#The first half was so juicy I could see the conflict in my head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 3 years

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a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

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heniareth · 2 years

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hope i'm not too late to the party to ask for a 🪞for astala

Ooooh hello!! :D You're always welcome to the party, late or early or whenever ^^ A wizard is never late and so on and so forth. In one of your comments on AO3 you mentioned that it looked like Astala had a real complicated relationship with her mother, fraught with lots of conflicting emotions. And, let me tell you: you are so right. Here's some lyrics to illustrate that.

And I’m so proud of you

And when they laugh at us

You’ll feel my fingers down your back

And when you scream "I’m not alright!"

And throw my picture at the wall

"You were supposed to be my light

And keep me safe against them all

How could you leave me here?" you’ll scream

And louder, I’ll scream back to you from that unknown

And say

"I know you’re strong enough

I know you’re strong enough

I know you’re strong enough to do this on your (...) own."

The song is, again, Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil. That song is so juicy in terms of what it tells you about a relationship. The short (sorry, it got long) version of what I headcanon happened with Adaia is this (you know most of this, so I apologize for repeating myself. I started writing, then discovered I'd already told you this, but if it's okay I'm gonna keep the rant):

⚠CW⚠ for discussion of a parent's death

Adaia was part of Loghain's Nightelves, discharged without any type of compensation, became a smuggler and was generally very defiant of the authority of Denerim's city guards. They got the bead on her and it became personal; they wanted to bring her down. They caught some of her people first (something which I've detailed in the last bit of the answer to this ask) but that didn't intimidate Adaia. I imagine Cyrion begged her to stop, not to carry her weapons, to keep her head down and to not call attention to herself by making trouble. Adaia argued that a life lived in fear wasn't worth living, that carrying weapons was her Maker-given right and that she would not bow to the whims of some shem guards with an ego as blown as a ship's sails in the storm. Well, we all know how that ends. Adaia disappeared. Astala had a terribly hard time dealing with the knowledge that her mother continued everything that called the guards' attention to her despite the risk and ended up making her half an orphan. It's a weird case of not being able to blame the shem because of course the humans would do something to her mother; that's what humans do. It's the same with her blaming herself for the purge in the Alienage; the shem were the ones who purged it, but she was the one who gave them an excuse to do so. She knows better than that. Her mom knew better than that. And thus she's bitter and angry and very deep down just a nine-year-old who wants her mother back.

Of course, Astala has a terribly biased perspective on her mothers' disappearance. The feelings are still too big to even look at them for too long, let alone try to unravel them. And now there's a Blight afoot, so... Idk, I'll see how it goes with her and all of this

#astala tabris #adaia tabris #ask game #for fun #although it took a sharp turn left into sad and angsty #but don't we like these things?#cw: parent death #thanks for the ask!!#and sorry for repeating myself. i posted the first set of lyrics and it seems my brain was Not Done with this particular aspect of astala #also you DID read that absolutely perfectly right in two weddings and a kidnapping. smashed the nail on the head. i was so excited when i #*read your comment because YES the conflict has been conveyed!!!!!

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enigma-im · 4 years

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Second Day of Christmas...

Trope: Teacher/Student (college) (Nsfw) Relationship: Saytr x Human Word Count: 5,426

I quickly grab my clothes from off the floor, putting them on as I shuffle out of the bedroom. Stopping at the door I look back at the naked satyr lounging tangled in his sheets. I can't help but pat myself on the back with the lay tonight. He is a rather sexy man, putting my past one night stands to shame with skills in the bedroom. Hell, I almost overslept from how exhausted he got me. I debate leaving my number as I walk into the living room. Before I can decide my phone chimes, notifying me of my ride outside.

"Shh, shh," I hush the phone, wincing at its volume. Hearing shuffling from the bedroom I quickly abscond out the front door.

Breakfast with Shelby is live with juicy details of our weekend. She talks about her weekend vacation with her boyfriend to her parent's beach resort. I can't help but scoff at her rich family. They spent most of the time there humping like bunnies on every surface. Minimal time was spent actually on the beach.

I share my weekend events, explaining a night spent man hunting and coming up short till the last minute. A handsome satyr bought me a drink, wooing me with his words before getting me back to his place. The night was honestly great, to a surprising degree. He listened and adapted eagerly to every moaned instruction, going above and beyond before reaching his own end.

"Shame you didn't get his number," she says, swiping through her phone.

"Eh, don't think he would have written. He is more of a once in a lifetime lay more than a potential relationship," I shrug, hiding my true disappointment.

"Who knows, maybe you'll see him again," she giggles at her phone, thoroughly distracted now.

"If that fates demand it," I mumble, finishing off my drink in a single swig.

Classes begin today, starting off the spring semester. My day begins with Calculus, Satan's greatest creation. Bless first-day intros that lack any actual work. Next is ITE, the easiest class for someone using computers since they could read and write. Then the first day of classes ends with English, the most weirdly complicated college course besides science.

I walk in and take the first seat closest to the door. Dropping my bag on my desk I begin checking my messages before class begins. I respect the amount of money I spent on these classes not to get distracted by my mobile device. Don't respect that class, but the copious amounts of money spent to sit here and do nothing till I can go home and reteach it all to myself.

The class fills up till it's at compacity, normal for the first day. The teacher walks in shortly after we were scheduled to start, dropping his case on to his desk.

"Hello, hello. Welcome to English 111, I am Mr. Farfick," the teacher begins the class. I set down my phone, shoving it into my bag as I give my sole attention to Mr. Farfick. Our eyes meet immediately as he is already staring, stiff as a bored and white as a sheet. I feel to be in a similar fashion as my blood runs cold and a nervous chuckle wishes to leave my throat.

Hello, Mr. Best-One-Night-Stand-Ever.

The hour and a half are spent in thick tension. Everyone else seems oblivious to the teacher and I's strife. Tobias- Mr. Farfick is fidgeting as he hands out papers, avoiding all contact with me as I do the same. I can't bring myself to look to the teacher who spent hours last week between my legs. Like, how would any expect to look at this man and not have your first thought be him giving you bedroom eyes while eating you out? That's just evil.

2 o'clock couldn't come fast enough, me being the first to bolt out the room. I race to my car, flustered all to hell as unwanted images of his o-face pops into my mind. It plays on repeat, evening morphing scenes to him at his desk doing the same. I can't drop it, I'm not 100% sure if I want to. I shake my head at the idea.

I have to change classes.

The next day I head to the offices to talk with a counselor about changing teachers. I sit in the waiting room longer than necessary till I'm called back. I jump, following the woman into her small box office.

'Hello, what can I help you with today," she asks, already clicking away on her computer.

"Uh, I was curious about other English 111 classes, the day isn't really working for me," I lie.

She nods," of course, let's see. We have a Tuesday and Thursday class at 11 am with Mr. Farfick, or Monday and Wednesday at 12:30 am with the same teacher."

I wince," no other teacher?"

She clicks away again, giving a sorrowful look," no, it appears he is the only available English teacher this semester. I can promise you that he has received nothing but praises from the previous student. He is a good teacher."

'also a good student', I think to myself.

"Alright, I trust you. I guess I'll have to keep it as is and figure it out myself. Thank you," I stand, heading out the office," have a good day."

"You too, bye," she smiles sweetly. I smile back, dropping it with a groan once out of sight. It seems I have no other options besides wasting a semester taking one class later. I have to deal with him.

Class the next day is equally tense as the one before. He ignores me altogether, not even looking to my side of the room as he speaks to the class. I can't blame him, even though it stings a bit. Right now I can't stare at him too long or saucy images pop into my head. Instead of paying attention, I come up with a plan of attack.

The obvious option is to talk to him, getting all out in the open. We were two consenting adults, there was nothing wrong with what we did. He wasn't my teacher and I wasn't his student, if anything it was the other way around. His pleased grin as he watches me cum on his fingers comes to mind. I shake my head from the thought.

2 o'clock comes around, startling me from my thoughts. I watch as the class heads out, leaving me to slowly pack as to stall. As the last student walks out I make my move. I stand before Tobias-Mr. Farfick-, startling him when he looks up.

"H-hello," he greets. It's kind of cute to see him so flustered.

"We should talk," I get straight to the point. He drops his shoulders, sighing as he looks around. He stands from his desk, grabbing his bag as he heads to the door.

"Let's talk in my office then," he leaves me to follow.

We walk up to the teacher's offices, stopping by one as he unlocks the door. He waves me inside, shutting it behind himself as he lounges against it. I look around his station, stalling a bit as I admire his knickknacks and pictures.

"Nice office," I say.

"Thanks," he answers. I glance over at the couch against the wall.

"You have a couch," I say casually," that's neat."

"Yea, I sometimes sleep here when I need it," he answers.

The silence is deafening as small talk falls flat. I sigh, knowing avoiding this won't do us any good.

"About, uh, last week. We don't need to let that affect our school relationship. I won't bring it up if you don't and we can just pretend it didn't happen," I offer.

He jumps from the door," right! I'm sorry I've been so skittish in class, this kind of thing has never happened before and I really didn't know what to do."

"yea, can't say that I've run into this issue before either," I joke with a dry laugh.

The silence comes back just as strong, suffocating me as I try to think of anything to say. I kick my shoe against his carpet, cleaning off a bit of dirt. With a huff, I look back at him.

"Well, I guess that's it. I'm going to head out now," I point to the door," yep." I skirt past him, grabbing the handle. As I tug it open he speaks.

"Why did you leave in the middle of the night," he asks. I freeze, confused. I shut the door as I turn back to him.

"What?"

"Before, you snuck out before morning and I was really wondering why. I don't do the one-night stand thing often but when I have they normally stay for breakfast," he explains. I'm caught off guard by his genuine displeasure of me leaving that night. In my experience men generally don't want me around the next morning.

"You wanted me to stay for breakfast," I ask dumbfounded.

"well yea," he says like it was obvious," you were really fun at the bar and I wanted to try to get your number if you were up for that."

"You wanted my number?"

"of course. I thought the night was fun, even great, and going out for dinner sometime was something I wanted to do with you," he shrugs," but you clearly weren't up for that as you snuck out in the middle of the night."

I stare at him even more confused," you wanted to get dinner sometime?"

"Can you stop repeating what I've said," he snaps," you know what, never mind. I was just curious and for the next week I kept thinking, 'did I do something wrong' 'was the sex not that good'? It hardly matters now so excuse me for taking up your time. Feel free to see yourself out." he stomps out of the way, his hooves clomping on the floor. I continue to look at him dumbfounded, utterly conflicted at his confession. No man has ever wanted me to stick around.

His dejected face plucks at my heart as my emotions guide me forward. Without truly thinking I grab his tie and tugs him close, pressing my lips to his in a determined kiss. He jumps, not reacting as I pull away.

"If I'd known you wanted me to stay for breakfast I would have stayed. I would have love to give you my number. I honestly don't know if I would have agreed to dinner but my answer may have leaned towards yes, and you were the best sex I ever had," I ramble on, answering all his questions in one go.

It takes a moment for him to catch up, I give him a second to catch up. I fiddle with his tie, becoming nervous as he stares at me dazed.

"The best sex you ever had," he huffs with a smile.

"By a long shot," I smile wide. He grabs me and tugs me against his body as he steals a kiss. The taunt string that sat between us snaps as he backs me against his desk. He lifts me easily onto the tabletop, fitting himself between my legs. I run my hands through his hair, petting at his horns before tugging him closer.

Our tongues mix as we fiddle with one another's pants. I reach into his easily, finding his hard cock and pulling it out. He unbuttons my pants, tugging them hard down my legs. As I jerk him off he splits away from my lips, a string of saliva connecting us. I lick it away, grinning like a fool at his dazed face. I palm him, pleased to be reacquainted once more. With a groan he splits my legs farther, shoving my underwear to the side to pet at my cunt.

"So wet," he hums," I need you."

I squeeze his cock as I whisper in his ear," then take me, Professor." he rewards me with another moan, his head dropping to my shoulder as he shoos my hand away from his cock. He tugs me to the end of the desk, wrapping my legs around him as he thrusts in.

He whines," Divine.' I couldn't agree more.

He doesn't draw this out any longer, grabbing my hips and pumping into me. We both grunt and groan, keeping quiet despite the thumps of his thighs hitting the desk are louder than us. I hold on to him, already feeling the throbbing in my clit. Everything about this adds to the appeal. Fucking in his office where anyone can walk in. Fucking my teacher shortly after class. Fucking the sexy Satyr from last week. All together brings me towards my climax faster than normal.

Tobias grunts, stuttering in his movement. He begins panting, lazily kissing my shoulder. His hand snakes around from my hip to where we meet, beginning to rub at my clit with practiced ease. It seems he hasn't forgotten. I choke on a cry, burying my face against his neck as I tug on his tie and fist his hair.

"Please, please," I ramble under my breath. My body feels like fire as my coming climax starts to wash over me. I jerk into his next few thrust, wanting to worship his magic fingers. I cum with a surprised yelp, biting into my fist as my legs tremble around his hips. He grunts, his face pinching in agony as he bucks wildly. A few wavy moans leave his lips as he tosses his head back. I feel him cum, pulsing as he fills me. I shudder at the feeling, my nails digging into his hair.

He comes back to himself first, dropping his head so his hair obscures his face. With a large breath, he looks at me between his bangs. He smiles, getting me to smile back.

"Never disappoint, Annika," he praises. I nearly giggle like a girl at that.

"Not so bad yourself," I tug on his tie, pulling him into a kiss. We bask in the afterglow, feeling high as we lazily kiss. It isn't till someone knocks on his door does the reality of our situation sink in.

Quickly, he pulls out, tucking himself away as I right my underwear. He straightens his tie, fixing his hair as I hop off the desk to pull on my pants. I feel his cum dribble out, shivering in mild disgust at the feeling. I walk over to my bag swinging it over my shoulder as Tobias- Mr. Farfick- answers the door.

"Hello," an older woman greets," Do you have a moment?" she glances at me then back to him.

"Uh, yea," he jumps to attention," we finished our conversation, let me just see Mrs. Annika out."

The older woman walks in, stepping near his desk, as he guides me to the door. I step out into the hall, turning to him when I notice him lingering. He grabs the door and doorframe, leaning towards me to whisper in my ear.

"See you in class next week," he purrs. A blush curls up against my neck as I give an unsteady, 'ok'. He chuckles, warm and deep, before shutting the door.

I stare at the closed door for a moment, everything truly setting in now that I'm alone. A shiver of excitement rumbles around my body as I rush down the hall. I make it out of the building and to my car where I sit in silence to think about everything.

"He creampied me in his office," I say surprised," my teacher creampied me." I grab the steering wheel to steady myself, groaning in discomfort. "what the hell is wrong with me," I shout," nobody actually does this! I don't do things like this, I'm a semi-good person who definitely doesn't sleep with their fucking teacher!"

I try to scold myself, I really do, but it was all too good to be truly mad about it. Tobias is just… he is fantastic. I know if given the chance to sleep with him again I would take it, with no hesitations. Still, it's my teacher. Sure he is my teacher for just the semester and I met him before then, but should it be an issue? Will he get fired if someone knew? This isn't high school rules anymore, it's not illegal, but he could get fired.

"fuck," I thunk my head on the steering wheel," he better know what he's doing because I sure as hell don't."

I finally drive home, still going over what happened. The weekend comes and goes as I get the minimal homework I have done. When Monday comes I'm almost giddy at the aspect of having English today. Who knew the only way to get me excited over school was to fuck my teacher?

Calculus almost gets my mood down, almost. ITE continues to be the easiest class in existence. Finally, English 111.

Mr. Farfick is here on time, sitting on his computer and not paying anyone a bit of mind. I sit in my previous spot by the door, trying my damndest not to stare at him. We didn't decide if we were going to ignore what happened, the two cases of it. Are we pretending it didn't happen? Will it happen again? I nearly moaned at the idea of it happening again.

"Hello, hello," he greets," I hope you all had a lovely weekend and managed to get the one assignment I gave you done." he looks out to the class, not avoiding me but not paying attention. Are we pretending it never happened? A few people groan out a droll yes as we all get out our assignment.

He walks the room, picking them up at the end of each row. As he passes mine he stops.

"Did you do your homework," he asks casually. I hand him the stack with a nod. He mumbles loud enough for me," Good girl," and walks on. I choke on my breath, gulping hard as I try not to smile like a fool.

Guess we aren't ignoring anything.

Class is filled with subtle glances and double meaning remarks. It's hard to not give him flirty looks and twirl my hair like some freshman. I try to keep it professional while playing along. Class ends and I stall putting my things away. As the last student leaves, I walk up to his desk.

"Afternoon, Annika," he smiles to himself as he works on his computer," do you need something?"

"Besides you," I shrug, resting my hip next to his desk," maybe."

He looks up with a pleased grin," you need me? Should I be so tempted?"

"Not yet, I have some questions," I say with a bit more seriousness. He sobers a bit, leaning forward on crossed arms.

"What can I help you with, Annika," he asks. His genuine want to help shines through as he focuses solely on me. It makes me stutter a little, my heartwarming up more to him.

"two things," I start," what's happening here, and will we get in trouble for it?" it's best to cut to the chase with this.

He smiles again," worried, Annika?"

"About my degree, yes," I answer honestly.

He drops his chin to his desk," you won't get in trouble, I might, but it's mostly surface-level disciplinary actions like time off and pay cut."

"Are you so willing to lose money because of a fling," I ask, a little angry at his lack of self-preservation.

"A fling," he cocks a brow," would I be too bold to want more than that?"

I recoil at him, not put off but surprised. "You want a relationship or something," I ask.

He nods," I told you I liked you, Annika, and I'd like to see where this goes. Of course, I'm not going to force you but if I want something I generally go for it. To let a few weeks decide if I should drop all feelings for you or not seems rather stupid. I won't be your teacher for long, and you won't be my student for long. So why stall just so we don't feel weird about it?"

I watch him, a bit lost in thought. I mean, he has a point. As long as I don't get in trouble and he doesn't care about getting in trouble then what's the issue? Still, it begs the question of 'am I interested in being in a relationship with him?'. I look at his eager face, seeing the dorky man that lies within. He is excited and I think I feel that too.

"ok," I shrug.

"Ok?"

"ok, as in yes or sure. Generally another word for affirmation," I explain as I reach into my bag, ripping a small piece of paper out.

He watches eagerly," I know what that means, but what are you affirming?"

I write my number on the paper, handing it to him," to going out. Now I have to leave, feel free to write."

I walk out with a cute little wave. He looks from me to the paper, smiling wide as he gets his phone out. I walk out of the building with a pep in my step.

He calls later that day, to my surprise. I answer the unsaved number knowing fully well who it is.

"Hello, hello," I mimic his class greetings.

"evening, Annika, hope I'm not calling at a bad time," his voice purrs through the speaker. I lounge back in my bed, pinching the phone between my ear and shoulder.

"Of course not, I was just doing some boring English homework," I tease.

"Boring? How rude of the teacher to give out such lame assignments then," he answers. I snort, shaking my head.

"It's fine, he's pretty cute so he can get away with keeping English boring," I joke.

"We will get back to the cute part, you don't like English?"

I grab the paper on the bed, looking it over," it's not my favorite, I tolerate it. Perhaps I just need proper motivation."

"What kind of motivation?"

I hum," not sure, some positive reinforcement wouldn't hurt."

"like perhaps an evening with your 'cute' professor," he asks, his voice low and sultry. I nibble on my lip, feeling giddy.

"Wouldn't hurt," I bite back a smile," I heard he is really good in bed."

"Is that right? I don't think he would mind giving up some of his free time to keep you motivated to pass," he says.

"you would know?"

"of course, I'm really close with him," he drops his game, speaking without the erotic purr," can we stop pretending I'm not him, I'm getting hard and I wanted to have an actual conversation with you."

I bark out a laugh," you're hard? I didn't even do anything."

He snorts," oh, you did plenty. I could barely sit in class today without thinking about bending you over my desk. See your cute little pussy soaked and spread for my enjoyment."

"that's so cruel, how am I to sit in class now knowing what your thinking. Every time you walk by I just wanna grab your horns and drag you to you're knees to get you to work on getting this 'little pussy' ready for your enjoyment," I tease back. I hear a faint groan from him as if he pulled the phone away.

"Stop, I wanted to be a gentleman and ask you how your day was," he scolds.

"well it's better now, only if you were here to deal with this throbbing between my legs it would be amazing," I grin as he groans again.

"Naughty, naughty," he tsks," tell me about your day and we can decide tomorrow how to deal with you in my office."

"Promise," I ask.

"Promise," he says firmly.

We actually manage to talk about something other than sex. I talk about my day, as does he, and go on about my degree. It's sweet how attentive he is throughout, adding feedback about class courses and teacher drama. The entire time we talk I can't wipe the smile off my face.

The next day in his office is…eventful.

"Fuck," he moans near my ear. He pounds into me against his bookshelf, the shelves hitting uncomfortably against my back. I can't bother to care as his finger rubs my clit and his cock pumps into me. Small wails leave my lips, leading him to cover my mouth with his own. Our cries of pleasure mix, his hips adding the beat to our music of the body.

"Please," I beg against his lips.

"I got you," he mumbles. I grapple at his shoulders, squeezing him closer with my legs and grinding into his thrusts. He grabs my hands from around him, pinning them on the shelf with our fingers clasped together. He kisses me, swallowing my groans as I fall apart.

"T-Tobias," I shutter.

"Annika," he echoes back, squeezing my hand as his face pinches. His cum floods me once again, painting my insides with his seed. We rest against each other, breathing heavily in the silent room. Tobias rocks his hips slowly, leaning down to press sweet kisses to my cheek and neck.

"So beautiful," he whispers," I could stay like this forever."

I smile lazily," yea, I could to-" I'm interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Mr. Farfick," a younger voice calls out. Their silhouette is partially seen through the frosted glass.

"Shit," Tobias- Mr. Farfick- curses. He pulls out, setting me down gently on my feet. I watch him fumble with his clothes, tucking himself away and rebuttoning his shirt. He is quite the sight as I slowly fix my clothes.

"Seem a bit flustered there," I tease.

He looks to me a bit panicked as he fixes his tie," well yea, there is a student at my door."

"Mr. Farfick," they call again.

"Just a moment," he answers back.

I button my shorts as a mischievous smile curls my lips," I thought you didn't mind getting caught."

"No, I said it's not a big deal if I get caught, but I rather not if I can help it," he corrects. I stand at the bookshelf with my shirt still undone and bra unhooked. With him all proper and straight he looks to me, his eyes drop to my breast before he looks back to me.

He squints as he walks over and begins to right my clothes," Don't be evil right now."

I tug his tie and brings him in for a kiss," who says I'm being evil."

He closes his eye in frustration, growling low in his throat," be a good girl and go sit down by the desk."

"Ok, Mr. Farfick," I purr, kissing his cheek before I sit back down. He huffs, walking over to the door. Before he opens it he throws me a warning look.

"Sorry, I was speaking with another student. What do you need," he asks the tall lad before him. I don't bother paying attention, looking around his room, and thinking back on moments ago.

I don't hear him shut the door or walk over till he grabs my hair and slowly guides my head back. He scowls down at me, pulling my hair a little tighter

"Something wrong," I ask casually.

"You, young lady, are in big trouble," he twists my chair and frames me with his arms. I grab his tie again, pulling him closer.

"what? Little old me," I mock innocence. He rolls his eyes, letting me tug him in for a kiss.

The semester is a lot more fun than I anticipated. We have fewer moments in his office after the last incident with the student. But we make up for it at his place on the weekends. English becomes a lot more fun when every good grade is rewarded with gratuitous sex.

At the final week of class, I lay in Tobias' bed, snuggled up in his arms after another study session. I pet my foot up his hairy legs, relishing in the softness of his fur. He opens his eyes, a lazy smile decorating his face.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hello," he shuts his eyes back, pulling me closer.

"Finals are next week, imma be a bit too busy to come over," I say quietly, not wanting to break the peace of the room.

He hums, answering in his gravelly voice," you sure you don't want some help studying?"

"I actually need to study," I answer," we do a lot less studying when together."

He gropes at my ass," I don't know what you mean, I think we did a lot of studying tonight."

I snort," yea if I was taking anatomy." he chuckles, snuggling his face against my chest. I pet at his hair, pushing it off his forehead and around his horns.

"I wanna make a deal if I have to spend a week without you," he grumbles from between my breast.

"What kind of deal," I scratch the back of his head. He hums, rubbing his cheeks against my boob.

"Pass all your exams and I'll take you out to dinner as a reward. Nothing cheap, but a genuine date," he looks up at me as he speaks. We haven't gone out before, deciding against it for reasons. The fact that he wants to almost knocks the breath from me. A part of me always saw this as a fling, even though he hasn't validated that thought. We talk, often, but sex is a given anytime we're in the same room. It's nice to be properly taken out, shown off without the threat of consequences.

"And if I fail," I ask instead of answering. He cocks a brow, rising and crawling over me. I pet at his chest, smiling at where this was going. He leans down, kissing under my jaw.

He whispers," let's just say, I suggest you don't." I can't stop the girlish giggle that leaves my mouth, relishing in the love bites being littered across my neck.

The next week is rather torturous. I nearly call Tobias just to get an excuse to stop doing study packets. I hold strong, keeping distractions to a minimum. For some reason, I really wanna get the best grade I can, perhaps to have something to be proud of when I show Tobias. I fluster at the idea that I want to impress him.

Exams are torturous, especially in Calculus. The ITE exam was a joke, only one or two questions being confusing. English wasn't hard but trying to focus with Tobias just a few feet away was its own form of torture. When he walked around the room I nearly covered my answers in pure nervousness. The one time I catch his eyes, he gives a sweet motivating smile. I keep that with me as I turn in the test and walk out.

I don't see Tobias till grades are posted, wanting to give him whatever news I have the second I know. I skip to his house, feeling giddy as I knock on his door. I bounce on my toes, waiting for him to answer as I pinch my phone in my hand. The door opens and I nearly shove the phone in his face with my excitement.

"I passed them all," I cheer. He takes the phone from me, checking it over.

"Got a C in calculus," he tries to scold, a smile still tugging on the corners of his mouth.

I roll my eyes," C's get degrees, you try taking that class."

"You're right, I can't talk, I failed calculus in high school," he sets my phone on the table by the door and picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, hugging him as we walk inside.

"So dinner this weekend," I ask, bouncing in his hold.

"Well, since you were such a good girl. I guess," he jokes," but first, I've missed you." he carries me over to his bedroom, dropping me on the bed before crawling over me. I drag him down for a kiss, smiling like a fool the entire time.

"Proud of you," he says between kisses," you did very well."

"it's because I had a good teacher," I tease. He snorts, working on removing my clothes as I work on his.

I do hope the sex isn't different now that he isn't my teacher. He makes me swallow those words that night.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #teacher/student #exophilia #monster boyfriend #Enigma-IM #satyr boyfriend

149 notes · View notes

writer-ish · 4 years

Text

hopeful hearts

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 2,515

Rating: T (for now)

special thanks to: @openheartthot for being lovely and supportive and the inspiration for this piece, in part due to all the hard work she does with the chapter scripts each week. ♥️

Notes: This takes place during the Gala, before and after Ethan and MC’s very public kiss.

I wanted to flesh out this beautiful scene in a way that breathed new life into it, delving into the psyche of these characters and further detailing their thoughts and feelings in those lovely moments. PB gave us a lot with this chapter... but sometimes, it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

In other words, please enjoy my self-indulgence.

Dr. Brooke Spiers sighs heavily as she shifts from foot to foot, hoping to ease the ache that is beginning to grow in her toes. The shoes she had touted as “so comfortable!” just a few hours earlier now seem like devices specifically designed to torture her into revealing state secrets.

She is tired.

The night is wearing thin, the sheen of such a spectacular display starting to dull around the edges. She finds herself longing for the more ascetic hospital she’d grown used to over the past two years. The decor is already tiresome; she craves the familiarity of its former sterility.

I should be walking these grounds saving asses and not kissing them, dammit.

She sighs again, her eyes casting about, looking for a reprieve of some sort.

She finds it almost immediately in one Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Exactly the familiar and welcome sight she’d required. It still amazes her how finding his form in a crowded hall or room can immediately set her at ease. As though something just clicks into place whenever he’s near.

Ah, says her soul each time. There he is.

She watches as the donor Ethan had been speaking to walks away. Continues to watch as Ethan’s shoulders sink, the man physically deflating before her eyes.

He looks exhausted, she thinks, a pang in her chest as she briefly allows herself to consider how full his plate of worries is. She watches as he heads to the bar and she finds her feet taking her in the same direction, practically of their own volition.

He looks up as she approaches and she catches the slight softening of his gaze, even as his full mouth stays in a hard line.

“Holding up okay?” she asks, hearing the gentle sympathy creeping into her tone.

“Ask me once I get this next drink,” is his curt response, as he gestures to the bartender.

“That bad, huh?” His abruptness no longer bothers her. She recognizes the surface-level gruffness for what it is: a shield. To protect a man who already has the world on his shoulders from caring about too many things all at once.

He proves her correct when he performs his telltale stress maneuver: squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Something is bothering him.

She waits patiently for him to tell her what it is, like she knows he will.

“I just wonder…” Bingo. “How did we come to this, Brooke? We should be solving cases, not rubbing shoulders with smug idiots in bowties.”

She nods slowly, resisting the urge to run her hand over his tense shoulders.

“I know how much you dislike this sort of thing,” she says softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His breath catches almost imperceptibly as he stares back at her.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continues, “I’m really proud of you for stepping up anyway.”

She can see how her words impact him through the way his nostrils flare, the piercing blue of his gaze narrowing with the dilation of his pupils.

He clears his throat and blinks the expression away quickly, turning back towards the bar. When he speaks again, his tone is dry. Back in control.

“Stepping up, as you put it, is necessary.”

As he speaks, the bartender slides him his drink. Ethan catches the glass and lifts it to his lips in one fluid motion, throat working as he swallows in a single swig.

“I always told myself I'd do whatever it took to save lives,” he says after a pause. “Whatever extreme measure was required. Which is why I'm compromising myself this way. You showed me that 'whatever it takes' includes making moral sacrifices, too. In fact…”

He pauses again, his eyes catching hers once more. She allows him to gather his words, sensing the weight of them.

“Somehow,” he continues eventually, “you've managed to make them without weakening your convictions or becoming jaded and cynical.” He shakes his head, as though the thought of it is a marvel to him.

“Ethan…” God, the way he makes her feel. There had never been a man like this one when it came to the effects of his fleeting words of praise. She would bend over backwards for a single throwaway acknowledgement, every time.

How embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she tries to gather the shards of her scattered thoughts (and dignity).

“Everyone knows how much you do to save people.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “In the diagnostics office, sure, but have I really done everything I could? If I'd listened to you sooner, would we really be in this situation right now?”

The stark, self-directed derision in his tone gives her pause. Had he ever doubted himself in this way before?

Her hands itch to reach for him, but she holds back out of the agreements they’ve made, unspoken and not. Instead she settles for saying his name again, the syllables falling off her tongue like a caress. “Ethan…”

She sees how it hits him, in the way that his eyes close briefly and a slight, almost indiscernible shiver runs through him. She doesn’t realize that she’s caught her lower lip between her teeth until she feels the sharp pain of it.

Until his eyes catch on it and he swallows hard, before tapping the counter for another drink with a sigh.

“Honestly, it's not even the shilling for money that's bothering me. It's letting Naveen down.”

The words send a shock through her. Naveen? “What? What are you talking about?”

He rests his elbows on the bar, leaning forward as he waits for his drink, and stares at some distant point beyond them both.

“When I lose a patient, I stay up half the night turning possibilities over in my head. Things I could have done differently.”

She knows this. Knows how she does the same.

“And I can't help but wonder what would be different now, with the hospital, if I hadn't been so damned stubborn.” He rakes a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh, then drops his clenched fist to his side. “Now that I see what I could have done…” He shakes his head. “How will I tell Naveen that his legacy fell apart...because of me?”

The vulnerability in his tone almost cracks her composure. She opens her mouth to respond, to tell him how ludicrous, how irrational he’s being, when a new voice chimes in from the side, fond amusement evident.

“I suppose you would say exactly that!”

Brooke and Ethan both turn, mouths agape at the sight of Naveen standing right behind them.

Ethan recovers first and remarks dryly, “You know it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“True,” Naveen acquiesces, the cheeky grin never leaving his face, “but I never could resist a juicy conversation. Besides, I think this concerns me fairly closely, don't you?”

Brooke silently looks over to Ethan, who is staring at his mentor with a furrowed brow and conflicted gaze. He doesn’t speak and neither does she, both waiting for Naveen to continue, likely for different reasons.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Ethan…” His tone is soft now, though the good humour and affection remain, “you do know that what I built here, what you helped me to build...it was never about my legacy, or even about Edenbrook.”

Ethan is already nodding. “It was about the mission. For the people with nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely!” Naveen exclaims, as though Ethan has once again proven himself to be a diagnostic wonder. “And no matter what happens to Edenbrook, that mission will never end.” A grin splits his weathered and jovial face. “You'll carry it on wherever you go.”

Brooke feels her heart soar, as though Naveen’s words were meant for her, too. She knows what this validation means for Ethan - what it has always meant. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks over at him and sees the emotion in his own face.

“You really believe that, Naveen?” The question is quiet, though the gravity of it remains clear to them all.

Naveen shakes his head fondly, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a shocked Ethan. Brooke sees how it takes him a moment to register the embrace, before he fiercely brings his arms around his mentor in return. The men slap each other’s backs once, twice, in a masculine acknowledgement of brotherhood, understanding, and even love.

After a moment, Naveen pulls back and holds Ethan at arm’s length, strong hands gripping broad shoulders.

“My friend,” he says, “it's the most important belief I hold. And for maintaining that legacy?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks his next words: “I couldn't be more proud of you.”

Ethan’s own eyes glisten as Naveen gives him one final pat, before turning and walking back into the gala, a smile on his face.

They’re alone once more. Brooke glances over at Ethan, unsure of what kind of emotion she might see on his face. It surprises her to see him clear-faced, eyes bright. He stands tall, taller than before as if that were even possible. He looks suddenly unburdened. Reinvigorated.

“So,” she begins and he almost visibly startles as he looks at her. The heat of his gaze washes over her, his eyes sweeping her up and down, the way they had when he walked into her apartment for the first time that afternoon. She swallows, feeling her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her dress, even as she tries to ignore her body’s response to him.

Clearing her throat, she continues: “What's next for Dr. Ethan Ramsey now that he's not so 'damn stubborn' anymore?”

Her lips quirk in a smile, even as she watches him closely, finely attuned to his next move—the way she would watch a tiger let loose from its cage. A thrill runs through her at the look in his eyes.

“I…” When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his body leans towards her almost unconsciously. “The thing is, I've been meaning to…” He shakes his head suddenly, as though frustrated with himself. “Oh, to hell with it.”

She barely has time to gasp before Ethan’s hands are on her, the tips of his fingers weaving into the loose curls at the nape of her neck. He draws her to him forcefully, loose limbed and sure of himself, and she has nowhere to go but along for the ride.

Their lips meet and it’s not the first time or the second or the tenth, but it’s revelatory nonetheless, an absolution and a celebration all at once.

She’s dimly aware that an audience is growing, but she can’t bring herself to care, focused instead on wrapping one arm behind his back and carding the other hand through his hair, his clipped locks silken beneath her fingers and slightly stiff from whatever product he’d used.

She tightens the hold she has on his hair and he groans softly into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her tighter. The kiss is soft, open, and wet, and she feels the lazy trail of its spark make its way from her lips, down her chest, and further still until she presses against him even harder, heated and restless.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh my god…”

“I knew it!”

A cacophony of exclamations around them slowly bring them back to reality. Brooke feels her feet gently touch the ground once more and Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold on her slightly. He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily, seeming as reluctant to part from her as she is to let him go. Their breaths intermingle as the last few wolf whistles and catcalls die down and the Gala attendees go into their dark corners to gossip further about what they’ve just seen.

Brooke is dimly aware that a song has begun to play, only because the tune almost feels as though it’s an extension of their kiss, slow and melodious as it is.

Ethan strokes her back and pulls away completely, before offering his hand.

“Shall we?”

She resents him his composure, looking only slightly mussed and otherwise perfect, his bowtie barely askew, while she is certain she resembles a feral raccoon, emerging from the dumpster.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey,” she murmurs, attempting to regain the upper hand ever so slightly. “I thought this wasn't even a date.”

She likes to throw his own words back at him, even good-humouredly, as a reminder that he best not deny what they have any longer. That he is as inextricably tied to her as she is to him.

He grins unabashedly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Just shut up and take my hand.”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a pleasant warmth zinging through her and she finds herself placing her hand in his before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

He leads her out to the dance floor and wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She can feel eyes on them both and it makes her tingle a little unpleasantly. She’s dimly aware of the knowledge that this was what he was trying to protect her from, all this time.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me like that,” she breathes, leaning into him ever so slightly, “in front of the entire hospital.”

He squeezes the hand he has in his own and softly presses her further into him. She inhales the scent of his cologne, masculine and sweet, and realizes that, despite her discomfort at being the centre of attention, there’s no place she’d rather be in this moment.

“It just doesn't feel like I need to pretend anymore,” he admits, his deep voice a gruff whisper as they sway.

“That was a very public way to get over your concerns.”

He shoots her a crooked grin that leaves her breathless. “It felt freeing, didn't it? There are some things crowds are good for,” he adds, slyly.

His hold tightens on her and she tries to get even closer to him, shifting restlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest. She has a sensation that surpasses contentment - a crawling need for the man before her, a need to be near him, even closer than she already is. Perhaps closer than they’ve ever been.

“Then again,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. His gaze zeroes in on her mouth. She can feel his body, hard and alert, flush with hers, “there are some things crowds aren’t as good for.” She looks up at him, slightly breathless, watching as he captures and holds her meaning.

“True…” he murmurs, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “But that's why they invented private offices. No need to pretend there. Or worry about who's watching.”

She swallows hard, her breath shaky.

She knows everyone’s eyes are still on them, awaiting their next move. What leaving now would mean for them, for her, in the eyes of the hospital and her peers.

The real question was: how much did she care?

✨✨✨

[if you’re interested in reading the “office scene”, feel free to let me know... I might just be persuaded to continue this thing ☺️]

#open heart #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart 2 #choices open heart #oh #oph #my fics

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allegra-writes · 5 years

Text

Adore you

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, of course

The request:

More dom reader and subby pete pls!!! maybe something like a badass shield agent reader? and peter having a crush on her and there goes the smut? hope u like this idea, take ur time!!

I've been holding onto this for a couple of days now. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, I had to stop for air quite a few times as I wrote it so beware. This is my Christmas gift to you, consider me your Naughty Pagan Santa🔥

Series masterlist

"P-please" Peter's desperate plea broke the silence. His voice was hoarse, wrecked, no louder than a whisper and at first you weren't even sure he had spoken, but then he begged again, "Please, please!"

You were torturing him, breaking him, shattering him to dust and then putting him back together again, building him anew to your liking, and he wasn't sure how much more he would be able to take without losing his mind. He felt your smile against his hip bone and dared looking down, teary red rimmed eyes meeting yours, ablazed and alluring, every bit as beautiful as the first time he had seen them. He had lost himself in those eyes more times than he could count, and yet he could map them to micrometric precision, dozens of pictures on his phone dedicated solely to them, to their idiosyncrasies and nuances under different lighting.

He never thought he could have this, never thought he could have you: Y/n from biology. Agent 16, S.H.I.E.L.D. level 7. "I guess it's something we have in common," You had said, "we are both liars." Peter had wanted to argue that it wasn't the same thing, but it was hard to complain as you drove away from the angry mob of Mysterio stans you had saved him from. You had been fast, efficient, one quick drive to Manhattan, to the helipad of the ex-Avenger's tower (now property of S.H.I.E.L.D.) and before the day was over, you both were out of the city, out of the country, on that desert island just the two of you.

The feeling of your tongue, hot and wet on the v of his hips pulled him back into the present. You sucked a little pineapple cube, cold against his fevered skin, into your mouth, before chasing down the drop of juice the fruit had left behind with your tongue. Peter dug his fingers on the white, soft sand, searching in vain for purchase. He squirmed, a steady stream of 'pleasepleaseplease' falling from his lips, as you ate a piece of cantaloupe off his abs.

You were using his body as a plate, eating fresh fruit off it, a new torment to add to the long list of wicked, delicious ways you had been playing with him all afternoon. You had been pleasuring him for a couple of hours now, and he was delirious with it, overstimulated. He felt immaterial, disembodied, undone. He was soft clay under your hands, under your mouth, under your tongue. Your touch was the only thing shaping his reality, shaping him. So what if the whole world knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man? He wasn't either of them anymore. Here on this island, laying under you, he wasn't the next Tony Stark or the last Avenger; he was just 'baby boy', and 'tiger' and whatever else you choose to call him.

He was free.

He didn't have to save any body, because you had saved him, didn't have to decide anything cause you gave the orders. You could take care of him, all he had to do was surrender to you.

You crawled up his body, tiny slice of watermelon between your lips, and Peter immediately parted his, to let you glide it into his mouth. It tasted faintly of your strawberry lip balm, making his head dizzy with longing.

"Please" he croaked again, after swallowing the sweet, juicy fruit.

"What do you need baby boy?" You breathed, hot against his ear.

"To kiss you" he panted, "please, let me kiss you"

You complied, and he finally got to taste your soft, warm mouth. Strawberry lipstick and cherries and himself and he loved it, loved that sharp bitter tang on your palate. His fingers buried themselves in your hair, pulling you closer to taste it better. Only when you pulled away, giggling a little maliciously, did he realize his mistake.

"Bad, bad boy" You leaned back, disentangling from his fingers, sitting up and away from him.

He paled,

"No, please, I'll do anything" He moved to get up too, but caught himself at the last second, your disapproving glare all that was needed to halt his movements. You smiled to yourself, he truly was insatiable. After coming so many times that afternoon, he still looked heartbroken at the prospect of this little game of yours ending. With his big brown eyes full of tears and bottom lip wobbling slightly, he was just too God damn adorable, and you… well, unlike him you were only human.

But he still needed to be punished.

"You like what we do, baby boy?" You inquired, sitting back down, straddling him, pressing yourself against him, only the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms separating your core from his gorgeous, naked cock. "You like the way we play?"

He nodded frantically as you started to rock on top of him, tearing a moan from his lips.

"Do you like the things I do to you?"

"Yes, ma'am" he groaned. You ranked your fingernails down his chest, down his stomach.

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes! Oh god…"

You reached back, untying the scarf you had turned into a bandeau. Peters hands twitched, but he kept them by his sides.

"Do you like looking at me?"

"God, yes!" He cried, as you rubbed yourself down on him harder, faster, "I love it, love watching you! I - I love.."

You stopped moving, making Peter whine loudly, fists hitting the sand like a little boy throwing a tantrum.

"Do you want to touch me?"

"Yes! Please, please ma'am, please let me touch you…"

How could you ever say no to that? You nodded your permission and chucked as Peter's hands went straight to your breasts.

"Can I…" Peter hesitated, not wanting to push his luck. But judging by the way your head lolled back, you seemed to be enjoying his touch, and that gave him courage. "Can I put my mouth on you, ma'am?"

You smirked, looking down at him through half shut eyes,

"Such a greedy boy…" You scolded, but tugged him up to a sitting position anyway, capturing his lips again. The feeling of your nipples against the naked skin of his chest had him moaning into your mouth, and you swallowed it, devoured it, dominating the kiss as you were dominating him. Your hips started to move again, by their own volition, and his followed in kind, until you both were breathing hard. You broke the kiss, pulling at his soft curls, guiding his mouth to where you wanted it. He wasted no time at nibbling and sucking, rolling your nipples with the tip of his tongue, first one and then the other. He had a naturally talented tongue, and you couldn't wait to see what else he could do with it.

"I'm going to ride your face until I come" you were proud of how steady and commanding your voice was, "and then, I'm going to ride your cock until you come…"

His answering broken sob let you know he was ok with that idea.

"And then… then I'm going to keep on ridding you… gonna go on… and on… I'm not going to stop until you give me all your come…"

"Yes, oh my god yes!"

"Until it's gushing out of me…"

"Yesyesyes…" Peter was close, so so close. Between the rocking of your hips and your words, he was seconds away from bursting, and you knew it.

That's exactly why you stopped, and pushed him away from you, watching him fall back onto the sand. It was just for show, of course. He was way stronger than you and, if he wanted to, he could easily flip you, overpower you and have his way with you. That only made the adrenaline rush greater, knowing how powerful he really was, knowing he was giving up all that power willingly and placing it on your hands to do with it, with him, as you pleased.

To use him as you pleased.

...You had always loved big guns.

"I'm going to give you a choice now, tiger" You spoke over the cute little whimpers escaping his throat. He was so precious, so innocent, you almost felt bad for corrupting him like this. Almost. "I am going to do all the things I just promised, I won't stop you from coming again. And you can keep on touching me while I do those things to you… or you can keep on watching me, but not both"

He met your eyes and you could see the conflict behind his. He looked about ready to cry, fingers trembling where they rested on your thighs, brown orbs never leaving yours, imploring. You straddling his waist almost naked, free and unashamed under the clear summer sky, were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he didn't want to give that up. But the thought of taking his hands away from your soft skin, from your lovely body, was almost physically painful.

"I-I can't" He stammered, a little pathetically but he was long past pride, "please, don't make me choose"

"Then I guess I'll have to choose for you"

You tried to pry his hands away, but he held on tighter.

"No! No, please, I wanna touch!"

You leaned over, taking your abandoned silk scarf from the sand, tying it around his head and over his eyes.

"But I wanna see you!" He complained petulantly. Such a brat… you were going to love breaking him.

"But you misbehaved, baby boy" You reminded him, "You touched me without permission, and now this is your punishment. I can't just let you off the hook now, can I? Can't let you think you can get away with anything…"

"But-"

"One more word" he felt your hand squeeze his balls softly, warningly, "and you'll regret it"

He snapped his mouth shut.

"Atta boy" You approved, rewarding him with a filthy open mouthed kiss before standing up. Peter didn't have time to protest before something, a piece of cloth hit him square in the face. He fisted it in his left hand, the wet patch letting him now right away it was your bikini bottoms. Peter pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

"Dirty boy" you tsked from somewhere near his pelvis, startling him. He felt your warm breath against his cock right before he felt your searing tongue, placing one long lick from base to red, angry tip.

"F-FUCK!"

You laughed and then you were gone again, only to flick at his nipple a moment later, making him cry out. You kept on toying with him for a few minutes, a kiss here, a suck there, until finally, finally, he heard your knees hitting the sand at either side of his head as you slowly lowered yourself, hovering right above his mouth.

He ventured a lick, but you backed away. He gave chase, straining his neck, but you always raised yourself just enough for him to be unable to make contact, until he frustratedly grabbed a hold of your thighs, using his superior strength to force you down onto his face.

"Holy fuck!" This time, it was your turn to curse as his tongue made it straight into your soft, velvety insides, delving deep, crashing unexpectedly with something cool and sweet. He twirled his tongue around until he was able to take it into his mouth, moaning as he bit down onto it. You had buried a strawberry inside your pussy for him to find.

And you called him dirty.

He swallowed and thrusted his tongue inside you again. You were sweeter than the strawberry and he wondered idly if his Spider half had anything to do with it, if he could somehow taste your pheromones or something. Or if it was simply you, delicious and addictive all of your own.

You were making the most beautiful sounds, bucking your hips erratically, wave after wave of sugary nectar falling to his lips as his nose bumped against your clit with every one of your movements. And he was mad about it, mad about you, growling and moaning into your cunt. He couldn't possibly want you more than he did right then, cock so hard it hurt, pelvis grinding pitifully against nothing. But he wasn't important, this was all about you, about pleasing you, worshiping every inch of you. His amazon, his pagan goddess in a tropical paradise. Even back in Europe, hell, even way back in New York, all he had ever wanted was this: For you to let him adore you.

Peter had never understood the need to submit, what was about being tossed and ordered around that appealed so much to those men on the internet. Not until he met you.

Because from the moment he met you, he wanted to belong to you, to be your slave and follow your every command, fulfil your every need.

And now you were screaming, falling apart above him and he had done that, he was the one you were coming for. It made his head swim with pride and something else, something unnamed and powerful. He kept on lapping at your cunt, leisurely, slow like honey, until your legs stopped trembling.

You pushed his curls, slick with sweat, away from his forehead tenderly.

"Good boy," You cooed, "I'm so proud of you, you did so good"

A warm feeling spread out in Peter's chest at your words.

"Thank you, ma'am. Good enough for my punishment to be over?"

You laughed breathlessly as you pushed his hands away and stood up on slightly unstable legs.

"No, but nice try"

His pout was so cute you had to bend down and kiss it off his face.

"Pretty please?" He insisted, once he felt you straddling his thighs.

"Don't be difficult, baby. Don't you want to be good for me?"

"I d- OH" your hot hand around his shaft made him cry out, cutting his answer short. Had you known before a hand job was all it took to shut Peter Parker up… You would probably have done everything exactly the same, actually.

Peter's head was already trashing from side to side as your hand moved, deliberately slow. Up and down, up and down, up and down…

Up… up, up, guiding him into your tight, exquisite heat. He heard you moan as you buried his cock inside you to the hilt, pelvis kissing yours.

"You are… the best thing I've ever felt inside me"

He groaned his agreement, hands flying to your waist, as you started to move, started sliding up and down his cock steadily, imitating the same unhurried rhythm you used with your hand.

But your cunt felt so much better than your palm, all that wet, silky pressure over every lavish inch of him… up and down, up and down…

He felt you brace yourself on his abdomen, nails digging into firm flesh.

Up and down… up and down… Faster.

Faster…

"Peter… oh, god, you feel so good… So good between my legs"

And you felt like heaven, he wanted to tell you, but he was reduced to cries and sobs, to clutching and grabbing at your skin, fingertips eagerly searching any part of your body they could reach. You took one of his hands and lowered it until his thumb was right above your clit, your own fingers showing him how to rub just right to make pleasure explode inside your loins.

His eyes fluttered open underneath the blindfold. He didn't mean to, he truly didn't, he wanted to be good, he wanted to obey, but this? You riding him hard, coming from his cock and his fingers? It was a vision way too tempting to resist. He could see you clearly through the rainbow of silk threads, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent scream, little beads of sweat glimmering on your skin under the sun, sparkling almost as bright as the jewel colored water on the horizon behind you. And your cunt, juicy and red as the strawberries you favoured, stretched around his cock, taking it in over and over and over again, little contractions milking him, hungry for his come.

So he gave it to you, surging deep inside you, hips thrusting up to meet yours. You almost fell back, but he caught you in his arms just in time. Raising to a sitting position still buried inside you, he gathered you to his chest, the makeshift blindfold falling from his face.

"Hey…"

You smiled, a little drunkenly,

"Hey, stranger"

Closing your arms around his shoulders, you tucked your face into his neck. You were boneless, completely spent and sated, about to fall asleep, lulled by his soft caresses on your back, when you felt him start moving inside you again.

Definitely insatiable.

Tired and overstimulated, you tried to get up, get away but his arms, strong as steel around you held you to him, as he rocked beneath you, pubic bone smashing into your oversensitized clit with every drag. Pushing against his shoulder also proved completely useless, his hold on you only tightening, as he started fucking up into you harder.

You bit into his shoulder, making him groan.

"I think… think I like that punishment better…" He declared, grabbing your chin, holding you in place to kiss you, deep and dirty, only releasing your lips once your head was spinning, your lungs burning. You gasped for air.

"Naughty" You admonished, still struggling against him, albeit a little halfheartedly. He splayed one of his hands against your lower back, pressing you to him. The new pressure was delicious, the heat starting to build again, even if you didn't want it "You're so naughty"

He scraped his teeth softly on the hollow of your throat, only to sooth it with his tongue seconds later, his cock moving so deep you could feel it hit your cervix. You screamed, he was going to tear another orgasm out of you soon.

"Only holding you to your word" He whispered against your skin, making goosebumps erupt down your spine, "You promised not to stop… until I give you all my come"

To be continued...

PS: Let me know if you are reading this under the table during a horrible family reunion, I' love to bring you a little joy during these very difficult rimes... Love ya!!

#peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #peter parker imagine #adore you

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monotonous-minutia · 3 years

Text

Merlin mini-rant

I really like the show but one of the things that doesn’t sit quite as well with me is the handling of who started as possibly my second-favorite character, Morgana.

I like heroine Morgana. She’s sassy and spunky and sweet, has a little more humility (and possibly humanity, at least at first) than Arthur, so they balance each other out at the start. Despite the fact that (and I’m still not really sure why they do this, because it doesn’t last long) the narrative seems to ship them at first, they have a really sweet, genuine sibling relationship that helps build the foundation of their friend group/found family. Morgana is physically strong and agile without the narrative making her sacrifice her femininity to be so (as is too often seen). She’s also very smart and talented in ways that others aren’t; while several characters are off winning physical battles afar, she’s at home winning battles with words. There are many episodes in Season One where the story would not have ended as well as they did if she hadn’t said what she did, to whom she did. She knows the ins and outs of the palace, she knows who’s who, and she knows what everyone’s priorities are, so she can almost always find the right thing to say to make them see sense, and often come to realizations that help them grow as people. She has a deep, innate empathy to those around her regardless of rank, while still recognizing ranks enough to utilize her power appropriately (and sometimes just be a little priss--she’s young, y’know). She’s incredibly gay with Gwen and I love it.

I also like villain Morgana. Her journey from the above-described heroine to the ruthless villain we see by the end of the series is well-thought-out, and the slow deterioration of her morality based on the events she goes through is both heartbreaking and makes me want to bang my head into the wall. She continues to be incredibly powerful, still using her wit and words as weapons, as well as becoming an alarmingly great sorceress. Her degeneration from the stately figure we see early on to the deranged witch by the end of the action is meticulous. And the fact that she’s still very attached to Gwen even after all these developments, and even when Gwen makes the choice to stay in Camelot, is an interesting touch that adds a depth to her that isn’t always seen with villains.

But I gotta say I love heroine Morgana more, and not really just for emotional reasons.

I’m not mad that the main villain of the series ends up being a woman, because the idea that women can’t be villains is just ridiculous to me. And, as said before, her arc is very well-written imo, so it doesn’t seem like a cop-out, like “we just wanted a girl villain bc girls are bad.”

I am a little mad that when the main villain turns out to be a woman, it leaves only one woman in the principle cast of heroes. Not that Gwen can’t totally hold her own, but it would have been nice to have her dynamic feminine duo with Morgana (and their ridiculous gayness) for the rest of the series, rather than leaving the majority of the action up to the men. Plus, I think keeping Morgana around as a hero might have given Gwen more outlets to be involved in the main action as well, since these two are definitely a power couple.

Dramatically speaking I think it might have worked better, too. Again, I like the villain arc Morgana gets--it isn’t rushed and it’s well-thought-out. But I think it would have been even nicer to have them be two different characters. Maybe keep Nimueh around for a few extra seasons, and/or introduce someone else with the same powers Morgana ends up with. Or keep Morgause; she could even still be Morgana’s half-sister, but Morgana refuses to join her, adding another layer to the hero/villain dynamics. Her backstory could be similar, and we could see parts of it along the way as it intertwines with the rest of the plot.

But I would have loved to see Morgana stay in Camelot as one of the lead heroes. Early on she doesn’t seem to have any desire to gain the throne (and I always thought the whole “she’s-actually-Uther’s-biological-daughter” thing was a cop-out anyway), so I can totally see her finding herself in a supportive, advisor-type role to Arthur as he takes on more and more responsibility. Their sibling dynamic would provide a lot of genuine sweetness and sassy banter throughout. She could continue to provide valuable assistance during the adventures, using her words and knowledge and influence to help out, becoming wiser as the years go on and helping Arthur build a strong kingdom.

She could have continued her super-sweet relationship with Gwen, supporting her as she slowly becomes more important in the court, vouching for her despite her rank, and continuing to be incredibly gay.

I think it would have been really cool if she and Merlin connected early on about their magic and confided in each other. I would have loved to see the two of them struggling together as they harness their powers, and bonding over that; and Merlin for once being able to take on a mentor-type role where his contributions are actually acknowledged, as he helps Morgana through the early stages of her revelations. Plus, it would help both of them feel much less alone, which not only saves Morgana from the villain path, but also gives Merlin some of the attention and support that he needs and never effing gets.

I think it would be funny if Arthur’s impression that they’re flirting continued throughout the series as a running gag, especially as they’d be making excuses to spend more time together so they can help each other with their magic. They could even use it to their advantage at times to get him off their backs. (On that note, I can see Morgana concluding the series with no other love interest than Gwen, though it would also be funny if she continually received suitors that were more running gags or funny side-plots to other stories).

I can almost see it like this: instead of refusing to tell Morgana that he also has magic in 2x3 (“The Nightmare Begins”), Merlin actually does tell her, so instead of her going to the Druids and starting that path of conflict, she and Merlin become closer and her goals become more focused and she’s less scared, and that prevents her from going down the path of darkness.

As Morgana works to understand and control her powers, she could learn about its history and lore and the Old Religion and stuff and be able to help identify sorcery and mythical creatures when they come across them.

And her relationship with Mordred could add yet another layer to the hero/villain dynamic; she could take on a mentoring role for him when he joins the Knights, maybe even helping him out with his magic and trying to get him into her and Merlin’s little “magic circle.” Merlin’s suspicion of Mordred could cause some juicy personal conflict between him and Morgana, and Mordred’s inevitable betrayal would be devastating in a dramatically satisfying way, if that makes sense.

All in all, I do like villain Morgana and her whole villain arc; but I would have liked it even more if she’d stayed in Camelot as one of the heroes, keeping her place in the principle cast of characters and remaining an important part of their friend group/Disaster Bi Club.

anyway....those are my thoughts...idk if anyone on here even knows what I’m talking about lol but I wanted to get it out there; I usually do my TV show rants on Twitter but the character limit for posts prevents long stuff like this.

#this will likely be a short-lived obsession so opera fans have no fear #just some random thoughts I wanted to get out of my system #Merlin #The Adventures of Merlin #Morgana Pendragon #character analysis #tv show rants #bbc merlin

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

trial (objection p.2)

i love htgawm connor is such a problem child

“So your father was already incapacitated when you murdered him,” Andrew deduced, leaning back in his chair. He spun the land-line’s coiled cord around his finger, looking over the ceiling sconces of his office. The place was definitely built at least half a century ago, and the remnants of its previous occupations were everywhere, from the covered-up fireman pole holes to the sound-proofed insulation.

“When I killed him out of self-defence, yes,” Neil returned. His portion of the conversation would always be under surveillance.

“Way to make my job harder, Wesninski.”

“What good would I be, otherwise?” he retorted. “Also, please don’t call me that. I’m figuring out a new last name. How does Neil Smith sound?”

“Dreadfully boring,” Andrew said. “Don’t say that word. I don’t like it.”

“Which one, exactly?”

Andrew grit his teeth. “Please.” It still sent shudders down his spine. “There’s no time for pleasantries.”

“Fine,” the man said. “Is that all you wanted to waste my time on? The position my father was found in, when I - when he died?”

“Considering that there are extremely graphic photos of his predicament for the jury to gawk at, yes. How is it self-defence if there’s no threat?”

“He wasn’t cuffed there: I was. The DNA evidence was tampered with to remove traces of the skin tissue that the cuffs had scraped away. Have you even looked at those photos? His wrists are clearly free. I thought you were talking about the eyes.”

“What about them?” Andrew hedged.

“They’re gouged out,” Neil muttered. “I hate that our eyes are - were - the same.”

“You did that whilst the two of you were fighting,” Andrew suggested. “Unless its clear you did it with a knife?”

“All I had was his cleaver,” Neil said. “I used the handle. That’d look like fingers, right?”

“Right,” Andrew agreed, just as Wymack appeared at his doorway.

“Could you keep the gruesome mutilation discussions off the worklines?” the old man demanded. “Matt just threw up into Dan’s paper-shredder.”

“I’ll have to call you back,” Andrew said, vastly unimpressed.

“I was going to say,” Neil said, sounding vaguely amused. “You have quite a stomach. Till next time, Andrew.”

“Bye, Neil.”

Wymack had his arms crossed when Andrew threw the phone back onto the receiver, his glower shrouded and unknowable.

Andrew gave it right back to him, refusing to stand as he mirrored Wymack’s stance. “What?”

“First you viciously reject the case,” he said. “Then you drive to see him. Now you’re calling him every day?”

“He’s in prison,” Andrew said. “I can’t just invite him over to interview him and gather evidence.”

“There is no valid reason for you to buddy up to Wesninski like this,” Wymack objected. “You barely speak to your clients unless they’re escapin’ juvie.”

“You’re asking no questions, so I’ll give no answers,” Andrew responded cheerfully. “Have a nice day, boss.”

Wymack pointed at him. “No murder talk on the worklines. Three strikes and you’re out, Andrew.”

Andrew swivelled back around in his chair, knowing true and well Wymack had warned him about upwards of 72 different infringements of people’s delicate psyche. He had a job to do: if someone got in his way, he wasn’t going to be nice about it.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Neil had a contraband mobile phone. It’d make his life a hell of a lot easier. For about twenty minutes he scrolled aimlessly through emails from desperate idiots convicted of white-collar crime, simultaneously considering how he might get a mobile phone to Neil next time he visited. He could go on the weekend, after Nicky’s godforsaken family night.

Oh, shit, Andrew thought, when he noticed he’d lost an hour of his day making plans to see Neil again.

Maybe Wymack was on to something.

“You do seem awfully invested,” Betsy suggested, leaning on the porch railing as Andrew smoked through a second cigarette. She’d come along to Nicky’s Friday night fiasco at his request, seeing as Aaron had Katelyn and Nicky had Erik. It seemed a little ridiculous to being his old therapist, who was much more of a mother than a therapist, but Andrew’d wanted to talk to her anyway and their schedules clashed too much to meet up for lunch.

“His case is simple,” Andrew objected, glaring at an owl that’d settled on the gangly tree in Nicky’s front yard. “He’s got physical evidence of his father’s cruelty, even though it’s been a decade. I’ve uncovered the DNA evidence tampering. Neil clearly acted out of self-defence. It’s open and shut, but no one’s going to want Wesninski’s child out on the streets.”

“Jury?” Betsy inquired.

“Jury,” Andrew confirmed sullenly. He fucking hated jury catering. When a case was on thin ice, it was up to selecting the perfectly biased (or prejudiced) people that’d think with their heart, not their head. Andrew was an excellent judge of character, but emotional evaluations were taxing and laborious.

“You’ll do great,” Betsy promised, smiling her all-knowing smile. “You always do.”

Andrew hummed gently, taking one final drag of his cigarette. Before he could chuck the butt into Nicky’s shrubbery, Betsy pinched it between her fingers and dropped it onto an ashtray atop a rickety windowsill.

“It’s an interesting story,” Betsy continued. “There’s every reason to be intrigued by it.”

Andrew just grunted.

“Though,” she remarked. “I figured that case between the young girls was even more perplexing and intricate, but you seem rather enamoured.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about professionalism,” she said airily.

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”

But - damn it all to hell - Neil was interesting. He was only a year younger than Andrew was, intelligent without seeming overbearing or arrogant, confident but reserved, a man of constraint taught by hardship but also a man of growth and reflection. Andrew was rambling and he knew it. Neil Wesninski was attractive, intriguing and completely out of Andrew’s reach. Even if he were just your average guy walking down the street, he wouldn’t look at Andrew twice.

Andrew was fine with that. He didn’t need someone chasing after him, just like he didn’t need emotional intimacy or empathy or gentleness. It was like those nerve-endings had been scoured till they were numb and useless. The pathways were still there, but they echoed a nothingness that he’d never really figured out.

Whatever. Whatever. Neil was just a challenging and well-paying case. That’s all he’d ever be.

He was getting existential and over-contemplative. Betsy knew this and smiled, letting him take her by the elbow inside for a cup of cocoa. It was late when the other four finished their game of Monopoly and Nicky finally permitted everyone to leave. Betsy let Andrew walk her to her car again, warmth crinkling her eyes.

“If you’re seeing your Neil tomorrow,” she said, with a wink. “Tell me all the juicy details.”

“You’re a leech,” Andrew declared, pushing her car-door shut. She waved out the scrolled-down window as she careened off, leaving Andrew to his quiet but volatile thoughts.

Your Neil, she’d said.

Now wasn’t that a confronting idea.

“Suppose you are a danger to society,” Andrew drawled. They were sat opposite one another at another metal table, handcuffs dangling off one of Neil’s wrists, his blunt key being fiddled with in the other hand. “Suppose you are just as marvellously unhinged as dear old Dad. What then?”

“Why bother entertaining the possibilities?” Neil cocked an eyebrow. “We both know I’m fine.”

“You are the furthest thing from ‘fine’,” Andrew retorted.

“You’re no paragon of mental health yourself,” Neil laughed, and Andrew wondered how the fuck he’d got himself here.

Two months ago he’d met Neil for the first time. In two weeks his trial would begin, in his lovely hometown of Baltimore, Maryland. It’d be less of a drive for Andrew, so he didn’t mind.

In two months, Andrew had found himself hanging onto every conversation. At first he clung on with apprehension. A wariness born out of unfamiliarity: he’d never been in the realm of wanting to associate with someone. Wanting someone’s company, their thoughts and opinions, their attention. It was ridiculous. Neil was a convicted murderer in a max-security prison.

Then again, Andrew was the one who knew that Neil was undeserving of that title best. At most it was manslaughter. In reality it was a blessing. Ridding the world of the Butcher, a renowned and horrifically twisted serial killer, was a service to the public rather than a hindrance.

And so Andrew had found himself in a strange position, between professionalism and exceptionalism. He almost couldn’t help it. He wanted to know what happened behind those ocean blues.

“Someone’s been bored again,” Andrew accused, lighting a cigarette. That was illegal but he didn’t give a fuck. Neil gazed at where it rested between his lips, conflicted.

He shrugged, caught out. “You’re an interesting person. Would it scare you to know we’re similar in more ways than one?”

Andrew let a small smirk twitch around his smoke. “You should be more scared than I should be.”

“Maybe I’ll go to law school when I’m out,” Neil leered, grinning. “Beat you at your own game.”

“You can try,” Andrew said. “You’ll lose.”

Neil hummed. His shackles jingled as he reached over the table for Andrew’s cigarette, his fingertips brushing over Andrew’s lips as he snatched it away. For a moment he watched the cherry’s glow, before letting it rest at the corner of his mouth.

Unimpressed, and also oddly flushed, Andrew glared.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Neil said, returning to the conversation like he hadn’t just stolen the cigarette out of Andrew’s mouth. Like Andrew hadn’t just let him. “If you get me out of this hell hole, I’ll prove you wrong.”

“And if you don’t?”

Neil grinned. “Then you lose anyway. Don’t worry: I won’t cry.”

“Good,” Andrew muttered, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest.

Neil filled the rest of their valuable time with inane chatter about the more twisted happenings within a male max prison: Andrew had heard of similar stories and worse, but seeing as Neil instigated most of the fights, he still found it rather entertaining to be told.

Before he knew it, their time was up. He stood, plucking the butt out from between Neil’s lips.

“Till next time,” Neil said, a forlorn look at the cigarette between Andrew’s fingers.

“I’ll text you about trial prep,” Andrew said, pointing at him. “Read it.”

Neil sighed. “Not like it’ll help me in any way. But fine. I’ll waste my limited credit and battery on the shitty flipper for court etiquet.”

“You’d better, you ungrateful shit. I got you that phone.”

Neil just winked and blew him a kiss. At Andrew’s scowl, he laughed.

The laugh haunted - no, teased - Andrew all the way out of the stupid prison complex, across the car park, even as he blasted music on the way home.

Andrew took one look at the woman who squirmed in her chair, leaning anxiously away from the middle-aged man next to her. It was instinctive and ingrained in her behaviours. An abusive father, then. Or, perhaps an abusive husband, if the twisting of her wedding ring was anything to go by.

“Accept,” Andrew declared.

“Do you have any qualms about gang violence?” the prosecution asked a balding man, lounging in his chair.

“It’s a toxic function of our society,” he answered.

The lawyer looked to the judge and smiled. “Accept, your honour.”

Fucking hell, Andrew thought. He glanced back over to the table, where Neil was cuffed to the iron loop. He didn’t smile, but simply tipped up his chin. An acknowledgement. Confidence in, well. Andrew.

Something in Andrew’s stomach settled. He turned back to the man that the prosecution had accepted. “So you have heard of the Wesninski case?”

“It was ten years ago,” he objected.

“What did you think of it?”

“It was well resolved,” he said.

“So you still garner some form of opinion against Wesninski?” Andrew eyed the Christian Society badge pinned to the strap of his messenger bag. “Surely your god would have some qualms with your inability to forgive,”

“Mr Minyard,” the judge insisted. “That’s enough.”

It didn’t matter. The man was already spitting mad, going bright-red in the face. He pointed at Neil and hissed “He’s a monster, just like his father. God should’ve had him killed!”

“Denied,” Andrew drawled. The man shuffled out of the jury box, frothing mad.

By the end of the selection process, Andrew was sure that at least half of those sitting in the box would think emotionally rather than pragmatically. He settled back at his desk, ignoring the prosecution lawyer’s filthy glares, and tapped his fingers on Neil’s file.

“I didn’t miss this,” Neil muttered, picking at the skin of his cuticles.

From Andrew’s pocket he drew out Neil’s favourite key, of which he’d swiped after they’d searched Neil from head to toe. The man looked at him with undeserved awe, taking the blunt key and spinning it between his fingers.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Shut up,” Andrew retorted.

The court was called to stand: Neil’s hearing had begun.

FUCKs sake i was gonna try do this in three parts but the trial will be a whole part and the post trial too..... dammit lol

next we find out: what does the prosecution have up their sleeve? how will neil’s testimony go? what chaos will andrew cause in the courtroom? whose key does neil continually trace?? will neil be inevitably driven to distraction by andrew’s dope-ass suit?

#andreil #lawyer!andrew #felon!neil #law au #law firm!foxes #andrew minyard #neil josten #david wymack #betsy dobson #all for the game #aftg #hope u like this disaster of a fic lol #can someone please tell me what to name this au #i cant call it the htgawm au #(how to get away with murder)#unless?#idek #jem writes

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thethreemages · 3 years

Text

*rises from the grave to finally deliver on a certain new story arc chapter*

...Heeeey everybody lol I know this may not be something anyone expected in like, ages compared to my other recent TTM-content... but well, ever since my last chapter upload from maaany months ago... I've just continuously kept getting blocked from wanting to get back more into the main story, especially with the influx of developing lore and side casts I've been having fun with a bit more in comparison.

But well, after some more heavy thinking and reworking a bit of how I wanted to frame the next few bits of the story to go (while still keeping relatively faithful to my original concepts)... here's the official next part to keep the main story flowing with some rather "juicy" drama ahead~

((Here's the DA Link for the fic itself in case it gets too cut-off here-))

===========

The eerie stillness of the forest was something all too familiar to those raised around this trek of the woods… but this night in particular was getting all the more “curious” for what semblance of peace was broken left and right....

On one side, a noble prince and a gentle strength mage were connecting all the closer together as they were quietly walking through the woods.

On another, a fiery prince and a gruff healer mage were stumbling into the middle of an ominous find… enough to have stirred up some lingering “threats” following after them.

And finally, as of now… a cunning dark mage was finding herself apprehended by a group she once looked up to, respected, and trusted…

“-I will not say this again! Unhand Me. This. Instant!” Prym Fletcher hissed towards the pair of guards who were roughly escorting her back to the camp, feeling tempted to have blasted them back already with her magic… had it not been for a fierce pair of eyes ordering her to keep still.

“Save it, kid. You’ve snooped upon very classified information against official orders, you’re not leaving our sight.” Taiyin Zhou replied back with a firm tone, “You’re about lucky we haven’t already arrested you as is…”

“Ughhh, I’m telling you I did NOT snoop! I had simply stumbled across your camp by accident!” the young dark mage insisted, her voice already growing exasperated with frustration, “Why won’t you believe me?? I’m Lady Meradyth and Sir Luka’s daughter, for Saint’s sake-!”

Halting in her tracks upon hearing that, Taiyin only turned her head to give a… rather puzzled look, “Sir… Luka? Um, sorry but... no one’s ever been registered in our ranks with that name…”

Rightfully confused as ever by that response, Prym had taken the moment to shove off the guards restraining her as she offendedly exclaimed, “Wait… w-what?? Oh, now this has to be a damn joke… Luka was once one of your top members back in the day! Closest friend to Ivor and my mother Meradyth, what do you mean by ‘never been registered’??”

“-Look, I’ve been here in the Elite for a good number of years, kid... and I think I would know if I was aware of anyone named Luka,” Taiyin furrowed her gaze to Prym in a frustratedly tired way, almost reminding her of one of the strict & overworked teachers back at St. Ravilda’s, “I don’t know what else to tell ya on that front, but we’ll be the ones handling the questions here, thank you very much...”

The younger mage could feel her fists clenching in a rising anger towards this woman’s insensitivity… yet didn’t have time to make another retort as a pair of familiar faces joined to greet them from behind Taiyin.

There stood the imposing General himself, alongside the stoic Alastair who gave a quiet look of disapproval towards his comrade’s harshness to Prym. In the meantime, Ivor’s face seemed to twist with many mixed feelings upon seeing his daughter’s friend. Shock, disappointment, confusion… and perhaps even a bit of fear?

“Prym… what in the Saints’ good names are you doing out here??” Ivor shakily demanded to know, the stern fatherly side of his kicking into high gear as if she were his own child caught in the act, “I told you specifically to stay back at home where it’s safe! Don’t you know what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in, especially at this hour of night within these woods??”

“I… w-well,” Prym struggled at first to find the words, not wanting to risk giving away that Tula and the others were very much out there in the woods too… so, after taking a second to think and compose herself, she retorted back to him with an unamused tone of her own, “Hmpf… I suppose I should be more asking you the same question, Ivor. Don’t think I didn’t hear His Majesty giving you orders to collect this insidious-sounding ‘white plague’ for him… whatever the hell that means for his standards…”

“-Hey, what did I say about watching your tone, kid-!” Taiyin attempted to scold her… only for Alastair to hold up his hand to let the young girl speak her mind. Not exactly expecting Prym to have spun the question onto him now, Ivor gave a conflicted moment of silence… but eventually, an approving look from Alastair encouraged the hulking General the resolve to just admit what’s up, not seeing much else to lose now that she’s already here...

“The… white plague we were speaking of earlier, Prym… is a code name for this strand of white fungal root that had suddenly taken bloom within Graystone. These plants… they’re about the most devastating plant species our country’s faced in these past few decades… once was the stuff of legends within our oldest history books, but then… somehow some twisted, sick individuals decided to recreate these plants and spread them loose to cause countless amounts of destruction among the lands…”

Hearing of these plants made Prym’s eyes widen a bit in recognition… taking a moment to think on it, “Hold on, I… think I might’ve heard of such plants back in this one story Professor Blanchard once told us; an old crone who was jealous of the younger beauties in her town made up a mash of brew from these weird, white twigs so she could poison the girls, and absorb their own beauty to become a ‘goddess’. The plan backfired when it simply made the other men exposed to her inner flaws despite all her good looks, so she was cast off in a ritual fire to pay for her sins. Could… those perhaps be the white plague plants you were mentioning?”

One by one, Ivor and the others had given a nod of yes as Alastair floated up a steel box to open in display… revealing within a sealed-jar the shriveled up remains of a ghastly, half-rotted root… curled into a position like that of a crooked hand. Nauseating as the contents were to look at, the fact that this root was seemingly swimming in a sickeningly thick black liquid near the bottom didn’t help either…

“Indeed, Prym… this is the white plague we’ve been tasked by King Grayle to retrieve,” Ivor continued on to explain, “In our years of tracking them down, they’ve been linked to many terrible cases of people becoming infected when they didn’t expect it. Whether it’d be from injesting the root itself or the snow-like spores spread out into the air… its almost impossible to fully recover from it before its too late...”

“Yes… these roots were the ultimate cause of many terrible tragedies our country will never forget…” Alastair finally spoke up as cleared his throat, his tone serious yet solemn as ever, “Queen Elianne’s death, the double-crossed Wraith Night survivors, the village residents of Yulong…”

‘...Aevri’s hometown…’, Prym thought as she felt the tears prick to her eyes, remembering when her friend was given the grave news of her parents passing away of illness a few years back in school... so sudden and out of nowhere during a seemingly peaceful period of time. Long as it was since the last she saw Mr. and Mrs. Ren, Prym could still plainly recall them both being such kind, healthy-bodied people who wouldn’t hurt a fly… so hearing of them being the unsuspecting victims of such a ghastly plant this whole time was beyond tragic… “...even among our own ranks we’re all too familiar with white plague being inflicted right under us… ” Ivor admitted with a saddened tone, his gaze to Prym signifying she’d know who he’d talk about next, “The night Lady Meradyth had fled, the arrow blades recovered from the crime scene were found to be traced with this blackened poison linked back to the plague root… which, in connection to those other past incidents could only mean one thing..”

Not having to say another word, Alastair let his magic do the talking for him as he enchanted his glowing aura to shapeshift a group of silhouetted figures gathered together, each holding the white plague roots within their hands in an ominous, unified fashion. With that, signifying that whoever was perpetrating these white plague attacks… were all working together in a single, spread-out group.

Hearing all this was already pretty heavy for Prym to bear… breaking her more into confusion as she noticed Taiyin and Alastair turning to leave along with some other guards, “w-wait, where are you going?”

“Continuing the rest of the mission, kid.” Taiyin informed her, thankfully not as harshly as before but still firm enough to try and hold the young dark mage back.

“Yes, if our sensors are correct then its only a matter of time before these plague roots bloom upon the first morning hour. We must give haste at once.” Alastair joined with Taiyin as he packed some quick essentials nearby, looking over to his superior, “General, please inform us if anything stirs around this area while we’re gone, and we shall do the same in return.”

“Noted.” Ivor simply nodded as he gave some silent orders for the two to continue heading out. As much as a part of Prym wanted to say more in perhaps suggesting to go with them or however… her mind was still much too focused on the growing anger she had towards all these suspicions and secrets being kept from her. Not even letting Ivor reach to touch her shoulder in comfort, she had resigned to simply stomp towards the tent to cool off… the shining light of the moon following behind her.

——-

On another section of the sprawled forest, making their way through the thickets was Prince Elas and Tula… seeming to make good headway on the path they were on. Further back they had found some tracks being quite imposing enough to belong to no one else but Tula’s father,

“Okay, looks like it won’t be long to find Papa!” Tula had deducted, feeling some more confidence at finding another cluster of footprints up ahead, “my guess is that he might’ve set up camp just a few trees away, by this rate.”

“Indeed, I can’t say I can find much to disagree with that notion.” Elas gave an approving nod, analyzing some of the tracks for himself, “Seems to me he might’ve had some party members of his own crossing though here, so whatever he may be up to then he’s bound to not be alone…”

Looking on ahead in the direction they were headed to, something inside Tula was feeling… odd, and kind of confused as to how everything was going so smoothly at the moment. Perhaps… a bit too smoothly, as the forest seemed eerily still at this point in time.

“...Elas, does something seem ‘off’ to you?” the young Strength mage pondered, her gaze glancing around for any signs of possible life within the trees or bushes. At first, the prince didn’t seem to detect anything out of place as he stepped ahead… until his foot caught sight of something that made him jump back in shock.

“Oh good Saints, w-what in the world was...?” gathering himself to calm down, Elas took a closer look to find that his shoe had stepped into what looked like a puddle of thick, ghastly-white goo… the contents sizzling a bit under the glow of the moonlight above. Tula had curiously peaked over his shoulder to see what was up… only for them both to jolt back again once the puddle started to bubble and release a hissing, acidic green stench.

“-What is that stuff?? I-I’ve never seen anything like that in these woods!” Tula exclaimed with a clear worry in her tone, “Do you think any of the girls or Kain found-”

Halted in her thoughts was the ear-piercing shriek of something very much inhumane ringing throughout the trees, rattling both her and Elas from standing upright. Careful to at least not fall back in the goop behind them, the two helped pick the other up as within these shrieks, they heard the loud crashing and glowing of magic clashing near the distance ahead.

“-Kain!” Elas deducted, upon recognizing the reddish-orange glow from where he was standing, “He and Aevri must’ve found something dangerous up there, come on!” he encouraged to Tula while instinctively firing up some blue fire in his hands.

Answering back only with a firm nod, Tula didn’t take long to summon up her Strength gauntlets as the two of them hurried on to try and help the other mages. If only they had looked back behind them, they would’ve noticed how that white goo from earlier was beginning to fade away as a figure summoned it back into the darkness…

—-

The normally firm General was in quite an awkward spot having Prym stumbling upon such top secret info as she did… having hoped that tonight could’ve been just a simple detour mission without having to drag any of the kids along. And he knew that hearing the truth about the dangers of white plague had truly shaken her up… so, he knew that he couldn’t have any room to blame her for not being willing to talk to him at the moment while they were alone at the campsite.

A few more minutes would pass before he’d finally make the move to head inside the tent as well… looking to find Prym with her back turned from him, clearly lost in thought and conflicted.

“...Prym, I know what you may be thinking,” Ivor steadily began, trying to keep his tone as delicate as possible, “-But you must understand that this situation was... much too dire and dark for me to just confess it freely among you and the others back home. I simply wished to protect you all-“

“-Protect us from what, Ivor?” Prym finally spoke up, not so much defensively as much as she sounded… tired, “If you haven’t already noticed, me and the girls are not little kids anymore… if you truly meant to be on an important mission regarding these plague plants, then we could’ve understood if you simply told us. Otherwise I thought… well, with the King’s orders and that one lady’s coldness to me, I…”

“...I know. And for that as well, I deeply apologize...” the General lowered his head as he sighed, “Taiyin is quite a strong soldier, noble-hearted as well… but we’ve been meaning to correct her more about not letting her loyalty to the Elite get the better of her towards outsiders. I’ll be sure to have a talk with her when she gets back, I promise.”

Assuring as that thought was, as well as relieved at his genuine apologies… something in Prym’s mind was nagging at her to not let it go. Something regarding one, particular detail that wouldn’t leave her thoughts…

“...Ivor, earlier Lady Taiyin had given me this… really strange response to me mentioning my father Luka. Basically saying he… apparently never existed within the ranks.” Prym had turned to further face the general, looking up with a look of questioning, “You didn’t even directly say that he died within those other plague casualties, simply that there was poison found at that scene where Mother ran away. Is… there something you’re not telling me, Ivor...?”

“...Prym, n-now is not the time to-“ he looked quite shaken by her sudden accusation, but Prym continued to stand her ground further with a firm anger in her tone.

“-No. Now is more than the perfect time to explain- Why is it that all my life, I’ve been told my father was this grand, loving hero of the King’s Elite alongside my mother, giving his life to protect countless innocents… and yet now I learn that’s all apparently been one big lie?? Ivor, please what is the real truth here?? W-Was my father a true soldier, or not?? Was he working for some other party, dealing with some unsavory types?? Please, j-just tell me already, Ivor!”

Steadily her voice began to shake more to a near-sobbing tone, lip quivering as her mind was drifting to all sorts of possibilities… and one more question stuck out the most as she pitifully looked up to the older general,

“Ivor… is my father even alive…?”

Silence quickly fell upon the tent… as Ivor looked conflicted as to how exactly he should answer such a question, let alone in a situation like this. As the seconds were passing into a minute between them, Prym was afraid that… perhaps he wouldn’t give her an answer, that maybe it was a mistake to ask at all after she had already stepped out of line as is… until at last, the still air broke when Ivor delivered a simple, one word answer that changed everything…

“...yes…”

——-

On their end of the forests away from everyone else, things had… really picked up much more chaotically for Kain and Aevri, the two of them now lost in a battle between an eerie group of monsters clamoring around them. Resembling that of tall, ragdoll-like humanoids made of white tree bark… their gaping mouths and hollow eyes dripping with white goo could’ve easily shackled their two foes in complete fear, if they both weren’t so stuck in fighter mode right now.

“-Eat this, bitch!” Kain had exclaimed with some kicks and punches of his crystal magic blasts, encasing the tree-like creatures in red shards that pinned them all to the ground. Aevri in the meantime did her best to defend them both, having summoned her shields to ward off and slice away closing-in enemies.

“Ughhh, will you freaks get the damn hint already?? Piss off!” the Healer mage grunted, swiftly throwing her summoned-shield to knock back some of the foes before it flew back into her arms. Try as they might through their defenses, however… Aevri and Kain could only watch as the monsters had simply risen up more from the ground up, not even seeming phased by their earlier attacks.

“Oh for fuck’s sake… what the hell is keeping these things alive??” Kain cursed while powering up another set of crystal attacks, “Even a wyvern would’ve fallen down by now, shit!”

Before Aevri could’ve answered back with a possibly-snarky retort, their thoughts were halted as they saw a flurry of blue flames burning back the horde of monsters that tried to make a grab at the two… the sender revealing none other than Elas and Tula who had hurried on to join the battle.

“...Greeaaat, perfect timing, bro.” the younger Graystone prince flatly remarked with a roll of his eyes, his brother simply scoffing in response with a flick of his hair, “-Save the backtalk til after we’re safe, Kain.” Letting his companion Tula take the next step in pummeling down some of the creatures with her firsts, she at least gave a more grateful and relieved look to her healer friend at seeing her standing strong in the fight, “-Aevri! Thank the Saints you’re alright! I-I hope these things didn’t hurt you too much…”

“Pff, hey... what would it be a fight without a few scrapes?” Aevri joked a bit to lighten the mood, bringing a small smile to Tula’s face before the both of them turned to ward off the next wave of monsters. It almost seemed concerning just how much these things were reanimating up again despite the waves of attacks… only seeming to keep going and going within the next few minutes to pass.

All… until each of the tree dolls suddenly halted in their place like statues, the melting white goop re-materializing into their eye sockets properly as each of them stood up straight. Confusing the hell out of the mages that were fighting them, the four watched as these dolls started to assemble into some upright positions… almost like an army awaiting their leader approaching. And with a rustle of movement coming from the bushes from behind, that… actually seemed quite closer to the truth as a pair of footsteps came walking out from the dark.

“-Hey! Who’s there??” Aevri turned in the direction of the steps as did the rest of her party, all rearing for another big battle… but then pausing as they finally saw who it was. Turning out to be a pair of hooded, ominous figures greeting them in plain view… their features hidden from where they were standing a lil far back. All until they stepped further into the moonlight was it shown that they were both women, one of them covering their face with a featureless white doll mask… and the other simply smiling back in a rather calm, calculating way.

“Aww… whats wrong, little ones~?” the hooded figure with a mask tilted its head, giggling in a tone that sounded much too saccharine sweet, “Sister and I simply wanted to have a lil playtime with my babies here… don’t be so mean~”

Naturally, this quite frankly creeped out the young mages who were now all the more confused seeing the masked lady stepping over to gently caress one of the tree dolls, as if it were her most prized possession. Compared to everyone else ain was at least trying to mask his unnervedness by standing back more boldly,

“H-Hey, these things of yours attacked us first, lady… what the actual fuck are you on about-??”

“...Hmmmm, temper temper...” came the much more dignified voice of the other woman, shaking her head in Kain’s direction though that smile of hers still remained clear as day, “Is that any way to speak to your family… Kain?”

The once-fierce gaze in Kain’s eyes had… very much evaporated into a look of disbelief upon hearing that voice… the crystal auras in his hands disappearing as they dropped to his sides in shock, “...w-what…?”

Alarmed by his brother’s sudden distress, Elas had turned to try and step up in Kain’s defense as he demanded, “-What in the Saints’ good name are you on about?? Kain is my brother, and I do not recall either of you being anywhere near ‘family’!”

“-Shhhh, manners… young man~” whispered the masked-figure, holding a finger to her lips as all stilled around her… summoning an eerie aura that surrounded the other mages into freezing in place, much like the tree dolls. Unable to do anything but move their heads and faces, Tula, Elas and Aevri all looked on as only Kain was allowed to move on his own… yet all he could do was just shakily stand in place as the unmasked figure slowly approached him… again still smiling that damn smile of hers…

“-No, n-no no you can’t… you can’t be her…!” muttered the now-shaky voice of the usually-haughty prince… trembling as the figure was now up face-to-face with him. Even without being freeze-spelled like the others were, Kain could do nothing but stare as the figure reached up a hand to his face… gently caressing his cheek as her free hand moved to pull back her hood.

Now… there was really no doubt who exactly she was. The striking red hair, the ruby red lips, the amber eyes all too similar to Kain’s… save for the subtle signs of aging, he could never forget a face like that....

“Yes… it is me, my son~”

———

Millions of thoughts were running through Prym’s mind as she recalled what Ivor just confessed to her. Her father… her own father Luka… was alive all this time?? As much as she wanted to celebrate such news, another dark side of her was just reeling at the implications…

Where was her father, all this time she and her mother were in hiding? Why didn’t he come back for them? Was someone keeping him hostage, forcing him in place? What if… what if he willingly chose to abandon her? Not even sparing her a second thought, wherever he’s at now…?

Sensing the growing conflict growing within Prym, Ivor did his best to try and diffuse the situation as he reached to comfort her, “Prym, I… p-please try to understand-“

“-What IS there to understand, Ivor?? Nothing is making sense anymore!” the dark mage exclaimed as she threw up her hands, feeling her tears growing hot as she began to pace back and forth, “You say my father’s apparently alive all this time, but where in Terra IS he?? Obviously he’s not within the Elite ranks now, Mother hasn’t heard from him in ages, and none of the current Elite seem to know who he is! All I want now is the truth, and I want it now!”

“...” Ivor had grown quiet for the moment, heavily sighing as he gestured for Prym to follow him near one of the seats, “I… know this is very much against protocol, but… i-it’s about time you knew, Prym…”

As much as she would’ve liked to argue and stay pouting… the ever-curious side of Prym decided to relent in at least hearing his side of the story out, wiping away her tears with a still-determined look in her eyes. All she could do was watch on as Ivor went and grabbed an old wooden chest to carry over to her, opening the contents to pull out a sealed document folder hidden under some other papers and trinkets inside.

“Prym… your father was a man that had many burdens over him at his age,” the General began to explain, handing Prym the folder as he sat down next to her, “As much as he tried his best to fulfill his duties as a leader… others still feared and hated him for feeling like he took away what wasnt ‘rightfully’ his, on top of the already-detested dark magic he carried. And well… being his oldest friend, I knew that it wouldn’t be healthy for him to linger on all this bad press… so, it was my suggestion that he would involve himself more with our growing Elite forces, to help him lighten up from the stress of it all...”

Within her grasp, Prym flipped open the folder to see the first page contained a picture of Luka’s face on it, with the royal insignia of the Elite stamped below it. With a silent nod from Ivor, she flipped under it to see that inside held some various papers and photos from the old days of Luka’s younger years… from sparring with his troops, to happily posing with some grateful-looking civilians, to joining together with his team to stand vicariously together all at once.

“Overtime, your father grew to fit in well within the Elite for letting him express himself for who he was… beyond all the titles and dark magical stigmas, but as a loyal comrade who’d do anything for the good of Graystone. And since the local civilians didn’t seem to recognize him as a simple soldier like the rest of us, he had even felt comfortable enough to try and help out these communities through his own acts of vigilantism…” Ivor chuckled, unable to resist a small blissful smile at the memory, “Not too surprising that he and your mother grew to get along a lot well in that department, denying as they were at first...”

Pausing for a moment from browsing through the folder, Prym looked over to Ivor with a look of puzzlement, “...So, if you say my Father did all these great things for the people… why would they turn on him because he performed some darker magic spells than normal? I know Mother had mentioned that he enraged some uptight army for his necromancy, but…”

“...W-Well, truth be told, that... wasn't exactly the ‘full’ reason for his eventual attack, Prym...” Ivor admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “Luka, well-meaning as he was… at the same time was always rather stubborn and reckless when it came to what he thought was the right thing to do, regardless of the possible consequences ahead. There was no better example for when he had stepped out of protocol in one of our missions against a local crime-lord of the downtown New Grayle district… Boss Byzantine.”

“Byzantine…?” Prym blinked, steadily recognizing that surname after a bit of thought, “-One of Kaz’s bully friends shared that name back in school… Cable Byzantine.”

“Ahh, yes… the Boss would’ve been Cable’s father, from what I recall of that man.” Ivor gave a nod of acknowledgement, “Often kept to himself apart from the few public appearances with his family… most wouldn’t even know much else of him aside from that automobile company of his. But well… we as the Elite were having our growing suspicions after examining more of how poorly the downtown area was, and interviewing the locals terrorized from his gang’s past attacks. And thanks to one of our undercover operatives, Sgt. Kodiak, we had not only started to put any and all accomplices in jail, but had planned in the near future to soon put Byzantine to justice too. Luka, however… well, turns out he had decided to take fate into his own hands by cornering the Boss one day in his office with his dark magic… giving into temptation with his soul-ripping spells to really show the crooked man who he was messing with…”

The air seemed to grow heavier as Ivor quickly grew quiet again, his gaze going back to the chest’s contents as he pulled out something else from under all the papers… a locket with a purple moon gem symbol on the front, “...In the end, thanks to some nearby guards catching wind of his actions, Luka wasn’t fully able to be rid of Byzantine as he hoped… but that would soon seal his fate as the Boss had subtly planned a “vengeance” of his own. And so, a few years later Luka and Meradyth had made plans to head into the Downtown area for a quick errand, picking up this upcoming birthday present for you...” explaining as he gently placed the pendant within the girl’s hands, eyes closing as he painfully recalled further...

“...and, just as they were heading back home… they were ambushed. A mix of Byzantine’s own men and a few hired hands from the army Luka has disgraced, together overwhelmed the couple in more ways than one. Within all the smoke, blades, and spells being thrown around it was practically impossible for either of them to evade it all on their own…”

“So, how exactly did my father manage to survive from it all...?” Prym turned her gaze to ask, a hand gently resting onto Ivor’s as he felt himself getting shaken by the recollecting… only pressing on further for Prym’s sake, “-Through having to spend a good chunk of his aura energy on teleporting Meradyth away from safety, and the last of it to unleash one, devastating blast to ward off the remaining foes, they were defeated and got taken into custody… but at a grave cost to Luka, himself. Our troops, try as we did to bring him back to heal him up, just weren’t able to stop the plague-induced infections from slipping him into a deep sleep. Hours had turned to days, and days turned to weeks… and throughout it we were beginning to lose hope. Finally, at last he was able to wake up and face us again, b-but…”

It was here that Ivor had turned to look back at Prym, placing a hand to her shoulder as he delivered the news that had shattered the shred of hope she had earlier...

“Prym… h-he didn’t recognize us anymore, and… neither could he remember either you or your mother when we tried to tell him after waking up…”

“...W… What? No… n-no that can’t be right..!” the dark mage bitterly broke into a sobbing mess, shaking her head in near-denial, “-What kind of father would just up and forget his own loved ones, his own family?? P-Please tell me this isn’t true, Ivor! Please…!”

“...I-I’m sorry, Prym...” a guilt-ridden Ivor muttered, instinctively pulling Prym in for a tight hug despite her protesting sobs, “We tried all we could, believe me we did… but this plague proved to be the most resilient curse on our fellow comrade, even with the best medicinal help. Showing him pictures, records, and home videos did little to jog his memory… after awhile, he started refusing our help all together despite our protests…”

Soon, even as toughened as he usually was… even Ivor has begun to shed some tears as he held Prym close,

“He’s changed so much as time further passed, Prym.. not even going by his name anymore whether he’s off duty or not these days. To the point where eventually we just decided to never bring up the subject of Luka anymore, with the very few remaining soldiers from our old ranks swearing to silence never to speak of him either. As much as we wanted to reunite him with you both in the coming years, we just… w-we didn’t want to task the risk if anything were to… well, go wrong…”

To say that this did anything to soothe Prym’s heartbroken state would be a lie… as in the minutes that passed her furious sobs had silenced into mere whimpers, whilst Ivor continued to do his best to hold and comfort her as if she were his own child. In some ways, this news had devastated her even more than her initial thoughts of her father being deceased. To even imagine having to go through as much as he did, miraculously surviving but erased of his own memories like that… it was beyond crushing of a thought...

...Yet, the more she had paused to think on this info, the more she began to realize the implications of what exactly Ivor meant by Luka not going by his name anymore. Thinking back to the folder left next to her, she couldn’t help herself in pulling away from Ivor… desperately flipping through until her eyes caught sight of the last page. Her father’s medical file.

And this time, even Ivor didn’t move to stop her as he defeatedly looked away, accepting that she had to know this sooner than later...

...our current patient has been confirmed to have been inflicted with trauma-induced memory loss, and by royal order we have been requested to withhold further treatment by his end. Our staff has grown worried with his own past history of ongoing PTSD and Chronic Depression, but well… as our fellow staff had put it, an order’s an order.

With a heavy heart, this concludes our progress into looking after our patient of the past year and a half... Luka Grayle.

#the three mages #main storyline #my art #my fics #(at long last I finally returned to this oml-)#(again *mega* apologies in advance for the delay on this for anyone who's originally followed it more closely)#(as much fun as I had with developing lore and side casts I knew it was about time to get more back on the main story)#(soooo enjoy~)#(and stay tuned for the some upcoming chapters ahead cause BOI this was fun to get back into dljfkjk x33)

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meenah-chan · 4 years

Text

Quintessence

A Lucifer x MC’s Over-protective! Sister fanfic

4.45k words

Genre: Angst

Trigger Warnings: mentions violence, self-inflictions; Read at your own discretion.

Chapter 1: click here

Chapter 3: click here

"Is this a some sort of punishment?"

"You're really lucky... I am quite jealous, if I may say."

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

With the noisy, yellow demon unconscious, the only sound on their way to House of Lamentation is MC's periodic yawns from the lack of night's sleep and the rumbling wheels of their suitcase on an empty road.

"We're here! Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone. They should be in the dining room right now." Starting to feel the exhaustion she's been holding back since meeting the other-worldly creatures, Alexandria let her sister half-drag her off to somewhere.

"I'm home!" Pulling her to a room, the first thing she saw is a large dining table filled with food and... Five more demons. Five male demons.

"MC, we're leaving." She tugged on the female's hand, still attached on her own, but in turn resisted her slight force.

"What? No, we won't." The teen raised an eyebrow from her sudden demeanor.

"MC!! I MISS YOU!!" A brown-haired guy came rushing towards their direction with open arms. Yet, before he could even latch his arms around the girl, Alexandria pulled her away, causing the male to hug nothing but air.

"MC! Why did you avoid— Huh?"

"MC, w–who is she?" A purple-haired tensely asked, anxious of the stranger in their home.

"She's my sister—"

"Ahhh!!" Alexandria and MC flinched from the sudden outburst of the man who came running at them moments ago, which caught her off-guard.

Suddenly, her hand was yanked away from her little sister's grasp and was held a few centimeters to the demon's eyes.

"Wha... such a..." He then stretched the said arm out and tenderly stroke it up her shoulder, "What a flawless, plump, porcelain skin..." then let go and cupped her cheeks with both hands.

"Such a refined beauty. But wait..." The male narrowed his eyes for a second, "Are you not sleeping well? Your face is a tee~ny bit dry and a bit of bag under your eyes." The demon gave her a sad pout.

"I usually appreciate such flattery. However, right now, I can only sense it as an assault from a stranger I just met. So will you please refrain from your harassment?" Regaining her composure, she snapped at him.

"Asmodeus, stop harassing our guest unless you wanted punishment." Asmodeus instantly raised both his hands up from the domineering voice on the doorway. Lucifer appeared with a beat Mammon.

"Whoopsy! My bad. What a rude way to greet a wonderful guest such as yourself." Asmodeus sends her a wink before returning to his seat.

"MC, will you introduce her to everyone."

"Hmm! Everyone, meet my sister, Alexa! Due to certain circumstances, she'll be staying here with us all throughout my stay here."

"Pleased to meet all of you. I'm Alexandria Evergreen, MC's older sister. I'm here to watch over her. I hope to have a conflict-free relationship with everyone."

"No, the pleasure is ours." A blonde-haired man replied, "I'm Satan, the fourth eldest. I maybe the Avatar of Wrath but I assure you, I'm the nicest and most logical person here." But her instinct says otherwise as she felt an odd atmosphere around the green-eyed man.

"Bush e'shi, shoo shais shoo hamp 'o shibi." Her eyes travelled to the oranged-haired man who seemed to be emptying the table stuffing himself.

"Beel, you shouldn't talk while chewing." A drowsy, navy blue-haired guy yawns beside him. "MC, he means you said you have no siblings." He rubbed his eyes before turning his attention to the older sister. "Hello, I'm Belphegor, Beelzebub's twin and the youngest. I'm also the Avatar of Sloth. This guy beside me is Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony and the sixth oldest." The scarfing guy nods and she returned the gesture.

"Oh that? Yes, I don't have one back then, but our parents got married a few weeks ago. We're originally childhood friends."

"WoOAAAHH~!! That's just like the anime 'My Dearest Childhood Friend became my Sister after our Parents got Married but now the Aliens Invaded the Earth so We Became Heroes and Stop the End of the World!!' and that is really LIT!!" The demon, whom she thought was timid a while ago, squealed in one breathe, and it certainly caught her by surprise.

"That noisy one is Levi." MC sweatdropped.

"I'm Leviathan, the third oldest and the Avatar of Envy."

"And don't forget about the sweet and charming Asmodeus here~~ I'm the fifth eldest and the Avatar of Lust. You can call me Asmo-chan~~" he winked for the second time.

Yet contrary to his positive attitude, Alexandria cocked an eyebrow. "So you mean..." Her gaze followed Mammon wobbling to the table. "That crook right there is the second oldest?"

His head snapped at her. "Oi! Gotta problem if I'm the second oldest?"

"Yeah, in more ways than one." She curtly replied. "So, if you're the Avatar of Greed, you being a crook does make sense."

"Oi! You don't have to say it twice!"

Ignoring Mammon, she faced the oldest. "And you're the Avatar of Pride, I suppose?"

"Yes, and let me properly introduce myself to you." He placed a palm above his chest. "I'm Lucifer, the oldest of the seven brothers and the Avatar of Pride. I'm the one who leads this household and tend to all of these problem children." Satan, Mammon and Belphegor glared daggers towards him.

"Ha! More importantly, I have a juicy piece of news to you guys." Mammon grinned which alerted Lucifer.

"Not a word Mammon."

"'Ya see, that's no normal human right there. A few hours ago, she just made THE Lucifer on his knees and tied him in a pact with her."

The five brothers' eyes popped out of their skulls and jaws dropped. Even Beel almost choked.

"Pact... you say?" 5 pairs of eyes darted between a grinning Mammon, a displeased Lucifer and the new female.

"You're right. She's not an ordinary human but let me clear two things." The menacing red-eyed demon crossed his arms and raised his chin. "The only one on his knees, or rather, on his back is none other than you Mammon. You're the one knocked out after just three blows from her. You're also the one who caused this series of unfortunate events... Don't ever think I'm done with your punishment yet."

"Eek!" Making shrieked and cowered in fear.

"Wait– She what? I know Mammon is weak but, she really knock him out with three blows??" Asmodeus exclaimed.

"Are you really sure she's a human?" Satan added.

Although Beelzebub is also shocked, his brows twitched in realization, glancing at the two female. "MC, Miss Alexandria, you probably haven't eaten anything yet. You should eat."

"I think I'll pass. I'll get some shut-eye first." MC awkwardly laughed. Beel is pretty amazing in his own way...

"I thank you for the offer, but I also needed some rest." She slightly smiled.

Lucifer stepped closer beside her. "If that's the case, then you should stay in MC's room for now. Mammon will clean the room beside MC's for your use later."

Glancing at the oldest, she shook her head. "Providing a room for me is more than enough. I can tend to it just fine. And I can't impose to you anymore than I already did."

"But you're a guest. It's only natural for us to ensure you'll have a great time staying here."

"But I insist. And I'm not a guest. I'm the one who made my way here so it's only natural for me to help here in exchange for my stay." She paused as she crossed her arms. "Unless, freeloading is a thing here. That'll be bad, for encouraging irresponsibility and decadence."

"..." Lucifer speechlessly furrowed his brows.

Seven pairs of eyes were both shocked and amazed to see someone actually have the guts to run their mouth against one of the strongest demon in their realm without breaking a sweat.

"She really is not a human. There's no way a human can stand her ground against Lucifer." Asmodeus gaped.

"Or maybe she's just clueless of Lucifer's true power... Though I could use her help to mess with him." Belphegor and Satan snickers at the same time as if having the very same thought.

"To not even have the natural instinct to flee from danger is just dumb." Alexandria ominously glance towards Belphegor, Satan and Leviathan, causing a chill run down their spine.

"Then please excuse us. MC shall be my guide." Drawing back, she bowed towards Lucifer and the others before pulling MC and their luggage out of the dining room.

"MC... I must say, our time here will be anything but harmonious..." The older sister sighed.

"But I'm sure you'll have fun. There's no boring times here" MC just laughed awkwardly.

"Oh well, all I want is a peaceful time you. Even an hour or two a day would be nice."

-----

Forget their peaceful time, getting along with most of the brothers is hard, except Beel who is too nice to her to be considered a bother. All the other brothers do was try to steal MC away.

Well, Asmodeus is an exception. He's not trying to take MC away. He's trying take both of them away for his beauty and night out shenanigans.

A few days have passed, and she was also made into a student to be with MC as much as possible.

"Hey Alexa-chan, I'm just wondering... Is there anything you can't do? At this rate you'll end up stealing MC's heart faster than any of us. You're too dreamy, you might as well take her as your bride." Asmodeus pouts as he lazily pokes through his steak Alexandria prepared for dinner.

"O–Oi! The hell are you saying, Asmo?" A flustered Mammon yelled, sitting beside MC.

The older female sighed and glance at Asmodeus, sitting beside her. "Just eat Asmodeus, you're just hungry. And I told you to not call me Alexa."

"But aren't I right? You're so in love with her enough to follow her here. And you're not really her sister by blood, so it's possible."

"If I told you, you and Mammon look good together, you should marry each other, what would you feel?"

"Eww! That's the grossest thing I ever heard." He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

"She really hates you, lololol." Levi snickers at Mammon, sitting across him.

Mammon narrowed his eyes at him, tapping his knife on his plate.

"I never saw this child that way. I'm more like a mother to her more than anything." She points to the 'child' next to her, too busy stuffing her face with the food to notice she is the topic on the table. "Saying that, I didn't protect that child just to fall for any demon."

"Aww... And I thought it'll also be interesting if there's that kind of plot twist." Asmodeus look down, only to find his plate empty. "Hey! Beel, give me back my steak!" His eyes darts across him, towards the orange demon chewing happily.

"I thought you don't want it anymore so I ate it." He smiled innocently as Belphegor and Satan laughed in amusement, witnessing the whole theft.

Alexandria glance around the room, searching for a certain person she haven't seen since yesterday night. "By the way, where's Lucifer?"

"He's probably still in his study, it's the time of the month he have tons of work to do." Satan replied.

"He'll probably coop himself until tomorrow or the day after." Belphegor added, finishing his meal.

She gave a second glance in the table, void of any trace of any food left, sweeping to the also empty plate of her sister.

"Hmm... MC did you eat well?"

"Yes! I really missed your steak!" The teen beamed at her, having a drop of sauce on her lips.

"What am I gonna do with you." She giggled as she wipe the stain off. "Come on, you should rest for the night."

After sending her to her room, Alexandria strolls towards the kitchen and left with a tray on hand, walking towards the library.

She passed by the tall shelfs with several missing books of all sorts of fields. Going further in, she knocked on the door inside the library.

"It's Alexandria, I brought you something." Hearing no response, she let herself in.

The first thing that attract her eyes is the tall pile of paper wall on the table and the male who is almost hidden by it, black circles around his eyes.

"Are you still alive?" Lucifer's flipped towards her, finally noticing her presence.

"Ohh, it's you. What do you want?"

"You probably haven't eaten anything since this morning. I brought you some sandwiches and fruit shake." She set the tray down the small table in the middle of the room and took the plate of sandwiches and the large cup of fruit shake, moving towards Lucifer's study table.

"Here, taking a breather won't hurt." Red orbs darted between the plate, the cup and her face before reluctantly taking it after a sigh and setting it down the free space is the table.

"This is a nice study. It's cozier than mine back in human world."

"What's your deal?"

"Well, I like the fireplace. I can't have one in my apartment."

"If you need nothing, then leave. I don't have time to waste."

"Yeah, I need to do something." She took a few leaves of paper from the desk and scan through it. "Hmm... I see... As expected..."

"What is it you need to do?" Lucifer raised his eyebrow.

"I'll help you with this papers. With us two, we can finish it by morning."

"Hmmp! There's no way I'll let a human mess with the financial statements of the Devildom."

"If it's about the difference of terms and flow of currency, then I have already studied about it."

"...Huh? How..." The demon suddenly remembered the several books missing from the library's shelf. "Ahh... But then, how did you learn how to read our language?" His brows furrowed.

"There's no way I could have extensive knowledge about pacts and such if I can't read the original texts about it."

The lady in front of him never failed to impress him. And yet, "The answer is still a no." Stoic expression returned his face.

"Then let me rephrase it. My master is having a hard time," Lucifer almost slip out of his chair from her words. "...and I can do something about it, so I want help however I can."

"Did you just say 'Master'?"

"Yeah, based on our contract, you're technically my master. Though you can't take advantage of me, which is a good thing..."

Lucifer wouldn't admit it. He can't admit it. But being called master by this capable human who always amaze him has stroked his ego more than he could ever felt from anyone, he can't even stop himself from grinning.

"You really know your way with words. But don't get me wrong. I only allowed you because you've went so far just to do what you want." A smile was also plastered on her face.

"Yes Master Lucifer, if you say so." She chuckled a bit before taking the papers Lucifer choose for her to do.

Sharing a few conversation while working, they really did finish by morning as she predicted.

------

"Alexa, why aren't you in your room? Did you woke up early?"

"Yeah, something like that." With a bit of sleepiness clouding her head, Alexandria chose to eat light breakfast before taking a rest. Good thing it's weekend.

MC moved her attention at the demon on the end of the table. "Lucifer, it's really unusual. You've finished quite early."

"I just discovered a breather had been rather helpful." He stealthly stole a quick glance towards the lady busy eating her food.

The only sound on the table after that is a few yawns— from the usual sleepy Belphegor; and Leviathan and Mammon, probably from overnight gaming marathon they could never finish tonight as Lucifer is out of his confinement.

Everyone has their own world when Alexandria breaks the silence.

"MC, you told me you're hanging out with Mammon and Asmodeus today, right?" She place down her utensils as the girl glance at her.

"Yeah, we're going to shop some clothes on Majolish. Why? You're coming anyways, aren't you?"

"No. I have some business today, but I'll leave you to Beel. Is it alright with you Beel?" She scan the face of the food-loving demon whom just finished his food.

"I don't mind." He smiled softly.

"Thank you. Please do bring her safe and I'll treat you to Madam Scream's of anything you want."

"Madam Scream's...? Really? With anything I want?" Beel's eyes sparkles as drool pools down his empty plate.

She gave him a broad smile. "Yes, anything."

"Alexa, you probably don't know what you're saying. Beel will definitely bust your pocket in no time." Belphegor yawns as he took a bite on his toast.

"But I'm aware of Beel's appetite. Let's just say I'm loaded enough to feed 10 Beels for at least 1 month." She swiped a black card in air with her middle and index finger.

"Hey... Is that..." Satan raised an eyebrow.

"WOAHH!! The legendary black card! Imagine how many Ruri-chan collectibles and games I could buy with that." Sleepiness flushes out of Leviathan's system as he stared at the black card.

"Can feed... 10 Beels..." The sixth-born's drool intensifies.

"Hmm? When did you get one? You should've just asked me to process it for you." A surprised but rather unfazed Lucifer asked.

"I told you I don't want to be a bother. Though I admit getting one is not an easy task."

"Hey Alexa-chan. Are you sure you don't wanna join us shopping?" The fourth-born playfully twist her bangs around his fingers. "And while we're at it, let's have a full body Super Beauty Mud Course~"

She touched her chin in thought. "I'll think about the mud course, but not today."

But then, a demon, who should be hyper at the sight of a premium item, was rather silent.

"Hey Alexa-sama... Can I touch it?" The second-born teleports beside her, orbs sparkles gold and fingers twitching on air in a perverse way. "Please. It'll be a dream come true to hold it in my arms for even just a second."

"I refuse." She slid it back her wallet as fast as she swiped it out. "Show me first that I could trust you." She pinched the tan nose facing her, grinning.

Cherry red orbs observes the sight of the lively table, a curve tenderly forms across his face.

"O-Oi! Let go–" *Ring ring*

The sound of a phone rung through the spirited atmosphere, which wiped the smile off Alexandria's face.

Picking up the cup of tea with her free hand, she gulp it down before letting go of Mammon.

"Take care while shopping later, MC." She ruffled her sister's hair, "Thank you for the meal. Now, if you'll excuse me." ...before leaving the room.

"Then, I'll also retire for today and take a rest. Don't make a mess while I do so." Feeling tired of his restless shift, Lucifer decided to leave and retire to his room.

On his way, he heard the familiar voice of the lady behind her door, seemingly distressed.

As unethical as it seems, the oldest's curiosity of the enigmatic female wins him over and decided to stood his ground.

"I told you Father, I can't right now, that's why I'm telling you to just let me quit...... If I tell you, you'll definitely try to take me back there....... No...... Not telling......."

He could hear the series of loud sighs and frustration beyond the door.

"No, I don't want it. Brother deserves the company more than I do. So please think it over again.... Yes....... Yes, I will. Then, bye." He then heard a beep ending the call.

On the verge of stepping away as to not get caught, the next thing he heard render him motionless in place.

"I'm not even a your real child to begin with. If I continue there, I'll actually end up killing myself..." Unconsciously, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Alexandria jolts in surprise as her door opened out of nowhere.

"Wha..." Surprise was imminent on her face yet, realizing it is the first-born, her brows scrunches. "Don't you know knocking is a common courtesy?"

"What do you mean by you not being your father's real child? And what do you mean about killing yourself?" He ignores the annoyed expression of the woman. There's no way he could let this information pass under his nose. Not with this girl who made him concede more than he expected, and certainly not because of that grim words.

"What do you want?" She narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

"Killing yourself is something I could not ignore. And, I want to know more about the human who have the audacity to force a pact with me." He returned the same gaze with crossed arms above his chest. They stared at each other for a few seconds before the lady yield for the first time.

"Alright. I guess as a demon who have a pact with me, you have the right to know. We are, after all, connected by soul in spite of everything... Let's go to your office or something. I don't want anyone to hear this like you did."

"Right now, Satan is probably cooped in the library. He'll certainly asked why we're together. Let's go to my room instead. It's quite spacious for someone to eavesdrop."

She followed behind the oldest brother, careful not to be seen by anyone. Entering the room without meeting anyone down the hallway gave her a sense of relief.

"Even your room is nice." She casually strolls in the room, brushing her fingertips on the bones in the pillar, the candelabra, the gramophone, and scanning a few picture frames above the fireplace.

"You may want to start your story this instant or I'll pull the words out of you by force." Growing impatient, Lucifer took a sit at an angle on the corner of his bed, arms drapes his chest again.

With another sigh, she sat on the length of the bed partially behind the man, placing both her palms on the bed as she face the furnace.

"Too eager, aren't we?"

"Unlike you, I want to take a rest." Alexandria chuckled of his remark.

"It's true I'm not a real child of the current family I'm in. I am adopted after all." Her Aquamarine eyes glows a hue of orange as she stare at the dancing fire in the furnace. "It's no secret to MC. I did met her in an orphanage after all.."

"She's a volunteer that time when we're still young. Is that good enough? Am I off the hook already?"

"No. That doesn't answer my second question. You're still hiding... something." The strained smile he witnessed on her face almost made him regret continuing his statement.

"Is this a some sort of punishment?" A self-reproachful laughter rings the room, "You're good with picking your card if it is."

"You can say that. But I'm also curious of you."

"Yeah, yeah... But it'll be a long story. Is it alright with you?"

"I have the whole day available. And you?"

"I also have nothing to do. I just gave MC a sister-free day or she'll get tired of me."

"Then, continue your story." He moves facing the same fireplace.

"Ahh, right... If I remember correctly, the Great Celestial War... It's a conflict within your family, right?"

Lucir flinched from the sudden question. "...Why did you ask?"

"I just thought we may have the same sentiment... or maybe not."

"..."

"Anyways, MC knew nothing about what I'm going to tell you, so it's our secret, okay?" She waited for his reply before continuing.

"You see, I also have a big family. I'm the oldest with my six, adorable siblings. They're 3 set of twins. Amazing, right?" She smiled at him, softly.

"We're living a normal, happy life. I'm really satisfied with our big family I feel it to last forever... Or so I thought." The softness in her face disappeared into a grimace. Colors in her eyes disappeared as she travel back to time.

"I was 9 at that time when that night happened. It was freezing I couldn't feel my fingertips. Snow was falling hard when I witness everything."

"Unlike that fire, the place was rather cold and dark. My struggling brother's neck in his bare hands, my limp and beaten mother trying to pry him away from my brother, the bloody corpses of my 3 sisters, my 2 other brothers writhing in pain... and that sickening smile on my father's face." She spat, grabbing Lucifer's comforter with her fist. Lucifer watched the scorching flame reflected in her eyes as if it's her own.

"There's no way I could ever forgive him for what he have done..." She rid of her shoes and hugged her legs, facing Lucifer as she lay her cheeks on her knees. "Like how I could never forgive myself for what happened."

"Forgive yourself? That's a foolish way to put it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Bluish orbs draw itself towards his own as she gave him a bitter smile. "You can say that because you don't know everything."

"Then tell me what I don't know."

"Let's just say that a drive to protect MC and a drive to live are two different things. And I've been searching for the latter to no avail."

"You're really lucky to still have your brothers. I am quite jealous if I may say." She wore her shoes again and amble her way to the entryway. "It seems like this is as far as I could tell you right now. Maybe I'll continue it next time. If you'll excuse me." She bowed before closing the door.

In contrast, Lucifer couldn't utter another word. Perhaps it's because of the pact above his chest which connects them, but he felt his heart ache slowly since she started telling her story.

And right now, he feels an unbearable pain. An unbearable pain as if he's reliving his own scars.

He stared at the same scorching fire, and as though imitating her, he tried imagining the grief he have felt of losing someone dear.

"...lucky, huh... I guess I really am..." Clutching the fabric above his chest, he felt a pang of guilt from his curiosity.

If anyone asks if I hate Mammon for bullying him here too much— the answer's no. In fact, he's my # 2 (sometimes # 1 coz Luci). I really love him and his dorkiness! But he's just so adorable when he's flustered that I end up picking on him a bit too much (maybe that's also the reason why I love Luci and he's my first if not because of my occasional Mammon hype).

Anyways, it's a good thing I posted it now. I've been proofreading it for the umpteenth time cause I don't have any friends to ask nor share sentiments with the Obey Me Fandom (sad life of an otaku). I have many revisions but I'm quite satisfied with how it turns out again. UwU

And I didn't even noticed it's already 3 a.m. so I'm gonna peace out now~~

Chapter 3

MASTERLIST

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Shenanigans Part Three: Return Of The Shenanigans

Let’s do this!

At this point, you probably know the drill (and, if not, parts one and two are here and here!)

Basically I found some prompts for September, and now I’m doing them in October just because

Prompt #3

You have an animal that only you and your soulmate can see.

Warnings: Death mentions, brief mentions of drowning (I pinky swear that I’ll stop drowning Janus for the rest of this challenge), brief mentions of house fires (I pinky swear that I’ll stop setting Patton on fire for the rest of this challenge)

World Building

Soulmates had always been an idea bubbling in the back of humanity’s brains. A sort of “hey, this romance thing is complicated, could we just kinda know?”

It was starting to annoy the fates

Do you expect them to do all the work? I mean, what with the spinning, and the looking ominous, and the lack of dental, their job is a hard one, and you want to make it harder by having them weave two people’s stories together?

One day, a fate heard yet another “please, let me meet my soulmate tomorrow” prayer and went nuts

Fine. Fine! You want soulmates? We’ll make soulmates.

The plan was to create two soulmates, make them fall in love

And then kill them.

Just to remind humans where they stood on a cosmic scale. Just to remind them that every story ends tragically, when you get down to the end.

They reviewed a few couples (Some Romeo and Juliet people had promise), but in the end decided. Feuding families? Check. Opposites attracting? Check. Tragedy? Inevitable.

Characters

Patton: Patton grew up inside the hedges.

Hedges were his family’s specialty, so the house was surrounded by them. He rarely got to leave, but he could get lost in the gardens and talk to his imaginary pet, so all in all things were okay. Sure, maybe it was weird to have a blue jay that only he could see, but he was lonely!

See, Patton’s family liked three things

1. Having heirs (but only in theory)

2. Increasingly elaborate hedge mazes

3. Fighting a blood feud the goddamn lawyers

Patton wasn’t really on that list, but he wasn’t on the list of hated things either, so there was that.

List of Hated Things

1. The goddamn lawyers

2. Anyone who associates with the goddamn lawyers

3. Anyone who is descended from the goddamn lawyers

4. Anyone who gets in the way of the blood feud with the goddamn lawyers

5. Dandelions. They’re not serious gardening.

Janus: Janus was, of course, a child of the goddamn lawyers

The lawyers weren’t a clan of blood like the gardeners, but one of merit. And having kids was seen as a conflict of interest, and therefore frowned upon.

Of course, it’s illegal to murder or criminally neglect children, so he was allowed to stick around and have a childhood vaguely reminiscent of John Mulaney’s “one black coffee”, “over on the bench”, and “getting accused of murdering Princess Diana” skits

Most of his childhood was spent accusing his pet blue jay (that couldn’t be seen by anyone else) of crimes and then debating himself about whether or not the bird was guilty, like a normal kid.

However, when it became clear that someone else was stealing his blue jay, he had to find them and give them a piece of his mind, even if they lived behind formidable hedges

The Plot

Patton (about eight at this point) was wandering around the grounds, talking to Sunny (his name for the bird), like every other day, when the strangest kid he’d ever seen in his life appeared through a small gap in the hedges and informed him that the bird was his and he’d be leaving soon

A bird custody battle ensues

Janus uses a lot of legal terminology, which Patton pretends to understand. The debate ends when Patton’s aunt shows up and threatens to chuck Janus over the garden walls if he doesn’t get out immediately.

Janus runs off, but Patton sees him through the hedges later, and he looks kind of sad about the whole thing, so Patton offers to share custody of Sunny.

Janus perked up at this solution, despite claiming that the bird’s name was really Iago, and a friendship was born.

It was hard for them to chat when both their relatives would love to murder at least one of the kids if they could get away with it, and Patton was separated from him by the hedges, but they managed.

Sunny/Iago was decent at carrying messages, Janus was good at finding secret passages, and Patton had adequate aim when tossing packages over the hedges.

They were best friends for years and years, confidants in their crazy worlds.

At around sixteen, Janus convinced Patton to leave the grounds for an afternoon. The two of them saw the sights (which meant buying/stealing bread) (you can guess who actually bought the bread and who stole it) and had fun

The evening ended with the two of them sitting under a tree, chatting. The dandelions were in that in-between stage where some of them are flowers and some seed-heads, so Patton was able to weave a crown of flowers and make a wish at the same time.

Take a wild flying guess who he wished for (hint: they were currently wearing the flower crown and pretending to not like it, but would secretly never take it off. Ever.).

Patton claimed he’d wished for world peace (which, on further reflection, he felt bad for not thinking of first), and Janus claimed he’d wished for solid gold coins, but they were both lying.

Eventually, Patton had to go home.

Sunny-Iago: Sunny-Iago had gone by many names before. As one of the extra-dimensional lords of fate, they’d been called things like, “THE FUCK IS THAT”, “IT HAS SO MANY EYES”, and “Oh, fuck, that raven’s back again”. It made perfect sense for them to have at least two, despite being in the flesh prison of a blue jay this time.

A damn blue jay.

At least ravens have a little class.

Anyway, their job was to guide two sweethearts together and then drive them into a metaphorical (or literal? It could always be literal) brick wall. This was proving harder than expected, since the most important thing was to not get attached to either of them and well

Sunny-Iago had gotten attached to both of them. It was hard to see kids grow up and be fine killing them off, okay!

But they knew the drill. This had to end in some kind of tragedy.

So, they had a plan. Instead of having them both killed off because of miscommunication, they’d merely never see each other again and pine after what could have been, eventually turning into a bittersweet story they’d tell to....someone younger and more naïve, or something. They were still working it out!

So, they grabbed a quill pen in their beak and wrote a note to Patton’s aunt (it took several tries. Beaks were not meant for holding quill pens).

The note said something along the lines of “You know the goddamn lawyers? Of course you do. Your nephew fell for one, last chance to fix the situation is at 10:00 at the gate”.

Back To The Plot

Patton and Janus got back to the gardener grounds. Neither wanted to leave the other’s company, so they lingered at the gate, chatting and finding excuses to stay.

After a few minutes, it was obvious that Patton had to leave. Before doing so, he quickly kissed Janus on the cheek, just in time to get caught by his aunt, who came close to stabbing the both of them with a garden trowel.

When Janus came back a few days later, wilted dandelions still in his pocket, Patton was gone, sent far away from lawyers and love. All that was left was the bird. A stupid bird that no one else could see.

Time-lapse! Seven years later!

Janus was working on the most important legal case any lawyer had in a solid three years.

A gardener had murdered one of his relatives (he kept forgetting which one, which was a bit of a problem, since half of his job was to look tearful about them) with a wheelbarrow, and he was attempting to get them arrested for it.

If it worked, the gardeners would have consequence for committing murder, which would hopefully tone down the blood feud a little.

Half of the jurors had been rigged by both sides, some paid to vote one way and some paid to vote another. There were, however, six undecided jurors out there.

The Jurors

Logan: Logan is the only person on the jury who knows anything whatsoever about law and what can be done in a courtroom. He actually wants the most just and logical thing to happen.

Weirdo.

Roman: Roman is an actor in a touring production of Much Ado About A Midsummer’s Ham (Cooked As You Like It)

He just wants this trial process to be over so he can get back to rehearsal-wait, nevermind, the guy with the glasses is cute and he’s going to make this court case last as long as possible.

Remus: Remus is here to cause as much legal chaos as possible

He might get arrested for contempt of court.

Virgil: Virgil gives 0 fucks about anything that happens, but knows more about law than Logan, who knows more about law than anyone else in the court.

Remy: Remy heard from people that court cases are full of juicy drama.

Those people are wrong. It’s just a bunch of legal stuff. He’d rather be at Starbucks!

Emile: Emile is psychoanalyzing everyone else on the jurors section. Especially Remus.

Back To The Plot

The case progresses normally

Well, normally for this town anyway, which means that the goddamn lawyers are dying off fast (mostly of poison).

Janus, however, has managed to dodge every assassination attempt. He’s lawyering like Billy Flynn here!

Late in the afternoon, everyone’s a little tired and a lot bored when yet another witness is called. Janus was pulling his hat over his eyes for shade from the sunlight streaming into the court, when he heard the witness’s voice.

After a seven year disappearance, Patton stood in the courtroom.

Remy leaned forward. He saw the look on Janus’s face. At long last, drama had arrived.

After the court got out of session, Janus dashed down the steps of the building to catch up to Patton. He offers to get a coffee with him, but Patton turns him down, insinuating that he only offered to get information on the gardeners. Janus left, dejected.

Over the last seven years, Patton’s was in the far away land where his family started: New Jersey. While in this cursed place, his family attempted to change him from a dandelion to a venus flytrap, and nearly succeeded.

Nearly.

But when, the next day, his aunt poisons Janus’s water glass (gleefully explaining that this poison doesn’t show up on the standard tests and precautions), he just so happens to be clumsy enough to knock it over before Jan drinks it, and ends up volunteering to get coffee to make up for it.

Coffee meet-ups lead to coffee dates lead to rekindling of old romances (all under the utmost secrecy)

Eventually, the court case comes to a head.

The six pre-decided jurors work quickly, but Logan debates, and Roman stalls because he’ll be missing Logan, and Remus is forcibly removed from the courthouse, and Emile forgot to take notes, and Virgil sleeps through most of it, and Remy couldn’t care less about this, only caring about what happens with Janus and Patton.

They make their decision

Since they saw like 47 murder attempts over the course of the trial, it’s not a stretch to assume that the gardeners did kill that guy with a wheelbarrow.

Janus and the rest of the prosecution celebrate, and in the excitement of the moment, he and Patton end up sharing a kiss.

That’s the moment the gardeners went from Lowkey Trying To Murder Him to Highkey Trying To Murder Him

Both of them walk home with their head in the clouds

When your head is in the clouds, it’s easy to get kidnapped and thrown in the harbor to drown, especially if you happen to be a goddamn lawyer who just won a case.

And when your head is in the clouds, and you overhear your relatives talking about how they threw the person you love the most into the harbor to drown, it’s easy to make rash decisions

Like grabbing a torch and running into the middle of a prized hedge maze, and threaten to burn it all if his aunt didn’t tell him where Janus was.

When the answer was “dead, obviously”, Patton took the torch to the shrubbery, and the estate burned.

Problem: Janus crawled to shore and survived.

Secondary problem: Patton’s not trying especially hard to escape the fire.

Janus got to the house, saw it was on fire, and ran into the grounds. He eventually found Patton (who was still alive and in the hedge maze), but....it’s a very intricate hedge maze, and now there’s smoke everywhere, and they can’t find their way out.

At the last second, Sunny-Iago swooped over their heads, pointing to the exit, and they run after them.

They’re almost out of the burning grounds when Sunny-Iago falls to the ground, still, and they find themselves in another place entirely.

The Fates

The Fates had bet on how good old birdie would kill Janus and Patton off

Knife? was the most common bet, followed by Wolves. No one bet on them living in the end.

Except Meghan (alternate name: The Lurking One), and nobody liked Meghan, and nobody liked losing money.

So, they were going to do the job personally.

Back To The Plot

Janus and Patton find themselves in a tomb where every grave is theirs. A tomb where every grave is theirs is essentially the office space of the fates, who enjoy the atmosphere.

The Fates themselves take a multitude of forms: Animal, vegetable, mineral, eldritch, you name it.

And they all bicker amongst themselves about how to best kill off the couple.

Knife? Wolves? Triscuits? How??

Janus tricks them into debating the subject round and round in circles, but they eventually come to their senses.

As a last ditch hope, Patton says that they’ll pick the method of death for them if they give the couple a chance to plead for their lives.

The fates agree, and the Final Court Case begins.

Janus is quite a lawyer, but there’s literally a saying about how hard it is to argue with Fate, so its a nail biter of a case. Patton manages to give a passionate defense and Janus brings up evidence, but it’s still anyone’s game how the jurors will vote.

Steve votes for death

The Great Rot votes for not death

Spatula votes for not death

Karen votes for death

Meghan votes for not death

A Clump Of Petunias votes for death

Broken Taco Shells And Broken Hearts votes for not death

That One Relative At Family Reunions That You Pretend To Know But Don’t votes for death

Microwavable Lasagna votes for not death

The Ghost Of Richard III votes for death

That Sock That Always Disappears From Dryers chooses not to vote. What a jerk.

At this point, it’s tied 5-5. Enter Remy, who just wants to go to the extra-dimensional Starbucks.

He deliberates. He hems. He haws. He draws out the moment unnecessarily long for drama’s sake.

But, at the end of the day, he was always rooting for these humans.

Remy votes for not death.

Conclusion

Patton and Janus get to live. Time is very short for humans, and eventually they would both die, but right then and there, they got to live.

Dandelions eventually took root where the carefully trimmed hedges had once been.

And Roman noticed, after his performance was done, that a certain nerd was in the audience.

And he could also see Roman’s blue jay.

Hope you enjoyed!!

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carmen-berzattos · 4 years

Note

why do you not like jane the virgin season5?

Ah JTV season 5... where does one begin with JTV season 5? The utter disaster. The NERVE to call that flaming mess their best season in promotions. The insanity of thinking this the best that show has offered us when it was their worsT season.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

1. Michael’s return: I was against the idea of them bringing back Michael from the very start. One of the reasons for that was that I didn’t like the implication that the only way to validate Jafael would be by her choosing Raf over Michael in a parallel situation, ‘cause guess what, that’s a crappy message. And makes it seem like whatever relationship one enters into after the tragic loss of a partner is lesser because they didn’t choose that new relationship over the old one, which is not at all something that you want to send to any audience. But my main reason was that I didn’t think they could pull it off. And guess what? I was right. His amnesia happening and I was like okay, but what the fork are you gonna make Jane insist he remembers her only to be like but lol I love Raf so bye. And then she does exactly that but not once does she or anyone else question the rightness of such actions? Everyone is so blase about it? And speaking of memory loss, memories are such a weighty SL to take on and rarely do shows get it right. So I wasn’t expecting JtV to get it right, really. But they still royally forked it up. Because Michael with no memories = Michael is a dick and I’m like???????????? Why???? One’s personality is vastly complex???? It doesn’t hinge on specific memories and experiences only? And even in the absence of the ability to recall specific things you still can have a visceral reaction to things through simple cognition and internalization of certain habitual patterns which has nothing to do with memories?

But, okay, fine, he’s back. He has no memories. He’s kind of a jerk. Fine. Okay. But then he gets his memories back and it has absolutely no bearing on anyone who is not Jane? Rogelio loved him? He was a part of the family for over 3 years? HELLO? Does no one else care about the implications of this beyond the godawful (at this point) love triangle? Where are the emotional stakes? The drama? The fact that they lost but didn’t lose this person and now he’s back and he fits back in but also doesn’t fit in all the worst places and it hurts and no one knows what to do with it? Who the fork care about the love triangle, this person was family and he DIED and then got back and then lost his memories and now he has them back oh my god stop just standing there. DO SOMETHING.

But okay, fine. He’s back. He has no memories. He’s kind of a jerk. He got his memories back and no one cares about it meaning anything except about the triangle. Okay, fine, I’ll roll with it. Now give us some juicy delicious drama for the triangle. But they don’t? Michael doesn’t at all react to her being with Rafael. He doesn’t lose his sh*t in any way about the trauma that he had to go through. He doesn’t have feelings of anger or resentment that he lost years of his life and now he’s back only to find that the love of his life has moved on. And no one is saying that he’d be right in those emotions, but he’s a person, yes? And sometimes you feel things that aren’t right or aren’t fair because that what emotions are like and that’s where all the drama is and I’m just absolutely bAFFELD? that?? they?? missed????? such??? obviously??? ripe?? material??? for?? heartbreak???? that would have made even the most die hard Jafael shippers cry????? How?????? AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM HOW TO DO THEIR JOB?? Do I have to do everything myself to get it right? Not once does Michael react in any recognizably human, non-angelic way. He acts not like a person but a cardboard cut of a man who can do nothing but tout “I just want you to be happy” and it’s like????????????????? why??????????? bring????????????????????? this?????????????? storyline????????? if you will not take full advantage of one of its most obvious emotional stakes???? whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

2. Rafael: Micheal’s return inevitably leads us to the utter garbage that was Rafael’s characterization in this season. Fork me did we get forked seven different ways with how this was handled. First and foremost, Jennie Urman kept saying that it was a huge sacrifice of Raf to bring Michael back to Jane’s life and basically, this is the act, this is the incredible sacrifice that we are supposed to hold as the criteria for everything romantic and that’ll lead us to believe that Raf is the one and I’m like????? dude??? that was basic decency? I know it must have been painful but like..... he absolutely had to tell her he had absolutely no choice???? But no, GREAT SACRIFICE. Said as such so must be taken as such.

But okay, fine, whatever. Great sacrifice. But then what? Then he gets insecure. Which makes sense considering the whole situation about Michael before. But it’s brought up in a way that just makes him.... how do I put this nicely? Makes him a dick, tbf. And I’m like Jennie wants me to root for you but you’re crying about your pain and about wanting to be engaged to the woman whose world just turned upside down and I’m like????????????? Hello?????? Can you calm tf down for twO seconds and let her figure out her way??????????

But okay, fine, whatever. Great sacrifice. Then he’s a dick. It’s fine it makes sense that he’s so insecure. The ghost of the past has crept back up and he’s so damn afraid to lose everything that he ever wanted when he was so close to having it all. And people aren’t perfect and they don’t always react in a perfect way and that’s fine. AND this is a great opportunity to explore his insecurity! And finally put him through therapy! And finally have him move on past his self destructive behavior! So they kind of do that but in the most laughable way possible. So the moment that he breaks up with Jane could have actually been a great character development moment. And it is. Kind of. It’s a moment where he acknowledges that, unlike the first time where he went as far as to try and sabotage Michael’s career to take him out of the competition and win Jane over, this time around he’s not willing to live through that charade. He’s putting his own self preservation and making it easy for Jane by taking himself out of the equation altogether. So, he breaks up with her and we seem to be on the right track, barring the whole Mateo walking in on them situation (we will get to Mateo in a second). Sure, he has that momentary relapse in the following episode where he wants her back but it’s quickly done and he starts to take anti-depressants., And I’m like YES finally, getting to the good stuff! But then... THE WHOLE STORYLINE HAPPENS OFF-SCREEN. Do you know how ENRAGING it is that something so essential to Rafael’s arc in the last season happens completely off-screen? Not once do we see him go through therapy. Not once do we see his perspective. NOT ONCE. Not to mention it happens off-screen in the span of one episode which is like 2 days at most and I’m like????????? (ALSO, an aside to writers: As a person who suffers from depression, the healing is not in the medication, the healing is in the therapy sessions. The medication is important to curb your symptoms and lift up your mood and help your brain cope with the chemical nightmare happening there. But it doesn’t address the root cause that’s made you depressed. THAT happens in the sessions. So you can’t simply throw pills at the issue. That’s only a half solution)

But OKAY, FINE. Great sacrifice. Then he’s a dick, but it sort of kind of makes sense. And then he breaks up with her our of self preservation, and then depression that happens off-screen. But then... but then NONE of his past behavior is acknowledges or talked through. Jane doesn’t confront him about it. And then, when that conversation does come up when they decide to get married in city hall, it’s half baked and doesn’t really delve into root issues.

(I could talk about Rafael’s career, too, but I Do Not Have the Strength)

3. Jafael: Which brings me to Jafael *screams into a pillow*. So like, they’re happy by the end of season 4, and it looks like they’ll make it. And they’re about to get engaged and all. And then Michael comes back to throw a wrench in the plans. Because as Jennie Urman would have us believe, conflict and choosing each other can only happen in the context of a triangle. Heaven forbid that we come up with new storylines. ANYWAY. So all of the problems of early season are discussed in Raf’s section. But then, okay, Jane chooses Raf, she tells him that he’s the one for her and leaves Michael behind. And he’s like lol, nope, I don’t trust you no more. Which, okay, makes sense. If he’s so insecure and has been spiraling, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to be with her right now. So I go like, yeah, okay, fair. And you guys need to figure your stuff out before you can get back into this relationship. Jane understands that she needs to win him over again and that doesn’t work and I’m like, yeah, that’s not the problem. Let’s talk about the real problem. But then they don’t? We, once again, do not get to see Rafael’s perspective, not once managing to experience what’s happening in his head. So we’re kind of just left in the dark, wondering what he’s thinking and how he’s dealing.

But, okay, fine, I’ll accept that this is not what we will be experiencing. But then once they reunite, surely they will address his trust issues. Right? RIGHT? Well, guess what, I am the forking goddamned motherforking fool. Absolutely NOTHING gets acknowledged. Their reunion is not prompted by a change that Rafael feels about his issues of trust, but rather just him remembering that he loves her. Which we know. The lack of love was never the issue. The issue was, has been, is about his insecurity and there is no reason for me to believe that this has been cured by absolutely no acknowledgement.

But fine, okay, I’ll accept all of this. Fine okay, he remembered how much he’s loved her and doesn’t have the strong will to use his head anymore. He just wants her back. But, surely, once they get back together they will march their asses to couple’s counseling and figure that shirt out, yes? RIGHT? But once again I am the forking goddamned motherforking fool. It is absolutely NOT what happens. Instead, they hurtle head first into their previous arrangements, as if the past few months, ripe with trauma and emotional distress has not at all happened. And, guess what? It DOES, in fact, become an issue, when Raf wants to pressure her into a city hall marriage because he’s afraid he’ll lose her again. And I’m sitting here like...????????/ you think one conversation where she promises and swears that she’s committed to him will actually solve things? An offhanded conversation that you had like three episodes before the finale and will absolutely not acknowledge after???? And I’m supposed to believe that, what, they’re cured? Saying the right words was never the issue, it’s internalizing them??? And marriage is no guarantor of you not losing a person???? You not feeling secure in a relationship will not disappear once a wedding happens?????? hELLO????

All of what is mentioned above about Jafael is also compounded by two other bullshirt factors in their writing for season 5: Mateo and sparks/romance.

The heavy involvement of Mateo in Jafael’s relationship and storyline has got to be one of the most baffling writing decisions of this season. First, let me clarify that I understand that this would justifiably and understandably be hard for Mateo. But Mateo’s direct involvement in the emotional conflict is just... no. I cannot fathom why they had him walk in on Jane and Rafael’s break up. Having him there to heighten Jane’s heartbreak actually undercuts Jafael because it becomes more about the loss of traditional, nuclear family bliss than about the couple itself. And the continued use for him as the epitome of tragedy for this couple not reuniting only serves to reinforce the idea. Making this more of a case where Mateo is heartbroken but reassured that this doesn’t mean that they’re no longer family would have been a lot more effective, IMO.

The other thing: Sparks and romance. Usually, in big couple moments on JtV, there tends to be a big moment, a big realization before a decision is made. And that realization is usually the result of build up from that same episode if not several ones. But, this season, those moments fell short. Jane’s realization was... okay, but wasn’t caused by anything externally that happened between her and Raf. Which, I guess is fair but misses the epic romance factor. But the one that was truly anti climactic is Rafael’s moment of realization that led to their reunion. This is IT, JtV, this is your main couple reuniting. This is your main male character fINALLY ready to reunite with the titular character. No time to hold back now. But then they did? Him realizing he loves her and wants to be with ehr still is merely through a list of pros and cons that he makes about someone else only to realize that it doesn’t matter. This person is Jane. And I’m like... but what changed, really? What shift happened? What did Jane do that made those sparks fly again??? How did he make the leap to actually deciding it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A huge part of this problem is that we didn’t see any of Raf’s point of view. So it’s near impossible for us as audience members to really follow his logic.

4. Cordueva: Now, of course, talk of Jafael naturally brings us to Michael and Jane. I don’t have much to say in their regard except they were done such a huge disservice. One of the things that makes my blood boil is how not only Jane’s book about Michael had to flop, but they also had to make it so that she couldn’t at all get the deal for the book if it weren’t for regelio’s intervention. And it’s such an unnecessary extra dig at the couple? Like why do that? Why not leave it at Jane’s book being a commercial flop? Commercial flops in the book industry are very very very common for a variety of reasons, especially for young authors. In fact, debut authors especially are unlikely to earn back their advances so like, it’s not the end of the world. And it’s hardly ever an indication of the quality of the book if it doesn’t sell well. Just fucking let it be what the fuck Jennie?

(I don’t have it in me to rant more about this couple though there is more that I can just reeeeeel over I’m sure)

5. Petra/Petramos: I’m kind of lumping these together because I do not have the strength. When it comes to Petra’s characterization itself, I think they did.. fine, for the most part. I think she had really good character development and has seemed to finally find her way through life in a balanced way, which i very much enjoyed. And her relationship with Jane, Raf, and the rest of the VIllanuevas became one of my favorite things by the end. Just so heart warming. The thing that puzzles me most about the characterization is her reaction to the triangle. The writers made her the writers’ stand in for Jafael which was a little ... eh? I know that she’s friends with both of them so she has a vested interest in the whole conversation, but it felt disingenuous in its representation. More of a way for the writers to validate their own approach to the couple than anything that seemed to naturally come from the character. Though, again, this is not really a huge deal, I guess, in the grand scheme of things.

Petramos is the one that really hurts. From the moment that we find out about Petra’s long lie to JR about the Anezka situation at the end of season 4, I knew we were in trouble for season 5. I couldn’t see how they could bounce back from that within the span of only 18 episodes that seemed already bloated with conflict and need to wrap up. I knew that while we were going to get some swoon worthy scenes between the two, the writing was going to be truly unsatisfying for the story. And that’s exactly what we ended up with: a half-baked initial reunion, followed by a quick relationship escalation, a brutal, traumatized and abrupt break-up, silence for the rest of the season, culminating in an endgame reunion that was anti-climactic and made no real sense. I have no reason to believe that what Petra and JR went through won’t happen again because the underlying cause that led them to a break-up never got fixed. And JR’s realization is far from effective because it happens off-screen, so there isn’t an arc that we’re following that would lead to the cathartic moment of their reunion. I’m glad we had that, don’t get me wrong. But it was not good enough.

6. Jane: This is the last character that I will go in-depth for. And even then, I’m not really sure how much strength I have for a deep-dive. I’m truly disheartened by the direction of Jane’s character by the end of the show. This is mainly due to the love triangle. Her SL was SO focused on the love triangle that she had very little else to do. And unlike season 1 and 2 where Jane’s love life worked in tandem with everything else that was happening in her life (being a mother to Mateo, her writing, her family, her friendships, her own inner world) none of these things truly shined in this last season. Her most satisfying interactions where with Petra. But all her other Storylines fell flat.

My main beef about this is her writing. What the actual fork happened to them this season when it comes to her writing? Jane has always been so good about incorporating Jane’s writing as a thread that holds the show together. They did it in entertaining and creative ways that weaved it seamlessly into the show without feeling too trite or too self conscious. But this last season just couldn’t seem to give a fork about Jane’s career as a writer anymore. Gone the magical realist elements stirred from her writing. Gone her alternate personas that she bounced ideas off of. Gone all the build up for the book. Instead, she writes the whole books, submits it, gets an agent, and gets a deal all within the span of like 3 episodes. There is no build up. It’s not thought through and has little bearing on emotional stakes beyond getting the deal. The show before has managed to somehow use Jane’s writing to propel forward storylines or plots. Sometimes, they were comedic goals (like her characters materializing and having conversations with her to offer insights, or the time when she messed up and sent a recording of her and Michael’s first time instead of her manuscript) or spurred on character relationships )the time when her story that’s based on Xo was accepted to be published and caused conflict) or were involved in a cathartic process for characters’ development (Her book about MIchael getting written and published). This last book that she writes feels so disjointed and has no bearing on anything else happening in the show beyond itself. It does not propel her into reconciliation with Rafael since it’s essentially the re-telling of their story. It doesn’t write into existence a different ending for the characters that would be interesting and imagine alternatives for their lives. It kind of just exist as a wink wink nudge nudge this is what we’re watching but how and WHY that’s important doesn’t really seem to matter all that much. And I’m like .. okay, cool.

The more disappointing thing about it is the lack of build up. For fork’s sake Rogelio’s telenovela had more build up than Jane’s book. That’s very confusing to me. Why would you not be so damn focused on this book that will bring Jane eventual success like it’s the thing that you’ve been building up to, because it IS the thing that you’ve been building up to?

Her wanting to give up after like three rejections is also confusing. Rejection is literally the name of the publishing game. Three rejections are nothing yo, you gotta be patient and have tough skin. And Jane does not seem like the kind of person who would not have that kind of resilience of that kind of faith in herself to become a hopeless mess after three (3) agents said no.

(Another thing that really salts my roots is how uninterested this show is in the publishing process. Absolutely nothing of what they did is realistic, starting from Jane’s belief that 3 rejections is catastrophic, to her agent putting the book on auction after ONE publisher is like idk :/ how would we sell it to the fact that Jane MAILS in her manuscript like we still live in the early 2000′s. Nearly no one accepts physical manuscripts anymore yo, it’s a near obsolete practice. Not to mention, the whole Michael must agree to the publication of this book is pretty bullsh*t, this is being published as a work of fiction. Not a memoir. There is no case for getting his permission because it’s a work of fiction, will be promoted and published as such, even if it says based on real life events, it’s still a work of fiction. Any problems that would arise out of a specific characterization done by the author will be personal problems between the writer and the Real Life person who does not enjoy the way they’re presented in the fiction. But from a legal stand point, it’s a work of fiction. Those characters belong to Jane because of that fact. But this is more of a personal beef because I work in the industry than anything else really)

The other SL that fell flat when it comes to Jane is the whole thing with Rose. That ending for Rose in itself was pretty anti climatic, but it is even more so by how completely ineffective Jane was in taking Rose down. I’m very confused by why the Narrator would say that Jane took down Rose. I’m like nah man she did shit.

7. Misc: These are just a few other scattered thoughts that made season 5 that much worse. Xo going to nursing school is confusing, out of character, and comes out of nowhere. Out of everything, honestly, this is not something that I imagined would be good for her. Alba and Jorge took so much time from everything else and were simply not that interesting. Jorge is kind of a dick, and Alba has nothing going for her beyond him this season. The other thing that I do not understand is how much time we spent with River Fields. I’m like but does anyone actually care? I know it’s Brooks Shield and all but I don’t give a damn about her emotional journey or her relationship with her daughter. Like just who cares, these realizations have no emotional bearings on our main cast why are we wasting time on this. The shoe-horned happy ending for Michael also felt disingenuous.

All in all, the last season of JtV was bad because the show forgot everything that it did well over the course of it’s earlier seasons. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

#jane the virgin #hello this is an essay #i did not think i'd muster the energy for this lengthy of a rant lmao

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believerindaydreams · 3 years

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me: oh I guess I'm doing that Survival fanfic I always wanted to do

Me: sweet

Meat's soft. Soft, with blood in.

Others don't think that's strange, they're hungry so they're eating. I'm hungry, but this seems wrong.

She pushes me towards the body, cuts into the flank. Strips come away soft amd juicy, my mouth waters.

We had a hard fight downing this one. He had to shoot, he doesn't do that so much now. Doesn't need to with blood-sight. We can take things other ways now.

Sun's hot. Gets in my eyes funny, with these glasses.

Glass. Yes.

That seems funny, they'll just block my blood-sight. I shake my head, trying to get them off.

It's hard, until I lie down and catch them on a rib spur; then they come away and I feel light, the sun's brighter than ever.

He doesn't like it, though. He bites them in his teeth, pokes them at my face. I move away; he growls in his throat.

She nuzzles him, takes the things- she's clever in ways we aren't, always poking and prodding with her hands. Now she knocks over sour drink on the glass, licks them clean.

Everything is much clearer when she puts them back on me.

He grunts, presses happily against me. He's warm and protective, makes sure we're safe. Loved.

But the meat, there's still something wrong there. I whimper, push it away.

She doesn't understand, tries to encourage me by eating herself; but he can see there's no moving me. He coughs a few times.

"You're gonna have to say what's wrong."

"I'm not eating human flesh!"

He squeals in his throat, drags her away from the meat. She looks puzzled at him, a tender bit dangling from her mouth.

Words don't seem to matter so much now I've said them. I find a dog steak in a pouch and settle down to gnaw it.

*****

Silly boys. Silly, silly boys, making a fuss about nothing.

They aren't tired and dead-looking any more, they're healthy and sleep soundly. Long still favors one arm, Short is healing from the fight I had with him, but I can see them recovering every day.

We'll fight anything that fights back, the blood-sight likes it. I think it knows we need it; and it needs us, to catch for it. We eat the meat, it takes the deaths.

It doesn't like the words, though. The words are like the ice on the water, you have to keep running or you'll find out what's underneath. I want it to stay cold, always.

The silly boys, they want to find out. I guess they will. When they find a scent, they track it home.

But I can try to help them be strong enough to survive it.

*****

Christine

There really isn't anything worth staying for, at this point.

What's left of Rivet City isn't worth speaking of, and Nacochtank had been flattened comprehensively even before a giant robot collapsed on top of it. The survivors- there had been more than she'd expected, mostly due to a good evacuation program having been carried out at the first sign of Liberty Prime- have scattered, mostly to the Temple of the Union. There's a Followers tent there now, according to Three Dog, and that one she suspects won't be going anywhere.

Some of the others went to Megaton, a few hardy survivors to Point Lookout. They took what they could with them; the site has been looted bare down to scrap metal.

She's moved into a subway car in the Anacostia station, ready to bring her to the Pacific Flyer whenever she's ready.

She isn't ready. For the first time in her life she is directionless, weightless; and the course of the conflict so eagerly reported on radio is one in which she takes only academic interest. They'll find her if they want her.

Perhaps she'll kill them if they do, and move on; waiting here forever, a ghost haunting its own corpse.

She shakes the thought away, and leaves the car's tranquil safety for one more midnight patrol. Just to be on the safe side.

It's good she does. The trio she finds curled up near the old Mutant camp are cold, shivering miserably in the ocean winds.

"Gannon? Arcade Gannon?"

He twitches at his name, then tries to bite her. She leaps back, startled.

"You remember me. Christine Royce. I know you, I know Boone. We're friends."

She keeps her tone even, unhurried, as though she's talking to an animal. He seems to respond to that, moving towards her in the cautious crouch-sneak that any Mojave fighter could do in their sleep, but now unpleasantly reminds her of a creature from the Divide. They hadn't seemed human any longer either.

"I have a fire at my camp. Clean water, food. Would you follow me, do you know how?"

He pauses. Shakes the others awake, with hands instead of teeth; so he looks nearly normal doing it.

Christine repeats her offer, patiently and slowly. To her surprise, it's Boone who replies.

"Okay. They're gonna need help."

"What kind of help?"

"Got deeper into the blood-sight than I did. Gonna take time for them to come out."

He fumbles in a pocket, pulls out a cracked and badly abused pair of sunglasses. She doesn't ask why he wants them at night.

Veronica would have asked.

They get back to the subway car, more quickly than she would have expected- they're in good shape, whatever else is happening to them- and she arranges a nest of subway cushions for them. At least it's warm down here.

They're all three unexpectedly thirsty, and make inroads on her purified water that won't be easy to replace, but never mind. Food's accepted too. Boone whacks Arcade with a spoon when the latter tries eating mirelurk cake with his fingers; he looks confused for a moment, then accepts and uses the utensil.

"You better all remember that shitting is an outdoor sport," Christine mutters.

Carla makes an indignant sound. "I'm from a vault."

If not for certain prior experiences, she would have no patience with this whatsoever; but seeing as she has, the knowledge that they retain some language makes her change her mindset, looking for communication instead of threats. By that metric, what she's witnessing is almost unsettling; there are significant looks, grimaces, no end of small touches. If she hadn't regained her voice, had been forced to interact with Veronica in other ways, it might have turned out like this.

Terrific. Boone's apparently figured out how to spread his morose lack of speech; she can only hope it isn't contagious.

"You three going to be all right there for the night?"

Nobody says anything.

"Okay. I'm going to sleep now."

The situation probably should keep her awake, but she's too old a campaigner for that.

***

When she wakes up again, it's later than she would normally have slept, and Arcade has stolen her best frying pan for mutfruit pancakes.

"Good morning. I'm sorry if we're dipping into your supplies too much, but we had a look around and you seemed to be the only source of supply."

"You'd be correct about that. Also- using words now, I see?"

Arcade flips a pancake onto a plate, starts oiling the pan for another. "Coming out of- call it a fugue state. We'd all been through a bit too much, too many nightmares piled on too fast. Something had to give for a bit, at least temporarily."

"Doesn't seem to have affected you much."

He cracks a smile. "I was getting to miss linguistics. Not that there's much need or opportunity for it while travelling through a barren hellscape whose main feature of interest is roving Deathclaws."

There's a knock on the door; it turns out to be Carla, with an armful of sack.

"We're in luck. Nobody did touch the safe I buried, score one for me distrusting tents as storage- here, catch. It's your doctoral thesis."

Arcade fumbles it, but picks up the book and hugs it affectionately. "You're a marvel, Carla."

"And Boone's beret- not the one I made, just the generic one the NCR gave him. Happily-" she pulls something heavy out of the sack. "I can make a new one with my sewing machine, if I can get some decent material. And we have some caps."

"I hope it's a lot of them," Christine says, feeling slightly odd that she's delivering good news for once. "Manny and your daughter are at Point Outlook, you can still get there by riverboat."

Carla screams ecstatically and runs out.

"Ah. Okay."

"Boone's trying to salvage what happened to his guns after a lot of shooting but forgetting to repair them. Hearing Daisy's alive may be the only piece of news capable of clearing that funk- do you want your pancakes crispy or plump?"

"Make it half and half."

It hadn't occurred to her that she might be as broken in her own way, as they had been in theirs; but when Arcade casually asks that afternoon if she'd care to accompany them to Point Lookout, she says yes.

Veronica, she thinks, would want her to carry on.

And look after this terribly accident-prone Follower.

#ttw draft

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alittlebitgoofy · 4 years

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it’s cold when we’re apart (boboxx)

me? posting new boboxx angst? shock ikik, it was a small venty drabble that hit around 1.7k and i wanted to post it

ao3 link

“I miss you.”

Three simple words were all it took to break Juice’s weak defenses. She hated to admit defeat but being alone was suffocating. Couples fought, it was normal. But what level was too much? She couldn’t pinpoint how it got like this. One day they were happy, brains fogged buy sweet early love, time passed and the things they looked over became more apparent. Juice’s need for affection and comfort, not liking to be alone or not know what was happening. Combined with Scarlett’s refusal to admit she was wrong or short temper it made for a bad combination.

They worked through it, Juice trying to relax her grip on other people and Scarlett learning to keep their cool. It worked, for a while. But all walls crumbled with time and pressure. Juice hated her natural ability to flirt. She was almost always unaware of how it came off, she just wanted to be nice to people. Scarlett noticed, tensing at the way some people eyed her up. They knew it wasn’t her fault, not something to get angry over. Though the bitter jealousy would only grow if left unchecked. All it took was a girl mistaking Juice for single and flirting, the small girl being kind back and Scarlett was seething. They tried to quell it but only succeeded in making it bubble up more.

Words hurt, especially from someone you loved. People said things they didn’t mean, although Scarlett lashed out too hard to be excused. They knew how to get under Juice’s skin, what to say to rile her up or upset her, and used it all to their advantage. It took only a few seconds for the regret to sink in. But that was too late.

“Get out.” The venom in Juice’s tone made Scarlett flinch. She’d never sounded that angry before. It was unnatural, not the girl she knew. But she had crossed a line, the regret wouldn’t do anything to fix it. She did what she got angry at other people for, she hurt Juice.

“Did I stutter? If you don’t leave I will throw you out. We both know I can lift you.”

“Juice, please. I’m sorry.” it was pointless pleading, knowing Juice wouldn’t care but trying anyway for the hope this could be fixed. Scarlett tried, they meant everything, it was just too late.

“You don’t get to be sorry. Get the fuck out of my house!” The anger was rising, Juice was unrelenting, intensely glaring in a way that scared Scarlett for being four inches shorter. She looked Scarlett up and down as if they were a hardened criminal who just got caught. It was terrifying to see the lack of any warmth in her eye, only cold, hard anger.

“Juice-”

Before Scarlett could finish, Juice had shoved them out of the door, into the street. She slammed the door not waiting for any more words.

They’d fucked up. Bad.

Scarlett refused to believe they’d ever be that person, sending an emotionally charged voicemail begging for some kind of response. Juice hadn’t spoken a word in the two weeks since their argument and every second without her hurt, the memory of hurting her still sinking into their flesh, burning at the thought of how bad they messed up.

It was bad judgment to text her in the first place, even more so to say they missed her and send a rambling, melancholic voicemail that would only complicate things further. They showed up as read. Juice had seen it, she’d heard it and yet didn’t have a response. It’d been over half an hour since it showed up as read and Scarlett felt the sadness and resignation sink ever deeper.

A knock brought them out of the spiral, although the idea of having to face someone made their head spin with anxieties. They couldn’t quite cope with other people, not while like this. It was too much vulnerability that they didn’t want to be accountable for. So, just don’t answer it. But it wasn’t that simple. A distraction, however brief, was craved, so Scarlett begrudgingly answered it, not knowing what to expect, shocked at who it was.

“You miss me.” Although her tone was distant, Scarlett saw the familiar softness in Juice’s eyes as they opened the door to see her meek expression. It said more than she was able to. Upon closer inspection, her soft brown eyes were dark with a conflicted sadness, mixed with a loving gaze she couldn’t help whenever Scarlett was around.

“I’m so sorry,” Scarlett whispered brokenly. There was no point holding up any walls, the vulnerability wasn’t always a bad thing and Juice deserved to know how they felt. Scarlett kept their eyes down, not wanting to know how she was reacting to it all.

“I know.” Juice pulled Scarlett into a tight hug, stepping inside the house, nudging the door behind her shut. She felt the taller one tense in her arms before relaxing and pulling her tighter. It all hit after that, all the pent up feelings and sadness at not having each other, the prior rage almost all melted away with the warmth that Scarlett brought. Almost.

“This doesn’t make up for what you said.” Juice broke the moment, not sure how much she should let her guard down. She had every right to be so defensive and yet it still hurt. Scarlett knew better than to argue, their anger had settled into self-loathing long ago, all they could do now is agree and regret everything ever more.

“I know.” Despite their different perspectives, Scarlett mirroring her words made Juice’s heart clench. They weren’t at all distant, instead, soft and loving but weakened by regret and sorrow.

Eventually, the long hug ended, neither quite knowing what to do until Scarlett led Juice to the couch, prompting her to put something on so they could spend time together without thinking too hard about it. The air was still tense but Juice appreciated the effort.

“What about that show you kept asking me to watch?” Scarlett felt their heart warm as Juice’s eyes lit up, cutting through the tension with her excitement. She was adorable when talking about something she liked and this was no exception. She rambled on about how much Scarlett would like the show and how good it was. The glee radiating from her made Scarlett’s face unconsciously break from a frown to a loving smile. Juice paused for a second, realising how much she missed the stupid grin Scarlett would give her if she got excited enough about something, never interrupting her, just appreciating her.

Juice seemed a lot more relaxed as the show started, eventually shuffling closer to Scarlett, curling into their side as they watched attentively. Juice commentating on everything in a way that would be annoying if anyone else did it, but she made it all the more entertaining with her thoughts.

“You know, she’s like you, all angry but just soft for one blonde girl,” Juice laughed, gesturing to the screen. Scarlett shot her a confused look which only made her giggle more.

“Juicy, I see where you’re going but I am not a catgirl.” Juice pouted, Scarlett holding back a laugh at her behaviour. The way they fell back into the soft loving ways made everything feel better. Juice’s laughs were the last thing needed to patch up their heart and they planned on keeping her happy for a lot longer.

“Wait! She’s gay for the blonde one? Who let this mentally unstable cat drive a tank anyway?” Scarlett watched on incredulously, Juice only laughing at her questions. She was understanding why Juice liked the show so much now, it was cute, even if she compared them to the feral catgirl. It wasn’t that inaccurate although they wouldn’t admit that.

More episodes played as Juice’s commentary died down, she stayed curled into Scarlett’s side, occasional comments muttered into their shoulder as her head nestled into it. She was half asleep when Scarlett shook her, nudging her towards the bedroom.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Juice gave a soft hum in response, curling closer into the enby. Scarlett laughed softly, picking her up to place her on the bed, knowing her attempts to walk over would end in her sleepily stumbling, tripping over anything in her path. Juice let out a pleased hum when Scarlett threw some old, baggy clothes at her to sleep in. There was something adorable about the way everything they owned was too big on the brunette. Although they weren’t that far apart in height, Juice was tiny and Scarlett preferred baggy clothes. The way the long sleeves of an old band shirt flopped over Juice’s wrists, swallowing most of her body was a sight that Scarlett would treasure.

The pair settled down, at first facing each other but not touching, both scared to make the first move before Juice felt herself succumbing to the fatigue. She shuffled over, wrapping her small arms around Scarlett, nuzzling her head into their shoulder.

“I love you,” Juice stifled a yawn as she spoke, the sentiment from earlier still ringing out in Scarlett’s head, however, the fact that Juice was searching for so much affection raised their spirits. “I love you too.” Scarlett smiled, eyes full of love for the smaller girl. Juice lifted her hand, ruffling the short blonde hair of her partner with a mischievous giggle before cuddling as far into them as she could. Not everything was alright or resolved, both knew that. The morning would come and Scarlett would try their best to show Juice their love, peppering her with kisses as she woke up, cooking her breakfast, and showering her with enough affection to make her melt. The last night went unspoken by them, but both knew there were consequences. Juice had her guard up somewhat, naturally lower around Scarlett although still present. It would take time and effort to repair their relationship but Scarlett tried their best to go above and beyond. It wouldn’t be easy but to see Juice smile lovingly at them again would make it all worth it.

#rpdr fanfiction #boboxx #juice boxx #scarlett bobo #juice x scarlett

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Gimme Sympathy

A/N One more fic in the Metric universe, and then I have to knuckle down and finish the second arc of Saorsa. This story takes place just after Lost Kitten, so after The Beginning and Breathing Underwater, but long before Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme. Previous fics are available on my AO3 page.

Oh, and mild warning for foul language, if that’s not your thing.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

December 10, 2016, Bistrotheque, Bethnal Green, London

“Bloody feckin hell, this place is a madhouse!” Geillis yelled as she elbowed her way back to Claire’s side in the vestibule of the latest trendy East London eatery.

“Yes, well, this was all your idea. I was happy going out for pad thai and warm beer,” Claire retorted over the din. Truth be told, she was excited to be out past 8pm wearing something other than her scrubs and someone else’s bodily fluids. It had been a tough slog of a year.

“Are ye mad, woman? Bad enough ye wouldna let me throw ye a party fer gettin’ inta medical school. I wasna goin’ to settle for anything less than the hippest hipster joint in all o’ Bethnal Green tae celebrate yer success.”

They were eventually ushered into the cavernous main dining room, bedecked like a virginal bride with a long row of liquor bottles atop the massive central bar reflecting the pendant lights like gemstones. Claire felt conspicuous in her slim black skirt and tallest heels, the pressure of assessing eyes on her exposed back.

Ordering a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne, Geillis raised her flute in salute.

“Tae my hard-working, brilliant, an’ annoyingly beautiful friend, who will be the most kick-ass doctor the Royal London ‘as e’er seen. Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

“Thank you, Geil. Though, I’m a long way from a doctor yet,” she demurred, letting the crisp liquid bite her tongue before swallowing.

“Ach, ‘tis no’ but a formality. Ye could pick up a scalpel now and still be a right sight better than most o’ those auld wankers we work wi’!”

“You’re a true friend, Geil. And you have excellent taste in hipster joints. This menu is amazing.”

The two women drank and ate and laughed and drank some more. Geillis was a bottomless well of off-colour stories, most involving her constantly changing stable of male companions.

“So you’re saying he, err, handcuffed you to the bed frame and then... passed out cold?” Claire asked, eyes alight with mischief.

“Aye. An’ before he could serve me, the bugger. Anyway, tha’ was why I couldna reply tae yer texts when ye lost yer keys.”

“I thought you were speaking metaphorically, when you said you’d been tied up!” Claire dissolved into giggles, the empty champagne bottle having been replaced by some top flight Scottish whisky. This meal was going to cost Geillis a fortune.

“Nah. Ye ken I would come tae yer rescue, nae matter how well I was bein’ rogered, Claire. Thas’ wha’ friends are for,” Geillis Scots grew more broad as she plumbed the depths of intoxication, a fact that Claire had always found endearing. “Come tae think o’ it, where did ye bed down tha’ night? The on-call room?”

Claire blushed and stared into her half-empty glass. She’d been hoping to avoid this particular conversation, but now she’d stumbled straight into it.

“No, I ran into an... acquaintance, when I was bumbling about in the rain. And they offered to let me stay in their spare room. So, will you be seeing this Norwegian personal trainer again? It’s hardly his fault he passed out. Knowing you, he probably drank enough liquor to pickle an elephant.”

Geillis might have been drunk, but she was still canny, and she could tell when her friend was hiding something.

“What acquaintance of yours has a spare room? Tha’ Hawkins girl, from Pediatrics?”

“No. No, it was... um, well, it was James Fraser,” she mumbled, hoping Geillis had forgotten his family name, or had never known it in the first place. Either was a distinct possibility, but luck was not with her.

“Jamie Fraser! The big ginger firefighter?! Ye slept at Jamie Fraser’s, an’ ye failed tae inform me immediately? Feckin hell, Claire!”

Claire glanced nervously at the tables close by either side of their own, hoping the general clamour prevented them from overhearing their conversation.

“It’s precisely because I knew you’d react like this that I didn’t tell you, Geil. It’s not a big deal. He happened upon me, I told him about my keys, and he offered for me to sleep in his spare room. His flatmate had just moved out,” she explained rationally.

“Nae big deal, she says. Alright, then. If it twas nae big deal, tell me everythin’. Seein’ as we’re no’ keepin’ secrets.”

Knowing there was no way to pull Geillis off the scent a juicy tale, Claire matter-of-factly described meeting Jamie in Brick Lane, the inside of his flat, and the quiet breakfast they’d shared the next morning before they’d gone their separate ways. Something kept her from sharing the story of their middle-of-the-night encounter and Jamie’s PTSD episode. She told herself she was merely maintaining the privacy of an informal patient, but there was something more possessive lying beneath her motivation. Jamie had revealed himself to her in a way she knew, instinctively, he’d never shared with Geillis. The secret was his, and now it was hers as well.

“Interesting,” her friend opined, nodding her head as though a theory had been confirmed. “So, the wee fox cub likes his damsels in distress, does he?”

“It wasn’t like that at all, Geil. Don’t make this about sex.”

“Hen, everythin’ is about sex. Jus’ because ye’ve sworn off men doesna make it untrue.”

“You would say that,” Claire retorted. “Especially since you and he...” she gestured with her hand.

“Aye. Aye, we did. Twas the night before ye left fer Afghanistan, if I recall,” Geillis confirmed, unrepentant.

“Just the once?” Claire asked, curious despite herself.

“Aye. Well, twice, if ye count the time in the shower after ye puked on me.”

“Oh my god. Geillis! You fucked him in our shower while I lay intoxicated in my bed? I can’t believe you!”

“We made certain ye were alright, first,” Geillis defended herself, batting her eyelashes innocently.

“Bloody hell. Well, and? Don’t hold back now. How was he?”

Geillis looked abstracted and Claire knew she was reliving the night in question, four years past. A lump formed in her throat, and she regretted asking for details. Now the two streams had crossed in her mind, and she’d never again be able to think of Jamie without also remembering the look Geil had on her face in that moment.

Reading her friend’s glass face with ease, Geillis took pity on her.

“Ye dinna really want tae know, love. I will say this. He’s a good lad. Far too lovely for the likes o’ me.”

“That’s it? I have to listen to the minutae of every other sexual adventure you have, but Jamie Fraser is ‘lovely’?”

“Aye. Ye do, and he is. Come, le’s get out o’ here a’fore I canna walk.”

Stumbling out into the cloudy night, the two leaned against each other and started the long trek back to their flat. Claire was silent, trying to muddle through her conflicted feelings through the haze of drink. It really shouldn’t matter that Geillis and Jamie had a history, albeit a very short-lived one. And yet somehow, it did.

“I will tell ye one thing,” Geillis began as though their earlier conversation hadn’t ended twenty minutes previous. “The lad has the trapezius of an Olympic deity. Ye could do far worse.”

“I could... Geil, I told you, it isn’t like that. You more than anyone should know I’m not in the market for a man, Olympian musculature or not. Especially now, with medical school looming.”

Geillis stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a couple to step around them, muttering angrily.

“Claire,” she said, trying to school her features into something approximating solemnity, “yer a brilliant lass, but ye’re also a damn fool. Just cause one man treated ye poorly doesna mean they all will. Ye’re gonna make mistakes, ye’re young. But dinna live in the dark because ye got too close tae the flame and got burned.”

Lecture over, Geillis steered them westward.

“Where are we going?”

“Tae the chippie. Hipster food is well an’ good, but it doesna soak up all the yummy alcohol like tatties an’ grease.”

#my writing #outlander

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