#after he takes his anger out on robert too

[renamusing]

my two cents on the latest spoilers for xmas/new year: last week mack said 2024 was gonna be his year so of course he dies tragically at the end of this one (thank you chloe's dad and chloe, you will now have a months long storyline of hiding that secret because that's a soap rule) and so mack's death will tear apart two of emmerdale's biggest families: the dingles (on account of charity) and the barton's (moira).

his death goes well with vanessa returning so charity can lean on her (yay vanity is back on) and with moira dumping her deepest darkest secret on whoever because of her grief.

then, cain will be busy juggling caleb's mess and kim's and sam and lydia, so unless aaron sticks his nose into any of that (which he wont because he can't be bothered with anything at the moment), he and cain will probably fight because of chas, who i suspect will find out about some terminal disease (if we can be so lucky, tho i like lucy too much and hope chas pulls through in the end and doesn't actually die) so aaron will be all 'she can die for all i care, my sister is dead because of her' etc etc which makes cain snap and they fight ugly.

meanwhile, chas figures it's too late to fix things with aaron and she worries what will become of him after she's gone, so she goes in search of the only person she trusts to take care of him: his ex-husband, robert sugden.

i truly believe that is the only way she can redeem herself in aaron's eyes rn.

[mysaintkitten]

I just read Between Shoots again and I am on my hands and knees BEGGING for more dumbification😭🙏🏻 (as for who, I’m not super picky lol but preferably Cillian, Tommy, Robert, or Crane <<<3)

dumbification is 100% my weakness thank u for requesting this (& it’s been a little while since i’ve written dumbification so I’m a bit rusty but i would love to start writing it more often!)

Mindless | Robert Fischer x fem!reader

prompt: Robert does not take your teasing lightly lol

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ MDNI) dom!robert, degradation, dumbification, size kink if you squint, brief misogyny, creampie

*not proofread*

“Get inside. Now.” Robert snarled as his nails dug into your arm, shoving you inside entrance of your shared penthouse. Your cheeks burned with excitement and anticipation, you knew Robert was going to punish you, but you weren’t sure if this was going to be a punishment or a ‘punishment.’

“Ow, Robert,” you giggle with a small smirk, partially playing it up for your own entertainment , “you’re hurting me.”

After slamming the door shut and locking it, It was clear that Robert was fuming after you interrupted one of his important meetings with a slew of lewd gestures, which started to become dirtier and dirtier as time went on.

First it was a wink, then it was a subtle grope to one of your tits, followed by sucking one of your fingers into your mouth. While eyeing Robert down, you slowly brought the digit between your legs.

It didn’t take long for Robert’s annoyance and arousal to reach its peak, leading him to call off the meeting early.

“All I ask is for you to sit there and look pretty while I work, is that too fucking difficult for you? Huh?” Roberts asking you rhetorically. You bite your lip, you know it isn’t nice to push his buttons, but he’s just so sexy when he’s angry.

“You looked so handsome up there,” you coo while running your hands along the front of his suit jacket, “I couldn’t help myself.”

His eyes are dark, pooling with anger and desire. With a strong hand he grabs your hips and turns you around, promptly forcing the front of your body against the wall, pushing some air out of your lungs in the process.

“Wanna act like a dumb whore? You’re gonna get treated like one,” Robert decided, purring into your ear as he hurriedly unzipped his trousers, pulling up the end of your skirt as soon as his hard cock was free.

You gasp quietly when you feel his hot member pressed against your ass. You sneak a hand behind you and pull your panties to the side, not caring enough to fully discard them.

With a groan, Robert thrusts his full length inside, causing your mouth to fall open with whiney moan. No matter how many times you took him, he still stretched you out like it was your first time. He barely gave you a second to get used to the sensation before he was snapping his hips out and slamming them back in, his pace and depth already being deliciously intoxicating.

“Fu-uck-“ you whine, reaching behind you to grip Robert’s suit jacket. His balls teasing your clit with each thrust, taunting you with the potential friction.

“Is this what you wanted?” Robert growled into your ear, his strong hands gripping your hips painfully tight as he fucked you harshly against the wall. “Pretty little thing just wants to be daddy’s come dump, huh?”

Your eyes rolled back and you mewled in response, your back involuntarily arching towards him while standing on your tiptoes. The sensation of him forcing his thick cock inside you left you speechless and you could feel your brain becoming cloudier.

“What a filthy whore,” He teased, nipping at the shell of your ear and sending a chill down your spine, “disrupts my important meetings just so I’ll pay attention to her needy fuckin’ cunt.”

You swallowed and huffed out a shaky breath, your body becoming far too overwhelmed with the pleasure that robert was giving to you. He dips his head down to watch his cock slam into you, and to see your ass recoil with each hypnotic thrust.

“F-fuck,” you pant again while your legs shake and nearly give out from beneath you. As Robert’s pounding into you, your feet are barely on the ground, he’s holding your hips up and slamming into you like you’re nothing more than a warm hole for him to use.

Robert laughed weakly, he can see every single rational thought slip out of your head as he pounds into you, he’ll never get sick of watching you get cock drunk. You choke out a moan, twitching as your core clenches around him.

“Hm,” Robert hums as he snakes a hand down the front of your body, gently circling your clit with the tip of his middle finger while his member tears into you. “So well behaved once she’s got a cock in her, you like being treated like a dumb little toy, baby?”

The degradation made your stomach burn with an added layer of eroticism, a needy whimper falling from your lips as your pussy got wetter around him. All that could be heard around you was panting and skin slapping skin, mixed in with some filthy little comments.

Robert moaned when he felt you get slicker around him, unintentionally showing him how much you liked this rough and demeaning treatment. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to wind up tighter and tighter and you knew it won’t take much more to push you over.

You try to respond to his comments, only for a few incoherent babbles to come out. Robert only clicks his tongue at your attempts, poorly feigning sympathy.

He holds his hips still, forcing his entire length painfully deep inside you. It’s nearly too much, but addictive fullness of his cock leaves you needing more.

“Look at that,” he cooes, roughly grabbing your cheeks and cranking your neck to get a better look at your face while still rubbing your clit. His dick twitches at your smeared lipstick and smudged mascara, he’s always thought you looked prettier like that anyway. “Ruined by my cock already, poor thing can barely think. ‘S alright, baby, you don’t gotta think. Daddy knows best, right?”

You swallow harshly before whimpering, “y-yes mmh …”followed by a few curses and pants, Robert slowly begins to thrust himself in and out again.

“That’s right, daddy knows you’ve got no thoughts in that pretty head, all you care about is getting this wet little pussy stuffed. Don’t care how, or when, just need to be full, don’t you?”

You nod as best you can while he’s still grabbing your cheeks, his other hand sliding up from your clit back to your hip. He releases his grip on your cheeks and smacks your ass, your brain and body turning into putty all for him. He owns you entirely, mind, body, and soul. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I bet you’d let me use you in front of my colleagues,” Robert hissed, the thought of ruining you in front of his peers brought him closer to his already approaching orgasm. “Bend you over the table, show them what a brainless little cockslut you are. Maybe I’d even let them take turns on you, would you do that for me baby? Let them use whichever holes they’d like?”

You knew this was purely hypothetical, Robert was far too possessive to let anyone else actually touch you. But the idea still got you hot, being passed around like a cheap whore all for Robert’s enjoyment.

“Y-yes, yes!” You cry out as you arch your back again, you and him both know that you’re mere moments away from your orgasm. He laughs thinly, he knew you got off on this but he didn’t know it was to this degree.

“That’s what I love about you, sweetheart. Pretty face ‘n pretty pussy, no fuckin’ brain. How all good girls should be.”

That was all it took, a bit of praise sprinkled in a mix of ignominy. With a broken sob, you came for him, your wetness spilling down onto his balls and undoubtedly staining the expensive material of his trousers. He groans out a few praises while thrusting into you, his own climax trailing close behind.

“Thats it, baby, fuck-“ Robert groans as he tips his head back and screws his eyes shut, your pulsing core just begging him for his come. With a few more pumps, he’s spilling into you, huffing and growling as your velvety walls milk him dry.

Once he starts to go soft, he begins to pull himself out, you wince quietly and Robert shushes you before spreading your lips apart with his fingers. With attentive eyes he watches your ruined hole drool and clench around nothing.

He brings his eyes back up to your face and sees your reaction as he smacks your ass, “next time you pull some shit like that during a meeting, I’m fucking you right then and there, got it?”

Through heavy lids, you smile back at him before nodding weakly, already getting ideas for what you’ll do at his next meeting.

—

sorry this isn’t very long </3 i really reaaaaally want to get back into writing, i think i’m going to write something a bit fluffy/angsty next. we’ll see!

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 23)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

"I should have him killed," Tommy said as soon as Robert left the room, but you bristled at the suggestion.

"No, Tommy, you can't do that!" you objected. "This is all my fault, I know that and I will find a way to fix this," you promised gravely, eyes pleading for Tommy to reconsider. And, even though you too knew the full weight of your actions, somehow your heart didn't feel heavy, not yet. Instead, you still felt the euphoria of being with him: the exhilarating feeling as though his love was an intoxicating drug that coursed through your veins.

"Relax. I wasn't serious," Tommy conceded, softening his expression as he observed you, although he knew well that, by keeping Robert alive, there was always a risk the truth could inevitably bubble to the surface.

"I'll make sure he never breathes a word about this though," Tommy promised, his voice firm and his eyes hard and you nodded silently, still reeling from what had just happened.

" Tommy," you eventually whispered meekly after almost three minutes of silence, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand and he took it in his own, his grip warm and steady.

"Yes, Love?" he asked, intently focused on your expression.

"I don't want you to marry Lizzie," you admitted quietly, your heart still reeling from the whirlwind of emotion that had swept through the room.

Tommy let out a sigh, releasing your hand as he turned away and paced toward the large fireplace at the far end of the room.

Gripping the mantlepiece with white-knuckled intensity, he spoke in a low growl towards the flames dancing merrily within the hearth.

"Love, it's already done and it's for the best, eh" he insisted. "I can't call off the wedding and I most certainly can't be with you, no matter how much I want to," he added, his voice thick with regret.

The air in the room became heavy, filled with unspoken emotions that weighed down on you like a poorly fitted corset, squeezing the air from your lungs.

You searched his face, trying to find any kind of warmth that could hint at the love he said he felt for you, but his gaze remained fixed on the fire crackling within the hearth.

"I can't just forget about us though," you admitted softly, taking a tentative step towards him as if approaching a caged lion. "I read the letters," you told him with tears in your eyes.

"Yes, the letters I never send to you for a fucking reason," he snapped, his disappointment written clearly across the hard lines of his handsome face. "You are my goddamn niece for fuck sake!"  Tommy thundered, spinning around rapidly and taking a step towards you. The blazing fire behind him illuminated his sculpted face, casting deep shadows across his features as he looked at you with an expression that swung between despair and frustration. 

"But we didn't know when all of this started between us,"  you protested quietly, maintaining the fragile connection between you.

"Does it fucking matter now, Love?" Tommy ground out, his voice a rasp of gravel and anger as he stared down at you.

You trembled under his gaze, those blue eyes that could both soothe and incite fear burning with an intensity that left you wanting to surrender, even as your heart screamed at you to run.

"Society won't care about whether we knew or not. No one would ever fucking marry us and I certainly won't get into the House of Fucking Commons if it was to be found out that  I fucked my own niece," Tommy growled, his body rigid with tension.

"I cannot change the fact that we are related, and I cannot change the fact that I want you more than anything in this world. But it doesn't fucking matter. We just -," Tommy began, only to be cut off by your lips on his. 

"Shut up," you whispered, your voice thick with desire.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to you, kissing him deeply. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he hesitated for just a moment before he kissed you back, his lips devouring yours with a passion that took your breath away.

Tommy's hands were on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel his arousal pressing into you, hot and hard. His fingers dug into your hips as he lifted you up onto the desk, spreading your legs apart.

"I don't want marriage. I don't even want you to admit, in public, that you have feelings for me, but I want to be with you occasionally and I don't want to fucking share you," you panted, your voice shaking with desire as his hands roamed your body.

"Y/N, we can't do this," Tommy groaned, even as his lips found your neck and his breath ghosted against your skin. "But I can't fucking keep my hands off you either," he admitted, the words like a confession against your heated flesh. "What are you doing to me?" Tommy breathed, hands gripping your hips so tightly it was almost painful. But you reveled in the knowledge that you had this effect on him, a man who was so in control of everything around him, reduced to a panting, pleading mess of sensations.

You arched your back, breaking the kiss as you reached upwards, unbuttoning his shirt again. The strong lines and shadows of his chest unfolded before you like an illicit gift and you couldn't resist running your fingers over his skin, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your touch.

"I need your cock inside me , Tommy," you demanded, biting your lower lip as you looked up at him with a hunger that he mirrored in his eyes.

He groaned at your words, low and deep in his throat, his blue eyes darkening with desire as they locked on you.

You reached down to pull your skirt up further, exposing yourself to him as he pushed his trousers down and stood between your open legs, his throbbing need evident of its fierce desire.

Tommy's hungry gaze never left yours as he pushed into you in one sharp movement.

Your head fell back with a gasp, his name spilling from your lips as you welcomed him deeper inside.

You were wet and ready, the slickness coating his length as he filled you completely. The feeling was indescribable; pleasure mixed with guilt and longing that made your heart race and your mind whirl with emotions.

Tommy's eyes blazed with lust as he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he moved within you.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he groaned, his breath hot against your neck. "You feel so fucking good."

Despite the cold air in the room, sweat beaded on both of your brows as you matched his thrusts, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The desk beneath you creaked and shifted with each harsh movement, but neither of you cared. The world outside this room didn't matter, only the two of you and the primal connection between you until, finally, you reached your high.

"Oh my fucking god , Tommy!" you screamed as your orgasm tore through your body. His name tasted sweet on your lips and you relished in the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin as you clenched around him. "Yes, yes, just like that," you gasped, your head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure as he drove into you harder. Tommy's movements became more frenzied, his control slipping as he chased his release.

"Fuck , Y/N," he growled, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble as his hips snapped forward. "You're going to make me come so hard."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting the flames of your own renewed desire.

You clenched around him, milking his cock with your thighs wrapped tightly around his waist as he continued to piston in and out of you until, finally, he stilled.

Groaning even louder than before, Tommy emptied himself deep within you, seed dripping from your still-quivering entrance as he fell forward, resting his forehead against yours.

His breaths came in short pants, and you smiled as his cock twitched in the aftermath of its climax within your warmth. 

"Fuck I love you," Tommy muttered, eyes drifting closed as a sigh of pure ecstasy passed through his lips. He shivered against you.

"I love you too,"  you whispered back, the warmth of your breath brushing against his cheek, causing goosebumps to rise up all over his body.

You sat and stood there for a moment, completely intertwined with one another, your chests heaving in sync. The only sound in the room was the steady beating of your hearts and the labored breaths leaving your lungs.

You looked up at Tommy and noticed the satisfied, blissful expression on his face that you had put there.

His hair was slightly damp with sweat and stuck to your forehead as his body relaxed against yours on the desk. The satisfaction that warmed you up from the inside, knowing that you had done this to him, was unparalleled. You loved seeing him lose control, even if it was just for a moment in time. After a few moments of post-sex silence, Tommy slowly pulled out of you and stood up straight. His body glistened with the sweat of exertion and desire and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you draped over his desk, thoroughly fucked.

But the smile quickly faded as reality came crashing back down.

"We can't keep doing this, Love," he muttered, tucking his shirt back into his trousers and doing up his belt. "I am getting married tomorrow," he reminded you, causing you to nod. 

"I know," you replied softly, still catching your breath. The feeling of emptiness as he pulled out of you was a stark reminder of the cruel reality. "I know it's wrong, Tommy."

He leaned over the desk and kissed you gently on the lips, a small promise that he would always protect you.

As you pulled your skirt back down and fixed your hair, Tommy took one last look at you before turning to leave the room. The silence of the study felt heavy and charged, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest.

You watched as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone in a state of blissful satisfaction, and the chilliness of the room brought reality crashing back down around you. You knew that this moment couldn't last forever, but it was something that you would cherish nonetheless.

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[writer-in-theory]

Me and You, & Your Uncle Wayne — part one.

Summary: Eddie tells his Uncle Wayne about him and Steve. Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson Content Warnings: Period-Typical Homophobia Read on Ao3 Part Two || Part Three Masterlist

-

Wayne Munson was less than thrilled when he found out who his nephew was dating.

He knew he'd hate the conversation from the moment Eddie sat him down, the kid's leg bouncing so badly he was sure it might jackhammer completely through the floor of the trailer. Eddie and him didn't have serious conversations, not since Wayne's brother made his son cry the one and only time Wayne agreed to let him visit a few years before and they had to have a conversation about what little Eddie hoped his father would be like and what he actually was.

"I think I'm in love, and I think I'm gonna marry this person someday." It shouldn't have been a bad conversation. Wayne had been wishing for his nephew to find someone good, someone who could convince him that love was still out there for people like him, people who’d never quite been given a fair shake by the world.

But Eddie looked nervous, more nervous than the time Chief Hopper brought him home after dealing at one of that Harrington boy’s parties. He looked downright terrified, and Wayne hated the thought of him ever being the cause of that.

“It’s a guy, I’m…it’s a guy, Uncle Wayne.”

And suddenly Wayne understood the cause of Eddie’s fear. He wasn’t blind to how the town of Hawkins labeled his nephew, how they ostracized him for being different. He liked odd music, and wore even odder clothes compared to the other teens. He was loud, and non-conforming, and lived in the trailer park at the edge of town. He wasn’t a part of urban suburbia that everyone here demanded. This would only make it worse, if anyone found out. New waves of acceptance were beginning to spread through the cities but Hawkins was not San Francisco, it was not Chicago or New York; it was a small town in nowhere Indiana where God and Reagan reigned supreme.

He didn’t know how to tell his nephew everything would be okay because it probably wouldn’t, not until he escaped this town that never gave him a chance. It became all the more clear that while Wayne could get by with his head tucked down, Eddie couldn't survive in this town. He was so much bigger than it, and deserved the chance to get out of here the second he could. Wayne had never been the best with words, so all he could do was nod, slowly, and ask, “What’s his name?” he hoped, with everything in him, that Eddie would understand that acceptance.

“You’ll never believe it,” Eddie laughed, that bright smile Wayne loved finally coming back, “it’s Steve Harrington.”

Wayne was okay with eddie being gay, and maybe deep down he’d always known this about his nephew. But Steve Harrington? Wayne had gone to school with Robert, had experienced first-hand the cruelty that could come from a boy who was given everything and couldn’t be touched because of it. He had no doubt that the Harrington boy would be the same, especially after having heard from John at the movie theatre what had been spray-painted when the boy’s last partner upset him. Wayne could already picture it, could see the devastation that could be wrought on his son.

How long would it take until Harrington spray-painted that one word, that slur Wayne used to sling around in high school but now would never utter again, around town? How long before Eddie was quite literally run out of Hawkins because he’d gotten into a fight with Steve?

He took too long to answer. He could see it in Eddie’s face, the horror taking over his expression at Wayne’s hesitation. He saw the quiver in the boy’s normally steady hands. “Eddie,” Wayne started, but that only seemed to jolt him into action. Eddie jumped from his seat, hands in his hair as his eyes averted from Wayne.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” Eddie wrenched out, “Jesus Christ.”

There were no harsh words, no anger thrown at him. No hurt, just Eddie, not looking at him. And then Eddie was taking off out the front door before Wayne could even hope to gather his thoughts.

[perseusannabeth]

Chapter 9 - Nesta

A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Shout out to my beta for encouraging me to work on this!

Trigger warnings for the following in this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts, death during childbirth, miscarriage, starvation and physical abuse. As per usual, if there's anything you think I've missed that could be a trigger, please let me know!

Word count:   6119

LMBYH Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Ask Box | Read on AO3

Nesta was at the point where she had reached a steady routine, which rarely deviated. The routine gave her structure, predictability and peace she had never had the comfort of knowing in her previous marriage unless Tomas locked her in their rooms. At first, when he would lock her in their rooms for days, he would beg him to let her out, which only made him angrier. Then, he would deny her food during her punishment. Once she got used to living in that house, she saw him locking her away for what it truly was: a blessing in disguise. She was safely locked away in the rooms, with nobody watching her or worse. 

Of course, eventually, Tomas realised she actually enjoyed the time alone, so it stopped. He couldn't have his wife enjoy her punishment after all. Instead, he decided that the physical punishments were better suited since Nesta enjoyed her own company. 

Her current husband had clearly decided that her punishment for misbehaving was to just continue like nothing happened. Her wrongdoings from the ball had not been mentioned, and he seemed to avoid the subject while simultaneously wanting to speak on it. Nesta was fine with the indecision and continued to spend her days in the library. She would do so happily if she could stay there all night, too, but she didn't want to push her luck. Her husband seemed reasonable, but you could never predict what would make a man snap. Still, she knew that in the library, she was safe. 

Her husband seemed nervous when he entered the library and rarely seemed to do so. Nesta assumed the years of neglect his family's legacy had seen made him feel uncomfortable, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Still, either way, Nesta did not mind that he rarely entered. 

She had thought she understood men very well up until her second marriage. There were men like Tomas, who wanted to show everyone how powerful they were, puffing their chests out like peacocks, just because he wanted to show the world something other than what he was. He seemed unable to move out of his brother's shadow and turned to anger. 

Then, there were men like Philip, who would crush anything they could not control. They were as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox and rarely had anyone tell them no. Those types of men were worse because they were much more confident in themselves compared to the kind of man Tomas was. At least with Tomas, Nesta knew she could play to his ego, which would appease him. 

Then there was the kind of man Robert Mandray was. He was so gentle he was almost like a woman. His brothers had no respect for him because of it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself more like his brothers. His wife had once disrespected his brother at the dinner table, so he slapped her across the face. Philip had looked proud, but Robert had looked horrified. He had left the house the following day, taking his wife with him. Nesta understood why; it was unsafe for either of them in a house like that. Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them.

Perhaps the Duke was more like Robert, but then she wasn't sure if she believed that. He could command a room, and nobody could say he wasn't powerful. Nesta didn't understand much about the running of estates, but she knew the Duke of Illyria was good at it and had many profitable estates up and down the country. That kind of money came to someone other than someone who would run like Robert. Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care. 

Perhaps this was the freedom someone with his status and power could expect. The Duke did not care that Nesta could run wild with all the freedoms he gave her. He was too rich and powerful to care. Even the talk of society didn't bother the Duke; it seemed not to reach his ears. Important people clearly didn't have the time for such things. The issue was that Nesta had never been around someone with such importance, so she had yet to learn how she should act. 

As Nesta steadied herself at the top of a ladder to clean the top of yet another shelf, she thought about how easy it would be for her to fall from this height. She could injure herself pretty badly if she landed on her head in the right way. She could die, and nobody would realise until lunchtime. But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling. 

There was a knock at the door, one that startled Nesta out of her thoughts. Only Claude and the Duke came here, but neither knocked so timidly as this person did. There was another knock, this time a little louder at the lack of response. Nesta called for them to enter and started climbing down the ladder. 

To her surprise, it was a little boy who entered. The awe was evident on his face as he walked in, scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The boy was so entranced by all the books he tripped over his own two feet but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He quickly straightened himself out, but his face started to colour when he looked over and saw that Nesta had been watching him. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man. 

Nesta stifled a laugh at that but decided to put the clearly nervous boy out of his misery. "How can I help you this fine morning, good sir?" She said, matching the boy's formality and curtsying back to him. 

The boy's eyes widened in horror. "Please, My Lady, you don't need to bow to me. My name's Arthur and I'm Eleanor's son; my mother said she's your maid?" The boy was clearly unsure if Nesta would even know who his mother was.

Now that the boy mentioned it, she could see their similarities. "Of course, it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Nesta said, putting on her best smile. It had been so long since she had smiled that she felt out of practice. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, well, I was wondering if you needed any help, My Lady?" he said awkwardly while shifting around, avoiding eye contact. 

Nesta tried to control her facial expression at that. Why would this boy want to help her? Well, her first thought instantly went to her husband. He must've wanted the boy to spy on her. But then, another part of her questioned this logic. Why would the Duke wish to spy on her when nothing else entered the library? It would only make sense if he was worried about Claude, which also didn't make any sense. Claude loved the Duke far too much to risk doing anything that would anger him. 

"Why do you want to help me?" Nesta said, trying to keep her suspicions out of it. She didn't want the boy to feel like he was being backed into a corner. "This isn't where a young boy like yourself would want to spend his day. Surely, you'd rather go outside and play instead?" Nesta said, smiling so the boy didn't feel attacked by her words. 

"Well, ma'am, I know I'm young, but I want to work to help my mother. We- well, we don't live with our father anymore, so my mother works really hard. I'm the eldest, so I want to help her. Maybe, if I help you, the Duke will see and give me other tasks to do, too," the boy was nervous about telling her his motivations, but Nesta couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was. 

She had no idea Eleanor didn't have her husband with her, but her son was clearly nervous about mentioning him, so Nesta didn't delve into that anymore. "Well, as you can see, there's a lot to do around here, so I certainly wouldn't mind the help," Nesta said, gesturing around them. 

That put a smile on the boy's face. He rolled his sleeves up, readying himself for some action. "What do you want me to do first, ma'am? Just so you know, I know I look small, but I'm very strong, so if you need me to carry things, I can do that too!"  

Nesta wanted to avoid lumbering the poor boy by carrying books around for her, not when they were so heavy. The boy was skinny-looking, and although very eager to prove himself, she didn't know if his little body could take so much manual labour. Instead, Nesta looked for a kinder task that would allow him to help her without injuring him. She didn't know Eleanor very well, and while the woman was taciturn, she knew that there was a possibility that Eleanor could get angry if her son came back exhausted from a day in the library. 

"Well, actually, there's a task I've been putting off because I've been finding it too daunting," Nesta said conspiratorially. The boy nodded eagerly, waiting for her to carry on. "You see those piles of books over there?" Nesta said, pointing at the piles of books practically covering the lone table in the room. "Well, I need to figure out an order for them; the shelves I took them off were a mess. If someone could put them alphabetically, we could put them back onto the shelves much tidier. What do you think?" Nesta asked. 

The boy bit his lip anxiously before eventually replying to Nesta. "Well, ma'am, I think you could do that, and I could carry on cleaning. Wouldn't that be better?" Nesta was confused; clearly, the boy could see she wouldn't accept that without questioning him. "Ma'am, I can't read, so I can't organise your books. But I can clean for you," the boy said with a smile. 

Nesta blushed at that, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, someone like Arthur couldn't read. Although schools were around, they weren't open to accepting people from a lower class. Some factory owners in the north were known to build schools for the children who worked with them, but this was rare. Nesta wondered how many children on the Duke's estate couldn't read while she spent her day in a library. 

"Would you like to learn?" Nesta asked impulsively. It was too late to take the offer back, though, and now it lingered between the woman and child. 

"Would you really teach me?" Arthur asked cautiously. 

"If you want to learn, then yes. I've never taught anyone how to read before, but if that's alright with you, then-"

Before Nesta could continue, Arthur cut her off. "Yes! Please, I would love to learn how to read. I could get so many other jobs if I learned how to work. Please, ma'am, I'll work day and night if you teach me."

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night."

As they both walked towards the table, Nesta finally felt that, for once in her life, she was doing something good. 

***

Her day with Arthur had been one of her best days in a long time. Nesta had spent two hours writing out upper- and lower-case versions of the alphabet and saying the phonetic sounds for them. Then she let Arthur try to copy her letters to the best of his ability while he said the sounds. While Arthur repeated the process, Nesta cleaned, staying close in case he needed her help. 

Claude had been delighted to see the boy with Nesta when he had come to serve lunch. Nesta had been glad that Arthur was a growing boy because he had eaten with such gusto that it had hidden how little she had eaten. The smell of the delicious food had made Nesta feel nauseous, so she had taken two bites and then left the rest while she listened to the energetic back and forth between Arthur and Claude. 

Claude had such a brilliant way with children, and his personality was infectious. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Arthur and Claude laugh. Nesta usually felt like an outsider left in the cold; being an outsider while Arthur and Claude talked was like being doused in sunlight. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt something inside her thaw as their joy hit her. 

When Claude had left, much later than he usually would, Nesta felt like she had been given a new burst of energy. She cleaned with renewed vigour, and Arthur decided to help her, which made the time go faster. Nesta also felt like she had gotten more done today, probably because there were two of them rather than her tackling things independently. Plus, when she was on her own, she tended to get distracted by the books she found, and before she knew it, the sun would be setting, and she had read a chunk of the most bizarre book ever. She wasn't sure which of the Duke's ancestors had been so obsessed with crocodiles, but she had found five copies of the same book. 

Nesta assumed that her lack of distraction today was why her body ached so much. Arthur had thrown himself into cleaning the lower shelves, so Nesta had felt like she needed to match that energy, but now she was paying the price since the boy was over ten years younger than her. Sitting at the dinner table across from her husband, struggling to lift her spoon to her mouth, certainly put her in her place. She wasn't feeling hungry. That queasy feeling from earlier hadn't dissipated as she had hoped. 

Claude had cooked a feast fit for kings, but she couldn't taste anything. Everything tasted like ash, so she kept her face passive. She didn't want anyone noticing, especially not her husband, who sat opposite her, talking about one of his tenants. Nesta never understood why her husband needed to tell her the ins and outs of his tenants; she couldn't imagine he wanted her opinion. Perhaps, like all great men, he wanted to talk about all the important things he did. 

Still, it was better than when he decided to be polite and ask her about her day, which was inevitable. 

"Claude told me that Arthur was helping you today," the Duke said. His tone was even; there were no accusations of anything, but she couldn't tell how her husband felt about Arthur spending time with her. Right now, he was just a boy, so there was no danger of him thinking Nesta could stray, but she wondered if that would come eventually as Arthur got older. 

"I had never met him before today, my Lord. He walked in and asked me for work," Nesta explained, not wanting her husband to think she spent her days talking to strangers.

The Duke just laughed, startling Nesta. "Arthur is ambitious and most likely getting underfoot wherever he had been spending his day before. I think it will do him some good. The boy is responsible; he just needs some guidance. He's a smart boy, and I'm sure he'll do well for himself in the future."

Nesta paused. The talk of Arthur's future made Nesta hesitate. Clearly, the Duke wanted the boy to succeed, but Nesta wasn't sure how he would feel about her teaching the boy how to read. While she had been helping the boy, it had occurred to her that she should've asked her husband for permission before taking something like this on, and of course, she should've asked permission from Eleanor, too. Some people could be peculiar about who their children spend their time with. 

"My Lord," Nesta said nervously. She could feel herself getting warm, the sweat gathering on her brow as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before Nesta told her husband what she had offered without his permission. "Today, while in the library, Arthur mentioned that he could not read."

"Ah, well, I suppose that is to be expected," the Duke said with a sad smile. 

"Well, I offered to teach him," Nesta said quickly, looking down at her hands. She interlocked her hands to try and stop them from trembling so much. She knew she had done something wrong, and now she would have to pay whatever price her husband felt necessary. She just hoped that Arthur wouldn't suffer because of her.

"Is that something you want to do with your free time?" the Duke asked Nesta as though her opinion mattered to him.

"If you're happy to allow it, my lord," Nesta admitted. It was risky to say she wanted to do something, especially since she had already gone behind his back. He could see that she wanted to do this and take it away as a punishment.

"Of course, I'm happy for you to teach the boy. He's ambitious, and I didn't know what to do with him. It seems like you've found the perfect solution for him. I'm sorry that I didn't think of something like that sooner," the Duke contemplated. 

Nesta didn't reply; it felt like a trap to say she thought of something he didn't. Even suggesting such a thing would've gotten her the beating of a lifetime from Tomas. Despite knowing this act of the Duke was too good to be true, she wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth. 

"There is no school for the lower class in this area. Rhys's mother once campaigned for it, but as far as I'm aware, she was told that unless there was evidence of some interest within the community, the government wouldn't be willing to throw that kind of money at the lower classes. They believed they could build a school, and the lower classes wouldn't send their children because it was easier for them to send them to work. I'm not sure how much truth there is in that, but it's a shame these children can't learn to read and write."

The Duke sounded thoughtful as he spoke, which Nesta had not expected to hear. Nor had she expected to listen to thoughts about supporting the lower classes. The Duke's family was an ancient one which could be traced back to the founding of Prythian. Meanwhile, the Mandray family had only recently been given their current rank. Yet, despite being so new to the money and social standing they currently had, neither Philip nor Tomas had ever looked at the lower classes with anything other than contempt or disgust. 

It was strange. Nesta had not expected her current husband to be so progressive. Then again, how he spoke of the issue made her feel like he had not thought about it in much detail before she had mentioned Arthur. But now that he knew it, he took the issue very seriously.

Nesta had heard whispers that her husband treated the issues of the tenants and people under his general management in such a way, too. He was unaware of all their problems, but if he was made aware of it, he would always try to help. He had apparently once helped a tenant whose ewe was birthing. The Duke had only been passing by, but the man had called out, needing some help, and the Duke had not faltered in rolling his sleeves up. The man had recounted the tale laughing one night, saying he had done little more than take instruction from the actual farmer, but Nesta couldn't help but think that he downplayed things a little. 

Nesta took a sip of her water as the silence started to linger. Where she'd usually water down her wine, she had bypassed it all together today. Nesta knew it wouldn't sit well in her already queasy stomach. She had hoped the water would help settle her stomach or, at the very least, end the pounding in her head, but it had not helped. 

"Are you alright, Nesta?" the Duke asked her, frowning. 

Nesta straightened her back, hoping her posture would help her look better. She didn't want to admit she wasn't feeling well. Any sign of weakness could be used against her; she had learnt that the hard way. Men didn't want to hear that their wives were not well. They didn't care, and it was disgusting to have to hear about anything like sickness. Women were meant to suffer in silence. 

"You look pale, and you've eaten less- I mean, you've not eaten very much," the Duke fumbled over his words. Nesta didn't have the energy to figure out what he really wanted to say; she was too tired, and her head felt full of cotton wool. She wondered how the Duke noticed she wasn't feeling well and why he would pay so much attention to her when he had better things to do. 

"No, no, I'm fine, my Lord," Nesta said, shaking her head and plastering on a fake smile. The Duke didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. He still eyed her plate, so Nesta knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. "The food isn't quite sitting well with me; it's quite strong flavours and stodgy. I'll go to the kitchen to speak to Claude and get something to settle my stomach; it's nothing to worry about."

Nesta was loathed to explain herself further, but she knew the Duke enough to realise she needed to give him some sort of explanation. She didn't wait for him to reply, as she quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen before he could stop her. Perhaps there was something Claude could give her that would help- or at least something she could eat without being sick. 

There was chatter in the kitchen, but Nesta was past the point of processing it. The heat hit her as she rounded the corner and was met with various smells and sounds. She couldn't take it in; so much was going on, and her brain couldn't process it all in its overwhelming glory. 

Nesta had been to the kitchen only a handful of times since she had married the Duke. She knew she was not well-liked in the household, which was fine. They were very protective of their master, and everyone else kept their distance apart from Claude, who seemed like he could be friendly with a bear. That was fine; the distance meant fewer chances of anyone spying on her to report back to her husband. 

"My Lady, are you alright?" a younger man asked her. She didn't even notice when he came over to her. Claude had yet to notice her, but Nesta hadn't announced herself as she walked in. Her head felt so fuzzy that she had just ended up staring off into the distance at nothing. 

"I apologise; I know you all must be busy," Nesta said, trying to wade through the treacle in her brain to remember what she had wanted to say.

"It's no problem, ma'am. We're not busy; it's just Claude's chaos," the man smiled. Nesta had been introduced to him but couldn't remember his name for the life of her. 

At the sound of his name, Claude whipped around and beamed brightly as he saw Nesta. "Matthew, get back over there. You're not paid to chat with Lady Nesta," he said jovially. 

"Of course, Claude," Matthew replied, a grin adorning his face, and mischief sparkling in his eyes. That's you who's paid to talk to the Duchess."

Matthew ran off before Claude could say anything, but Nesta could see the humour dancing on his face. "Now that Matthew is doing his real job, how can I help you, my lady. Is there something wrong with the food?" Claude said, looking anxious. 

"No, Claude, definitely not. I just am not feeling too well. Is there anything you have that I can eat that will help?" Nesta said, blushing at her admission. 

"Oh, of course. I make some wonderful soups, but some tea might be quicker. What seems to be the issue, my lady? Perhaps Cassian needs to call the doctor instead," Claude said kindly, leading Nesta to a nearby stool.

Nesta shook her head. "It's fine; I just feel a bit queasy," she lied. 

Claude didn't look like he believed her but, thankfully, didn't say anything. To keep him from pressing the topic, she quickly spoke up, changing the subject. "Why do you call the Duke Cassian, but you're so formal with me?"

Claude smiled at that. "That idiot doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's the stupidest Duke I've ever seen," he laughed. "I jest. I've known him for a long time, and we've always been friends first, so it was natural to call him by his name. With you, well, I don't know you as well, so I wasn't sure if you would like me to be so forward and familiar with you. I wouldn't want to insult you."

"Well, I'm asking you to call me by my name. I would like to think we're friends," Nesta said softly. It was true. Claude was the closest thing she'd had to a friend for a long time. The last friend she'd had was long gone now. 

"I'm honoured, Nesta," Claude said, testing out saying her name. Here, let me make you some tea. What about having some pastry with it? Really, you should eat something if you don't feel well; it might help to settle your stomach."

"Thank you, Claude, but the tea will be more than fine. If I can manage something else, I will let you know," Nesta said kindly but firmly. She knew her stomach wouldn't be able to handle all that liquid and then food on top of that. 

Claude hesitated for a moment, weighing something up, before speaking. "Nesta, if we are friends, then I just want to say something as a friend. I hope you don't take offence, and I'm sorry if you do; it's just that I need you to know something. If you don't like something about my cooking or something specific you would like to eat, it would bring me great joy if you told me. I know you've said that you like my cooking in the past, but I can't help noticing you don't eat very much." Claude looked guilty like he had said something he shouldn't have. 

Nesta was frozen. She didn't know what to do or say. She knew her eating habits hadn't gone unnoticed, but she hoped people would just leave her to it. She should've known that Claude would never leave a food-related matter alone. Food was too important to him, and she knew he had perceived it as an insult because she didn't eat much of it. 

She could see no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, he would think she was rude, and in a house where he was one of the only people Nesta enjoyed the company of, she couldn't do that. She knew it was dangerous, becoming so attached to the man, but he was so soft and full of love and joy. Nesta couldn't help but be drawn into the man's orbit. She didn't think she had seen anyone so kind and willing to help others. She didn't even know people like Claude could exist. 

She took a deep breath, Claude studying her as she opened her mouth to finally voice the truth. "In the Mandray household, the wives were not to eat first. Tomas and his brothers would eat first at the table. Their mother and sister did not sit with them often; they ate in his mother's rooms. The men ate without any abandon and were not the tidiest of eaters. Once they had done and left the room, the wives could eat what was left," Nesta said quietly. She had never admitted it before. She had never had the bravery to say anything, unlike others.

Nesta looked up at Claude, only to notice how horrified he looked. Nesta had never seen horror etched so clearly onto someone else's face, but with Claude, it was hard to mistake it for anything else. "Nesta," Claude rasped out, his eyes filled with tears. "Did they starve you?"

Nesta hesitated. She had never really thought about it like that. At first, she thought it was so strange and questioned her husband about it a lot. Tomas had told her it was a long-standing tradition in their family when it came to married women, but it had always been about controlling them. 

"I never thought about it, but yes, they did, I suppose. There were times when we got nothing if we angered them. And then there were rules for if one of us was pregnant," Nesta explained, although she had no idea why she was explaining it. As the words came out of her mouth, she knew it all sounded horrific. 

"Were you- did you ever become?" Claude asked, clearly unsure how to proceed in that conversation. 

"No, not me, but my friend. She was married to Philip, Tomas' older brother. Her name was Clare, and she was the only person who understood what it was like in that house," Nesta said, her voice breaking as she spoke about her friend. She felt terrible for using Clare's pregnancy to avoid talking about her own, but then again, it was safer that way. She had no idea how the Duke would react if he knew she had been pregnant before, even if she didn't last very long.

"What happened to her?" Claude whispered

"She died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either," Nesta said, wiping a tear which had escaped. Claude put a cup of tea down in front of her; she hadn't even noticed that he had done anything; she had been so consumed with her thoughts. 

"I can't believe how much you've been through, Nesta; how did you bear it?" Claude asked, clutching his own cup of tea. 

Nesta shrugged. "I did what I had to do. It was better when Clare was around; she understood how it was. I got used to things; I got into a routine. I knew how to avoid things." She knew getting used to things wasn't okay, but that was the truth. She didn't want to say that she had wanted to die. Claude seemed concerned enough as it was.

"That must've been hard, especially after your friend was gone," Claude said quietly.

"She was the only one who understood it, but I knew I had to carry on for her," Nesta said, taking a sip of her tea to give her some time to gather her thoughts. "Claude, I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to pity me. I just needed you to understand that I'm trying my best. It probably doesn't seem like much, but it's all I can give now."

"No, of course!" Claude exclaimed. "And I'm honoured you felt like you could tell me."

Nesta didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him it was because she felt guilty for not eating his food, but then again, she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she felt some comfort around him. There was something about Claude which made her feel safe. She knew he wouldn't use the information against her like the staff in the Mandray household did. It was a strange sensation for her to actually trust someone. It had been so long she had forgotten how it felt.

"Will you tell Cassian?" Claude asked.

Nesta's eyes widened in horror. "No, absolutely not!"

Claude felt guilty for alarming her, so he held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry, I was just wondering if it would help understand the things you've been through," he said, trying to soothe her. 

"He can't know Claude. He didn't want to marry me; he just agreed for my sister's sake. I'm grateful to him, but I know he's burdened by my strange behaviour. I'll get better, though; I'll become the wife he wants if he just gives me some time. I just need to learn more about his likes and dislikes. Once I figure him out, I'll be the wife he wants, and then he won't have any problems," Nesta said without even thinking. Her brain felt full of cotton wool; she had no idea what she was saying. She felt like she was speaking too fast and too slow simultaneously. 

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said.

Nesta didn't know how to react. Her brain was slowing down, so she raised her mug to take another sip of the tea. She didn't realise how much her hands shook until she spilt her tea down her front. Thankfully, the tea wasn't warm enough to scald her, but the shock of feeling the liquid on her startled her enough to make her drop her mug. 

She shot to her feet as Claude got up and grabbed a cloth. The room was spinning, and Nesta eventually concluded that she had not managed to fight the horrific feeling she'd been having all day. Her stomach churned worse than ever. 

Of course, her husband walked in on this chaos. "I heard some noise. What's going on?" the Duke asked, looking concerned. 

Claude said something, but Nesta didn't register it at all. The Duke clearly understood whatever it was that Claude had said, and took Nesta's hand to guide her away from the broken mug. 

She wouldn't usually be so glad he was so close to her, but she felt so unsteady that she gripped his hand like it was her lifeline. His hands felt so cool compared to her burning skin, and she fought the temptation to put his hand on her brow. Thankfully, her senses hadn't entirely left her, and she refrained.

"Nesta, you look pale and unsteady. Please, tell me what's wrong?" the Duke said in a frightfully close tone to begging her. 

"I'm not sure, I just feel-" Before she could downplay how ill she felt, she felt the bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned. To her horror, Nesta turned to throw up the contents of her stomach on her husband's shoes. 

It was over as quickly and suddenly as it had started, and Nesta felt the tiny bit of energy she'd managed to conserve throughout the day had left her body and lay at her husband's feet.

"Nesta? Fuck, are you okay?" the Duke sounded discomposed now, but his voice was starting to sound far away. She felt a hand touch her forehead, and some unsavoury curse words left the Duke's mouth. "Nesta, you're on fire; why didn't you say?" 

Nesta tried to say something, but her head was swimming, and even thinking of words took energy she didn't have. She just wanted to sleep, and she could feel it calling her like a siren calls a sailor. Everything was too much for her, so Nesta simply embraced the darkness. She had just enough time to register strong arms grabbing her as she fell into the darkness lingering in her mind. 

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[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day. 

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less. 

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you. 

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist. 

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter. 

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

*

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet. 

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist. 

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina. 

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate. 

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours. 

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read. 

IT KNOWS YOU.

*

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin. 

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off. 

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there���s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold. 

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter. 

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work. 

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control. 

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes. 

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum. 

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort. 

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall. 

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments. 

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

[raisedbythetv89]

I feel like Logan’s death really commandeers the conversation about how terrible season 4 of Veronica Mars is (understandably so it is horrific) but there’s literally SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT 😭

Veronica isn’t Veronica and Logan isn’t Logan (really NO ONE is truly in character anymore). Rob Thomas clearly has NO IDEA what healing actually looks like so Logan becomes this pop psychology stereotype with no depth or emotion and like Veronica literally says A POD PERSON. And he describes his therapy as controlling his anger so it doesn’t consume him. That might have been the move as a temporary band-aide immediately to stabilize his life after season 3 but what like 12 years later???? When season 4 starts? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Fire that therapist immediately 😭 He should be WELL into the source of his anger. Healing isn’t about control it’s about surrender and acceptance of your feelings and developing healthy coping strategies to process your newly uncovered feelings so you can live WITH them not in spite of them. There’s a reason so many “good guy” characters are so one dimensional and boring it’s because the male writers writing them literally have NO CLUE what a healthy well adjusted men act like 😭 - (Ted Lasso was so rare because we had good men writing good men)

And yes we know Logan punching people does it for Veronica but that’s because it is ALWAYS in defense of her but his safety and well being is always her number 1 priority (he pulls a gun to save her in the Fitzpatricks bar and she screams at him because she doesn’t want him to get hurt or killed in his attempt to defend her and she’s terrified). Him just punching a kitchen cabinet in rage and frustration is NOT the same thing at all and she would show concern in that situation not immediately instigate sex ROBERT.

The idea that Veronica did ZERO growing/healing/processing in those 12 years is so insulting and just not realistic - once she got space and distance she would have come out of fight or flight and been assaulted with all the repressed emotions from seasons 1-3 before law school yet somehow she’s WORSE than she was when she was younger with less stability and support and capacity to handle everything she was dealing with.

Especially after everything established in the movie!

“Are you gonna ask me if I did it?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did”

THE AMOUNT OF GROWTH THAT SHOWS IN VERONICA IS ACTUALLY INSANE. Miss never trusts anybody, suspect EVERYONE until your can verify the truth - believes Logan and Weevil AT THEIR WORD. Trusts THEIR CHANGE implicitly and picks helping Logan and Weevil BECAUSE SHE CARES not because it’s a fucking addiction as Rob tried to frame it in the movie 💀💀💀 Veronica always helped because she’s SOFT because she has a good heart and can’t help but help when she knows she can which is classic of parentified children - you believe everything is your responsibility to fix if it’s in your capability to fix. Does she get neurotic trying to solve cases? Absolutely! But that is trying to control and fix external problems as a distraction from her own. It was a coping mechanism and taking that coping mechanism away in the 9 years between season 3 and the movie would have caused serious problems for her that would have forced her to confront her issues.

Season 4 could have been Veronica having a complete break down from her always too full plate coming crumbling down trying to help and fix too much combined with logan being gone and always at risk when he is gone, Wallace bringing new life into an increasingly corrupt neptune she can’t seem to save, Mac working for Jake Kane?!!?! I would have loved If instead she was helping Mac deal with the swapped at birth thing they NEVER touched again. Combined with her dad’s health problems and Weevil falling back into his old habits. She is someone who feels responsible for everything and everyone around her because everyone blamed her for EVERYTHING when she was younger and eventually that catches up with you and THAT is what I wanted to see her strength crumble forcing her to be truly vulnerable and instead of asking for favors asking for HELP allowing her to stop acting like a woman written by a man and act like an actual adult woman BY women who actually understand that experience. Rob was SO out of his depth - his portrayal of Leanne in earlier seasons already proved that.

But that’s just one of literally 1 million possibilities that would have been better than the direction Rob chose. He managed to strip away everything we loved about ALL of his characters until they were ghosts of themselves and it makes me SO UPSET 😭 because he literally revived a show just to finish the destruction path he started in season 3, that had started to be corrected in the movie because it was so controlled by the fans.

Rob and Joss - two men who’s success was built upon a largely female audience and then their misogyny caused them to try and destroy everything their audiences loved 🙃🙃🙃🙃

[odinsblog]

The Supreme Court is trying to drag America backwards to “Separate but Equal”

President Andrew Johnson vetoed the nation’s inaugural Civil Rights legislation because, in his view, it discriminated against white people and privileged Black people. The Civil Rights Act of 1866 (which Congress enacted over the veto) bestowed citizenship upon all persons — except for certain American Indians — born in the United States and endowed all persons with the same rights as white people in terms of issuing contracts, owning property, suing or being sued or serving as witnesses. This law was proposed because the Supreme Court had ruled in Dred Scott v. Sanford that African Americans, free or enslaved, were ineligible as a matter of race for federal citizenship, and because many states had barred African Americans from enjoying even the most rudimentary civil rights.

Johnson vetoed the act in part because the citizenship provision would immediately make citizens of native-born Black people while European-born immigrants had to wait several years to qualify for citizenship via naturalization (which was then open only to white people). According to Johnson, this amounted to “a discrimination against large numbers of intelligent, worthy and patriotic foreigners, and in favor of the Negro, to whom, after long years of bondage, the avenues to freedom and intelligence have just now been suddenly opened.” Johnson similarly opposed the provision in the act affording federal protection to civil rights, charging that it made possible “discriminating protection to colored persons.”

A key defect of the Civil Rights Act, according to Johnson, was that it established “for the security of the colored race safeguards which go infinitely beyond any that the general government has ever provided for the white race. In fact, the distinction of race and color is by the bill made to operate in favor of the colored and against the white race.” Johnson opposed as well the 14th Amendment, which decreed that states offer to all persons equal protection of the laws, a provision which he also saw as a wrongful venture in racial favoritism aimed at assisting the undeserving Negro.

In 1875, Congress enacted legislation that prohibited racial discrimination in the provision of public accommodations. Eight years later, in a judgment invalidating that provision, the Supreme Court disapprovingly lectured the Black plaintiffs, declaring that “when a man has emerged from slavery, and by the aid of beneficent legislation has shaken off the inseparable concomitants of that state, there must be some stage in the progress of his elevation when he takes the rank of a mere citizen and ceases to be the special favorite of the laws.”

In 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt promulgated Executive Order 8802, which prohibited racial discrimination in the employment of workers in defense industries and established the Fair Employment Practices Commission to carry out the order. Assailing the order, Representative Jamie Whitten, a Mississippi segregationist, complained that it would not so much prevent unfairness as “discriminate in favor of the Negro” — this at a time when anti-Black discrimination across the social landscape was blatant, rife and to a large extent, fully lawful.

Segregationist Southerners were not the only ones who railed against antidiscrimination laws on the grounds that they constituted illegitimate preferences for African Americans. In 1945, the New York City administrator Robert Moses inveighed against pioneering municipal antidiscrimination legislation in employment and college admissions. Displaying more anger at the distant prospect of racial quotas than the immediate reality of racial exclusions, Moses maintained that antidiscrimination measures would “mean the end of honest competition, and the death knell of selection and advancement on the basis of talent.”

Liberals, too, have attacked measures they deemed to constitute illicit racial preferencing on behalf of Black people. When the Congress of Racial Equality, or CORE, proposed “compensatory” hiring in the early 1960s — selection schemes that would give an edge to Black people on account of past victimization and the lingering disabilities caused by historical mistreatment — many liberals resisted. Asked about CORE’s demands, President John F. Kennedy remarked that he did not think that society “can undo the past” and that it was a mistake “to begin to assign quotas on the basis of religion, or race, or color, or nationality.”

Kennedy’s comment that it would be a mistake “to begin” to assign quotas reflects a recurring misimpression that racial politics “begins” when those who have been marginalized make demands for equitable treatment.

When Kennedy spoke, unwritten but effective quotas had long existed that enabled white men to monopolize huge portions of the most influential and coveted positions in society. Yet it was only when facing protests against monopolization that he was moved to deplore status-based quotas.

This same dynamic has been recurrent in subsequent decades: Every major policy seeking to advance the position of Black people has been opposed on the grounds that it was race conscious, racially discriminatory, racially preferential and thus socially toxic. That racial affirmative action in university admissions and elsewhere has survived for so long is remarkable, given the powerful forces arrayed against it.

(continue reading)

[sunshineshobi18]

You Don't Look At Me (part 3)

words: 5.2k pairing: Joel x female!OC, Ellie x female!OC cw: strong languge, angst, violence, I might be forgetting stuff summary: Finally settled in Jackson with her new "family" things seem to go well enough until all crumbles.

note: thank you for your patience. Updates are coming much slower than I like, but I'm just really busy with school lately. I'm sorry for the long wait.

(prologue) (part 1) (part 2)

---

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Julia said with a bright smile on her face as Lori sat herself down at the table in the kitchen. Lori smiled tiredly at her, still not being used to such a bright and bubbly personality around her. It was nice though and Lori accepted the change with an open mind.

Julia turned to the counter for a second before facing Lori again and placing a plate full of food in front of the girl. She snickered, seeing Lori’s face immediately brighten at the sight of eggs, bacon and some fresh baked bread buns. “Fresh baked bread?” Lori’s voice jumped an octave and her wide eyes snapped between Julia and Robert, who both chuckled. “This is fucking amazing—”

Instantly, the room filled with tension as Lori slapped her hand in front of her mouth. Robert bit his lip, feeling out the air and waiting for someone else to speak up first. It was Julia who spoke first after letting out a disappointed—nearly overexaggerated—sigh. “It’s okay,” she said with a throw of her hands. It was like she was telling it herself more than she was telling Lori. “I get it. You spent too much time with that grumpy man and that potty mouthed daughter of his.” Lori felt her hands clam up, but she said nothing, only nodded her head as her gaze fixed on her breakfast. “I’ll let it slide, but just mind your language.”

“Yes.” Ma’m, she had wanted to say. It was not the first time Julia had been visibly affected by Lori’s way of talking or doing, but it was the first time Lori had been actually scolded by the older woman. The usual light hearted and happy nature of the woman was pretty much indiscernible. Instead, Julia held a fake smile, with clear distaste behind it.

Robert chuckled awkwardly, “eat, Lori.” He nodded towards her food and walked around the table to his wife—quickly giving Lori’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. The couple then disappeared into the study slash office room and all Lori could hear was muffled conversation.

-

“Heeeey.” Lori hadn’t the time to look to the side before she felt someone sitting next to her. “So how’s Mrs. and Mr. perfect treating you?”

“What are you doing here?”

The person shifted awkwardly in their spot and Lori couldn’t help but curse herself. She knew that they had noticed the unusual quiver in her voice. “Are you— I— You told me you’d teach me how to solve these one day?” It sounded more like a question than it should have.

Lori watched Ellie’s finger come into her view as she pointed at the book of sudokus in front of her.

“Right…” Lori’s voice trailed and Ellie couldn’t help, but notice how off Lori seemed.

“I didn’t want to ask, but you got me worried.” Ellie chuckled hesitantly and Lori looked up to match her gaze. “Are you okay? I thought you felt happy with Julia and Robert.”

Lori nodded, expertly spinning her pencil between her fingers. “No, they’re great. I like it there a lot.”

Ellie grimaced at Lori’s unconvincing tone. “You sure?”

“I shouldn’t be spending time with you.”

Ellie seemed to take great offence to that statement. “Why? Did your new little family tell you that?” The amount of venom that laced that word. Family. Lori could feel a chill running down her spine, knowing she wouldn’t be able to forget the way Ellie said that word for the coming days at the least.

“They may have, but it’s me who thinks I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

In a split second, Ellie’s anger and defensiveness died. Her shoulder slumped and her face fell into a frown. “Why would you think that?” Despite the sadness, Ellie’s words still were harsh and pointed.

“I don’t think I ever liked you,” Lori stated, forgoing the chance to look at Ellie’s reaction by staring out to the people at the workshop just across where she and Ellie were sitting—at a table outside one of the meeting spaces of Jackson. “I hated you and then you became the reason I hate Joel, but luckily for you I’m sure I hate Joel more than you.”

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before she ultimately decided against saying anything. She stood up with a loud and clear huff before childishly taking Lori’s book and harshly sliding it off the table. It snatched on some of the splintering wood, causing some tears in the pages. It then fell into a puddle of mud rendering the book likely unsalvageable. She then stormed off.

Lori was confident saying what she said, but rather unconfident in the truth of what she said.

-

Don’t come in here, Lori thought as she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. Don’t come in here, she thought when the footsteps stopped before they walked down the hallway and the sound grew louder. Don’t come in here, she continued to think even when the doorknob of her room turned—she still couldn’t believe she had her own room—and the door opened. Don’t come in here, she wanted to say as she noticed Robert’s figure in the doorframe.

“What happened here?” His voice was soft. Robert held the dirty and teared puzzle book in the air by a corner of its cover. He turned his head, rather than the book itself to examine it.

“I dropped it in the mud earlier,” Lori whispered. “It’s fine, I finished them all already.”

Robert chuckled and carefully tossed the book into a bin—it was actually just an empty box that served as a bin. “I don’t think I have any other left. I can make you some myself, but that’ll take a while. Or I’ll just check the trading post next time, but—”

“It’s fine, I don’t want to do any more sudokus for a while.” It wasn’t a lie. Lori had felt like the sudokus were just a way of adults wanting to keep her busy so she wouldn’t be up in their business, or perhaps so they didn’t have to pay attention, for a while now. She just didn’t say anything because for this whole time, she genuinely enjoyed solving those puzzles. Now, however, she didn’t want to see any number in general. They were giving her headaches.

Robert’s smile fell and he sat down on the edge of Lori’s bed. “I thought you loved them?”

“I hate them.” It felt so easy to use that word now. Hate didn’t seem to have the same connotation to Lori as it had to other people. “I mean I’m sick of them.”

Robert nodded before asking Lori to move over a little. Once she did, he sat down next to her with his back against the headrest. “About this morning—”

“It’s okay. I understand. I’m living under your roof and I get that you wouldn’t want a teenager cursing every five seconds. It just slipped because I was excited.”

A soft hum came from the man and Lori brushed her hair to the front so Robert couldn’t see her face reddened by shame. “Kevin just never swore—”

“Your son?” Lori wasn’t asking actually and it was that moment Robert realised what he had said. “He seems so great with all the stories you’ve told me about him. Never swore, really smart, strong and helped out in the house, the neighbours loved him, handsome—”

“He was also stubborn.”

“Stubborn… I guess that’s what me and Kevin have in common,” Lori whispered. “Pretty hard standard to live up to,” she added in a chuckle.

A deep sigh sounded through the room as Robert let his body sink into the bed further. He turned his head to Lori. There was a soft yet careful look on his face. “You don’t have to live up to anyone, Lori. I shouldn’t have brought him up, but that’s why Julia reacted the way she did. She isn’t too fond of that kind of language and Kevin was raised that way.”

Lori nodded, but didn’t say anything. And then suddenly she felt a comforting warmth engulf her. Robert had placed his arm around her shoulders and with his right hand on her upper arm, he pulled her closer into his side. “I’m sorry, Lori. I’m sorry that happened, but Julia still cares so much. She just isn’t used to a tough girl like you.” There was a slight chuckle in his speech and although it was to comfort her, Lori didn’t know if it was achieving that goal.

“I guess so,” she whispered in response.

Robert patted Lori’s arm a few times before getting up and leaving her to “get some rest” in her room, alone.

-

The warmth of spring and summer passed in an instant and the cool air that accompanied mid-autumn chilled every house. The weather wasn’t the only thing that had grown cold over the months for Lori. Her relationships had developed in a rather similar way.

Ellie had continued to try and converse with Lori since that infamous exchange they had, but Lori hadn’t been all that welcoming to her. Eventually, Ellie stopped approaching her and by the time autumn fell, Lori hadn’t spoken to Ellie in at least a month.

Another relationship that had progressed similarly was her relationship with Tommy. Maria as well. They had barely spoken ever since Lori went to live with Robert and Julia. It was less surprising to Lori, though, since Tommy and Maria didn’t know Lori as long or in the same way Ellie did—although it sometimes felt that way. What did surprise Lori was that it felt like they went from being acquaintances to strangers and perhaps even had some bad blood. Whenever Lori went out and saw Tommy or Maria, they barely batted an eye at her and when they spotted her, Lori could’ve sworn that they turned away each time they locked eyes with her.

The most unexpected of such changes was her relationship with the woman who had taken her in. Julia did not like Lori. Lori just knew. She felt like she had to walk on eggshells the whole time she was in the house with Julia and so Lori had pretty much retreated into her room. She spent the most of her time either there or outside, though with the colder weather Lori didn’t have much things to do or warm places to go outside the house. She even went to the dining hall as much as possible to eat, since she would rather eat alone than sit through quiet and tense meals with Julia.

Lori felt like she was in no different situation than when she stayed at Tommy’s before, but it felt even worse now. Julia was rather cold towards her, while Tommy and Maria hadn’t been anything but welcoming. Sure they weren’t all overly sweet and familial, but Tommy and Maria were nice and they talked to her. Julia seemed like she’d do everything rather than talk to Lori if she could avoid doing so.

And then Julia blew her fuse.

The night it happened everything went downhill. Lori had just been roaming the empty house, bored by her lonesomeness, when she came upon something she had never seen before. A framed picture of a younger Robert and Julia along with a young kid—probably in his early teens—was displayed on a shelf in an unused room of the house. The boy was good looking. A perfect mixture of the best attributes of his parents. Lori knew why Robert and Julia never failed to boast about their son. Kevin had seemed like the kind, intelligent and just perfect son from what his parents had told Lori, but upon seeing that picture, she also knew he was handsome too.

Unconsciously, Lori traced her fingers along the textured frame around the picture. It had to have been dated pre- or early outbreak. The family seemed happy. A perfect family. Something the young girl had never experienced, or at least not in her memory.

The frame was held only loosely between her fingers as she was about to set it back, but then, suddenly, the door behind her opened. The heavy door stopped mid swing as it hit Lori’s back, causing the girl to lose her grip on the frame and it fell down on the floor. The glass of the frame shattered into what felt like a million tiny pieces and Lori felt like she heard each one of them scatter against the rough wooden floors before she heard the high pitched screaming behind her.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Lori barely had any time to turn around before Julia yanked her to the side by her arm. The woman’s thin pointy fingers left small red marks through Lori’s long sleeve shirt.

“My baby—” she sobbed as she fell to her knees next to the broken picture frame. Surely, the pieces of glass had pierced the skin of her knees and legs, but neither Julia or Lori had the time to think about that in the midst of the situation. “You witch!”

Lori had been called many names before, but “witch” was a first. It wasn’t the word that shocked her, but the anger and hatred in Julia’s voice as she said it. “See what you did!” She pointed at the broken frame. “You did this on purpose!”

Lori tried to protest, to say it was an accident, but she wasn’t fast enough. Julia was already yelling again. “You’re ruining my family! You’re trying to tear us apart! You’ll never replace Kevin!”

She kept yelling out those nonsense statements, but Lori knew she believed them. She knew Julia thought that Lori really was trying to tear her family apart. What Julia didn’t know was that Lori already knew her place in this house. She’d never be a daughter to these people, but she had wanted it. She had prayed for it, but she knew it never would be.

Instead of running away, out of the house, Lori ran into her room. She didn’t know how much longer it would be her room for, so she wanted to bask in that warmth for as long as possible. She hid under her blanket as if hiding from Julia and Robert, who she knew wouldn’t be checking in with her anyway. The warmth she had expected to accompany her was not there. Lori fell asleep shivering from cold— no, from the fear of being inevitably kicked out the house and once again being alone, without anyone who cared about her.

-

Joel clicked his tongue in annoyance as he tried to ignore the looming presence behind him. He placed his lips on the edge of his glass of whiskey before downing it in one go. He wished the alcohol would distract him. It didn’t.

With a sigh, Joel sluggishly turned his body in his chair to face the bar. He leaned against the surface with his arms before turning his head slightly to the right. “What?” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes.

A tired, yet nervous laugh pierced Joel’s ears. No, the laugh wasn’t loud, but Joel found it truly unpleasant. “Hey,” the man next to Joel said in an exhale. It was as if he wanted to reason with him. “I guess we have more in common than I first thought.” Joel’s first instinct was to shut him up, yell at him or even just throw up at the thought of him and this man being similar. “Or more than I could wish.” He was speaking to himself now.

“If you don’t have anything coherent to say, then get lost.” Joel’s voice was gruff. No louder than it had been when he addressed the man the first time.

“I don’t know how you were able to take care of that girl for so long,” the man laughed again and Joel felt his stomach churn. Joel didn’t know what he was talking about, but Joel felt that anything that would leave his mouth right now wouldn’t be good. “Lori is impossible,” Robert sighed.

“What are you talking about?”

Robert eyed Joel before shaking his head a few times. “I get why you abandoned her. She’s more than a handful. You know this. I’m surprised you act like this is news.”

Ignoring the jab at him, Joel’s grip on his glass tightened and more questions than answers came to him. “Something happened?”

At his question, Joel noticed a moment of clarity in Robert’s eyes before they became hooded once more. Joel cursed himself knowing that his sudden eagerness to talk, to know what was happening, shut Robert up completely. The scrawnier of the two waved Joel off causing the latter to stand up suddenly and tower over him.

“Joel!” It was Tommy who yelled out for him before waving him over. Joel reluctantly left his glass on the bar, cursing Robert out with his eyes before turning to his brother.

“I thought he’d take care of her?”

Tommy eyed his brother with confused eyes. “What are you talking about?”

It was clear that Tommy didn’t know anything about Lori anymore. Once Robert had taken her in, Tommy pretty much stopped talking to her. All Tommy did was track that his easily aggravated brother was standing over a weaker man who he didn’t like with a clenched fist. He was preventing a bar fight. There was nothing more to it.

“Never mind.” Joel pushed past his brother and left the building.

-

It had been pretty much a full day since the picture incident when Lori was silently navigating the living room. Her eyes were set on the door leading up to Robert’s “office”. It was just a room with a desk and some papers and books. A place where he could prepare some classes for his students. It really was an office, but Lori knew that people pre-outbreak would probably laugh if they saw this “office” of Robert.

Coming up to the door, Lori stopped herself from barging in. She took a few deep breaths, calming her furiously beating heart before knocking on the door softly. She waited for an answer, which did come, in the form of a quiet hum.

The door was heavier than any other door in the house and this wasn’t because Lori was filled with anxiety at the moment. She had made this observation months ago, but yes, at this moment, the door felt heavier than normal.

Once inside she stood next to Robert’s desk. He was facing the wall across the door, his back was towards her at first. Lori stepped in a bit further until she was next to him, though still a little behind him. Not being able to see his face straight on or even from the side—even in this dimly lit room—made Lori feel a bit more in charge of her nerves. Her hands were behind her back, one of them holding something for Robert.

“What are you doing here?” Robert broke the silence first, which is what Lori wanted, but it made her jump. His voice was a lot more rough, cold and distant than she remembered. Even when he came home from long, tiring days at work, there was usually a little lilt in the way he talked. “It’s late, go to bed.”

“I got you this,” Lori whispered. She stretched out her arm, presenting Robert with a rather nice picture frame. “I traded for it earlier—”

“What’s this?” he interrupted her with a clear annoyed tone.

Lori spluttered to fight the surprise and find her words again. “I’m sorry I broke your picture with Ke—”

“DO NOT DARE SAY HIS NAME!” Lori immediately cowered at the sudden rise of Robert’s voice. He never screamed. Not like this. “And do you know what else you broke? Huh? Do you?” he continued to yell as he asked her these questions. Lori shook her head frantically.

“You broke my family! MY family!” At that point, Robert had already stood up and was closing in the gap between him and Lori, driving the young girl toward the wall behind her. He snatched the picture frame out of her hands. “And you know what?” Lori shook her head again, scared that not responding to him would be worse. “You are not part of my family!”

Pieces of glass fell to the floor before either of them had registered what had happened. Lori watched in horror as the side of her face felt numb. Warm blood started to trickle down her temple and down to her cheek. Her eyes looked at Robert’s hand that was holding the picture frame before. It was still there. Partly. Only two of the four sides of the wooden frame were still intact and in his grasp, the remainder of it was scattered on the floor in pieces. Lori looked up at Robert’s face, wishing she’d see any kind of remorse for his actions, but there was only anger. Not long after, Robert hit her a second time with the now broken frame.

Lori fell to the floor, holding her hands up to shield her face. “S-sorry,” she sobbed incoherently. Scared. Terrified. However, Robert couldn’t hear her, or he was ignoring her pleas on purpose.

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled as he kicked her angrily in her side. “You’ve ruined my whole family!”

Lori tried to push the man away. She was able to grip his leg and push it away, but it only made him drop to his knees and punch her on the side of her face. “Nobody fucking wants you! Not Joel! Not Tommy!” He was punching her after each name, though he was mostly missing her and there was no real strength behind his punches. “And definitely not me!”

Robert was sobbing when Julia ran into the room. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and comforted him as if he was just the victim of an attack. “Get out.” Robbert had tried to sob, but it was Julia who had hissed those words at Lori.

The girl didn’t need to be told twice. She pushed herself up, not even feeling the tiny pieces of glass underneath her palm piercing her skin, and limped out of the room. Luckily Lori had left her backpack with her most important stuff on the living room floor so she could leave immediately. She somehow had a feeling this was how the night was going to end.

–

Something was off. Joel could just sense it.

As he walked home from his patrol shift he decided to make a quick stop along the way. It was actually his own body that led him to this place unconsciously, but as he stood there and clocked where he was, he felt determined. His heavy fist knocked on the door that almost fully swung open by itself. Joel grabbed the doorknob, stopping the door from opening and waited until the homeowners came and answered themselves.

The whole time during patrol, Joel kept thinking back about what Robert had said the night before at the bar. Robert loved Lori. That’s how Joel knew him. He was the man that took the place Joel wanted to be in. Well, needed to be in. In the months after his last conversation with Lori he slowly came to terms that he had created a distance between himself and Lori. He did want to care for her, but he wasn’t ready to fight all his demons that prevented him from doing so.

It all came so easy with Ellie. Maybe because they were so similar. Still, Joel wondered why he had such a hard time connecting and opening up to Lori. It was probably because Lori was too much like Tess. Possibly—and this was the hardest thing he had to come to terms with—before Lori had turned all stoic—because of Joel—Lori reminded Joel a bit of his own daughter. His actual daughter. Sarah—

Back to Robert. Robert and Lori seemed to get along so well, which is why Joel had been so surprised to hear Robert talking about her like that the day before. Something felt so wrong about it.

“Hi—What are you doing here?”

Joel looked up to see Robert staring back at him. The light-haired man seemed different. His features looked sunken in, his posture was slouched. He looked nothing like the happy teacher everyone knew him as.

“Lori… Just after what you said yesterday. I guess I wanted to check if everything is fine?”

Robert heaved an annoyed breath, but there was something else in his eyes. He almost seemed fearful of Joel, or at least of something. “Everything’s fine.”

It didn’t seem like everything was fine. “Is she here?”

“No she isn’t.” Julia’s voice ringed towards the front door as she moved to stand beside her husband. “She isn’t here, so if you’re looking for her, get lost.”

The aggression in the small woman’s voice made the hairs on Joel’s arms and back of his neck stand up. “Where—”

“Not here!” Julia tried to close the door, but Joel held it open with his forearm. Julia started shouting at him, but Joel didn’t let up. Instead his eyes started to wander. The living room behind the couple seemed normal. It was only when Joel took a step back, he noticed the bruised knuckles of Robert’s right hand. Joel was about to say something when Robert moved his hand behind his back, out of Joel’s vision. “Just leave!” Julia yelled.

“What did you—” Joel started to ask. He had looked from Roberts slightly bloodied—then hidden—hand up his arm until he met his eyes. The fear he thought he saw before was prominent now. Thoughts filled Joel’s head causing to let his guard down and before he could ask his full question, Julia took the opportunity to shut the door closed in his face.

-

“I—” A sob from deep down cut off her words. “I’m so sorry, Tess.” Lori’s voice was shaky. She sat, kneeled down, somewhere quiet. Away from everyone. Not more than a 5 minute walk from Jackson, but at this time she shouldn’t be outside. She had been able to slip away without anyone noticing so she could have some space.

“I know you’d hate me for this,” she cried, but she tried so hard not to. Her voice was strained to keep the sobs at bay. “But I tried so hard to be a good daughter. To be good to people. They just—” Lori took another deep sigh before her tears started to flow freely down her cheeks. “No one wants me. No one likes me. Only you ever truly cared.”

The tension in Lori’s body started to ease as if she was starting to accept the reality of how everything was turning out for her. “I know you’d hate me, but can you really blame me for this?” Lori let out a defeated chuckle, then sniffled once again. “I just want to be with you again,” she whispered before putting a bit more pressure on the knife she had against her left wrist.

The blade only barely broke her skin. It wasn’t sharp enough to do anything more with the amount of pressure Lori was putting on it.

“I only ever want to be with you. Maybe I’m wrong and you are like everyone else, but I rather be with you, who hates me, then with all these people.”

Lori finally drew blood. She didn’t even hiss or flinch as the blade pressed further into her skin. “Tess,” she sobbed as she said her name. “I miss you so much! Why did you leave! Why did you fucking leave me!”

Lori raised the knife from her skin and moved it further up so she could make one final cut.

“LORI, NO!”

The world became dark before her eyes, as Lori fell back onto her back. Before the metal was able to make contact with her wrist, Lori had been pulled back, causing her head to hit the cold ground. Her arm, along with her hand that was holding the knife was pulled back and the knife fell out of her grasp. When Lori opened her eyes again she was met with the frantically moving eyes of Ellie.

“Lori!” The younger girl shouted in shock. She was shaking Lori by her shoulders and checking her body for any injuries. To her surprise Lori’s wrist had barely a cut on it, but her face was something else. Ellie’s eyes scanned the new bruises that seemed to be getting darker by the second on her face. A trail of blood was mixed with Lori’s tears and coated the skin of her cheek and neck with a light, translucent red sheen.

The two sat there almost frozen as they stared at each other before Ellie started pulling her up. “Let’s go—”

“Go where?”

“Home,” Ellie stated, still in her panicked state. She noticed how Lori froze in her spot again and was staring at her, uncertainty filled in her gaze. “Please, Lori. Let’s just go.”

It was desperate. All the words that left Ellie’s mouth. Her movements as she pulled Lori to her feet. As if Lori was someone important to Ellie and Ellie wanted her to be okay.

Ellie gathered Lori’s backpack before pulling her arm over her own shoulders. “You can sleep in my bed. The fireplace has been warming the house. It’s safe there, okay? I can get you food or tea as well. And there’s warm water to shower in. Or you can take a bath…”

Lori didn’t answer, but she let Ellie take her with her.

A few metres away Joel finally found the two girls. He wanted to approach them, but decided against it as he noticed how Lori was so willing to have Ellie help her out. He didn’t want to disturb them.

He was still heaving from his search before he completely froze, hearing what Ellie told Lori.

“I know I’m not Tess, but you’re safe with me. I know you hate me, but even if I’m the last person you wanted to care for you, I do care. Even if the whole world is against you, I’ll be here. And maybe it’s just selfish, but it’s because I need you too.”

Lori tilted her head slightly down to catch Ellie’s gaze. More tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“I think you’re really fucking cool,” Ellie sniffled in a watery chuckle. “And to be honest, I don’t think I would’ve felt as much at ease without you around. You’ve protected me even when you hated my guts and I don’t think I’m ready to lose you. I don’t want you to join Tess this early and I know she wouldn’t want that either.” Lori didn’t say anything as she continued to share eye contact with the younger girl.

“Let’s go home, okay? With me?”

---

taglist: @daddysfavoritesexkitten @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

note: I don't do permanent taglists atm (I actually don't do taglists in general, but I thought why not since I was asked) so if you want to be tagged in a future part of this you'll have to just message me or comment and I'll keep note of that.

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 11

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, cancer, alcohol, mentions of death

WC: 3.3K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

Your skin was on fire. 

Everything felt like it was melting and in slow motion. Like you were inside a raging tornado, just you and Bob staring at each other in the midst of the destruction. Nothing else but his blue eyes on yours, drowning in sorrow and pain and anguish. 

A bottle shattered in the distance, ruining the illusion. And then you were yanked back to reality. 

“Reid?” Bob’s voice was quiet. Shaky. Just your name on his lips, saturated in pain. 

“You fucking asshole,” Phoenix hissed at Jake, shoving his arm and he tipped over into the railing of the deck in his drunken stupor. 

He righted himself, half-lidded eyes finding yours. “Sorry.” It came out cheap and you stepped forward, slapping him clear across the face, the sound of your palm hitting his face echoing in the clear California night. 

“Fuck you, Bagman!” you shouted, winding your hand back for another slap before you felt thick limbs grabbing you from behind, pulling you back. 

“Stop it,” Bradley whispered, his hands hot on your arms as he physically held you back from striking Jake again. “He’s not worth it.” 

The air was heavy. Desperate. You let out an angry sigh, looking over at Bob. His mouth was wide open. Your outburst at Jake confirmed his deepest fears. 

It was true. 

“Bobby,” you whispered, wiggling out of Bradley’s embrace, stepping toward him. He held out a hand, stopping you mid step, and you let out a guttural gasp. 

He shook his head. “No. Don’t touch me.” 

You crumpled to the ground, Bradley catching you before you almost smacked your head against the wooden flooring. Looking up at Bob from the ground you saw him turn, Phoenix’s hand light on his arm, her face drawn in concern. She looked down at you and Bradley before nodding her head, following Bob back into the bar. 

It wasn’t until a thin breeze floated off of the ocean that you realized your cheeks were streaked with tears. 

Bradley held you, cradled against his chest, as you sobbed on the dirty patio floor of the Hard Deck. After a few minutes, the crowd had thinned and he leaned in, whispering into your ear. “Come on,” he murmured softly. “Let’s get you up, OK?” 

Slowly, Bradley pulled you to standing. You felt wobbly and he slipped one arm around your back, gripping your waist tight. 

Phoenix and Bob were still gone. Jake sat in the corner, perched on top of a picnic table, Coyote at his side. Fanboy came up and whispered in Bradley’s ear, who nodded, a frown spread across his face. He turned to you. “Better take you to my place tonight,” he said. “I, uh, think you should give Floyd some space right now.” 

You nodded silently, following his lead as he steered you toward the stairs near the side of the patio, out toward the parking lot. But you pivoted in his arms, stepping directly in front of the picnic table, Jake and Coyote looking up in shock. Your slap had sobered Jake up, at least a little bit, and his eyes looked less glazed as they locked onto yours. 

“I hate you for doing that to him,” you whispered hotly, anger dripping out of every single one of your pores.

Bradley reattached his palm to the small of your back, guiding you away. But not before you saw Jake’s face fall with the realization of what he had done. Of what he had caused. 

Back at the house, you showered in Bradley’s bathroom. When you emerged in a towel, he had an old Naval Academy t-shirt and a pair of boxers laying out on the bed for you. After slipping them on, you wandered down the hall where the back of his head was plainly visible over the edge of the couch. 

He looked up as you rounded the corner of the couch, settling easily onto the other end, your bare feet landing in his lap. Bradley looked down at them before smiling. “Just like old times, huh?” he asked. 

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling your legs to your chest, creating distance between the two of you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think.” 

He shook his head. “Reid. It’s fine. I promise.”

You frowned. “I’m guessing you hate me, too.” 

“What?” Bradley reached out, placing one hand on your ankle, gripping you tightly. “No. Not at all. If anything, I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us.” 

A tear slid down your cheek. You knew it was just the start. “I just wanted everything to be normal for as long as possible,” you whispered. “And then everything with Bob.” You sighed. “I knew the moment I told him, everything would change. And I didn’t want it to change. I wanted to stay like that forever.” 

Bradley dropped his hand. “Why did you tell Jake?” 

“I didn’t. He figured it out himself.” 

“Fucking hell,” Bradley muttered to himself. “Well I spoke to Nat. She’s with Bob at the house. He, uh, he doesn’t want to see you right now.” 

You hung your head. 

“So you can stay here. As long as you need.” Bradley grinned. “Looks like we’re finally spending the night.” 

You laughed, despite yourself. “Thank you, Bradley.” 

He stood up, holding out a hand, pulling you to standing. “Are you going to be OK?” he whispered softly, never dropping your hand. 

You felt his thumb stroke the backside of your hand. “I’ll be fine,” you replied quietly. 

***

The next day, Bradley drove you back to Bob’s. You sat in the passenger seat of his old Bronco, tapping your foot nervously, as Bradley went to the door, ringing the bell. Phoenix opened it and they chatted for a few minutes before she looked over at you sadly, closing the door. 

Bradley climbed into the driver’s seat. “Let’s give him one more day. Want to go grab breakfast?” 

You laid back against the seat, dejected. “Sure,” you whispered. 

You felt guilty. For a myriad of reasons. First, that you had hid the truth from Bob for so long. That he had to find out from Hangman of all people. Every time you thought of how broken and devastated he had looked that night on the patio you disintegrated into tears. 

You also felt guilty for letting Bradley take care of you. After everything that the two of you had gone through, he stepped up. While Nat took care of Bob, Bradley took care of you. He coordinated with Natasha to get an overnight bag packed, he tried to entertain you all day and keep your mind off of Bob and the fight. But still, when you went to bed in Bradley’s guest room, you couldn’t sleep. 

So you pulled out your phone to call Bob again. You had called him five times already and left him a dozen messages. All unanswered. The clock in the upper right hand corner of the screen said it was after midnight, but you didn’t care. 

You hit his contact and waited. Just as you were about to hang up, you heard a voice. “Hello?” 

You almost choked. “Bobby.” 

There was a pause. And then, “Reid. I can’t do this right now.” 

“Wait!” You cleared your throat, trying to will away the lump that had taken up residence there. “Honey please. I just, I needed to hear your voice.” 

He sighed. “Well you heard it.” 

A sob rose in your throat. “I know you hate me,” you whispered hoarsely, “and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry, Bobby. I hope you know that no matter what, I love you.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Bob said quietly, his voice low and slow and it felt like in a dream when something you were chasing was just out of reach. “I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I thought after everything, that you’d at least be honest with me. I’ve always been honest with you.” 

A tear slid down your cheek and you let it blaze a path toward your chin. “I’m sorry.” 

“I have to go,” Bob said and your heart constricted in your chest. “I’ll let you know tomorrow if I want to talk.” 

“Okay.” You didn’t hang up. “I miss you, Bobby.” 

Bob let out another sigh. This one sounded dejected. “You’re at Bradley’s? You’re OK?” 

You nodded. “I’m here. I’m alright, given the circumstances.” 

A pause. “Goodnight, Sunny.” 

You closed your eyes, letting the tears stream down your cheeks. “Goodnight, Bobby. I love you.” 

And then the line went dead. 

You laid there for a few minutes in tears, before sitting up. Bradley or Natasha or whoever had packed your overnight bag had included a rather skimpy pajama set that you were now wearing and you shivered. 

Quietly, you tiptoed out of the guest room into the hallway. The light near the kitchen was on and you entered the kitchen toward the back of the house. 

Bradley had his head in the fridge and when he closed it he jumped. “Fuck!” 

You stood a foot away, nonplussed. 

He leaned back, resting against the kitchen counter, shaking his head. “Reid, you scared the shit out of me.” Bradley looked at the clock on the microwave. “It’s late, what are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Bradley sighed. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of gray boxers. You stepped closer until the two of you were only a foot apart. Maybe it was the emotions coursing through your veins. Or the fact that you had time on your mind. Or that you were seeking comfort. 

Either way, you looked up at Bradley before slotting yourself between his legs, pressing your body against his, tilting your head up for a kiss. You felt him stir in his boxers against your stomach. 

“Reid.” Bradley pressed his hands against the tops of your arms, pushing you away softly, air rushing between your bodies. “Don’t do this. I know you’re upset and sad and confused, but this isn’t going to help anything. It’ll only make things worse.” 

He was right. You knew that he was right. It’s why you sagged against him as he pulled you into a hug, your tears soaking the front of his shirt, Bradley’s large embrace grounding you, absorbing your shakes and sobs. 

Bradley held you in the kitchen as you cried. And once your well of tears was empty, he led you softly to the couch. “Reid,” he said quietly. “You gotta tell us what’s going on. All of it. So we can help you.” 

You closed your eyes tightly. When you opened them, Bradley stared back at you expectantly. He should have hated you. He should have wanted you out of his life after you had toyed with him and then hung him out to dry. Instead, he had taken you in. They all had. 

They deserved to know. 

You opened your mouth and sighed. The truth came out. All of it. And you watched tears gather in Bradley’s eyes. He leaned forward, his hands clasped around your smaller ones. When you were finished, he wiped away the tears that had gathered on his lashes. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pulling you into a hug. 

You nodded against his chest. “So am I.” 

***

Watching Bob grieve for Denver had been one of the hardest things you’d ever done. More difficult than leaving Bridgeport. More difficult than almost flunking out your first year of college because you hadn’t been able to properly balance work and play. 

Watching as your best friend grieved the loss of a woman he spent every day with, a person he trusted with his life, almost broke you. 

You held his hand in silence at her funeral, Bob’s eyes misting behind his glasses, his cap perched on his head. You stood next to him in a black shift dress as he wore his service dress uniform, his legs shaky, your heart dropped in your stomach. 

It was Bob who stepped forward and presented Denver’s parents with a perfectly folded flag. 

You watched as he nodded and spoke quietly with the other aviators at the memorial service. You watched carefully when he excused himself from a conversation with Omaha and Fritz, slipping out the back door. A few minutes later, you followed him, finding Bob sitting on a bench facing the hills, his head in his hands. 

Instinctively, you sat down next to him, wrapping your hand around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whispered quietly. 

When he looked up at you, your heart snapped in half. His eyes were ringed with red, his face blotchy, his nose running. “It should have been me,” he whispered. “That should be me in there, in a casket. Not her.” 

“You can’t say that.” 

“But it’s true. She was the better aviator. She knew exactly what she was doing.” He hung his head. “She was protecting me.” 

“You both did everything you could,” you replied softly, running one hand through the hair at the base of his neck. “She loved you. She wanted you to be safe.” 

He raised his eyes to yours. “How can I keep going when she’s not here?” he asked softly. “How do you just keep living?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied. “You just do. Because if you don’t, then everything she did to save you was wasted. Do you think that’s what she would want? Wouldn’t Denver want her death to mean something?” 

He nodded, tears dripping down onto his slacks. You scratched your nails down his back in calming circles. “No, I guess not.” 

You rested your head on his shoulder. In the distance, the sun was starting its descent toward the horizon, blurring the whole sky in orange. You closed your eyes, sinking in the feeling of Bob’s warmth under your cheek. 

Thankful that he had been the one to come home. 

“I love you, Bobby,” you whispered. 

“I love you too, Sunny,” he replied quietly. 

The two of you sat there, side-by-side, gazing out at the sunset. He was held together with tape and glue. And you were his rock. 

***

On the third day after the incident, Bob reached out via Phoenix. Bradley grabbed his phone off the counter, answering it in a swift motion, nodding along. He turned around, catching your eye. “We’ll be there in ten.” 

He hung up. You held your breath. 

“He’s ready to talk.” 

The fifteen steps from Bradley’s car to the front door felt like an eternity. Only a few weeks ago, the three of you had been arguing on the cement driveway and you had gone inside and slept with Bob for the first time. 

So much had changed in such a little amount of time. 

Everything was different. 

You looked at the front door. It was a normal front door, but it felt like you were about to breach an impenetrable force field. Bradley looked at you from where he stood at your side. “Are you OK?” he asked. 

You looked up at him. He had been so good to you. Too good, arguably. You nodded, leaning in and pressing your lips to his cheek softly, squeezing his hand at his side. “Thank you, Brad. For everything.” 

He nodded. “Of course.” 

You sucked in a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. 

A moment later, the door swung open. Phoenix answered, wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white t-shirt, her face tight. Bob appeared behind her, his head slightly dipped. She opened the door wide and you slipped inside into the foyer. 

“We’ll give you guys some space,” she said, grabbing her keys from the table by the door, nodding to Bob. “Talk to you later, Floyd.” 

He nodded back at her and she walked through the doorway. Bradley lingered for a moment, his eyes on you. You smiled at him. “I’ll text you, OK?” 

He looked at Bob, and then back at you before finally agreeing. “Alright. See you later.” 

And then he was gone. Bob moved forward, shutting the door behind them. 

You took a long look at him. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a soft olive green henley shirt, feet bare. His normally slicked hair was soft, falling a bit into his eyes. Your heart ached. All you wanted to do was throw yourself into his arms, feel him hold you tight, tell you it would be alright. 

“Hi,” you said softly, putting your duffle bag down on the floor. 

“I made coffee,” Bob said, heading for the kitchen. It wasn’t a request or a question. Just a statement. You followed him wordlessly and sat on a bar stool as he poured you a mugful of coffee, adding in heavy cream before you could even ask. 

The silence was painful. Normally, silence with Bob was tolerable. Being with him was like an extension of yourself. But this was strained. Unnatural. There was tension. 

You wrapped your fingers around the mug and took a sip, sputtering at how hot it was. 

“Shit,” you whispered, setting it back down. 

“Are you OK?” 

You nodded. “I’ll be fine.” When you raised your eyes to his, he was pleading with you. 

There was no more time. No more space. No more avoidance. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bob’s blue eyes flooded with tears. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“Of course I was going to tell you,” you said softly, fingers trembling as you held onto the sides of the ceramic mug. “I just didn’t know how. We were good, we were happy. And I knew this would ruin everything.” 

“But by not telling me, you ruined things.” 

A fresh flood of tears pummeled out of your eyes and down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, trying to blink them away. 

“Reid,” Bob whispered. “Honey, God, after everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. Maybe before I could have understood. But I thought this, us,” he waved his hand between the two of you, “was serious.” 

You lifted your gaze to him. “I wanted you to want me for me. Not because you thought I was dying.” 

Bob froze. “Reid. Tell me exactly what’s wrong with you.” 

You smiled at him softly. Broken. “I have cancer, Bobby. Uterine cancer. It's, well it's not good. The doctors aren't sure how much time I have.” 

Bob bent in half, a sob falling from his mouth as he softly crumpled to the ground, his back against the cabinets beneath the sink. You pushed to standing from your bar stool, walking over and crouching down next to him, putting one hand gently on his knee. 

“Honey,” you whispered softly. “Bobby, please don’t cry.” 

He looked up at you, pushing away the tears from his face with his rough palms. “What does this mean, Sunny?” he asked. 

You sank to the ground between his legs, your hands cupping his cheeks. “It means I’m sick, Bobby. And I’m probably not going to get any better.” 

Bob pulled you into his arms until the two of you were a mass of tangled limbs and you weren’t sure if his tears were the ones soaking your shirt or if they were yours. He held you for so long that you almost forgot what it was like not to be wrapped in Bob’s embrace. You closed your eyes and waited. 

Waited for a break from the grief. But you were waiting for something that simply would never come. 

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[meet-you-at-the-north-star]

All-Nighter

Robert Leckie x Writer! Reader

Summary: you’re working late on a project and your eager boyfriend is being annoying. But also kinda sweet.

Notes: fluffy, a little suggestive I guess

Word count: 900

I wrote another sentence, realizing two seconds later that I hated it just as much as the rest of them. I sunk back into the chair with a groan, fingers rubbing my face and my eyelids. I briefly glanced at the clock I’d put on the table right next to my typewriter.

Almost Midnight? Was that right? I shook my head, dispelling the thought instantly. I needed to focus on the task at hand and nothing else.

Not long after my fingers were back on the keyboard again, I heard the light sound of steps behind me.

“Still not done?” the voice of my newly acquired “roommate” asked.

“If you’ve come here to make fun of me, you can go right back where you came from” I didn't take my eyes off the page, continuing to write, still in search of that rare, magical feeling when the words just seem to flew directly out of my brain.

He chuckled: “Not exactly”. He stepped closer until I could sense that he was standing right behind my chair.

“It’s getting very late, I thought you might use a break” He leaned down slowly started leaving a trail of kisses on the side of my neck, getting dangerously close to the collarbone.

“No, thank you” I gently pushed his head away with my hand, earning a disappointed groan from him.

“Come on, you’ve been sitting here for hours… as your boyfriend, I think I have a the right to be concerned about your well being” He protested.

I finally stopped typing and glanced up at him in disbelief, only to find him staring back down at me, his hands now coming to rest on my shoulders.

“Oh sure, I’m sure it’s all selfless worrying about my health on your part and you’re getting absolutely nothing out this” I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, can a fully selfless act really exist after all?” He rebutted, clearly looking pretty satisfied with his own defense.

“Don’t get philosophical with me Leckie, you know that’s a battle you cannot win” I glared at him warningly.

He gave a hearty laugh. “It’s definitely too late for that” and then the cheeky look on his face was back, “Especially since my plans involve much better ways to spend our time”

Once again I completely ignored his attempts of seduction. “Our time? You mean my time. Tell me, how would you feel if you were running late on a really important article and I barged into the room wasting your precious time?”

“I’m not sure I’ve actually ever had that problem my-” He realized his mistake right before finishing the sentence, his eyes widening, but it was too late.

I abruptly stood up. “Out. Right now.” I began pushing him towards the door with all the strength I could muster.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to say…”

“Oh, save it, I know exactly what you meant, mr. Highly Successful Author Who Can Do No Wrong” The sarcasm was now dripping from my tone.

He’d been backing away, clearly allowing himself to be pushed as to not to anger me any further, but right at the end he stopped, grabbed my wrists and gently pushed them away.

“Please, I’m sorry, that was very insensitive of me.” He looked at me straight in the eyes and I could see please don’t hate me written all over his own.

“You’re an amazing writer and you’re absolutely going to finish this in time, despite the interferences of your idiot boyfriend” He stated softly but firmly, like a fact.

I could tell that his apology was genuine and my rage came to a halt for the moment. “That’s much better” I conceded, still processing the whole thing.

“It is?” His lips curved in an hopeful smile.

“Yeah.” I felt my body relax, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had accumulated, and I smiled back “Thank you for saying all that.”

“It’s true” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Alright. But you’re still getting out of this room and you’re not allowed to open that door for the next 30 minutes” I warned him. “Or I swear to god all you get to do tonight is sleep. Possibly on the couch.”

I saw his mouth instinctively open to protest (his most natural reaction to everything) or say something else, but he managed to control himself, confronted with the seriousness of his situation: “Yes, ma’am”

“Oh, and…Lucky? On more thing” Both my tone and expression had softened considerably and he smiled at the nickname.

“Yes?”

Without a warning, I suddenly pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him hard, locking his lips on mine and tangling both hands in his hair to pull him impossibly closer and not allow him any escape.

When we finally broke off the kiss, his eyes were closed and he was panting, his forehead resting against mine.

A rebellious curl hung in front of his eyes as I backed away and I didn't miss the opportunity to move it aside with my fingers, delicately.

“See you in half an hour” I smirked.

[rhodesrider]

Hi can you do mafia CG! Judgement day and the rest is up too you :)

Kettle corn

CG! Mafia! Judgement Day x Little! Y/N

-Minors DNI-

Warnings: Cussing and threats of murder.Age regression like behavior and affirmation nicknames

Cold nights were the best nights for interrogations. The man was thrown on the ground, feeling the sharp rocks stick on his arm he whined in pain some and rubbed his arm staying on the ground. “Listen, listen to me please I promise I’ll have your money by next month I need more time-“ soon a sharp kick was to his chest. “We gave you time. And it’s been ran out. So cough it up old man.” The figure spoke with the purple bandana over his mouth. The other figures were searching the car finding luggage and airplane tickets.

“Trying to run out on us Robert?”

Robert, still on the rocky ground, looking up seeing the figure come closer and removed the bandana. “Rhea…” He mumbled and scooted back some. Seeing fear in his eyes only made Rhea smile. “What’s wrong Robby? Looking like you seen a ghost.” She smirked. “I’m tired of giving chances on you know that.” “Please I just need a little more time. I won’t run I promise.” Rhea just sighed and pulled out a small yet sharp knife, pointing it on Robert’s neck as Finn and Damien revealed themselves next. “You’re wasting my time Robby. You always do. But we give you break after break because you keep mentioning your family. Speaking of which, how is your family? You know the one you haven’t seen in weeks?” His eyes widened seeing he was caught in his lies. “Yea I asked some of my police dogs to run by your house and your wife was so worried. You haven’t been home in weeks. Your children haven’t seen you in weeks and you-“ she pointed the tip in his neck seeing some blood show. “-you lie to me. I take family very seriously Robby ol boy.” She hissed. He looked in her eyes seeing nothing but a black soul, bodies have seen her face before they die slow. “So what, you hop on a plane? And go where? I have connects out my ass to make sure your life is a living hell.” She continued smiling. Soon Damien felt his phone vibrate, he looked at the contact and sighed some walking away from the conflict to answer.

“Princess not now we are working.”

On the other side on the phone was their prize possession. All of theirs. Y/N pouted as she was in her big king sized bed, watching the canopy flow from the vent giving her fresh air. “But papa, where are you guys? It’s getting lates and mama said we can watch a movie…” she whined. Damien forgot about the movie night, it slipped his mind as he found out that Robert was trying to skip down from the police officers they hired. “You are right we are sorry Princesa, let me tell the rest and we will be on our way. Do you want some sweets?” He always spoils her rotten along with Rhea. “Hmm, kettle corn please?” He smiled. “Ok I’ll get it for you. But no getting outta bed waiting for us.” “Yes sir! I love you papa!” She quickly hung up getting in bed grabbing her one of many jumbo pokemon stuffed animals waiting for her caregivers to come home.

“Wrap it up.” Damien called out and Dom nodded going to get a large can out from their trunk. Gasoline. Robert watched him the whole time but was quickly back on Rhea. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.” She hisses and puts her knife away. “You look like you need some weight off though, why don’t you have a nice stroll home.” She smiled and soon a single match was set by Finn as Dominic finished up soaking his belongings and car in the fluid. “The next time I see you, is with our funds along with you so you can keep your fucking scumbag of a life.” She whispered in his ear as he watched his car go in flames and the men walk away to their car. Rhea stood up from her knee and waved goodbye, but first turned around with dark eyes. “Another week. Or else you’re dead.” She smiles hearing the crackle of fire from the burning car. They drove away as they heard Robert cry out in anger and pain as he lost his last way to get out of his situation.

“Ok, she wanted sweets?” Rhea asked removing her bandana and putting it in the glove department. “Kettle corn, Finn did you make sure she drunk some-“ Before Damien could finish, Finn showed him a picture of the water bottle he bought her with times on it. All the way down to the bottom. “Awesome. Dom did you text drew to make sure she was finished with her activities?” Dom blinked forgetting about her homework activities, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t tell drew. “Imma take that as a no. It’s ok I’m pretty sure she finished some of it.” Damien said in hope. “Damien we were busy all day and Drew is a good babysitter-“ “Yea but we all need to make sure she does what she’s suppose to.” He said. Rhea rolled her eyes and pulled up to the side store to get the big bad of kettle corn.

Drew was knocked out on the couch, the team looking down at him in annoyance. “Well I’m glad she’s still breathing.” Damien sighed and went to get the rest of the snacks ready for her. “Drew get up.” Rhea punched him up and he jumped. “Ah fuck don’t scare me like that.” He huffed looking around. “Fuck how long was I out?” “Who knows but you’re in trouble~” Dom teased and Finn pushed him out the way. “You were suppose to be watching her.” Drew soon remembered and sighed. “My bad. I was just tired.” He soon noticed a black blanket was around him and he smiled some.

Earlier when we was watching over the house and her, he was yawning a lot as he was finishing up the dishes and getting Y/N ready for bed. She watched him the whole time rubbing his eyes and bags forming. “Uncle Drew?” She said lightly and he grumbled as he was sat down on the couch. “Sorry munchkin I don’t really feel like playing.” She smiled and nodded as she already had the blanket ready. “Mind going up to bed dear? I’ll be there I’m just getting myself together.” She nodded and laid the blanket to the side as she went upstairs slow. After a while, maybe a hour, she tip-toed back down and she saw he was out cold sleeping. She took the blanket and put it over him and kissed his cheek heading back up so he wouldn’t get in trouble for not tucking her in.

“Welp she would have been down by now if she was awake so she probably sleep.” Rhea sighs. “I’ll check.” Finn saids and he jogs up. Finn then goes in the door and she’s the bed sleeping peacefully, he smiled and slithers in. She had the covers half way on her so Finn fixed the blanket giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. A soft smile was shown after on her face as he went back to the door leaving out. “Yea she’s sleep.” He confirmed and everyone smiled. “We could just have a movie day tomorrow. Get her somebody snacks and then go to the park or something.” Rhea was planning. They come home happily to her, give her anything she needs and wants. Spoil her rotten. That was their princess. No one elses. Everyone else sees them as evil and ruthless people, but in her eyes she sees them as a safe haven, not an ounce of evil no where in sight, and they love every moment.

Nothing was better than having their princess in their arms.

[cozycryptidcorner]

The Bathing Pool (detail), ca. 1753, Hubert Robert

The Princess Who Lives as a Prince (wlw)

I’m gonna do this in the style of an imagine because the idea is juicy and you deserve to have some food in between writing.

Classical/baroque era but leans more heavily on neo-Roman style architecture and fashion

Your older sister was a nanny to the royal twins once they were weaned, so you ended up hanging around them a lot as a playmate. They were mostly identical, safe for the shade of blue in their eyes and the different placements of freckles. Before puberty, they would get mixed up often.

Despite being a lesser noble, you always seemed to get what you want, even with the twins. You were always a bit of a brat, even if a well meaning one.

Your friendship with the princess rapidly evolved into a codependent homoerotic bond during you teenage years, before you were sent away to receive a formal education elsewhere.

You don’t have confirmation of this, but you think the king arranged for it because you were getting too close to his children despite your less than stellar family name.

No one bothered to tell you that the twins got sick a few years after you left until you returned. Your mother says it was to protect you, but you know they wanted you separated from them.

You were in hysterics when you found out the princess died, but every attempt to reach out to the prince to grieve was met with silence. All you want to know is if you can have something to remember her by, but he won’t respond.

But you aren’t one to take silence as an answer, so your attempts to infiltrate the palace became sneakier and sneakier until you manage to get into the prince’s room, faking being a maid.

But the prince isn’t the prince, the prince is actually the princess. And you have a bit of a moment, grief shifting into anger because of how much you thought you lost.

She almost seems relieved to not have to pretend with you, but swears you to secrecy. Begs your forgiveness. Cries in your arms as you pull yourself together.

She tells you everything then and there, about how the country will devolve into a civil war without her family, how two noble factions are plotting their power grabs and pressuring her to marry.

Anyone she marries is a risk to the plan, because any extra person who knows the secret is a risk, but you have an idea.

Her surviving mother is none too pleased, but your proposal of marriage isn’t thrown out. You are a noble lady, even a poor one, and you do have a formal education, speak multiple languages, and your history with the princess means you are likely trustworthy. The king is bedridden and senile from an unknown ailment, and might die any day, so securing the “prince” a wife is of the utmost importance.

The two of you have a quiet, quick, unpopulated ceremony in the castle chapel, leaving many to speculate the nature of your union. The consummation was a private room where the two of you shared the same bed, hands to yourselves, then mussed the sheets too look like a night of Parkin took place.

She stiffly kisses you in public, as though to show people that everything is fine. Forehead kisses, hand kisses, and eventually right on the mouth. Your stomach tingles when her lips brush against hers and you once dared to pull her in for a second one, right in front of the court. She didn’t seem annoyed, though.

You see less of her than you thought you would, though, and it pisses you off. You thought you got your friend back, but playing the part of the future king has taken her away a lot. And you can’t even complain, because the queen doesn’t care if her daughter’s fake wife is at all happy.

Until an assassin crawls into you room at night, likely sent from one of the power-grabbing families. The princess is furious, pulls you from your room and patches you up in hers.

She is clearly fuming, and says that you’ll be sleeping in her room from then on. The extra security of being with the future king doesn’t matter to you as much as being able to sleep in the same bed.

One of her knights (who wasn’t in on the secret) notices that she keeps her hands to herself despite the beauty in her bed (at those words, you blushed, and her eye twitched oddly). She told him it was none of his business.

But he gave her a very special scroll that you opened once he left, promptly bursting into nervous giggles. Sex positions. You’re no maiden, but the blatant artwork turned your face bright red and hot.

She commented on it stiffly, but you noticed there were some… interesting instructions that didn’t necessarily involve… well, the man’s pillar. Your interest sparked.

Fingers and tongues. You squirm in your chair, knowing that she could touch you as readily as you touch yourself.

Do you like the idea? Your body is hot and dripping with the thought of her hands brushing between your thighs. Would she want to? You don’t know, and your stomach drops a little bit.

Yet another assassination attempt, this time when you were out with your attendants. If the princess hadn’t been near he to hear your scream, it would have been over. She gutted the assassin before they even had a chance to beg for mercy and all but drags you back to the palace.

You attend her bath and wash her wounds, fingers lingering on her shoulders and neck a little too long. Something in your body heats and grows wet with the sight of her nakedness. You want. You want, but don’t know how to say it.

“I see you as my husband,” you say once, trying to find the words for it. “Do you see me as your wife?”

“I see you as something more,” she says, elusively.

There’s a tension in the air. You know she feels it too, though you don’t know if she’s afraid to act on it or doesn’t want to. Does she find you as alluring as the men of the court do? You have a line of noblemen and merchants looking to be your secret lover.

“I hunger,” you say to her, “I need- I need to be touched and brought to ecstasy by another.”

Her shoulder tenses, her back turned. “Then find someone to do it.”

“I want you to do it.” You are barely more than a desperate whore, but you’ll beg on your hands and knees.

“A shame I don’t have the correct parts.” She says.

Fuming, you walk over to the bookshelf where she stashed the scroll, standing on a chair to reach the top. With an aggressive bump of your hip, you push her slightly out of the way so you can unroll the illustrations on her desk.

Both of you are heaving with heat as you point to a certain position where both participants are lying on their sides, the man’s hand snaking over the woman’s waste, fingers pushing between her folds.

Before you can verbalize what you want, she’s called away for something.

She’s back after you’ve gotten ready for bed, all tucked in the covers. She doesn’t say anything when she lies down, the bed sinking with her weight.

Then she’s close. Her breasts pressing up against your back, her breath on the nape of your neck, her fingers brushing against your hip.

“Do you want it?” She asks, and you know what she’s talking about.

“Please,” you say, opening your legs a little.

[omnidemidisaster]

⚠️Huge mf tw⚠️

Hatzgang x depressed reader ( hurt comfort )/(angst to fluff)

I've been hella depressed lately and fanfiction is alot cheaper then therapy. If you or a loved one has depression and/or suicidal thoughts, please go get help as soon as you can. Even if you don't think you have a place in this world, someone knows otherwise.

TW/CW: Depression, suicide references ( no suicide but it plays in the story ), implied eating disorder.

"Help me"

"Cmon dude! You know that the third movie is the best one!" Robert's voiced echoed while stepping into Ross's bedroom. The hatzgang and you had just gotten out of school and decided to go to Ross's place to do homework and hang out.

"Nuh uh! First is the best!" Roy argued back with Robert, dropping his back pack on the ground. Ross rolled his eyes at their childish attitudes. He turned to you, smiling so innocently.

"So, wanna get started on math?" Ross asked. You nodded, smiling as best you could. Ross sat you down on the bed, him sitting across from you. Robert was already starting his work while Roy had to call his mom.

It was quiet, pleasant, and comfortable. The sound of pencil scratching paper, humming and page turning filled the room.

Even though the atmosphere was comforting, you had too many things in your mind. Overthinking and negative thoughts pounded in your head. A voice whispered in your ear constantly. Whispering things like

"You shouldn't be happy"

"Look at them, they wouldn't suffer if you were gone"

"Your nothing. Meaningless. You aren't special"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

"If you died, no one would miss you"

You tried to ignore those thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. You ended up finishing your homework quickly, laying back and trying to think of something else.

After a while, the boys finished and moved onto playing video games and talking. Robert was alot more...attentive to you this time around. He noticed you were stressing about something but he couldn't put a finger on it.

You eventually began to drift off to sleep while laying on Ross's bed.

While the boys were playing, Robert noticed your homework was still out. "Hold on guys. Ima go put (Y/n's) homework away real quick" He said.

He grabbed the paper and went to go put it in your folder when he noticed something. He saw a note. Curiousity told him to read it, so he did.

The more he read, the more horrified he became.

It was a suicide letter for when you felt "ready". He couldn't believe his eyes. He knew you were stressed but...this?

"Yo? Robert? Whats taking you?" Roy spat out. His voice was nearly tuned out. "Uhm..Roy...Ross...Get over here.." Robert was shaking, trembling even. Confused, Roy and Ross walked to him, seeing a terrified Robert holding onto a piece of paper.

Ross grabbed the paper and put it between him and Roy and began to read. Ross and Roy read the note, getting alot more disturbed after reading it.

"Oh my god..."

Robert ran to your sleeping body, shaking it. "(Y/n)! (Y/n) wake up!" Robert yelled. Roy backed up into Ross's wall, clutching his mouth in shock.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. You looked up to see Robert who looked like he was about to cry. "Robert...? What's going on?" You sleepily asked.

Ross walked to the two of you and held up the paper. It took you a second to process it, but once you figured it out, you went pale.

"How...how did you find that..." You asked. "I went to put your homework away and I saw it..." Robert explained. "(Y/n). Is this how you really feel?" Ross asked. You were too scared to say anything, but you slowly nodded.

Robert instantly pulled you in a hug. He began to sob hard on your shoulder. Ross pulled you in for a hug as well.

Roy refused to leave the wall he put himself against. He felt so many emotions. Confusion, worry, and for some reason anger. He wasn't angry at your feelings. Not at all. But he was angry that this feeling was eating you alive.

He was angry you never told them. He was angry you even felt this way. He was angry that he didn't try to tune in more often. He was angry at himself because he could of done something.

Roy slide along the wall and sat on the floor, covering his whole face instead.

You just noticed Roy now on the floor, covering himself in this little ball he made himself as. "Roy?" You called out to him, your voice a little shaken. Roy refused to look up.

Ross and Robert looked down at him, full of sympathy. Ross, however, was conflicted. He wanted to comfort both parties, but he knows he can't at the same time.

So which is it? Comfort your potentially suicidal friend who may or may not have planned to leave today, or comfort your friend who has dealt with depression before and PTSD is getting to him, along with other feelings?

Robert noticed Ross's internal struggle and put his hand on Ross's shoulder. "Go comfort Roy, I can take care of (Y/n) from here" He said. Ross opened his mouth to say something, but was immediately silenced.

"Ey ey, no. Just go find out what's troubling him. I promise we will still be here when you get back" Ross nodded, defeated. While Ross sat next to Roy to figure out what was up, you still had Robert right next to you.

"So..about this note...Are you...Are you suicidal?" Robert asked, holding your hands in his own. "W-What? No...I wrote that a long time ago" You tried to lie to him. Robert instantly knew that was a lie. He has looked in that folder plenty of times to put homework away.

"But I've seen your folder without it before today. I put your homework away all the time and I haven't seen it before" He explained. You looked down, ashamed.

"You know, if your going to lie, don't have evidence against you....Well I can't say that for this situation huh?" You laughed a little, tears still coming down your cheeks. Robert put his hand against your cheek, wiping the tear on your face.

"So...how long have you felt this way?" He asked, getting closer to you to hold you. You looked down at your hands. "A long time. Maybe since I was 10?" You said. Robert nodded, rubbing your back.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Robert asked. You tried to find the right words to say. "I don't know...I just didn't want to be a bother on you or Ross or Roy...You all seem so happy and I dont want to ruin it just because of my stupid emotions"

Robert made you face him. "In no way are your emotions stupid. Your feelings matter just as much as ours. You telling us something as serious as this would never ruin us. We will be concerned, we will be worried, hell we might be scared. But we will never be mad or upset at you. Do you understand"

You nodded, a little anxious at his sudden lecture and louder tone. Robert noticed you looking a little frightened and backed away.

"I'm sorry for getting all worked up. It's just we are concerned for you. We love you and we hate seeing you like this" You smiled at him. You smiled without any force or doubt.

Ross popped up behind Robert, Roy now joining you all.

"Sorry I wasn't here for a while. Roy needed some help himself" Ross explained. Robert moved himself aside, pulling you with him. Roy and Ross sat on the empty spaces on the bed.

Ross looked at Roy, nudging his head in your direction. Roy leaned over and hugged you tightly. Your eyes welled up again, returning the hug from the shorter boy.

Roy pulled away once he started to hear you crying, continuing to holding your arms. "H-Hey, don't cry..." Roy wasn't the best at comforting, everyone knew that. But it wasn't like he wouldn't try.

"Please don't cry..." Ross stood up. "I'm going to get us food. (Y/n), what do you want?" Ross asked. You shrugged. "Not hungry"

Ross looked at you with a doubtful expression. "Yea, not buying that. I know you haven't eaten since...I don't remember.." Robert looked at you. "When was the last time you ate?" He asked.

"Wednesday, we had left overs...I didn't want to eat" Roy and Robert had the same expression of worry.

"Yeah, your gonna eat something. Give me some time and I'll make you something" Ross said, not skipping a beat.

He walked out the room, leaving Roy, Robert, and you. "Are you telling us you don't even eat?" Roy asked, unintentionally getting louder. Silence. "But why?" Robert asked.

"Why should I?" You mumbled out. Roy's hands moved to your shoulders. "Because we want you here." He said, sternly. "But are you being honest?"

"(Y/n), I am being as honest and transparent as I have ever been. We want you here. I want you here. If you weren't here, none of us would be the same"

Robert was internally surprised. He had never seen Roy in such a passionate and caring state...in his own way.

"Why do you even care? You are a bully, why do you suddenly care so much now?"

Roy snapped and blurted out. "ITS BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, ALRIGHT?! I love you so much and FUCK it hurts ME seeing YOU in pain"

Roy instantly put his hands back to his mouth after he yelled. Robert chuckled. "Finally got that out, huh?" Roy looked away in embarrassment.

"Roy, it's okay. I love you too" You reassured, putting your hand on his shoulder. Roy looked up at you, his glossy eyes meeting yours. "If anything, I love all of you dearly. I would do anything to see you three happy"

Roy blushed, looking back down. "Then don't leave us. If you would do anything to see us happy, then please...don't go..."

Your heart ached at that. Roy sounded like his walls were crashing down on him. "Please..." His pleads sounded desperate, like he was about to break at any moment.

You looked at him. He was clutching your arm that was on his shoulder, he was blushing and ready to cry, he refused to look at you. You didn't want to see him like this, you didn't want to see any of your favorite boys like this.

"I...I won't go. I won't leave. You three are too precious to leave behind" You said. Robert suddenly hugged you from behind, his cheek rested on the back of your head.

"Good, we don't want you to leave" Robert mumbled. Roy sat up and went back in to hug you. Just then the door opened, Ross seeing you being hugged by Robert and Roy. Ross didn't ask questions, didn't say anything. He just walked up and hugged you as well.

It was...crowded to say the least. But hey, they can't help it. They care too much for you.

After a few seconds, the three boys pulled away from the hug, yet they still held onto you in one way or another.

"I just came in to say foods ready" Ross said. "Cmon, you don't want it to get cold" You looked up at Ross and smiled.

"Alright!"

[athenswrites]

International Alliance of Superhumans [A WIP by Athens]

Brigid crumpled the black mask in their hand, letting it catch fire as their anger flared. They knew it wouldn’t do anything. It was built to withstand their anger. They were built to withstand their own anger. “They lied to you like they lied to me.” Martin stepped forward cautiously, hands out, “…but we can make sure that they never lie to anyone again.”

General Information

Genre: Superhero fic, action POV: Third limited Setting: NYC, 2044, alternate earth where superhumans exist Content warnings: violence, injury, gore, death, family abuse (physical, verbal), alcohol (use)

synopsis, characters, and more below the cut!

Synopsis

Superhumans have existed as long as we have, normal people who suddenly develop seemingly magical powers overnight. That’s why the International Alliance of Superhumans was founded in 1945, to help control these superhumans to better humanity. Now, the Alliance’s ideals and control is falling apart, as the Underground and the Union threaten its weakening rule over the superhuman community.

Civilians

Brigid Roberts (they/them) :: 17 :: child of Nikki Roberts :: distrusting of others :: punch first ask questions later :: don’t quit til you drop dead-type attitude :: tends to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong :: would be in juvie if their grandfather didn’t pay off the administration of Westmoreland :: always wearing their black fingerless gloves

Martin García-Flores (he/him) :: 22 :: older brother of Elías :: born in the Dominican Republic but came to NYC when he was 13 :: workaholic who never stops running :: will take a beating and get back up every single time :: has 4 jobs on top of managing the Underground :: hasn’t cut his hair in 2 years please get him a haircut :: main job is at Hotshot, a cafe in Washington Heights

Elías García-Flores (he/him) :: 15 :: little brother of Martin :: actually very competent and smart (and a little conniving) :: Martin babies him too much :: suffers from multiple sclerosis :: knows his brother's identity but Martin doesn't know that :: massive crush on Madds, won’t tell her :: gamemaster for his d&d group

Melody "Mel" Ghazali (she/her) :: 17 :: childhood best friend of Brigid :: would be the valedictorian of her class if Brigid wasn’t tied GPA-wise :: very sweet :: plays piano and sings in choir :: all of Brigid's self restraint :: wants to help people :: doesn’t know Brigid=Fireball

Maddison "Madds" de Paola (she/her) :: 14 :: the definition of that weird girl in your class :: obsessed with physics and space :: forget not being the sharpest tool in the shed, Madds isn't even in the shed :: could kick everyone's asses academically but has no motivation to do her actual schoolwork

Owen Roberts (he/him) :: 70 :: father of Nikki :: wants the best for his family :: especially after the death of his son :: treats Brigid as another child of his :: smooth talker and good poker face

Andre Vicario (he/him) :: 26 :: RN at local children’s hospital :: resting bitch face :: seems to always know the answer to everything, which freaks everyone else out :: shows up at just the right time :: every single time :: frequent customer at Hotshot

Carolana "Ana" Vicario (she/her) :: 22 :: Andre's little sister :: very very sweet but there is not a single fucking braincell in her head :: works at a local metaphysical shop

Joaquinn "Quinn" Cheres (he/they) :: 22 :: deceased at 21 :: bff turned lover of Martin :: grew up in the Dominican Republic as well before coming to NYC at 13 :: has an uncontrollable attitude problem :: lashes out often at others but otherwise sweet

Nikolas "Nikki" Roberts (she/her) :: 39 :: deceased at 34 :: biological parent of Brigid :: absent parent :: Brigid loved her though :: literally just came out prior to dying, so several people refer to her with he/him pronouns

Valentia "Val" de Paola (they/she) :: 40 :: deceased at 37 :: brilliant Quantum Physicist :: mother of Madds :: obsessed with the concept of multiple dimensions :: never actually got her PhD because everyone though she was batshit crazy

Griffin Douglas (he/him) :: 61 :: close professional friend of Val's :: got her the job researching with Realitypoint

Superheroes

Meremimic (he/him) :: alter-ego to Owen Roberts :: Head Administrator of the International Alliance of Superhumans :: shapeshifter :: wire glasses mantle

Fireball (he/him) :: alter-ego to Brigid Roberts :: the new "Goldenson" of the Alliance :: pyrokinesis :: studying under Meremimic :: partner to Nightpsyche :: mortal enemy to Hueso Blanco :: killer of Àrbol Terror and Quantum Rift :: black eye-mask mantle :: beloved by the public

Nightpsyche (she/her) :: telekinesis :: studying under Meremimic :: partner to Fireball :: plague mask mantle :: goody-two shoes who follows all of IASH's rules :: doesn't play nice with the public

Goldenson (he/him) :: alter-ego to Nikki Roberts :: deceased :: pyrokinesis :: son of Meremimic/Owen :: former partner to Quantum Rift :: murdered by Quantum Rift* :: loved by the city :: everyone mourned his death

RedShield (he/him) :: vitakinesis (healing) :: works in Meremimic's office :: no public presence :: gives Fireball suspiciously relevant advice to his situation

Supervillains

Hueso Blanco (he/him) :: formerly HuesoBlanco :: alter-ego to Martin García-Flores :: radiokinesis (light/radiation manipulation) :: former partner to Àrbol Terror/Àrboltierra :: partner to Morpheus Nox :: mortal enemy to Fireball :: silver skull ring mantle :: current leader of the Underground :: previously member of the Santo Domingo branch of IASH before being relocated to NYC

Morpheus Nox (he/him) :: mysterious new supervillain on the block :: space-time manipulation :: seems to want to continue what Quantum Rift started :: has Quantum Rift's powers and mantle :: partner to Hueso Blanco :: black cloak mantle

Quantum Rift (he/him) :: formerly Quantumshift :: deceased :: space-time manipulation :: former leader of the Underground :: tried to open a black hole by ripping his cloak :: shoved through his own rift by Fireball :: black cloak mantle

Àrbol Terror (he/him) :: formerly Àrboltierra :: deceased :: former partner to Hueso Blanco :: previously part of the Santo Domingo branch before being relocated to NYC :: close ally to Quantum Rift :: brutally murdered by Fireball

Blood Ruby (she/her) :: deceased :: geokinesis :: founder of the Union :: went missing six months ago and presumed dead :: ruby earrings mantle

Squall Line (he/him) :: formerly Squalline:: deceased :: ex-Alliance supervillain :: atmokinesis :: sportscoat mantle (think like an on-air weatherman's jacket)

Worldbuilding

Superhumans

As the introduction says, superhumans have existed as long as humanity has existed. Most major religions have some sort of explanation for why superhumans exist, but in reality, no one knows. The population of superhumans seems to be correlated to the human population, but the true number of superhumans is unknown. It is also unknown how the superhumans are selected, as most develop powers between the ages of 7 and 13. There are several records of powers and mantles being passed down through a family, such as Goldenson and Fireball.

Powers and Mantles

Powers are what make superhumans Superhumans. They vary from superhuman to superhuman, and many common ones are duplicated (like pyrokinesis). The options for powers are essentially endless, with the only primary rule being that the powers don't actually modify the appearance of the superhuman (like wings, horns, skin, gills, or anything like that). Mantles are a little different. Each superhuman, hero or villain, has a wearable mantle, which is tied to their identity as a superhuman. When activated, the mantle provides a costume for the superhuman, which can be changed via simply deactivating and reactivating the mantle with the intention of their costume being changed. Mantles are passed down from superhuman to superhuman; when superhumans die, their mantles (and associated powers) are granted to a new superhuman. For example, Fireball inherited the mantle and powers of Goldenson after his death. Occasionally, new mantles and powers will emerge with the growing human population. The true nature of mantles are not well understood, although in the modern day, microchips and other technology have been added by IASH and the Underground.

Superhuman Names

While superhuman names used to be chosen by the superhumans themselves, nowadays the process is controlled by IASH. Names are given to Alliance-sanctioned superheroes by the Naming Committee, which also changes the superhuman names of supervillains who are expelled from IASH. Modern superhuman names generally are composed of two words; those without a space are IASH superheroes, and those with a space are supervillains.

The International Alliance of Superhumans

After the use of superhumans in combat during World War II, and the human rights violations which occurred via said use, the International Alliance of Superhumans was formed around the same time as the United Nations. While IASH is not part of the UN, they have been granted police-like functions in most states which are members to the UN. IASH, in function, is a superhuman police government which spans international borders, and controls the superhuman populace. All superhumans are subject to register with IASH or be labelled as a supervillain. Supervillains are constantly under surveillance and attack by Alliance-sanctioned superheroes, although sometimes the lesser-supervillains are kept around for PR purposes and to make IASH look better. IASH has branches in most party states in the world, most often in populated cities. Some states, like China, the US, and Russia have multiple branches within their borders, while smaller countries like the Dominican Republic or city-states like Singapore only have one. IASH's current Chief Administrator (in the NYC Headquarters) is the formerly Welsh-based superhero, Meremimic.

The Underground

The Underground, founded in 2020, was the first true alternative movement to IASH. It was founded by ex-Alliance supervillains who felt wronged by their expulsion from IASH. Generally, the Underground is considered to be a more violent movement, although they spread their fair share of propaganda. Quantum Shift was the de facto leader at one point, before the organization was taken over by his student, Hueso Blanco.

The Union

The Union is a new movement, founded only in 2048 by the late-Blood Ruby. Unlike the Underground, the Union was founded by a mix of superheroes and supervillains looking to reform IASH.

Wesmoreland Private Academy

Wesmoreland is a prestigious boarding school, housing 6-12th graders. Mel, Brigid, and Madds attend currently. Val and Nikki are alumni. Owen Roberts is a major donor to the school and the single reason why Brigid has not been expelled for their violent behavior.

Status

Plotting. Previous drafts have been scrapped for good.

Further Commentary

IASH is another one of my older WIPs, and was tied closely to an old (toxic) friend of mine. It has taken me a while to rework it to something I enjoy, but this is approaching that final product. Unlike NYTF, IASH focuses on bringing down the "government", rather than trying to fix it. (They do fix it in the end). I will be adding more to the characters soon! I just wanted to get this out for Archie to see :)

Tag List (let me know if you want to be +/-)

(I pulled most of these either from the old IASH tag list or from the call post) @thetruearchmagos @fraugustends @wordswrittenbynight @missaddledmiss @from-the-depths-into-your-soul @rayesworld @susurrus-mxfluffy @serotoninshift @starlit-skys @guessillcallitart @circa-specturgia @whimsyqueen @elijahrichardwrites @imslowlydisintegrating @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahholowach46

[alexanderlightweight]

In traditional lore, Nephilim are giants. AU where the average Nephilim is 7-8ft tall.

hey babe, ily and ty for the prompt <3 i'd say enjoy but you already told me you did when you read it ^_^

-

The thing Magnus has always detested the most about nephilim, is that they think they can use their size to intimidate others. 

And for some, a seven or eight foot warrior heaven-bent on exterminating you for your birth can be a bit unnerving. Especially when they’re trying to kill you for something you have no control over.  Magnus, however, is a royal, no matter how much he and his father fight. 

It shouldn’t be considered a luxury that Magnus has no such fears or worries, but it is. 

Because even eight feet of muscle and angelic grace and adamas cannot compete with the gifts his father has given him.

Yet, Magnus muses as he eyes a very specific blushing, eight foot tall shadowhunter who is very much pretending not to be enamored with him, there is something to be said for height.

It takes Magnus several nights of debates with both Ragnor and Cat before he decides he’s going for it. The worst Alexander can try to do is try to kill him, and it will be a disappointment but not necessarily a surprise.

Alexander is a surprise, however.

He stutters when Magnus compliments him and trips over his own boots when Magnus steps close and touches him, hand to his arm or back.

He’s like a giraffe, all long limbs and while he’s definitely a predator, he’s not a lumbering force despite his size. He’s cautious and steady, prone to quiet tracking and long distance marks.

Their relationship starts slow and it takes time but it grows.

Alexander is hesitant with Magnus, not because he thinks Magnus will break under his touch, but because he still marvels that he’s allowed to touch.

Alexander is rare, even for a nephilim. Taller and broader than any in his family or his Institute. 

And he’s gorgeous and lovely and he’s so sweet, delicate even,  despite his size.

He seems awed by soft touches, as if Magnus’ gentleness is something he’s never been allowed.

Alexander crumbles under Magnus’ touch like it’s a blow and he shivers under Magnus’ kisses like they’re an avalanche of pleasure.

And Magnus loves it, the way Alexander shudders and surrenders and gives all of himself over to Magnus. 

His large form under Magnus’ and the way he lets his limbs be pinned for Magnus’ delight and perusal. 

He’s cold and hard like marble sometimes, when Magnus binds him down and teases him until he’s writhing at the bonds. 

And Alexander’s anger strikes inwards, not outwards. Magnus seethes every time Alexander pushes his own emotions aside and bows his head at a reprimand.

“You could just kill them, all of them.” Magnus mentions idly one night, from where he’s lying on Alexander and kissing him softly, the day too exhausting for anything else.

And Alexander smiles, something dark and dangerous that Magnus adores and murmurs, “where’s the fun in that? I learn so much more this way.”

Magnus watches closer, after that. The way that Alexander’s hunters began to close ranks, around Alec and around their relationship. 

Robert shows up once and leaves as fast as he arrived. He’s a measly six foot compared to his heir and whatever business he had, he regrets it as he turns tail.

“The clave lost the soul sword.” Alexander tells him that night, “he thought he could manipulate me into not telling you.” And Alexander smiles, sharp and vicious, “I showed him the error of his ways.”

And Magnus, Magnus can’t take it and he pouncesand, as always, Alexander goes where Magnus wants. 

It’s only the cushioning of magic that saves his muscles from bruising but Alexander doesn’t care. Not with the way he’s reaching out to hold onto Magnus and the way he’s pliant and sweet when Magnus tells him to be good.

“My darling, my sweet boy.” Magnus croons and Alexander looks at him with wonder and awe. One of Raziel’s own children, worshiping demonspawn more devotedly than he does his own divine sire. 

—

The first time Alexander is injured, Magnus shows actually what he thinks of other nephilims.

He lets loose his power, throwing every single shadowhunter no matter their size and angelic grace into the walls. He strangles one of them with angry red magic, lifting all seven feet of them off the ground before throwing their still form to the ground.

“I suggest,” Magnus says, cold and fierce and covetous, “that you open those doors.”

The clave has tried to prove their influence and if Alexander’s Institute is to be forcibly taken from him — because of the actions of others. 

Then Magnus will simply take Alexander, who has dedicated and promised the entirety of himself to Magnus, by force. 

The infirmary wards shatter with a flick of magic and Magnus throws the medical team surrounding Alexander out the windows.

Which was not how he’d planned it — Cat always gets upset when he’s rough on medical personnel but he thinks she’ll forgive him this once— and he’s at Alexander’s bedside in a breath.

Alexander is furious and heaving and fighting with inhuman snarls against the bonds holding him.

He’s breaking them, Magnus realizes, by sheer force of strength and will. Fighting against the straps like he’s never once tried to with anything Magnus has tied him down with.

“Sweetheart,” Magnus says and he cups Alexander's jaw, unafraid of the snarling and snapping maw of needle-sharp teeth.

Alexander goes still instantly, the eerie and inhuman glow of his eyes fading.

“Magnus.” He gasps and suddenly there is a snap as a strap breaks and he’s reaching out, large hand trembling as he places his hand over Magnus.

It’s large and calloused and shaking as he clings to Magnus and Magnus croons and leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“Darling, here. Let me help.” Magnus says and snaps away the remaining bonds. He’s marveling that Alexander just snapped through what looks like adamas and leather just because he wanted to touch Magnus. 

That Alexander wants Magnus enough to splinter and shatter angelic and divinely blessed metal. 

“Magnus.” 

Is whispered like a prayer and he’s being hauled down like he weighs no more than a feather.  Alexander keens as they kiss and his arms wrap so tightly around Magnus that it hurts and Magnus wants him to never let go. 

“I have you, my darling.” Magnus whispers, tender and true as he nuzzles Alexander's jaw. 

And then they’re gone. 

And a few weeks later, Magnus watches his extremely tall, giraffe of a boyfriend climb a palm tree in three body lengths and he hums in contentment. Alexander is shirtless and Magnus is very much enjoying the show he gets every time Alexander insists on fetching a coconut rather than Magnus using his magic. 

Truly, a little extra height can be quite enjoyable.