) COMES UP!!! OF COURSE U DO #anywayz. enjoy

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Keeping the Peace

Writer: JHsgf82

Prompt 45: Peeta works security (peacekeeper? police?), Katniss is a protester (rebellion? BLM?) or a civilian (rebel?) or a local translator in her village. Do they know each other at all? Work together? Fight on opposite sides or meet at common ground? What threatens them? Are their feelings real? [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: T

Author Note: Due to lack of time (and taking on too much, lol), this will only be snippets of the fic, a sneak peek. I do plan on continuing, though, and I’ve really enjoyed developing this and writing what I have of it. I hope you’ll enjoy it and that you’ll continue to read it when I post the rest on A03 in the near future. Will be alternating First Person POV, Peeta and Katniss. Edit by @mrspeetamellark. Thank you!

Peeta

“You got a girl, Peet?” Darius asks from his usual spot beside me in the mess hall.

“No.” I smile a little and shake my head.

“Why not? Every woman loves a man in uniform, right?”

I glance down at my snow-white fatigues, then to my helmet beside me on the bench. “Not around here, D.” I don’t say it with bitterness, just matter-of-factly.

Darius slaps me on the back. “Hey, they may act like they hate us, but it’s only because we enforce the law. They don’t like it, but they respect us for it.”

I’m not so sure about that. I think my good friend is a little deluded.

I’ve been a Peacekeeper for going-on-three years now, stationed in good ole’ District 12. I got into it to protect the people and keep them safe, and of course, to keep the peace, but more often than not, it seems like I’m just ordering them around. Or worse.

And now, with the riots happening and the new commander, Commander Thread, in place, the district only seems to be deteriorating further. The residents are frequently whipped in the square, for one. I’ve never had to do it, thankfully, but I know others who have. Even stricter rules are being enforced, tariffs and quotas on every little thing, and we’ve shut down their Hob. The people, at least those from the Seam, have even started moving out of town, into the woods, forming their own little community of sorts. We break them up and force them back sometimes, peacefully as we can.

I hope to God they don’t reinstitute hangings.

I don’t like the way things are, but I can’t leave. I’m sworn in. I belong to Snow and his Peacekeeper organization. I’m literally branded. Still, I refuse to be a piece in whatever game he’s playing. And I’m guessing I’m still hoping I can make a difference, somehow.

Darius talks about women a lot, wanting to fall in love, get married. As for me, I’ve never really considered marriage. I was always married to the job. After the way I grew up, I was so glad to have an important job, something that mattered, but more and more, my thinking’s been changing…

***

The first time I see her, she’s standing calf-deep in the lake. She’s wearing a green, threadbare slip of a dress, and her long, dark hair is braided down her back. Her skin is a flawless olive, shimmering in the sunlight. She bends down and digs up some sort of plant growing on top of the water; it has white flowers, green leaves, and long roots with tubers hanging from it. The bottom of her dress, her legs, and now her hands are covered in mud, but she just looks down at the plant, and she smiles.

As for me, I’m frozen, staring hard with probably the goofiest grin on my face. She’s just so…ethereal. I definitely need to paint her later, at least get a quick sketch down before I forget what she looks like. Nah, I’ll never forget. She’s too unique. Too…mesmerizing.

Her ears seem to prick, and she catches sight of me. And although it’s hard to tell from this distance, I swear her eyes are silver. Stupid and enraptured as I am, I wave. She merely tugs up the strap of her dress, which has slipped a little, and stares at me.

My god, she’s stunning.

Who is she? This silver-eyed, braided vision before me. Is she real, or some kind of earth goddess? Hell, I might consider marriage, if I could be married to her.

Wait, what am I saying? She’s a local. Most likely a Seam girl. We’re from two different worlds; it’d never work. Mainly because she probably hates my guts.

***

A couple weeks later, there’s a ruckus just outside of town that I’m called to, a small dispute of sorts. When I get there, three of our guys are surrounding a local man and…the girl from the lake! I rush over.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Right away, I’m told by my superior officer to fall in line. Darius is there, too. He quietly explains the situation while we look on from a few feet away.

“She’s been hoarding goat’s milk rather than turning in her quota!” exclaims the man, spitting a little when he says it. He must have been the one who turned her in.

For crying out loud. I groan. All this over a little goat’s milk.

“You’re just hoping they take Lady away from us, so you can have her back free of charge!” the girl from the lake growls.

I don’t know what comes over me, but all of a sudden, I’m stepping up to stand between the girl and her goat and the rest of the men.

“Let the girl keep her goat,” I demand.

“Peeta, what are you doing?” asks Darius, concerned.

“Just…go on, D. I got this.”

“Look, there’s no use crying over spilled goat’s milk.” I joke. Darius turns to me, and I can tell the face he’s making beneath his helmet.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” my superior officer snarls.

I don’t even know. Really I’m just trying to distract him and get him to forget about the girl and let her go. I’ll persuade my superior, and the local man, because that’s what I’m good at.

But that doesn’t happen. Things get out of hand when the girl tries to sneak off with her goat while we’re talking, and all but Darius and me point guns at her. I lose my cool and shove the two guns away from her. “Hey! Back off!"

…

***

“Where’s Lady?” the girl from the lake demands.

“Who?”

“The goat. My goat, dammit!” She starts rapidly firing off words in a native tongue, probably cursing me out. “She’s my sister’s goat! She was a gift; she’s important, and I need her!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I saved the goat. Sent it back to the village with my most trusted friend.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to escort you back home.”

She eyes me skeptically.

“I haven’t been ordered to or anything. It’s just, you took quite a blow, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

She studies me a moment; then, apparently, she decides she believes me because she nods.

I smile. “So, you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it."

***

I wake up in a cave, not knowing how I came to be here. All I remember is the riot getting out of hand, me taking off my helmet and something bashing me in the back of the head, and…the girl!

I turn to my right with a groan, and I see her beside me.

I try to sit up, but she tells me to lie back down. It’s just as well, for the entire cave is spinning. She takes a cloth out of a small, brown bowl of water, rings it out, and places it on my forehead, partially obscuring my eyes. I move it so I can see her better.

I moan a little when the pain hits.

“Shh, you’re alright. Just a nasty gash. But you’ll live. I’m sorry that I’m not a healer, but my mother is, and I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“You. What’s your name?” I need to know.

“Katniss.”

“Oh. Pretty name. What does it mean?”

She seems amused by this, probably thinks I’m off my head from delirium.

“It’s a plant. An edible water plant with white flowers and tubers.”

“Oh, like the ones you dug up from the lake that one time?”

Shit. Now she knows it was me watching her.

“Yeah, like those ones.” Her pretty lips upturn slightly.

I study her a moment. “Uh, so I assume you knew I was watching you the whole time.”

“Yeah, I knew. I have…heightened senses, let’s just say.”

I nod. “And how did you know it was me back there?"

“I saw your tattoo,” she replies plainly, “and your face.”

“You know about my tattoo?” I quirk a brow.

“Yeah. It means you’re a Peacekeeper, right?”

I nod.

"Why are you doing this, then?” I murmur.

She presses her lips into a thin smile and says, “Because you helped me once.”

***

“If you’re gonna blend in and be one of us, Peeta, you have to pass the initiation,” says Katniss.

“Oh yeah?” I cock my head to the side. At this point, I’m ready for anything. “And what’s that?”

She grins. “Milk Lady.”

Except that.

Katniss is screwing with me, surely. She wants me to milk a goat? No way. I can’t milk a goat. And yet, I also can’t resist those eyes or that sexy little smirk-smile of hers, so I poke out my chest and clap my hands together. “Alright, lead the way.”

“Really?”

"Absolutely. Lady is practically famous. I’m ready to get up close and personal with her.”

Katniss laughs so hard she snorts. “Um, I think maybe you’re not quite healed from that head injury.” She raises her hand to touch the spot, stopping just short. I catch her wrist and place it on the side of my face, and I hear her breath hitch.

“I’m fine, Katniss. But thank you for being concerned about me.”

#JHsgf82 #567inpanem #prompt 45 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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cruzrogue · 3 years

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Arrow's Horizon

This is a fic that has risen due to a fic idea posted on this A03 site. Oliver becomes a dad to William, is a husband, still gets shipwrecked, leaving behind a wife.

Chapter 1 Home base - Oliver finds out he is a dad. Fears losing Felicity

In this story, Felicity is only 2 years younger than Oliver. The chapters are roughly 4 pages each (using word)

This is a completed story. The next chapter will be published in 3-4 days and the others will be on some set time table.

Chapter 1 Home Base

Felicity finds Oliver exactly where his mother said he’d be. His favorite thinking spot. Located at the outskirts of his family’s estate. Sitting on a tree stump overlooking a stream that is generously full due to the recent rainstorm. She knows he can hear her make her way towards him. He doesn’t skip a beat as he continues pitching rocks upon the body of water as the silence between them endures.

Finding a log nearby. She waits to be acknowledged.

Coming to Starling City for a few days during a weeklong school break. Oliver had her come here to meet his family. Now that they are more than just friends. Their next stop is Las Vegas to officially meet her mom. Everything is moving nicely she thinks. She really, really likes him.

Felicity doesn’t glance at Oliver as he is still throwing the stones into the flowing stream. Keeping her attention on the skips the pebble makes against the water.

Oliver had a visitor yesterday. Since then, he’s made some elaborate excuses to be alone. Giving her forced smiles. Leaving her to go to bed wondering if they were alright. Since walking onto a meeting between Oliver and some girl she has never met before. His whole demeanor is of someone who now has the whole world on his shoulders.

They both are known to need time to process whatever ails them alone. It never boarders on more than a day. Felicity isn’t pushy in that department but being that she is here in Starling. Away from her comfort zone. She feels that Oliver needs to understand that and maybe open up to her sooner rather than later.

Oliver in a low raspy whisper finally speaks, “I’m sorry.”

Felicity now able to see him clearly notices the red eyes. She has never in their time of acquaintance seen him cry. He is usually so upbeat.

“Oliver?” She wants to add something else, but the words don’t flow out fast enough as her boyfriend falls to his knees before her. It isn’t a romantic scene where one would see in a movie. No. This moment is in some ridiculous romantic flick where it looks to be the end for the couple. His name makes it out of her lips before he finally sheds some light on what is tormenting him.

“It was before you and I became a couple. I need you to know that.” She doesn’t know what he is trying to say. The confusion must show on her face as he clarifies, “You know that time I went out with the guys because I finally ended it with Laurel?”

She nods. Felicity was the creator of his moodboard for almost a month of listening to Oliver count the pros and cons of his relationship with his high school sweetheart. So many images, pieces of text hung on a board to help him visualize his desires. Going to college has opened his views on what he wants in life. If truth be told. Meeting Felicity has curbed a good faction of his partying ways.

“I was finally free.”

Not knowing where he is going with all this, “Okay.”

“I messed up.” He swiftly gets up and begins to walk away which has Felicity almost ready to bolt after him. When he stops and walks closer to her. She can breathe slightly easier as it looks that his intent is to pace back and forth as he continues his story.

When he finally gets to the part of his dilemma that has her gasp in shock. He knows he is about to lose the girl that owns his heart. He is scared shitless. Even so, he owes her the truth.

Oliver’s been out here alone thinking of how his life is going to dramatically change. Scared of losing Felicity Smoak to a mistake that he’s been regarding for the last few hours with a heavy heart.

Finding out Samantha Clayton is pregnant with his child. Coming to him knowing she is going to keep his baby. Everything changed in a blink of an eye. He is going to be a father.

Oliver finally stops pacing to face the music. He tells her everything.

In an unsteady breath knowing that whatever answer Oliver has could change everything, “What does this girl require of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she require you to try and playhouse with her? Is it financial?”

“We didn’t discuss anything in detail. Just…”

“That she is pregnant with your baby.” He nods.

“Felicity, I know this shifts how you’ll feel…” Her hand goes up to indicate for him to stop. He still adds, “I am so very sorry.”

She knows he is. In her heart she knows Oliver would never do anything to inflict pain on her. They got to know each other since meeting in a library. His inability to guide himself around a library's catalogue made her have pity on him. Turning her into the friendly guide that opened his world to library books. Nothing like the beginning of a friendship while teaching him how to identify and use a call number to find a specific book.

His sincerity pulls on her heart strings. Like him, she’ll need some alone time.

It doesn’t change the fact of how she feels. She is truly, madly, deeply in love with Oliver Jonas Queen. If bringing her here to meet his parents is any indication. His I adore you, you’re remarkable, and his soft voice that he uses when they’re just being them. He is also over-the-moon with her.

“Oliver.” His reaction is to look away, so she places her hands upon his face. Making sure she can glance into those saddened eyes, “I’ll need to figure my place in all this. That is if you’ll still want me in your life.”

He is up from his kneeling position, “Of course, I want you. I just don’t deserve you.”

Jumping to her feet. She isn’t letting him go.

“Hogwash!” For a brief second. There is a levity in his eyes, “Forget I just said that. You know what I mean. I am not walking away from you. Not saying all this won’t be tough.”

“Its nothing like the Cooper situation. A baby is a lifelong commitment.”

“Well, if you weren’t there to pull me back. I could have been a lifelong inmate in Guantanamo Bay or some fancy cyber jail.”

He cracks a smile, “I don’t think they send blondes there.”

��I’m actually…” He can’t help but sweep her off her feet. Their lips connecting. Felicity being in his arms brings optimism that wasn’t there when he came out here to agonize over some life choices. She brings balance and with her here. He can hope.

He almost blurs out how much he loves her. Glad to have caught himself from that blunder. Saying it now could confuse Felicity. She might think it’s not sincere. When he says it. It’s got to be at the right time where the woman he loves understands his words are true.

Felicity eyeing the small gathering of pebbles Oliver piled up beside the tree stump.

“Why don’t you go back home. Your parents are worried.”

“I don’t know what to tell them.”

With a hand on his arm, she tells him to be honest. Nodding to Felicity’s words a small moment of silence stretches between them.

“Okay then. I’m going to sit here for a while. Deplete a portion of your mighty impressive pile of rocks.”

“Wish me luck.”

Giving Oliver a quick hug they depart. Oliver heads back to his family’s home as Felicity takes a seat to contemplate the new norm of what their world will entail.

#Arrow horizon #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak

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miserable-pile-of-lies · 3 years

Text

The Sleeping Beauty of Wallachia Ch. 3 (Full)

I know it's been a lifetime since I last updated the story, but I really wanted to deliver with this chapter as it sets up the basic frame of the fanfic! I really hope you guys enjoy what I came up with, feel free to leave reviews on A03!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save Wallachia?

Skeletal appendages scraped furiously against the transmission mirror depicting the Speaker and head woman, muttering a string of curses against the two mortals. Death hovered in the dimly lit war hall, formerly the stronghold of the vampire king Dracula, standing in front of the reflective surface while his jawbone rattled in a fit of rage.

“Those damn Speakers continue to impede the progress of my fucking war,” the entity spat out savagely, swinging his gargantuan scythe in the general direction of his night troops. Night creatures nervously searched the faces of one another, conflicted by the appearance of their commander who currently donned his true form.

In the presence of their Forgemaster Hector, a naïve necromancer native to the distant country of Greece, the mystical being deceitfully modeled his appearance after that of Vlad Dracula Țepeș. Despite the steadfast loyalty the night creatures held towards their liege, Death had promised the beasts an unlimited supply of sustenance that what would ultimately lead to the extermination of humanity.

Left with free reign of the planet, the night hordes would transform Gaia into a ruinous paradise where the nighttime skies dominated daylight and the forsaken creatures would never have to return to the torturous confinements of Hell.

“The whole lot of you are absolutely useless, do I have to do everything on my own,” the grim reaper lamented, waving a hand to dissolve the magical mirror’s image, erasing the sight of the two women that would later contribute to his demise. One night creature resembling a large bat blew through its nostrils tactlessly, finding no amusement in the unprovoked castigation of the army.

Hearing the sound of the snort, Death languidly turned its effervescent build towards the large beast, staring daggers in retaliation at the ill-timed slight.

“Braying like an ass will not change my words, I was perfectly clear in my demands,” the angel of death howled out powerfully, raising the daunting crescent of his scythe above his frightening form. Making quick work of the unlucky demon, the gruff of its neck caught onto the merciless edge of the blade and the head of the devilish bat soared into the air in moments. Blood sprayed out from the decapitated monster as it unceremoniously fell on the polished floors of the chambers. Exposed arteries showered its nearby compatriots cowering in fear at the execution, all halting further movements.

“Would anyone else care to challenge my words, if so, step forward,” Death questioned calmly, effectively slinging off the blood that clung to the steel of his otherworldly weapon. Silence filled the war hall effectively, no one dared to stand in opposition against the underworld ruler.

On the verge of throwing a fit, Death stopped in his tracks at the sound of quickened footsteps in the distance, closing in on the massive war hall. Permitting a gratuitous exhale, the immortal turned his back to the night hordes who readied themselves for the newcomer, recognizing the familiar footfalls from anywhere. With the flourish of his skeletal hand the grim reaper chanted inaudibly, summoning forth his power to shapeshift into the rightful lord of the castle.

Tendinous muscles bloomed in the place of bone, quickly overtaking the shrinking mass of Death who groaned in soothing tones at the tickling sensation. Inky black hair sprouted from the scalp of his skull and fine threads of linen materialized over muted skin. Black wool breeches pooled over his long legs while a standard charcoal doublet garnished with the Țepeș family insignia appeared over the newly formed body of Vlad’s imposter. Polished leather boots clacked as Death spun around for the night creatures to observe his clever disguise, finishing the last transfigurations needed to complete the transformation.

Looking back into the transmission mirror, the surface reflected an image of the war lord indiscernible from the genuine article currently incapacitated by Death. Sharp claws adorned with a platinum wedding band traced over the mirror thoughtfully, not bothered by the sudden intrusion of Hector who appeared to be out of breath from dashing from his workshop.

Strands of starlight shook gently as the Grecian man doubled over from exhaustion, sweat gathering at his brow as his vision locked onto Dracula. Gently gripping the railing of the grand master stairway, the Forgemaster allowed himself a moment to catch his breath while his night creatures marched out of the war hall.

“Dracula, we need to replenish our forces, the number of casualties in your army continue to rise across Wallachia,” Hector announced wearily. Currently, the Forgemaster worked tirelessly around the clock to provide the soldiers that supplied Dracula’s army. Although he was honored to be chosen as the chief general in the crusade against humanity, Hector could not help but feel that he was reaching his limitations. Additionally, the necromancer pondered the whereabouts of his equal Isaac who had yet to make an appearance in the court of Dracula. Feeling a stab of disappointment at the late arrival of Isaac, Hector found his hands tied up with numerous tasks that did little to distract his thoughts that led to the other Forgemaster.

The two necromancers had been introduced to one another with the assistance of Dracula during his pursuit of knowledge upon Lisa’s request. Hector recalled being in awe, shyly eyeing the other sorcerer whose appearance was quite different than what he had expected based on Dracula’s vague description of the man. Wise beyond his years in matters of philosophy, the Ghanaian man bore the façade of a fabled ruler from a faraway land. Sharp cheekbones exquisitely found purchase against the high points of his face, sleek lines defining the entirety of his graceful form.

However, the other man was unapproachable in their initial encounters, seeking no camaraderie with Hector outside of their shared association with Dracula. Life had dealt a fair share of cruelties to Isaac; sold into slavery at a very young age, his village invaded by Teutonic Knights seeking gold on behalf of the Catholic Church. Having his own share of hardships, Hector faced abuse administered by his parents and peers throughout his lifetime.

Despite the difficulty bonding with Isaac, it became clear to the reserved man that Hector coveted their connection and respected him despite their different worldviews. Isaac slowly began to disclose tidbits of information about his past, detailing the events of his travels throughout the years. The young philosopher was often met with unwarranted violence, constantly badgered by men who had something to prove. Following suit in storytelling, Hector confided in Isaac about his current quarters on the island of Rhodes, forced into isolation by locals who feared the Forgemaster.

“They called me a demon, convinced that I was a byproduct of Satan and his wickedness,” Hector confessed quietly around the campfire. Looking across the flickering flames, his companions offered their sympathy in silence at the disheartened declaration.

Aquamarine hues reflected sorrow, recalling the daily deliverance of venomous words from his birth parents. His mother Rhea viewed her son as a curse, damning their family from the moment he left her womb. His father Cyrus cruelly forced Hector to use his abilities for his greed, completely lacking any attachment to his son. Trauma was an understatement when it came to describing the afflictions he suffered under the roof of his childhood home, every day more miserable than the previous one.

Hector recalled reaching his breaking point when his mother and father heartlessly set aflame Cassius, an undead canine that he revived in the picturesque meadows of Corfu. Infuriated by Hector and his strange proclivities of bringing dead animals into their living quarters, Rhea ripped off a long branch from a nearby olive tree.

“If only I could have foreseen the depravity of your character; why did God gift me with an evil seed,” Rhea cursed ruthlessly while beating a sobbing Hector, leaving irritated welts across his vulnerable back and arms. Curling into a fetal position to avoid the worst of his mother’s fury, Hector begged his mother to stop, but she refused to relent her punishment.

In retaliation, Hector ignited the residence under the cover of darkness, miming the brutality of his parents in an episode of calculated rage. Horrid screams shattered the silence of the night, smoke carrying the scent of burning flesh that could be smelled for miles. Neighbors cautiously gathered around the family home in horror, hurling a plethora of wicked expletives directed to the young boy. Hector retreated into the night wordlessly, never returning to the island of Corfu.

“Your story furthers my point, humanity is an infestation that ravages anything it comes into contact with,” Isaac asserted casually, wrapping his artisan hands around a ceramic mug containing water infused with citrus tones. Mahogany eyes squinted in displeasure at the shortcomings of mankind; a species that Isaac deemed unnecessary given their lack of purity and selfishness.

Propping an alabaster hand against his temple, Dracula wordlessly looked to both men who appeared to be at a standstill in the discussion.

“Peculiar would not even begin to express the paradoxical nature of this discussion, wouldn’t the two of you agree,” Dracula suggested whimsically while rising from the dewy grassland. Both humans exchanged a perplexed look with one another before allowing their supernatural companion to continue his train of thought.

“Despite the misfortunes that you both have endured, neither of you have purposefully gone out of your way to hurt others,” the vampire explained with a faint smile, looking to the two magically imbued mortals. Hector allowed a small smile of his own to surface in agreeance while Isaac quietly mulled over the words in deep contemplation.

Not long after their travels together, Isaac followed Dracula’s recommendation of perusing the world for further insight on humanity and what it had to offer. Traveling through the city of Tunis to return to his abode in the Western Sahara Desert, Isaac encountered a man who simply went by the name of Captain. Commanding a crew of forty-four men, the Captain invited Isaac to explore the world with him, seeing curiosity twinkling in those umber hues. Prior to the present war, both Hector and Isaac communicated through the distance mirrors gifted to them by Dracula. The vampire was quite insistent about the two staying in touch, emphasizing the importance of their friendship.

Hector listened in wonder at the tales that Isaac narrated, completely enthralled by the whirlwind of journeys that Isaac experienced across the globe. Various knick-knacks were presented under the ever-watchful eye of Hector, souvenirs gifted by companions made along the way during his world expedition. Contentment radiated off Isaac in a terrific arrangement throughout their conversations over the next couple of months, feeling closer than ever before to the other Forgemaster. Despite the Ghanaian man being worlds away from Hector’s humble abode in Rhodes, the Grecian man truly felt that he could call himself Isaac’s friend.

“I have never felt more at peace Hector,” Isaac conceded amicably as the sound of relaxing waves sloshed in the backdrop of his lodgings, retiring to his personal cabin for the night. The other Forgemaster curled his body against the worn mat in his small man-made hut, propping a hand under his chiseled chin. Daydreaming about a life of exciting escapades, preferably at the side of Isaac or Dracula, Hector allowed his imagination to run wild. However, Hector lacked the confidence to travel on his own at the mercy of other humans, knowing that his naivety could easily be exploited.

“What you have accomplished is an astounding feat, I’m happy for you,” Hector professed honestly while gently scratching behind the ear of his curious pet Cezar, the small pup wagging its stubby tail at the attention of his master. Tucking away a lingering lock that swayed in his vision, the Corfu native was thrilled that Isaac had achieved inner peace in his ventures to distant lands. Prattling on into the night as they often did, the two men would communicate almost daily until calamity struck Wallachia.

_____________________________________________________________________________

False rumors quickly spread across Wallachia regarding Lisa Țepeș, all unfounded accounts of the human doctor being a malevolent witch who used black magic to heal the residents of Târgoviște. Local priests and clergymen of the Catholic Church demanded that the woman burn at the stake for her crimes, claiming that Lisa denounced the teachings of the church through her unorthodox methods. Leading the public lynching of the innocent physician, the Bishop stormed the cottage and burned the structure without remorse, gleefully watching the home crumble in on itself amongst the flames.

Not long after the unexpected invasion, Dracula was alarmed by a disturbance in the cosmos after departing from the market town of Târgșor. The small town was roughly three miles out from the small dwelling that he shared with his wife from time to time following the birth of their son Adrian. The scholar had just returned to Wallachia after a year of traveling, departing from the port city of Braila just days ago. Wasting no time, the voivode glided through the bleak skies of a Wallachian winter, perturbed by the prickling unease that struck him out of nowhere. From the darkened clouds above, the nosferatu noticed fumes shrouding the small refuge of their home, seeing two figures situated in what remained of the cottage.

Crimson red engulfed the sclerae of Vlad’s eyes, his wrathful aura alerting one of the two creatures standing. Ivory frost coated platinum blond loose waves that resembled that of his wife Lisa, golden eyes widening in apprehension as the youth registered the presence of his father. An old woman crouched remorsefully by the young man with a hand full of withered cowslips picked from the nearby flora, laying them down in front of the incinerated remnants of the home.

“Words cannot express how indebted I am to your mother, the church has truly gone too far,” the elderly human muttered repentantly, clasping her worn hands together in a silent prayer. Jet black locks viciously swirled around the pale visage of the vampire, treading through the snowy sleet that did little to impede his powerful steps. Finally stopping before the pair, hellfire danced in his blazing irises that refused to burn out.

“Where is your mother and why were you not by her side,” Vlad snarled out quietly while dropping his traveling sack onto the blanketing snow, glowering at the dhampir without any inhibitions. A wave of tremendous guilt washed over Alucard at the blunt criticism of his father, unable to loosen the knot in his throat. Dark fitted leather gloves squeaked in protest, looking to the longsword he held in his hand for guidance. The weapon was a keepsake given to him by his mother in his teen years, a family heirloom passed through the ages.

“Mother asked me to travel to the city of Pitești to purchase medicinal herbs from the local market for her patients, I was only gone for two days,” the young man weakly explained. Raising a gloved hand to his temple in silent resignation, his eyes shut worriedly at the unknown fate of his mother, hauled away to the town square of Târgoviște to be burned for all to see.

Bloodied tears mirrored those that ran translucent in a state of clear distress. Despite the two butting heads from time to time, Vlad and Adrian loved Lisa more than anything else in the world so it was no question what they needed to do now. Casting a downward glance at the woman who knelt in the frosty snow, Vlad looked to the human thankful that at least one soul refused to participate in the cruel spectacle. Slowly rising to her feet with creaking bones, Alucard lent a hand to help Mrs. Djuvara rise from the snowfall, alleviating the strain of her getting up from the ground to the best of his abilities.

“The Bishop left about thirty minutes ago sir, rambling like a mad man after seeing the contents of the cottage,” the gray-haired crone commentated apologetically, gently thanking Alucard for his assistance. Giving her full attention to Vlad, almond-shaped eyes lowered in thought before she deemed it appropriate to continue.

“The Catholic Church wishes for Lisa to burn at the stake, those clergymen should be ashamed,” Mrs. Djuvara angrily expressed, crossing her arms at a complete loss.

If those bastards wish to burn my wife, blood shall be spilled all over these lands the immortal scholar promised menacingly while Alucard looked to his father with unadulterated determination. Somewhere in his delicate heart Alucard knew that his mother would be saved and that she would not want either of the men to spiral into violence on her behalf.

“There is no time to waste, we need to leave now Father if we hope to stop them,” Alucard suggested gently, sheathing his longsword into the scabbard that was fastened to his hip. Silently nodding in agreeance, Vlad directed one last glance to Mrs. Djuvara who watched the two men with concern.

“Thank you for your kindness, this act of generosity will not be forgotten,” Vlad expressed with a slight nod in her general direction. Turning on his heel, Vlad charged back into the frigid heavens once more. Following in suit, Alucard gave a polite bow in a show of gratitude before he took to the gloomy skies after his father.

“I truly hope she is alright,” the kind woman spoke in hushed tones, rubbing her aged palms together to regain some warmth before heading down the slushy path with careful steps. Tucked away in the grim forest nearby, a shadowy figure briskly swore, praying that the two supernatural beings would fail to reach the physician in time.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Not a soul in Wallachia knows what occurred following these events, only aware that Lisa never reached the town square as the Bishop had intended. The Catholic Church decided not to pursue the matter any further after several months passed, deciding that God would be pleased by their work regardless of her unknown whereabouts. Many speculations were made by those residing in Târgoviște relishing a year of peace following the abduction of Lisa Țepeș, theorizing that she used her craftiness to escape the reach of the church. Completely unaware of the violence that would pervade the cursed province, Wallachians returned to their daily routines and forgot all about Lisa of Lupu.

Shortly after the presumed tragedy, Hector received a distress signal from his distance mirror roughly six months ago, contacted by Dracula to conduct a global population cull. Briefly explaining what led to the maniacal request, the vampiric king pleaded that Hector travel to Romania to assist in his war against mankind. At a loss for words, Hector hesitantly asked Dracula to give him more time to consider the harrowing proposal.

Feeling guilt streaming through his conscience, the necromancer attempted to contact Isaac for additional guidance in what path he should walk. However, the other Forgemaster failed to answer the line of communication that both were accustomed to. Left to his own devices and feeling indebted to Dracula for his kindness in those previous months together, Hector agreed to act as a general in the vampire’s army. At the acceptance of the request, Dracula summoned forward his transmission mirror, allowing Hector to safely arrive to Wallachia without a moment to waste.

Upon his arrival, Hector noticed several oddities while exploring the expansive fortress. For one, Dracula failed to mention that Hector and Isaac would be the only generals acting in his army. While the Grecian man understood that Dracula detested the vampires in his inner court, the sorcerer could not understand the set of tactics that his master presented. No vampires had been spotted in the months he spent in the estate. Marbled hallways remained vacant apart from the night creatures that passed through on occasion, leaving Hector with so many questions that would remain unanswered.

Moreover, the late appearance of Isaac bothered Hector to no end, knowing that the missing Forgemaster prided himself on being punctual. When the young wizard prodded Dracula about the man in question, the lord of the castle insisted that he could not get ahold of Isaac.

“I have tried to speak to Isaac on several occasions, yet I cannot seem to reach him,” Dracula permitted after weeks of leading Hector on about the whereabouts of the Ghanaian man.

Hearing the admission aloud troubled the tanned islander despite the war lord attempting to put his mind at ease.

“Who could possibly harm Isaac, he will be fine,” the undead tyrant exclaimed irritably with the wave of his hand, silencing the anxious man altogether. Shortly after his biting remark, Dracula issued an apology to the dismayed general, explaining that he meant no harm. During his tenure at the castle, Hector took notice of the constant mood swings that afflicted Dracula, his temperament setting off at the slightest inconvenience.

Night creatures controlled by the childlike fellow were disposed of in cruel moments dealt by the voivode, often victims of senseless brutality. Seeing their battered remains evoked memories from the childhood that Hector desperately tried to escape, feeling ill when coming across his slaughtered beasts. In those moments, Dracula knew exactly what to say, explaining that his episodic cruelty stemmed from his immeasurable sorrow. Despite it being clear that his lord was still in mourning, the sorcerer could not help, but feel that many details leading to the tragedy were abstract in nature.

Only once did Hector attempt to question Vlad about the demise of his wife, hoping that he could comfort his friend. Unsurprisingly, Dracula vehemently lashed out at Hector when inquiring about Lisa, clarifying that his grief was too painful to blatantly express.

“Her passing is like an open wound that was left to fester Hector, vulnerably exposed to the brutal elements,” the sovereign spat out venomously. Approaching the portrait of Lisa that sat in his over cluttered study, Dracula tenderly caressed the oil painting with a hollowed expression.

Feeling a strange mix of empathy and apprehension, Hector simply observed the unsettling scene, concluding that he could not offer the consolation that his liege would never be able to claim.

The two quickly began to draft plans, offering their own introspections about which cities would best serve as ground zero in the war. Setting the tone of the attacks was of the utmost importance to Dracula, deeming that the first strike against Wallachia would determine the success of future battles. After careful consideration, the warlord determined that the first skirmish had to be personal in nature so that Wallachians took his actions seriously. Maneuvering a pasty hand against a yellowed map of Romania, a finger landed on the foundation of his misery, allowing an insidious smirk to sprout in place.

Târgoviște would be the first target of Dracula’s unbridled fury in avenging Lisa, staking claim on the capitol in one fell swoop. Many attempted to escape the city in the initial wave of attacks but quickly fell victim to the onslaught of the night hordes. Those surviving escaped through elaborate labyrinths lying underneath the city, fleeing north to the region of Transylvania. News quickly spread regarding the ambush on Târgoviște, survivors warning anyone in proximity to desert Wallachia at once.

Not long after, Hector began to expand the numbers in Dracula’s army with the excess of corpses from successful frays around Wallachia. His materials for forging varied in appearance, leaving the necromancer to question his own moral compass at times. Some of remains relatively intact appeared to be as young as a five-year-old, robbed of a meaningful life all too soon. Others seemed elderly to the point of having issues with mobility, their joints stiffened from a lifetime of working day in and day out.

Shaking away these intrusive thoughts, Hector continued to perform his duties to the best of his abilities, successfully overtaking many cities with his revived hellhounds. Things were running according to plan until the unexpected appearance of Speakers in Greşit; the mages assisting the common people from the attacks of night creatures. Since then, different caravans had travelled throughout the province in hopes of defending the innocent civilians falling prey to the unexpected raids commanded by Dracula.

Projecting the falsehood of contemplation under the focused gaze of the young man, the doppelganger summoned away the enchanted mirror. Pacing to the throne that sat at the heart of the war hall, the faux Dracula slowly sat down while interlacing his corpse like fingers together.

“What do you suggest that we do Hector,” Dracula requested patiently, looking to the Forgemaster currently descending the steps with a weighted gaze. Drawing himself to the side of his master, Hector failed to ignore the fallen night creature slain in the war hall, its fresh blood still perfuming the stagnant air. Sparing a brief glance at the sight of the corpse, the magician allowed a downcast expression to cloud his handsome features, pity flooding his body.

“The night creatures need guidance on the battlefield; however, we do not have the means to be everywhere at once Master Dracula,” Hector expressed bluntly.

Conceding with a small bob, the commander of the army allowed his high-ranking officer to pursue his thread of reasoning.

“Why not utilize your vampiric subjects in this war, they could easily best anyone that challenged your authority,” the magical user hesitantly recommended after a beat of silence. Thrumming his lengthy fingers along the arms of the dark oak throne, an extended sigh was released at the suggestion. Craning his neck to make eye contact with the standing Forgemaster, Dracula allowed an unrefined snort to escape his mountainous frame, startling Hector with the action.

Rising from his cushioned seat, the imposter scrutinized the undead conjurer with a wary eye, bending down to gander at the Mediterranean male. Suppressing the urge to back away at the sudden invasion of his personal boundaries, Hector furrowed his brow but remained in place, refusing to yield to the intimidation tactic. Nevertheless, his heart thrashed madly inside the cavity of his chest, unsure of how Dracula would respond to the open defiance of his commanding general.

Surprisingly, the ghoulish sovereign beckoned the sorcerer to follow his footsteps up the stairway, leaving Hector stupefied. After Hector took a moment to gather his bearings, his stride shadowed his master who walked ahead in silence.

On the upper level of the castle, the crackle of lightning could be heard within the glass lanterns decorating the top of massive pillars. The Forgemaster trailed behind the imposing figure of Dracula by several steps, pondering the undisclosed destination that his master had in mind. Peculiar rooms embellished with the strange mechanisms of the castle passed in the background, colossal cogs spinning in tandem to power the lifelike structure. Illuminated by the blue radiance from the electrically powered lamps, both men began to slow their extended steps before coming to a complete stop at the appearance of an unexplored threshold previously unknown to Hector.

Darkness swept away any previous amusement from the face of the vampire, retrieving a skeletal key shrouded in a venomous miasma, visible to even the unsuspecting eye of Hector. Sweat beaded across tanned skin that shivered at what lied ahead, a wave of unexpected nausea overriding his otherwise well disposition. Am I being punished for what I previously suggested Hector questioned shakily, fearing that his unfiltered callousness stirred the rage of his liege.

“Hector, you must promise me that you will never tell anyone about this particular room,” Dracula cooed softly, brushing a frigid hand against the quivering form of his subject. Unbeknownst to the Grecian man, Hector faced no danger behind the doorway that Dracula wished to show him.

Nodding reluctantly at the inquiry, Hector directed a skittish glance to his master wordlessly. Wasting no more time, the entryway of the room was swung open by an otherworldly force, revealing an otherwise chaste setting.

Gossamer curtains carelessly blew back and forward, blinding sunlight filtering through the boarded windows of the secret lodging. Surprise struck the features of the Forgemaster, seeing a mysterious man in the center of the room, lying in a lavish canopy bed. The lord of the castle hesitantly entered the room with a grimace, trudging towards the rest station with heavy footfalls. Tilting his head downwards, Dracula once again gestured for Hector to follow his lead, inviting the magician to stand by him with the repeated curl of his ghoulish finger.

Promptly accepting the invitation, the Corfu native briskly paced his steps to stand by his commander, following the line of attention given to the ethereal man sleeping in the comfort of the bed. The expanse of porcelain skin revealed the lean form of the fellow, marred by an unsightly scar that splayed across his Adonis-like chest. Flaxen loose curls attractively framed the resting warrior, unfurling around the man in a breathtaking impression that resembled the mythical tresses of the Greek god Apollo. The celestial being only wore leather-bound trousers that effectively displayed his powerful yet lithe frame, equal parts refined and daunting in aura.

Clearing his throat at the awkward stretch of silence, a pale hand splayed across the bare chest of the dhampir, partially covering the only imperfection that could be found on the man.

“My son attempted to thwart my plans in avenging my wife,” Dracula carefully disclosed. Slithering the hand upward, his icy hand cupped the sculptured cheekbone belonging to the youth in bed.

Looking between the parent and child, it was clear to Hector who the unconscious beauty resembled, favoring the late woman that he often saw in the disorderly study of his sovereign. Only around the eyes and brows could he see the influence of his master, both father and son showcasing striking features that conveyed their noble heritage. Despite the discovery of Adrian seizing his interest, the Forgemaster was befuddled by the late introduction of the halfling prince.

“Before his betrayal, I tried to call on the assistance of the closest generals within my court, demanding that they come at once after what the humans had done to my beloved wife,” the vampire king hissed while drawing back his claws from his sole heir.

Pausing for the sake of building momentum in the elaborate lie, the false Dracula closed his crimson eyes, soundlessly relishing in the misplaced trust of the naive sorcerer.

“A vampire by the name of Orlok struck down Adrian with a cursed blade despite my prompt warnings, leaving him in this weakened state,” the voivode admitted with a bite, leaving a disquieted Hector to piece together what occurred.

Starlight strands shook at this revelation, finally coming to terms with the reluctance that his master exhibited at the mention of vampires being at the forefront of his war. Loyal subordinates of Dracula mortally wounded his offspring, proving themselves to be as depraved as human beings.

“I came to a realization following the near death of my successor; neither vampires nor humans deserve to walk these lands,” the executioner confessed boldly. According to the violent account of the crown ruler, Dracula dispatched every vampire in his path following the assault of his cherished son.

Bonds of blood and love fueled his animosity towards his own species, concluding that vampires were incapable of viewing mortal creatures as purposeful creatures.

“Please forgive me for my suggestion, it was an unreasonable request,” Hector confessed sorrowfully. Brushing off the verbal sputtering of his general, the doppelganger felt a ripple of fatigue begin to hammer away at the effectiveness of the spell disguising his legitimate form.

I will have to dismiss him at once Death deliberated apprehensively, detecting that the veil of the glamour was slipping rapidly from his persistent usage of the spell as of late. Allowing a rare genial smile to surface, Dracula summoned his tactical officer away, promising that he would find a proper solution to lessen the workload of the Forgemaster.

“Words alone cannot describe my gratitude Master Dracula, I will not fail you,” Hector promised with a bright smile, feeling a surge of passion spark at the unguarded constitution of his friend.

Once the jovial magician departed from the alcove, a deep scowl set on the face of the imposter wearing the skin of Dracula, sickened by the fictitious bond between him and the accursed man-child. Death lifted the enchantment camouflaging the angel of death, gliding over to the unmoved form of Alucard. Flesh melted away in a horrifying reveal, making way for the signature semblance of the spectre.

“Do you hear me Alucard,” the grim reaper griped, clearly miffed by the tireless charade that he put on day in and day out to accomplish his current objective. Procuring an agreeable spot in a gothic high back chair that sat close by, the entity permitted a superfluous exhale to leave his lungless structure. Gazing at the sleeping prince, a sharpened appendage attempted to pierce the heart of the unconscious youth. Simultaneously, a visible force field crackled at the threat of danger for the son of Dracula, Death forcibly removed by the triggered spell. Allocated by the true ruler of the castle, the spell allowed Alucard to remain unharmed by the malicious entity, protected by the paternal love of his father.

Groaning at the effectiveness of the hex, a feral snarl erupted from the underworld king. Stomping back to close in on the cursed male, the skeletal face of Death unceremoniously crowded in the proximity of the defenseless dhampir. Small breaths escaped from the gorgeous warrior compelled to sleep against his will, unable to voice his displeasure against the depraved creature.

“That cock wart Dracula will pay for making a mockery out of me, I will find away to break this spell and I will take what rightfully is mine,” Death assured brusquely, gripping the hollowed cheeks of his captive. Releasing the delicate face of the supernatural fighter, the grim reaper vanished from the chambers, slicing through the frigid air of the room with his trustworthy scythe.

Creating an ingress that led to the Infinite Corridor, Death saw a copious number of settings distorting the foundation of time and space, different eras and locations all residing within the unusual dimension.

“In order to assure my victory, I must douse out any semblance of hope for humanity,” the supernatural being concluded grimly. Selecting a seemingly arbitrary setting, Death pursued the target he had sought out for months: the absent Forgemaster Isaac.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Harsh pants dispensed at the suffocating dryness of the barren lands; a wearied figure found difficulty with properly trekking through the golden sand that seemed infinite. Bringing the waxed batik fabric of his bell-shaped sleeve to his drenched brow, Isaac squinted in exhaustion at the compression of heat, seeing waves distort his unreliable vision. Leering at the nothingness that extended for miles, the Ghanaian man paused in his journey. Looking back at the night creatures created from the remains of desert bandits, maroon eyes warily searched the blazing heavens to see if the deadly entity hid amongst his troops.

Dropping to his knees abruptly, the Forgemaster felt his stamina begin to plummet at an unprecedented rate. For several months the necromancer avoided the grim reaper with the assistance of his distance mirror, indebted to Dracula for his selflessness during a critical time in Wallachia. Frowning in discontentment at the unpleasant memory, the sorcerer felt responsible for failing the traveling scholar in his time of need.

Approximately a year ago, Isaac received a distressed message from his highly esteemed friend Dracula, foreboding the current events that he now endured. While the communication from the man of letters was not an aberration in his daily rituals, the Forgemaster noticed an immediate difference in the usually collected countenance of the vampire king.

Shooting pains stirred within the frontal lobe of his head at the recollection, immediately bringing Isaac back to the tumultuous present. Night creatures gathered around their master, concerned by the abnormal behavior of the dark skinned enchanter. One night creature by the name of Fly Eyes stood at the forefront of the troops, chittering away commands to instruct the lesser beings within their ranks to search for nourishment at once.

Attempting to placate the dehydrated magician, Flyseyes knelt by the side of the Ghanaian man, gently prying open the attractive curve of plump lips with his razor-sharp talons.

Carefully bringing his hands to his side, Flyseyes retrieved a leather waterskin from the satchel belonging to his liege. Despite his nightmarish appearance, the night creature retained a good deal of his humanity, constantly conversing with Isaac about a great deal of worldly matters. In his previous life, the anthropomorphic fly acted as a Greek philosopher who died in the ancient city of Athens, remembering inconsequential details from his past. Delicious morsels for discussions by the fire, the creature inspired new trains of thought for Isaac with his wisdom and vice versa.

“You really should drink Isaac, do you wish to expire,” the night creature prattled with a hint of admonition, the water-filled receptacle promptly placed in front of the revenant summoner. Allowing a small exhale to leave his crumbled form, the Forgemaster gladly accepted the offering given by his wise servant, taking extensive gulps to savor the lukewarm water.

Pulling back to intake an influx of fresh air, Isaac straightened his toned frame, unable to articulate his hopelessness. Wide vermillion eyes stared adamantly, refusing to yield in their conquest of retrieving their master, the wise man seeming so lost for the first time since the two met.

“Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here,” the night creature mentioned offhandedly, raising a barbed nail to pick at the human flesh stuck between his visceral fangs.

Down casted burgundy eyes closed at the ancient Athenian proverb, shaken by his own bewilderment, instead offering an Islamic adage to combat his own troubled psyche.

“Life is not guaranteed at all, but death is absolutely guaranteed upon all, yet we still prepare for life more than death,” the necromancer countered, passing the waterskin to the puzzled night creature.

Although the demonic entity politely accepted the leather canteen, Flyseyes no longer required the fundamental resources needed for human survival. Placing the waterskin by his side in the shifting silt, the jarring beast stood up, seeing the dispatched creatures returning to their malnourished master bearing gifts. Not too far off, a small caravan trailed in the overshadow of the flying critters, a small collection of several men and women on camelback.

Slowly, Isaac retrieved his forging dagger from the rough cotton sash tied to his strong core, prepared to add the travelers to his ranks if need be. Shockingly, the men appeared to be completely calm, not bothered by the presence of the Forgemaster or his beasties. Cool steel began to heat up in his clammy palms, hooded eyes sinking close from the burnout administered by the unexpected travels leading him to the accursed desert.

This is the end I suppose, my only regret is dying in this hellish heat Isaac mused casually, falling onto the fiery golden sea. Vision blackening at the edges, the last sight captured by Isaac was the dismounting of the leader, an unusual ambiance filling the air at his arrival.

#Castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #gretacard #greta danesti #sypha belnades #death #hector #isaac #isaac laforeze #forgehusbands #lisa tepes #vlad dracula tepes #draculisa #I hope you guys are fed well with this chapter #because my fingers have died from typing and revising all of this a million times #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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lostinsaltburn · 2 months

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Felix loved Ollie !

He may not have understood exactly what kind of love but he loved him.

The beautiful contrast we get of the partying and then these sweet quiet moments together in his room or the pub. The montage of them, partying, drinking, surrounded by others but still wrapped up in their little bubble.

Felix was jealous, petty and possessive. He wanted to show Ollie off to everyone but simultaneously keep him tucked up right by his side. The utter fit he threw about Ollie and Venecia, it wasn't a brother being mad someone hooked up with his sister, it was jealousy that Oliver wasn't giving him all his time and attention.

Felix loved attention, it's clear, but he thrived in Oliver's all-encompassing worship.

#saltburn #barry keoghan #oliver quick #saltburn 2023 #felix catton #saltburn brain rot #jacob elordi #saltburn a03 #saltburn movie #my entire brain is filled with this now #the brainrot is real

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olivarryprompts · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Friday #1

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read/Save it on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31733458

{training dates}

Ship: olivarry

Status: dating

Warnings: none :)

WC: 1,646

Barry’s POV

It sort of all started when I got my powers. And I ran to Oliver.

“I’ve spent my whole life searching for the impossible, never imagining that I would become the impossible.”

“So why come to me? Something tells me you didn’t just run 600 miles to say hi to a friend.” “All my life I’ve wanted to do, more. Be more. And now I am. And the first chance I get to help someone, I screw up. What if Wells is right? What if I’m not a hero? What if I am just some guy who got stuck by lighting?”

“I don’t think that bolt of lighting struck you Barry,” Oliver paused, “I think it chose you.”

“I’m just not sure I’m like you, Oliver. I don’t know if I can be some, vigilante,” I whispered, looking down.

“You can be better. You can inspire people. In a way I never could. Watching over your city like a guardian angel, making a difference. Saving people,” he smirked, “In a flash.” He walked to the edge of the building, “Take your own advice, wear a mask.” Oliver then got out his bow to zipline off the rooftop.

“Oliver, wait,” I called, thinking.

“Yeah, Barry?” he said, turning around.

“I-i can’t fight. I can’t be strong. And tough.”

“Yes, you can. Meet me at my club, Verdant, in a week. Same time.”

“Your club?”

“Yes, my club.”

And then he did his robin hood and swung away.

A lot happens in a week. Take down metas, learn to swirl my arms to make wind, realize I have a bit of a crush on Oliver Queen. Please ignore the last one.

I arrived at his club the following week at midday. During that time, I recalled that his secret lair was in the sublevel of his club.

“Hello Barry,” he greeted.

“Hi. So, um-”

“Come at me. I’m going to hit you with an arrow.” “Sure you are,” I smirked.

“Go, go.” I sped off 100 or so meters, and then ran straight at him. He fired an arrow, and it slowly made its way towards me. With a cheeky smile, I grabbed it and stopped.

“Nice try Ollie, to-OCHHCHHC. Fuck-what?”

“Awareness of your surroundings,” Oliver said, pulling the arrows out of my back.

“Ow ow it hurts.” “That was lesson one. The battlefield is just that, it’s a field. It’s not one person in one place, it's a network of people all trying to kill,” he places a finger on my chest, “You.”

I was still in pain, and not too fond of him.

“You know there are less painful ways to teach that lesson?” “You showed up, you knew what you were getting yourself into,” he stated blatantly. “Well-no. No. I didn’t really want an arrow in my back.” “Would you prefer to train on a deserted Island on the coast of the China Sea?” he said jokingly.

“No. Fine.”

He led me down to his base.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, pointing to where a punching bag was set up.

“This place gets cooler every time,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Punch,” he instructed. I started speed punching the bag, and it almost immediately broke.

“Well I’d say that was pretty good,” I said, smiling.

“Horrible. No control.” “What? I broke the bag.” “Don’t speed punch. Punch normally,” he said, replacing the bag.

I started punching as hard as I could.

“Untuck your thumb,” he commented, “You’re going to break it.”

I kept punching, taking his feedback and applying it.

“Wrist straight,” he said, taking my wrist into his hand and holding it steady.

Almost 45 minutes later, I was exhausted.

“My arms, I, I can’t feel them.” “Good, now fight me.” “Excuse me?” “Sparring, let's go. No fucking speedy shit, alright?” “Ollie, I don’t think I physically can.” “Oh yes you can.” He took my arm and dragged me onto the mat. I threw some weak punches at him, not moving. He was not holding back.

“Oliver, are you just going to continue to BEAT me up?” “When you start trying, I will stop punching.” I gritted my teeth and started throwing more meaningful punches.

“Good, come on, keep your feet right.”

I threw another punch.

“Don’t lean back, move forward.” After another 15 minutes of sparring, he called it.

“Done.”

“Is that all?” I joked.

“I mean we can do more,” he teased back.

“Nah I’m good. I feel like I should get a certificate, like, ‘congrats you completed your first Oliver Queen superhero training session.’”

“Idiot,” he smirked.

“Thanks.” “Right, I should get back to my city. Same time next week?”

“Yes.”

I reached out to hug him.

“I’m not really a hugger, Barry.” “Well, technically I could just speed and hug you, so you might as well just…”

He smiled, and we briefly hugged.

“Thanks Ollie.”

“See ya.”

Most sessions were similar to that. Well, not similar but the same vibe. He had me slap water for two hours once. He made me lift sand another time. Anyway, the training was hard and weird, but it seemed to be working. However, they started to shift. We were mainly sparring after three months, him giving me tips.

“Good sessions,” he said, chucking me a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” I huffed, collapsing into a chair.

He walked over to his salmon ladder, and he pulled his shirt off. Update, the crush got much worse which could, really, only be expected.

He started to go upwards, and I did definitely stare. Him jumping down caught my attention.

“You wanna get some food?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, yeah. Where?”

Where ended up being big belly burger, and, as the flash, I ate a shedload.

“That. Is. Disgusting,” Ollie said, smiling endearingly.

“You do you.”

“So, how’s everything in Central?”

“Yeah, it’s metahuman and that.”

“Right, descriptive.” We both chuckled.

“How’s everyone here?”

“Oh we’re hanging on as usual.” “Mine wasn’t descriptive enough,” I said, sarcastically.

“What, you want me to give a rundown of every person in my life?”

No, I want to know if you and Felicity still have this weird “in love” thing going on. “You know what, sure,” I smirked. “You are a child, Barry Allen.”

I just laughed.

We stayed a while just chatting, long after we’d finished eating. We were both red from laughter. and he was smiling brighter than I’d ever seen him.

It became a tradition of sorts. Train and go get food. He’d take me to all his favorite spots, we’d eat, and stay for hours just talking.

One day we were sparring, and I’d somehow ended up under him. He slowly leaned in, and I gave him a little nodd. The kiss lasted far too little time for my liking.

I was smirking at him, “Does someone have a little crush?”

“Shut up, I see how you look at me shirtless.” “Fair. You look very hot shirtless,” I said, “Your heart is beating fast.’ “So is yours.” He leaned in again, and this kiss lasted longer. “You wanna go for dinner?” “As in a date?” I inquired.

“As in dinner, you know. Maybe. People eat dinner.” “We’ve been dating for months now, neither of us cared to admit it,” I joked, walking towards a chair.

“No,” he said, thinking.

I shoot him a “really” look.

“Aright so yes, we have. Do you wanna get dinner?”

“Yes, Ollie, I want to get dinner.”

So from there we basically just dated. Woah revolutionary I know. Training sessions became covers for dates. Sleeping at his became a late night’s work. In the chaos of everything, we found peace in each other.

Oliver’s POV

“Can you run this through facial recognition please, Felicity?” “Yeah,” she said, tapping on her keyboard.

My phone began to ring, and I saw it was Barry.

I shot Felicity a look and headed to the backroom in the lair.

“Hey Be-” “Hello,” a voice said. I recognized it to be Cisco.

“Cisco?” “Yeah? Oliver?” “Why do you have Barry’s phone?” “Barry told me to call this number if he was ever in trouble?” I panicked, “Is, is h-he alright?” “Well, yes, no, he’s sorta-” “I’m coming now.”

“Felicity, I’m going to Central City, work stuff.” “What work exactly?” “Stuff.” “Secret girlfriend stuff?” “W-what?” “Come on, we all see you smiling at your texts, spending way too much time in Central City with'' Barry,” and the way your face lights up when you get a call.” “I-no. I don’t have a secret girlfriend.” Boyfriend, I have a secret boyfriend who happens to not be doing so well.

“Where is he? Where’s Barry?”

“Med bed, right there,” Caitlin said, “Be careful, he’s resting.” “What the hell happened to him?” I said, fuming.

“He got stabbed. Fight.” I ran over to his bed, grabbing his hand.

“Barry,” I said softly.

His eyes fluttered open softly.

“Ollie, ollie. Y-you came.”

“Of course, baby, why would I not be here?”

He just tried to move closer to me.

“Hey, hey, you stay still.”

“Cuddles? Please cuddles.”

I carefully made my way under the covers, and Barry immediately cuddled into me. He quickly fell asleep to the calming motion of my fingers running through his hair.

“When did that happen?” I heard Cisco whisper.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Caitlin said, equally baffed.

I just held on to Barry, hoping he’d get better. Hoping he’d be fine.

A few hours later his eyes fluttered open.

“Ollie?”

“I’m right here, Bear.”

“I think they know,” he said, smiling. “They might have a suspicion.” “All this started from a bit of training.” I kissed his forehead, “God, you idiot, you had me worried there.”

“You can’t get rid of me that quick.” “And I’m so glad.”

His lips met mine, and we kissed for a short moment.

“I think I love you Barry Allen.” He smiled his million dollar smile, “Oliver Queen? Love?”

“Only you.”

“I love you, too Ollie.”

Read/Save it on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31733458

#olivarry fic #olivarry #oliver queen #Barry Allen #felicity smoak #The Flash #The Arrow #arrowverse #m/m #fluff #fanfcition #dcu

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julemmaes · 4 years

Note

Hey, I really enjoy "Love her like she should be loved" and I was wondering if you'll update it soon? Like.. I've been looking at A03 page everyday waiting, no rush tho. Have a good day!

You’re Not Alone (3)

Cassian and Nesta Archeron modern au

A/N: I know yall always tell me not to be sorry, but I AM AND I CAN’T HELP IT. I’m sorry I made you wait sooo fucking long for this, but I’m kinda struggling with things rn and I really hate it so yeah, hope you can understand that.

Also, this didn’t went as good as I thought, but I took inspiration from what I think would go down with people I know in real life in a situation like this and I really hope it makes sense for you too. Enjoy!:)

part one, part two

Word count: 6,665

Nesta had responded to Feyre's message the next morning with a simple 'Okay, we can meet for dinner tonight.' and then invited the entire group to her house.

When she warned Cassian that he would have to go grocery shopping for everyone, he was shocked for a moment, looking at her carefully and trying to figure out if she was joking.

"Are you serious?" he asked her, taking a seat at the table and holding the cup of warm milk in his hands.

Nesta arched an eyebrow, throwing a glance over her shoulder, "What?"

Cassian had to tell himself to calm down, because the anger he had managed to repel all night was surfacing again. Not at Nesta, but at Rhysand, Morrigan. "I understand that you want to settle things with your sisters and..." he stammered, "and the others, but invite them here for dinner. Are you sure it won't end badly and that it won't contaminate this safe space?"

Nesta had stopped washing the dishes and although she had her back turned, he knew that her eyes were closed. Cassian stiffened, ready to stand up in case she needed physical comfort. The girl closed the faucet and turned towards him, taking a deep breath, "Tonight will not be easy," she announced.

Cassian nodded as he finished his breakfast and stood up, "I know it won't be easy, that's why I worry," he moved her from her position in front of the sink and put his cup in it, "If tonight goes poorly and you feel overwhelmed, you won't be able to go back to your house in a quiet and peaceful place and calm down." he took to washing the dishes for her, looking down at her face.

"I know, Cass." she passed her hand through her hair sighing, untangling it. She looked at him in turn, looking for confirmation, "But if I let them in here, maybe they will think that I'm really trying to apologize and that I want things to work out." she took one hand to her lips, biting the edge of her nail.

Cassian put the last cutlery in the dishwasher and took her wrist, taking her hand away from her mouth and bringing it to his, before leaving a kiss on her palm. Nesta smiled at him, but that happiness lasted only a few seconds because she grew grim, closing her eyes, "I'm afraid of messing everything up".

"I know, sweetheart." he whispered to her, "I'm afraid too."

She opened her eyes, frowning.

"I'm afraid that Rhys will be so blinded by hatred that he won't hear anything we say." he began, "I'm afraid that Mor will say things that - even if they are not true - will find a way to get under your skin."

Nesta leaned towards him, taking both hands to his chest, "I'm afraid that Elain will understand and that Feyre won't." she murmured, "I'm afraid that they will fight because of me. I'm terrified that this will affect Rhysand and Feyre's relationship more than I can imagine."

Cassian took a deep breath. He hadn't thought about that.

"Listen to me," he took her face in his hands, Nesta looked him straight in the eye, "both your sisters and my family are adults. We're not talking to children. We're talking to people who can think logically and who know what it means to be mentally ill."

She hesitated for a long moment and then nodded with conviction before shaking her head vehemently. She took a trembling breath and Cassian saw the moment Nesta's insecurities appeared on the surface when her eyes became lucid.

She slipped away from his touch, giving him her shoulders and leaning against the island. She was taking deep and quick breaths.

Cassian knew he didn't have to touch her when she was having an anxiety attack, but that didn't stop him from going near her and trying to calm her down. He spoke to her softly, but firmly, "I know it's scary Nesta. I know it's not easy, but you're not alone." he clenched his hands when her breath broke and the instinct to take her in his arms became overwhelming.

"You are not alone and whatever happens tonight we can stop. Whether it's when they arrive and they're still outside the door or it's halfway through dinner, you can get up and leave the room." she still had her eyes closed and a few tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You just have to look at me and I will understand Nes. I will send them away. You don't have to worry about that."

Nesta put a hand on her chest. "Breathe sweetheart. Focus on my voice."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

"What if they all start to turn against me?" she asked in a voice so weak that it broke his heart.

Cassian tightened his jaw, knowing full well that this could be one of many options, "If they even dare to gang up on you, I'll take care of it. I'm not lying when I say that you are not alone."

Nesta held her breath, pressing the back of her hand over her cheeks. Then she nodded once and turned towards him. "I am not alone." she repeated like a prayer.

"You are not alone."

He held her in his arms when she threw herself at him and swung into her kitchen for another twenty minutes before they both had to leave to go to class.

During the morning Cassian had tried to concentrate as much as possible on what the teachers had explained, but as he could well imagine, there had been no way to follow a single lesson. Every single thought he had was focused on the dinner that would take place that evening.

Around lunchtime, Nesta had warned him that there would be six of them. Azriel and Amren would not be there.

He hadn't commented on this choice. After all, he knew that it would already be very complicated to talk to her sisters, with the fact that Morrigan and Rhysand would also be there. Cassian felt slightly relieved that they would not have to endure the enigmatic silence of his older brother and the mocking looks of his friend. He would have thought about it another day to set the record straight with the two of them.

He left campus at five o'clock and very slowly walked to his car. He arrived downtown half an hour later and sat in the supermarket parking lot for a long time, his hands tight around the steering wheel and his eyes fixed onto the void, too deep in his thoughts.

He would not have been able to hold back that night, if Rhysand had even tried to say anything negative or if he had tried to minimize Nesta's problems. He did not know if he would be able to stop if he crossed the line.

He ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath and breaking that trance he had been in for what seemed like centuries.

Luckily he only had to buy a few things. He had almost finished - he was looking for olives for the Greek salad and couldn't find them in any of the aisles - when his phone rang. The ringtone was not the personalized one he used for Nesta and he didn't bother to answer it quickly.

He frowned when he saw that it was Mor, but brought the phone to his ear nonetheless, accepting the call, "Hello?".

"Where are you?"

Cassian looked around confused, "At the mall, why?"

"And are you with Nesta?"

"No, she's home."

He heard Mor mumbling something and then huffing, "Understood, well, couldn't you tell your sweetheart to open the door to the house for us?" she asked exasperated.

The blood froze in Cassian's veins, "Why are you already there?" he asked as he walked towards the cashiers, hurrying up shortly afterwards. He removed the phone from his ear, looking at the time, "Mor, it's half past six, why the hell are you already there?".

He heard his friend's indignation even through the phone, "Don't use that tone with me, I didn't show up here earlier out of spite-" she was interrupted by someone, presumably Rhysand, who warned her by saying her name. She huffed, "Nesta told us to come at this time."

Cassian cursed under his breath and hurried to put all the things on the tape, remaining silent while thinking which way would be the fastest to get to Nesta's house.

"Cassian?”

He passed the money to the cashier, waiting for the change before answering, "Yes, Mor, I'm still here".

"So?"

"Did you ring?" he asked, running towards the parking lot.

"Do you think we are brainless? Of course we rang the doorbell!" Cassian thought at that very moment that if Mor hadn't dropped the attitude by the time dinner arrived, he would have pulled her hair out one by one.

"I'll call you back in ten minutes," he told her, throwing the bags in the back seats and letting the food fall out.

"Ten minutes?" asked the blonde in a distraught tone, "I'm not going to wait that long just because that bitc-" movement was heard through the speaker and Cassian had to refrain from yelling at Morrigan. A few seconds later, he heard Feyre's voice, "No problem Cass, we're going for a drive around here and we'll be back in ten minutes, please text me when you're there."

Cassian thanked her, praying to every god on earth that others would be as forgiving as she was during dinner. He quickly typed in Nesta's number and drove out of the parking lot, focusing more on what he would want to say to Mor than on the street.

She didn't answer immediately and Cassian had to call her back twice, starting to worry that Nesta had changed her mind at last and that something serious had happened. When she answered on the fourth call, he released a relieved laugh.

"What is it Cass? I was taking a shower," she said irritated, "You interrupted the music eighty times," she mumbled annoyed.

Cassian put his hand over his mouth, "Hey baby, listen," he started, going straight to the point, "what time did you say everybody was coming?"

"At 7:30, why?" she asked and he could imagine her naked in the middle of the bathroom with a frown on her face.

"I think you wrote the message with the wrong time then. Mor called me and they are all there already. They buzzed a couple of times, you must not have heard them because of the music."

Silence.

"Nesta?"

"Fuck, no." she breathed through the microphone. "I can't let them up, tell them I'm not at home." she said in a hurry, "I can't be alone with them. I need you here while I do it. I need you here while I'm doing it."

"Calm down Nes, I already asked them to go for a ride. I'm in the car and I'm on my way."

"Are you driving?" she asked in the tone of one who seemed to have forgotten everything that had just happened. He didn't answer, knowing full well that he was going to kick his ass. "God, how many times have I told you not to talk on the phone while driving?"

"We're not having this conversation again." he snorted, turning right to take the highway, "Would you send a message to Feyre saying you made a mistake and the appointment was supposed to be in an hour?"

Nesta hesitated and then asked quietly, "Can't you do it?"

"You just yelled at me because I'm on the phone with you while behind the wheel and you want me to write a message?"

"You could pull over," she asked.

Cassian knew where all that anxiety was coming from and asking her to do something that would stress her even more on a day like this would be bad. He swelled her cheeks and released all the air and then nodded, "Alright, see you in ten."

"Pull over, though, don't text while you're driving."

"Yeah yeah, don't worry."

"I swear Cassian that if they call me from the hospital-"

"They won't," he reassured her, chuckling, "See you in a bit."

He put down the call with Nesta and called Feyre back, warning her that there had been a misunderstanding and that they would not be ready for at least another hour. The girl had reassured him that there were no problems, but despite Feyre's various attempts to mask Mor's offenses, Cassian had heard them anyway.

He arrived at Nesta's apartment in a very short time and as soon as he entered the house, she was all over him. The bags full of food fell from his hands when he had to hold Nesta to his chest to avoid falling backwards.

He breathed in her hair, rubbing his hands on her back in relaxing circles, "Hello beautiful".

"You haven't even looked me in the face yet," she murmured against his chest in a muffled voice. He snickered, "I don't need to see you to know that you are beautiful."

When they broke off to kiss Cassian felt that she was hesitant.

He put his hand on her cheek, "Are you sure you want to do this tonight?"

She closed her eyes, relishing in the moment, "Cassian, as much as I love you, tonight I need you to tell me that I'm ready and not give me a way out every time we talk."

He nodded, frowned and put on a fake tough-guy-expression, imitating the voice of his high school coach, "What are you hugging me for, woman? Tonight you have to be strong and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I should have let your sisters in and let the wolves eat you alive."

Nesta pushed him slightly, with a grimace on her face, "Stupid." she whispered.

He gave her a sincere smile, moving a lock of hair from her face, "What do you say you start cooking something so I can take a shower without the terror of you running away and as soon as I get out of here I help you finish?" he suggested, taking off his jacket and taking the groceries to the kitchen, Nesta just tailed him. She answered affirmatively and after leaving a kiss on her lips, he ran to the bathroom.

When he came out, washed and combed, it was quarter past seven and Nesta had set the table in the small living room. The Greek salad without olives was in the center, next to the keftedes she had prepared during the day. Cassian really did not know with what desire and spirit she had cooked all that good food for people who had always hated her.

He entered the kitchen when Nesta took the moussaka out of the oven, also result of her afternoon spent cooking and Cassian started to cut the bread and put it together with the various cheeses and cold cuts he had bought.

Nesta wasn't talking, but he saw it in the way she was jerking and looking around frantically that her nerves were about to explode. When the oven timer rang, Nesta almost screamed and Cassian had to stop what he was doing and went towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders, "Look at me."

Nesta looked at him immediately.

"Talk to me." he whispered to her.

She remained silent, so he gave her a hand in starting the conversation, "When are you going to tell them?"

"Tonight."

Cassian chuckled, "Obviously," she sighed, "I meant at what point. Before dinner, during, after?" he asked confidently so as to pass on some of that comfort. He also knew that, for her, having a plan of action, whether it was for dinner or a vacation, was very important and took away a lot of the anxiety that these things brought on her.

She straightened her shoulders, "I don't have the slightest idea, I thought doing it before, maybe with a glass of wine, would be better, but then I thought that if it goes wrong they will leave before we can eat and then we would have to eat Greek for days and not that I mind, but I don't think it's the best for our diet, you know. " she looked him dead in the eye while she was blathering on, clasping her hands around his forearms, "Then I thought about doing it during dinner, but if we start yelling at each other-" "They won't go that far, I promise you." "You don't know that. If we start yelling at each other and then someone chokes on the food, we risk one of us suffocating and dying. And I would like to avoid that." Cassian laughed at that point. Nesta looked at him very badly, "And afterwards, we might as well do it, but afterwards they are more likely to leave earlier, because maybe they think they'd done their part and had dinner with me, they apologize, I apologize and then they leave and I don't have time to explain myself."

Cassian raised an eyebrow, "So you want to do it first?"

"I don't want to eat Greek for a week, I've made so much that we could feed an army."

"During dinner seems the best moment honestly." he confessed to her, tearing her hands from his arms, taking the souvlaki and putting them in the oven. Nesta thanked him quietly. "I mean, we could approach the topic at any time, doing it between one piece of spanakotiropita and the other shouldn't be too complicated."

Nesta was about to answer when the doorbell rang and she froze on the spot.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Cassian wanted to open the door and send everyone away, because Nesta had started moving in circles and was waving her hands mid-air. He had seen her anxious about a lot of things, but he knew that this would be a decisive point in her life and the idea of the change it would bring - whether positive or negative it would be - was overwhelming.

"Remember sweetheart, the second you want them to leave, you look at me, you wink at me and I'll let you escape." he reminded her, approaching the front door and pushing a button to open the gate of the building. They would be in the house in less than a minute.

Nesta was torturing her hands, but now she had a hard look on her face, "I'm scared shitless of Morrigan," she whispered. Cassian didn't have time to answer because someone knocked and he was forced to open the door.

Feyre gave him a wide smile that didn't reach her eyes and his gaze went from the two Archeron sisters to Rhysand.

He hadn't heard from him that day and hadn't seen him since the night before, when he had screamed at him.

He smiled at him in a strange way, but the younger one seemed to appreciate the gesture anyway because he gave him a lopsided smile in return.

"Hey Cass." Mor said in a tone that promised trouble, "Are you going to let us in, or are you having serious issues with welcoming people into your house too?"

His jaw hardened and Nesta appeared at his side, placing a hand on his arm. The blonde's eyes snapped to the spot where her hand was clutching the fabric of his shirt, "Sorry Morrigan, I didn't hear the doorbell before and I made a typo, I didn't think your life depended on the hour I made you lose. And I didn't think you'd be interested in coming here and watching me cook, I'll take that into account next time."

Mor nodded once, clutching her hands on the bag. The two women stared into each other's eyes for eternal moments, until Elain cleared her voice, "Hello Nes."

Things seemed to lighten up and when Cassian stepped aside, letting Rhysand and Mor in as the three sisters hugged, the group split up and the tension in the air seemed to get heavier.

Cassian had no idea how he should behave.

"This way." he pointed in the direction of the living room and when he turned to see if they were following him, Rhys handed him a bottle of wine, his lips reduced to a thin line and his shoulders tense.

"Here," he muttered, and Cassian was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't the only one struggling, "Nesta told us not to bring anything, but it looked bad."

"Oh, yes please, open it," said Mor on the other side of the living room, while analyzing the photos on the shelves. Photos of him and Nesta. Photos that his girlfriend had moved every time her sisters had visited in the last few months.

Cassian looked towards the entrance and saw that Nesta and the others were no longer there, they must have gone to the kitchen. He turned to his friend and she was looking over her shoulder at him, "We're going to need it so badly if she's going to keep that attitude all night long".

Rhys sighed, carrying a hand over his face, "Mor, drop it…"

Cassian raised his hand to stop him, without moving his eyes from the blonde, "No, please continue, that's why we are here."

Mor turned completely towards him, grinding her teeth, "I really don't understand how you can be in a relationship with her." Rhysand stiffened beside him, "Did you see how she replied to me before?" she asked, waving one hand towards the door.

"Oh for fuck's sake," whispered Cassian angrily, "you hadn't even entered the house and had already insulted both me and her. You are not the victim here so stop acting like a child and try to understand where all the resentment comes from."

Mor was about to answer, but Elain had just entered the living room and Rhysand had cleared his throat before he took his seat. Mor did the same thing, followed by Elain and Feyre. Cassian shook his head and headed into the kitchen.

Nesta was looking at the pans with the various foods inside, clenching and opening her fists, which made Cassian's chest tighten. He had gone into the room with the intention of telling her that he would not be able to hold back if Mor continued like that, to warn her that if he exploded, it would not be her fault, but now that he saw her so agitated all his attention had turned to her.

"How are you?" he asked her, putting his hand on the small of her back. He kissed her temple.

Nesta turned towards him, taking a deep breath and releasing all the air. She did it one more time. The third time, Cassian breathed with her.

She nodded and took one of the pans, he opened the bottle of wine, took a second pan and returned to the living room.

Elain and Mor sat at the head of the table and Rhysand and Feyre on one of the sides, leaving the seats in front of them free for Cassian and Nesta.

The woman of the house laid the food on the table, asking those present to pass her the plates and what and how much food they wanted. Cassian sat down and poured the wine to Mor, who sat next to him. She gave him a hard smile and thanked him. Then he turned to Feyre and she shook her head, "No, thank you, I would rather not drink tonight."

Elain chuckled, "Wise choice, you were a little out of it this morning."

Rhysand gave her a big smile, "One of the worst hangovers ever, actually."

Nesta stiffened to those words, looking at her younger sister, "Sorry, if I'd known you were sick, I'd have arranged for another night."

Feyre seemed appalled for a moment, but she blinked briefly and was quick to reassure her, "Oh no, don't worry. I've taken something for my headache, and I feel better."

They began to eat in silence and Cassian was too tense and worried not to glance at Mor to really taste the food or start a conversation, but Rhysand seemed to be particularly appreciative, because he was making satisfied noises, "Nesta, this is so good. What is it?" he looked at her face for a moment and Cassian was sure that he was blushing because he bent his head down and kept eating.

"It's moussaka." answered Elain, smiling.

Nesta seemed surprised, "It's a Greek dish, our father loved Greek cuisine and this is one of the recipes he did most often."

"Well, kudos." Rhysand told her, then he turned his glaring gaze to Feyre, "I'm pretty sure you could never cook something like that."

Feyre seemed more uncomfortable than the others, not because of what her boyfriend had said, more because of the situation in general, but she didn't miss an opportunity to brazenly reply, "As if you can do better than me. We both suck and without Elain or Azriel we would have been dead long ago. Probably both buried under boxes and boxes of take-away food."

Elain laughed and Nesta dared what seemed to be a smile.

They joked for a few more minutes and at one point Cassian had relaxed so much that he even managed to laugh at one of Rhysand's jokes. Morrigan seemed to be dead next to him, but he couldn't even look at her and felt her look burn on the skin of his neck.

When the appetizers were finished and the firsts were brushed off the table, the silence spread between the chairs and the tension in the air came back, without announcing its arrival, heavier than before.

"Excuse me," said Mor suddenly, when the silence became too much, she looked at Nesta, "The bathroom?"

Nesta looked at her in turn and Cassian really thought she would not answer her, but then she murmured, "Second door on the right." pointing to the corridor and he relaxed. Mor thanked her, nothing grateful in that tone.

Cassian shifted his gaze to his brother, but Rhysand had his eyes on Nesta. The man cleared his voice, drawing everyone's attention to himself, and narrowed his eyes, "I wanted to apologize, Nesta."

She stopped, placing the fork on the napkin and nodding once.

"I'm..." he coughed, embarrassed, shifting his gaze to Feyre and bringing it back to her immediately afterwards, "I'm sure Cassian told you what happened last night."

Nesta put her hands on her legs and Cassian took the opportunity to hold her hand. The movement did not go unnoticed by the two sisters, who exchanged a glance. "Yes, he told me what happened. Not in detail though."

Rhysand swallowed noisily, "I had no idea you were sick."

So he would have gone straight to the point.

Cassian settled down in the chair, squeezing his fingers around Nesta's.

"You never cared enough about me to ask, it's understandable that you didn't know," she replied, "You never really tried to get to know me."

His tone became harsher, "Considering how you behaved the first times we all went out together and how you always treated everyone in our group, you should not be surprised."

"Rhys." Feyre warned him. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"It's true," he said, turning to Nesta, "You've never given me a chance to really get to know you over the years."

Cassian could see how Nesta's walls were coming up faster than ever. The threat now so concrete that even a gust of wind could have knocked them down and made them weak.

"That's because you never tried to understand my motives, but you stopped at the description that my sister probably gave you." Nesta replied, in an equally harsh tone.

Elain seemed to whimper at the head of the table and cast a worried look at Cassian. He told her silently without speaking that they would not intervene.

Feyre leaned forward, her hands intertwined in front of her on the table, "But Nesta, you must understand that you have never really behaved well with me. You've always treated me as if I were worth nothing."

"I never thought that, and I certainly never said that. I think you are one of the most wonderful people in the world and an equally good artist." then she turned to Elain, "The same goes for you."

"And why did you treat me like that all those years after dad died?" insisted Feyre.

A door at the end of the corridor closed, and a few seconds later Mor appeared, sitting with her back upright, sensing the air.

"Because you weren't the only one to lose your parents, Feyre," said Nesta. By now her eyes had become ice. Elain gasped at those words and reached out to her older sister, but she remained hanging mid-air. "You may not remember our mother, but I do. I lost her and I lost dad on the same day," she said, gritting her teeth. "Just because we reacted differently to the mourning doesn't mean I was okay and capable of taking care of you."

Feyre caught her breath and Nesta resumed, "When dad died, there was nothing of the man I had known for half my life, but the loss was double."

"I never knew..." whispered Elain.

Nesta turned to her, "I never wanted to put this burden on you. I could have handled it on my own. Just as I was sure that you too could have done just fine without me," she whispered, "And so it turned out."

Cassian stroked the palm of her hand.

"I'm sorry for giving you the impression that I didn't care about you, for making you believe that you are not a vital part of my life, but I was young and full of anger and rather than dump everything on you I preferred to keep it all inside and maybe I did more damage than good, but my intention was never to hurt you, Feyre, or Elain," said Nesta, with gleaming eyes.

Mor snorted, "You know, people normally go to therapy for these things."

Cassian took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Nesta tilted her head to the side, looking at the blonde, "I've been in therapy for months now."

Elain brought a hand to her mouth, looking at Cassian, "You didn't tell us."

He had to clear his voice before he spoke, "It wasn't my place."

Feyre looked at him with her mouth slightly wide open. Rhysand had a thoughtful expression, but he too was staring at his brother.

"And I'd really like to know what your real problem is with me. Because I really can't understand what I've done to you," Nesta asked, looking sincerely confused.

Mor looked at Cassian, looked at his plate, "I don't think you are enough for him."

Cassian couldn't stand it any longer and pulling his hand away from Nesta's grip he turned his whole body to the blonde, "And why should that be any of your business?

Mor gave him a fiery look, "Because I'm your friend and I want what's best for you," she clarified, pointing to Rhysand and Feyre with a painted finger, "When the two of them got together, Feyre was friendly, sociable and never offended anyone in the group-"

"When has Nesta ever directly offended one of you?" Cassian asked exasperatedly, raising his arms to the sky. The girl remained silent, shifting her gaze between the two lovers. Cassian scoffed, "You can't even find an example. God, you're ridiculous." he ran a hand through his hair.

"Ridiculous?" cried Mor, "I'm not the one who has been hiding her relationship for months from her whole family out of fear."

Cassian stood up, raising his voice, "And don't you think that fear is because of the way you are reacting now that I would have preferred to keep it hidden for a longer period of time?!"

Mor was also standing now, "If you had told me before-"

"No!" he shouted, "No! Nothing would have changed. And it's not because you believe that Nesta is a bitch, no! It's because you're always so busy involving everyone in your going-outs and your parties and your bullshit that you don't realize that some people don't like these kinds of pastimes!" he was talking so loud that a vein popped in his neck, "Sometimes I just want to stay home and sleep, but with you it's impossible! Because you always have to force everyone. And now you've finally found someone to stand up to you and say no and you can't stand it."

Mor seemed to be shaking with anger, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't?" Cassian asked laughing, no trace of amusement in the sound, "Have you ever let Azriel decide whether to stay home or not? Have any of us ever said no to you?"

Mor shook her head, not to answer, but shocked by the turn the conversation had taken, "And why do you think so?"

"Cassian, maybe you should sit and drink some water and calm down," Rhysand suggested, looking him in the eye. He didn't even bother to let him know that he had heard it.

"Nesta doesn't bitch to you and avoid you because she's a bad person, but because talking to you means accepting that you have a busy schedule that you don't want to have for the next two months and instead of saying no every time she prefers not to have connections at all" he concluded sighing and throwing himself in the chair.

Nesta rubbed a hand on his back and he closed his eyes.

Fuck.

He had spoken for her.

He shouldn't have.

They remained silent for a few seconds.

"Mor, I," Cassian resumed, in a much calmer and lower tone than before, "I didn't mean all those things, I'm just angry right now and I exaggerated."

"No, don't worry, I understand what you mean." whispered Mor, passing one hand over her shiny eyes, "I'll try not to invite you anymore when I want to cheer someone up."

Fuck.

Cassian knew very well that Morrigan's festive and witty attitude was the reason why they were all so close. All the adventures, all the laughter and the memories... they owed it to her.

"That's not-" he cursed, looking into her eyes, "I'm just trying to say that you don't have compatible personalities, but just because you like to have fun in a different way doesn't mean that Nesta isn't worthy of me or that she's a bad person just because she never went dancing with you."

Morrigan didn't answer, he stood in front of everyone and, surprising everyone, it was Nesta who resumed the conversation, "I've been really bad in the last few months, Mor."

The blonde sat back down, hands in her lap.

"I've been sick and the only person I had next to me was Cassian. I got to know him in these months, I found out what a great person he is and how much he is willing to give for those he loves," she looked at her sisters and Rhysand, back to Mor, "So I understand you perfectly right now. I understand that you're scared and you think that sooner or later I'm going to do something wrong and hurt him, but even if I do, I can assure you that the person I'm going to hurt the most is going to be me."

Cassian looked at her and the tip of his nose started to pinch. He bit his lip. He would not cry.

"I'm working hard to be a version of myself that doesn't scare me and that my sisters can recognize and I can't blame you if you don't know me, because I don't know myself either." she also turned to Rhysand, to whom she had just told practically the opposite.

"Cassian is my lifeline right now and I am willing to let my guard down for you if you are willing to respect my boundaries." she murmured, "I know this doesn't fix things and that your idea of me is still very confused, but I am really willing to give you some of my time to patch things up."

Feyre sniffed, reaching over the table towards Nesta, "Please forgive me."

Nesta smiled genuinely, "I'm sorry too, Feyre."

The younger sister got up from her chair and went around the table, surprising Cassian when she bent over Nesta to hug her. Elain smiled at her from where she sat and stood up a moment later, joining in the embrace.

"To-" Nesta resumed when Feyre and Elain broke away, "To explain a little bit why I act the way I do. I have problems, serious problems interacting with people," she murmured, picking at her nails, "Sometimes I do things I don't want to do just to regret it right away and I know it's no excuse for all the times I've been grumpy, but that's why it happens."

Rhysand cleared his throat for the ninth time, "I've been in therapy too. For several years," he confessed.

Cassian gave him a grateful smile.

"So, I know you have Cassian, and I'm sure your therapist is more than qualified for this kind of thing, but if you ever need another set of ears, you could..." he backed off, thinking maybe he was crossing one of those boundaries Nesta had just talked about, "I mean, if you need something, you can always ask."

"Same thing." Elain added, approaching her, "I may not understand half of it, but I want to be there if you let me."

Nesta nodded, more serious than ever. "Thank you."

Cassian came forward, "Thank you for talking to us sweetheart."

Mor got up in a flash, "Thank you Nesta. Cassian." she turned to the others. The look lost in the air as she gathered her things, "It was a pleasure, and the food was great."

"Mor..." Cassian stood up, "Wait."

His friend turned to him, clenching her fists, "I think I need some time. These are not things that are quickly assimilated," she told him with all the sincerity of the world.

"I understand that and I don't take it personally Morrigan. I can't assure you I'll be pleasant, but if you have any questions I'll try to answer them." Nesta intercepted, before Cassian could make the situation he had already created with the blonde worse.

Rhysand had got up and stood next to his cousin, "Do you want me to drive you home?"

She shook her head and her eyes became shiny. For Cassian it was like receiving a punch in the chest.

Feyre took a deep breath, "Actually I think we should all go." she murmured, "It's been a heavy conversation and I've learned a lot tonight and I think I need a seven-day nap before I can even have a conversation about art again."

That joke got a light laugh out of the whole group.

"You don't need to come with me, I can go by myself." worried Mor, shaking her head when Elain got up and started to get dressed.

Feyre shook her head in turn, "I repeat, I think I'm going to faint and I really need a few moments alone to think about everything too."

Rhysand put his arm around her waist and squeezed her.

Cassian bid his brother goodnight, hugging him and thanking him from the bottom of his heart for coming and listening without creating too many problems.

As soon as everyone was out of the apartment, Nesta burst into tears and Cassian said nothing as he held her to his chest, stroking her hair.

They hadn't gone into details and maybe they weren't on the same page yet, but they would have worked to get there.

It was a start.

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everyonesfavoritelesbowrites · 3 years

Text

Prompt: 1. Love Letter

Fanfic - SFW

Pansy x Hermione - Harry Potter

Background Luna x Ginny + Draco x Harry

TW: N\A

A03

A\N: Happy Valentine's day everyone! ❤️ This isn't exactly baised on the universe of my upcoming Pansmione fanfiction but some aspects are sprinkled in. I hope you enjoy :)

(I didn't go through and edit it, so sorry for anything)

"Happy Valentine's day, Pansy."

Pansy jolts suddenly, turning to her side to see Luna has popped up by her, smiling brightly. The young platinum blonde woman is covered in glitter, lip stick marks across her cheeks, and holds a large pile of red and pink papers. She radiates more color than the entire hallway they stand in, or even the entirety of Hogwarts.

Pansy raises a brow. "Thanks Luna, happy Valentine's day. You got something..." She vaguely gestures at Luna, "all over you."

Luna chuckles softly. "Ginny loves Valentine's day."

Pansy lets out an airy laugh. "I can see that."

Luna fumbles through the stack of papers in her hands, pulling out a bright pink card, in the shape of a heart, and hands it to Pansy.

Pansy blinks at it, stopping in her tracks. "What is it?"

"It's a Valentine's card. I made it just for you." Luna pushes it forward a bit more. "It isn't cursed or anything."

The corner of Pansy's lips tilt upward. "I didn't think it was." She gentle takes the heart shaped paper. It's covered in glitter and stickers, little drawings and it seems to have a charm making it smell of sugar cookies and chocolate.

Pansy looks back up. "Thank you, Luna. I... I don't have anything for you, I'm sorry."

Luna only smiles. "Don't be. I don't aspect anything in return."

Pansy watches her leave, probably off to find the others she made Valentine's for. Pansy looks back down at the card in her hands and she can't help the small smile on her face.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Happy Valentine's Day, Pans." Ginny smiles as Pansy takes a seat next to her at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall.

"Happy Valentine's day, Ginny." The words feel strange coming out of her mouth, but she means every word. "Luna's really into this Valentine's day stuff, huh?"

Ginny laughs with a soft blush, she also has glitter all over herself. Pansy reaches over and pulls of a sticker of a Niffler off of Ginny's shoulder, holding it up towards the woman. Pansy chuckles at Ginny's flush.

Ginny sticks the sticker on the back of her hand. "Did you get shy Valentine's? Any secret love letters?" Ginny wiggles her brow and Pansy rolls her eyes with a scoff.

"As if."

"Aw. Not even from those gross fourth years?"

Pansy glances over to the group of fourth years who had seemed to get a rather huge crush on her within the last few weeks. Pansy laughs. "No, they know they don't stand a chance." A Fourth year thinking they could get an eighth year? Haliorius.

Ginny raises a brow, leaning over. "And who does stand a chance, Parkinson?"

Pansy narrows her eyes at the mischievous look Ginny holds. "Absolutely no one, Weaslette."

"Not even Hermione?"

Pansy jumps again, Luna stands right behind her with a knowing smiling. Pansy blushes and narrows her eyes.

Ginny wiggles her eyebrows. "You should send her a letter."

Pansy rolls her eyes, grabbing her fork and turning to her food. "Absolutely not."

Luna slides in next to Ginny, resting her chin her her shoulder as they both look at Pansy.

"What?" Ginny smirks. "Too scared to send your crush an love letter?"

Pansy shoots her another glare. "I'm not scared."

"Then do it." Ginny pokes at Pansy's arm.

Luna frowns as she can sense her friend growing uncomfortable and overwhelmed. "Gin, don't push her."

Ginny frowns, taking in Pansy's stance. Her eyes fixated on her plate and she toys with her fork, breath a bit uneven.

She goes to apologise but Owls fly into the Great Hall, each if them dropping letters or gifts at people.

Pansy's owl, Oliver, drops off a small letter before landing on Pansy's shoulder. Pansy blinks at the white envelope before her, heart racing. Oliver hoots softly, and Pansy gives him a loving pet before he flies off.

"Ooh. Looks like someone's got you a letter." Ginny leans over, looking at the envelope with curiosity.

"Open it, Pansy." Luna says softly, a smile on her face that tells Pansy that she knows exactly who gave her this.

Pansy shakes her head. "It's probably just another prank card or one of the fourth years got the courage to send me something."

"Perhaps." Ginny says, smirking. "But what if it isn't?"

Pansy stares at Ginny, uncertain. It very much could be from someone other than a Fourth year or a prankster, but it very much couldn't be from Hermione... Could it?

Sighing, she turns back to the letter, opening it swiftly and pulls out the parchment inside.

'Dear Pansy,

Happy Valentine's day.

I am not sure how to say this or how to go on about this, but I think it's been long enough. I realized that I have always had a crush on you, although I didn't quite know it then. Despite you being an absolute arse throughout the past seven years, I still found you beautiful. And this year, after discovering how sweet you can accutally be - seeing your true self - the crush I had for you flourished into acutal love. It feels so sudden, but then again, everything in my life has always been sudden. I understand you may not return my feelings, and that's alright. I just couldn't go forward without admiting this, and luckily enough Valentine's day is the perfect opportunity.

I am truly falling in love with you, Pansy. And I hope you may be to.

With Love,

Hermione Granger'

Pansy blinked, utterly surprised but not at all disappointed.

"Who's it from?" Pansy turns to see Draco had taken the seat beside her, leaning against the table while looking at her curiously.

Pansy instead turns around, looking for that curly maine at the Gryffindor Table, instead she sees Harry Potter pointing towards the Great Hall doors. She follows and sees what looks like brown curly hair sneaking away.

Without another thought, Pansy stands and follows Hermione with quick steps, not hearing Draco's voice of confusion and Ginny shutting him up.

She catches up to her a hallway away. "Hermione!"

The Gryffindor stops in her tracks, then turns around slowly. "Pansy. I- I'm sorry if that letter was too much. I didn't want to cross any lines or ruin this friendship we- why are you smiling like that?"

Pansy is, indeed, smiling. Probably brighter than she has ever before. "You think too much, 'mione."

Pansy steps forward, letter still in her hand as she takes Hermione's face into her hands. Hermione blushes deeply, eyes wide. "I have to admit... I always had a crush on you, I always knew it, and I definitely am falling into love with you." Hermione smiles brightly making Pansy blush, "and I would like to kiss you right now, if you want me to, that is-."

Hermione closes the distance, lips meeting with a firm but gentle press. It's simple and chaste, but still holds so much emotion, more than words ever could.

Pulling away, Hermione laughs and Pansy joins. For once in her life, Valentine's day hasn't been boring.

02\14\21

#i dont know how to write love letters #or letters in general #my work #Pansmione #fanfic #Pansmione Fanfic #fanfiction #Valentine's day #writing #my writing #my fanfic #linny #background linny #drarry #background drarry #mine #prompts not mine

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

Text

One Night in Milwaukee - Ch. 5

I’m considering changing the title to “One Night in Milwaukee (and a week in Florida)...” Enjoy and please reblog!

David x Patrick, 15k so far, A03

Chapter 5

David takes his time showering and doing his hair. He had thought that his run would center him, but all it took was one quick conversation with Patrick to knock him off balance.

He wishes he could put his own clothes back on, but since everything he brought with him is either in the wash or soaked in sweat, it’s not an option. Tying a towel around his waist, he goes into the bedroom and looks through Patrick’s suitcase. He allows himself a satisfying eye roll at the contents – the expected button-downs in shades of blue and green, jeans that probably won’t even fit David, and a few plain t-shirts and pairs of khaki shorts. David sighs and selects briefs, shorts, and an olive green t-shirt, a nondescript fashion choice that would make his mother weep. At least he’ll only have to wear them for an hour or so until his own clothes come out of the dryer.

He finds Patrick in the kitchen, hovering next to the island.

“I made eggs,” Patrick says, sliding a plate towards him.

“Thanks.” The eggs are just like David likes them, with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and a piece of toast on the side. David recognizes the wheat bread he bought yesterday on his trip to the grocery store, somewhat bland but decent enough given the heaping of butter Patrick has spread on it.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, until the stress of it is too much for David to take.

“These are good.”

“It’s just scrambled, we didn’t have any cheese-”

“I can go to the store again, I didn’t know what you’d want-”

“You don’t have to do that,” Patrick says. “You didn’t have to go in the first place.”

“So I shouldn’t have?”

“No, no, it was great that you did…” Patrick catches David’s gaze, and they both sigh. “Why is this so awkward?” Patrick asks, taking their now empty plates and putting them in the sink.

“I don’t know, maybe because it’s been a long time, and things are different, and we both want everything to work out? But there’s no guarantee.” David stands up and waves his hands at the neat little kitchen and the safe tan sofa with its blue and white pillows and the “Home Sweet Home” sign on the wall with an outline of the state of Florida. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so out of place. “And this is not somewhere I ever expected to be, and I really don’t know what to do with it.”

Patrick nods, that sadness coming over his face again, and it makes David want to strangle someone. Not Patrick, never Patrick. But whoever was responsible for taking his good, decent button and making him sad.

<i>It was you, you asshole,</i> his unhelpful brain tells him, and isn’t that just the worst.

“Want to see the pool?” Patrick asks, and although David can see it perfectly well from here, he figures it can’t hurt. At least the screens will keep the alligators away.

They go outside, and the warmth of the sunshine surprises David. It’s gotten hotter even in the past hour since he was outside. It may be late November, but this part of the world hasn’t gotten the message. He wanders over to the pool and dips his toes in, then sits down by the steps in the shallow end and puts his feet in the water.

Patrick comes over and lowers himself to the concrete, David reaching out automatically to give him something to brace himself against. When Patrick starts to put his feet in David stops him with a hand to his ankle, carefully rolling up one leg of his jeans and then the other. David’s knuckles brush against the wiry hairs on Patrick’s leg as he neatly cuffs each pant leg. He wants to roll Patrick’s shirt sleeves up, too, reveal more of his lovely forearms, but it seems a step too far.

“Thanks.”

“Wet jeans are an abomination,” David comments.

“Kind of like you wearing my khaki shorts?” Patrick’s mouth quirks up in an attempt at a smile, and David’s heart lifts.

“Nice. Just a few minutes again you said I looked good.”

The hint of a smile disappears, as David’s words fail to land the way he meant. “I’m sorry, David, am I supposed to apologize for that? I don’t understand why it upset you. You do look good. Clearly you’ve been working out – aren’t you allowed to be pleased with the outcome?”

David squeezes his eyes closed and leans his head back. “Yes? But…” He’s not sure how to explain it. “It’s not about vanity, or, appearance. I know that probably sounds fake, coming from me,” he opens his eyes and looks at Patrick, who is gazing back as patient and open as ever, “but it’s true.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, clearly waiting for David to fill in the blanks. David had hoped a discussion about this particular part of his recent history could have been put off, possibly indefinitely, but it’s feeling like one of those moments when he’ll regret it if he brushes it off again. And maybe opening up will get Patrick to do the same.

“I was pretty depressed, after we broke up,” David says, running the tips of his fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread across the surface of the pool. “Couldn’t get out of bed, lost interest in everything… you know how it goes.” He’s not sure Patrick does, but he can’t help but try to make light of it, as awful as it was. It’s hard to really focus on those months, the drag of gray haze that wouldn’t clear. “Eventually I started seeing a therapist.”

“You mentioned that,” Patrick says, and David relaxes a fraction, because he had forgotten. Maybe this won’t be that hard, then. It hasn’t chased Patrick away yet.

“Right. Well, he recommended a bunch of stuff to try, including exercising regularly, and I resisted at first-”

“Obviously,” Patrick says.

David glares up at Patrick, who’s got his best trolling face on, deliciously familiar, and suddenly spilling his guts doesn’t seem so embarrassing anymore. “Anyway, once I started, it wasn’t so bad. Despite what I once told you about running… it worked for me.” That and laying off the alcohol.

“That’s great, David.”

“Well, Alexis says I just replaced one obsession with another.”

“Is that so bad, when it’s a healthy one?”

“You didn’t have to put up with me when I couldn’t go out for a run because of crappy weather, or inconveniently scheduled vendor meetings.”

There’s a hitch in the rhythm of their banter, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his. “I wish I did. I wish I was there.”

David feels his chest tighten, and he gives Patrick’s hand a squeeze. “Me too.”

They sit there with their feet in the water, like little kids in a backyard wading pool. There’s no breeze to speak of, but it’s not completely quiet. The sound of the highway a few streets away provides a bit of background noise, and a weird bird keeps making a strangled chirpy sound from a hedge on the side of the house.

David’s past encounters with Florida involved multi-million-dollar yachts, tanned supermodels, and free-flowing booze and drugs, not this strange version of suburbia. He imagines this house sitting empty for most of the year, waiting for its owners to come and visit. How many of the cookie cutter three-bedrooms in this neighborhood are empty right now? How many swimming pools are noticed only by the staff who come by weekly to clean them and make sure nothing has crawled into the filters and died?

“This water’s probably terrible for your skin,” David says, and Patrick looks at him in mild confusion. “Because of all the chemicals.”

Patrick shrugs. “I guess.”

“There are chemicals in here, right?”

“I don’t know, which would upset you more – the amount of chlorine dumped in here or the water being left in its natural state?”

David pulls his feet out of the water and stretches his legs to the side, the concrete warm on his heels. “I’m honestly not sure. But maybe we shouldn’t take any chances.”

Patrick stands up, leaning hard on David’s shoulder as he goes. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

David stays put, although now that he’s thinking about what might be in the pool water he wouldn’t mind rinsing off and applying some lotion. Or some hand sanitizer.

Patrick comes back out of the house with an armload of cushions and drops them onto the lounge chairs by the other end of the pool. “Come help me set these up.”

It only takes a moment to unfold the brightly patterned cushions and tie them into place (ah, there’s the Hawaiian floral, David thinks to himself). While David is arranging the loungers to his liking, facing the sun, Patrick comes back with two bottles of water. David twists off the top and rinses his feet while Patrick squawks at him.

“What? Was that not what this was for?” He tries not to smile.

“David. That water was to drink. There’s an outdoor shower over there.” Patrick points to the side of the house, then seems to regret his decision. “But don’t walk out there without shoes, okay?”

“What, will the baby alligators nip at my toes?”

Patrick grins at him. “No, but the fire ants will.”

“What the hell kind of place is this?”

“It’s just nature, David. As long as you wear shoes in the grass, you’ll be fine.”

“I feel like the state of Florida must have had some really good marketing professionals along the way. Alexis should get a job with them. They’ve managed to convince people that this pest-ridden swampland is worth something.”

“Arguably that is kind of what happened. You know Disney World was built on reclaimed swampland, right?”

“I did not know that.”

“Anyway, this neighborhood isn’t all there is. Give me another day to rest up, then I’ll show you around.”

Another day to rest isn’t really going to cut it, David thinks, watching Patrick wince as he eases himself down in the chair. He wonders again what Patrick had in mind when he made his escape to the sunshine state, which brings them right back to the conversation Patrick keeps avoiding.

“Patrick, how long, exactly, are you planning on staying here?” David asks, hoping that the direct approach might actually get him an answer.

Patrick stares up at the sky. “I don’t know.”

Patrick’s hair looks like polished copper in the sunlight, but David tries not to let it distract him. “How much time can you take off from work?” David presses. “Or are you working remotely doing… whatever you are doing now?”

Patrick takes a long gulp from his water bottle, then stares at his feet. “I’m unemployed. I lost my job about a month ago,” he says bitterly.

“Oh.” David is surprised, to say the least, especially by Patrick’s tone. He’s always seemed like he would be the ideal employee, eager to please and determinedly hardworking. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. Well, after you piss off a major customer, it’s hard to convince your employer to retain you.”

“It can’t have been that bad. I don’t think I can imagine you pissing off a customer.”

“It was, and I did.”

“What on earth did you do?”

“Do you really want to know?”

David sits up and squints at Patrick, no longer enjoying the sun on his face. He doesn’t even have sunglasses with him, a major miscalculation. “Yes, of course.”

Patrick leans back and closes his eyes. “I was working as an account manager at a software company. It was boring as hell. Sales, mostly, skating by with just enough technical knowledge about the product to capture the customer’s interest, and then serving as the liaison between the customer and the tech guys who actually knew what they were doing. But I kept screwing things up, and when the customers would want to know why the contract didn’t have the terms they wanted, or why I was taking so long to get back to them, I just didn’t have the patience to deal with it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

Patrick opens his eyes and looks at David, and he looks almost as bewildered as David is. “No, it doesn’t, does it?”

David has the feeling there’s more to this story, but Patrick doesn’t elaborate, and all David really wants to do is give him a hug.

“You know, I have a feeling you don’t have an ounce of sunscreen on. You’re going to be bright red if we stay out here any longer.” David stands up and holds out a hand to Patrick, then slides his arm around his back to pull him up. When they’re both upright, he loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and pulls him close.

Patrick presses his face against David’s neck. “I’m a mess, David,” he says, his breath hot on David’s skin. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

“I think we’ve both been a little lost,” David says, holding Patrick tight. “But I know what will fix it.”

“Yeah?” There’s an almost pathetically hopeful note in Patrick’s voice.

“Absolutely.”

“What?”

“Running. Miles of it. Every day. It’s a miracle drug.” David is struggling to keep up his serious tone, and not quite succeeding.

Patrick chokes out a laugh, pressing a hand against his ribs. “I don’t think I’m quite up for running yet.”

“Well fine, then, you’ll just have to watch me do it. It’s almost as good.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Patrick says, and kisses David soundly. David hesitates for a second and then enthusiastically participates, and they are both breathing heavily by the time they pull apart.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought that on?” David asks as they go inside, the shade welcome after the bright sunshine. He keeps a hand on Patrick as they go, not so much to make sure he doesn’t fall over but because he doesn’t want to lose this connection, now that he’s found it again.

Patrick takes hold of David’s waist, his eyes on David’s brighter than they’ve looked in days. “You. I thought I was dreaming, sometimes, remembering how much I liked you – loved you, too, but just fucking liked you. But I wasn’t.”

“I’m the best,” David says, half-joking, but there’s a familiar happiness bursting inside his chest.

“You are, David. You really are.”

#Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #David x Patrick #tw: brief discussion of depression

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