#also its already 10k words more than i planned for it to be so its....going to be a long one...

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You have a chat with Xavier, and Caleb is granted some well-deserved mercy.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Caleb-centric, Polycule, some brat-taming Xavier. Caleb gets some love in this one!! 10k words of depravity.....

Chapter 25: Invitations

With spring in the air, the sun was greeting you earlier and earlier in the morning. No more waking up to pitch darkness, which made it remarkably easier to detangle yourself from Rafayl and Sylus this morning. 

You were going back to work today, after a week of recuperating you were done hanging around. It took some convincing on your part, Sylus assuring the others that there were too few agents of Ever left in the city to form any sort of organized retaliation, and even if there were they’d be too busy picking up the pieces of their organization to worry about you. Not to mention the facility that kept the records of you and Caleb was destroyed, which would put a damper on them as well. 

Caleb greeted you that morning already in the kitchen. The smell of something savory cooking filled the air, and he approached you with more vigor than necessary for so early in the morning. 

“Morning pipsqueak!” He says, holding his phone and showing you the screen, which is playing a morning news report, “Check this out.”

You blink away the remaining sleep in your eyes as you watch his screen. A well-groomed gentleman in a pristine cobalt suit sits sternly at a newsdesk.

“Another bad day for the Ever Group as their CFO resigns today, effective immediately. No public statement has been released by the international group, and told us here at Linkon Channel 10 News that they were dealing with the changes internally when we reached out for comment.” The anchor explains in an even tempo. He shifts his hand across the desk, shuffling papers that were likely only for show, “This comes as only the latest in a string of bad luck facing the conglomerate. Experts worry about the sustainability of the company as one of its subsidiaries, Xander Sciences, is now facing intense government investigation for alleged animal and human testing. As of now, the Ever Group is remaining quiet on the continued issues, but we’ll be the first to know if and when they decide to speak.”

Caleb pulls the phone away, grinning that spectacular victorious smile. The one that made him the cover boy of his university groups, and the star of any sports team he joined. “Isn’t that awesome?”

He looks so young when he’s happy. You think. Like the boy you knew before, cheering about the new release of a video game he was excited about, instead of the downfall of an evil corporation.

“It’s good, right?” You ask, a little hesitant to celebrate just yet. Your arm is still bandaged, more so a comforting thing for Zayne at this point than for need of it. You also can’t stand to see the scars just yet. The perfect little squares so meticulously taken away. 

“It’s good.” The more bright flares of Caleb’s excitement dwindles down, “Sylus was right, they’re scrambling right now. If this much has leaked out, it means they’re way worse on the inside.”

You imagine an office scrambling with men in suits, frantically trying to piece together a plan to save their sinking ship. It’s mildly comforting, but less so compared to the softness of Caleb’s shirt. You hold his sleeve pinched between your fingers, needing an anchor to keep you from wondering too long on things you’d rather forget. 

Caleb looks at you and his eyes soften. Gently, he grabs the hand trying to tether you two together. He squeezes it firmly, pressing his thumb into your palm and lifting it so you look at him, “I made you breakfast, and a lunchbox to take.”

You blink. Struck out of the tar-like sensations of what it felt like to be strapped down and prodded at. With a simple tug, Caleb unties the knots in your stomach and draws you over to the kitchen. 

“Geez,” You say as you see the spread laid out on the counter, “When did you wake up?”

Caleb laughs sheepishly as he lets go of your hand, fingers lingering for as long as possible before they fall away, “Early. I knew Zayne left early, and I knew you were heading back today. I wanted to make sure you had plenty to fuel you for your return to work!”

You giggle softly and sit down at the bar, “What a good housekeeper you make. I never would have guessed.”

“Seriously?” Caleb says with a scoff, “C’mon pips, you didn’t set me up to fail did you?”

You laugh again a little stronger this time, shaking your head as you take one of the slices of toast with orange marmalade, “Of course not! I just didn’t think you’d be so good at it! Makes me feel like I was doing a bad job.”

Caleb leans on the counter across from you, leaning on his elbows, “You were always more of a fighter than a chef. But that’s okay. That’s why I learned to do it so well. So you didn’t have to.”

You pause in taking a bite of toast and look at him, something odd bubbling in your chest. Some mixture of fondness and pain. Nostalgia swirling alongside the bitter taste of uncertainty, “Caleb, can I ask you something?”

The amusement in his expression shifted with a touch of confusion, “Of course. Anything.”

“Why didn’t you just come to the Sanctuary?” You ask, but the words feel like sand against your tongue. You don’t really want to ask because you don’t really want to know the answer. Why bring up the past when you’re trying so hard to move forward? How can you ever forgive Caleb if you don’t forcefully just forget what he’s done?

Internally, you know that’s not the way. Just pretending he never did anything wrong wouldn’t work in the long run. It’d be okay for a while, but like a dormant disease it would rear its ugly head again. All that pain. The resentment. The heartache. There was no moving on from a wound like that without proper stitching, and only you held the needle and thread. 

Caleb’s face drops and he pushes up to stand up straight. The shimmer in his galactic eyes fades into the darkness of the void between stars and you bite down the urge to take back the question as guilt rises inside you. 

“Sylus mentioned the same thing,” Caleb laughs self-deprecatingly. “That if I hadn’t been such a coward and just came to the Sanctuary, that everything could have been different. That world…there wouldn’t have been a spell if not for me…and I…I can’t answer your question, pipsqueak, because I don’t know.”

He covers his face with the chrome of his prosthetic hand and inhales sharply, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why do I always make the wrong choice?”

You toss your toast down and round the counter, his distress calling out to something undeniable inside you.

“Caleb,” You say gently, taking a hold of his wrist and pulling it away from his face. He looks down at you and his eyes are glassy, “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. How can I…I shouldn’t even be here….I wrote myself in and…” Caleb breathes heavily and like some magnetic pull overtakes him, he collapses into you. Wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly. “If I hadn't interfered, I wouldn’t have known you at all.”

You take a moment before hugging him back, and letting yourself take a deep breath.You consider his words. You consider his actions. You remember that little boy from the past timeline. One you had only known for moments at a time. One who had, for inexplicable reasons you didn’t know, cared for you– even if you had been blind to him. 

“I don’t think that’s right.” You start by saying. “Even in that other world…we knew each other. In passing and only briefly, but who’s to say that would be different here? There isn’t–” You pause to sigh, unsure of where to even go from here, “That world was hard…it was unforgiving and it was cruel to all of us. I think…I think I like this one better. Even with everything that has happened. I like this world better.”

Caleb lifts his head from where he’d hidden his face in your shoulder, “Really?” He asks so pitifully you can’t help but smile.

“Yeah.” You whisper, “I have everything I could ever want and then some. I have my family. And everyone I love is here.” You draw away to look him in the eyes properly, “I think the last piece has always been you. I think…Or I like to think… that in that world…if the spell hadn't happened…you would have found your way to us eventually.”

Caleb’s breath catches, and exhales like it releases the weight of the very galaxy from his shoulders. The dewiness in his eyes slowly leaves, blinked away as he studies your face for any falsity. “The others…”

You smile and reach up to pinch his side, “It’s not perfect. Not yet. And maybe it never will be. The others are their own people. They feel how they feel about things and I can’t change that. But they can’t change my mind either. Though, I would appreciate it if you tried to be friends with them at least.”

“How?” Caleb whispers, his arms around your waist tighten a little. Reluctant to let you go. 

“Well…Xavier is tough. He was a hard shell to crack when I first got here too. But he likes food– good meat in particular.” You begin explaining, letting yourself settle into this embrace for a moment while you think, “Rafayel is a creative, so his moods vary. But deep down he’s a deeply untrusting person. It takes a lot for him to feel secure and to trust someone else. He likes baths….he likes art…. You know Zayne already. But he’s a little warmer in this world, if you can believe it. He takes his job at the hospital very seriously, but he also likes to have fun– he’s just not the type to suggest it. And Sylus….Sylus likes guns. Or he alters guns. There’s a workshop downstairs where he works on classic cars too. Maybe try that?”

Caleb’s face scrunches, “That is…kind of helpful.”

“Good morning,” Zayne greets as he enters the room, eyes glued on his phone screen as usual. Though Caleb drops you like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

You nearly fall on your ass, but you’re laughing the whole time, “Morning Zayne.”

“A seven car pileup on the freeway this morning,” Zayne replies as he sighs heavily, “It’s going to be a long day.”

“Saving lives though, right?” You cheer as you return to your seat, “Do you have time to eat this morning? Caleb made a spread!”

Zayne finally looks up from his phone to the spread of food on the counter and his eyes fall on the gooey sticky buns dripping with creamy icing. You see the little boy inside Zayne begging for a taste, but the doctor tells him no.

“I can’t.” Zayne says mournfully, “The attending on call isn’t confident in trauma cases so I should go in as soon as I can.”

“Here!” Caleb speaks up, going to the fridge and pulling out a bento box.  “I made you a lunch. It’s a sweet and sour chicken stir fry with veggies– no carrots though, right?”

Zayne takes the bento a little stunned, “Yes, that’s correct. Making my lunch isn’t necessary. I can always–”

“Eat a sugary pastry from the hospital cafeteria?” You accuse with a smirk, “That's not a lunch.”

Caleb chuckles and leans back onto the counter, “Yeah, Zaynie, take the lunch your poor housekeeper made…I worked so hard on it.”

Zayne’s face falls, “I forgot how efficiently the two of you can gang up on me.”

You snicker alongside Caleb, and from the corner of your eye you spy Xavier entering the room. He rubs at his eye sleepily with the back of his white glove, his hunter uniform always spotless as ever– sure to be riddled with dirt and soot by the end of the day. 

“Morning…” Xavier rumbles softly, walking into Zayne’s offered hand and resting his pretty blond head on the doctor’s shoulder. 

“I have to get going.” Zayne says, pressing his hand gently to Xavier’s back and nudging over to you. Letting the lethargic Hunter move from his arms to yours, leaning heavily against your chest as he fights for consciousness. 

With Xavier leaning against you, it makes it easier for Zayne to press his signature kiss goodbye to your temples. You first, and then Xavier– who mumbles a sleepy goodbye into your shoulder. 

Zayne takes the lunch and the wrapped breakfast to go, giving Caleb a firm nod of gratitude before he turns to go. You wonder if one of these mornings Zayne will forget and kiss Caleb on the forehead like he did you all those weeks ago. 

“Have a good day!” You call as Zayne leaves. 

“Save lots of lives!” Caleb echoes the elevator ding signalling your beloved doctor’s exit. 

Xavier’s breathing is too slow for how soon you need to get going, so you try to coax him awake. You nudge your shoulder a little, making him lift his forehead and you whisper to him, “C’mon Xavier. You should eat before we go.”

“Just a little longer.” He breathes, turning his face into your neck and pressing his lips to your pulse.

“N-no.” You say weakly, the heat of his lips making your head a little foggy, “We only have ten minutes before we have to go. Look, Caleb made bacon and sausage.”

Xavier mumbles something incoherent into your neck and with firm hands on your waist he finally stands up straight. “Are such extravagant breakfasts in the grocery budget?”

You return to your toast and roll your eyes. Xavier will find anything to nitpick about Caleb at this point, but Caleb seems to be handling it very well. Never taking it to heart and smiling.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been very careful.” Caleb assures as he motions with his head to the plates of food awaiting the blond. “Though, if it’s not to your liking…I can always make something else.”

Xavier frowns softly and shakes his head as he sits down next to you, “This is fine.”

Munching away at your breakfast, Caleb returns to tidying up the mess of making it, and you glance between the two men. 

“So,” You begin, “We don’t have any big missions today. So we should be home around Five-ish.”

“Good,” Caleb says, pleased, “I’ll have something ready for you then. How about some dumplings?”

“Sounds good!” You say with a happy nod. There’s a worm of guilt in your chest because Xavier is still frowning, and you’re wondering if it will ever get better. 

The two of you finish your breakfast and Caleb gives you both your own lunches to take. Xavier looks at him like he’s grown another head for such an absurd action, and so you carry both. Laughing at Xavier’s reaction. 

You’re in the car and heading to work when you lean over and smack Xavier in the arm. He flinches slightly– not hurt but surprised by the sudden action. 

“What’s the matter with you?” You bark at him, more frustrated than properly angry. “You could try, you know?”

Xavier hums softly and returns his full attention to the road, “Try what, exactly?”

“To be cordial, if not nice.” You add, crossing your arms, “It’s been over a week, and you’re still treating him like a criminal.”

Xavier’s expression doesn’t change, “He is a criminal. An enemy of our house– our family. I won’t forgive him, and I certainly will not forget.”

You sigh and just look at Xavier for a moment. From the passenger seat, you examine the unmarred skin of his cheek. The place on his jaw where a deep scar had given him pain in his teeth when it was cold. It’s smooth skin now, free from the mark where one of his own men had betrayed him.

The car falls into silence, and you wait until he’s parked in the darkness of the Hunter’s Association garage before you speak again. 

“You were the enemy,” You say very very gently. Barely a whisper, “Once.”

Xavier’s face jerks to look at you, a look of flayed shock in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes say enough. 

“You were the Prince of Philos.” You continue. “You led battalions that killed hundreds. Uprooted families. I remember…I remember the color of the banners being something we used to fear. Astra was a threat once, and so were you.”

Xavier’s mouth is open and he speaks slowly, “I never…I never betrayed you.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” You say quickly. “I’m not saying it’s the same, it's just…when you first came to the sanctuary, Zayne didn’t want me to help you. Lots of the people there…they wanted to let you die. I couldn’t….I just…They told me about who you were, what you’d done– what your family had done. I guess…I thought maybe you could find it in your heart to cut him a little slack? You don’t have to be buddies with him but…maybe you can understand what he’s feeling, you know?”

Xavier pauses, letting your words settle in the air before he responds. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” You reach out and take his hand, feeling the soft leather of his glove, “We make choices from the options we have available. If  your men hadn’t betrayed you and left you for dead, would you have ever been on our side? To be honest, I try not to think about what could have been or what we could have done differently– it doesn’t change anything now. And I’m happy here. Aren’t you?”

The steel in Xavier’s eyes loses it sharp glint. The blade he’s been wielding so tightly since the moment you were kidnapped is finally finally sheathed. “I am.”

He whispers so gently, and when he reaches for you, you meet him halfway. Nothing but binary stars in orbit of one another, drawn by each other’s gravitational pull. He kisses you gently, the barest of pressure that you press harder into. 

It’s hard to reach him leaning against the console between you, and so you push yourself up onto one knee. You need to feel him closer. Just a little stronger taste to get you through the day, and Xavier is silently agreeing with the sentiment because he’s pulling you in. 

Soft pecks turn into slower, harder caresses. His tongue darts to taste you, and you nip at the tip of it playfully. He exhales sharply through his nose, and pulls you away from him an inch with a firm hand in your hair. 

“You’re asking for it.” He warns breathily. 

“We can be a little late, right?” You whisper, and usually there’s another one of your lovers there to talk the two of you out of getting carried away. Zayne, Sylus, and Rafayel all know how you and Xavier can bring out the worst in each other– forgoing anything else to indulge the way you so enjoy. 

Xavier groans into your mouth and you can feel his internal debate. He has to close his eyes tightly and grip your waist to stop from immediately caving in and throwing you in the backseat– work be damned. 

“N-no.” He whines. “We can’t be late today. Not on the first day.”

You hum, pressing another short kiss to his lips before you back off, “Bummer. Maybe tomorrow then.”

Before you can leave the car, Xavier grabs you and hauls you back to him. Devouring your lips in an orchestrated assault on your senses and sanity. He doesn’t let you go until it’s you who is breathless and dizzy, and he mumbles the warning so deeply into you that even your hazy mind hears it, “You’ll regret that later.”

Caleb wasn’t one to complain. Not really. He was used to doing things he didn’t enjoy, but he couldn’t say he hated his new position as housekeeper. 

Cleaning was methodical, and cooking enjoyable. Seeing the carefree look on your face as you ate something he made was even better. You loved food, you loved good food, and Caleb had spent so long perfecting it that it felt heavenly to see all that effort come to fruition. 

He didn’t mind the laundry, which he noticed wasn’t a part of your list, but had somehow become a part of his. And the grocery shopping was easy because the other four men were oddly specific, and Caleb knew your preferences like the back of his hand. 

His only complaint? The Rules. 

Caleb wasn’t entirely sure if Sylus had been serious, but he wasn’t about to risk his road to redemption by testing it. However, it was leading to some…unusual side effects. 

Caleb couldn’t touch you, but it seemed as long as you initiated it no one made a fuss. A loophole for which he was grateful you took advantage of. At least it was something to tide him over before he inevitably went insane. 

He also couldn’t touch himself. Caleb believed the dragon when he’d said he’d know. That damn beast's sniffer was worse than the siren’s, and Caleb wouldn’t put it past any of them to punish him if he tried to take care of the unbearable tension he was experiencing. 

It would be easier if he couldn’t hear everything. Plagued by insomnia the way he was, Caleb was up at all hours of the night. Listening to the horrific, terrible, no-good, vile, delirious…cross-eyed, gorgeous, sybalitic, divine things that occurred between you and your lovers. 

This was torture of a new breed. A kind that Caleb found himself dumbfounded for not thinking of earlier, because he was going insane. Insane in the way that makes people desperate. That makes their minds melt and become people they don’t recognize. 

Because he found himself hard and aching even when you weren’t involved. When he’d accidentally walked into the gym and found Xavier sprawled across the training mat, the purple haired siren– Rafayel, Caleb’s traitorous mind purrs– between his legs. 

Caleb hadn’t considered what the blond might look like with his cock balls deep in someone’s throat, and so the sight of it was novel and branding. It was a lack of imagination on his part what the sound of the artist gagging might do to his fraying psyche, and how he almost fell to his knees and begged for mercy then and there. 

Seeing Zayne was worse. There was something frighteningly powerful about seeing Zayne with his hand around Sylus’s throat, pressing him into the couch and pounding into the other large man like he was a doll to be controlled. Perfect, poised Zayne was red-faced and sweating, mumbling out curses and so engrossed in the tight heat around him he didn’t even notice Caleb. 

But Sylus had. 

Sylus with those beastly carmine eyes had focused on him like a predator in the jungle, stunned at first, but then he smirked and Caleb the movement jolt down his spine straight to his already-hard cock. 

Zayne was ruthless– his pace was punishing, and Sylus looked like he could take more. At least, that’s what Caleb’s celibacy-addled mind whispered. 

Caleb shook his head, trying to get back to cleaning the firearm Sylus had left for him. A crate of them to be dismantled, cleaned, and put back together. After their chat, Sylus seemed to take pity on him– or he just enjoyed the torture– either way. Of the four men, Zayne was too busy to talk and the other two didn’t want to talk. Sylus was the only one who had made any sort of effort to interact with him. 

He sighed, placing the cleaned firearm back into its case before moving onto the next one. Only, before he could open the case, the elevator dinged. Checking his watch, Caleb cursed– it was you and Xavier coming home!

He rose from his seat, ready to greet you, but was met with the heart-stopping sight of you thrown over Xavier’s shoulder, giggling and kicking your feet slightly. The blond wasted no time in giving you a harsh smack on the ass for your antics, and you squealed like it was just the beginning of some horrific game. 

Caleb was frozen, watching with his jaw ajar as Xavier smacked your ass again– only this time, Caleb got a full view of your face. The way your eyebrows drew together and up, a tantalizing mixture of pleasure and pain as you jolted from the harsh treatment. The sound of it was enough to make Caleb’s gut twist, suddenly, painfully hard. 

He hadn’t actually seen you in the thralls of pleasure yet. Only heard. Heard night after night this week as you meticulously undone in so many various ways. Sometimes slowly, softly, gently. And other times hard, rough, violent. 

Words bubbled at the back of Caleb’s throat. Objections to the rough treatment and defense on your behalf. The tender skin of your bottom should never feel such disrespect. But also, Caleb didn’t want to say anything because then he might get to hear it again. 

“Xavier!” You cried as you were hauled past the living room– not even a step of hesitation from the prince’s feet as he carved a path upstairs, “I’m sorry! It was just a joke!”

Another smack. A perfect, echoing slap of Xavier’s white leather glove against the black leather of your hunter’s uniform. Oh Caleb would never get the sound out of his head– he’d cling to that auditory memory because it might be the best he could get. 

Xavier didn’t reply and disappeared with you into the hall and away upstair. Caleb flinched at the harsh slam of your bedroom door, and began to worry for the safety of your beautiful skin. He wouldn’t leave lasting marks right?

Caleb hears the footsteps only a second before he sees him. The devil incarnate come to rub salt in his wounds. Sylus slides around the corner like a snake, grinning, and Caleb has all of half a second to press himself up against the counter to hopefully hide the evidence of his painful arousal.

“Was that Xavier I saw walking by just now?” Sylus’ drawls, asking in such a clearly rhetorical way that it makes Caleb’s irritation spike.

“What do you want?” Caleb bites out harshly, “I’m not done cleaning the guns yet.”

Sylus’ brows raise in mock surprise, “Oh? Such attitude for someone in your position, and here I thought I might grant mercy to you.”

Sylus hums and turns away, taking two steps and shrugging theatrically. 

“What?” Caleb hisses, “What do you mean mercy?”

Sylus pauses, turning to look over his shoulder at the violet-eyed man, “I mean mercy. You’ve been good. Following the rules. Keeping up with the chores and making good meals. I think you’ve suffered enough, though I’m not the only one you have to convince.”

Caleb can’t breathe. He’s not entirely sure what Sylus means but it’s promising. Does that mean he can touch himself? Does that mean he can touch you?

Sylus chuckles and it sounds like sin, “Here, come with me.”

The devil offers Caleb his hand, and god forgive him but he takes it.

He’s drawn up the stairs to the hallway outside your room, and Caleb shudders when he scales those last few steps and hears the muffled sounds from behind the door. 

“Xavier!” You voice is high and pitchy, the ending of the name breaking into a long, drawn out moan, “Please– oh god! – Slow d-down!”

You devolve into rhythmic sighing moans, squeals of pain that come a moment after harsh slapping sounds. Caleb jolts forward, determined to come to your rescue because you’ve asked Xavier so nicely to slow down and he clearly hasn’t.

“Woah there,” Sylus catches him with a wide palm on his chest, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“She asked him to stop and he didn’t! He’s hurting her and you’re okay with this?” Caleb snaps, yanking Sylus’ hand off of him.

“It’s their game.” Sylus says with a slight roll of his eyes, “It’s how they play. The prince and his bunny. They have a safeword set up– if she really wanted him to stop, she would use it.”

“How do you know? How do you know that he would stop?” Caleb asks a little too desperately. 

“Because he’s done it before.” Sylus assures, taking on that low rumbling tone, “Xavier can get carried away with overstimulation. The prince of Philos is a glutton for when her eyes start to cross. When she starts to drool and can’t even form words anymore…One time…”

Sylus’ voice drops into a whisper, and Caleb is now hanging from his every word. A sick cacophony of secrets hushed to him alongside the symphony of your pleasure.

“She had to use the safeword because Xavier nearly passed out. Blue in the face and everything because he wouldn’t come up for air.” Sylus’ chest rumbles in dark humor, “So pussy-drunk that he forgot to breathe while eating her sweet cunt. But…you know how that is, right?”

Caleb blinks and is momentarily distracted as the wet slurping noises from within the room turn into rhythmic slaps. Hips crashing against hips– and its so fucking wet sounding that Caleb’s mind short circuits enough to get the Toring chip involved. 

“I don’t…” Caleb mumbles before shaking his head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow and he crowds Caleb against the wall, “You don’t? You mean to tell me you spent all those years with her and you never returned the favor? Never tasted her?”

“We never–” Caleb grits his teeth, “We never did anything like that!”

“Oh you poor sap,” Sylus growls, “Now I really do feel bad for you.”

“Shut up.” Caleb barks and debates shoving Sylus away. 

“Don’t be upset. Here,” Sylus coos and with one arm braced against the wall to the side of Caleb’s head, he uses the other to drag down the pilot’s chest. Giving little warning before dipping his fingers into the hemline of his pants and cupping Caleb’s throbbing cock, “, let me help you.”

Caleb gasps wantonly, a high pitch pitiful thing as it’s the first real touch he’s had in months. “F-fuck…”

“Tell me now if you want me to stop…” Sylus whispers in his ear, pressing harder against him and Caleb’s vision whites out.

“No. No.” Caleb pleads under his breath, “Please…”

“Such a good puppy you’re turning out to be.” Sylus lifts his hand and uses two fingers to hook the waistband of Caleb’s pants and underwear, dragging them down to let his poor, neglected cock free. 

Caleb is panting madly, hands pressed flat against the wall and his hips pushed out in desperate seeking of more. Sylus’ large hand encircles his cock, and Caleb is whining before he even moves. 

“If you keep behaving so nicely,” Sylus drawls as he slowly pumps his hand up and down Caleb’s long, thick member. A fat glob of pearlescent precum drips out and onto Sylus’ fingers, which only smooths the path for him to go a little faster, “Then you’ll be in our bed in no time. You’ll get your turn to taste her. Is that what you want?”

Caleb’s quiet moans are nearly drowned out by yours, and he realizes Sylus is matching the rhythm of his hand to the hedonistic slapping happening behind the door to your bedroom. 

“Y-yes…” Caleb groans, and his hips are thrusting up without even thinking. Edged for so long in this prolonged punishment that he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. “That’s what I want. It’s all I want. Fuck~ I need to f-feel her. I wanna’ – oh god, yes– I wanna’ be i-inside….her.”

“She’s like heaven,” Sylus continues, squeezing a little tighter. “Better than you can even imagine. Did you know she can take two?”

Caleb’s hips jolt at those word– images flashing behind his eyes, “Oh god! You’re fucking lying. You’re a liar– she wouldn’t–”

Sylus growls, smiling with those sharp venomous canines, “Took me and Zayne so well. We took it slow of course– the last thing we want to do is hurt our girl, but oh…she did so well. Took both of us at the same time. Oh– You really like that, don’t you puppy? Don’t try and lie to me I can see how much you’re leaking…”

“Oh god…I’m– nng–” Caleb is whimpering, pushing his hips into Sylus’ warm hand, wishing desperately it was more. That it was wet, and and hot, and cried out as he fucked up into it. 

“Please, please, please!” Your wail is barely muffled by the door and your poor, lovely voice is so hoarse, “I’m sorry! I won’t— ahn, oh god yes….hit me harder. Ung, it feels so good. So good.”

Caleb’s knees buckle but he catches himself by grabbing Sylus’ arms at the last second. “Is she always…” Caleb has to swallow hard before he continues, “Is she always so responsive?”

Sylus rumbles with laughter, oh so casually leaning down slightly to spit right onto Caleb’s cock head with deadly precision, and then, smirking like it was nothing Sylus replies, “Of course. She has a hard time keeping that pretty mouth of hers shut, but I prefer her like this….don’t you?”

Caleb only grunts softly in response, the added wetness making his head spin. He’s tumbling headfirst towards a long overdue orgasm, but won’t let himself completely succumb. Not yet. Not yet.

“Not yet?” Sylus mimics the chant Caleb was unknowingly whispering, “I see. Good boy, waiting for her to finish first right?

Shame slaps Caleb hard in the face, making him flush the prettiest pink because his cock throbs, more slick threads of pre forced out of his desperate plying cock. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Your succulent moans are punched out of you, the reverberation of a gorgeous string instrument smacked with the violence of a drum. Caleb’s mind scolds Xavier for his indelicacy to you, but also begins planning how best to prepare a nice, fat steak for him. A gift for the prince for such a unique gift.

Caleb faintly hears Xavier hiss out a curse, then your name, and then, “Oh bunny—ngh—you’re so close….you’re gushing. Such a good bunny I’ll be kind. — At the count of ten, you can come ok? Oh mmmh— yeah you can come on ten. Ready?”

Caleb knows the words aren’t directed at him, but his breath hitches like they are. You’re struggling already, making these high pitch animal whines as you grapple against your own pleasure.

“One.” A loud smack, and you keen— squealing as Xavier must have placed a debatably-deserved slap to your perfect ass.

“Two.” Xavier’s pace is fast but not frantic, and Sylus mimics it perfectly. The precision, the harsh but not painful thrusts. Perfect damnation wrapped in fair hair.

“Three.” Sylus is grinning like a conqueror, clearly enjoying the show.

“Four.” Xavier’s voice is getting strained, pushed to his limits by his own games.

“Five.” Caleb’s not gonna’ last, he just knows it. So he bites his lower lip and stops thrusting his hips in a desperate attempt to slow the inevitable.

“Six.” You’ve devolved into breathless pants at this point and Caleb can only guess was depressed look is on your face.

“Seven.” So close. He’s so so so close. 

“Eight.” Almost there. Sylus squeezes him a little tighter and hums like a satisfied beast. The silver haired man’s breathing is faster than normal, the only outward sign that he’s thoroughly enjoying himself— besides the massive hard bulge he presses against Caleb’s thigh.

“Nine.” Xavier sounds strained and the sounds from the collision of flesh have grown a bit softer. 

It’s finally here. Caleb’s mind chants in utter jubilation. A dedicated worshipper finally feeling rain after fasting for a hundred days. Right there. He’s right there.

“Ten.” 

Caleb clenches his mouth shut on pure willpower— fighting against his voice’s involuntarily exultation of pleasure so he can hear you instead. He can’t waste this opportunity with trivial things like his own white-hot, bone melting, knee-buckling orgasm.

He holds onto Sylus so tightly to weather the storm, rope after steamy rope of pearly cum shooting across the silver-haired man’s arm and hand. 

And oh, you’re perfection. The cataclysm of a summer storm. Thunder and lightning and rain combining into some heady combination that both sets his primal mind alight and sends into some sleepy stupor. He could get drunk on the sound of your orgasm alone, and maybe he has because his mind is swimming with it.

Xavier is breathy and quiet, muttering filthy but reverent praise as he no-doubt fills your heavenly cunt with his cum. 

You repeating thanks over and over again, voice cracking and fading into whimpering whispers,

Caleb can barely catch his breath, so sunken in the quicksand of orgasm and struggling to come up for air.

“I…” Caleb doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, only that when he looks up at Sylus there are words forming.

Sylus looks smug but not demeaningly so. Proud of his accomplishment and admiring the sheer amount of come now striping his tanned skin. 

“Hm…” Sylus hums thoughtfully, lifting his hand and Caleb gasps like a wanton whore as he watches Sylus’ tongue dart out to take the tiniest taste of come from his fingers.

“Oh fuck…” Caleb curses under his breath, in between gasping swallows for air, “That was…”

“Our secret.” Sylus finishes for him, “For now. You have my trust, and I thought you deserved a treat. Did you enjoy it? Your treat?”

Caleb’s face feels too hot, “Y-yes…”

“Good.” Sylus says with a slight grin. “The rules still stand with the others— no touching, and no touching yourself— but I will…help if you need it.” 

Sylus slowly helps Caleb to lean against the wall instead of clinging to him, and only when the brunette is steady on his feet does Sylus back off. 

“T-thanks…” Caleb mumbles lamely, unsure of how to act now that he’s just been jerked off within an inch of his life by the man before him. 

He’d never actually considered your lovers or men in general before, and so his mind is having trouble catching up to this new reality. 

Sylus smirks, “Go get cleaned up. Xavier probably knows we were out here, but better to be safe and escape while we can.”

Caleb rushes to put his flagging cock back into his pants and pull them back up, “Did I fuck up? Is he going to hate me more now?”

Sylus pulls out a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and begins to wipe his hand clean, “So worried. Aren’t you concerned what kitten will think if she knew what a voyeur you were?”

Caleb falls silent, following the dragon down the stairs and back to the dimly lit living room. It’d only been a day and a half since Caleb had walked in on Zayne plowing Sylus on the couch, and Caleb wonders if Sylus thinks about it as much as he does.

Sylus looks over his shoulder at the violet-eyed man and chuckles richly, “No I suppose she already knows, doesn’t she? Tell me, were you pressing your ear to her door as a teenager? Or sneaking pics of her in the shower?” 

Caleb’s face scrunches at the accusation, “I would never!”

Sylus, however, continues, “Did you sneak into her room at night and watch her sleep? Or steal her panties from the hamper?”

Caleb opens his mouth to deny the first allegation, but at the second, Caleb’s jaw clamps shut.

“So that’s it…” Sylus hums, “Don’t worry, puppy. I don’t judge you for it. Just be careful pulling that here, you’re still on punishment for now.”

“So what was this?” Caleb asks quietly after he lets his shame subside, “An act of pity?”

“Partly,” Sylus replies honestly, “but also a peace offering. Relax a little. You’re down two out of the four— possibly three.”

“Two? Three?” Caleb repeats in confusion, “Who do I have on my side? Zayne?? Zayne doesn’t remember, if he did—“

“I can’t speak for Zayne or the others for that matter. I don’t care to try and put words in their mouth.” Sylus says with a shake of his head, “But what I can say is this. Zayne is in the same boat as our lovely kitten. She was your friend in this life and cared for you before she remembered. Zayne doesn’t prolong grudges that don’t serve him— he finds it a waste of energy. And Rafayel only bothers to hate those who are deserving. Are you deserving?”

Caleb pauses and his brow furrows, “I…I don’t know.”

“Get cleaned up.” Sylus continues, “Tell the others I have business I have to see to that’ll keep me out until tomorrow, would you?”

The silver haired dragon turns on his heel and waltzes down the hall, going towards the back staircases and disappearing.

Caleb takes a second to collect himself and then hastily rushes to the hall bathroom to tidy his appearance. Luckily, there’s no come on his clothes, but he escapes downstairs to change anyway. 

Sylus has already disappeared from the halls by the time Caleb gets down there, and the brunette changes and fixes his hair in less than three minutes.

He’s in a rush to get back upstairs, the idea of making Xavier a steak having stuck. The two of you would probably be hungry, and he wanted to somehow, someway thank you for letting him listen in— even if you didn’t know.

Caleb is a good cook, and knows enough about cooking that he can make lots of dishes from memory alone. He’s got the steaks seasoned and resting on the chopping block while he heats some butter in a pan. A tray of seasonal veggies is already in the oven when you and Xavier show your faces.

Flushed, but not debauched— Caleb’s only slightly disappointed that the evidence of your coupling is so subtle.

“Oh that smells so good!” You coo as you collapse onto the couch— wearing an adorable peach colored lounge set. “What are you making, Caleb?”

“Ribeye with roasted vegetables.” He answers with a pleased smile. 

Xavier walks in the room like a conquering hero— a pillager who laid claim to the spoils. Though he’s not gloating, just preening. A sort of peacocking glow about the blond’s face that reveals he’s indulged in something Dyonisian. 

“How do you like yours cooked, Xavier?” Caleb asks, feeling like he’s tiptoeing around a sleepy lion. 

Xavier’s sharp sapphire eyes land on him, and Caleb freezes— waiting for the reprimand. For the threats of violence and decapitation— but none comes.

“Medium-rare.” Is all the blond says and finds a spot next to you on the couch, leaning heavily into your side while you begin to browse for something to watch on the television. 

Caleb breathes a quiet sigh of relief, “Coming up!”

It was like the house itself breathed a sigh of relief— at least that’s how it felt to Caleb. He no longer felt like he was tiptoeing around landmines and peering around corners to avoid hateful eyes. 

After his treat, Caleb was even more on edge. Certain that you and Xavier would find out and kick him out. He broke the rules, even if it was Sylus that dragged him across that line in the first place. 

Though after a day or so, Caleb could rest easy. Sylus made no overt effort to pressure the others into forgiving Caleb, but he also didn’t partake in anymore in the group flagellation— which at this point only consisted of Rafayel pelting him with schoolyard teases and taunts. 

Xavier didn’t even bother with it at this point. Which was good— right? It felt good. Caleb wasn’t sure what he’d done, but it felt like Xavier’s ire had simmered down considerably. No longer did the blond’s hands shimmer with the anticipation of his Lightblade whenever Caleb got too close to you. 

Three days since his treat, and Caleb felt like he was on the right path. A path to redemption and being welcomed back at your side. You were spending more time around him, opening up almost as much as you used to do. Such progress, and Caleb was living for it. 

It was a peculiar happenstance that evening. Earlier that day, while you were still at work, Rafayel had stormed out of the house– grabbing a lemon glazed scone from the tray that Caleb was working on and mumbling something about “Stupid publicist. Stupid magazine. Can’t believe I have to– ugh! This is good, by the way.”

Caleb was so dumbfounded by the compliment that he didn’t manage a word before the artist was gone. 

Then, you arrived home, dragging your feet and face covered in the ash of Wanderer dust. However, Xavier wasn’t with you– and you informed Caleb that he’d been called in on a specialty mission and wouldn’t be back for a few days. 

Two down. A few weeks ago, Caleb would be elated, but now he was sitting in a confusing puddle of disappointment. He’d spent the afternoon deboning rainbow trout and hoping to finally impress Rafayel with it. Xavier always preferred red meat, but Caleb was so sure that he’d like this fish that he’d staked more than he realized on that hope. 

Then, even worse, Sylus came in. Complimenting the smell of roasted fish and turnips but politely declining on joining. He was dressed to the nines– shiny black shoes with flashy red bottoms and an onyx black suit with silver detailing. A business meeting is what the dragon claimed, and Caleb wondered if this business meeting would lead to blood stains or wine stains. 

Three down. Three left. You apologized so sweetly, offering to help finish up the meal while you waited for Zayne to come home. 

You were sitting on your barstool, snacking on a piece of raw baby carrot when the elevator bell dinged. You turned, seeing your cool-headed paramour enter the living area with a slouch to his shoulders and exhaustion coloring his features. 

It hadn’t gone beyond your notice that he no longer wore his white lab coat in the house anymore. Kept neatly folded in the car and laundered using a service at the hospital. By the time you saw him in the evenings, all evidence of the hospital was gone from him– save for the remnants of stress that remained on his noble features. 

“Evening.” Zayne offers the two of you as he enters, looking up and coming to your side. An arm around your waist and his chest pressed into your back in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture. Zayne must have had an unusually difficult day– seeking comfort so quickly after coming in. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Caleb says, and from the look in his eyes you could tell Caleb notices it too. The heaviness to Zayne’s form, the darkness around his eyes. “And I made a mousse for dessert.”

Zayne sighs and looks over to Caleb, “A mousse?”

Caleb chuckles at the soft eagerness in the doctor’s voice, “Yeah. Chocolate and caramel. But it’s still setting, so we have to eat normal food first.”

“You alright, Zayne?” You ask softly, turning your head to look up at him properly. “How was work?”

Zayne hums and tightens the arm around your waist, “Busy. Do you remember that pileup I mentioned earlier this week?”

“Oh, yeah.” You say, “I saw pictures on the news– it was bad.”

“Yes, well,” Zayne slides into the barstool next to you and offers Caleb a polite nod when the brunette slides a glass of lemonade to him. “One of the patients was still in severe condition. They’d taken the brunt of the trauma directly to their chest. They were stable since their emergency surgeries, and were in the ICU.”

You recall your brief stint in the ICU and shiver slightly, “I heard there were some children involved. It wasn’t one of them was it?”

Zayne shakes his head, “No, fortunately, all the minors involved sustained only surface injuries. This was a single woman– one of the smaller cars that was caught beneath the larger truck.”

“Yikes,” Caleb remarks with a cringe, “Well, she’s lucky she has such a talented doctor looking after her, right?  No better place to be than in your ICU.”

Caleb is clearly trying to cheer him up, but Zayne’s eyes only dim. His jaw clenches softly and he huffs softly in a dry, humorless scoff, “Right. A talented doctor…”

You glance at Caleb and the two of you are thinking the same thing. A part of you wanted it to feel weird, how easily you fell back into routines with Caleb. Silently able to detect what the other was thinking or feeling with a glance. The playful teasing and games you would play as children that prolonged into your adulthood. But right now, it was a blessing, because you were both able to conclude that Zayne was very much not okay.

“What happened?” You whisper, trying to coax more from your stoic doctor. A gentle hand to his arm.

“She was stable.” Zayne is spilling out the moment your fingers touch him, “Critical, but stable. Her incision was healing well, and her blood tests showed no signs of infection. But she just— she just crashed. Her pressure kept bottoming out, and I realized too late she’d thrown a clot.” Zayne sighs like he might deflate into nothing, “I got her into surgery but by the time I found the clot she’d been down too long.”

Your heart twists painfully at the way Zayne’s voice strains as he speaks. He’s not looking at you– eyes foggy as he recalls the memories from earlier today. Zayne was a spectacular surgeon, a talented, wonderful doctor– but he couldn’t save everyone. No matter how hard he tried. 

You're stuck with the memory of a different Zayne. A Zayne with longer hair but the same stricken expression. Lamenting over the loss of a group of refugees caught in the crossfire. His ability to foresee the future had led him to saving dozens of lives, but sometimes…sometimes he couldn’t get there in time. Or if he did, he still couldn’t change their fate. 

It tore at him the way losing patients tore at him. The cold exterior of his heart is nothing but a facade because Zayne is, and always had been, deeply empathetic. Seeking to aid those in need at the cost of his own well-being. 

“I’m so sorry…” You whisper, wishing desperately that Zayne could remember the past like you could now. That you could remind him of all the good he’d once done. The way he’d saved families and bloodlines. The way he’d saved you. 

Caleb clears his throat softly and slides a plate over to him, “Eat up. And then you can have some dessert, yeah?”

You give Caleb a grateful smile, and the three of you eat in silence. Zayne doesn’t like to dissect his feelings like you or Caleb do sometimes. He doesn’t enjoy peeling away the layers of his trauma to hold the core of his emotions delicately in his palm. He processes things quietly, in whispers to himself when he’s alone.

You won’t let him be alone tonight, and when you’ve finished eating you take Zayne gently by his hand. He doesn’t immediately stand; his mind is working around the events of the day like he might find some variable he missed. 

So you play a little dirty, “Zayne,” You hush, “I’m really tired. Can we go lay down?”

Zayne’s golden-green eyes find yours, and you see the cogs of his beautiful mind slow. You’ve called to him, given him something to care for and to fix, and the caretaker inside him jumps at it. He nods softly and rises to his feet. Helping you and Caleb put the dishes in the sink before heading towards your room. 

Holding onto Zayne’s arm, you pause in the archway leading out of the living room and peer over your shoulder. Caleb is wiping at the countertop, keeping his eyes down and avoiding your gaze. 

“Hey Zayne?” You whisper quiet enough that Caleb can’t hear. The dark haired man turns to look down at you, his eyebrows drawn together as he waits for your request. “Can Caleb come too?”

The tension in Zayne’s expression slackens into surprise, and he glances behind you towards Caleb and then back to you, “What are you asking me right now?”

Your stomach flips, the tone in Zayne’s voice richer than the creamy mousse you enjoyed for dessert. “Not for like…that. Just to cuddle or something. All the others are gone….and I thought maybe he might like to have a sleepover? Like old times?”

Zayne huffs in amusement, “We only had a sleepover twice. And we were much younger then.”

“So?” You say, squeezing his hand. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, it’s fine.” Zayne amends with a shake of his head, “I’m curious what Caleb will think of this sleepover.”

Your face breaks out into a brilliant smile and you can’t help but bounce once in place, “Hey Caleb!”

Caleb freezes, finally looking up from his busywork of polishing the counter for the umpteenth time, “Y-yeah?”

You grin with childlike glee, “You wanna’ have a sleepover?”

Which is how you found yourself in your bedroom, changed into a silky sleepwear set Sylus had gifted you that was the color of the midnight sky, trimmed with feathery lace. Not lingerie by any means, but thin enough you wouldn’t overheat with multiple bodies in the bed. 

Caleb had scrambled like he’d been offered a ticket set to expire if he didn’t jump on it. He’d rushed to go change into sleep clothes and knocked so very politely on your door. 

Zayne was finishing brushing his teeth in the bathroom while you Caleb in, and damn if he didn’t look every bit like a puppy allowed on the furniture for the first time.

“You could look a little less pleased, you know.” You tease, poking Caleb in the side. 

Caleb only laughs, “Why would I do that? When I’m so very happy? I won’t pretend like this isn’t something important to you– and to me.”

“It’s just sleeping.” You try to amend, hoping to temper Caleb’s possible lewd expectations.

“I know,” Caleb replies with a sparkly smile, “But it’s been so long since you’ve let me sleep in the bed with you. You used to have nightmares a lot when we were little, and you couldn’t sleep without me. I just…I miss it.”

Your face heats up, a soft blush rising to your cheekbones and the genuine happiness in Caleb’s voice and expression. It was hard to stay mad at him, and harder still to hate him. 

“Oh, I should mention something,” You say and pull Caleb down to you level with a grip on the sleeve of his band-tee, “Zayne has nightmares sometimes.”

Caleb smirks incredulously, “Okay…? Should I make him some warm milk or something? That’s hardly worth whispering about, pipsqueak.”

“No, I mean,” You sigh, “I mean that he has nightmares about alternate lives. There’s two that I know of. There’s the one I knew– the past timeline we were in. And then there’s Dawnbreaker.”

The mirth in Caleb’s expression melts away as he pales, “He…remembers?”

“Only for minutes  at a time.” You say dejectedly, “It’s not that Zayne I’m warning you about. Dawnbreaker is from a timeline where he never met any of us. He doesn’t recognize anyone but me and he’s…let’s just say he’s a little hostile.”

“So, what exactly do I need to be wary of?” Caleb whispers, finally serious.

“If it happens, just let me handle it okay? Don’t try and fight him because it just makes him angrier. To be honest, I don’t think he’s violent. Just scared.”

Caleb rises up to his full height and shakes his head, “What an interesting bunch you’ve got pipsqueak…”

Zayne exits the bathroom, turning the light off as he leaves and you turn away from Caleb. 

You’re the first to crawl into bed, right in your usual place right in the middle. Your pillow greets you with its overstuffed goose-down and you sigh softly. Zayne is next, coming in on your right and shuffling under the blankets. The cool touch of the silky cotton sheets is nothing compared to the drop in temperature when he draws close. 

Caleb hesitates, kneeling down onto the bed on your left before drawing back the blankets. He laughs a little sheepishly and tries to hide his nerves with a joke, “So, do we start with scary stories? Or truth or dare?”

“How about Never Have I Ever?” You counter. 

Caleb lays down a foot away from you. Curled up on his side and facing where Zayne cuddles up against you. His violet eyes dart a little too quickly around you, down the exposed skin of your collarbone and across your shoulders. He examines the way Zayne sighs heavily, the dark-haired man laying a heavy arm across your stomach and settling in. 

“We could share secrets, or braid each other’s hair.” Caleb says a bit quieter as he notices Zayne’s eyes closed. 

“Or,” Zayne rumbles into your hair, “We could go to sleep.”

“Bo-ring.” You sing-song. “C’mon, Zayne. It’s a sleepover right?”

Zayne sighs, “Hardly.”

“Zayne was never one for the games, was he?” Caleb teases, “I think he’d lose at Never Have I Ever, for sure.”

You giggle, “Hands up Caleb, I’ll go first.”

Caleb is buzzing when he slowly lifts his hands from the blankets, showing you five flesh fingers and five metallic ones. “Go on then.”

Lifting your own hands you say, “Never have I ever…broken my wrist trying to climb a tree.”

Caleb scoffs and drops a finger, “This is a targeted attack huh? Well, never have I ever kept a secret journal about all the people who were mean to me.”

You playful swat at his hand and drop a finger, “Never have I ever burnt a dish so bad I had to throw away the skillet!”

“Never have I ever gotten lost at the mall and had to call for help.” Caleb is grinning and uses his remaining fingers to poke at your arm.

You huff, “Never have I ever kept a collection of women’s magazines.”

Caleb’s smile drops and his ears turn rosy, “Well, never have I ever practiced writing my name Mrs. Li.”

Your jaw drops, and you feel Zayne stir beside you– finally hearing something worth opening his eyes for. Your face is hot and you swat at Caleb’s hands a little harder, “Never have I ever stolen somebody’s panties from the dirty clothes hamper!”

Zayne is snickering down, barely hiding his laughter from Caleb by hiding behind you. 

“You knew?” Caleb screeches, jerking backwards as his entire face turns red.

“Of course I knew!” You dissolve into bubbling laughter, “You were hardly sneaky Caleb!”

Caleb swallows hard and tries to recover as he drops another finger a bit slower this time. “O-okay…well…” Caleb pauses, thinking of some new embarrassing thing he can level at you. “Never have I ever begged someone to spank me.”

“You’re so gross Caleb.” You scold while simultaneously dropping another finger. You’ve both got six fingers left, and you’re not sure if you can handle how much worse this could get. So, you attempt a ceasefire. “Never have I ever…kissed a duck.”

Caleb bursts into laughter, neither one of you dropping a finger. “Kissed a duck? What’s wrong, pipsqueak? Worried about what else I might say?”

“Never have I ever cheated at chess.” Zayne speaks up, and the two of you pause. You can hear the smile in Zayne’s voice and Caleb huffs and drops a finger.

“You’re never gonna’ let me live that down, huh? It happened like twice.” Caleb defends lamely. 

“Oh, that’s two fingers then.” You coo and Zayne chuckles airily behind you. 

“Never have I ever given myself the flu trying to make snowmen for the girl I like.” Caleb says, grinning like a cat. 

Behind you, Zayne tenses and the arm around your waist tightens. When the doctor speaks again, it’s a little harsher, “Never have I ever cried because the girl I liked wouldn’t let me go with her to summer camp.”

Caleb’s eyes light up with a challenge, and you notice that no one is holding up any fingers anymore. Whatever game this is, it’s not the one you intended to play. 

“Never have I ever been in a five-way relationship.” 

Zayne lifts his head, “Never have I ever been a housekeeper.”

“Hey!” You scold, “There’s nothing wrong with being a housekeeper.”

“Yeah, Zaynie. How rude.” Caleb tacks on.

“You are both children, I swear.” Zayne sighs as he rests his head back down on the pillow next to you, “I’m done with this game, can we sleep now?”

“We haven’t decided who won.” You say a little gentler, “Tie breaker?”

Caleb relaxes back into his pillow and snickers, “I think you might have won this one, pipsqueak.”

“Oh really? That’s not like you to give up victory so easily.” You say with narrowed eyes.

“I just don’t know how much more of my secrets I can take being spilled.” Caleb whines theatrically, “Mercy, please….”

You laugh and turn a little more towards him, reaching out, “Alright, then. Mercy.”

Caleb blinks a little stunned. You’re offering a hand to him, inviting him closer, and he looks like he can’t believe his eyes. 

Caleb takes so long to move that Zayne opens one eye and sighs, “She’ll get cold if she doesn’t have someone else. Move over, and go to sleep.”

Zayne acquiescence to Caleb’s presence is the final nail in the coffin. The brunette slides closer into your inviting arms, curling up on the other side of you. Slotting himself into the curve of you and he can’t help but feel like he belongs there. 

This is where he’s always meant to be. Every inch of skin he can press against you is taken advantage of, without preamble or further permission he hooks his legs around your, letting the bare skin of your inner thighs squish together and its perfect. 

Every nerve ending in his body was made to receive you. To experience the softness of your skin. The flush of heat from your blood. The incandescent scent perspiring through your perfect pores.

Caleb isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep, wrung out too raw like a stripped wire. Flurries of celestial sparks buzzing inside him. 

His mind halts in its crazed worship of you and this when a heavy weight falls on his shoulder. Zayne’s hand, moving to rest so casually on the top of his arm– not holding, not moving, just…resting. 

An anchor that ties the three of you together, and a band of protection across your chest that makes something primal and dark settle in Caleb’s chest. 

For the first time in weeks, in months, in years– perhaps the first time in this lifetime, Caleb can feel the insomnia retreat from his mind. Even when cuddled next to you as children, the threat of Ever snatching you kept him awake, but now? Now there is no Ever, and Zayne is here. A web of protection woven from the threads of dedication from this peculiar love group you’ve founded. What a perfect place to be…his mind purrs as he finally finally sleeps.

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[lostinforestbound]

It's here after many weeks, the 10k one-shot to celebrate 200 followers, but I suppose it's also to celebrate 300 followers as well! I meant for 300 to be a different celebration but that's okay! I'm sure I'll make something else for the next milestone!

Requested Tags: @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @barbwillbrb

Rolan/GN!Tav

I Shouldn't Love You Like You Are Mine

Rolan has too much to do with so little time. Becoming the new Master of Ramazith's tower is proving more complicated than the wizard have ever thought. On top of it all, he has a deep infatuation with Tav, the hero who saved him and his family many times. He knows he has no chance with them, so he has settled on hopelessly pining and dreaming. One day, Tav rushes into the shop in a panic, and he could have never in his wildest fantasies expect what they request of him.

Word Count: 10k (Don't like Tumblr? Read on AO3 instead!)

Relevant Tags: Rolan's POV, Makeout Diversion, Smut, Lorroakan Bashing

Beta Reader: @el-tur-el (Thank you so much for your help T!!!)

NSFW under cut, Minors DNI

The air is stale, the scent of electricity still strong in the space that surrounds him, the taste of blood on his tongue from when his sharp teeth gashed the inside of his mouth. He's sore, bruised, burned, somewhat electrocuted by the way some of his muscles spasm still, but he's alive. Tav is long gone with their companions, and all that is left is him and a dead man.

When staring down at the body of his spine-broken master, Rolan is not sure of how he's supposed to feel. At first, he felt a genuine joy that he had not felt in many years. The adrenaline was still high at the time, and he proudly remarked that he would turn the tower inside out to find its secrets and share them with the world. He always has been ambitious, that is what got him this far, after all. Tav seems happy for him, and he ignores how it made his heart pound even more.

As he stands alone in the room, he questions whether he's supposed to feel something now that the joy has faded within the span of minutes. Some kind of liberation? Or perhaps his emotions are fighting each other in his psyche, making him feel everything and nothing all at once. The man who tortured him, who beat him like he was a misbehaving dog he didn't even want, who refused to teach him anything about wielding the weave, lays dead by his feet. He can't help but think that he looks pathetic now, face twisted in permanent fear even after death.

He spits on his face as a final 'fuck you'. He hopes he rots in the deepest pits of the hells that he was once dragged to.

Running his stiff hands down his face, he tries to think of what to do first. He has to get rid of this body, it can't stay here lying around. It will decay and stink more than Lorroakan already has. Grabbing a fistful of the dead man's hair, he drags his body towards the balcony. He could throw his body over the railing, it would be insult to injury, but no. He will do something much worse.

He digs into the stray backpack at the edge of the railing and takes out a disintegration scroll, one that he knew Lorroakan hid out here as a backup plan in case a fight doesn't go his way. Without thinking too much on it, he casts the spell on the body, and Lorroakan disappears into ash.

His former teacher was now erased, made into nothing, and no one will remember or miss him. A fate worse than death, in Rolan's opinion.

Almost numbly, he heads back inside the main room and tries to find cleaning supplies. There's so much blood on the floor, and it did not help he made a trail while dragging the body. He wishes Tav was still here so he could demand they clean their mess up, where he wouldn't notice his tail flicking back and forth in irritation. Would they bother listening to him? Maybe not, but at least they would be there, just a little longer. Just enough time for him to pine once more.

Lia is right, he's a very selfish creature.

A couple of mage hands bring a bucket of water and an unused mop over. He is taken aback, as he thought they would have disappeared in Lorroakan's absence. Although, these could have been Ramazith's, wherever that wizard is now. It doesn't matter, either way. They're his now.

He dunks the mop into the water and starts swiping across the floor, noticing how as he cleans, the white cloth of the strands turn red. There's so much godsdamned blood, it will take him forever to clear the mess. There's a lot of blood on him, too. Specks and splatters of blood paint his hands crimson, long dried onto his red skin. His mentor's blood. Lorroakan's blood.

He helped murder a man, today. He killed someone. His blood is on his hands as much as it may be on the Nightsong's. Or Tav's.

An unsuspected shudder runs through his body, and he feels sick. He chalks it up to his adrenaline rush going down too quickly, ignoring the feeling as he swipes the mop across the floor.

The hairs on his neck stand on end as he feels the crackle of the weave, warning him someone is coming through the portal. Part of him hopes it would be Tav; he wants to talk to them again. Maybe they can help him with the cleanup, laughing about how they left him here without realizing it. He would stumble over his words like a fool, trying to be impressive in his pathetic state.

It's not Tav that arrives though, he recognizes Lia's quick footsteps anywhere. She's always been the fastest between him and Cal; they both could never beat her in a race, but he swears he lets her win.

"Rolan!" She shouts, quickly coming up to him along with Cal, whose heavier footsteps are right behind hers. "Finally! You kept talking up this tower and now we get to see it-"

"Wait, is that blood?" Cal immediately interrupts, face falling.

He must look horrendous, Rolan realizes. He got so busy cleaning the floor that he didn't even bother washing up first. Based on when he looked at himself that morning, the bruises should still be very prominent. Shit.

Lia bristles when she cups his face, looking at his injuries. "What is this?"

The silence that falls between them is telling. He knows she figured it out a long time ago, but she wants to hear him say it. "I'm fine, Lia. He was a horrible mentor, but it's not my blood on the ground."

"Tav told us they helped you kick his ass." Cal comments, trying to lighten their moods, "Looks like you did just that if this blood isn't yours."

"You should've killed him earlier, idiot!" She spits.

"I know, I know." He mutters, trying to speak even as Lia turns his face around to see the damage. "It's good to see you two."

"We missed you, brother," Cal says, gently moving Lia away and hugging him. "Please don't do that again. It was hard, without you."

Rolan lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, hugging Cal tightly. Lia joins in quickly after. When was the last time they held each other like this? He doesn't remember.

It feels nice.

While it doesn't last long, it is more than satisfactory for him. They help him with the clean up, Lia helping with the blood while Cal sweeps the floor with a broom. They take on more workload than Rolan wants, but he can't argue with them when they practically plead for him to rest. To be honest, he's unbelievably sore, and maybe sitting down for a bit wouldn't hurt.

It only takes his body a few minutes until it's antsy again, so he joins them quickly after.

And then he never stops moving.

He cleans, reorganizes, and keeps walking despite his beaten body screaming at him to stop. He can't stop, because if he does, he knows he will not want to get back up. He'll crash, and he can't afford that.

At the end of it all, he enters Lorroakan's room without thinking and is frozen in place. He's been in here before, but never for good reasons, only beatings. Is this not his room now that the original master is gone? But it reeks of his old mentors stench. He scrunches his nose as he looks at all the personalized decorations. They're hideous, all of the colors too bright to stare at, and most not matching with each other in terms of palette. There's not even a real theme and it makes him irate.

He remembers being beaten on this very floor for messing up a verbal component.

Enraged, he marches up to the bed and tears off the sheets, making a point to dig his claws into them so they would rip. The pillows are next, tossing them across the room and onto the floor. He'll need to replace every damn thing if he wants to use this bed. To use this room.

Unwanted memories start to flood into his mind as he tears the place apart, most of them being on the ground, where Lorroakan said he belonged. Beaten, burned, electrocuted, sometimes poisoned. A place where he was at his most pathetic. He often has nightmares about those late nights, but some of the worst ones were Tav walking in and seeing him like that, utterly broken on floor. They would never see him the same, and he doesn't know whether he prefers them to be disgusted by him or to feel pity.

He's close to a breakdown, having trouble getting air into his lungs before Cal and Lia comes in. "Rolan?"

With a slow sigh, he turns to look at them. "Why are you two up?"

Lia's eyes trail around the destroyed room, seeming to note the claw marks on the bed sheets discarded on the carpet. "Couldn't sleep." She says simply, giving a knowing look.

"Can we sleep with you?" Cal asks, rubbing the back of his neck, "Like when we were kids? Just for one night."

His jaw moves to start a pointless argument, but then snaps shut. They're both not children anymore, they can sleep by themselves. He can sleep by himself. However, he cannot deny that he craves the affection it would bring. He hasn't been this long without them, no matter how much he complained about them being clingy before.

"All right." He says quietly after taking a deep breath, "Not in here, though. Come."

He quietly leads them to the comparatively bland room Lorroakan gave him in Sorcerous Sundries. It isn't terrible, but he realizes that the bed is way too small for the three of them. Thankfully, he had a remedy. He adjusts an enlarge spell and makes the bed wider, and they all settle down on top of it easily.

Lia makes him stay in the middle while she settles on his right side, Cal climbing over carefully to lay on his left. Honestly, he misses having them so close.

"Rolan?" Cal speaks up as Lia pulls up the blanket.

"Hm?"

"Can you make a light show for a little bit?"

Rolan can't help but smile, slowly closing his eyes before opening them up again and raising his hands. "Any requests?"

"Make it look like flowers blooming." Lia says instantly, draping an arm around his middle.

He huffs before murmuring a few words, a burst of colors appearing in the air. Like asked, they take form of flowers blooming, petals falling near them gently. It's gorgeous.

It fades after a minute though, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as he falls asleep. If Cal and Lia were bothered by it not lasting, they don’t say a word.

For the first time in years, his night is not plagued by nightmares.

---

As soon as he wakes, Rolan does not stop moving.

He's the new master of Ramazith's tower, there is so much to do with so little time. The Absolute's army is on its way and he needs to gather everything he can to protect his siblings, and to protect Tav.

Tav doesn't need protecting, he knows that all too well, but he needs to do something. Anything at all. He needs to prepare the arcane cannon, but there is so much research to be done. On top of it all, he wants to be able to focus on his studies, but then run a shop at the same time.

He barely eats the toasted bread he haphazardly made for himself, too distracted by the logs Lorroakan left behind. There's so many customers he needs to take care of, including deliveries. Maybe he could repurpose the animated armor to make the deliveries, but that could be shaky as they're unstable. Well, Lorroakan's magic was always weakly done...he could rework the sigils. He'll have to rework everything in this place, actually.

Gods, everything is such a fucking mess. He knows he needs help, but respectfully, he wants everything a certain way and his siblings won't be able to give him what he wants. Tav would be able to understand-

He stops reading, surprising himself with his thought. Tav? Why would he think Tav would know how he likes things? It's ridiculous. But he can imagine it, them carrying books around with whatever means and placing them in alphabetical order, then by subject. They would tease him about being so stingy with what books go where on the bookshelf.

And they would laugh. Not quite at him, but laugh nonetheless. It's such a perfect sound in his ears, and the thought of it makes the tip of his tail flick about. Damn it all!

He's been thinking about them a lot, unfortunately. Ever since the Shadow Cursed Lands, where they succeeded in saving his siblings where he could not, an infatuation began to settle in his heart. He had half the mind to possibly confess, but immediately pushed it out of his mind. There was no possible way they would feel the same. He's too bitter, too arrogant, and he saw the way they looked at Gale, someone who is much more accomplished than he is. It is a fondness that he never received once in his life, and certainly not by them. He was jealous of it, but jealousy is an ugly little trait to have, so he gave up on dwelling.

The feelings never went away, no matter how much he wants them too.

He wants to say more to them, especially after they saved his sorry tail again during the fight up in the tower. They left before he could, he was too dazed staring at the mess the Nightsong made of his former master. He regrets being too out of it to say anything proper.

What would he have told them anyways? He doubts anything worthwhile. Probably a weak apology and an even weaker attempt to express his feelings. In the end, they would reject him, no doubt. He messed up too many times, back in the Shadow Cursed Lands, even if they accepted his apology for lashing out.

So he continues on and tries to forget, organizing the scrolls at the front counter of Sorcerous Sundries. His nose scrunches in irritation at the disorganization of it all. Was Lorroakan always like this? They aren't even categorized in the right sections, its horrendous. Diabolical. A sin on this shop.

Frustration straining his brow, he lays them flat on the counter to decipher where they should go, ignoring the ache that sits subtly in his bones. He hasn't had the chance to heal himself, so the bruises are still very prominent. It doesn't matter, he can take care of it later.

He knows deep in his heart that later will never come.

In the middle of his thought, one of the front doors burst open. Someone runs in and...well, he doesn't recognize them, but he does see the illusion aura that surrounds their figure. He's about to yell at them about their audacity, but their disguise instantly fades when they close.

It's Tav, in all of their wonderful glory.

"Tav?" He asks dumbly as they rush the to the counter.

They urgently hop over the counter and grab his wrist, and he actively has to suppress a wince by the force. "I need help. Hurry!"

Without a chance of responding, they drag him along towards one of the rooms along the side of the shop. They practically throw him in there.

The door slam briefly echoes in the room, and he barely has time to react before the back of his thighs meet the desk inside. He hisses, the bruises still fresh, “What in the hells are you doing?”

“I need a diversion. I was disguised but the Flaming Fist followed me.” They state, starting to open up the front of their tunic to make a mess. “Let me kiss you.”

He hates how the tip of his tail stands at attention, and thank the gods they don’t notice it. “What.”

“We’re kissing. Now. Just-“ They groan, loosening their shirt more to make themselves look like a mess. “-I need to make it look like I was busy. Rolan, please?”

He should say no. Everything is screaming at him to say no. But he is a weak man, and he’s dreamed that he could have them in his arms. Or be in their arms, it didn’t matter to him.

As soon as he gives a nod, they grab the front of his collar and pull him in, kiss searing. It takes everything in his being not to moan at the contact, especially when they loosen his hair properly to make it fall past his ears. They don’t touch them, much to his relief.

Pretending to put on the same act as them, he presses into them enthusiastically, letting their tongue in when it pries at his teeth. He fell out of control so quickly that he doesn’t know how to pick himself back up. He had half the mind to let them have their way with him. Blood rushes down south when their hand slides up his clothed stomach, sweat beading on the back of his neck as the muscles tense and quiver. Their touch was firm, demanding, and the voice in his head screams at him to not deny them for a moment. How long has he been waiting for something like this to happen?

Before he could panic about his dick twitching in interest at their ministrations, the door flies open. It startles Tav enough to where they bite his lip on accident, making him jolt.

A group of Flaming Fist freeze at the door, taking in the scene before them.

Rolan reacts quickly with his typical sneer, sitting up straighter and trying to ignore Tav being between his legs. “Do you mind?”

“Well, sir-“ One starts but the other, a commander most likely, cuts them off.

“There’s a suspected thief that we believe ran into here.”

“So you decided to almost break down one of my doors?” He questions, making a show of magic to fix his hair up. Tav moves away with their arms crossed in front of their chest, looking annoyed.

“We apologize, sir, but this thief is-“

"Excuse me?" Tav states, putting on an offended face. "How dare you! I am not a thief! I've been in this shop for a while now, unless you are accusing me of stealing from here?"

Rolan comes in before the Commander starts to retort. “My partner, no, my associate could not have been a ‘thief’ as they have been here with me for the past fifteen minutes. And this chase happened how long ago now?”

One of the other Flaming Fists glances up at the clock in the room. “…Five minutes.“

The man to their right smacks them upside the head.

“And what did they look like?” Rolan continues.

“A pale half-orc, short hair with a blue blouse, but-“

He raises a hand to silence them, as if they were misbehaving children. “Then I believe we are done here, as my associate is wearing nothing of the sort and does not look like what you described. Now, unless you are here to buy something or set a donation for the rebuilding fund of the shop, you will kindly leave the premises of Sorcerous Sundries this instant. I expect a formal apology by the end of this week.”

In all honesty, it's funny how lost these Flaming Fist look. They seem unsure of what to do. As Tav scoffs and looks away, it seems as though they're trying not to laugh. He has to fight the smile that's teasing the corners of his mouth, staring at all the blustering Fists as they figure out what to do. Reluctantly, frustrated and angry, they exit out of the office and leave the shop with their tail in between their legs.

He brushes himself off when the heat dies down, finally able to compose himself. “What the hells were you doing? Are you mad?!”

They finally let out the laugh they were holding, straightening themselves out. “I blew up a Fireworks shop. An Absolute Cultist was running it! Who knew? To answer your second question, maybe a little bit. It's been a tough day.”

"And you thought you could just run in here while I was working? Making the Flaming Fist dirty my floors after I just had Cal clean it?!"

"I'm sorry Rolan, I panicked. I wasn't thinking." They say, seeming genuinely apologetic.

He could barely focus, mind still catching up with the events. Is he truly this easy? All they had to do was demand a kiss and he would follow them, like a lovesick puppy? He's ashamed of himself, and he didn't even notice them speaking again.

"Rolan?"

"What?"

"How are you?" They ask sincerely.

He straightens himself up and gets back into his usual facade. "I am well enough. This shop and the tower is a horrid mess, so I've already been spending time reorganizing the texts. Lorroakan barely knew his alphabet. They were not even organized by subject!"

They laugh at that, and gods, the sound makes his heart pound, but afterwards they frown at him, eyes scanning to his face. "You're still bruised."

"I haven't had the time to take care of them. There is too much to do."

They dig into their pack and hold out what he recognizes as a superior healing potion. "Here. If you're going to work, at least heal up. Did I hurt you earlier?"

He slowly takes it, perplexed, "It is nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sorry." They murmur.

"I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you." He states, uncorking the bottle and drinking down the potion.

Instantly, the deep set ache and soreness of his form fades to something less painful. Its like a warm hug, and he feels energized.

They give him a soft set smile as he places the bottle down on the desk. "You look a lot better."

Gods, if he could, he would crush the fluttering feeling the compliment gave him. "Excuse you, I always look better. Now, besides that whole mess that you created, was there anything else you needed from me?”

"I want to make purchases...and barter?" They squeak out.

He sighs heavily, opening the door back up for them, "Of course you do. All right, what do you have for trade then?"

They head out to the counter with a skip to their step. "I promise it's worth it!"

---

Tav ended up having plenty of things to trade, including heavy set armor, rings, and magic items they don't need anymore. Thankfully not all fortune is lost, as they give some coin for high level spell scrolls. A Globe of Invulnerability...how interesting. He knows they are out and about adventuring, but what would they need that kind of spell for? How do they even have the gold to afford it??

They were out the door before he can ask them, clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. "Thank you Rolan!"

A little defeated, he continues on with the rest of his day. Organizing, organizing, and even more organizing. This place is such a shit show, it will take him ages before everything is how he wants it to be. Cal always teased him about having his socks color coded in his drawers.

He plops onto a fresh bed at the end of the day. This was Lorroakan's bed, but Cal and Lia helped him out with cleaning the room. New mattress, new sheets, new blankets, and even new pillows. They tore down the hideous tapestries and paintings he had, and he plans to change the wall into a new color. He still needs to personalize the room to how he likes, but now it was his. No trace of Lorroakan is found here. He idly wonders how Tav decorated their room, or if they have a home to go back to. They're still a mystery to him.

As he lays there, staring at the patterned ceiling, he finds it strange he has a room to himself. It's nice, and he's never had more privacy than now. Sometimes Lorroakan entered in his room at odd hours to start a lesson at his leisure. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now due to the man's random visits. Now here he is, laying his bed, with his nights uninterrupted for the most part.

He has privacy.

...He’s pent up, isn’t he?

Through all the beatings and stress, he never took time to himself and get off. He was worried about getting caught by his mentor. On top of it all, he was too exhausted and hurt to even do much for himself, some nights barely having energy to bathe. But now…

With a sigh, he summons a mage hand to grab a book for him. When was the last time he read a smut book? Half a year, maybe more? Even then, he wouldn’t indulge too much as he never had a lot of privacy. With this large bedroom, the walls being silenced, and the time he now has, he will indulge for a little bit. For one night.

As he reads, there’s not much to go off. This one is poorly written, but he can at least give himself an idea. His mind sketches out a neutral form, no identifying…parts, yet. He’s indecisive, but he’s sure he’ll come up with someone satisfactory for the night.

Usually, his fantasies contain anonymous people with no face, or they wear a mask. It’s less embarrassing than thinking of someone directly. Sometimes they take him from behind, pinning the back of his neck to a table while they rail into him. Others he has someone under him, thrusting into them and littering bites on their neck.

For now, he imagines a person of no specific gender yet, holding him close in a crushing grip and devouring his mouth. It leaves him no room to breathe as he’s pinned to the wall, their thigh between his legs pressing up against his growing erection. Heat gathers south embarrassingly quickly, the tent of his pants tightening. What is Tav like in bed?

As soon as that question pops into his head, the blank person he tried to fantasize about turns into Tav. It shocks him how vivid it is, and he immediately sits up, book falling flat on the mattress as he drops it. No no no, absolutely not. They’re a friend.

A friend who pulled him in by the collar to kissed him with reckless abandon. A friend that was ready to pin him down on his desk. A friend who stroked a finger along his jaw to help him relax into their mouth.

Hells.

His fingers trail down his stomach and into his trousers, taking himself in hand. What’s the harm of indulging in this? They kissed, after all. All of their wonderful features are fresh in his mind. As he teases the underside of his shaft, he imagined it was their hand instead of his own. Precum was already beading at the tip, and he uses it to slick up his cock. He still feels their hands on him, pressing and demanding. He wonders what they would’ve done if they had more time. Are they gentle or rough when they stroke? He’s not sure whether he prefers one or the other yet.

None of this would happen, they have many suitors at their disposal. But damn it all, he could dream that they chose him, in the end.

Gods.

He covers his mouth tightly with his free hand, almost painfully as he thrusts up into his other one. This room is covered in silencing sigils, it’s not like anyone would hear him from the outside, but even he doesn’t want to hear his shameful sounds.

He feverishly switches to a different fantasy, this one containing Tav once more, though this time he isn’t complaining.

They’re both deep in the woods, away from the Tiefling party. They saved them all from the goblins, they deserved some compensation, did they not? Tav is pressed against his back, one hand putting two fingers in his mouth, rolling the muscle of his tongue between them while the other jacks him off. He’s utterly helpless, Tav taking control of his pleasure for him in the best ways as he helplessly grips the bark of a tree. They would tell him how good he was, how much they wanted him, how lovely his moans were. That he was handsome, strong, and worthy.

That they loved him-

Strings of white decorate his stomach, his climax coming with a stuttered gasp. It came more quickly than he thought it would, and his body spasms with how intense it is. The cry that climbs up his throat stops short by his hand.

He massages himself through it, feeling dazed and utterly pathetic. How dare he think about Tav in this way, as if they were an object for his pleasure? They’re not his, and he’s not theirs, no matter how much he wants to be. What would they say if they saw him like this, desperate and lustful even after his orgasm?

Gods, he wants them so badly, and he knows he can never have them.

Catching his breath, he feels disgusting. Filthy. He shouldn't think of them at all, he hasn't earned that right to them. It's pitiful.

To remedy his sin, he gets out of his bed and heads to the washroom. It's grand in comparison to his lowly basin in the shop, and he's unsure where to start now that he has access to it. Firstly, he takes out a Create Water spell scroll and casts it, filling the entire tub with water. He then modifies the Produce Flame spell to heat up the water. That will do for now, he'll figure out how to make the process a lot quicker later.

He takes off his soiled nightwear, stepping into the water with a slight hiss. All right, maybe he made it a little too hot, but it's nothing he can't handle. Lorroakan has burned him worse. As soon as he gets to the hip line, he pours lavender oil into the steaming water and sinks in completely. He's heard of the scent being beneficial for sleep, mostly from Tav. He wonders if they are an herbalist- no, no, he isn't supposed to be thinking about them.

Emptying his mind is proving harder than he thought. No thanks to his previous transgression, Tav's face plagued him. Questions pop up without him wanting them to: how does Tav look when flustered? Are they experienced with intimacy? Do they like pain? Are they sweet? What is their perfect date? How do they show their love-

He dunks himself fully into the water before the thought could finish, and he feels the sting of the hot water against his face as he sits under the surface. Finally, his mind is silent, so he holds his breath as long as he could. It's oddly soothing, just being alone under the water. A perfect escape to everything around him. He may just have to do this more often.

Unfortunately, he has not done any training to hold his breath, so he has to come up for air within thirty seconds. Perhaps he should practice, but that's for another time.

Now that his hair was thoroughly wet, he begins washing and conditioning his hair, giving himself a scalp massage while he was at it. He didn't trust the mage hands to do it for him. They were floating in the corner, waiting for a command. Can mage hands pout? It feels as though that's exactly what they're doing. Why are they so eager to help anyways? He should dismiss them when he has the time.

After dunking under the water again to wash out all the products, he exits the bath carefully, using Prestidigitation to instantly dry himself. Ah, what would he do if he didn't have that spell on hand? It is incredibly convenient. Can Tav use magic for mundane tasks?

He pauses as he slides on a robe. Gods damn it, it's happening again! That didn't last too fucking long, now did it?

With a groan, he marches back into the bedroom and towards the balcony, pushing the doors open. The night hair hits him immediately, sending a brief chill through him before calming. With a heavy sigh, he goes to the railing and leans against it, watching the silent city of Baldur's Gate. The lanterns have long burned out, and the stars are blooming above him, but he can't relax. He's desperate for Tav, and it's pitiful.

Pressing his forehead on the cold stone, he realizes what a miserable, selfish, wretched creature he is. After all of those things, he's somehow still hopeful. Why else would they kiss him like that? Is he reading too much into this?

Though, perhaps, instead of dwelling on unwanted thoughts, he should just let them go. Lia always did say he thinks too much. Cal mentioned it could be quite damaging on one's psyche.

So he lets the thoughts flow. All of the domestic ones and all of the lustful ones, too. He flickers through memories of he and Tav's interactions, thinking of what could have been and where he went wrong. The shouting, the aggression, the drinking. Gods, the drinking. He hasn't touched wine in a while because of it.

Then he lets it all go.

He raises his head, taking a deep, long breath of the fresh night air. He's in Baldur's Gate. They all made it. The Absolute's army is about to knock on their door, but just for tonight, at least in this moment, he's calm. He's okay.

Maybe he'll be okay later, too.

After an hour, he makes it to his bed and lulls himself to sleep, pulling up the thickest parts of the blanket to hold. It manages to lull him to sleep. A success, in Rolan's tired mind.

There's so much to do with so little time.

---

A tenday has passed and Tav has not returned.

It's for the best that they don't come, as they continuously plague Rolan's mind. He can't stop thinking about them, no matter how much he distracts himself. Most of them are lustful and depraved, some of which make him feel utterly ashamed. He has no right to think of them in this way.

Though, it's the other thoughts that confuse him the most.

They're domestically blissful. He imagines waking up in bed with them, nuzzling into their hair as they convince him to stay a few more moments. He imagines dates, lacing his fingers through theirs while telling them how stunning they are. He imagines it's their body that he pulls close late at night, and not a spare pillow he squeezes to his chest.

He hates these thoughts more than most, as it makes him silently grieve what could've been if he weren't such an arrogant prick. What if he was nicer to them when they first met? Would they have approached him a third time at the party and invite him to their tent? Embarrassingly, he's been losing more sleep than usual over the what if's, and it's making him sloppy with his work. Papers were scattered, he keeps losing his books, and ink stains have been appearing on his robes more and more lately. Unacceptable.

Is he truly this pathetic, losing sleep over domestic thoughts with someone unreachable? Is he that lonely? Does he crave company that badly? It is a wizard's curse, surely.

He thought he got over this, but it seems he needs more than one night to 'let go' of them. Damn it all, why can't this be easier?

He shakes his head, regaining his focus of the task at hand. Rearranging the scrolls once more, he stands onto his feet again and brushes the dust off of his robe. He proudly places his hands on his hips. Finally, after so many days, he has the counter exactly how he wants it. Everything is organized, not a speck of dust in sight, all of it is beautifully-

One of the doors slam open again by a gust of wind, and rage fills him to the core. Why, oh why are the gods so against him? Now there's dirt of the floor, he just made Krank sweep it all out!

The anger disappears instantaneously when he sees Tav rush through the door, sweat beading on their brow and their face flushes from exertion. Extremely similar to how they appeared last time-

Oh no.

As they rush past the counter to the same room they both in before, he starts following them without thinking. What in the hells was he doing?! This can only lead to something terrible for him, even if Tav would be none the wiser. Why does he torture himself like this? He finally has everything he could ever want, yet he greedy for more. For the one thing he can never hope to have.

But they need him, and he could never deny them.

He quickly enters the room after them, shutting the door on his way in. Thankfully this room is more presentable this time around, but he doubts Tav will notice it. They have never been one to look at the finer details. At least from what he has seen, it's not as if he spent much time around them. That thought makes jealousy swell in his chest.

"I need help again." Tav states, rustling up their clothes.

"I can see that," He sasses, but Tav is already pushing off the mantle that sits on his shoulders before pulling him into a kiss, hand fisting the front of his robes.

What has he done to deserve this punishment? Are the Gods testing him by dangling his one desire in front of him? They should know he's too weak to resist their touch.

He gasps into their mouth when they pin him to the wall, free hand grasping the back of his thigh. They easily put their leg in between his, which puts him in a daze. Is this truly an act if they would go this far, or are they testing his boundaries? The worst part about this is he never wants them to stop. He wants them to keep going and reduce him to a pitiful, breathless mess.

They're already succeeding in that, it seems.

When he feels them try to pry his teeth open, he lets them, tangling his tongue with theirs. The noise is so lewd in his ear, a blush immediately rising to his face at the intimacy of it all. He thought about this situation constantly, both through the actual memory and then to his fantasies. Though, fantasy is nothing compared to their real hand tracing the skin of his exposed neck, mapping out the dips and curves of his adam's apple. Images flash through his mind of them choking him, not to hurt, but to claim. He honesty hopes they would do so, but alas, their hand trails up to cup his jaw instead.

This action only made him more flustered, and while he doesn't understand why, he accepts it all the same and leans into their hand. No one has ever touched his face like this in many, many years. Usually it was hit or slapped, no thanks to his teacher. Even when their touch is as gentle as a dove, he can't help but flinch when their thumb strokes along his cheekbone. They pull away from the kiss, catching their breath with a question on the tip of their tongue.

As if the world is playing a joke, those same Flaming Fists burst the door open. They look surprised once again.

"Again?!" He shouts at them, bristling and baring his teeth.

"Do you fucking mind?" Tav yells after, giving them a hard-earned glare.

The Flaming Fists do not bother arguing again, turning heel and leaving the shop without another word. They look foolish, doing their walk of shame. At least they were quick about it, Rolan did not feel like giving them another lecture.

"How do you do, Rolan?" They tease, a hand still fisting his sleeve.

It is a miracle how he keeps his composure. "Well enough, I suppose. Now, as I said earlier, again?"

"There's a perfectly good explanation."

"Then?"

"They were assholes so I stole their money."

"I'm inclined to agree. They are quite intrusive in their searches. Though, must have you lead them here again? I just had Krank clean the floors of the shop from bottom to top!" He complains, running a hand down his face as he stabilizes his footing, "Now I'll have to command him to do it all over again. At least the bottom part."

"I know, I'm sorry to do this to you again. I can make it up to you!" The say quickly before taking a pause. "Wait, you reanimated Krank?"

"Despite being Lorroakan's, he still had his uses." He drawls, suddenly feeling trapped in their space. "Clearly weaponry is not the armors calling, so I have him clean the floors in the morning and at night. There hasn't been any complaints."

"It's animated armor, Rolan. It can't complain."

"I meant complaints from the customers, you absolute dunce!" He snaps and immediately regrets it, but Tav bursts out in a fit of laughter at his insult.

Never has he understood what was so funny about them being insulted. Does he look like a fool doing so? Are they laughing at him? He should be angry over it but he most likely deserves it.

"Well, I feel terrible for dragging you in here twice," They giggle, wiping a stray tear from their eye. "So I want to make it up to you."

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" He challenges.

"Well, we already got the first part of it started, if you're interested." They tease, voice low.

Oh gods.

"We could take it further. I can feel your little friend down there, and I'm more than happy to help." They murmur in his ear.

A cold sweat hits him in that instant. This is his worst nightmare. He wants it, gods does he want it so badly, but if he accepts it there will be no turning back for him.

They attempt to cup his cheek but he turns his face away, gently pushing them.

“Rolan?”

“I can’t do this.” He says, unable to look them in the eye, but he feels the way they tense.

Before they can start apologizing, he continues, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the Shadow-Cursed Lands, I think. I adore many things about you. But you keep holding me like this, kissing me, and it's starting to make me believe that there will be more than this, one day. When The Absolute is gone, and Baldur's Gate is safe, you would do me the honor of considering me as a...companion."

"Oh, Rolan..."

"I refuse to be a side piece, someone who will be at your beckon call whenever you're bored. You’re tugging at my heart as if it’s your plaything, and while I know you have not done this on purpose, I can't handle it anymore."

He exhales sharply, tilting his face up when he feels tears sting his eyes. "Please, do not torture me like this and just go. Leave."

When he’s met with silence, he swallows and blinks away the wetness of his eyes. He knew that he never had a chance, and that their affections were never real. How could his savior ever look at him like he looked at them? But that diversion of theirs was so wonderful, and for at least a temporary moment, he felt wanted. Desired.

Loved.

He knew he couldn’t continue. It is selfish of him and he would’ve been setting himself up for heartbreak.

Tav leans in close, eyes tender as they tilt his chin back down. “Rolan…I’ve been a fool. I thought I was being obvious.”

He finally can look at them in the eye. “What?”

They can't help but chuckle, but it is a good natured one, “I’m in love with you too, idiot. Why do you think I would keep seeing you in this way?” They ask, tucking some hair behind his ear. “I'm so sorry, I should have been more forward with you. I never meant to hurt your heart like this, you mean too much to me."

He must be dreaming, he has to be, but he can feel the of their body pressing against him. They want him too, and it makes his heart want to burst out of his ribcage. He isn't aware of the blush that rises in his face at their confession, making his already red skin grow crimson.

They carefully cup his face again, pressing their forehead against his, being mindful of his horns. "I'm sorry Rolan, truly. Could you ever forgive me?"

His adam's apple bobs with his swallow, but his face remains a stern look. "...Your apology seems genuine, and I forgive you."

"Well good, I was worried that I just fucked up my chance." They huff with a smile, gently pinning him against the wall once more. "Now, would you like me to try this again and kiss you?”

“Please.” He whispers instantly, tail coiling around their leg.

It was unclear who pulled in first, but what mattered is their hands were all over each other as they kiss fiercely. He felt one of their hands move back and grip the base of his tail. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, pleasure shooting up his spine. Tav happily nips his bottom lip in response before pulling away. “I want to see your bedroom, Rolan. Now.”

"As you wish." He responds breathlessly.

Using Dimension Door, he teleports the both of them to the top of the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries, pulling them through the portal and into the tower. This is a totally inappropriate use of one of his higher level spells, but his mind is in a sexually charged place. He'll chastise himself for it later.

His grip on their hand is tight, sweat gathering there as he teleports them again to the bedroom. It isn't customized to his liking quite yet, but it at least has the colors he wants. Deeper blues mixed with other calming colors to help him sleep. He doubts Tav is admiring the features with the way they pull him onto the mattress.

When they both settle in the bed, Tav quickly gets undressed, unclipping the armor and ripping off their under clothes in one fell swoop. Whatever he though their body looked like in his dreams, the real thing is so much better. Any little scar or texture change, he either wants to trace with his fingers or with his tongue. As they lay back and spread their legs, he reaches for them.

They gently smack his hand away when he tries to touch their chest, smirking. “No. You will sit back all pretty and watch.”

His mouth goes dry, surprised at the sudden command, but would he truly be a student of the Weave if he did not know how to listen to directions? He does as told, sitting back on his feet.

"Do you have oil in here?" They question.

"Right side, top drawer."

They crawl over and grab it, settling back into position as they drizzle the product onto their fingers. They make a show of it, too, playing with the substance between their fingers before their hand trails down in between their legs, locking eyes with Rolan.

He swallows as he watches them open themselves up, all for him. It sends his mind reeling with lust, and he’s still not allowed to touch. Torture, is what it is. They have him exactly where they want him, and he is not complaining one bit. Not in his wildest imagination could he have though of this scenario. It's incredible. They're incredible.

As they go on languidly slow, he starts feeling hot all over. His clothes feel too suffocating around his body, his trousers unbelievably tight. It takes everything in him not to palm his growing erection, biting a lip to stifle a small moan that threatens to escape his throat.

“I want to watch you take all those layers off, Rolan. It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.” They demand, hooking their fingers inside of themselves and groaning.

He responds by finally taking off that mantle that sets heavy on his shoulders. They watch him unblinking as he instantly gets his robes off, seeing the tent in his smalls that expresses his want. It looks painful. He throws the robes, shoes, and smalls off somewhere in the room, his cock now in the cold air, leaking.

They smirk at the sight, now curling three fingers in with a long winded moan. “Gods, I can’t wait to have you in me. I bet you feel so good, look at that…”

Have they always been this good with their words? They always have in his pathetic fantasies, but the real thing makes him twitch in need. He wants to touch them, feel their skin against his in a blaze of pleasure.

Alas, he has to wait.

Finally, they take their fingers out of themselves and sit back up. “I’m ready for you.”

“I want to touch you, Tav.” He admits, fingers twitching on the top of his thighs.

They crawl over to him and sit in his lap, breathing hard as they wrap their arms around his shoulders. “You may.”

He takes some small amount of comfort in that they’re as hot and bothered as he is, watching their flushed face before they crash their lips into his own.

He whines into their mouth, his cock trapped in between their stomachs. The friction is positively divine and he already thinks he may be close with the way their fingers trace the ridges on his back. They're mapping them out, pressing against the wing impressions on his shoulder blades and then trailing them down his spine. As soon as they reach the base of his tail, they tug on it once more.

A gasp shudders out of him when they grind against him. “Tav, if you keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”

They hum in approval, sucking a hickey into the base of his throat. “What if I promise to make you come again?”

“Tav, please—”

“Okay okay.” They relent, moving back a little to give him some breathing room.

They stay in his lap as they pull him in for another kiss, and he joyfully obliges. Their tongues dance as he gropes their chest, mostly wanting to feel the unique textures of their skin. They’re perfect, to him. He wishes they were some sort of god, because at least then he would have an explanation for his need towards them. This unrelenting desire that he has pleaded for every night when he dreamt of them.

He has so many dreams, one that wake him in a sweat and painfully hard in his trousers. He made a theory that indulging would help the process of forgetting his desires, but it seems as though his hypothesis was wrong. Dead wrong. His dreams of them only became more vivid, some tricking him into thinking it was real. He mourned when he woke up those mornings, wondering why the Gods were torturing him with their image, their body, their face, their laugh.

Hells, he hopes he's not dreaming right now, they feel too real. He can feel them biting and tugging his lower lip, so he concludes that they were, in fact, here with him. Making him feel so much better than his wildest fantasies. Their nails bite into the back of his neck as they briefly deepen the kiss, before pulling themselves away, a string of saliva connecting them. For at least a moment, he catches his breath.

With a solid push to his chest, he falls back onto the bed with a soft thump. He pushes himself back up onto his elbows quickly, breathing harsh. At first, he’s worried he screwed something up. Did his nails hurt their skin? He should have blunt them this morning. But then they straddle his waist and take hold of his drooling hard-on, ready to sink onto him. “Hold still.”

As they lower themselves, stars burst behind his eyes as he takes them fully, their walls squeezing around him so deliciously. He bites back a moan that tries to work its way up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he manages to hold himself together when they seat themselves onto him.

“Gods, you feel so fucking good Rolan.” They moan, clenching briefly around him until they finally relax. They do a test grind, and he knows he's hitting all the right places within them with the way their eyes flutter.

“So do you.” He says breathlessly, a light sheen of sweat already decorating his skin, pupils blown wide as his tail flicks about. The appendage instinctively reaches for something to hold onto. Anything at all. In the end, he settles with wrapping his tail around their waist, keeping himself grounded. They smile down at him when they feel it squeeze them.

He tries to reach for for their sides shakily, but they are more put together in this moment, and much faster. They take his hands, lacing their fingers through his, and pin them each besides his head. He’s only met with a grin before they start riding him with reckless abandon, gripping his hands unbelievably tight.

A groan that trails off into a whimper escapes his throat, hips subconsciously thrusting up into their tight heat. It felt positively divine feeling their walls clench around him, purposely teasing. They’re grinning, even when they toss their head back and moan. He squeezes their hands for dear life, already losing himself as their skin meets his. “Ah— Tav—“

“That’s it baby, I want to hear you.” They pant, leaning down and kissing him soundly. He lets their tongue pry his lips with ease, begging for a taste.

“I won’t last if— gods—“ he cries against their mouth, toes curling in the sheets.

“I don’t care, let me feel you. I want it.”

He curses when they clench around him again, clearly wanting to milk him dry, but he manages to stave his orgasm off. At least for a little bit. This felt so fucking good, he never wants it to end. But with the way they roll their hips, he’s not going to last. He wishes he could have last longer, giving them their pleasure the way they deserve after all of their hardship. They saved him, saved his siblings, saved the tieflings. Twice. Then they saved him for a third time. They did not have to, they could've walked away and let him lay with his poor choices. They didn't, and he's never seen them more angry than when they saw his bruised face.

His stomach suddenly tightens, giving him that impending warning he knows all too well in recent days. “C—Close, I’m close—“ he rasps.

“Me too. Fuck, you feel so good love.” They murmur thoughtlessly.

That nickname teeters him over the edge, and Rolan came with a cry in his throat. Tav was not far behind, fluttering around him as they came as well.

They breathe hard, resting on top of him and letting go of his hands. They instead use them to hold his heated face and kiss him gently. With his hands free, he wraps his arms around their back to pull them closer. He’s spent, exhausted, but he’s never felt more content as he kisses them.

Before they both could feel uncomfortable, he murmurs the words of prestidigitation and cleans them up as they rise off of his softening cock. They plop next to him on the bed, smiling tiredly.

“You were amazing.”

He laughs at that, wiping sweat off of his face. “I should be saying that to you.”

“Then we’re both amazing, hm?” They tease, scooting closer to his side. "Where did you learn how to fuck like that?"

"Must you be so vulgar?" He exasperates with a groan, making them laugh, "But if you must know, I have done extensive research on the subject."

"Ooooh research! What, did you study anatomy books?"

He groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Wait a minute, you have a smut collection?! This I have to see."

"Absolutely not!" He shouts, his face, neck, and ears now a deep crimson.

They burst out laughing, and as much as he wants to chastise them for it, he ends up laughing with them. He's never felt so light before now, as if he's finally feeling relief for all the trouble he's been through.

Gods, he's truly in love with them, isn't he?

"I can go for a round two, if you're up for it." They say after calming down their laughter.

He snickers at that, pecking heir forehead. "As much as that sounds wonderful, you've exhausted me for the day."

"Then how about some cuddling? Karlach always said I give great hugs."

He hums, pecking their cheek next as they wrap their arms around him. "I think I would like that, very much."

Letting out a deep rooted sigh, he feel all the tension in his body finally leave him. He should be disgusted by all the sweat gathered around them in the aftermath of their activities, but in this moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. There's time to complain about it later. Perhaps he can show them the bath he now uses. Would they be impressed by it? It certainly is better than whatever they have going on in the Elfsong Tavern. He wants to do everything to impress them, make himself worth their while even with the chaos that is their lives. But for now, he's calm.

For the first time, Rolan felt truly free.

"Does Krank know how to clean bed sheets?"

Snorting, he looks at them again. "I haven't made him try. He's decent at mopping and sweeping...somewhat. Why?"

"Just curious. It's cute how you just have a little servant now, cleaning the place."

"Krank is not a servant, he is an employee of my establishment."

"You don't pay him!"

"That is not the point! He works, does he not?"

They laugh, pressing their forehead against his. "Fine, fine, but why not make him clean your room, including the sheets?"

"He will mess them up! I know how to properly smooth it out and make this room look highly presentable."

"Oh, I'm sure you do...anyways, do you have a bath in here? I stink and feel sweaty." He barks out a laugh, reluctantly getting out of their arms and shuffling off the bed. "I do, it's in the next room over."

When he offers his hand to them, they happily take it as he leads them to the side room. The large bath presents itself, though it is empty right now. He should figure out a way for it to be ready automatically in any time of the day, but he'll work out the kinks later. He wants to show them that his fingers have talent in ways they wouldn't comprehend. All of it in the form of a heavenly scalp massage.

[ellewritesalright]

Nine Long Years - Part 6

Nikolai Lantsov x Rietveld!reader, Kaz Brekker x sister!Rietveld!reader (platonic)

Part 5 --- Masterlist --- Part 7

Synopsis: After watching your brothers die, you found yourself working on the Volkvolny. In the many years since then, you somehow became the queen of Ravka while your brother somehow survived firepox and life in the Barrel, rising through its ranks. In disguise during a diplomatic trip with your husband Nikolai, you meet Kaz Brekker for what you think is the first time, only to find out that he is your long-thought-dead little brother.

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while, huh :) ? Get ready to buckle up again cause this part is another 10k words of mess and destruction <3 Hope you're ready for it. Also this part picks up directly after the events of part 5 and then takes place over a few months, so I hope it makes sense to y'all

Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of death, angst with minimal fluff in this part, mentions of sickness, panic attacks, firepox, mentions of the Hertzoon con. and if i'm missing something pls lmk

Word Count: 10,020

……….

FIFTH YEAR

You had a bag packed and ready by dawn. All you had to do was find a horse, then you'd be headed far away from this camp and the people you'd devoted so much of yourself to. Even if it pained you to leave them, it would pain you more to stay; so you snuck out of Tolya and Tamar’s tent and into the camp. You quietly approached the stable area. Not everyone was awake yet, but a few soldiers were up and roaming already. Still, no one noticed you as you went along–or, you thought no one noticed. As soon as you laid hands on one of the horse's reins, a voice called out to you.

"Leaving so soon?" 

You turned and saw Mal with his arms crossed.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with your captain and Alina's engagement, would it?" He asked.

"What's it to you?" You countered, dropping your hands to your sides.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you and him are involved. So if you leave, what's stopping him from wanting a real relationship with Alina?"

You rolled your eyes. "He can have a real relationship with whoever he wants, I don't give a shit."

"But I do." He pursed his lips and sighed. "I care about Alina, and this whole… situation with Sturmhond is stupid."

"Prince Nikolai, not Sturmhond," you corrected. "And I rather think he'd call it 'mutually beneficial' for him and the saint."

"It's a sham is what it is."

"Well, take that up with him, not me." You turned back to the horse you planned on stealing.

“Back to the topic, though. You're leaving?" 

"You're staying?" You sassed over your shoulder.

"I love Alina. No matter how angry I am with her or with Nikolai right now, I love her. So I'm going to protect her and stand by her, even when we don't see eye to eye."

You glanced back at him, voice quiet. "How can you do that?"

"Because it's always been her and me. Together. And I would rather be with her and be miserable than be without her and be devastated."

"I don't think I can do that for Nikolai," you admitted, eyes drooping to the ground.

"Do you love him?" Mal questioned.

More than anything, you wanted to say, but all you could manage was a shaky nod. 

"And how would you feel without him?"

"Terrible." You felt your blood boil at the thought of it. "But having him like this–in the night, behind closed doors–when she'll have him in every way that counts? I can't live that way."

"She won't have him like that," he scoffed. "She loves me as much as I love her, and she wouldn't have him in any way other than ceremonial. I mean, it's like a stupid show for the Ravkans, for saint’s sake."

You whipped around to him, bordering on incensed. "And when they're married, when they have to have children--heirs--what then?"

"It won't come to that. I won't let it,” he ground out, his face going red.

"You can't stop it, Oretsev."

"Just watch me, Rietveld." He looked as angry as you felt, but he took a breath and made his next words calm yet firm. "I won't let it happen. And if you stick around, there's even less of a chance it will happen."

"I can't watch this 'show,' as you put it. It hurts too much just thinking about it all; seeing it would kill me."

His face softened. "Rietveld, please, stay with us. At least until we make it to Os Alta. You could find a job in the city, or you could always stand as a private guard–that’s what I’ll be doing. And if it ever feels like too much, come talk to me. Vent to me. I’m on your side here–I hate this all just as much as you do.”

You considered his plea. You didn’t realize how this would affect him too. It felt like the lash of this engagement had only cut you, but it was selfish to not realize how others around you were bleeding. This sort of thing hurt everyone involved, not just you–though admittedly it hurt some people more. With a frown, you realized how Alina and Nikolai must also be in pain. 

But despite your deeper understanding of the situation, you couldn’t feel sorry for Nikolai–he was the one who’d dealt the blow, and he would have to lick his own wounds.

“I’ll stay,” you told Mal. “But I swear I’m not going anywhere near Nikolai. I’ll only be here to stand guard of Alina with you.”

“You realize they'll likely have to spend time together and you’ll have to see him?”

“All I have to see is Alina, he’ll be peripheral from now on.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you.”

You nodded at him and squared your shoulders. “Where is the saint then? I’d like to start working.”

……….

At first you thought the journey to Os Alta would be no big deal, that you would be able to handle how he rode side by side with her or in a pretty little carriage while you were riding ten feet behind at all times. And it almost was no big deal, for the most part. Alina didn’t seem swayed by his joking or small talk, she was too proud to let him in after he’d lied about his true identity all the time he was at sea with her and Mal.

But it was when you stopped in all the little towns on the way to the capital that things became rough. Nikolai put on a show for the Ravkans, charming them left, right, and centre. And his pretend affections--if you could even call them pretend considering how real they looked–slowly showed more blatantly in front of the townspeople and First Army escort. His hands would linger on Alina’s as he helped her off her horse; his eyes would watch her softly, as though she was the light of his life; he spoke of her to his travelling companions and hosts with a reverence and care that made your stomach twist each time you overheard it.

You kept yourself busy, preferring to spend your time with the horses or sitting in the corner listening to the gripes and gossip of the First Army soldiers. If ever Nikolai glanced at you and you caught him, you always glared back until he looked away first. Sometimes you saw a glimmer of hurt in his eyes from your harsh stare, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel bad for him. This was his doing, after all.

Sometimes Tamar or Tolya would sit with you. They would all glare at Nikolai just like you did, though you tried to dissuade them. Well, you didn’t try very hard to dissuade them; you would give them each a look if you ever caught them doing it, but you never said anything as you were silently grateful that they sided with you. The twins had known Nikolai longer than they’d known you, and you felt weird being the reason they were icy with him. And yet, you kept repeating to yourself that this was his doing, that they were also upset about the way he treated you.

The arrival at Os Alta could not have come sooner. You were glad to be in a more permanent spot, though you couldn’t say either building would ever feel like a home to you. You were used to the open decks and low ceilings of schooners and ships, or the modest rooms of inns, or even the little farmhouse you’d grown up in. The Grand and Little Palaces were greater than any building you had ever seen. When you’d been in Ketterdam, you thought the exchange was the most massive place in the world, but now you knew you were wrong; the Grand Palace stood three intimidating stories high, with marble and gold inlaying almost everything. 

It was odd picturing Nikolai’s youth here. You couldn’t imagine being a child in a place like this; how impersonal it all felt to you, with its glimmering white walls and landscape oil paintings, but how much worse it would have been to be a kid here. You supposed that was why Nikolai had made an effort to fill the captain’s cabin on the Volkvolny with all manner of cozy blankets and furniture and knick-knacks he’d acquired from his travels.

Luckily for you, though, the only times you had to be in the Grand Palace was when you were on guard for Alina and she had a meeting or had to attend dinner over there. Most of your time was spent with Alina in the Little Palace. While still massive, the Little Palace had much more charm to it, with its lovely carvings and pearl embellishments. On days when you weren’t guarding Alina, you’d taken to sitting by the lake and watching the Second Army summoners training.

And, now that you had more officially started working as a member of Alina’s guard, the times you saw Nikolai were more manageable. Most times you saw him, there were royal officials or army generals around, so he had dialled back his smittenness with Alina compared to when you were all on the road. Moreover, he barely spoke to you, though you supposed that was because you never spoke to him. The most you conversed–though it was one-sided–was a short greeting and nod from him before you tilted your head away to watch whatever Alina was doing. He didn’t push it beyond that; he didn’t dare, knowing the anger you carried last time you two spoke. 

It felt slightly odd to you that the last time you’d actually talked to him was weeks ago when he told you of this engagement with Alina. You’d never gone that long without speaking, not since you first met him. Even before you were his second in command, he made it his mission to speak to you and every crew member on the Volkvolny at least weekly.

His greeting to you today was the same as it had become as of late. You were with Alina at a meeting of First and Second Army generals in the Grand Palace. At the end of the meeting when almost everyone had cleared the room, Nikolai approached you.

“Rietveld,” he smiled at you, giving you an almost awkward nod. But rather than keep it at that, he also said, “You look well.”

You wanted to scoff. You’d barely gotten any sleep the night before because of your nightmares. They’d returned since you started sleeping by yourself again. Night after night, you kept waking up having relived your brothers’ deaths, and there was no one with you to help you through it. 

You tilted your body away from Nikolai, doing your duty as you looked at Alina. You knew she was safe since she was just speaking with Mal, but you needed the poor excuse to turn away from the infuriating man beside you.

“I thought you might like to know that a team of Fabrikators and I are rebuilding the Hummingbird after the crash through the fold. It will be docked at the lake behind the Little Palace, so you’re welcome to visit it any time, to see how it progresses.” He spoke with all the confidence he usually exuded, though one look at him and you knew better; his eyes were nervous as he extended this small gesture of goodwill. He was worried about what you might say or do, you just knew it.

You almost said nothing, but as you looked into his eyes, you let out a short huff and grumbled, “Well let’s hope this one flies better than the last.”

“Truly,” Nikolai grinned, pleased that you’d given him a response.

You looked at Alina again and noticed she was leaving the room, so without another word, you left Nikolai.

……….

It was happening again.

You were on the streets of the Barrel, hurrying to reach your brothers after a long and stressful day of work. You wove through the alleyways, your feet moving like air; you were weightless–drifting. There was a light scraping, the prodding of the Bodymen's hooks against the cobbles, and a horrible thought came to your mind. You tried to move faster, but your feet were still drifting. All you knew was that you had to get there faster–had to say goodbye to your brothers.

Suddenly, something shifted and you were upon the tall stack of crates Jordie and Kaz were hiding behind in their time of illness. You stepped up slowly, only to see Nikolai sitting there in the place of your brothers.

He lay in a heap on the cobbles; weak with firepox, and mumbling nonsensically. Your feet could not move fast enough to be with him. 

You crumbled down to your knees beside him. And you reached for him, but he used what little strength he had still left in him to push you away. You tried again, but he swatted you back with a sick wail in his throat. Again and again, you reached for him, trying to hold him in your arms, to touch his forehead or grab his hand, to comfort him in whatever way you could, but he always evaded you.

And then when you finally got hold of his shoulders and leaned in to look at his face, he shoved you away with a great force. You were knocked down beside him, and his face turned angry–hateful.

Suddenly, he shouted at you, "This is all your fault!" 

You woke up with a start. Sweaty and shaking in the dark, you rushed to light your bedside lamp. The dim flame brought you some comfort, but as soon as you started to dwell on the images you’d dreamt, you felt nausea gripping you tight. You could taste the death in your mouth, stirring a sour, stale sickness inside you. You sat on the edge of your bed, your body doubled over and your head between your legs as you tried to shove the rot away.

You tucked your knees up to your chest as a sob tore through you. It was moments like this that made you most angry over Nikolai’s engagement; moments where you used to rely on him to help you, but where you couldn’t anymore. Since that trip to West Ravka a year and a bit ago now, he was the one to pull you out of any nightmares and back to the warm reality of his arms around you. But now for the last two months, he was all the way in another stupidly grand building. And engaged. And utterly unavailable to you. 

You huffed, shoving to your feet despite how weak your limbs felt. With a cloak over your pajamas and your boots to protect you from the autumn evening chill, you travelled out of your stifling bedroom, through the tall halls of the Little Palace, and out into the open sky of the outdoors. You gulped in the crisp air, clearing your lungs of death as you listened to the crickets. You looked out at the lake behind the Little Palace and spotted Nikolai’s new flying boat modelled after the Hummingbird. The bobbing boat beckoned you closer.

In the moonlight, your boots crunched towards the short dock on the lake. It creaked underfoot as you approached the boat. Kingfisher was written in scripted lettering on the small vessel’s stern. The deck wasn’t too large, though there appeared to be a cabin beneath it, judging by a small circular window on the port side. You noticed the flicker of candlelight through this window, and before you could turn tail and run back in the direction you came from, you heard his voice.

“Can’t sleep?” Nikolai called out to you, appearing from the open hatch of the cabin

You gulped, not wanting to meet his eyes. You muttered, “Something like that.”

“I can’t sleep either,” he said.

He stepped towards the ramp that connected the ship to the dock. You ignored how he wrung his strong and greasy hands on a cloth. You also ignored the sweat on his brow, ignored the memories of all the times you’d once worked beside him. All the times you’d admired the concentration sculpted along his beautiful face. He wasn't dressed like the prim prince you'd seen the last couple of months, he looked more like the privateer you loved.

“Would you want to come aboard and look around?” he asked softly, his voice reminiscent of all the nights you’d once spent with him by your side.

You nearly shook your head, nearly said you should go back to sleep. But the lingering fears in your mind kept you from returning to the Little Palace. All that was there for you was nightmares and a Nikolai that despised you. At least this Nikolai spoke softly, with a lingering affection.

Silently, you climbed the ramp and boarded the Kingfisher. Your arms crossed as you took in the sails and rudders, the fine lacquer keeping the fine wood intact. The sway of the waves beneath brought you some peace. It was too long since you’d sailed.

“Come check this out?” Nikolai asked of you, tilting his head towards the stern.

You stepped over to the back of the boat, keeping a secure enough distance beside him as he braced his hands on the wheel. You eyed the lever that would adjust the sails so that Squallers could lift the boat. The designs were updated, but most everything looked the same as it was on the Hummingbird. Nikolai pointed to the back mast.

“When I pull the lever now, this mast will only tilt halfway, allowing smoother steering than the last one did,” he explained, his eyes alight. He looked like a kid on the first wintery day of snowfall.

He looked over and caught you staring at him. You turned away as soon as you could, but the damage was done. The soft adoration in his eyes snapped whatever tough resolve you’d built up over the last few months, and you took a sharp breath. It came out in a shaky exhale, and you brought your hand to your mouth.

“This is all your fault!”

The words he cried in your nightmare flashed through your ears, and you felt your throat tighten. You started sobbing, nothing held back as hot tears dripped down your face. You heard Nikolai sigh softly as he realized you were crying. Without hesitation, Nikolai brought you into his arms, holding you under the watchful eye of the moon. You should have been strong enough to push him away, to remind the both of you what you’d lost. But you just weren’t strong enough. It wasn’t in you to push him away like he had pushed you away in your dream.

"What’s wrong, my darling?" He murmured into the crown of your head.

“Nightmares.” There was so much more to your pain, but this was all you could say.

His voice fell to a whisper, "Oh, darling."

He held you close, swaying you for a moment as you stood on the deck, then he ushered you to the cabin hatch. He brought you below deck, sitting down on a plain bench with you as a lantern burned in the corner. As you sat there, you felt the boat swaying gently, rocking you. 

Nikolai's one hand caressed your back, rubbing warm circles into you, as the other cradled the back of your neck, holding you securely as you leaned against his chest. He smelled like salt, grease, and pine; it was a combination so familiar and so Nikolai. You forgot what it was to breathe him in.

There was a bubble in your throat, an aching pressure on your larynx as you sobbed into his half-laced shirt. You tried to keep it inside, tried not to let the bubble burst and the truth come out, but you hadn’t been good at hiding things from him ever since the first night he saw you cry.

“I just miss you,” you whispered, praying he didn’t hear you.

His hand stilled on your back for a moment, then he kept rubbing along it. He heard, then. And yet, he didn’t say anything. He just held you to him as you kept crying. 

The scent of him lingered as you stayed in his arms. Even after you shut your eyes and felt your brain slowly falling asleep, you could smell him. The boat kept rocking, and soon enough your body fell asleep in the comfort of his familiar arms.

……….

You could hear birds when you woke up. The air smelled crisp. Your eyes blinked open, looking around at the cabin of the Kingfisher. It looked bigger in the light of dawn. You lifted your head off of Nikolai's chest.

A sick form of embarrassment took root in your chest. There was no humiliation quite like falling asleep in the arms of someone you swore you were done with. And he awoke with you, just as light a sleeper as he'd always been. He smiled softly at you, and you had to look away and get up lest you do something even more stupid.

"I should go," you said, straightening out your cloak as you went to the hatch. It was still dawn, the sun had barely risen, but you needed to be off of this ship and back into your room before people started waking up.

"Or you could stay," Nikolai replied quietly, standing with you. "We could talk about us? About last night?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Nikolai," you huffed.

"Darling, you were sobbing last night. I haven't seen you as bad as that since that time we were stranded in West Ravka." Nikolai sighed, stepping a bit closer to you. You let him grab your hand. "I made a promise to myself that night that I wouldn't let you cry alone ever again.”

You pursed your lips, saying something he knew. “You’ve already broken that promise."

“I know. I know I have, so the least I can do right now is talk and listen to you until you’re better.”

“I’m not going to get better," you scoffed.

He knew that too, you were certain of it, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, he said something much more stupid. “If I knew the people of Ravka would accept me as their king I never would have–”

“Stop,” you said tiredly, dropping your hand from his. You folded your arms around yourself. “I don’t want to argue right now. You’ve made your choice, and that’s that.”

Nikolai went quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor. You took a breath and climbed up the hatch, into the open air, and into reality. You walked across the deck, but stopped at the ramp when he cleared his throat and called your name.

"I have a test flight of the Kingfisher this afternoon." He gave a weak knock to the mast, a paltry smile on his face. "You're more than welcome to come watch.”

“I’m on duty later, I’m not sure I can come.” At your sides, your fingers balled into your cloak.

“I invited Alina already. She said she has Grisha training, but she might be able to make it.”

You nodded politely. “Then perhaps I’ll see you again later.”

“Perhaps.”

You turned to leave but he called your name again. You looked at him, watching his nervous eyes.

“I… I hope you know that you can always come to me when you’re hurting. I’ll never turn you out,” he said softly. “Or if you’re not upset but you just feel like talking to me, I’m here for you.”

His words made your blood sting. You knew he didn't mean to make you mad, that he was being sincere and kind, and yet you couldn't stop the low-boiling rage that seeped into your veins. Why he couldn't just say that he missed you and that he had made a colossal mistake, you didn't know. Why he felt the need to cloak his regret in some twisted extension of goodwill, you also didn't know. 

If you were even angrier, you might have called him a coward, but instead you shook your head and gave him another polite smile.

“Thank you, your highness, but don’t ever expect me at your door.”

He frowned and glanced out at the lake. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. You know we’re beyond formalities.”

“I’ve nothing else to call you now besides formalities.” You turned on your heel. "Have a good day, your highness. I won't bother you like this again."

"It wasn't a bother," you heard him mutter as you descended the ramp and hurried back to the Little Palace.

……….

Your day wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sure, you woke up in Nikolai’s arms, but other than that nothing of note happened. You guarded Alina, you escorted her around, then you came back to the Little Palace. 

As you were turning down your bed for the night, you heard a soft knock at your door. You expected it to be one of the twins challenging you to a game of cards before bed as you sometimes did with them. So you gently called out for them to come in. 

It was not Tamar or Tolya. Or even Alina or Mal, the only other people whose quarters belonged in this wing of the Little Palace. It was someone who was not supposed to be here.

"No," you shook your head at him as you glanced back and saw him. You hadn't snapped at Nikolai this morning, but as he shut the door behind him you felt the urge to chew him up and spit him out. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here?"

"You said you wouldn't bother me, but I made no promises not to come and bother you," He said with a playful shrug. "Besides, last night reminded me of how terribly I sleep without you."

"You shouldn't be here, you'll be caught," you said quietly, though with a measured level of anger.

"By whom? The twins? Mal? Alina? They all know our feelings for each other, and they won't care."

You crossed your arms. "Well, I care. Staying with you on that damned boat last night was a momentary lapse of judgment, not an invitation to make this into a habit."

"To me, it's just a way to sleep better," he said softly, stepping a bit closer to you. "I would rather have four hours of high-quality sleep with you in my arms and have to sneak back to the Grand Palace while it's still dark. The alternative is tossing and turning alone in my bed because I feel so incredibly alone I could scream."

“I don’t care if you’re lonely! I don’t care!" You stormed up to him, glaring a hole into his beautiful hazel eyes. "I'm lonely too, but I don’t cry about it to you. Because what good would it do? Would it change your mind? No, it wouldn’t."

Nikolai raises his brows slightly, a signal he's about to talk, but you cut him off with a huff.

"So, your highness, no matter what you say to me, no matter how badly you want me to, I will not warm your bed. Not if there is no real future with me by your side as anything more than a mistress that you hide away from the world!” 

He opened his mouth to try to speak again but a loud knock on the door cut him off before he could.

You raised a hand in front of him in a halting motion. “Don’t. Don’t say whatever it is you’re going to say. I don’t want to hear any more on the subject or I will leave Os Alta. I will pack my things and head for the coast. Because I won’t do this. I… I can’t.”

You ignored the tremble in your lip as you watched him stand there, dejected. Something in the way he stood made him look like a small child after a scolding. It was almost enough to make you feel bad for lashing out at him. Almost.

Another knock at the door made you take a breath, and you stepped back from Nikolai again.

“Come in,” you called out.

The door opened to Tamar, Tolya, Mal and Alina standing in the hall. Great, you thought, you’d woken everyone with your yelling. With your luck, all of the Little Palace heard your grievances.

Tamar and Tolya came to your side, not-so-subtly standing between you and Nikolai. Mal and Alina remained in the doorway.

“Is everything alright?” Tamar asked, carefully looking between you two.

“Nikolai was just leaving,” you muttered.

“Good. I’ll walk him back,” Tolya said.

“I’ll go too,” Mal piped in.

Nikolai shook his head with a sad little frown. “I don’t need you to–”

“C’mon, your highness.” Tolya ushered him from the room.

The last you saw of him was an ashamed glance he cast over his shoulder as he passed Alina in the doorway. Once he was gone you approached the summoner.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you said to her. You looked at Tamar. “You and the others as well.”

“It’s alright.” Alina gave you a paltry smile. “If you want me to, I can punch him again.”

“Same,” Tamar said. “Or I’ll get Tolya to do it. That would be a spectacle.”

You chuckled. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you.”

When you looked at Alina again you saw a guilty gleam in her eyes. She almost matched Nikolai’s levels of shame as she wrought her hands. Then she suddenly hugged you. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled beside your head.

You wrapped your arms around her. 

It wasn’t her fault, though you couldn’t deny that you resented her a little. She would have the greatest love of your life, living in the peaceful eye of a hurricane, while you would be caught up in the worst storm imaginable, peering through to them with desolate eyes as you tried not to lash out and harm them.

But it still wasn’t her fault. It was squarely on Nikolai. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to her, to so much as accept her apology.

Alina let go of you, and she and Tamar said their goodnights.

You couldn’t sleep, so you lay in bed, watching the stars through your window. 

You recalled starry nights at sea, when the sky and the water were one with twinkling specs of white on the darkest blue you’d ever seen. Nights when you were happy, wrapped in a warm and familiar pair of arms, and the worst kind of storm you knew of only involved heavy rain on the deck of a ship.

……….

As luck would have it, there was a hunting party leaving the next day. Mal was going, and after the fiasco with Nikolai the night before, he invited you to join him and the group of nobles and high-ranking military faces on this hunt.

You gladly seized the opportunity to be away from the palace for a spell, and now you were riding horseback alongside Mal. The last time you'd ridden beside him was the road to Os Alta, but you shoved that memory aside. Nikolai was there then, putting on the show of his engagement for the Ravkan people. Saints, no matter what you were doing or what memory you carried he always seemed to linger, staining your mind and your every moment. 

You shut your eyes for a second, your grip tight on your reins.

"Everything alright?” Mal’s voice reached your ears.

You glanced at him. “I’m fine.”

“Rietveld,” he started, eyes darting around before he lowered his volume. “I hope you can enjoy yourself this week. You deserve the time away from it all.”

“I know.” You nodded. “I just… I don’t know how to get through this.”

“Well, you’re faring better than our lovely prince.”

Were you though? You might have been the one to reject him last night, but you were also the one who broke down in front of him then passed out in his arms the night before. You supposed neither of you were taking this well.

“And how are you and Alina?" You asked quietly.

He turned his eyes ahead. "We're…"

You nodded after a long moment when he could not respond. "Yeah. I get that."

"It's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"A whole bucket-load of shit is more like it."

He shrugged in agreement.

……….

While you could admit it was a marvel watching Mal tracking, the hunting part of the trip was not nearly as interesting as the evening dinners. You'd be sat at tables between Ravkan lords and generals and dignitaries, listening to their stories and answering their questions. Speaking with them reminded you of your time with Lady Trokowsky; so many of them were as curt and prim as her. And though some of them were also a bit pompous for your liking, you held your own in their conversations. Plus, when there was wine and good food, even the most irritable guests were made tolerable.

"Were you really a sailor, Ms. Rietveld?" One of the lords asked you on the third night. "Grigor here says you were, but I can't imagine you at sea." 

"And why's that, my lord?" You raised a brow. "Do you not think me capable?"

"Oh, not at all! Aside from our esteemed Oretsev here, you've shot the most game--I think you are very capable indeed. I just can't envision a young woman as refined as you in the life of a sailor."

"You think I'm refined? My lord, you flatter me," you said, smiling politely and tilting your glass at him. That was what Lady Trokowsy used to do when paid a compliment; you took your cues in manners from your time with her. You noticed Mal leaning forward in his seat.

"Ms. Rietveld is more than accomplished. If I'm not mistaken, she knows five languages, she can track and divide large sums all in her head and without paper, she's quite gifted with a sword, plus if you're bleeding and broken she's great to have around when there's no corporalniks nearby."

The table guests all nodded their heads, murmuring in approval, and you gave a slight look of thanks to Mal. As their new favourite hunting guest, his word meant a lot to these people. You were grateful for their good opinion; you hoped perhaps one of them might offer you a job or help you once you one day decided to leave Alina's guard.

Dinner carried on, with many of the guests asking you more about yourself or even just your opinion on local matters or the state of the war. They all seemed pleased by your answers, and you left for your tent that night feeling good about yourself and your future. Mal walked with you, and he nudged you with his elbow.

"We've got a future diplomat on our hands," he smiled.

"Well, you helped out quite a bit."

"I said one thing. The rest of that was all you, Rietveld. You charmed them all by yourself."

You sighed at his words. A small grin took up your face. "I kind of did, didn't I?"

"You definitely did." He turned to you as you stood outside your tent. "I'm glad you came on this trip. And I'm glad you got to see what kind of life you might have ahead of you."

"And what kind of life is that?" 

"A life of rubbing elbows with the Ravkan 'elite.' You're already pretty good at it, but it's nice practice for once you're one of them."

You gave him a look. "Mal, that's never going to happen." 

"It will once Nikolai marries you," he smirked.

You frowned at his chipperness. "He's already engaged, remember?"

He lowered his voice, looking around to check if anyone was nearby. "Alina's not going to marry him. Trust me. She doesn't want that life. When all is said and done, she won't go through with it."

"And you think he'd just marry me?" You asked in an irritated whisper.

"Yes. He loves you."

"I have nothing to offer him. At least Alina's a saint."

"He loves you, Rietveld," Mal repeated.

You looked at him, saw the certainty in his eyes, and had to look away again. You hated how sure he seemed. How confident he was, even though you knew better and he should know better too. Even if Alina didn't end up marrying him, Nikolai wouldn't marry you. The last few months had shown that. He would no doubt choose a princess or a very rich man's daughter, of which you were neither of those things.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Oretsev," you muttered, then ducked into your tent. 

……….

Alina was there to greet you and Mal when you arrived at the Little Palace. But unfortunately, Mal kept riding to the stables, practically ignoring Alina. You had no idea what happened there between them to have him ice her out like that; all trip Mal had only complimentary things to say about Alina. Still, you supposed if any of the hunting party asked your opinion of Nikolai you would only say favorable things.

Regardless, Alina was there to offer you a hug and walk with you inside the Little Palace.

"How was your trip?" She inquired.

"Good. It was nice to be away for a bit," you said, remembering the tense circumstances before you'd left. "And nice to spend time with Mal. He's a good friend, even if he embellishes a bit."

"Saints, he embellished what exactly?" She raised her brows worriedly.

"Well, he was talking me up to some of the guests and he made me out to be some daring and sophisticated hero."

"Why's that?" She chuckled.

"No idea why. At one point he even said I went to the university of Ketterdam and graduated top of my class. Meanwhile, I was never educated past fifteen years old; I was raised on a farm, for saint's sake."

"Well, I'm glad he talked you up." She smiled at you. "I'm sure it made those stuffy lords and generals more pleasant to be around if they thought you were admirable."

"I suppose it did." You looked at her. "He talked you up too. Turned more than a few of them on to your side as the new leader of the second army."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he's really good at all of that."

A gentle silence filled the air. You weren't sure if it was because you'd told her what Mal got up to while they were apart, but she decided to talk about what Nikolai had been up to. Apparently, he mostly spent his time fine-tuning the Kingfisher or a number of other inventions he'd set up work on near the Summoner Pavillion. 

"Also, last week he did something odd," Alina said as you arrived at the wing where both of your rooms were.

"Odd how?" You asked.

"Well, we were meeting with the royal family's jeweller." She saw the quizzical curve of your brow and added, "For Nikolai's birthday next month."

You pursed your lips. "Oh. Right."

"Part of the preparations was getting fitted for outfits and choosing which royal jewels and crowns to wear. It was a lot." She sighed. "And when we were going through the royal jewels, that’s when he did something odd."

"Oh?"

"The jeweller was showing off different crowns and tiaras for me," Alina blushed slightly, "and when he pulled out some sapphire crown, Nikolai lost it for a second."

The mention of a sapphire crown made your face burn. Could it be the crown you'd helped Nikolai recover? The crown he'd once put on your head and called you moya tsaritsa--his queen? Your heart hammered in your chest.

"He…" You furrowed your brows. "He lost it? What do you mean by that?"

Alina leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice despite how you were alone.

"Well, I wouldn't compare it with other people's losing it, but for Nikolai, it definitely made him lose it. He's usually so calm and everything, but he looked upset. He got all pale and then he looked at the jeweller and sternly said something like 'I told you very specifically not to put that crown in the selection.' And when the jeweller said that the queen wanted me to pick from everything, Nikolai started to go red, and he said 'I don't care what my mother said. This crown isn't to be worn.'"

Your lips parted slightly, and you glanced away for a moment, parsing out what she'd said.

Had Nikolai really been that upset over seeing that sapphire crown on display? You cared to know what upset him about it. Was it the sight of it? Or was it the thought that Alina might have picked the crown he foolishly thought you would one day wear? You weren't sure. You didn't even know if he had actually thought you could be his queen; but regardless, he had to know now that you weren't an option.

Alina chuckled slightly. "That's odd, right?"

"Yeah…" You said softly. "Odd."

……….

It was your first day off after you'd gotten back from the hunting outing. So, like most of your days off, you decided to take a walk on the Little Palace grounds. There was a pretty path behind the lake, and you were admiring the changing leaves of the trees all around you. It was understandable then that you didn't notice someone's sudden presence.

A throat cleared ahead of you on the path and you instantly snapped into focus. Your eyes landed on Nikolai and you almost sighed but then your jaw tensed instead. Since you got back you had seen him while on guard, but you hadn't been alone with him since that night he'd snuck to your room. You were afraid that the furious nature of your last conversation would only continue if you spoke again.

He gave you a slight smile and a polite nod. His hands were clasped behind his back. You took in his clothes, the slightly unkempt way his fine shirt was tucked, and the grease spot on his trousers. He must have been working on the Kingfisher again when he saw you walk by and chose to follow you. Still, he didn't look like he was in the mood for an argument either, not with his diplomatic smile.

"How was your hunting trip?" He asked, finally breaking the silence between you.

"Fine," was all you said.

He nodded, shifting his weight on his feet. "I hope you weren't too bored with all the lords and generals. I know how dreadful those trips can be."

"It was fine, really," you said, crossing your arms. "Mal is a good friend to have around those sorts. He and I spent all the time while we weren't shooting to talk up our little saint; to win public opinion of her."

"I didn't think Oretsev was clever enough for that," Nikolai grumbled, the annoyance of his words hidden under a smile. "Using influential lords and the likes to bolster the public's opinion of Alina… good on him, I suppose. It's a smart tactic."

Something about his words, or perhaps his slight irritation and the fact that he had no right to be irritated, irked you to no end.

"You hypocrite," you scoffed. "You frown down on Mal for using these lords and changing their opinions to help your fiance, and yet it's you who's engaged to her just to use her sainthood to bolster your claim to the throne."

Nikolai chuckled lightly. “And she is using me so that my family doesn't declare her and all the other Grisha enemies of Ravka. I wasn't frowning down on Oretsev for using these hunting parties. Using people for one's own advantage happens all the time in politics.”

“So I’ve learned," you said, your eyes narrowed slightly on him. You watched him for a moment. "Were you using me?”

“What?” He turned to you, his eyes turning from slight amusement to a blinking bewilderment. “Of course I wasn’t using you,” he said softly. “Do you really think I was using you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Nikolai. You told me you wanted us, now and always. You put a crown on my head and called me your queen.” You tugged your simple chain out from under your shirt and let Nikolai’s ring dangle on it. “You gave me a ring that I, very stupidly, believed meant something… And then you made me feel like an idiot for thinking you could ever be mine–that I could ever share my life with a prince.”

"You still wear the ring?" His eyes seemed hopeful.

"I… that's what you've latched onto?" You blinked at him.

He stepped closer to you. His eyes were earnest. "I'm sorry. I wasn't using you. It was always love between us; I wasn't going to exploit that."

"No, instead you broke it."

You saw it on his face. Yes, I broke it, was written in the mournful line of his mouth as his eyes drooped to his shoes.

"If I could take it all back," he said quietly, "I would. And you would be happy and I could stop worrying and it would all be back to the way it was before."

Your fingers balled up at your sides as you scowled. "And how was it before? You expect me to believe you would have married me once you were back to being a prince? When you were still Sturmhond you were so ashamed of me that we didn't even let the crew know we were together!"

"I wasn't ashamed–" he started but you stepped closer to him, eyes furious.

"Why would I believe you'd ever let the royal court know you wanted to be with a common sailor?"

"Because I would!" He exclaimed, a desperate glint in his eye as he brushed his hands through his hair. "Because I love you and--despite what you think–I am not ashamed of that love. I never have been."

He took your hand, and--ignoring the urge to break free and slap him or shove him into the dirt–you let him. He took a breath, letting his eyes meet yours again once he was ready.

“What I’m trying to say is that I–"

Nikolai cut himself off at the sound of footsteps approaching. He dropped your hand and took a step back, and you pretended his actions didn't sting. The approaching footsteps turned out to be Vasily, and you kept down the groan you wanted to make.

"Vasily," Nikolai nodded.

He put on a charming smile, though his chest rose and fell quickly. You didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking because you were thinking the same thing--how much had his brother seen between you two? It was a wonder with the way Vasily stared so skeptically at you both.

"Who's this you're speaking with, brother?" Vasily asked, sleazily eyeing every part of you besides your narrowed stare.

"This is Rietveld," Nikolai answered calmly, though you noticed how his hands were desperately trying to not ball up at his sides. "She was my second in command at sea, now she's one of Alina's guards."

He sneered as he glanced between you and Nikolai. "Ah yes, one of your… crewmates. Seems quite pretty for a sailor. I think you spoke about her before… didn't you say she was Kerch?" He addressed you. "Are you Kerch, girl?

"Yes," you replied with gritted teeth. He bent a superior eyebrow and you added, "Moi Tsarevich," with the bow of your head.

"A Kerch sailor," he mused. "I wonder where you met her… Was it Ketterdam?"

"Yes, brother," Nikolai said, his words carrying a careful twinge of annoyance.

"Such a pretty thing… I wonder, where in Ketterdam could you have found her?" He made no attempt to hide how he watched you like you were a piece of meat. "Did you pluck her from the Barrel?"

"Vasily," Nikolai warned with a low voice.

"I imagine she came from somewhere lush and expensive, at least I hope you didn't buy her out of one of the cheap brothels. Though she does have the scowl of a cheap whore."

Nothing more could be said on the topic, as Nikolai's fist came in contact with Vasily's jaw. You heard an ugly thwack sound, and Vasily stumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the dustiness of the dirt path.

"You filthy mutt!" Vasily spat. "You nearly knocked all my teeth loose!"

You expected Nikolai to straighten out with a diplomatic apology, sarcastically citing a lapse in judgment or pretending his arm had spasmed. You expected him to act as prince, but at this moment he was privateer instead. He bent down beside his brother and grabbed him by the collar.

"If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, I will punch you so hard you bite off your own tongue," Nikolai threatened. "Am I understood, brother?"

"Some brother you pretend to be–"

Nikolai's grip tightened. "Am I understood?"

"Yes," Vasily sneered.

Nikolai let go of him and stood to his full height, dusting himself off. He was back to being a dignified prince. "Good."

Nikolai glanced at you then glanced down the path in the direction back to the Little Palace. You took the hint, and silently but with quick steps, the two of you walked along.

The image of Vasily in the dirt brought you joy, though you couldn't say the same for the way Nikolai threatened him. Nikolai's actions frustrated you to no end, making you frown as you walked. It wasn't his job to do that, to fight for you, but he was a fool who treated it like his duty.

Once the Little Palace was in sight, you spoke to him.

"I've dealt with worse than Vasily, I don't need you to defend me," you asserted.

He looked at you. "I know you don't, but I wanted to."

"You don't get to anymore," you said, "you have a fiance to defend instead now."

Nikolai scoffed. "He called you a whore, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Let it slip by. Defending me is not worth the wrath of your brother."

"Please, I've already earned his wrath just by existing." He smiled. "And besides, it was nice to give him a whack like that. He deserved it for what he said."

You wanted to agree with him that Vasily deserved a whack, but you held firm. It was hard to tell if you were just being contrary for the fun of it or if you meant it.

"You shouldn't let him get under your skin," you muttered. "Don't do that again, Nikolai."

He slowed and you slowed with him. Stopped in the shade from the Little Palace, he looked at you, his stare earnest.

"I could tell you I will only let myself lash out at him just this once, but I would be lying." You thought he might hold your hand, but as he reached for you he thought the better of it and clasped his hands behind his back. "I would be lying, because if he–or anyone else for that matter--speaks about you like that again, hitting him would be the least of what I'd do."

……….

FIFTH YEAR - KAZ

Kaz didn't know why he was in Lij. 

He hadn't been in his hometown since he moved away from it at nine years old. But he was walking the harbours of Ketterdam on his day off from the Crow Club and saw a boat travelling down the coast to the southern farmlands of Kerch. Next thing he knew, he was sailing away from Ketterdam. 

Then he was in his old, simple little world. Acres upon acres of farmland, a town square with market vendors and people who smiled at other people without trying to steal their wallets… it all seemed so foreign to him now. 

He went up the hill to his old farmhouse first. It had sat in disrepair for a few years now since his siblings moved to the city. The fields were wildly overgrown, but it still looked like a plot of good land. Kaz trudged through the weeds to the barn out back. It only took him four seconds to pick the lock on the barn door. The inside was empty, but it still looked alright.

He didn't dwell for long, though. He stood in the barn, shut his eyes for a moment, breathed in the farm air, thought briefly of his family--of how he missed them--then he left.

He relocked the barn, instinctively leaving it how it was found, then set out on another path down the hill.

Kaz passed by the well-kept house of Old Lady Trokowsky. How that Ravkan bat frightened him when he was younger. He had no idea how his sister managed to visit with her every other day just to read to her and keep her company. As Kaz recalled, her tongue was always so sharp, and she would shout at him and Jordie from the upper porch above her front door whenever they got into the slightest bit of mischief.

He wondered for a moment if she was still alive; in his memory, she seemed ancient, after all. 

A broken post on her otherwise perfect fence caught his eye, and he nudged it with his foot.

"Rietveld? Jordan Rietveld!" A worn voice called out as soon as his boot made contact with the post. 

Kaz's eyes snapped wide in surprise, and he instinctively straightened out at the memory of reprimands gone past. He looked up to the porch above her front door, and sure enough, sitting there by the railing was Old Lady Trokowsky. He would have smiled at the sight of a familiar face if he wasn't so frightened of her.

"Jordan Rietveld, what are you doing to my fence? And what are you doing back in Lij? Your family's supposed to be in Ketterdam!" 

Kaz blinked up at her. Did she really think he was his brother? That he was Jordie?

"Well, young man?" Her gravelly old voice called down to him again.

He felt like a child under her eyes. He was fourteen now, yet he felt like he was six and following along with whatever trouble Jordie was getting into.

Trokowsky waved an arm in a resigned manner. "Oh, come inside, boy. I've got hot chocolate and cookies that I'm too old to stomach now. Eat and talk with me, Jordan."

Kaz paused at the gate. He wanted to pass by and head back to the town, but he felt a strange desire to go into her house. The closest he'd gotten to the house was standing in the doorway with Jordie when Da would sometimes send them to fetch their sister home early; the inside of it was always a mystery to him.

He passed through the gate and went up the stone path. It felt like he'd get in trouble, but he opened the front door and peered into the front hall. A caretaker for the bat came down the stairs to greet him. She directed him up the stairs and straight to the front where Lady Trokowsky would be waiting on the upper porch. 

His eyes roamed the walls as he went upstairs. All these Ravkan portraits and plaques adorning her house--the burgeoning criminal in him told him he should swipe something, but he ignored the urge. His sister had always spoken highly of Trokowsky, despite how the bat would shout at him and Jordie, so he would respect his sister by respecting the bat's belongings.

He stepped onto the upper porch and noticed immediately that her eyes had a slight wispiness to them that no doubt impaired her vision. Cataracts, if that was the right term. This was likely why she didn't recognize him as Kaz but as his brother.

"Ah, Jordan Rietveld," she greeted in her worn voice, gesturing to the rocking chair beside hers. "It's been years, hasn't it?"

Kaz nodded and took a seat beside her. "Yes."

"How are you, boy? How is the city treating you?" 

Like hell.

That's what he wanted to say. He'd been chewed up at spit back out by Ketterdam. He was rising through the ranks of the Dregs, but not without a few scrapes and tussles. He'd grown to be a swindler and a scammer, though he supposed that information would be quite useless to this old lady.

"Very well," he lied, feeling compelled to smile for the bat. "I've just been promoted at work."

"Oh, isn't that wonderful?" 

She did something that was nearly a smile. Her wrinkly face tightened slightly with the weak force of her mouth muscles, stretching her lips in a kind position.

"And how is that young brother of yours? Is he still as much trouble as you?" She chuckled fondly.

"Kaz is dead," Kaz said bluntly. He almost didn't realize he said it at first, but then he noticed Trokowsky's face fall.

"Oh dear… I'm sorry to hear that. Your sister always spoke so highly of her baby brother," she said with a sad coo.

Kaz glanced away over the balcony. "Well, she's gone now too. Moved across the world."

"I suppose that explains why she stopped writing to me." Trokowsky sighed. "I thought she might have passed in that plague–what a terrible, terrible bout of firepox it was this last time…" 

If only she knew, Kaz mused, holding back a wry smile.

"Do you ever see her? I'd love for you to tell her I say hello and that I miss her company," she said softly.

He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. "I see her every few months. She comes to visit me in Ketterdam, or I go visit her in Novyi Zem."

"Oh, good. I'm glad to hear that." She smiled again. "Your family has suffered enough without being separated by something so trivial as the sea."

It seemed as though Lady Trokowsky might have said more on the matter, but a sudden coughing fit wracked through her. Kaz's body recoiled from her wheezing. It brought back memories of plague. 

He balled his gloved hands into fists and he looked away from her as he waited for her coughing to end. She recovered from her fit, and he stayed long enough to finish his hot chocolate and eat three cookies while he listened to a couple of stories from the bat. But he didn't stay much longer than that. Trowkowsy grew tired, in need of an afternoon nap as the elderly sometimes need. She gave him a kind parting smile as her caretaker wheeled her to her room.

Kaz waited in the main foyer until the nurse came downstairs again. He procured a Crow Club card from his pocket and handed it to the caretaker.

"Please let me know when she passes," he nodded to the caretaker.

Then he left and went down to the town square again, heading for the municipal office. He tried to acquire his family's farm back from the township. He didn't quite have enough money to buy it back yet, but he knew he would put it under Jordie's name when he did. Or perhaps Jordie's middle name would lend itself better as the ink on a dotted line. Either way, he could not secure the deed today, so he found his way to a ship bound up the coast to Ketterdam, back to the city of thieves and barterers.

A few months later, Kaz received a short letter. Lady Trokowsky had died of her old age. 

At her funeral, the name card on the grandest bouquet of flowers gifted was simply: "The Rietvelds."

..........

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment on this new part--I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Part 7

Masterlist

Taglist: I will reblog this part with the tags because there's too many of you to tag and tumblr won't let me do it all at once

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Progress Update

June 30th

How the fuck is it already july. I could swear its still the middle of june. The fucking heat here for sure reminds me it is july tho. Enough yapping.

What did get done?

wrote a bit more than 3k words, which isn’t much, but better than nothing

I have most of the update planned out on some nice piece of paper (my sketchbook now turned notebook for everything)

the update is parted into 3 routes (A, B and C), and the longest route A has a total of 10 subroutes for you to do, and 5 of these got finished.

the 6th subroute is slowly being tackled, and subroute 7 I can reuse an earlier subroute. (they’re the same situation, just a different setting so I have to go back and rewrite/add new descriptions and interactions that match the setting)

Cool, and plans for July?

I would love to get Route A finished.

if I do, I would also love to start on route B or C, they’re both shorter, B being a stat check route, and C being able to be acquired through specific choices throughout route A. So it’s kind of most important I get route A done first.

afterwards I have to bring the routes back together for the actual plot of the chapter. bcs this is just the introduction to the chapters plot. but that’s a problem for future me. 

How are we doing emotionally?

While last month I felt very demotivated at the end, this month I have dealt much better with the amount I wrote in total. Yes, its far from the 10k I wanted to write each month, but please, I’m just a dude. I do find it harder to write as it goes on, but that is just general exhaustion from work, so like, nothing new. I have an upcoming psychiatrist appointment and I am not ashamed to beg that man for a higher dosis. AAHAHAHAHAH. no fr, Ive been falling back into unhealthier mindsets that I find very hard to get out by myself and I could use the extra boost mentally. 

June Statsies <3

Total words written: 3285 words Time spent writing: a bit more than 4 hours average emotional energy levels: 5/10Reply

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Retrospective - Chapter 2: The Insult of Injury

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (slow burn)

Main Summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First chapter Next Chapter Word Count: 5585

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post. While I was gone I got my first big girl job and my beta reader has been having trouble with her computer, so I had to obsess over the prose by myself. In the end, i had to split my planned second chapter in two because it was almost 10k, so that's fun. Also, I uploaded this fic to Ao3 and I added the tag "Autistic Shouta Aizawa" and I'm the first one to tag that in an X Reader Fic??? I thought it was a popular headcanon lol Anyway, you've waited long enough. I hope you enjoy!

Head hung over porcelain, gloved hands gripped onto the sink. A giant hammer banged against your skull from the inside leaving sparks in its wake. Neurons like shooting stars lived behind your eyes. “Sparks…” You gulped back nausea. 

Murky puddles of colors blurred together. Light blue stalls behind you, slightly opened, but empty. A massive void leered through the mirror with slivers of red. Hunched, panting over the counter. Burning wounds spreading out, conquering the rest of your cold skin. Not so different from the last time you needed a healing quirk. Cold, clammy, and disgustingly pitiful in one of the dark backrooms of your agency–because doing paperwork was better than being by your lonesome with nothing. The main difference this time around was the mortification that came with breaking down in a high school bathroom.  

You were going to smack Akari for what she put you through.

The thought stabilized your shaky breath. You straightened your body, your hands still grasping the counter. The pressure released from the stab wound. It steadied you and you were grateful.

The last thing you needed to add on this little business trip was a reunion with Recovery Girl. She had first-hand encounters of your nonsense. Dealing with the aftermath of you being a menace to society— or “younger” if someone wanted to be polite—more times then you can count. You went to her office a lot–sometimes for yourself. Sometimes. It didn’t matter if you started more “advanced” in your class, you weren’t immune to scraps, bruises, or the occasional slip up during training. Other times, it was for other classmates. Some you sent her way after battle trials, but other times you popped in to take supplies then ran out.

One time you asked when she was going to retire, she said whatever the Japanese equivalent was for “until I croak”. That was after she threatened you with her cane, but you laughed it off like the cocky child you were. You thought even if she could land a hit, it wouldn’t hurt that bad. After all this time, it’d be disappointing to tell her you got in a fight and lost at your big age. Maybe she’ll try hitting you with her cane again, you thought. She’d have an easier time now.

But no. Dealing with the effects of one healing quirk was enough. The risks of getting her involved drowsiness at best, or possible death before the investigation gets shot down at worst. Investigation aside, it’s becoming apparent your healing process isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The itches, the burning… no one is in this bathroom with you, but you’re burning beneath cold skin. Someone who sees you on the street can say: “It’s only been two days! Walking around, catching a flight, that’s a MIRACLE for only two days!” 

However, that’s the problem. It’s already been two days. With the healing quirk, you’re supposed to be at least 75%, but you’re not pushing fifty. 

Removing your hands from the sink, you brought them to your sides. It was hard to know where one pain starts and where the other ends. Everything burns and your body is compelling you to turn around and throw up nothing.  You flexed shaking fingers into fists. Your stomach was turning inward. It’s been a while since you ate. Perhaps you should’ve brought something on your way here. Even if it was stopping at a konbini and picking up one of those stupid-ass nutrition cookies Aizawa used to eat for lunch every day of the week. You swallowed, shaking your head. Food can wait. You can wait three hours. If you eat, you’re going to stay nauseous and dizzy anyway… unless you do something about it.

With a shaking breath, you glanced over your shoulder then at the door. There was no charge down your spine, so no people were close by either. You flexed your hands again, eyes closed, counting your fingers rhythmically. The sparks died down. The pain became more discernible. Abdomen still fresh and oven-hot. Knuckles chaffed, raw, and bruised. Your legs: thighs sore from jumping during the mission, your left knee ached, and the top side of your right foot was especially tender. Your shoulders, your back, behind your head. 

You kept the rhythm until your lungs demanded release. When you exhaled, the pain dwindled. Not completely. Warmth still lied below your skin, at a near simmer. When you opened your eyes though, the blacks and reds weren’t blurred together. They were a clear, albeit crooked mess. You fixed the red arm guards first. When that was done, you had enough energy to fix the rest of your uniform. 

Daring to move around, you inspected your fixed outfit further. When it passed inspection, you grabbed your briefcase below the paper towel dispenser to your right. Hitching your breath, you reached for the black handle. Your right leg carried all the weight to avoid setting off a potential mine-field of injury. At first contact, you swung the case on top of the sink then opened it. There were many compartments at the top, one housed a phone the boss gave you, since your old one was collateral damage. There were few numbers inside the cell. Only the ones you thought were most important to include. One of them was for the agency medic, which you cleverly titled as “Medic” to make sure you don’t call more than necessary. 

This development with his quirk, unfortunately, was necessary. Rocks filled your stomach. Your mouth feels like you ate gravel. You can hear his reaction to telling him his ‘all powerful quirk’ wasn’t helping like a future sense. He’d make the concussion he diagnosed you with worse if you called.

Wanting to grip the phone harder, you clenched your teeth. This whole thing was stupid. You could’ve kept your guard up. You could’ve stood up, knife be damned, and run after Akari. Stopped her. Asked her what the hell she was talking about— All these choices you could’ve made–all those years of training, and you still got a concussion. Seven minutes passed when you finished typing your little update. It was better to give him a heads up now. It helps against accusations of Akari annihilating your brain cells at the fight.

The next person you contacted was Athena, your Support Expert. It hasn’t been long, but you needed an update on something. Even if it was just your uniform and equipment. 

The message itself was quick. Though, you couldn’t help following up by asking if she knew anything about one of the crime scenes. You then thanked her, again. Heaven knows you keep her busy when you need new equipment. During the past two years alone, you’ve asked a lot from her. Whether you needed a new arm guard, gauntlet, or a whole new uniform, she came through every time. It’s hard to get an SE who specializes specifically in power-based quirks. From what you’ve experienced, and heard from other heroes, most SEs don’t appreciate their designs getting decimated. Their creations are children in their eyes. Athena’s creations aren’t as precious in her eyes, by comparison. She has a spreadsheet dedicated to how long until the creations get busted. Keeping up with these records is her research. It changed constantly, telling her what works and when she needs to switch things up. 

You should bring her something when all this is over, you thought. She deserved something nice. Something that says “I’m sorry for wrecking all the support items you made me during my missions, you’re the best SE ever!”

The phone went back inside of its compartment, next to the pouch where five hologram disks were held. A surge of panic came through you. Thinking of the horrific scenario of traveling all this way and forgetting essential items for your visit today. You tore open the pouch. Heart in your ears and heat crawling out your back. Two disks were labeled, three were not. “CS1” and “CS2” were in the pouch. Good. You glanced at the other objects in the case, double checking everything was there before you met up with the principal. Folders, notebooks, paperwork, until relief washed over you in a cool wave. Closing the briefcase, running your hand across the leather. Slowing down to trace the broken heart emblem, similar to the one on your breastplate.

Your power won’t get rid of the hammers in your skull, or the itch around stitch wire, but the thick material will prevent you from scratching. Plus, no one else would know about the other bumps and bruises beneath. 

You got this.

Leaving the bathroom, you pulled out Hizashi’s instructions one more time. They were less blurry and a bit easier to understand. You may actually have a chance to get out of the maze disguised as your alma mater. Ironically enough, before you could turn the corner, a white rat-bear-dog shorter than a yard-stick— wearing a black vest, blocky, yellow shoes, and had a gangster scar across his eye—came around. “There you are! It really has been a long time,” he greeted, like you’ve seen him before. He didn’t give you time to respond to him, he just explained how he waited at the meeting spot until it occurred to him how long it’s been since you were a student. The principal also made many changes since the time you graduated, which he insisted on showing you. This welcoming gesture forced you to tail him around the floor, instead of simply going to the meeting spot. You didn’t like the idea of walking around, not with that flare up earlier. You were still abnormally sore. But he can’t know that. You squared your shoulders, nodded your head, and quietly marched on.

There weren’t many rooms to make note of. Most of them were regular classrooms. You already saw where the current classroom for 1-A was before you ran into Aizawa. Apparently your old classroom is being used for one of the first year general education courses. The principal asked if you’d like to look inside. You declined the offer politely. At the end of the day, it was just a room. Another room with desks, windows, and a chalkboard in the front. What more did you need to see? You didn’t explain that last part, obviously, and the principal went on talking about other changes around the school.

At one point, he interrupted himself, stopping in front of one of the other doors. This time he didn’t ask you before opening it. “And here is my office.” The principal revealed a room with a giant window behind a desk. The orange light from the rising sun shone through the window casting deep shadows on the office furniture. If you stepped closer, you’d see everything outside the window. The brightness made you queasy. You opted to focus on the gray couch instead. “It looks a little different compared to the last conversation we had here,” he commented.

‘Last conversation,’ you wondered. Then it hit you.

This principal wasn’t new.

 Your principal never left UA. How you forgot your principal having a gangster-scar, you weren’t sure. There was no one like him. Absolutely no one that you’ve met. 

Muffled words and a shadow in front of a stark blue window came to mind. Paws holding stacks of paper, hitting them against the desk to straighten them out. Were you supposed to add on to what he said? Were you supposed to apologize? He didn’t look unhappy.

But you could be wrong. Would it be a surprise if this was an act? Taking you on this walk so you’d waste your time telling him everything? You looked to the right and left side of the hallway. If the resources weren’t valuable then you’d walk yourself out first. 

The principal didn’t follow up his statement with anything about the past or the future. He closed the door to his voice and rambled his way to nothing. He probably wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you were too confused to give him one. 

After a while, the stitches got tighter. And tighter. And your legs were becoming sore. Of course, you clenched your jaw to keep quiet. If he caught on, he’ll send you to Recovery Girl then bye-bye. She hits you with her cane and Nezu could press a button to eject you from the building.

Honestly, where was Hizashi? You knew he was supposed to be busy with work last night, but he said he’d be here for the meeting. It was supposed to start soon and you don’t want to be in a room alone with a passive-aggressive rat-bear-principal. Maybe he was telling Nemuri you were in town. 

Or maybe he would try to find Shouta and they could all be talking right now! Aizawa would tell him about you leaving him in the hallway, saying you were rude, demanding to know what’s going on. Aizawa was pushy enough. Hizashi would tell him about how you called him, hurt and asking for help. Despite Hizashi’s best intentions, Aizawa could use this information to raise doubt against you in the meeting. Get rid of you before you become a problem, his problem. 

You needed to find Hizashi before that could happen.

As luck would have it, the tour was coming to an end. The last stop led to a blond man leaning against a door down the hall with his arms crossed. A blond man with a punk rock style and a speaker around his neck. A blond that bounced his knee impatiently because he couldn’t bear standing still. 

Hizashi!

His head snapped in your direction. He, like a ray of sunshine, grinned ear to ear. “And look here, folks!” Hizashi rushed toward you, “coming out of the cage, ready for her GRAND COMEBACK–” you gripped your briefcase tighter, your eyes wide and almost bouncing, expecting impact. Hizashi pivoted around you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s the Queen of Terror, Pro-Hero STRIFE!”

It’s been over five years since you’ve seen him in person, longer since he’s called you by your hero name. You beamed, he was here. In the same room, not across the world. You thought of hugging him, but stopped when you remembered your old principal was still here.

Hizashi moved closer, leaning into your face without such reservations. The amber reflection of your uniform was in his sunglasses. His hand dragged across your shoulder where the raised mending peaked. He looked toward the principal with his hand on the side of his mouth, like he was trying to tell you a secret. “I was waiting forever,” he fake-scolded, loud enough for the third party to hear.

Glancing at the principal, you saw he was watching the two of you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were blank. You stepped out of Hizashi’s grasp, standing properly. “I had trouble with the directions.”

“What? Getting rusty after being away for so long?” Heat rose to your ears. Of course you were going to be rusty. Did he really have to tease you about it now? “She really knows how to keep her fans at the edge of their seat,” he said to the principal casually, like he wasn’t Hizashi’s boss.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the principal responded, making you aware of the side eye you were giving to your old friend. “I was giving Strife a tour of this floor. After all, I’m proud of the changes I made to UA since your graduating class. I couldn’t resist showing off to one of my former students. Strife has certainly grown from that child I remember.”

Hizashi agreed with your old principle with a joke. “I hope that’s a good thing.” But you know there’s no good way to interpret the statement. Not with what he said when he showed you his office. Who brings up a time where they had to talk with you in a GOOD way? It’s like when your parents brought up how one of your dad’s coworkers caught you sneaking a cookie from the agency's break room when you were supposed to stick to a meal plan. Like, “oh, we sure hope you have better impulse control compared to when you were eight, even if you do, we’re going to reference this story over and over again so you never forget your moral failure!” He’s wearing yellow sneakers with formal wear, why is he passive-aggressive!

The conversation didn’t go further, thankfully. “There is time before the meeting, I’m going to set up. Feel free to catch up here in the meantime,” said the principal. You both thanked him as he went into the room. The nausea came back at the sight of the wooden swirls closing, your heart was starting to pound. After all, maybe he was planning to air it out with an audience, you couldn’t know for sure with his emotionless eyes.

“Did you really not have nicer clothes,” Hizashi asked, breaking you out of your trance. He was loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Your nose scrunched. “The damage wasn’t THAT bad…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I’m not talking about the damage. Last time I saw you, there was more…” Hizashi held his hand out, waving it toward your body. He went through a jumble of words before he decided on one. “Color.”

The last time he saw you in person, you were twenty-four and in-between agencies again. He was celebrating the first anniversary of his show being picked up for a radio channel. After celebrating the anniversary, he took a short vacation out of the country. It was the first time he was allowed since his career started. When Hizashi finally arrived in the States, you wore a uniform. It had less hard armor and was more red. Red breast plate with your black broken-heart emblem, which resembled that old Pac-Man arcade game. Gauntlets with red finger and knuckle pieces and armguards to contrast the black base of the gloves. Some other details like the center of your knee and elbow pads, the tips of your boots, your utility belt, and other lines and trims followed,

Vibrant color bounced off the void background. In comparison, your current outfit was– 

“You look like a common mall goth.” You tilt your head at him. Before you can say anything about calling you “common”, he continued. “Actually it’s worse!” Hizashi stepped closer to put his hands on your shoulders, pressing into the raised mark on the left. He leaned closer to your ear–was he always this touchy? He whispered, “you look emo.”

You punished him back, somewhat gently. “Hizashi, what the hell,” you said in English. Why was he making you worried over nothing! And calling you emo…

He laughed, wagging his finger at you like you were some brat. “Nuh uh uh. It’s Mic. We’re professionals and we’re working.”

“What do you mean ‘professionals’? What was professional about that!”

“I’m a radio host too, I have to play it to the crowd!”

You scanned the halls. “Where!” No one was here! A thud echoed across the empty hallway. In your confusion, you accidentally threw your briefcase across the hall. You stupidly remember the rule ‘no yelling in the hall!’ rule as black leather slid across the purple floor. Oops… You sigh as the briefcase spins to a stop.

Mic continued laughing. You grumbled, giving him your back as you approached the briefcase. To think, you considered hugging him earlier. The man walked behind you. “Don’t be so stiff!” You stared at the briefcase, almost rolling your eyes, he had no idea. You pondered how you were going to pick it up. If you did it the same way as you did in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. And dorky. 

His eyes were on you, you could feel it. If you waited too long then Mic would volunteer to get it for you. That would make him ask questions though. “Right,” you broke the silence before he could. You squatted with bated breath to pick up the briefcase. Your knee almost popped and you wanted to tear into the wound, but you weren’t going to tell Mic that. Not now, at least. 

Somewhere more private. AFTER you were sure he wouldn’t talk to Aizawa about anything. But first, you’d need to say you met him earlier and it didn’t go well. You can save Mic the drama, not going into specifics. Other than that, what’s one more thing to the pile? He’s in the dark about Akari, for now. He didn’t need to know Akari was the reason why you called him from your medic’s phone the other day, right this minute. You’ll have to go over everything in the meeting anyway, so why waste time?

“I would’ve gotten that,” said Mic.

“But you didn’t.” You shot back, harsher than you meant to. “It’s fine. I forgive you,” you stated with a pouty lip. You hoped the joke would mitigate the unintended force of your words. Mic probably didn’t notice, or he thought it was simply the set up to the punchline. “What have you been up to?”

Mic gave you an elaborate update on the past few weeks. His summer was busy since the Sports Festival. As usual, he was booked out when it came to the radio host and DJ gigs during the beginning of summer break. He told you all positive things. Dancing around All Might’s retirement as Number 1 Hero. You imagined he’d describe it as a certified downer if you asked. “...and our first years are about to go for their license!” Mic posed his hands in the rock and roll gesture.

“Wow, already? We had to wait until second year.”

“Because of all the villain attacks. It was decided it’d be better for the students to protect themselves without waiting for a hero’s permission.” There were no bells or whistles attached to the explanation. His hand gestures were minimal as well. While the idea of first years becoming skilled enough to get their license at a young age was impressive, there was no argument the circumstances weren’t ideal. First years shouldn’t have to deal with villains yet, but they have multiple times. Even in America, the youngest an applicant had to be was 17 to get their license. One of the perks of going to UA was being able to expedite the process and get your license when you were 16. You couldn’t imagine letting 15 year olds take the test in America. ”If you’ve watched the Sports Festival, then you know they’ll CRUSH it!” He punctuated the statement with his signature “YEAH!”, putting his hands in the air for extra dazzle. 

A beat passed and he broke his pose, asking if you watched the Sports Festival. The question wasn’t as pumped compared to his previous statement. Guilt struck you. Another month’s gone by and you still haven’t watched your friends on International Television. “It’s okay if you didn’t!” He responded, obviously concerned.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched it by now. Work’s been crazy for months. I had to cancel TV because it was wasting money.”

Mic shrugged, with a relaxed expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I can give you the highlight reel while you're in town. But seriously, you had to cancel TV? You need to give it a rest!” 

“No, you have four jobs. I have no excuse–”

“Details!” Mic brushed off your response with his hand. “Y’know…” Mic’s hand went to his face to rub his chin. “You could help out with the first years with the exam. If you have time for it, it could be another paycheck and you can hang out with me,” he finished like you were a kid motivated by cookies.

You raised your eyebrow and shifted your weight to your back leg. “First you say “give it a rest” and now you want to give me more work?” He posed glamorously then switched to another with that somewhat implied you giving him a high-five, but it didn’t look quite right. “Not everyone can multitask like you, Mic.”

“I’m just saying you have the experience. You judged the licensing exams a crazy amount of times—and you mentored young heroes before.”

 “I didn’t do any judging this year, and there’s a difference between the American licensing exam and the one here. Also, those heroes already graduated from their program, and I only helped them because I had to. I’m not a good mentor, and, from what you said, I’m sure whoever’s teaching the first years are doing fine on their own.”

Mic paused with his mouth slightly open. His teeth clenched. “About that–”

A colorful blur caught the corner of your eye, but it was too late. A massive weight slammed into your body. The briefcase flew from your hand. What the hell! Your throat squeezed, choking down any sound you could’ve made. First there was shock. Then fire. Then pain. Every. Single. Type. 

Everything burned and your bones rattled you from the inside. You had to get this off! You wrapped your arms around, ready to pick up and throw it down the next floor. 

Your shoulder shrieked back at the embrace, your legs weren’t fairing with the shift either. In this split-second processing of your senses, it was apparent the weight was particularly squishy in certain places. It had purple hair as well, and she was absolutely thrilled to see you.

Your eyes widened. You lifted Nemuri, having stopped midway from slamming her to the ground. Her stomach was at your eye-level as she laughed with joy. That was good, you set her down., her heels clicking on the floor. You could’ve really hurt her. “--didn’t tell me you were coming to town–got you at the airport! Look at YOU!” The squishiness against your body left, replaced by an ecstatic Nemuri squeezing your face. Fingers pressed your cheeks enough to make your lips puff out. You tried to respond to Nemuri, but you might as well have your mouth full of cookies. The questions kept coming. After a bunch of non-answers, Nemuri took her hands off. Of course it was sore, but it was nothing like the rest of you. Unlike with Mic, you KNEW Nemuri was this touchy. This happened so many times a single memory became a cluster of events. 

She turned out of your hold, pointing at Mic aggressively. “Did you know our friend was coming here and NOT tell ME!” 

The scene was soon drowned out by your beating heart. Mic’s sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a panicked expression toward Nemuri. He held out your briefcase to shield himself from the heat of the backlash. He was talking fast, explaining himself. You pressed your lips tightly in contrast. If they weren’t then you’d pant like you did earlier. 

Nausea arrived once again like a recurring nightmare. Placing your hand over the stitches to push through the thick material did nothing. As predicted, the pain couldn’t be snuffed out. Keeping your face neutral was an uphill battle between scalding heat and pure annoyance.

Screeching thoughts scolded you to ‘stop scratching!’

Then the surge came.

Mic and Midnight were focused on each other. One was mad, one was somewhat scared. It gave you something to work with. Your breath deepened as you flexed your palm against your uniform. Once again the pain separated and simmered down. The only agony on the surface was the itchiness of your wound. It wasn’t perfect. You just had to bear with it—the healing process. 

And watch out for any other attacks from your friends.

The hand on your abdomen balled into a fist. An invisible knife stabbed back inside the wound. Hopefully, the pressure could substitute the need to claw at your skin until your insides spilled into a puddle on the floor. 

Before you got comfortable, something to your left burned through you. Not from a wound, or your quirk. Someone watched you down the corridor. Turning your head, you lowered the invisible knife.

“Aizawa,” Mic called out to him, but didn’t get a response. Aizawa’s attention was on you. Did he see what you did? There was no way he saw the whole situation, you thought. Just when you shanked yourself with the imaginary shiv. Even if he brought it up, so what? It was weird, not illegal. “Look who’s here, isn’t this exciting!” Mic continued. The way Aizawa kept staring you down made it clear he was expecting you to flinch. Maybe you weren’t doing something illegal just now, but he can say you stormed off from him. Which is worse in this context. A lot worse. 

Aizawa tucked a blue file folder he was looking over into his arm with the others. “We saw each other earlier,” he responded coldly. He wasn’t excited to see you. Not today. Not ever. You stood your ground, waiting for him to tell them you walked out on him again, but it never came. He moved past, preferring not to be in the same room with you more than he had to.

“That’s it! C’mon don’t be like that! How often do you get to see an old buddy?”

“Just stay for a minute!”

He continued on his path, not responding to any of their pleas until he reached the door handle. “The meeting is starting soon. Don’t block the door.” He went inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an echo.

“Harsh…” Mic said.

Midnight turned to you. “I thought he’d be happier,” she said wistfully. You don’t blame her for hoping.

You shrugged, lifting your hands. ‘It is what it is,’ you thought, not quite remembering a good translation.

Midnight hummed. Mic moved on from the initial shock, opting to check out the detailing on your briefcase. No follow up questions from either of them. Throughout the years, there was never a time either of them mentioned Aizawa being their coworker. Not that you should care. They didn’t have to tell you anything about what he was up to. If he wanted you to know he could’ve told you himself. Whatever he did was none of your business, so why would they tell you?

Maybe they should’ve. It certainly would’ve avoided this mess. Although, the thought didn’t cross Mic’s mind. He probably heard the muffled yells of the medic for you to give his phone back and dived in with no questions. No hesitation. 

Nonetheless, he could’ve warned you about Aizawa in the email he sent you after. Did he think you wouldn't come back if you knew ahead of time—if you knew Aizawa would be here? Probably not, but damn, dude, give a warning.

Midnight broke through your thoughts, asking how long you were planning to stay. She comments on the tension without any out of pocket comparisons to the devil’s tango. You reassured her you should be gone in two weeks. If you were going to do your research here, no doubt it would be uncomfortable for her and Mic if that’s how you’re going to interact with their friend. “I hope we can do something while you’re here. It’ll be fun,” Midnight offered half-heartedly. Even if you sucked at keeping contact for the past year, she was still nice to you. Although, it’s doubtful you two would have time for each other while you were investigating and she does her jobs.

“Count me in!” Mic puts his free arm around your shoulders, he doesn’t add any pressure, but your arms squeezed into your ribs at the unintentional threat. Like one wrong move and your skin would seer through kevlar and leather. “We have to grab a bite!”

Your ears perk up, stomach coming to the forefront of your thoughts. You were drooling at the thought of finally being able to eat some bomb-ass food.

The passage of time went faster with the distracting fantasy. Not long after agreeing to Mic’s invitation of food, and having to hear a long list of places you couldn’t go to this very moment, the meeting was close to a start–made apparent by the next pro hero arriving to the meeting room. Your friends introduced you to another one of their coworkers, Snipe, who was dressed as a cowboy and actually packed heat.

The lovely thoughts and curiosity came to a halt upon entering the room. Aizawa glared at you for disrupting him from reading what he had in those folders. Without breaking eye contact you reached toward Mic so he could give you back your briefcase, so you could put it down somewhere. 

Aizawa went back to his folders, rubbing his temple like your presence alone vexes him. You chose to place it in the corner of the room by a potted plant. You were careful not to grunt as you squatted. Ignoring the pain, you swiped the pattern on the briefcase, for good luck even if you hardly believe in such a thing. 

Call it habit or instinct, but you glanced over your shoulder after. Of course, there was Aizawa. He eyeballed you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You clenched your jaw as you stood up again, adjusting your uniform before walking back toward Mic toward the center of the room. If Aizawa saw an opportunity, an opening to get rid of you, he’d pounce. 

[exonerin]

4, 11, and 17 from the writer question list please 🤗

Thank you so much! Here's the list with the questions! I had so much fun with these questions. Don't feel pressured to read all the nonsense here. There's a lot.

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

In general, I think 'foodstuffs' is a delightful word. It must be my favorite. But a concerning trend is the word 'haltingly', which has been popping up in my fics, and I can't rest until I've used it once in each fic. I'm also a repeat offender of 'however'. I always overuse that word in my fics.

In speech, it would be 'right' according to one of my friends, who I've driven slightly insane (my bad).

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

Never kill the darlings.

Simple rule. Yet, people keep killing their darlings. Mark my word, you will regret killing your darlings. It's better to pull a Maul on them. Make them suffer, it's so much more interesting than killing them.

Also, I would feel too guilty about killing them. I don't know. I've never killed a darling, even when I wrote original stuff.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

When I saw that number, I grinned because you are going to regret this question. Let me place a Keep Reading for a good reason.

When I finished my last fic, I got into one of those little spirals again. Where nothing I start writing or return to captures my interest or is good enough. And so I returned to three very old fics.

And the one I'm mainly working on now is called sandcat. That has been its WIP title for... 1? 2? years now. It's Picking Up Stray's ancestor.

It's the cat!Anakin fic that started it all. But unlike Picking Up Strays, the timeline is convoluted, the plot is currently still in shambles, and it will be long(er). Picking Up Strays was easy to write in the sense that the shorter the fic the less luggage you're lugging around. There're fewer plot points to tie up and you actually remember most of the stuff you wrote. Hence, less inconsistencies.

sandcat (and I'm tentatively calling it DAUNTLESS for reasons I will not spoil but am super excited about) is one of those fics I've really wanted to write for a long time but didn't know whether I could pull it off.

Now, the WIP title is sandcat (only because I couldn't find it parked between fics sw_1, sw1, SW1, and star_wars1) because Anakin is a sand cat. I love sand cats. They're adorable, and you can't tell the kittens apart from the adults, so I get to shamelessly write kitten! Anakin. But yes, I watched a short BBC(?) documentary on sand cats a few years back. When I saw the sand cat, my first thought was Anakin. But more like 9-year-old Anakin at the time. I mean, come on, the blonde fur and the big blue eyes. It's basically Anakin. But looking at a cat and going; 'someone must name these cuties Felis margarita Anakinus' is not, in fact, a fic. And I've gone through many iterations of this fic trying to make a story out of sand cat Anakin. My main problem is the timeline. I had to place this fic on the timeline, and I had 23 years to pick from, each with their advantages and disadvantages.

On the note of material that gets scrapped: sand cat Anakin curling up with baby Luke. It's such a shame to see that bit go, but alas, I've already deleted it because I have different plans.

But we're getting there. By which I mean to say, I only have 9k so far, but give me a few weeks, and we'll have something. When you get past the first 10k, you know you have a fic. Typically, it's most difficult to have a vision beyond that initial burst of inspiration that's typically just a hook.

Now, this fic will mostly be on Tatooine. Listen, I can't spoil the fic here because this thing is convoluted for a reason!! I love introducing little secrets at the start of the fic that I only reveal later on. Not plot twists but you-could-have-guessed-it-twists. And little jokes (but no one ever spots them because they're so small and refer to a single sentence uttered by a background character like 20k back), which I tend to forget about myself, too.

Anyway, it's Tatooine. Also, I've been greatly enjoying rewatching a certain series lately, which has Tatooine as backdrop for part of its six episodes. So, that's the timing.

I've also been taking color-coded notes on the fight between Ben and Vaderkin in the last episode. A lot of my fics use/recycle dialogue from the shows and movies.

I'm not sure how many people notice how much dialogue I recycle. And I've been spending way too much time rewatching the confrontation on Mustafar and jotting down notes.

But sandcat is going to be my greatest offender yet. I'm also doing some fun stuff with placement of things across the page.

Don't worry, it'll still be readable. In fact, I'm using placement on the page to make this fic more readable. It's something I want to work on. My sentences then to sway a bit, which makes the whole thing a bit jerky (I hope that makes sense), and I want it to be smoother and more focused.

But anyway. The next fic you'll see from me is sandcat. Because writing 18k of cat!Anakin didn't scratch my itch.

If you're wondering about the other two:

sort of fake dating in the GFFA with the Jedi encouraging 'healthy attachments' to get better press. Anakin and Obi-Wan get in a really confusing fake/real relationship because they're both idiots. And the Temple explosion wipes out Anakin's room, so they're sharing a bed, which adds to the fake/real part. Listen they're both pining idiots.

A modern AU (I know, shocking) in which Star Wars is a video game, Obi-Wan is a veteran on the scene and Anakin the crazy talented newbie. Obi-Wan's looking for reasons to quit, Anakin makes that impossible. Together, they wreak havoc on the servers. Because Team Jedi and Team Sith are not supposed to team up.

I think I have shared a good amount of details. Next week, I'll probably do a WIP Wednesday. Unless I forget. I often forget.

[lord-shitbox]

joy log 3/4 a bitch forgets

came up with good jais smut scenarios

i am very comfortable going back and forth on skates now! working on being able to go up and down those transitions from sidewalk to asphalt that have the bumps on them but theyre not too hard if you're brave about it

tried on a shirt havent worn since like. pretransition. it makes my shoulders and tits look fantastic

been listening to BMTH again lately :)

kool-aid is so ais. mother tongue is so ais. teardrops is so jangle and ais. cmon baby cry by orville peck is so jangle and ais. beg by vana is so jangle and ais,

had a fun chat with discord user Peen Named Bimbo about multivariable calculus

had a nice self-realization that ill make into a comic sooner or later. maybe while im at work if its not busy

changed my sheets AND showered so i slept fresh as fuck

bought like 3 reference books on a subject ive been wanting to read more on for a while

my collar & my inexcusable evil sample should get here next week !!!

buddy is still planning on going to an event i wanna attend so i can go there and hover in their shadow to feel less like a scared animal the whole time yaay

saw a person i KNOW i met very briefly at a rave once on the street. insane. i go to local events so obviously the people there are also local and we'll cross paths now and then but like. damn wow what. this is the second time

beginning to think. the people i talk to regularly...kinda like me ?.... ???? ???

oh i had ideas on how to finish the chapter of the jaingle fic im working on. i really need to end it i only need like one paragraph to bridge it to the rest that ive already planned out maybe i can do it at work today

twas on monday but therapist pointed out ive been doing good work with one of my goals. so good for me

i will take TWO calculus classes next term :)

jangle/ais ideas document is now 10k words long.

oh a number of my IG followers liked the stories i posted about them. & my grandma gave me advice i'll use to translate the comic im neglecting whenver i..... finish it,,,,.(lowkey might have to redo a panel or two but it's more than half sketched/lined as is !!)

[zorossugarmama]

Late night post from me!

It’s currently 4am for me and I’m kinda skimming through my Daughter of the Whitebeard Pirates fanfic and (I knew from the beginning) I’m seeing some inconsistencies with the reader and their background and just a general disorganization of the character. Granted this is a first draft that I’m posting straight to AO3 and usually my fanfics don’t get edited after the first draft but considering this one has almost reached 10k views I feel a little more obligated to go through and make a full edit. Maybe even reorganize the characters past so that it seems a little more believable. As well as just make sure the things they say makes sense and doesn’t sound so jumbled at the moment.

I’d also like to note that though this fanfic is made for the general audience I am kinda life dumping on it heavily. Which to be honest you guys probably don’t care. However, it’s kinda how I write in general. It’s like therapy for me just because I hate talking to people about it.

This fanfic also wasn’t initially supposed to be apart of a larger series I have planned but I decided when I was writing Part Two to say “why not”. Essentially I’m playing around with a broader character development and world building stuff with a much larger plot I have planned which is why the fanfic kinda delves into more fantasy based scenes. Kind of like a little twist to the whole One Piece universe. (If you’re following my account you’ll see when I post my MHA Fanfic!)

Anyways, there are also other scenes I’d like to add to chapters that have already been posted. Things that elaborate or show just how reckless the reader can be. Right now, I don’t think that the story does it justice in its current state. The main example would be expanding on Part One. It’s only ten chapters now but I feel like I could add more scenes that kind of delve into the character more and show kinda how aloof and reckless they can be. Not only will this bolster the story but it will also make sense for a lot of the things in currently posting.

Additionally, I actually never intended for this fic to be 40+ Chapter long and nothing more than 20K words but here we are at 120K words! I like this story and the timeline it’s running so far. I just want to clean it up so it makes more sense and is basically presentable for other readers who may find reading unorganized and confusing fics annoying.

Considering that I want to be a published author one day this would be an excellent opportunity and exercise. I’m deeply grateful for all the love and attention it’s getting considering I decided to write it on a whim.

[snowfairie]

things i’ve recently manifested that i would’ve NEVER thought i had a few years ago

- the biggest thing being my dream apartment, and it’s BETTER than what i imagined!!! balcony, my own washing machine and dryer, 2 bedroom, a TUB tub, spacious kitchen, and more! it’s so fun decorating into the pink beauty it’ll become AND only $800 a month! so so thankful to have my apartment and to have a space of my own AND it was pet friendly so i could take my dog AND my neighbors and landlord are angels. love life sm

- 10k added to my bank account and i’m super thankful and excited for that! i plan on using some of it on my apartment but also using it to travel.

- going to japan for a week for free on my birthday AND DID!! outside of the plane tickets which were DIRT cheap for first class, anything i spend money on was just cause i wanted too. my hotel was paid for, any major restaurants i wanted to go to were paid for, the whole thing! i only remember spending money on random shops i found, this small nail business bc she did gorgeous nail sets for the low so i had to pay AND tip, and my round trip ticket tbh. everything else was covered and words don’t exist to express my gratitude and gratefulness, living my life freely is a blessing.

- my relationship! actually a throuple! yea.. LOL and all the corners touch this IS challengers. i love both my boyfriends dearly, and thankfully we don’t live together atm but i am grateful for them and i did take them with me for my birthday week! (having 2 boyfriends that are also boyfriends ain’t for the weak, tashi was onto sumn)

- a successful business launch, my clothing brand launched nearly a month ago and i’ve been doing great ever since, the launch was AMAZING and i’ve already sold out one of my items! i have a magazine coming out as well to help support the clothes and its all super exciting, everything is falling into place so beautifully

so those are a few of the more recent manifestations i’ve had and again i’m tremendously thankful!

[wannabegwenstacy]

Writing Ideas:

okay, so this is what's gonna happen. i'm feeling manic and i got some free time from work and school currently. sooo..i'm gonna throw out a few ideas/teasers for some stuff i have in my drafts. if you like please tell me so i have some motivation to finish or even keep working on these ideas. thank you! ;)

Enrapture;

wordcount: currently at 8k...will most likely be over 10k and this planned to be part 1

pairing: Jimin x Taehyung x Fem. Reader/OC

tags: smut, fluff, childhood friends to friends w/ benefits to lovers, established relationship (friendship!), flashbacks, talk of college mayhem,

warnings: 18+ NSFW Smut, Alcohol Consumption, Talk of the Pandemic and Quarantine (it's set during the pandemic and the characters are in quarantine for part of it), talk of poor mental health (abandonment issues and some other stuff), masurbation, nudism, oral (m & f), nipple piercing (reader has them, vmin suck them), hair pulling (m), cock riding of the reverse kind, Taehyung has got a big dick but that's a given, cum eating, lazy eiffel tower..kinda, slight voyeurism, jimin at one point gives himself a hand job.

summary: When you you ended up moving in with your two best friends of 9 years to quarantine together during the pandemic the last thing you expected was to discover more about them than you thought you already knew. You knew everything there was to know about these boys so why does it feel so weird when one night after your celebration of quarantine being lifted when you wake up in one their beds all three of you together? this should be fine but it was far from just fine like you told them. This could change everything.

notes: i have been writing this for like 2+ years off and on. it's the first thing in my drafts lol like I add on and change things constantly. i want to finish it but this is the reason of my writers block/not posting. so i would love to get it out but i struggle.

The Boyz as College AUs

wordcount: sangyeon's aint even finished and its already 1.6k of bullet points. i have 11 members to write ranging from 1k - 2k words each..

tags: suggestive, maybe smut idk yet, fluff, crack, college au, very trope-y, i fell first but they feel harder trope, right person wrong time trope, slow burn bullet point style for most, slice of life, enemies to lovers!, best friends to lovers, okay you know what just assume probably every trope will be covered

warnings: possible smut..mdni, okay umm actual smut i just reread jacob's when making this 👀, talks of heavy anxiety, very cheesy, most likely all written lowercase on purpose, wip so not 100% sure of every thing yet

summary: this is gonna be formatted like my Bangtan in Bed thing I did years ago but more fluffy not so smutty. Pretty self explanatory but The boyz as College AUs! meaning how I imagine each of the boyz if you met them in another life in college.

notes: this one is my newest one in my drafts so it might take the most time to finish. might be a series but might be a master post we will see!

Bangtan in Bed: Jeon Jungkook | NSFW

wordcount: i usually do around 1k for these

tags: smut..and more smut

warnings: (this is the warnings i had from where i left off writing this part over a year ago. subject to change.) baby boy kookie, massages, dry humping, strong senses, sensory play, mood setting, daredevil kookie, risky sex, stamina control, strength kink, wall sex, shower sex, standing up sex, thigh riding, overstimulation (receiving), forced orgasms (receiving), praise kink (receiving), phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation

summary: how jeon jungkook might be in bed based off my opinion!

notes: i haven't touched this in a LONG TIME! I probably need to go back and change a bunch i already written. i also honestly need to go back and edit the other members to kinda see if they still hold up. I did get a request to finish this series a while back and it's been eating at me so that's why this is on here.

[awesomesaucem]

About-Face

Chapter three of The Wanting Comes in Waves (19,651 words)

Marianne stumbles onto more questions than answers as she unwittingly falls into a new routine. Stranger and stranger still, she pries at pieces of this puzzle she didn't want to be a part of in the first place.

Word Count for Chapter: 6,878

Woof what a break! I have returned once again with this fuckery. Also remember that post I made about having at least 10k words this chapter? Yeaaahhhh sorry. Just go ahead and redact all that.

Anyway, I did kinda rush this at the end so sorry if there's some awkward moments here or there. I currently do not have a beta reader (nudge nudge, wink wink) and chatgpt is down so I got zero feedback on this update. Hope its ok oof.

a/n for chapter: me months and months ago: hmm i think i can update on a weekly basis... me now: LMAO BITCH YOU THOUGHT Many apologies and thanks for patience with me here yall. I am alive and well for the most part. Work is painful. School is painful. You know how that goes. To make up for it, you see that handy little chapter number update? yeahhhh shits plotted OUT. So much is planned for this fic it's not even funny anyway BUCKLE UP. THE ANGST WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILLY enjoy, babies. And as always-thank you for reading :)

The clang of workers’ routine stole Marianne from a sleep she wasn’t aware of falling into in the first place. Rattling of pots and pans; scrubbing, scraping. Singing. Nothing like the morning before where there were only leering eyes and sinking feelings. Slicing open the padding beneath her, she slid her knife between the hay and silently prayed over it once again. It’s gone through quite enough with her already, but their knowledge of her treasure could very well mean death. Her breath clouded for a moment, deciding the blanket should join her for the day; not only as extra warmth but she would take all the layers of protection she could get. Still unbound and unwatched, she tried the door only to be met with the raised fist of Steph seemingly about to knock. They both stared in an abashed beat of silence. 

“The Captain sent me,” she offered as explanation. “You’ve been quiet all day.”  

“All day?��� She looked around outside at the hard working crew. “I guess I slept a little late, huh?”

Steph's gaze hardened in both confusion and concern. “You mean you’re just now waking up? We all had lunch a few hours ago. Someone brought you some, but they said you weren’t hungry,” she recalled. Her tone shifted immediately into something more urgent. “Did no one come to check on you? Who did you speak to?” Nearly each word was punctuated with a heavy step forward pushing them both into the room. 

“Uh, I-” Marianne was more confused than intimidated by the rapid interrogation. “I’m not sure.” She thought briefly to her dreamless sleep, not noting any visitors of significance. If someone had spoken in her room, she wasn’t aware of it.  “I don’t remember, I'm sorry.” Steph snatched her wrist in hand and led her to the bed. In the other was a bundle of jars and rags with some metal instruments thrown into the mix as well. 

“Girl’s sorry,” she grumbled under her breath. “Beaten and slept for days, not eating, and she’s sorry.” Her calloused hands lightly tugged the hem of Marianne’s tunic. “Up. I need to look at you.”

Stunned, she shot a glance to the open door and back to Steph in a silent plea. Without even looking behind her, her boot clanged against the wood and shut it with a click. Her brows shot up. Better? they ask. 

Her own shaking hands gripped the edge of her tunic in response and pulled upward to reveal mottled purples and yellows from the days prior. Any scrapes from Roland's boots or the dirty floor were mostly cleaned during last night's bath. Marianne knew time and rest were needed to heal the hurt beneath the surface, but Steph had to make sure. She was expecting far worse if her supplies gave indication, but Marianne meant nothing to her; this was most likely an order from the Captain. But then again, she was a prize to be hand delivered. If she was broken on arrival, someone would surely pay for it. Without a legitimate reason to argue, she allowed her wounds to be dressed. 

Steph worked in trained concentration. Softly yet methodically she prodded at the watercolor of blood beneath skin searching for anything more dire. Mostly she worked in silence except for the occasional hiss from Marianne at a particularly harsh poke which was met by an apologetic hum from her surveyor. Wraps of cloth soaked in liquid smelling strongly of rum and menthol were drug across her ribs and chest, wretching a muffled cry from Marianne as it seeped into any weeping lesions it found. The harsh burn subsided into a warm sting as Steph finally deemed her attentions enough and bound her sternum in fresh cloth.

“That should be enough for now. Nothing I haven’t seen, nothing I can’t mend,” she chatted, packing up her supplies. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” she added.

“I know,” she retorted, keeping her eyes downcast at their hands. 

Steph scoffed at her cockiness, nudging her knuckles lightly against her chin to tilt her gaze skyward.  

“Oh, I know. Quite the tiger you are,” she laughed. “Got the Captain worked up for sure.”

That caught her attention. 

“The Captain,” she began precariously.  “Who is he? I mean who is he really?” The silence that followed was uneasy for the both of them. Cocking her head, she searched for any answer she could find in the stoic woman’s eyes. “You know something. Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. But if there was a time for answers, it would be now. She was tired of being left in the dark. Steph’s cordial demeanor soured immediately into forced professionalism. 

“He is our Captain. What more is there?” A single heavy palm braced the mattress to steady herself as she excused herself from the bed to take her leave. For as strong as she was in a fight, she seemed to turn away from conversation. “Try not to sleep on your right side, girl. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be feelin’ it for a while.”

Marianne nodded, ignoring the defensive change of topic and busied her hands with whatever scraps that ended up left behind. The quick muttering and shuffling at the door caught her attention once more as the very same Captain was at the threshold exchanging knowing looks with Steph as she stepped around him. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind with Marianne.

“So, er,” he scrambled for words at Steph’s leave. “I take it you’re faring much better, then?” 

She rubbed at the phantom twinge of chains that have long since sunk into deep, murky waters and hummed low in her throat. 

“I am.” 

As watched as she felt, she made sure to observe in equal measure the ferine creature whose kindness shown in the decimation of men and possession of their wives. 

“You gave us all quite the scare. I know this is less than ideal, but my will toward you is not unkind if you’ll believe it.”  

Loitering uncomfortably, he continued. 

“Roland joined us today as well. Asking for you.” 

Fear and anger alike bubbled in her throat.

“What words in any of the realms would I have to exchange with that wretch -”

“None,” he yielded a hand to interrupt. “The last thing I need is two extra bodies on board who can’t control themselves. Now get dressed. You’re due to pull some weight around here unless you’d rather join him in the bilge.” 

___

Before she could even think, a week went by. Then another. Day after day of choring, hearty food, and good conversation passed by in a comfortable blur. As it turns out, they were remarkably self-sustainable. Nothing was wasted aboard the ship and everything had a use. They also were thoroughly prepared from the chickens living below deck to the seemingly endless potable water that never refrained from surprising her. Scuppers were even plugged up to collect any rain water and sheep's pelts hung alongside the sails to catch morning dew each day. This plus the two months of fresh water they started with granted them surplus amounts for bathing, washing, or cooking. Much to Marianne’s satisfaction, someone let slip that the Captain was indeed from the mountains and used heavy blocks of ice to immensely extend the lives of their perishables until they melted and joined the stock as well. There are only so many uses you can get from the same water, however. If she wasn’t as exhausted and filthy as she was her first night on board, she would have realized the thin layer of cooking oil that went unnoticed among the soaps before she sunk into it. But she was clean despite any impurities of the water. And more importantly, she was grateful. 

Since it was made very clear she would have a purpose on board after she was able, they wasted no time at all putting her to work. The little experience she had doing work of any kind limited her options of positions, yet they made do with her. Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly skilled labor. Mending and sewing were also available tasks and those too required the skill she was thankful to have. Those less fortunate with the knowledge muttered swears and hisses during their feeble attempts at stitching and took her back to a time when her fingers were also as bandaged up as her newfound friends’. While Brutus wouldn’t mind a needle, his hands weren’t exactly dainty nor dextrous.

As the days turned into nights, her unease gradually dissipated and without her permission she became as tamed as a mangy stray with a full belly. As her aches and pains left, so did her ferocity. One of the shiphands even taught her to play some obscure, backstreet card game where they played for extra pieces of meat and scraps of fabric. She still didn’t quite understand the rules in its entirety, but she seemed to be winning. The other players traded knowing glances which is when she realized they were letting her win, the bastards! They want to play shady? Marianne could play shady. Hamming it up, she trashed a few bluffs and discarded some wilds completely by accident, oh my! and snuck a few more winnings into her pile. This only seemed to egg them on more. If she actually paid attention to the rules, more winnings was actually not how to win, if you would believe it, and she walked away with nothing after all. Her own fault for not expecting pirates to play dirty, really. Grumbling, she pushed away from the crate-turned-table and excused herself to her quarters. One of the more skilled players snuck her a snack or two as she left as thanks for keeping them entertained for a moment or two. Nothing too indulgent. They were known for sneaking a piece of crusty bread or salted meat into their pockets now and again, but she appreciated the gesture all the same. 

She supposed it was time to give these brutes their deserved grace as she’d harshly misjudged them from the start. The very same group that tore a military vessel entirely to pieces was the very same group that looked on her scars and snuck her little things to sink her teeth in. Each passing day became that much more comfortable. That much less spent anticipating the next disaster. Falling into routine proved easier than she could have predicted when she wasn’t constantly fearing for her life. 

More and more was she fully content to stay in this dream and never wake. No more tutors or disapproving glances from her father. No more wondering who she’ll bribe next to let her sneak out night after night. Whether she meant to or not, she had found a funny kind of freedom here at sea. But then again there was still a warm bed at home waiting for her. It was fun to dream, but what happens when the other shoe drops? You’re still a prisoner here. Nothing has changed. Just as a stray never forgets its fight no matter the hand that feeds it, Marianne never forgot her blade still hidden and discrete.  

Her trek back to her chambers was interrupted by clattering somewhere down around the bilge. She wasn’t allowed down in that part of the ship as that was where supplies and Roland of all things were kept, but she didn’t care to explore around the filth anyway. There were only so many potatoes you could look at. The clanging grew louder, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. Suddenly everything halted as Roland himself clamored up to the main deck. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. 

Someone who was so vain about his appearance had never looked more haggard. His clothes were shredded and filthy and plastered to his frame with far too much sweat which showed the awkward angle of his shoulders jutting out from beneath them. Arms bound behind his back, he could do not much else but stare and panic. A long dried trail of blood lined his temple and was flaked away in some places, but held clumps of hair to his face against their will. Bare feet stumbled as he turned, frantically, looking for any last minute hiding places or methods of escape. Resembling more a deranged animal than a Navy Captain, a bitter satisfaction simmered from deep within Marianne. She was a captive, but he was the real prisoner. No one even had the chance to grab him before Boggart slunk out of his quarters to see just what the excitement was all about. Roland went from deranged beast to cornered snake at the sight of the man and instantly regressed to a floundering mess. 

“N-n-now Crowley, please, let’s discuss this like gentlemen. I’m sure there’s been some mistake, here. I truly do admire you greatly and sir, ‘n I just don’t understand how I’ve offended you to this point-I really don’t!”   

Everyone's attention turned to behind the sniveling rat as Thad, the meek quartermaster,  finally caught up with hands on his knees and heaving breaths in between words of “sorry, sir” and “too fast!” Boggart surveyed the broken man and offered him a glance holding everything from anger to disappointment as he stepped forward. 

“Mmh,” he grunted. “Not so lucky I found you though, Roland.” Keeping his chin tucked, he tried constraining his words to a minimum clumsily slipping into his false accent without proper warning. Marianne said nothing to indicate the switch but smiled to herself as Roland sagged to his knees in submission. 

“Whatever I’ve done, I’ll right it!” He begged. “You’re reasonable, sir. Intelligent and reasonable and, and-”

 A click of a pistol silenced his whining as the cold barrel was pressed to his temple. 

“That’s quite enough, Captain. My business is my business and you’ll endure. Do you know why that is?” 

Roland swiftly shook his head, flinging his sweat-matted hair free from his cheek. 

“Because animals endure. And what do we do with a sick animal, men? ” His eyes and pistol remained on the poor bastard at his feet as he addressed his crew. 

“We put ‘em down!” Many voices shouted from their various positions on deck. 

“We put ‘em down.” His teeth were on full display in all their voraciousness.  Roland’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No! Sir, please!” He pleaded, openly weeping. But Marianne saw through his crocodile tears. She knew this man would only beg for his life just because it was something he could take. There was no value to it, only consequence. Boggart finally turned his cool gaze her way, nearly freezing her along with it. 

“What say you, Marianne? Does he live to see another day?”

Rolland turned his wallowing to her as well along with each other pair on the ship. 

“I,” she considered. On the one hand, he’ll never exist in her life again. His demanding hands will never touch another living soul; no longer grasping in the dark desperate for tithings. She, and all others, will be free of him as long as they too exist. Yet his teary, snake-like eyes bore into her anxiously awaiting the decision of the woman he owned-at least for a time. Her vows made in lace and satin and glittering things under her father’s scrutinous eye urged for her hesitation. For eternity, she promised. Forsaking all others. 

“Come on, Marianne,” he whispered in one last solicitation. The air stilled. 

“Girl?” Boggart whispered, urging for a decision. 

She too shook her head, almost in a panic, as dread pooled any and everywhere it could worm its way into her from head to toe. The short snapping of the hammer disengaging awarded Roland his undeserved reprise as his own dreadful feelings left him in a breathy and relieved sigh. 

“Oh, Marianne! How I adore you, believe me. You know I’d do anything to make this right,” he bowed his head to the dirty floor and blubbered into the planks while Boggart rolled his eyes at the display. Turning to look behind him at the girl who spared such a lowly creature his eyes were uncertain, but firm. Disapproving, yet understanding. 

With his back turned, Roland seized his opportunity to lurch up and dart for anywhere other than at the feet of his subjugator. The crew shouted their alarm and scrambled to subdue the man again, but Boggart raised a halting hand in favor of words as well as his weapon. 

“Roland, I give you this last chance,” he warns over the noise at the rat zig-zagging through the deck searching for sanctuary. His words go unheard, however, as he darts and weaves behind barrels and crates, trying to find somewhere, anywhere that will grant him a few extra precious seconds of life. 

“Please, lad,” he whispers in one last warning, forgetting his false inflection for a breath.  

Finally heeding, Roland suddenly whips his head around eyes wide in recognition and stretches his mouth wide to utter accusatory words otherwise interrupted by the unanticipated firing of a gun sending its bullet right between the poor man’s eyes.  

Marianne bit her tongue at the viscera as she witnessed the death of her husband for a second time. 

Pocketing his handgun, Boggart sneered at the mess while the burn of spent gunpowder dissipates. 

“S-sir, he…” Thad gasped meekly from where he stood to the rails. 

“I know,” he avowed.

More knowing exchanges eluded Marianne as so much secrecy was had in such an intimate crew. One moment she was jesting along with her shipmates and the next it was like a haze shrouded them, separating her entirely. It was frustrating. It was nerve wracking. 

It’s annoying is what it is.  

“Thad!” He barks at the still-heaving man. “Clean up this eyesore, will you?” 

“Of course, sir,” he pants. “But first you need to see the bilge.”

Boggart sighs, smoothing over his beard very much irked.

“What’s wrong with the bilge, Thadius?” 

He squirms under his unhappy Captain’s glare. 

“Well, it’s uh,” he struggles for words until Steph wrecks an elbow into his ribs forcing them out.

“Underwater! It’s underwater, Captain,” he sputters. “Roland kicked through some loose boards as a distraction. We need to dock for repairs.” 

His jaw clenched and unclenched in disdain, fighting the urge to tear into the small man. 

“We had just resupplied some two weeks ago, mate. I didn’t plan for an emergency stop in our schedule.” 

“Well, we’re going to have to. At least a quarter of the new chicks have drowned already and that’s not even counting the water we’ve taken on.” 

Thinking of any second options, Boggart resolves to stamp past the crew. 

“Hoist the mains, gentlemen!” He bellows, forgoing reason. “Ready to ground!” 

While Thad did his best not to heave at the blood underfoot, the rest of the crew scrambled to ready the masts and gather everything they needed to ready the ship for land leaving Marianne to process. Luckily the winds were favorable and they found a quaint little alcove far away from any form of civilization in no time at all. Immediately after reaching land, the ramp was tossed.

The ramp leading to the shore was caked in sand from the years of use. Crates and barrels of dry goods and sleep mats were carried arm to arm by meandering shiphands as Marianne watched them all. The chill of early Spring was holding everyone tightly still sending a wave of ice through to her bones and shivering, she looked to the emerging stars in the twilight. Long, winding shadows were cast from the conifer border to the inland. In fact, the treeline wasn’t too far from the shore and looked thick enough to get lost in. She leaned closer over the creaking railing to judge the distance. If she managed to get past the already busy crew, she’d just need to sprint through the brush. Far enough inward and they’d have less and less of a chance to capture her twice. A hand at her shoulder startled her from her dangerous train of thought - it seems her musings caused her to roam perfectly in the way of the workings that reminded her so much of ants. Murmuring an apology, she resumed her positioning off to the side and firmly out of the way. 

Each member of the crew had something different in their arms. All crates and containers of sorts but each was meticulously labeled in stark, bold lettering burned into the sides. Dried meats, flour, tools, what have you were passed down one by one. Everyone had a job to do but her. Next, a metal cage with several of the surviving chickens was pushed to the ramp inspiring her. Everyone was busy after all. All she’d need was a distraction and her knife. 

___

Sand squished between her toes as her legs carried her as far and fast as they physically could while she ignored the howling behind her mixed with panicked cackling of the startled fowl. Harsh winds whipped and whirled around her, almost guiding her forward as she couldn’t get it into her lungs fast enough. Bobbing and winding through the dense wood, she didn’t dare look behind her, couldn’t afford it. If she had, she’d see the sliver of a thin hand silently halting the rest of his crew as a single man stepped into the trees. 

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she finally slowed to catch her breath in heady gulps. The pounding in her chest matched that in her head, but she was too far gone to stop now. Now was not the time for giving up. Resting against a nearby tree she thought about the stories she would tell Dawn when she finally returned home; the crying they would do. The fear they would both put into their father. She could weep at the almost taste of her mother’s recipes just out of reach. Her bed, her blades, her sister, all seemingly paces away. Did she have any sense of where to go in the heavy foliage? Absolutely not. But all she really needed was to put enough distance between her and the creatures at her back. All she needed was an unfamiliar face and the promise of reward and she’d be home. 

A nearby snapping of twigs broke her from the fantasy. Catching her breath somewhere between her heart and her lungs she waited; hands clasped at her lips to not even let the fog of breath escape. Scratching bark to her back shielded her from any searching eyes as she counted the urgent beating of her heart. Rather than haunted by the ever persistent threat of Roland’s men, she was instead hunted, rather, by a fresh threat of her own creation. The wheezing of trapped breath behind her palms threatened to reveal her; remaining calm must take priority. One, two, three, four, five, six. She counted with each stampeding beat. One, two, three, four, five, six.  Leaves crunch from behind the nearby brush. Onetwo, threefour, fivesix.  A scurrying of something much smaller than her from ahead, frightened. Onetwothreefourfivesix. The shadow of strong shoulders and hooked nose hovered behind her sanctuary and for an instant there was nothing for her to count. Just as he rounded the edge of the trunk, she bolted once more revealing her position but willing her legs to test their limits and ignored the fire in her lungs. 

The Captain hollered triumphantly and soared after her, his own legs that were much longer and stronger granted him just enough extra speed to gain on her and close the distance. With a roar that mingled alongside her yelp, his deft fingers gripped the back of her tunic and pulled sending her flying backward and landing harshly on the cold ground. Luckily she kept her breath which she used to scream every obscenity she could recall while he pinned her beneath him.

His breath was hot in her face as she bucked and struggled against his unwavering grasp. She was all nails and teeth and elbows, and she wondered exactly what the rest of the crew was thinking back at the beach. Fallen needles of pine and spruce dug into her back, threatening to pierce the flesh there and she remembered her scabbard that has survived all this time hidden at her hip. She snuck a hand downward to reach for her undetected defenses to at least even out the fight. A flash of astonishment, panic, and something else entirely washed over his face as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the blade and with gritted teeth, placed all of his weight on a knee at her stomach. She cried out once again. His long dexterous fingers held her wrist in a bruising grip only to slam the offending hand in the dirt once, twice until the hilt slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She cried. “Please!”  But she was already flipped to her front, face shoved into the dirt beneath them.

“Stupid girl,” Boggart snarled, pinning her arm to her back forcing her shoulder into an arduous position. “Had that with you the whole time, did you? Incompetent Roland couldn’t be bothered to search you over?” 

“Fuck you!”  Marianne spit behind her only to be met with grit at her lips once more.

“Such a filthy mouth on a pretty thing like you,” he leaned down to whisper, whisker gruff prickling her neck and shoulder. “Now I see why he liked you so much.”

He palms the blade, and with one hand binding both wrists forcefully tugs her to her feet. On clumsy footing, she stumbled to escape his grasp but he whistled low in warning.

“Be good,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t want to spill your own blood on that knife, would you?”

Exhausted from the chase, she hung her head low and trudged onward. She would either be killed here or back at the ship-at least this way she could see one last sunset. 

She hadn’t recalled how far from the shore she had taken them as the walk back was much longer than anticipated. His hold on her never faltered nor were words exchanged. Just the Captain’s thickly accented mutterings in an unfamiliar language filled the silence their sand dampened steps wished for. Once they reached the shore, the crew’s work became more leisure than anything to sneak a nosy glimpse or two at the both of them as Marianne was shoved up the ramp. There she resumed her struggles of hurling swears hoping at least to hurt him with words rather than blades. Long, spindly fingers gripped her wrist much too tightly while her legs frantically rushed to catch up to his long strides as he drug her through the cavity of the ship. Once they reached her chambers, she was roughly hurled across the threshold, scraping her knees against the wooden floor. Clutching her wrist to her chest didn’t soothe the ache nor the fingertip shaped bruises forming there. In their first meeting, Marianne was spiteful. She wasn’t afraid of death then; she wasn’t afraid of pain. Now with tear-stained cheeks she watched the dreaded creature staring predatory in the doorway and understood they were one and the same.  

“Now you’ll be a good little butterfly and think before you try flying away from me again," he scoffed,  boxing her in.

“You can’t just keep me here!” She shouted from when she lay crumpled on the floor. “You aren’t taking me to Jones and you’re not keeping me for yourself!”

Boggart turned to meet her scowl, puzzled.

“I’m not your crew. I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m not going to be your prisoner anymore,” she sobbed. Watching her tremble from the watery words and Boggart softened his gaze in something that could’ve resembled guilt. “And don’t you dare touch me again or I’ll-”

He barks out a laugh. 

“You’ll do what, girl? Kill me? With this?” He admires her prized dagger in the moonlight, catching the beautiful glint reflecting off the metal and curbing the reignited, unfettered rage in his eyes.

 “Not anymore.” 

He hums in thought. 

“It's a pretty thing, really,” he growls watching the light refract through a quartz embedded in the hilt. Marianne helped Dagda pick out the stone when her cheeks were rose-tinted and her father was her world. “I’d like to think I should keep this; add it to my collection. Much too pretty to be wasted on silly noble girls.” The thought of losing the best treasure sent Marianne spiraling. She scrambled on her hands and knees to try and reclaim it, to try anything, but the blade was instead spun around to press its tip firmly at her throat. The Captain’s hand was steady. No sign of hesitancy shown in his eyes while she wept.

“None of that again. Escaping to the trees with stolen weaponry is so unbecoming of a lady,” he spat. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure because it was the last free breath you’ll ever draw again.” He withdrew the blade and puffed out an amused laugh to himself. “You know,” he whispered to her crumpled body on the ground and lifted her gaze by the hair, just as Roland had done once before. “You’re a pretty thing too. Maybe I'll keep you as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguished expression as he closed and locked the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once again.

___

It must’ve been hours. They were still docked, but the laughter and crackling of campfire separated her from the crew she’d grown to care for from where they ate together on the beach. The crew that saw her as an equal. Stupid, she thought. He’d made no move to hurt her until now. None of them did. And now, thanks to her impulse, she was right back where she started. Trapped. Alone. And now she’s lost her only piece of home to her captor. Her skinned knees had long since crusted over, but she was still so incredibly sore from running as she never had to do in life. While impulsive, it was her only chance at freedom after she had already been given so much. Who knows if she’ll ever be allowed to see the sun again? The setting of heavy boots and the unbolting of a lock held the answer for her. Uncharacteristically timid, Boggart crowded the doorway and she couldn’t help but flinch.  

“I..erm,” he began awkwardly. 

Marianne just stared.

“Brutus found some wild greens and uh, made a stew. Everyone seems to like it.” His words apparently have found him. 

Blinking up at him, she held enough quiet for the both of them.

“It’s getting late and you still need to eat, so,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m asking you to eat. With everyone.”

His hollow laugh that bounced off the trees echoes through her mind as she narrows her gaze. 

“You want me to eat with you?”

“With everyone, yes.” 

“I thought I was never to draw a free breath again,” she challenged, articulating each and every sound. 

Pursing his lips, frustrated, he leaves her a sliver of space at his side to follow him out into the ship.

“And I thought you were able to be trusted to stay manageable in these past few weeks. Especially since you’ve been armed all this time, I half expected you to be as senseless and shortsighted much sooner.” Dramatically, he flourishes his hand to beckon her. “Now would you like to eat or not?”

Against every voice in her mind screaming in opposition, she stands to her feet. 

The walk to the beach wasn’t as awkward as she expected. The silence was appreciated by both of them as he guided her to the fire using his own sheer size to lead her without any argument. A few questioning eyes looked up from their drinks, but lingered reticently. Those who chose not to acknowledge them, kept to their comradery and focused on whatever tall tale was being shared around this time. Soup was slurped and ale was spilled just like all other nights back on the ship, omitting the sand beneath their feet. A bowl was nudged into her lap along with her share of ale.

It was a rich looking broth smelling earthy and fulfilling. Having spent all her energy scurrying and weeping, her stomach gurgled urging her to drink. She of course indulged, all but groaning in satisfaction the second the spiced broth hit her tongue. The fats of chicken and walnut melded beautifully with the hearty greens and wild spices that accompanied the charred smoke of the roaring fire they all huddled around. The thick glue of a porridge that Roland fed her was lifetimes away from her now as she guzzled down the stew. Brutus smirked in that pompous way only an artist could while she damn near licked the bowl clean. 

The crew continued on with their storytelling's and singings, with the occasional shanty Marianne hummed along to having spent her nights evading palace guards and slumming with her most favorite peasant friends in backwater pubs. Vaguely impressed, Boggart snuck glances at her pretending not to know the words. Eventually, a voice piped up insisting on the Captain’s turn with a song. Boos and cheers rang around the blaze.

“You know he don’t sing,” gruffed one of the men. 

“He’s too stubborn,” Steph griped, elbowing Thad sitting to her right. Light jeering erupts, settling at the Captain clearing his throat.

Marianne almost mourned the boisterousness from moments before as a tension settled heavy as a fog over the camp while he sang. Eyes lidded and shoulders stiff, their Captain recited what must have been some ancient lullaby from a time before life made him so cruel as he sang as if each word were a prayer. The melody flowed from his lips like rich wine and enthralled, she managed to only capture the last few lines: 

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

    And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

    Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.

Solome here, here ’s were called and in the silence that followed his melody, the last of the stragglers retired for the evening bidding goodnight’s and farewell’s leaving just the Captain and his ward.

“Who was she?” She whispered, aching to fill the quiet. “The woman who made you feel this way.” 

“Hmm? Oh,” he blushed. “No one.” Dowcast, he tossed a twig into the flames and watched it burn. 

“You cannot be serious.” She tried not to smile. “You’re just always this morose?”

“Easy,” he teases. “Yes, I’m serious.” He retrieves a pipe from his breast pocket and lights it with a smoldering piece of kindling, taking a long drag as if the bitter herb could conjure the words for him. “It’s the only memory I have left of my mother before she passed. Sang it to me every night, nearly.”

“Oh,” she somberly replied, not used to being on the other side of this conversation. “It was beautiful, your singing.” 

He huffs out smoke.

“Thank you. The crew always wants me to join in on their amusement, but I never oblige. This was my way of telling them all to fuck off.”

Marianne snorts into her tankard. 

“Besides, that was a love that was never meant for me,” he continued. “She would dance with my Father in the candlelight after tucking me in. I used to sneak out and watch them every night. Always thought that was the closest thing we had to magic.” 

Forcing the change in subject, he reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a wrapped bundle to pass into her lap unceremoniously. Wordless, she unwraps the fabric to reveal her blade back in her possession. Her eyes question him where her voice can’t find the strength to. 

“You could’ve had me earlier, you know. Back in the forest?” He coughs, continuing. “If I was just a tad slower you’d have had it buried in my neck quicker ‘n you should’ve,” he laughed. “Quite embarrassing. Glad I had the rest wait for us back at the beach; no doubt you’d be long gone by now.” Not able to bring his own eyes to meet hers, he settles for mouthing at the wooden lip.

“I don’t…” Marianne shook her head at both his admission and gesture as neither made any remote sense to her. 

“You’re quite confident with it; from what I’ve seen anyway.” He takes the blade from where it lay untouched in her lap to manipulate the hilt in his hands. “It’s tarnished, but sharp. It’s taken care of, clearly.” 

She nods an affirmative. Her swordsmith back home got fed up with her asking to have it sharpened so often that he finally just taught her how to do it herself. She couldn’t ask anyone else for help anyway. Sharpening her dagger became a meditation, but it was also a matter of pride. 

“Listen, girl,” his voice came once again much more stern. “There was no sign of you being on that ship with him. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.” 

“How were they supposed to happen then?”

“That’s complicated.” 

Marianne scoffs. “That’s a word that keeps getting tossed around and I’m sick of hearing it. Everyone around here seems to know something I don’t.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” her voice wavers, frustration evident. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to for hell, however long I’ve been here. I’ve washed your damned laundry, scrubbed your damned deck. I think I finally deserve an answer.”

Boggart sighs in indignation. “Aye. ‘Suppose you do.” 

He takes a long drag of his pipe, stalling. 

“There’s something much bigger than your little honeymoon going on here. It’s been in the works for some time now and,” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in it all.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. Wish I could.”

“Why not?” 

“‘Fraid I can’t say.” His smile never reaches his eyes. 

Marianne thinks for a beat. 

“Then why did you kill Roland but not me? If I’ve already stumbled into too much, then why keep another mouth to feed on board?”

Boggart chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation. 

“Because he’s wronged me and you haven’t.”

“Wronged you how?”

Another drag.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trespassed and invaded. And I’m not amused.” 

Marianne grins, taking her blade back from him. 

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior then.”

“I don’t know if the chickens’ll believe you, but,” Boggart sucks his teeth. “About that. Don’t run again.”

She peers up, puzzled. 

“You know too much already whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, you must stay until everything is finished. There’s far too much I’ve gambled to let you ruin it.” 

“And why should I trust you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Stubborn just like her father,” he spits under his breath. 

“You don’t know my father, you filthy-”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “And do not mistake this kindness for weakness, I knew your father very well,” He sighs. “A little too well.”

“My father is a worm, but he’d never stoop to associate with pirates.”

“Give me some credit please, I wasn’t as cruel then.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“‘M afraid that’s a tale for another time.” 

He glances at her finally, grateful for her milding temper.

“Look,” he sighs. “I have no reason to bring any harm to you. But if you run like that again, you’ll be forcing my hand, do you understand?”

Fully heeding this warning, she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I won’t run again.” 

He nods in kind, accepting her answer and tosses another log on the fire. 

“Good.” 

The flames crackle in her brief flash of consideration. 

“Will I ever see my family again?” She questions, hoping.

Miraculously, he nods.

“You have my word. I’ll take you to them myself.” 

“Good,” she echoes. 

Together they finish the night in silence watching the flames lick at sandy logs and flitting smoke dance up, up, up into the sky until it cannot be witnessed by any living thing any longer. 

Much later into the night, so much so that it could be considered morning, Lord Dagda is awoken to urgent pounding on his chamber door and only then did he notice the frantic shouting in the harbor below. They all seemed to be swarming, pointing at something in the water. Squinting in the dim light, Dagda could make out the form of long extinguished remains of a ship washing aground in these dark hours. Remains that should not have lasted this long without sinking into the depths. This was something that had seen utter horror and left only tattered flags and charred masts as a cautionary tale. He stumbled out of bed to hurriedly shrug on his robe and join the clamoring as they all gawked and rushed toward what was left of a familiar Naval ship teetering into the harbor.   

a/n lol how'd you like that little shit tossed in at the end >:) also the poem featured in this chapter (because I was too lazy to write one myself) is Ode on Melancholy by John Keats stay tuned for me to put these semi-beloved children's movie characters through the absolute RINGER maybe they'll kiss who knows??

as always: thank you for reading, cuties.

[cursedhaglette]

11, 16 and 20 for the Ask Game pls!! And I totally agree with you about community and engagement on fics/comemnts - thank you for always replying individually, esp. after all the care and effort you go to in your writing!

oh my gosh i feel like i'm so bad about responding to comments but thank you!! i really want to try and be better about it since i have so many commenters that truly go above and beyond in my comment box and those emails...man...the serotonin...you have no idea

11 - What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

this is so hard to quantify because i feel like i consider all of my fics successful in one way or another? like i've never looked at a fic and though "flop" - even HMLAK which is kind of on indefinite hiatus - i don't think of her with any personal scorn or disappointment. i love so much of what i did there.

i think it's easy for a lot of folks to also point to ao3 numbers or stats and decided that's where they should find success. like a magic number is gonna appear on their work and that's when the feeling will come. i want to say to anyone reading this, don't do that!!! there is so much more to writing a fic than the numbers on that board and while it can be fun to watch them tick up, it's far from the only thing to derive value from. TBC having big hit numbers doesn't make it more successful than Requited in my mind just for having bigger numbers. if that makes any sense? i just woke up from a nap.

i guess what i'm trying to say is - if i finished it to the extent of feeling good enough in the piece that it reaches the public, that is a success. the finality that comes with clicking 'publish' is a victory over writers block, self doubt, and a million other little things that keep words hidden in your google docs. success is getting to put the words in front of someone else and saying 'look! i did it!'

16 - What do you struggle with most when writing?

lately it's been consolidating ideas into something that works in the size that i've allotted for the idea. i want to include this so bad, but it cannot take up 10k words. and then suddenly my brain says 'fuck you then i'm not doing it at all' and its like ughhhhh and i'm staring at nonsense for days on end. or i say 'okay brain, lets actually explore some of what solas is feeling at halamshiral' and my brain goes 'um but we wrote the end already? with morinne? fuck baldy?' and even though i'm sitting there aware of all the things i want to say in a chapter because it will be meaningful, it's like the fact that i am deviating from some written in pencil plan i had previously is suddenly Very Bad Idea and brain won't comply.

and that's why halamshiral took so long. and why the next chapter is already written and being beta-read. so there ya go

20 - saw your followup ask and will answer there ;)

[l-e-morgan-author]

Writing Newsletter #3: May 2024

Still not figured out website hosting, so this is still on here. I also haven't edited the two stories I plan to provide as a signup gift, so that's not ready yet. Anyway, if you want to be on the taglist for this monthly newsletter, say the word and I'll add you.

Writing update

As of yesterday, I finished drafting Patience, Changing. I wrote Hannah's death and it was hard, but I think what I have, while not particularly good, is a building block for the next draft. It's been a lot of fun, and now I'm putting away the project as a whole, ideally for at least a month. I have a lot of fragments as well as the main draft and novellas; they'll need some tidying, and various bits will probably be worked into longer pieces, but I want to give myself a break from the whole project. Word count wise, the novel itself clocks in at 84k (was planned to be 81k), and the total word count is 144k, having added around 29k since last month.

I had originally intended to go back to Metamorphosis of a Girl (Hadassah's story) once I was done with this, but there's a whump challenge I want to write for and the only one that will satisfy that is Hands Made for Gentleness. I'm considering making that my main project, at least for now, and also starting to work on To Kindle a Flame in the background again. I had conversations the other day that made me reread a scene; I unexpectedly really liked what I had, and the writing wasn't as clunky as I'd expected. I'm considering scrapping the 2020 draft completely and working solely from the 2021 draft and the notes I've made since.

I have worked a little (to the tune of 3k) on Hands Made for Gentleness this month. Looking back at my statistics, I actually wrote the most I've written for it so far in February 2023, when I wrote just shy of 10k. I always think I've written more for it than I have, partly because of how important every single word is to it. I need to write more downtime between them, I think; it's always so intense, and while that's kind of necessary to the kind of book it is, it's in its present state not something I personally would sit down and read in one sitting. I think I need to dial the intensity back just a little, so that the moments that are intense can really hit the spot. That's probably a revising-me point, though. I'm missing so much from this draft that will need to be added in later drafts; indeed I'm starting to be slightly nervous about the idea of tackling it, because of the sheer number of notes I've left for myself already, and I'm only 33k into the draft (plus a few thousand of assorted other stuff, including the prequel I want to revise at some point.... it takes it up to a combined total of 41k).

Reading update

I've been reading a handful of memoirs this month. First I read A Grief Observed (reread, specifically for handling Hannah's death in Patience, Changing), then Bones: Anorexia, OCD and Me (first time read, and I won't be rereading it: I don't recommend it), Girl, Interrupted (not as good as its popularity would suggest to me), and As I Disappear... (a very short poetry thing). There were also a few that didn't get onto my goodreads because I gave up on reading them before I actually bought them (all ED focused). I'm currently reading the same books as I was reading last month (Cry of the Raven, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and Walking on Water) as well as starting a reread of Pat of Silver Bush. Thinking of rereading Pride and Prejudice presently.

Ramble

Oh uh. I note that last time I wrote that my mental health has been comparatively amazing lately, which is... still true? Which is Impressive? I still need to work out motivation and that kind of thing which I'm not very good at still, but oh well. I guess I'm still as forgetful as I was. I realised recently I haven't been posting on my website all year. I need to do that more.

Drabble

As We Sail Into Hell

“I’ll go anywhere you go, so that makes us equal.”

“‘You are a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter, so far we are equal,’” she misquoted cheerfully. “The fact that we’ll follow each other into—well, anywhere—doesn’t negate the fact that you have to choose where we’re walking right now.”

Nathan sighed. “I wanted you to make a decision,” he complained.

“I know. I shan’t. I know your tricks.”

“At this rate we’ll never get married because neither of us will ask the other.”

She grinned. “That’s your job. If you really want it.” But her expression was merry.

Photo

A collage from yesterday's walk. Ignore that I shared it on my main yesterday. The weird beastie in the bottom left is a wombat.

Fun fact

I title all my drabbles by either writing them off a song directly or by thinking of a lyric from a song. This one's from Durham Town, by Roger Whittaker.

[elf-trash]

for anyone curious this is a summary i wrote on another post of the tests i ran after TSatS got called out:

reblogging this again to add that i tested that AI detector myself and these were the results: a) ran multiple excerpts of TSatS through it and all came up as 80% AI or higher b) ran multiple samples of my own writing through it and every single one came out as 0% AI c) ran an original scene of my own writing through it, except a handful of random sentences were written by ChatGPT. i edited these sentences in as though i were trying to hide them/blend them with my original writing. the detector accurately highlighted the specific ChatGPT-written sentences and flagged them as "likely written by an AI" (i was REALLY impressed and tbh relieved!!) d) had ChatGPT generate me a scene. AI detector flagged it as 90% AI (about on par with the results i was getting for the TSatS excerpts) so actually, these detectors are surprisingly accurate. the evidence is pretty damning. also, i've written a 400k word fic. i wrote the bulk of it in a 6 month period during covid lockdown. i didn't sleep much or do much else during those months. i know exactly what writing a fic of that length entails. writing TWO in under 2 months is just not physically possible, i don't care how fast of a writer you are. i'm a very fast writer, and i had my whole fic planned and outlined and was cranking out like one or two 10k chapters per week. it wasn't a sustainable pace. there's "fast" and there's "impossible" and the pace of TSatS is the latter.

it is VERY unlikely that a fic that was entirely written by a human would trip up the detector that much and that consistently. in addition to the other evidence and the way the writer has reacted to all of this, i'd say its a smoking gun. and the other writer in question has already admitted to using AI and has, in fact, been banned from multiple other fandom spaces for AI use and lying about it. so i'm not just going off the AI detector results here. but keep drinking the copium bro

also, your example to "prove" the inaccuracy of the detectors is disingenuous as fuck and doesn't actually prove anything. like yeah, taking a ChatGPT written sample and deliberately fucking up the grammar will make it more likely to pass an AI detector. if anything, that's MORE of a smoking gun. like if these writers had revised the ChatGPT paste even a LITTLE they might have gotten away with it. but nope! it's way easier to make a detector flag something AI written as human than vice versa. i've yet to see any compelling examples of it flagging an entirely human-written excerpt as more than 10% AI, and definitely not anything even close to the 80%-100% we've been consistently getting back from testing the fics in question. i've gotten it to flag fully AI-written samples as human, but never the other way around. so if a piece of writing is consistently clocking in at 90%+ AI... guess what... it's likely AI. once again, use your brain and do with this information what you will.

reposting this bc the OP blocked me (and is blocking anyone else who disagrees which means blocked people can't reblog) and i want to say this loud and with my whole chest!!!!!

another Dragon Age fic was recently outed as being AI, and this is what the writer had to say for themselves about it:

so actually, Grammarly uses generative AI and is just as bad as ChatGPT. it also objectively makes your writing worse, it sucks the voice out of your prose and turns it into corporate sounding homogenized paste. it's also unethical for all the same reasons any generative AI is unethical. get a writing group and have a real human beta read for you if you don't trust yourself to check your own grammar etc. but honestly something unpolished and written entirely by your human brain and human imagination will ALWAYS be better than AI slop.

also, the part about published authors doing this is patently untrue. i know this is a huge problem in the self-publishing space, but most publishers now are including clauses in their contracts that expressly forbid the use of AI in ANY part of the creative process. this includes using ChatGPT to generate or clean up outlines or Grammarly to spellcheck and revise. so if you're trying to publish, don't fucking do this or you could literally be asked to return an advance if you get caught.

i've posted about this in the past, but AI detectors are actually shocking accurate these days. i've tested them extensively recently and they can consistently and correctly flag individual sentences written by ChatGPT in an otherwise original passage. and they almost never flag false positives. so the argument that AI detectors can't be trusted is just flat out wrong. are they correct 100% of the time? no. but can they indicate with a high degree of accuracy if AI was used in some capacity? absolutely, especially if there is additional evidence.

and for all the people hand wringing about AI detectors flagging false positives, let me just say this: if something is not AI written it is very easy to prove. you can't write anything of any considerable length without leaving a massive paper trail of notes and drafts. almost all writing software tracks changes and makes it very easy to prove you wrote something yourself. being falsely being accused of AI isn't actually a real problem and is only being made to seem as such by people who are trying to get away with and justify using AI or who are worried about getting caught.

i think a lot of people are just lured by a seemingly easy shortcut, and to their untrained eye, what the AI is spitting out feels "better" to them than their own writing. but i promise you it's not. trust your own brain and put in the work to improve at your craft rather than outsourcing the gift of your imagination to a robot that steals from other people's work.

i will continue to die on this hill!!!!!

[bittlebunny]

Fun things: I’ve updated the sequel fic (I think y’all know the one) not once, but twice this week!! Thank you to vacation and the beach for inspiring me I guess and also to Eric Bittle for enduring everything I put him through

[galaxies-can-collide]

You are the new girl

Pt. 1

Summary: Y/N is new in town and comes across two beautiful boys that both spark and interest in her. Which boy will she choose....

Warnings: Just some cute stuff, romance, 18+ still to come

Word Count: 2.7k words (tbf this whole story is over 10k words)

Author Note: I am new to this whole thing, and this is my first post, so be gentle. But also let me know your thoughts and if you want more? I have written so much of this but am always willing to make changes.

You were new to the outer banks, having moved down only two days ago with your dad. It was just you and him, your mom walked out on the two of you when you were 8 and she never looked back. You did not mind it being just the two of you, he did everything for you, to make sure you had everything you wanted, or at least what he could afford to give you. Your dad was a contract Architect working on a new build upon Tannyhill. He had told me that Mr. Cameron wanted a new pool house where he would put all his boating and scuba equipment. Must be nice to have that kind of money at your reach, you lived a very different life, you and your dad just getting by so when he got this job opportunity he could not pass it up. As for the reason that we had to relocate was because we lived too far away for my dad to have to drive down every day and Mr. Cameron insisted on us living in his second house just off the side of Tannyhill. You were not too happy on the fact that he was up and relocating your whole life for a 1 year contract work but you couldn’t fight him because we really needed the money.  You moved the Friday and spent the whole weekend getting your house sorted for your dad and you while he went to the Cameron’s to discuss the plans for the future pool house, you spent majority of the weekend unpacking boxes and getting everything in order. The house thankfully already had furniture so it was just a matter of unpacking all the little trinkets and things to make it feel a bit more like home, leaving your clothing boxes for last as you knew that was a mountain to climb on its own. 

You had just turned 18 and had made some really great friends in your old school and to have to leave them in your last year of school really put your dad in your bad books and he knew that so he did everything to make your stay great, although it did not turn out too well for him as he was always busy at the Cameron’s, early mornings and late nights and you barely saw him. You moved In the summer so you still had time before school started which you were absolutely dreading being the new kid. You had got to explore a bit during the few days off and you had come to learn that the island was split in two parts, the rich and the poor and even though you would not consider yourself rich you were staying on the ‘kook’ side of the island, much to your dismay as you had come to learn that they were not nice people. You had never met one of the kooks but from what you heard they were snobs who knew they had money and did not care to show it.

The Monday before school started you had decided to go for a stroll down to the docks and came across a group of teens that looked about your age, from the way they were dressed you assumed they were pogues, the poorer side, as they say. You went and introduced yourself in the hopes they went to the same school and were nice, it would be nice to at least know a few people at school so that you were not completely alone. 

 You walked up to them and shyly introduced yourself, “Hi I’m Y/N”, you said and they all looked up a little shocked but soon their sheepish faces turned to smiles as they all introduced themselves. The first was a curly, brown haired girl, “Hi Y/N, lovely to meet you I am Kiara” you smiled and shook her hand the next one who looked a little more put together than the rest was a blonde haired girl, “Hiya, I am Sarah”, you smiled back to her, the next to say hello were two boys almost simultaneously saying “Hello” they soon introduced themselves as John B and Pope. They all seemed lovely, except there was one boy that had not yet said anything, to be fair I do not think he had noticed you coming up to them as he was distracted with something else.

 He would soon draw his attention to you, his eyes glistened a little in the sun and you noticed his beautiful blonde hair and his piercing blue eyes looking directly at you, you smiled as he scanned you up and down, his eyes lingering a little too long on your figure, making you blush a little. You were becoming more aware that the shorts you were wearing were very short and the small shirt covering your boobs was a little to see through, you swiftly crossed your arms across your chest causing the blonde haired boy to blush as he realised he had been staring and you had noticed. He got up from where he as sitting and made his way over to you as he got to you he said so smoothly “Well you must be new here because I would have noticed someone as breath-taking as you walking around her, hi I’m JJ. And it is my pleasure to meet you”, you could not help but blush and let a small smile creep up to your lips and you said a shy “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N” back to him.

 After all the introductions were done, noticing that JJ had been taking small stares at you thinking you were noticing, Kiara had asked you if you were new to town as she nor the others had seen you around at all. You went on to say, “ I actually moved here around 4 days ago with my Dad, he is an architect and he is currently contracting for some guy named Ward Cameron, we had to relocate cause it was too far for my dad to drive everyday so Ward was nice enough to offer us a place to stay while my dad got to work”, Sarah’s mouth was almost agape but with a hint of a smile, she almost exploded out and said “Oh my God, no fucking way, so you must be the girl staying in our old house” You were a bit confused at first then starting putting the pieces together, your dad had mentioned Ward had 3 kids, a daughter your age, a son a year older and another daughter a few years younger you could not quite remember their names, but you now gathered Sarah was the daughter your age. She immediately ran over and gave you a big hug and continued saying “We are going to be such good friends, well me, you and the pogues”

You all got to talking and found out you would all be going to the same school, all apart from Sarah who was in a more expensive school, one that we could not afford, but I was okay with that as you knew you would have the rest of the pogues. They filled you in on how Sarah was dating John B and no longer really considered herself a Kook as she got along more with the pogues, during your whole exchanging of stories with the pogues you kept noticing JJ’s wondering eye that constantly gravitated toward you but you obviously also had a wondering eye as you and him would make constant eye contact and both smile sheepishly and look away while you blushed bright red. 

 As it got later, you knew it was time to go home, as your dads rules were when the sun goes down and the street lights come on you need to be home, he was unaware of the area and did not want you wondering around alone at night. You said bye to the gang and assured them you would see them the next day at school, Sarah offered to walk with you as you two were staying on the same plot of land, which was nice of her and it gave you time to get to know her and maybe find out more about JJ. But almost poetically just as you were walking away JJ ran up to you and Sarah and grabbed your wrist to make you face him. You were shocked at first as was Sarah but were curious to hear what he has to say, “Hey, uhm, I was uhm wondering if you would like to go for a ride tomorrow after school, I know a really cool spot for a picnic If you would like, get to know the area and me a little more. I mean if that is something you want?”, you could tell he was nervous in asking you from the way he was rubbing the back of his head and frantically searching your eyes for any sign of an answer. He seemed to loosen up a little when he saw you smile and nod your head along with a “Yes, JJ, I would love nothing more than that, after school yea?” he nodded in response and you turned and walked away with Sarah giggling by your side. Your short walk home was filled with little conversations about the area and her relationship with John B and her ex Topper and her brother Rafe. As we got to the fork of the road, one leading to Tannyhill and one to the house I was staying in, I was about to say bye when she invited me over for dinner to meet her family. You felt bad to say no as you did want to meet her family especially as they were giving you some place to stay so you agreed and she shot a big smile across her face and dragged your hand towards the house. 

 As you got closer you realised just how big the house was and just how much money the Cameron’s must have, you were taken back and at a loss for words, it was almost as if she read your mind as you got to the front door as she piped up and said “I know, it is a lot to take in, a bit much if you ask me but that is Ward Cameron for you”

You walked in with her as she introduced you to Rose her stepmother, and Wheezie her younger sister who were both in the kitchen cooking up a storm, you introduced yourself and they were both happy to have you over, Sarah then dragged you upstairs to her dads office where she introduced you to her dad, “Hey Dad, this is Y/N, she is Y/D/N daughter, I invited her over for dinner, I hope that is alright?”, he got up from the desk he was sitting at and walked over to you, he carried himself with wealth and pride and you kind of admired him for the life he has built for himself and his family. He reached his hand out to shake yours and you complied, “Hi Y/N, I am Ward, lovely to meet you. Your dad is a very talented man and I think he will do wonders here”, “Thank you, he is pretty great”, you replied. He continued “Also, of course it is fine that you stay for dinner, next time bring your old man up here too” you simply nodded as Sarah dragged you out of his office and downstairs. 

 But there was a different plan for you, as you exited Ward’s office, you had bumped hard into the chest of a very tall man, as you looked up you stared into these piercing blue eyes and a slight smirk that crossed his face. 

The tall man grabbed your elbows as to stop you from falling over, you immediately started apologising for not looking where you were going. “I am so sorry, I really need to watch where I am going”, you half hated yourself for being so clumsy, he hushed you in the softest voice, “Don’t worry about it gorgeous, you can bump into me anytime” he said with a wink. Sarah then stepped in and I soon realised that this must be Rafe, her brother, although a warning on how handsome this man was would have been nice. “Rafe, back up off her man” Sarah said and you were kind of angry that she did and you wanted to be up close to him and smell his cologne. 

 “Also, stop flirting, you have a girlfriend”, she continued. Your face instantly dropped at the thought of his girlfriend, not that you had a chance anyway. Rafe seemed to have noticed this sudden shift in your demeanour and that intrigued him, although he was taken he had never seen someone so perfect and so soft in his life. It made him want to know everything about her, and where she came from and why she was here which is weird as he had spoken but a mere word to her.

 “This is Y/N, her dad is building the new pool house. I would appreciate if you did not corrupt her as she is staying on the property.” Sarah interrupted the longing look between the two of you, noticing that Rafe’s hand was still holding your elbow, which did not go unnoticed by you either, but you could not bring yourself to pull away.

But after Sarah made that statement he retracted his hand and moved slightly back “You know Sarah, this might come as a shock but not ever girl I meet, I want to fuck. I am taken, remember” Rafe stated harshly, and he cursed himself for saying those words because there was something about you that he could not quite put his finger on but he wanted more. Sarah scoffed and pulled you with her, but just as she walked away Rafe mumbled just loud enough for you to hear, “God, she is so fucking beautiful” as he muttered these words he had caught on that you heard and he blushed at the thought. He winked at you as you were being pulled away and you knew that this would not be your last encounter with Rafe Cameron. 

Rafe’s POV: 

He has just gotten off the phone with his girlfriend, surprise, surprise another fight, he was so sick of the arguments and fights. Quite frankly he did not love her anymore, he hadn’t for a while now and he knew he had to end it. He wanted to chat to his dad and see if he could give him any advice on what to do. As he exited his room and made his way to his dads office Sarah had walked out, but he hadn’t noticed the girl following closely behind her. She had bumped right into his chest and he grabbed her elbows to steady her so that she did not fall over, although when he looked down to see who it was he was taken back by her absolute beauty, he had never seen someone so beautiful and he did not know what to say. He was mesmerised, he wanted to know who this was. He noticed her long blonde hair, that seemed to have lighter streaks all over, but looked natural. He noticed her beautiful green/blue eyes. He was hooked on her smell, let alone her looks. 

After I had finished taking in every inch of her she started apologising, I said to her “Don’t worry about it gorgeous, you can bump into me anytime” and saw a shy smile creep on her lips, probably the most breath-taking smile you have ever seen. Sarah obviously stuck her nose in it and ruined it and said I had a girlfriend, unaware of the fact that we were basically on waters edge. At the mention of a girlfriend her face dropped and I was intrigued, did she feel the same way about me as I did her. But my brain is too slow for my stupid mouth and I said some cocky line that I instantly regretted. I found out her name was Y/N, the most gorgeous name, and that she was staying on the property. This was the best news.

Sarah pulled her away and I mumbled under my breath unable to keep it to myself and she heard me and I was part glad that she did so that she was aware and with that I winked at her and she was gone. I had a feeling that this would not be my last encounter with her, I really hoped it wasn’t