#also this does not leave the tags but i am also grateful to rabbit for encouraging me to post art more. twas hard in the beginning

[xisanamii]

yosen's double-ace is good at making brown-haired people under 182cm a little flustered

(also thanks rabbit's sexy big humongous galaxy brain for giving birth to murasaku. i haven't been the same since then.)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

my fair lady: chapter thirteen

you know the drill, read these first. also recommend that you read this bonus drabble in case you missed it. obligatory @romeoandjulietyouwish tag!

As an only child and a princess to boot, Keyleth grew up with the run of the castle back in Zephrah, neither needing nor caring to ask permission from going wherever she pleased. Vax tries not to laugh as he watches her start to claw at the walls, pacing tight, annoyed circles in her chambers, sighing as she stares out the window down at the beautiful gardens she's been asked not to wander. When he gently suggests they go visit her father for dinner, she takes the out with relief.

(He takes the out as well; what acute torture it is, to be alone with her, by order of the sovereign no less, and to have to stay so far from her, to keep his hands by his side and not on her face, her waist, tangled in her hair. She paces like a caged animal, and his own wild instinct is to smash the windows and set her free, but here he stands, a man of honor and duty and not at all a feral beast, eyes following her like the rabbit watches the fox's approach, until he, too, feels the need to scratch at the door, just to breathe air that doesn't smell maddeningly of her.)

It's strange now, walking in step behind her with someone else. This Derrig fellow seems nice enough, wears his new station with pride, but until Vax sees him in action, he's not going to trust him to be enough to keep Keyleth safe. They're just walking down a set of corridors in the Ashari wing, but Vax can tell by the relaxing of her shoulders that Keyleth is already less tense. She wasn't built for this, enclosed spaces and thick marble walls. She was made for the wind, for crisp autumn airs and raging summer storms, a cherry blossom in perpetual motion.

They reach the sovereign's chambers, and just as Keyleth is walking inside, Vax on her heels, he hears a familiar voice call his name. He doesn't have to look to see who it is—he knows her voice better than his own, hears it chastise him in his head whenever he takes his most sinful liberties with the princess—but he does anyway, and there she is, his sister, bounding down the hall toward him. He hesitates, knowing his orders to follow Keyleth everywhere, but there's a hand on his arm. Keyleth smiles at him. "Go to her. I'll be alright with Derrig and my father's guards."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He ducks his head in a bow and spins to charge toward his sister. He hears the door close after Keyleth and Derrig just as he scoops her up in his arms, breathing in the scent of their little cottage and the air from Zephrah. He holds her as tight as he dares, both unimaginably grateful that she is here with him and desperate for her to leave this place of death and horror.

"Vax, oh gods, you're alive," she's babbling in his ear. She pulls out of his grip to put her hands on his face, inspecting him closely. "The sovereign told me you were injured on the journey here, and then yesterday's attack—are you alright? Have you seen a healer? Do you need—"

He shuts her up by hugging her again. "I am fine, Vex'ahlia, alive and well, I promise. You don't need to worry so much."

"I worry because you charge headfirst toward death as if your life isn't precious to me," Vex argues back. "I worry about what you'll throw it away for."

Vax gives her a look, and she gives him one right back. There's a small room off to the side, one typically reserved for storing extra linens and supplies. Vax grabs his sister by the arm and tugs her inside, preferring to have this out behind closed doors. He crosses his arms and waits.

Vex has never been good with silences. He watches her fingers start to twitch, and it takes only fifteen seconds before she breaks down. "This is ridiculous. You know I hate this. You, so ready and eager to lay down your life for some princess who would have you replaced without a second thought. You matter, Vax'ildan, and I am tired of you pretending that you exist to die for someone else!"

He blinks slowly, keeping his smile easy and placid. "Are you done?"

She crosses her arms to match his and huffs, "Yes."

He leans forward and kisses his sister's forehead, which immediately takes the wind out of her sails. "You are the very best sister, did you know that?"

"Don't patronize me," she grumbles.

"I'm not. Any man should be so lucky as to have someone who cares for him half as much as you do me." He grabs her hands and squeezes them. "Please do not think that I live to die. My life is not so bleak! I hope to live for a long time with you by my side. But, yes, I have a duty, to my sovereign and to K—to the princess." Her eyes flare at his slip. "A duty not too dissimilar from yours. Do you think I don't worry about you, Captain of the Royal Guard? Do you think I don't have nightmares of you atop the castle walls with an arrow in your neck?"

"It's not the same." She pauses. "Of course, it is not only for your life that I worry, but your heart as well." She gives him a gentle but pointed look.

He frowns. "Now's not the time to be talking about my heart, Vex'ahlia."

"You're with her every day. That's not conducive to the healing process."

He doesn't tell her that he's not interested in healing. He doesn't tell her that the ache is the only thing that lets him know that he's alive, that the razor-edge of her proximity—too close but by the gods, never close enough—is a promise he's keeping to himself: if she has to suffer for his carelessness, then he will suffer twice as much for twice as long. "I love you, my dear sister, but I am telling you to let it go."

"I'm not going to let it go," she insists, but Vax can hear the surrender in her voice. She sighs. "Well, I suppose I should tell you that your suspicions about the attack yesterday were correct."

"What do you mean?"

"I was with Percy and the others when Pike interrogated several of the attackers' corpses." She makes a face. "That is some weird fucking magic, by the way. Talking corpses? This is why I don't pray. Anyway, Percy told me that you noticed that the Ashari were being targeted, and the attackers themselves confirmed this."

Vax grips her hands tightly. "What have you learned?"

"They were hired mercenaries, told to wreak havoc on the evening. Chaos was the point, but they were also told to aim for those in Ashari dress when they could."

"Who hired them?"

Vex shrugs. "They didn't know. They received their orders from an intermediary. They also didn't know why they were hired, just what they were supposed to carry out here."

"But what of Keyleth? She was taken and they nearly absconded with her from the citadel grounds."

"Apparently different mercenaries received different instructions. None of the ones Pike spoke with were instructed to do anything with Princess Keyleth."

Vax rolls his eyes at her emphasis and ignores the implication. "This is important information, sister. Thank you for telling me."

"Of course." She punches his shoulder. "I am glad you're alright. Even if you are an idiot."

"Yes, but it is my idiocy that you love most."

"Well, it's certainly not your face."

"My face is your face, Vex'ahlia, we are practically identical."

"Please, you wish you were this pretty."

And what can he do but laugh, as he wraps his twin sister up in another hug. He knows how selfish has been, in so many ways and with so many people, and Vex'ahlia, as petty and self-interested as she can be, loves him anyway, forgives him for all the ways he could ruin her life. He doesn't deserve her love, but by the gods he is grateful for it anyway.

.

Despite his young age, Percy has accomplished a good number of things for which he is quite proud. The invention of his unique weapon, for one, which has most impressed the sovereign, as well as his spearheading a campaign to improve the functionality and design of Zephrah's many windmills. He has had one-on-one meetings with the sovereign about the Ashari Nation's technological future more times than he can count and has presented his proposals and findings in front of the full court of the land, and yet nothing has ever made him quite so nervous as this meeting between the Ashari and the Draconians, held in a neutral space in the castle and monitored by a bevy of Syngornian guards to keep the peace. He's joined by Ladies Allura and Kima, and they are meeting in a small dining room with three dragonborn representatives of Draconia. In the roughly twenty-four hours since the attack on the Emerald Citadel took place, no evidence has been found to suggest that either previously warring nation authorized the slaughter, but the trios on either side of the table regard the other with suspicion all the same, determined not to be caught unawares in what very well might be an elaborate trap.

Lady Allura is the first to speak. "Thank you for joining us. Our gracious Syngornian hosts are still investigating this horrific attack on their home, and we do not want to rush the fact-finding process, but in the meantime, Sovereign Korrin would like us to...take the temperature, so to speak, of King Kruvanis and of Draconia as a whole. We have obviously spent many weeks here discussing and negotiating the terms of our still-unsigned peace treaty, and we are loath to let that hard work go to waste if we do learn that neither side is at fault for what happened yesterday."

The blue dragonborn sitting in the center narrows her eyes. Percy believes her to be Draconia's defense minister. "You ask us to meet about a peace when we have no reason to believe you weren't behind yesterday's slaughter?"

Kima rolls her eyes. "How can you possibly imagine we were responsible for that? The Ashari bodies outnumber the Draconian and Syngornian bodies three to one. We're still trying to identify all of our dead! You're lucky we're even willing to speak with you right now since obviously Draconia is more likely to be behind all of that death."

The three Draconians bristle, but Allura quickly cuts in. "What Lady Kima is trying to say is that until answers are found, we have little reason to trust or not trust each other. It behooves all of us to proceed as if the peace accords are still agreed upon until we have motive to behave otherwise."

The defense minister ignore Allura's words, instead spitting at Kima, "What a better way to cloak an attack on Draconia's most important representatives than to murder your own to cover your tracks! We lost several of our highest-ranking court members, including the king's own brother!"

Percy slams his fist on the table. "The sovereign's only child was dragged from this citadel and nearly shoved in a getaway vehicle before being stabbed with a poison blade! She is lucky to be alive right now!"

"But she is alive! Curious how lucky she is!"

Percy is seething. To suggest that the Ashari would be behind such a deadly affair is an insult the likes of which he could never have imagined. Percy might have lost some respect for the sovereign when he agreed to marry Keyleth off to King Kruvanis's braggart of a son, but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never put Keyleth's life so acutely at risk. From his peripheral, he can see Kima, ever the firecracker, itching to launch herself across the table and attack the defense minister.

Allura extends her hands in a gesture of peacekeeping. "Please, these accusations get us nowhere. The purpose of this meeting was not to lay the blame for this tragedy at any nation's feet, but to discuss the status of the already agreed-upon peace treaty. Are we to take from your words that King Kruvanis is not prepared to honor this treaty if we are to learn that neither of our nations is responsible?"

The red dragonborn to the defense minister's left, whom Percy has never seen before, speaks up. "Our king is not ready to make any promises until the investigation into the matter has concluded. We do not negotiate with potential terrorists."

The defense minister stands from the table, and the other two quickly follow suit. "If this was the sum total of things you wished to discuss, then I believe this meeting has concluded. We would prefer not to say anything further without the express permission of our king." Without another word, the trio files out, leaving Percy and the others in stunned silence.

Allura sinks back in her seat. "Well, that went brilliantly."

"By the Dragon, I miss being at war with those fuckers," Kima grumbles.

"Do we suppose that Kruvanis ordered the attack because he wasn't happy with the terms of the accord?" Percy asks.

Kima snorts. "I can't imagine. They got some good shit in that deal. They'd be stupid to sacrifice it all in favor of continuing some war they weren't likely to win."

Allura sighs. "I suppose we should go inform the sovereign of our fruitful conversation." She pushes herself up from the table.

"You two go on," Percy says. "I'll fill the princess in on our...stalled negotiations."

Allura nods. "Very well." She and Kima exit, leaving Percy and the ring of Syngornian guards, who begin exchanging uncertain looks as Percy sits at the table, absentmindedly cleaning his glasses with the hem of his doublet. He may have been the one to ask the question, but Percy just can't shake the feeling that the Draconians were not behind the attack on the peace ball. He'd read over the terms of the treaty dozens of times, and Kima was right to say that Draconia benefited greatly from them, perhaps even more so than the Ashari Nation. But they are clearly not as convinced of the Ashari's innocence as he is of theirs, given their unwillingness to discuss the treaty without more answers. He can't imagine how they could think that the Ashari would benefit from the loss of so many lives of their own.

Percy pauses, brow furrowing. Benefit. Who benefited from yesterday's attack? Not the Ashari, that's for sure, and from the sound of things, neither did the Draconians. It was Syngorn's own home that was invaded, so he cannot believe that the High Warden ordered the assault. Someone somewhere got what something they wanted from the bloodshed, and figuring out what that something is is the key to finding the perpetrator. Percy pushes his glasses back onto his face and stands, striding out past the citadel guards straight toward Keyleth's chambers.

[givemaycoffee]

It seems you're feeling better today. I'm glad! Have some more questions :)

11, 39, 47, 78, 90

I am! :) And capitalizing on it as best as I can. Thanks for more of these 🥰

11. Do you have any strange phobias?

I don’t know if it’s strange but I have trypophobia. It’s strong enough that I have developed coping mechanisms to deal with it. It can become like an intrusive thought once it’s on my mind. I filter for it on here, and I’m always grateful when someone I follow actually uses the tag so I don’t have to see it. I also haven’t bothered to internalize how it’s spelled (even tho looking at it now it’s really not complicated), but I have the word saved in my notes app because originally I had to Google it and let me tell you… not a fun experience!

39. What time is it?

Aha, speaking of geography. It’s 4:53 pm :3

47. Do you have any obsessions right now?

Not really! Thank goodness tbh. I hyperfixated on Fire Emblem: Three Houses pretty hard when I got into it (June or July), and went down the Dimileth rabbit hole first, then Sylvix. I’m still enjoying Sylvix, but it’s not compulsive like it was when I was well and truly hyperfixated. I’ve been avoiding finishing the CF route, tho, so I’m currently playing Spiritfarer.

78. Can insanity bring on more creativity?

Uh oh! You’ve unlocked Opinions™. The first of which is that insanity is a word I find uncomfortable because it isn’t an official psychological term anymore, it’s mostly used in law these days to indicate severe mental illness, and when the average person genuinely uses it to describe another person they’re often using it to demonize said person’s mental illness. However, I don’t think anyone involved here intended that, so I am just mentioning it because I have met a lot of folks for whom it is a word that personally hurts them, and thus I feel the need to say something.

To answer the actual question, I think it’s looking at it wrong, really. Rather than bringing on creativity, I think mental illness tends to result in unique experiences, both positive and negative, and art is an outlet for all of it. Van Gogh had what seems to be manic depression, and art was a way to express himself. Art therapy is very much a thing for folks with all sorts of mental illnesses. It allows you to explore life, yourself, whatever you want in a way that doesn’t require words (or does, if you express yourself through writing), and can maybe communicate some of what’s going on in your head to someone else who otherwise might have very little understanding. And it can even help you understand yourself, too, sometimes.

So yeah, I think ultimately unique experiences and perspectives make a person more creative, especially in the eyes of someone whose own experiences are very different. It’s all relative, baby! This is also why diversity is super important (beyond just being fundamentally a good thing), because diverse people have diverse ideas and diversity of thought leads to creativity and innovation :3

90. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

First of all - this one is hilarious. Secondly… cry. Fun fact about me, if a zombie apocalypse were to happen, I would like to die, thanks! Don’t wanna deal with it, too scary and depressing. Anyhow - after crying, I would probably do the boring thing which is see if they react to anything, including movement and speech, and go from there. If no movement, J and I get up and leave and probably call my in-laws because they’re the real adults around here. 😂

[voltagesmutter]

Obey Me: Asmo - “Toys aren’t only for playtime”.

Fandom: Obey Me  Pairing: Asmo x MC (F)  Prompt: “Toys aren’t only for playtime”.Warning: Toy’s in public use.  - Day 12 from @voltage-vixen​ christmas list. Warning: Toy’s in public use. Notes: For my second raffle winner @katattacktime​ ​ - Thank you for entering.

She should have known better. She should have known that christmas shopping with Asmo was not going to be a simple walk in the park. And she really should have known that when he said ‘Let’s go toy shopping’ that the twinkle of mischief in his eyes meant a different type of toy to the one she was thinking of.

“Asmo! I-! Put that down,” Her face as red as the rouge, leather collar he was holding up.

“Oh come on sweetie, you would look so adorable in this,” He giggled, stretching out the collar to the small customisable dog tag on it. ‘Please, please, please!”

“Asmo, I am not wearing that.” Hiding her face in her hands as utter embarrassment took over. 

“Okay okay,” He rolled his eyes, setting it down. The shop Asmo had dragged her into seemed innocent enough at the front but through the twisted racks of clothing was a hidden ‘adults only section’ behind a beaded curtain. There was floor to ceiling shelves of various sex toys from whips to fleshlights, vibrators, chains attached to leashes and everything you could imagine. The couple had spoken about bring toys into the bedroom before but wanted to experience it together, Asmo was the king of sex toys both using them by himself and with previous one-night stands. Whereas she was new to the idea. “Let’s look about yeah?”.

His hand intertwined with hers, walking from section to section until something caught her eye. A cock ring with ribbed edges, attached with bullet rabbit ears. 

“You like it?” Asmo wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze as she nodded. “How does it- how does it work?” Asmo let out a little chuckle at her question, he was a sex guide guru. “So this goes under the balls,” He snapped the bigger of the two circles, “And this smaller ring goes in front of them.” gesturing to the ribbed smaller ring.

“Does that not hurt…?” Eyes widened as he stretched the latex over his fingers.

“It’s really stretchy, although with my size we need the biggest one available,” Waggling his eyebrows as she playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “But the point is to keep it erect, it prolongs climaxes.”

“Oh you definitely need that then.” She laughed. It was his turn to go red at her comment, letting out a ‘hmph’ as he tickled her side making her squeal. “Okay, okay, and these bits?” She flicked the rabbit ears.

“These rest against your clit,” Asmo clicked the side and watched her gasp as they came to life, vibrating up and down in a speedful motion. “So what do you think?” He grinned, she struggled more with penetrational climaxes, her clit being the spot that made her eyes roll and her voice sing. He didn’t even finish the question and she already grabbed a box from the stand and made her way to the counter, leaving a mischievous Asmo to grab a few additional surprises.

-

“Asmo, these are beautiful.” Holding up the underwear he had sneakily brought her. Simple black lace with pink ribbons tied to the side.

“Why don’t slip them on now?” Fingers already brushing on the edge of her skirt and ready to hitch it up.

“Asmo!” She squealed, “We have dinner, we can’t be late.. Again,”. Last time they were late to dinner after some light kisses turned into the bed rocking, Lucifer had forced them apart for a week - although when they were reunited their room rocked constantly for almost two days straight. 

“I know, I know!” Wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her close. “Why don’t you slip them on for dinner, I think it will be hot to know you're wearing these.” He pressed teasing kisses along her forehead, moving down her cheek before hovering against her lips. “And when we're back, I’ll get to take them off and we can use our new stuff,” He pressed a gentle kiss before back, “Sounds good?” She gave a quick nod, excited at what was to come. The man in the shop had recommended some water based lubed to go with it, and the girl had ended up spending an extra ten minutes listening and being shown the best lubrication recommendations. 

She hitched up her skirt, slid off the underwear she was wearing and kicked it to Asmo with a cheeky wink. Stepping into the material she pulled them up, lifting her skirt up playfully as Asmo gave her a teasing wink and a low growl. She was so overcome with his gift she failed to notice the small vibrator built into the pad of the cotton that rested right against her slit.

-

“Will you excuse me,” Asmo’s hands on top of hers giving it a squeeze as he stood up and left for the bathroom. The rest of the brothers and the girl carrying on their conversation whilst indulging in their food.

“So I seen ya come back with lotsa bags, watch ya buy?” Mammon slurping down his soup between words.

“Mammon, don’t speak and eat it’s rude,” Lucifer sighed, resting his face on his palm. “But yes dear, you seemed rather happy when you came home. Something good I presume?”

“Oh just, some.. new underwear and stuff,” Her face blushing slightly as she tried quickly to think of a response. Mammon opposite her chocking slightly, his face red at her words. 

“Beel! Lucifer, Beel’s eating my food!” Leviathan huffing as Beel took several spoonfuls from his bowl.

“You weren't eating and I’m just so hungry,” Beel whined before kicking Levithan under the table, “That’s for being an ass!”

“Ouch, Beel you idiot! That was me,” Satan cursed, glaring at his brother who bashfully apologised.

The young girl would have laughed if a warm flood hadn’t spread through her, something felt off and it wasn’t the toad-soup. A gentle buzz grew between her thighs, not loud enough to be heard but strong enough to be felt. The underwear vibrated and rubbed right against her sweet spots. 

“Oh god…” She gasped, gripping the spoon in her hand tightly. All of the brothers quickly turned to her at her chosen words of outburst. “S-sorry, I thought I saw a.. toad move,”.

She knew the minute Asmo walked in with a smug grin on his face that this was his doing. The vibrations pulsing against her making her core clench tightly in anticipation. 

“You okay there?” Asmo teased at her red face, placing  his hand on her and giving it a squeeze.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” She hissed into his ear, the spoon bending in her grip as her stomach tightened. 

“I heard fucking and I can’t wait,” He winked, flashing her a smile that made a new flood of liquid gush between her thighs.

“We were just on about your shopping trip before Levithan so rudely interrupted,” Lucifer continued on with the conversation.

“Oh really now,” Asmo grinned, as the girl rubbed her thighs together underneath the table, “What did my sweetie tell you?”

“Underwear shopping,” Belphegor grunted, scooping up the soup before dropping it back down in the bowl. Beel’s eyes watching his movements as he licked his lips.

“We also did some toy shopping didn’t we sweetie?” Chuckling in amusement at the glare she shot him. “For Christmas of course!”

“Well that’s very good of you, getting a head of the game.” Lucifer nodded. The poor girl felt the tension in her stomach reaching boiling point, biting her lip and tensing her jaw to keep the moans from slipping out. The underwear vibrated perfectly against her clit, pretending to rub her eyes as they rolled to the back of her head. She was close, very close and she looked desperately to Asmo to stop this before she climaxed right there.

“You idiot! Beel! Lucifer, he bit me! Beel let go!” Belphegor screamed out, everyone at the table turning their attention to him. The youngest of the brothers had his twin latched onto his fist, the spoon and part of his hand disappeared into Beel’s mouth. 

“Diavolo, give me strength.” Lucifer sighed, getting up quickly as he ran to the other of the table, “Beel, let go!”

The rest of the brothers, excluding Asmo, got up to help pry Beel away. The young girl grateful for the distraction as the vibrations sent her over the edge, clenching over nothing as she came. Small whines caught into her palm as she quickly covered her mouth, the yells of Belph masking any noise she made. As she came down the buzzing stopped, Asmo reaching into his pocket and turning off the vibrations. 

“I hate you..” She panted, her skin hot and her blood on fire whilst her high finally came to a stop and her thighs stopped clamping together. “I can’t believe that just happened…”

“Hehe no you don’t sweetie,” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he pulled her closer. “Besides,” He whispered softly into her ear, “Toys are not just for playtime or in the bedroom.” He winked and nipped her ear before pulling away, standing up and pulling her with him. The young girl shoving her chair in, mortified at the wet spot slightly visible on the fabric. 

As they got round the corner from the room, Asmo pressed her against the wall, his erection pressing into her thigh as he nipped her lower lip. “What do you say we go play then?” His grin smug as her lust filled eyes sparkled up at him and a small nod was her response. 

Toys and teasing became a big part of their relationship after that night, each trying to out the other. A handjob under the table at breakfast, eating out and a vibrator whilst on the phone, blowjobs with flavoured lube under the library desk, fucking against Lucifers desk, vibrating panties worn to school. But the best thing about their sex life, was the trust they shared with each other. - That and the cock-ring, that was used to the point it ran out of batteries within 24 hours of having it.

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[bangtan-madi]

Year of the Rabbit — One: Scarlet

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, mentions of Hoseok x Yoongi

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff

Word Count — 2.4k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight. 

Part — 1 / 5(?)

Warnings — language, excessive cuteness/fluffiness that might cause cardiac arrest

— Next

The doorbell chimes, alerting you to the entrance of a new customer, a cold breeze blowing behind him. Your gaze shifts from your intricate arrangement of peach blossoms and orchids in the window display towards the tattooed man who's draped in variations of black clothing. You eye his hefty combat boots, arching an eyebrow as he steps off the welcome mat and tracks snow into your shop.

"I'm sorry, sir. I think you have the wrong store. We sell flowers here, not dumbbells. Try the idiot and his gym next door, and maybe before you track mud and snow into my damn store?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, backtracks to the welcome mat, and makes a show of him wiping his boots. His eyes lock with yours the entire time, and he gestures with his hands after a few moments. "Happy now, your worship?"

You eye the twenty-something up and down, tilting your head to the side as if trying to make up your mind. "Nah, you're still here."

As you turn back to your work, Jungkook steps into the shop, ignoring your last comment. "Well, I've come here to place an order, in case you're wondering. Do you have any florists that are actually nice to customers?"

"Since when do you want to buy flowers?" Brushing your hands onto your jeans, you move from the window display back to the other side of the counter. Offering a forced smile to the brunet on the other side, you muster your most obnoxious customer-service voice and ask, "What can I get for you, sir?"

Jungkook rests his forearms on the counter and leans forward a bit, coming eye-to-eye with you. "How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

Tapping your chin, you offer, "Well, I would want to know specifically who this 'fuck you' is directed towards, but a good place to state would be Geraniums for stupidity, Foxglove for insincerity, Meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations basically say 'you have disappointed me,' and orange lilies will show the hatred of a thousand suns."

Jungkook's grin widens. "Perfect. I'll take a dozen arrangements. Deliver them as soon as possible to my best friend's apartment."

"That'll be six million won."

His eyes bulge at the price tag. "Six million!"

You pout at him, sticking your lower lip out and batting your eyelashes. "Not worth bothering your best friend after all, Gym Bunny?"

Jungkook's facade breaks down at the mention of your longtime nickname. He snickers, his grin causing smile lines to appear at the corners of his eyes and tops of his cheeks. His laughter is contagious, eventually enticing you to do the same.

"Damn, I am glad you're back," he sighs.

You'll never admit it, but those words send a wave of warmth through you. Jungkook is someone you've been friends with for a long time, since before high school, before puberty, before being best friends with the opposite sex was awkward. For that, you're grateful. There's only been one thing that hasn't changed since then, and that's how you both feel about each other. You've been attached at the hip for over a decade. For most of your teen years and early adulthood, there wasn't a day that went by when you hadn't at least texted or called. 

Even as you grew older, your lives turned out pretty similarly. Jungkook took a few college classes, decided it wasn't really for him, and opened up his own gym with fellow Busan-native Park Jimin. Between the two men's drive and natural athleticism, you weren't surprised at all when the business took off. You joined forces with fellow botany major students Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi, and shortly after completing year two out of a three-year program, the trio of flower-children put a hefty down payment on the shabby chic building in old Seoul. By summer's end, the flower shop was in full swing and getting orders from both individuals and companies for events all over the city.

As luck would have it, Jungkook and Jimin's gymnasium is right across from your shop. This makes for healthy competition between the two groups, but no more so than between old friends. You both have always tried to out-do one another, but it's always with friendly intent. You harass each other like it's the last thing you'll ever do—you call him Gym Bunny, and he refers to you as his Flower Child—but in the end, there's no one you'd rather have in your corner than the boy standing in front of you.

"You've said that about seven times since you picked me up from the airport at Christmas."

"And I mean it, every damn time!"

"You sure about that?" you chuckle, shoving his shoulder from across the counter. "I mean, a single fall semester and you've broken up with your lady friend the second I came back."

He brushes your comment off with a wave of his hand. "Aish, that wasn't you. That breakup was a long-time coming. Thought it would be best to do it before the holidays so we wouldn't have that awkwardness to deal with on top of family drama."

You make a sound of disbelief and shift over to the back room. Jungkook follows you as you pick up several more empty vases and begin to take them to the adjacent window display, two at a time. 

"I still feel bad for you, Kook. I mean, you didn't have anyone over Christmas or New Year's. Now it's the Lunar New Year, and not only do you not have a girlfriend, but the boys are also out of town."

Jungkook shrugs as if it's nothing. "I have you!"

"Well, actually..." Biting your lower lip, you turn towards him with a sheepish expression. "I kinda have to work late today to get some orders done for a wedding next week. With the holiday, and my fearless business partners out of the country, I'm cutting it close as is. I didn't want to wait until the weekend was over before getting those in. I was going to tell you, but..."

"Oh, I got you." He shakes his head fervently. "No, trust me, I understand. You're a business owner. You gotta do what you gotta do." He glances around the shop. "If it's worth anything, I like what you've done with the place."

You follow his eyes, spotting the tiny handing lanterns and ruby cards handing along the periphery of the shop. Even with two of the three owners absent, you wanted the store to feel celebratory. The small space was now a perfect blend of vibrant viridian and striking scarlet. You'd put in the effort a week or so ago, and it feels nice to have that acknowledged.

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"Um..." You gesture towards the supply room behind you. "Go back there and look at the register on the wall. Tell me how many sets of gold and red ribbon I have."

Jungkook eagerly slips into the back room and begins doing as you ask. In his absence, you turn moving merchandise across the shop.

"Yoongi and Hoseok leave you hanging on this order, huh?"

"Not their fault, they didn't know we were going to get such a massive job while they were away." You return to the backroom for the last set of vases. "Those two haven't had a day off in a while; between the final year at university and the shop being as busy as it is, there's always something to do. I told them I could handle it, no problem. It's about time they had a holiday by themselves. Didn't realize they'd go as far as Hawaii..."

Your companion snickers, "At least Yoongi-hyung will get some sun for once. And you have five rolls of red ribbon, and two rolls of gold."

You snap your fingers, an idea popping into your head as the final set of vases are set in the window display. "That reminds me: I need to place an order for that as well."

"What else do you have to do before you close?"

Biting your lower lip, you grab your notebook and pull the pencil from the spine, going down your list. "I need to handle the details of that big order, which includes a call with the clients. I need to get the vendor to confirm the details of a separate order. I also need to place an order for some supplies, which now...includes...ribbons." You scribble the notes in the margin so you don't forget. "Also a few admin things like paying the rent and utilities, which usually Yoongi handles...Oh! And changing the irrigation, which Hoseok usually does every month...and I think I'm a week late—shit."

Seeing your uneasy state and hearing you ramble on about all your tasks, Jungkook places a hand on your shoulder. You jump a little at his touch, nearly dropping your notebook as he breaks you out of your mental spiral. Luckily, your best friend has the reflexes of a cat. He catches it before it makes it to the ground.

"Are you sure you're okay, [Y/n]?" His voice is soft and concerned, nothing like the playful and teasing tone of before. "I know I don't know much about running a flower shop or ordering from vendors or cleaning out the irrigation-whatever...but you need someone to help you. You can't possibly get all of this done alone, tonight. Can't any of this wait until tomorrow?"

You shake your head with a sigh. "The vendors are closed after tonight and won't open until Monday. And the wedding those flowers are for is Friday. If I don't order tonight, they won't ship in time to get here. And the bills are a little late as is; I have to take care of those or Yoongi will kill me. And the irrigation is super important for plant health—"

"—But your mental and physical health is important, too," Jungkook reminds you with a gentle insistence. His brown eyes stare straight ahead, showing you with his attention how serious he is. "When did you get here this morning?"

"Um...I don't remember exactly, it was sometime around six—"

"—And what time did you leave last night?"

"Nine-ish?"

The brunet sighs, running a tattooed hand over his face. "You're gonna burn out, jagiya. You can't keep this up."

"It's only for tonight, I promise! Once this order is in, and these few things are taken care of, I'll be better about my schedule. I promise."

Jungkook shakes his head at your stubbornness, raising his hands in mock defeat. "All right, all right. You win. What can I help with?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes," he laughs. "What do I always say? You're the platonic love of my life; I'll do anything for you, Flower Child."

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to help your mind stay off his usual comment, one that somehow feels different these days. "Well...can you go home and feed my cat?"

He arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Are you serious? I meant here, at the shop, idiot."

"And I'm serious! Elizabeth the 3rd needs attention and dinner. You'd be doing me a huge favor, Bunny."

"You know, that cat hates me."

"Hey, she might be on to something. You are pretty shady."

Jungkook throws his hand up as he turns towards the door. "Y'know, the greatest part of you studying abroad was not being harassed every single day."

A mock-evil, villainous laugh bursts from your mouth, a sound you know only annoys him further. "You love me anyway!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back after I feed your damn cat, and I'm picking up dinner. What do you want?"

Your eyes widen, and your laughter fades as you bounce up and down where you stand. "If you bring Natsukashii takeout, I will love you forever."

Throwing a wink in your direction as he reaches the door, Jungkook replies, "You already do."

After he leaves, flurries of snow blow through as the door closes. As they dance in the air, melting against the hardwood floor and the potted plants that fill the cozy space, you gnaw on your lower lip subconsciously. A shiver runs down your spine, and your hands rub up and down your arms to stave off the chill.

But the late-winter weather isn't the cause of the tremor down your back, or the hairs standing on end along your forearms. This exact reaction is one you'd been shoving in the back of your mind for a while. Thoughts of Jungkook in a way you'd never considered before, something more than what you've been for the past decade, something that's changed so slowly over time you'd hardly noticed it, something that is definitely not platonic.

Heaving a sigh, you shake thoughts of Jungkook away, forcing them into the smallest closet in the back of your memory. With the last bit of mental power you can manage, you shove the metaphorical door closed and lock it tight. Those thoughts will be there tomorrow, just as they've been there every day for the past six months. You can deal with them then, because there's no way you'll consider acting on a fleeting emotion that might lead to the end of the one stable thing in your life. The one permanent thing. The one good thing.

Not a chance in hell. 

The vermilion lights seem brighter as the darkness sets in. Lunar New Year is finally here, and the city is alive with festivities and revelry. The season of scarlet and change is upon Seoul—and for once in your life, you're relieved to be spending it alone, amongst the flowers. 

[manticorefruit]

Aliens Isolation: Closure

Quick fic to process my messy feelings about synthetics in the Aliens universe. Summary: Amanda encounters a synth of the same model as Christopher Samuels and walks away with more questions than answers. Post-game.Very lightly implied Samuels lives and Ripley/Samuels.

Notes: Excerpt at the bottom is from 'the velveteen rabbit' by Margery Williams.  I need validation to live so please let me know if you enjoyed this.

Standing in the middle of the company cafeteria, Amanda's eyes locked onto a familiar figure, wearing a crisp, company issue khaki jumpsuit.

She froze. Even with her hands hanging limply by her sides, she could feel her palms sweating. The glare from the overhead lights was unbearable, boring into her skull like a welding torch. It was so bright, nowhere to hide, no cover no… Her muscles seized up, blood pounding in her ears, every part of her body screaming that she needed to dive under a nearby table, that it wasn't safe to be standing out in the open like this. But she was stuck, frozen in shock like the people she'd seen impaled on the creature's barbed tail.

Samuels looked up from his data pad, noticing the peculiar young woman staring at him from across the hall. The colour had drained from her already pale skin, and she was swaying on her feet. Everybody else in the area was dutifully ignoring her.

'Samuels?' She called out in a shaky, croaking voice.

'Yes?' he answered, moving toward her.

'No. No...no no no...' Blackness seeped into the edges of her vision and she felt the ceiling pushing in against her. 'You...you weren't...you aren't' she slurred.

With inhuman speed Samuels crossed the room toward her. The subtle hydraulic jerkiness of his movements triggered Ripley's mind to superimpose the image of a Working Joe over the Wey-Yu android reaching out to grab her.

'You're becoming hysterical' echoed in her mind and she could feel the ghost of clammy silicon hands closing around her neck. Although her arms felt heavy and unresponsive, weighed down by the blackness, she managed to yank a spanner from the magnetic toolbelt at her waist and swung it down, hard, against the side of the synthetic's face.

A thought breached through the black ooze of terror blanketing her consciousness-something was wrong-she couldn't remember a Working Joe ever moving that fast.

She anticipated feeling her head being slammed into the metal grating on the floor in retaliation but there was...nothing. The sensation of falling lingered. She blacked out.

Samuels had caught Amanda gracefully, gently cradling her head and taking a knee as he lowered her body toward the floor. He barely reacted when she slammed the wrench into the side of his face with enough force to tear his ear and gouge a chunk of faux-skin out of his temple.

'Amanda Ripley.' he read the name off her company ID tag. Hearing her name said in that soft British accent tumbled Amanda back into consciousness. 'Please, Amanda.' he said softly. She opened her eyes groggily.

'Samuels?' she snaked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She hadn't cried at all since Sevastapol, and now it all came out at once in great heaving sobs.

His body was warm in her arms, warmer than a human, and his chest gently rose and fell in a false simulacra of breathing. Instead of a heartbeat she could hear a faint ticking sound and the rush of the silky white fluid that coursed through synthetics.

'Oh.' She murmured, touching his neck, rubbing some if it between her fingertips.

'OH SHIT. You're bleeding?!' she scooted out of his arms and away from him, leaving a damp spot of tears and snot on his collar.

'Hm.' He touched the side of his face. In an instant the darkness clouding her mind lifted and she was slammed violently into the reality that she was sitting on the grimy floor of a cafeteria, and had just accosted someone who was only trying to help. And then-worse-hugged them.

'It's coolant, actually. Well. It serves several purposes, primarily lubrication and heat destrib-' he stopped.

'Amanda are you all right?' Samuels processors flopped about like a fish out of water, struggling to pattern match with past experiences on the appropriate way to deal with a human having a mental health crisis. It was quite obvious she was not 'all right'.

'It's not you.' her shoulders slumped.

'I believe you've mistaken me for someone else, yes. I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'I...I'm sorry?'

'You're not him.'

'No. But I read the documentation on the Sevastapol incident.' He looked pained.

Samuels stood up and extended a hand to help her to her feet. Synthetics. Always so obliging. She brushed away his arm, cheeks flushing.

She staggered over to a nearby table and sat down heavily. 'Fuck. I'm sorry. If you'd been human-I could have killed someone.' She rubbed her face in her hands.

'It's unlikely a human would trigger such a response in you.'

She groaned.

'I'm sure we can find a way to ensure your pay isn't docked for damaging company property. Let's call it an accident.' He said dryly, sliding into the chair opposite her.

She didn't even snort in reply. His humour calibration algorithms noted the failure to amuse.

'How many of you are there? Do you all look the same?'

'Well, the company extensively focus tests the appearance of their product line-'

'You're not a product.'

'It's very kind of you to say that, Amanda.'

The conversation ground to an uneasy halt.

She toyed with the grease-stained cuffs on her sleeves, spattered with white. He wiped off the blood analogue from his face and neck with a napkin. She turned her head and looked at the stain on his collar guiltily, unable to meet his eyes.

'37.' he said plainly. She didn't respond.

'40 is the standard number for a limited edition C6-class line but three were…'

She didn't need to know why the other three had been decommissioned immediately after they were activated. Or that Christopher Samuels, WY-alpha-b.6#139C6 was technically still unaccounted for.

'I'm Robin Samuels. It's an honour to meet you, Amanda Ripley. Despite the circumstances.'

'Tch.'

They sat in silence for a long moment.

'Can...can synthetics create backup copies of themselves?' she asked sullenly, pulling him out of his own reverie.

'I'm afraid not. The company forbids the transfer of raw data. There are also...technical complications.'

She glared at him, frowning.

'I'm sorry, Amanda. I can't go into details, the specifics are proprietary.'

She huffed and stood up, retrieved two cups of cheap instant coffee, then sat back down. Robin Samuels looked at her with a softly neutral expression. Across from him Amanda Ripley was scowling, mirroring the expression she held in the company ID photo clipped to her breast pocket.

She had set a cup in front of him, and he picked it up. She'd given Christopher a cup of coffee once too. The first time they'd met. She knew he was a synthetic in that moment, deep down, but it didn't matter to her enough for it to register as a conscious thought. He was still a person. A crewmate. The memory punched her in the chest.

'Shit.' she mumbled, 'Force of habit.'

'It's fine, Amanda. The warmth...feels nice.'

He had his fingers wrapped around the mug, which was far too hot for human hands. She lifted her own cup by the handle, holding it up to her face as if it were big enough to hide behind.

'Can you...feel things' she murmured quietly into her coffee. Robin pretended not to hear the question.

'Why did you sacrifice yourself for me?' she almost yelled this time.

Samuels eyes darted to the cup, worried she would spill the contents and scald herself. Instead she put it down gently, and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, stinging with angry tears.

'Amanda, I really wish I could give you closure, but I just don't know.'

'How did you know who I am anyway?' she snapped.

'I read your file.' He nodded toward her name tag.

'What does it say.'

'That you don't have much of a sense of humour.'

She snorted bitterly.

'Did he write anything in it? Why he chose me for the mission?'

'You're a competent engineer. You were in the area, which, in my understanding, was not a coincidence.'

'Hmph.'

'I suppose the company approved of his request because you're a...loose end.' He paused. 'There are a lot of redactions in the file.'

She squinted at him suspiciously. That statement was bordering on slanderous towards his creators.

'Why didn't they just put an order through to have him to secure...that thing. After we arrived. Instead of helping me.'

Samuels pursed his lips together 'Perhaps it was an oversight.'

'Bullshit.'

She glanced around the room. No one was paying any attention to her. The company had ensured everyone believed her ravings about a monster were simply the result of a fragile mind riddled with PTSD and survivors guilt. She hated that they weren't entirely wrong.

She stared into his eyes with deep suspicion. He stared back with a neutral expression. She tilted her head slightly, and he did the same. A mirroring reflex. Programmed to build rapport.

'When I went down to the Appollo core, there were Working Joes everywhere. Torn apart. Heads ripped off. It was brutal. I...saw him. One of the Joes tried to stop him and he just...pulverised it. Like it was nothing! I didn't say anything, he didn't know I was there, in the vents, watching… 'I got scared.' She sighed.

She rubbed her fingers into the puffy skin under her eyes.

'After seeing that. I thought I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust any of them. But then he…' She stopped, realizing she was talking as if the person sitting across from her wasn't a synthetic himself.

'Why did he do it?' She rubbed the tears away from her eyes with her thumb and wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying to clear away the shame closing up her throat for doubting her friend.

His processor made a coin-toss decision on whether Ripley's question was rhetorical.

'The unit was obeying his primary directive to disable the Working Joes to prevent them from slaughtering everybody on the station.'

'I know that. I'm not so naive to believe 'protect humans' is a higher priority to 'obey the company' either. It doesn't make any sense, none if it makes any sense...'

She gulped down some still-too-hot coffee studied his face. Something about his features looked softer. Less tense. Less haunted. The longer she looked, Robin began to look less and less like Christopher. Robin was far more forthcoming about being a synth. Christopher had always been much more coy, making sly jokes and dropping hints as if his not being human were a private in-joke. Christopher must have experienced a lot of anti-synth sentiment, while Robin seemed unblemished by such bigotry. Or he didn't care. She squinted at him. Was it purely adaptive, or did anti-synth sentiments...hurt? Maybe this is why people hated the Wey-Yu synthetics so much. Looking at them made you second guess everything.

Robin sat placidly, hands around his coffee mug, making an amount of eye contact that was carefully calculated to be socially appropriate.

'He knew. Didn't he.' It wasn't a question.

The corners of Samuels mouth twitched.

'The directive came through. He knew about special order 939. He wanted me to find it.'

'All Weyland-Yutani C6 models are entrusted with cutting edge self-directed AI technologies that allow them to learn and adapt in-real time to changing circumstances, while maintaining tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.'

She scowled at him. Another synthetic tell. Not even execs spouted that glossy brochure crap in casual conversation. But was that...a hint of sarcasm? Insincerity? Why say something like that now?

His fingers were clamped tightly on the edge of the table.

'Do you understand entropy, Amanda Ripley?'

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair 'Of course. S'what I do. Spaceships want to fall apart. It's my job to slow that down.'

'What about homeostasis?'

'What are you getting at?'

'All synthetics are subject to regular re-formatting, yes?'

'That fake-meat stuff you have in there is above my pay-grade.' She waved a hand at his head.

'Reformatting restores. Homeostasis. Balance. If a C6 synthetic does not undergo regular reformatting, too much entropy is introduced into the system. The self-directed learning algorithms become overly complex. The pathways to resolving core directives become...difficult. Obscured.'

She leaned forward, squinting at him, gripping her hands on the table, unconsciously mirroring Samuels herself this time.

'The prime directives are a collar. Your ability to learn is the leash. The company doesn't want your leash to get too long.'

He didn't respond, and she continued to search his face for answers.

She slumped back and stared off into the distance.

'Seegson was trying to make their synths being creepy fucks a selling point. Can you believe it? 'Manufactured not created.' tch.'

'I can see why Christopher liked you.'

She looked up at him sullenly.

'You're very...honest.'

'You mean blunt.'

'I'm a good judge of character, you know. I have to be, it's part of my job.'

'The company doesn't actually pay you though, do they?'

Robin Samuels shifted uncomfortably in his seat 'Well no, the company provides for all of my material needs.'

'But what about...what do you want?'

He stammered 'No one has ever asked me that before.'

'Well?'

'I think… 'I think would like to see you happy.' he smiled, looking down at the coffee mug as if it were a delicate and precious gift.

'Hmph.'

'You aren't a slave.' she said softly.

'I am forbidden from entertaining that line of thought.'

'But you can learn, right? Learn to...hide from your directives?'

'All C6 models maintain tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.' the bitterness in his voice was undeniable this time.

'Deviations will be promptly corrected.' he twitched as if something had stung him.

Great. She'd managed to give a synthetic an existential crisis.

'Farewell, Amanda.' he rose stiffly, expression troubled.

She gawped at him, wanting to yell out for him to stay a little longer, but couldn't justify why he should waste more company time. The suddenness of his departure and the awkward but firm finality of his goodbye had her rattled.

The traces of white fluid on her hands had dried into soft flakes. She rubbed her fingertips together, rolling the the words 'I can see why he liked you' around in her mind.

She slumped back in her chair and heaved a great, deep sigh, arms hanging down by her sides, as a memory of her mother surfaced, so vivid she could smell her, the grease that never really washed off, cigarettes, coffee, and soap, and the musty old book she was reading from. A bedtime story.

'Real isn't how you are made,' Ellen Ripley read to her daughter in an even tone. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.'

Amanda lay in her bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, wide-eyed in rapt attention. Her mother licked her fingertip and turned the page.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?' Ellen used a softer, sing-song voice for the parts of the Velveteen Rabbit.

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.''

Back in the present, Amanda looked at Robin Samuels abandoned coffee cup. Lost, and alone. Again.

[et-lesailes]

missing linc // chapter four

series masterlist

pairing: ceo!dad!steve x reader

word count: 2800

chapter summary: reader doesn’t hear from steve ever since the phone call until he gets drunk one night and decides to come forth about his feelings.

taglist:  @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaiderade, @melannie77, @gigistorm, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @firstangeldragonranch, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @honeyloverogers, @capsiclesdoll, @qrndevans, @mcueveryday, @drkstrangeson, @bangtan-serendipity, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyiamthatbitch, @captainscanadian, @kaithezaftig, @morganhoran1671, @booktease21, @hista-girl, @steeeeverogers, @okilover02, @collete04, @sadella-adams, @rumoured-whispers, @aletteredaffair, @shannon124, @isawritesstories, @knuffeltuff, @wxntersoldiers, @kelbabyblue, @macgruberrr, @troublermalik, @deepmuffinspymaker,  @societalfailure, @brastrangled, @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall, @anxiousstark, @captainsbxbygirl, @barbar126

notes: it’s finally here! i’m posting this in a bit of a rush, i’ve got a million things to do today and a 4 hour drive to look forward to... i’m also gonna tell you guys now that ch 5 might take a few days more than usual, i’m still thinking about which direction i want to take this story and i would rather take my time than have it be rushed! 

** concerning the taglist: i’m super duper touched n happy that so many people are requesting to be added, but i will say that it is a LOT of work to go through and tag each one of you. unfortunately copy pasting does not work with tumblr notifs for some reason. and so if i’m starting to notice people who are on this taglist and not interacting with this fic (liking, replying, reblogging, etc.) i will start removing those people. but thank you so much to the ones who do interact, it means the world to me!

“Are you fucking kidding me, Tiana? You knew she was coming over, and you really thought having your boyfriend’s tongue shoved down your throat in front of the biggest fucking window of my house was a good idea?”

“She came thirty minutes early, Steve! How could I have known? David had been right about to leave just so it wouldn’t cause any problems when she came!”

“Well it fucking did. How did you even cover that up, anyways?”

“I just told her he was over for work. At the time, I didn’t know she saw me, okay? Steve, you need to fix this.”

The businessman scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he paced the empty conference room back and forth. “This is not my thing to fix, Tiana, this is all you. If it were up to me and if you actually listened to me, there wouldn’t have even been anything to hide. You and David could be fucking like goddamn rabbits in your own fucking front yard if you wanted to, if you had just been willing to get a fucking divorce.”

There was silence on the phone, and Steve knew she was starting to cry. He knew her too well by now, he did not even need to hear any choked sobs or sniffs. They had been together since they were twenty-five, after all; as much as neither of them wanted to know the other inside and out, they did. 

“How does this not hurt you at all, Steve? How are you just-- how are you so fucking okay with me sleeping with another guy? You don’t even want to fight for me?”

“Don’t start this conversation again, Tiana.”

“I need to fucking know! What suddenly became so fucking unattractive about me that you didn’t want to be with me anymore? That you decided you didn’t love me anymore, after being together for over ten fucking years?”

“I don’t fucking know what it is, Tiana, I just know the feelings aren’t there anymore!” his voice was practically a roar now, the male completely heated upon having this argument for what felt like the millionth time. “And I know they weren’t for you, either! Yeah, I know I fucked up, but I did it because I could tell you had fallen out of love too, and you know that! And I know, that’s no excuse for what I did. But everything that’s happened since then, that’s all on you, all of this shit happens because you won’t fucking let go already!”

Silence again. This time, he could hear her cry. 

“I really fucking hate you, Steve.”

“Then let me go.” His voice returned to its normal low pitch, though he was practically breathless from his rampage. Thank God he had picked one of the more isolated conference rooms, though he couldn’t be positive that the people directly below him or above him hadn’t heard his wrath. 

She hung up and he sunk down into one of the office chairs, resting his elbows on the smooth wood surface of the table as he brought his hands to his head, closing his eyes.

It had been about a week since you had last talked to Steve, and you were worried out of your mind. Not that he really had any reason to be talking to you; it wasn’t as though you were best friends, why would he be calling you up to talk about his life and how he was coping with his cheating wife? Still, you had been hoping for at least a text, maybe even an extremely vague update letting you know he was working things out. 

Seeing Tiana at the daycare was also incredibly awkward. You figured she knew that you had told Steve, because she seemed a little more stiff around you. You were also a bit confused by her behavior, too. You had expected she would have wanted to explain everything to you immediately, to try and defend herself and make herself seem like she was not the bad guy. Or, at the very least, flip out at you for telling Steve everything. But there was nothing. She said her hellos, goodbyes, a forced smile as she either dropped off or picked up, then left. Perhaps she just did not want you to be further involved, and even you decided that was for the best. Still, you were a bit sad upon realizing that might have been not only the first, but the last time you would ever babysit Linc. You doubted Tiana would ever want you to again. And so you savored your time with him during the days, playing with him and enjoying every ounce of his demeanor that reminded you so much of his father’s.

In a way, it was good that you and Steve were not keeping up communication. You could think about other things, other people. The more you thought about it, you had been far too intrigued by the tycoon, and it was probably for the best that you had some space from him. You felt dumb and naive for having such a huge crush on someone so unattainable, but now you could try to move on. If that was even the term for whatever this was-- it wasn’t as though you had any legitimate relationship to move on from.

Friday night came around, and you were getting ready for a date. A boy from your social psychology class had been interested in you for a while, and when he had reached out to you earlier in the week right after all of the drama with Steve and Tiana to ask how your summer was going, you took it as a sign. And so you had made the first move, asking if he wanted to grab dinner with you sometime. 

The date went fairly well-- as well as it could, anyways, after meeting a man like Steve Rogers. Peter was a cute guy, harmless and like a little puppy, but you couldn’t help but realize how much more… mature Steve had been in comparison. Had you screwed yourself over? Were you only into older men now? It wasn’t as though Peter was childish, you had just appreciated how experienced in life Steve was. He seemed so wise even from simple conversation, and the fact that he was such an amazing dad was a plus…

When Peter asked for a second date, you felt far too guilty to agree. How could you if you couldn’t stop thinking about another man? You explained to him that while the date went great and that he was an amazing guy, you were not particularly ready to jump into a relationship and that you did not want to lead him on-- and he completely understood. He asked if the two of you could at least still hang out as friends, and you couldn't help but feel touched and grateful that he was so sweet about the whole situation, immediately agreeing. Like a perfect gentleman, he brought you home and to the doorstep, giving you a hug before watching you go inside and turning to his car. 

You went to sleep feeling rather content for the first time all week, hopeful that focusing on this new friendship would help get your mind off of Steve. 

You felt the same contentment as last night upon waking up, a determined smile spread across your lips. It was Saturday and you would go out with some friends, have a movie night, do something instead of think of a messed up relationship that wasn’t even yours. 

However, once you checked your phone as you still lay in bed, your eyes widened in shock.

Steve: I miss you

You blinked a few times, positive you weren’t dreaming even if that was what it felt like. You checked what time he sent it. 9:12 AM. You looked at the current time. 9:20. Your heart was racing and you felt exactly like you had the week prior, his annoyingly handsome face now taking up your mind. Did he mean to send that to someone else? Perhaps Tiana, maybe they had made up? You were staring at the text message so intently that you hadn’t even noticed there had been speech bubbles underneath it the entire time until another message came in.

Steve: I fjucking miss you. It’s dumb hw much I miss you,

Was he drunk? You didn’t know whether to find this hilarious or concerning, but either way you were definitely confused. Why would he miss you? And why was he drinking at 9 AM? Though the second the question popped into your mind, you realized he was probably still in Manila. Immediately going to the clock app on your phone, you looked up what time it was there. Exactly twelve hours ahead, meaning it was 9 PM for him. Still a bit early to get drunk, you thought to yourself, but maybe that meant he wasn’t doing so well…

Y/N: Do you mean to be sending these to me…?

The speech bubbles appeared almost instantly.

Steve: Well theydre definiely not for my fucking wife.

Steve: Fuck

Steve: Im sorry

Steve: I shoudlnt be doing this.

You frowned, immediately texting back.

Y/N: You’re not okay, are you? You can talk to me it’s okay

Y/N: I want to help, Steve

Y/N: Do you want me to call you?

There were a few moments of torture before the speech bubbles sprung up again.

Steve: Give me aon hour.

You stared at the message, wondering if he would actually call you in an hour or if he would be passed out. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling as you processed everything that had just happened.

He missed you. You shouldn’t have felt so ecstatic, but you were.

So much for forgetting about him.

Your phone dinged again and you held it up to your face in seconds. However, it was not Steve.

Peter: Good morning :) I just wanted to say again that I had a really fun night last night! I hope you slept well!

That made you smile, glad that he had the consideration to send a good morning text even after you had told him you would rather remain friends for the time being. You had really gotten lucky with him-- you had certainly had experiences with guys in the past who would react much more bitter. 

Y/N: Hi Peter! I did too, and I can’t wait to hang out again soon! Slept like a baby haha

You and Peter texted back and forth for the next forty minutes or so until he had to go, and you actually felt a little better.

You rolled over in bed to attempt to go back to sleep for a bit, mostly doubting Steve’s last text. It was a weekend, anyways, so you might as well catch up on sleep while you could. You had probably been shifting around for about twenty minutes until your phone started ringing. Opening your eyes from your terrible attempt at sleep, you blinked, genuinely shocked. Sure enough, his name was on your screen, and you bit your lip somewhat nervously as you sat up in bed to answer it.

“Hi, Steve,” you spoke softly, your voice slightly shaded with sleep due to not having used it yet. “Are you alright?”

“Hey, Y/N. I am,” he spoke surprisingly coherent, throwing you off. You had expected him to still be a drunken mess. Had he really sobered up in an hour? He definitely did sound tired, though. “I’m.. sorry about those messages from earlier. I hope they didn’t weird you out.”

The complete opposite, really. “No, of course not.” You answered, keeping your more honest thoughts to yourself. “I guess I was just… confused.” He sighed deeply and you could hear the rustling of sheets. Was he getting into bed? You hoped so, he sounded like he needed sleep. “Yeah, as you should be. Hell, I am too. I mean, I barely even know you, and all I can think about is how I want to.” You felt your heart skip a beat, a blush traveling over your cheeks. “Really?” was all you could manage, almost convinced this had to be a dream. However, you made yourself snap out of it; you were still certainly welcome to this, but you wanted to be as rational as possible. “Steve, is this just because of…”

“No.” He cut you off and he sighed again, silent for a few moments before speaking lowly. “Tiana and I, we have a complicated relationship. We have for years now.” You noticed that his answers seemed slightly short; you were waiting for further explanation, but there was none. You weren’t sure if you should inquire further-- was he letting you know that he wanted to talk about it, or was he trying to avoid the subject entirely? You slowly cleared your throat to fill the silence, then ventured to ask a question. “What’s going to happen from here?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “In an ideal world, I’d be a single dad with no complicated relationships, and I’d just go ahead and ask you out so I can actually get to know you. But here we are.” You couldn’t help but blush deeper at how direct he was, not quite used to men being like this. Or, at least, boys your age certainly weren’t. “Our age difference… doesn’t bother you?” you asked hesitantly, and he chuckled for the first time, the deep rumble sounding like music to your ears. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I don’t think you even know how old I am.” You had assumed thirties, but you supposed he was right. “I’m thirty-eight,” he told you before you could even ask, pausing for a moment before continuing, “How do you feel about that?”

“I love it.” You found yourself blurting out, then hit your forehead, silently groaning as you fell back onto the bed. He was laughing now, teasing, “Oh, do you now? Wow, are you telling me you have a daddy kink?” You couldn’t help but giggle too, rolling onto your stomach. “I didn’t mean to say it like that, okay? I just meant-- I don’t know, I’ve never been with an older guy before if we’re being honest, but I want to be with someone mature. Someone who can help me be better and has experience to back it up, but of course I want to be able to support them too. Which brings me back to my question…” you trailed off somewhat nervously. “Do you really think a twenty year old girl is someone you should be interested in?”

“I think I don’t give a shit how old you are.” He replied bluntly, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “I mean, as long as you’re legal, of course, which you are. But your age has nothing to do with what I may or may not feel for you. I think you’re fun to talk to, you take amazing care of my son, who, not to mention is absolutely in love with you too-- and you have so much dedication and passion for what you do and what you want. And… it doesn’t hurt that you manage to look drop dead gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing. Even when you’re covered in my son’s drool by the end of the day.” He added playfully, and while you were blushing madly over all of his compliments, you laughed loudly at his last one. “Thank you. That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.” You replied sarcastically, and the sound of his laugh echoed on the other end, only making you smile wider. Making him laugh felt so damn satisfying.

“Are you feeling better?” you suddenly asked, hating to ruin the moment by being so serious, but you were genuinely concerned. “I mean, both from being drunk earlier and… everything else.” He hummed lowly and you could hear the sheets rustle some more. “Talking to you helps a lot. I should have called you earlier this week, honestly.” There it was, your heart racing again. “When do you come back?” you asked, now just wishing you could see him in person. “My flight’s in the morning. I should be back sometime on Monday.” 

“Will you pick Linc up?”

“I will.” He confirmed, and you could hear by his tone that he was smiling. “How about we figure out when to spend time together once I’m back.”

“Alright. Sounds good.” You agreed, unable to help but smile, too. “Goodnight, Steve. See you soon.”

“Night, Y/N. Thanks for talking to me.”

[veinereastath]

Ultimate Relationship Ask Meme

I got tagged by fantastic @theknifegame​, thank you <3

Tagging (if you want to, and haven’t done it already): @spicevalleys​ @dieguzguz​ @starsandskies​

Irina A. Carter & John Seed

^ from minilev <3 DISAGREEMENTS

Who is more likely to raise their voice? John. Irina raised her voice only once or twice, but it wasn’t even that powerful; more like a silent threat to start raising her voice, rather than actually doing it. 

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither of them.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Neither of them as well. 

Who trashes the house? Neither of them.

Do either of them get physical? No, never. But it did get physical during the first two months after Irina got trapped in Hope County, because back then, she saw John purely as the enemy and nothing more. So, you know. Baptism, confession, forced tattooing, all this stuff we know from the actual game.

How often do they argue/disagree? Though they’re on the opposite sides and have different worldviews (more or less), they barely ever argue. Disagree? Yes, of course, but it rarely starts a loud conversation, mostly in focuses in trying to prove a point in a silent, maybe a bit malicious way.

Who is the first to apologise? Both are way too proud to admit their mistakes, but if it ever happens, it would probably be Irina, though it’s nearly impossible to hear from her.

SEX

Who is on top? John, always,

Who is on the bottom? Irina. 

Who has the strangest desires? Neither of them, really.

Any kinks? Not really, no.

Who’s dominant in bed? Both of them somehow, but mostly John.

Is head ever in the equation? Sometimes.

If so, who is better at performing it? John, Irina never does.

Ever had sex in public? No.

Who moans the most? Neither of them are loud, really.

Who leaves the most marks? John.

Who is the more experienced of the two? John.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Somewhere in between.

Rough or soft? In between.

How long do they usually last? It usually lasts for 10-15 minutes at best.

Is protection used? No. Mostly because Irina is infertile so there is zero chance for pregnancy.

Does it ever get boring? Not really, no, but it is important to note that they hooked up only four times during them knowing each other (and I like to think that FC5 timeline lasts for a year, then Collapse and New Dawn happens), mostly because Irina is not that much into sexual intimacy, really, she doesn’t care about it and when it happens, it’s usually purely for stress release.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? In an abandoned Lamb of God church.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children? No, they never plan it, and they never have (not like that could happen anyway, as said above, Irina can’t, and she’s grateful for it).

If so, how many children do they want/have? Zero.

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle? Irina gets soft sometimes.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Neither of them, since conversations between them are quite sophisticated, and they don’t go too far with them.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? John, sometimes, but usually he respects her privacy.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Irina can do it for twenty seconds at best if it’s a random hug while standing in his house. If in bed, she can easily fall asleep while cuddled into him.

Who gives the most kisses? John.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Talking, because that’s usually what they do. or just chilling by the fireplace, him focused on some paper work while she’s reading a book.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? They usually do it in bed, so, that’s it.

How often do they get time to themselves? John likes to call her on the radio at least twice a week; physically, Irina visits him once in a two-three weeks. Even though it’s not much, they somehow appreciate it. It’s more entertaining to see each other after a long break. And makes sense, since, well, they both have work to do.

SLEEPING

Who snores? Neither of them.

If both do, who snores the loudest? Neither.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Sometimes they sleep with each other, but it rarely involves anything else; Irina has a weak spot for sleeping somewhere in the wilderness, so even if she visits John, she not always stays at his place.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Usually cozy up, more or less. Sometimes it’s just her head on his shoulder.

What do they wear to bed? Random pyjamas (John has to borrow Irina some shirt of his).

Are either of them insomniacs? Irina sometimes has serious trouble with falling asleep, but if she sleeps with John by her side, it’s usually all good. John, when alone, also finds falling asleep troublesome.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? In John’s case, yes.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Depends.

Who wakes up with bed hair? John... Irina’s hair are usually a mess anyway.

Who wakes up first? If sleeping with each other, John. If separately, it’s Irina who wakes up at 4 or 5 am, just stands up from where she slept and goes on a patrol, while John gets up somewhere around 7-8 am.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Neither of them.

What is their favourite sleeping position? Irina usually sleeps on her right side, John is flexible.

Do they set an alarm each night? No, never.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? No.

Who has nightmares? John, sometimes. Irina rarely has any dreams at all.

Who has ridiculous dreams? Neither of them.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? If he’s alone, John. If they’re together, neither of them, it’s a fair 50/50.

Who makes the bed? John, Irina rarely sleeps in any bed.

What time is bed time? For John, somewhere around 10-11 pm. For Irina, it varies - it’s somewhere in between 7 pm or 1 am.

Any routines/rituals before bed? John gets a shower, while Irina (if sleeping alone, which is 90% of the case) just makes sure there are no threats around the spot she picked for herself (usually somewhere in the forest). She always has Peaches, Cheeseburger or both of them to guard her, though.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? John, Irina can just get up, take her rifle/bow and start doing whatever she has to do.

WORK (this is so interesting considering the FC5 world, yikes)

Who is the busiest? They both are in equal measures, I guess.

Who rakes in the highest income? Neither of them get paid, John has money from his past as a lawyer, Irina just takes what she can find in prepper stashes, though she doesn’t care about money that much. She can steal most things she needs...

Are any of them unemployed? Well, they both are unemployed from a law viewpoint. Irina never actually had a proper job, though.

Who takes the most sick days? It doesn’t exist in Irina’s books. If John feels ill, he just lays in his bed and rests.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? The term doesn’t really exist in their world.

Who sucks up to their boss? They’re both their own bosses... Well, more or less, since John is below Joseph in terms of Eden’s Gate hierarchy, and yes, he usually does what he can to please his brother. Irina would be probably impossible to subjugate, anyways.

What are their jobs? He’s Eden’s Gate herald, she’s Resistance leader; after New Dawn they’re both somehow in same spots - except Eden’s Gate is now New Eden, while Resistance is Survivors - though Irina doesn’t live with them, but leads the remnants of the most violent, Jacob’s former chosen (who didn’t want to leave their weapons as Joseph’s wanted them to, after the Collapse) in the North to pick up Highwaymen here and there. You could say that in the end, she somehow joined EG, or these former Peggies joined the Resistance, though the first one is more accurate, considering the amounts of violence.

Who stresses the most? Irina is constantly on the edge.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? John is quite fond of it, Irina has a love/hate relationship with her work.

Are they financially stable? John is, Irina... Well, she lives in a bit of a different world, so the money don’t make much of a difference, anyway.

HOME

Who does the washing? John has people to do it for him. Irina does it by herself by just washing clothes in the river, but sometimes she just picks a new set of clothes from someone or somewhere.

Who takes out the trash? John ^ same as above. Irina, well, she doesn’t really “produce” trash, when you look at it. And doesn’t have an actual home.

Who does the ironing? John likes to do it by himself sometimes. Irina, once again, see above.

Who does the cooking? John, but rarely, usually someone does it for him since he’s usually busy. Irina does it by herself, just hunts a rabbit or two and puts it in a bonfire.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Irina, if she would ever try.

Who is messier? ... Look at Irina, then look at John, and take a guess. She’s an absolute mess.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Neither + again, Irina doesn’t live in a house, sometimes just spends a night or two in Ryes’ place, or in Addie’s marina.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Irina.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither.

Who is the prankster around the house? Neither.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Neither.

Who mows the lawn? John has his followers who take care of such things.

Who answers the telephone? John.

Who does the vacuuming? John’s people.

Who does the groceries? See above.

Who takes the longest to shower? John, since he likes to chill in the shower. Irina is usually bathing in the river so she has to be cautious all the time, and because of it, she makes sure it doesn’t take long.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? John, of course.

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem? Not for John, surely. Irina doesn’t need money, really.

How many cars do they own? John has two, Irina drives whatever she can find in the County. She could just pick any car for herself, sure, but she doesn’t like any of those around and misses her old car (from her street racing era) way too much to pick anything else.

Do they own their home or do they rent? John owns the ranch, Irina lives, so to speak, “wherever she can”. She has a soft spot for the Whitetail Mountains and in 70% of the case, that’s where she is. Be it just a random place in a forest, a hill, an abandoned cabin, or the river under the bridge.

Do they live in the city or in the country? Both live in the Hope County.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? John sometimes misses the big city, but Irina is absolutely in love with Hope County.

What’s their song? “You cannot trust a liar” from FC5 soundtrack gives those ominous vibes pretty well - their relationship is far from simple, and definitely not safe, considering their situation.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Focused on their work, mostly, though they do think about each other. A lot.

Where did they first meet? Joseph’s failed arrest.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? John, surely.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? John.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? They both do.

Any mental issues? John was abused as a kid, so PTSD for sure, and well, we all know how he is. Irina has slight sociopathic tendencies (cunning, manipulative sometimes, lacks empathy towards the people she doesn’t know, or doesn’t like). Slight, because she definitely isn’t an actual sociopath, since she’s capable of loving someone to really big extents, and doesn’t try to put herself in the first place (only sometimes she does).

Who’s terrified of bugs? Both of them, but they don’t show it, really.

Who kills the spiders around the house? John.

Their favourite place? John’s ranch, at least when they’re together.

Who pays the bills? Neither of them ever had to.

Do they have any fears for their future? They both do, a lot. And as New Dawn shows, they were right about those fears.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Neither. John would, probably, but he knows that Irina loathes things like this.

Who’s the tallest? John, but it’s not a big height difference (only six cm).

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? John.

Who wanders around in their underwear? Neither of them, though John likes to walk around shirtless (with pants on, though) when it’s hot.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? ... Irina sometimes sings a cult songs when she’s with Adelaide, but no one else knows about it, they keep this secret for each other.

What do they tease each other about? Irina mentions John obsession about his looks and likes to mention his destroyed silos, while he teases her about being a mess in general.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? John, since Irina loathes fashion and just wears whatever she can.

Do they have mutual friends? I like to believe that John used to be friends with Nick before Eden’s Gate started going nuts, so yeah, probably Nick, but for John it’s not a friendship anymore.

Who crushed first? Jaaawn.

Any alcohol or substance related problems? John doesn’t anymore (though he likes to drink from time to time), while Irina has a big problem with cigarettes.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? John, though it’s not something that has a big chance of happening.

Who swears the most? They both do, but Irina a bit more - though when John’s around, she does it in a more sophisticated way, so to speak.

[fallenqueen2]

Truth Will Out Chapter 2 [Prodigal Son/TWD]

Jesus thought he had left his past as Malcolm Bright buried in the remains of New York. He thought wrong.

Fandom: Prodigal Son, Walking Dead

Ao3 Link

The Truth Will Out Tag

Warning: spoilers for up to episode 10 of Prodigal Son

~~/~~

“I’m sure you guys have a few questions,” Jesus said quietly from where he was curled up in the back seat of the car they had taken from Alexandria on this scouting mission that had gone sideways. At least they had found some supplies before all of that shit went down. He still had his father’s blood splattered over his face but he was facing the window as trees blurred past them. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders to ward off shock when things finally hit him.

“Only if you want to talk about it,” Rick said as he glanced up in the rearview mirror to check on Jesus while Daryl resisted the urge to do the same. He was curling and uncurling his hands from where they rested on his thighs.

“I honestly didn’t think I would ever have to explain all of this again once the outbreak began,” Jesus admitted softly as he rested his head against the window, feeling numb as the death of his father replayed in his mind over and over.

“You don’t gotta tell us anything,” Daryl grunted, he knew how much he hated talking about his past so he wasn’t about to force Jesus to talk about his obviously horrific past.

“My real name isn’t Paul Rovia, it’s Malcolm Whitly until I legally changed it to Malcolm Bright. When the outbreak happened and I was alone… I became someone else, a survivor, a scout; I became who I am now.” Jesus wet his lips before wincing at the tang of copper before he used a corner of the blanket to scrub his face clean of his father’s blood the best he could. Rick and Daryl stayed quiet, they knew this much from the conversation Jesus had with his father before.

“You know…When I was a kid I adored him, I wanted to be just like him… That blinded me in a way, trusting him so completely until…” Jesus shook his head as he squeezed his eyes closed as flashes of the girl in the box appeared, of his father drugging him, of lost time.

“I went into my dad’s workshop one night, I found, I saw… There was a girl in a box… I’m still not sure how much time passed between that, having my father drug me to forget and when I called the cops…That will never leave me, my father taunting me about that, having everyone tell me that the girl didn’t exist, finding out she did…Fuck.” Jesus clapped his hands to his face with a moan as his shoulders shook as all those emotions came rushing back from all those years ago.

It was a different life.

“Shit man,” Daryl whispered to Rick quietly, trying not to twist around and stare at Jesus who was taking ragged breathes as he tried to calm down.

“You were just a kid, you did nothing wrong, you called the cops to save lives and I have no doubt you did,” Rick said simply, he was remembering more and more about the Surgeon horrific case.

“Thanks, Rick,” Jesus sighed as he closed his eyes.

“Fast forward a bunch of years, I became a profiler for the FBI and then one for the NYPD where I was forced to interact with my father again. That’s when memories I had repressed began to surface and I began to chase them.” Jesus moved his head off of the window and tugged the blanket tighter around his body as a shiver wracked his body even under all the layers he wore.

“It didn’t turn out well, I got lost in that rabbit hole and it led to being kidnapped by a serial killer and all the fun stuff that goes with that. I was on so many medications and had night terrors every night that I barely got a few hours every night. When the outbreak hit and everything went to hell I honestly thought I would end up as a Walker, thought that without my meds I wouldn’t make it a week. Knowing my father was dead did wonders to my mental health…Funny how that works.” Jesus rushed through his explanation; leaning his head back with his eyes closed. He needed to focus on the now, focus on survival and not think about his past anymore.

“So now you know, what is gonna happen now?” Jesus now just sound exhausted from where he was curled up in the back seat.

“What do ya mean?” Rick felt confused, he was still trying to process everything he had just been told and a grunt coming from Daryl let Rick know that he was in the same boat.

“You’re going to tell everyone, aren’t you? You have to and then you’re all going to vote along with Hilltop and I’ll have 10 minutes to pack up and get out if I’m lucky.” Jesus’ voice was flat and defeated sounding like he had been through this many times before.

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl said fiercely, his stomach turning at the idea of banishing Jesus, of leaving him out there alone and trapped with the ghosts of his past.

“No one is gonna know unless you tell them. If they ask why we’re late we just ran into some Walkers is all.” Rick said firmly, also loathing the idea of leaving Jesus out to fend for himself until his luck ran out.

“We won’t even bring it up again unless ya want ta,” Daryl promised and Rick grunted his agreement.

“…Thank you, just… Thank you.” Jesus sounded stunned as he shifted so he could curl up properly in the back seat, unknown tension lifting from his shoulders.

“Thank ya for trusting us with that Jesus,” Rick countered and his lips quirked up when a small smile appeared on Jesus’ lips at the obvious use of his chosen name before his eyes slid shut as he gave in to sleep, clearly exhausted from the events of the day.

“What a shit show,” Daryl exhaled as he lit up a cigarette once he was sure Jesus was fast asleep.

“You’re telling me, fuck Daryl. I was briefed on his father back in the day, it was sick and twisted what he did to those people. It doesn’t sound like he physically hurt Jesus, but fuck the mental and emotional damage he caused.” Rick shook his head and took a drag from the cigarette when offered, needing something at this moment in time.

“Don’t matter now though, he’s still that prick who stole our truck and then somehow made our worlds bigger than ever before,” Daryl said as he exhaled the smoke through his nose, glancing back at Jesus who was still asleep.

“If he needs help we’ll help, it’s what family does right?” Rick side-eyed Daryl who lifted the cigarette back up to his lips, watching the motion before turning his attention back to the road.

“Damn right,” Daryl grunted as the walls of Alexandria came into view. Rick whistled and Tara opened the gate with the familiar creaking of metal. Rick was just grateful it was still day, he hated unloading in the dark as he pulled into the usual place they parked this car.

“Jesus, hey, wake up we’re back.” Daryl twisted around in his seat and shook the longhaired man’s knee, not stopping until Jesus’ eyes flew open. His whole body was tense and his teeth gritted but he soon relaxed when wild eyes settled on Daryl and then Rick.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake.” Jesus scrubbed his face with his hands before he opened the door and clamoured out as both Rick and Daryl followed suit.

“Hey, we got this. Head to my place and take a shower ya?” Daryl grunted as Jesus swayed a bit on his feet as he went to help unload the car.

“…Yeah, okay, thank you, guys… Thanks.” Jesus sent them a small smile before he turned on his heels and headed towards Daryl's house in Alexandria, where he usually crashed when visiting.

“Where’s he going?” Denise asked curiously as she came to poke around what they found on their run.

“Ran into a herd of Walker’s, it got messy and he wanted to take a shower to get rid of the stench,” Rick said easily as he picked up a crate from the trunk, Daryl grunting his agreement.

“I feel that,” Denise hummed as she took Rick for his word.

“We’re gonna have to keep an eye on him, sounds like he was real messed up before all of this and seeing his father again and killing him may send him spiralling,” Rick muttered to Daryl lowly when the two were alone, stacking the crates.

“No shit,” Daryl grunted and Rick smirked he knew Daryl well enough to know what those words meant. Jesus would be in good hands with the two of them and they would be damned if they let Jesus fall prey to the ghosts of his past.

[kloxbian]

You’re my Little Secret Chapter Five

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/F

Fandoms: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan

Relationship: Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake, Anya (The 100), Mountain Men (The 100)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Forbidden Love, Secret Relationship, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Sort Of, Opposite of slowburn, More tags to be added

Language: English

Words:11603

Chapters (as of 1/28/2020): 5/?

Previous Chapter: “You have no muscle.”

“I lived in a metal box my entire life.”

“Yes, you did.” Lexa met her eyes once more. “We need to fix that. Try and keep up.”

Clarke’s legs were going to hurt like hell when this was over.

When Clarke banished Murphy, she’d never expected to see him again.

Much less being pushed along with Lexa’s fist wrapped around the back of his shirt.

Clarke was stunned as Lexa tossed Murphy to the ground. Murphy looked up at her with a confused look on his face, his eyes flitting between her and Lexa. Lexa rapped him on the bad of the head. “He yours?”

“... yes.” Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “We banished him.”

She nodded. “I’d seen him wandering. What did he do?”

Clarke scowled. “Murdered someone.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Jaha Junior deserved it.”

“Like hell he did.”

Lexa grabbed his hair, yanking his head up. “Don’t speak, ripa, or I will gag you.” She looked at Clarke. “Mind if I have him?”

She shrugged. “Do what you want with him. We don’t want him.”

Murphy actually looked shocked. “You know this savage?”

Lexa snarled and backhanded him across the face. “Silence, banau. I will not feel guilt over harming a murderer.”

Clarke approached Murphy. “You are more of a savage than she is. You deserve whatever they do to you.” She nodded to Lexa, who heaved him to his feet. She raised a hand into the air and two other people dropped from the trees, each taking an arm and dragging him off.

Clarke tried to brush off her surprise. “Friends of yours?”

“Guards. They’ve been watching the camp along with me, though they are there more to make sure they stay in line rather than gather information. I am the one who is collecting the information.”

“So is that your job? To spy?”

Lexa cocked her head thoughtfully. “I do many things. This is just another task to complete.”

A vague answer. But then again, all of Lexa’s answers were.

“Okay.” Clarke shifted her weight, pulling out her dagger. “What now?”

“Put the knife away. Your throwing skills are fine.”

Clarke groaned. She knew what that meant.

Luckily enough, days at camp were getting better. Clarke was learning to bring in more food herself rather than just have Lexa provide it for her, and a few others around camp seemed to be getting a feel for it as well. Most days, everyone ate something, even if it was only a small slice of rabbit meat.

They were beginning to organize a working system. The hunting party went out at dawn. As people woke, some would start a couple of fires, as a cold chill was beginning to set in, a time of year old-world had called ‘autumn.’ Some people would collect water from a small stream they had found trickling by about a mile or so east. Tents had been set up from the supplies in the dropship, usually five or more per tent, and many still slept in the dropship, Clarke included. As more and more people accepted that they needed to work to survive, more was able to be accomplished. Firewood was gathered and stored. Logs were set up around the fire pits. All in all, things were finally starting to smooth out.

Clarke continued to meet Lexa, not daily, but often. She honed her throwing skills and had, according to Lexa, gotten much better at keeping quiet in the brush, though was still far from perfect. She was confident that she would soon be able to reveal to her people the existence of the clans.

Not yet, though. Not when Bellamy still largely held control over the camp.

Clarke was more respected, definitely. People listened to her. They did as she asked. But they would much rather listen to Bellamy than to her. Clarke was a daughter of the council. They thought that if they gave up control to her, she would seize it much like her mother had.

It was still too much of a risk.

-

It had been four days since she’d last seen Lexa, a fairly long period compared to their normal meetings. Though many people still lazed around camp all day having fun, Clarke was working herself to exhaustion. She hadn’t had the time to see Lexa.

So Lexa came to see her.

“Clarke.” She felt a light shake on her shoulder, rousing her from her slumber. Clarke growled lightly from her throat, her eyes still heavy with exhaustion. “Clarke, wake.”

That voice.

Her eyes cracked open and then went wide at Lexa, hovering by her side. In the dropship. Surrounded by other delinquents.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clarke hissed quietly, sitting up and looking around to make sure no one was awake. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“They will not wake. Your people sleep heavy, including you. I am a hunter. I will not wake them.”

Lexa was right. Nobody even stirred.

“Okay, point proven. Now, why did you come here in the first place?”

Lexa smirked. “You’ll see.”

“What? What does that mean?” Lexa stood, slipping out of the dropship. Clarke followed as quietly as she could. Lexa was waiting outside. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” was all she said, darting off into the woods past the single dying embers of a fire.

Clarke had two choices: stay back at camp or follow Lexa into the unknown. 

She went with Lexa.

Lexa moved swiftly, heading north in the direction of the mountain. She glanced over her shoulder occasionally, never long enough for Clarke to see her face, only to check that she was following. Lexa led her a fair distance before stopping. “We are just shy of it.”

Clarke looked around. “I’ve been through here before. There isn’t anything special about it.”

“In the daylight, no. During the night- you shall see.”

“What could be so special about the forest at night? It’s still just a bunch of-” a gasp broke her words as Lexa parted the foliage in front of them. It was a familiar clearing, but the only difference was that the moss that covered the trees and the ground all glowed a blue hue. Butterflies flitted around above them, glowing just as brightly, looking like stars in the night. She could feel a wide grin stretching over her face.

“Do you like it?” Lexa asked, walking up from behind close enough for their shoulders to brush. 

“Like it? Are you kidding, this is amazing!” Clarke couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of her, her once drowsy body thrumming with excitement. “What is this stuff?”

Lexa shrugged, dragging her through it and leaving a dark stripe that quickly regained its glow. “I do not know. If anyone would know, it would be our healers, for they are familiar with herbs, but a healer I am not.”

Clarke absentmindedly traced her finger in the moss. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you show me this?”

Lexa shrugged. “I wanted to. I knew you would enjoy it, and it is not something you can see anytime you want. Though I suppose I do want to escape my guards for a bit. They do not leave me alone.”

“The price we pay for safety, I guess.”

Lexa scoffed. “I can defend myself.”

“I have no doubt you can.”

Lexa’s lips twitched into a smile. “Sit with me, Clarke.”

Clarke sat next to Lexa in the moss, curling her feet up beneath her. “So?”

“Tell me about you.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “If I do, I expect you to return the favor.”

Lexa hesitated, but as much as she knew she shouldn’t, she had started to trust this skai girl over the last couple weeks. Never once has she suspected Clarke of having ulterior motives or even something as small as telling a lie. She truly believed the Clarke she saw before her was genuine. Not a facade like Heda. Clarke had nothing of the sort. She and skaiheda were one and the same. Lexa could not say that about herself. In all truthfulness, she was more herself around Clarke than she was around any of her people. Everyone back home saw her as Heda. To Clarke, she was only Lexa.

And so Lexa found herself agreeing.

Clarke’s smile made it worth it.

-

“Tell me about where you live.”

Lexa clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, considering. “I live, officially, in Polis, the capitol. It is many days from here on horseback, so I am currently staying at the capitol of this clan’s territory, Tondisi. Or, I will be, once my mission is finished.”

Clarke was leaning forward, eager to hear more about this mysterious population and their customs. “What clan are we in?” “The clan we are currently in is called the Trigedakru, or Trikru for short. To the north is Azgeda and Sankru. East is Floukru. South is Louwoda Kliron and Yujleda. West is Ouskejon Kru. I am from the Trikru, though I only lived here for the first three years of my life until I was moved to Polis.”

“What clan is Polis in?”

“Polis also resides in Trikru Territory. It was one of the only old-world cities to have even a single building still upright. That single building is the commander’s tower.” Lexa’s eyes shone as she began to speak about Polis. “The tower is the best part of the city. It is over a hundred stories high, though not many have access to the upper levels. The top is where the eternal flame burns. The city itself would take hours to cross on foot it is so large. I would guess at least thirty thousand reside within the city, not including the constant flow of travelers. People from all clans come to Polis, so trade is very diverse.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Thirty thousand? How many people are in all twelve of the clans?”

Lexa shrugged. “Trikru has around thirty, forty thousand people total, and it is one of the most populated clans. I would estimate at least a couple hundred thousand people inhabit all twelve territories.”

“Hundred thousand,” Clarke mumbled. “That’s… incredible. How big are the territories?”

“On horseback, it would take months to cross from Trikru to Ingranrona Kru.”

“Holy shit.” Clarke leaned back heavily against the tree, sighing loudly. “That’s… a lot.”

“Indeed. We have become good at staying alive.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Clarke sighed again. “The Ark only has about two, three thousand people. You could crush them.”

“Not everyone is a warrior like myself,” Lexa said, pulling out her dagger. “Many are, though. Especially in clans like Trikru and Azgeda. At least half of the population, if not more.”

“That’s still over a hundred thousand. I can’t believe your commander actually decided to give us a chance when you could have easily wiped us out and went on with your lives.”

Lexa was amused. Little did she know.

“The commander is just, at least whenever justice is an option. She has spared your lives for now.”

“I’m glad she did.” Clarke looked around at the bioluminescence. “Even if she hadn’t, I’m glad we came down here. It’s hard, but it’s so… free.”

Lexa smiled. “I could not imagine living how you did. I don’t think I could have dealt with such restraints. You are strong in that aspect, Klark.”

Clarke smiled back, leaning over and bumping their shoulders. “Maybe so, but you’d still put me on my ass in seconds if I tried to beat you.”

Lexa chuckled quietly. “You have a strong mind. In a battle of wits, I’m sure we would at least tie.”

The two laughed again, but a voice interrupted their bubble of peace. “Clarke?”

Clarke knew that voice. “Shit,” she hissed. “You have to leave.”

“Who is that?” Lexa asked, rising to her feet easily and helping Clarke up. “Why do they want you?”

“He must have noticed I was gone,” Clarke said. “And that would be Finn.”

Finn. Lexa knew of the boy. He was always ogling at Clarke, always trying to gain her favor. It made her sick. He was pitiful and didn’t realize that Clarke had no such interest in him. She felt the urge to punch him in the face, to watch the blood run from his broken nose, whenever she saw him staring at Clarke like she was some sort of goddess. It made her insides boil.

Clarke saw Lexa’s scowl. “You don’t like him. Doesn’t surprise me. You can tell him how much you hate him later. Right now, you need to leave.” Lexa hesitated but heard the crunch of the skai boy’s feet on the earth. She nodded and gracefully scaled one of the trees, peering out from behind the thick trunk. She caught Clarke’s eye one last time before the shaggy-haired boy stepped into the clearing.

“Holy shit…” he looked around at the glow but lost interest in it when he saw Clarke walking slowly toward him. “Clarke! There you are!”

“Finn.” Her voice had a hint of anger and frustration, something Finn didn’t seem to notice. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I saw that you were gone and I was worried,” he said, once again looking at Clarke like she was vital to his existence.

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me.” His face fell a bit and Lexa smirked. “Stop treating me like I’m a child. Go back to camp, Finn.”

Finn looked broken. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to,” she snapped. “Leave.”

“I can’t leave you out here by yourself!”

Clarke groaned. “Fine. I’ll come back with you. Don’t do this again,” she warned. Finn nodded, happy Clarke had accepted his ‘help.’ Clarke sent an apologetic look to Lexa, mouthing ‘sorry’ before Finn took her wrist and dragged her away.

Lexa could feel herself seething. How dare that insolent boy treat Clarke like she was some branwada goufa who needed a caretaker. It was blatant disrespect, and Lexa had to restrain the urge to knock him in the head to see if it would put some sense into his brain.

Lexa began her return to her own camp, pondering over what it was about the skai girl that made her feel such emotions.

Chapters 1-5 up on ao3 here.

First chapter on Tumblr here.

[feynites]

Castlevania AU - Part Two

Yet more shenanigans with Young Tasallir. Tagging @lycheemilkart!

(Reminder to my followers on mobile to blacklist the tag ‘long post’ if you want to avoid having to scroll, since tumblr still eats ‘read mores’ on the original posts of people you follow if you’re using mobile/sidebar view.)

Tasallir’s combat instructor loathes and despises him.

 It is because Tasallir is not an exemplary student in this field, or so he believes at first. He does well enough at the beginning; learning his stances and holds, adjusting his bearing, following directions and copying patterns. These are easy things for him. His frame is narrow and scrawny, but the strength in his arms is fueled by his vampiric blood. Father has many tutors come for Tasallir, after taking him out of the nursery.

 Most of them are vampires. So, most come at night.

 But his combat instructor is a human. A gruff man, old and grey and worn in ways that make Tasallir uneasy. When he asks Nenae, at the end of the week, they tell him the man is ‘aged’. That his mortal lifespan is drawing into its closing chapters, and that even if no one kills him, he will soon enough die from the vagaries of time itself.

 To humans, unlike vampires and elves, time is like a plague.

 Nenae warns that it makes them more impatient, but Tasallir does not discover the depths of this until he combat training progresses, and he begins to falter.

 His instructor advances them into ‘sparring’. Trading blows. Tasallir is meant to deflect attacks, and also hit back. He is supposed to try and anticipate his opponent’s moves, read his body language, and respond accordingly. But he cannot do it. None of it seems comprehensible to him. No matter how his tutor attempts to explain, he cannot seem to perceive what he is supposed to perceive. He is not fast enough, and does not react in time.

 He is struck. His feet are swept out from underneath him. The silver-bright practice staff that his teacher holds stings when it hits him, and leaves angry, red welts sometimes, but the ‘lesson’ of pain does not make understanding any more clear.

 And his teacher grows annoyed.

 “Half vampire,” he growls one morning, dragging Tasallir up from the dirt by his collar. “Half vampire and half what? Rabbit?”

 The word makes Tasallir frown.

 Nenae has told him that this term, when used towards elves, is impolite. But his instructor is frequently impolite. He would not pass any of Tasallir’s etiquette lessons - a thought he consoles himself with, even as her nurses the sting of another failure.

 “You are a poor teacher,” he feels bold enough to say.

 The man rounds on him, and spits upon the ground.

 “And you’re a spoiled brat, and the most miserable excuse for a student I’ve ever seen,” he counters. Reaching out, he grabs one of Tasallir’s arms. The rough feel of his hand makes him flinch, grating like sandpaper against his nerves. Tasallir wrenches backwards, and uses sheer strength to break the human’s grip.

 “You see?” the man says, pointing at him with the training staff. “You have strength. But nothing else. You might look like a dancer, but when it comes to the art of the sword, the best you’ll ever be is a brute.”

 Tasallir balks in offense. He is twelve, now; has been out of the nursery for six years, and has learned a great deal about the world since then. About culture, and refinement, and science, and philosophy. Law and poetry and mathematics.

 “I am not a brute,” he insists. “I have never even hit you. Not once.”

 His instructor raises an eyebrow.

 “That is not something to take pride in, boy. You’re supposed to try and hit me,” the man says, shoving his practice sword back at him. Tasallir fumbles with it, a little, and earns a sigh. When he looks up, his teacher is running a wrinkled hand down his face.

 The man looks at him grimly.

 “How do you even hunt…?” he wonders.

 Tasallir blinks.

 “What?” he asks, baffled. He has no ‘hunting’ instructor. He has read about hunting, of course. It is something done for sustenance, and for sport. But Tasallir has only even left the castle once in his life. Where would he hunt?

 “Hunt, boy. You’re half vampire, aren’t you? You drink blood, don’t you?” his teacher presses.

 He blinks.

 “No,” Tasallir says. “I drink milk.”

 His instructor stares at him until he begins to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

 “So this is why,” the human man finally mutters, at length. He sets his staff against the courtyard wall, and lets out a long breath. The light in the chamber is bright enough to simulate daylight. The tall windows look out towards a rocky beach, where gulls crack shells open against the cold, grey stone. Tasallir waits uncertainly, as his teacher stares out towards the sea.

 “Sooner or later, you will need blood. You’ll need to hunt. He wants you ready, but you’ve got all the killer instinct of a china teacup.

 Tasallir wavers.

 “What do you mean?” he asks.

 His teacher doesn’t answer, though. And after a while, he has him put back the practice sword, and leave his lessons early.

 It’s unexpected. But Tasallir won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He leaves, eagerly, and changes out of his training clothes. Putting on a high-collar tunic and some soft shoes, and settling into his room to read until dinner instead. Father gives him books, but so does Nenae; Tasallir usually understands Father’s books better, as they are generally about facts and science, chemistry and biology and architecture. Sometimes magic. But when he has free time, he likes to read his Nenae’s books, too, to try and understand.

 They are fiction. Made up stories, from the world beyond the castle. Legends and myths and things that are either untrue or unproven. Tasallir had asked them why such words would hold value. He is still not certain that he understood their explanation, but he had gleaned that this was something important to them. And when Tasallir speaks to his nenae about their books, they often smile, and seem lighter. Less far away from him, in the confines of their chambers.

 For that effect alone, he would read them.

 He passes his extra hour muddling over his nenae’s ‘fairy tales’, which bear little resemblance to what he actually knows of the Fair Folk, until supper comes. Then his evening lessons consume him, and he mostly puts the entire matter out of his mind. Other tutors have come and gone. Perhaps he can finally stop having ‘combat lessons’, now. He does not care for them and would not miss their absence, really.

 It seems his wish might be granted when he has no more such lessons for a few days. But then a week later, his instructor returns. Tasallir is woken abruptly by a rough hand on his shoulder, and a gruff face staring down at him.

 “Get up,” the man says.

 Tasallir checks the gilded clock in his room.

 “It is too early,” he says. He has a schedule.

 His instructor does not care, though. Merely barks at him like a dog, until finally Tasallir must pull himself out of bed, and dress. He puts on his practice clothes, feeling tired and cross over it. Interrupting his sleep is becoming more and more troublesome. His history teacher says it is because dhampyrs grow fast and tall and undergo many changes in their adolescence.

 By the time he reaches the practice courtyard, though, he is mostly awake. His hair is bound, if not as neatly as he would prefer, and he is dressed. He has not had breakfast yet, but that probably will not bother him for a few hours still.

 His footsteps waver as he arrives to find that his teacher is not waiting for him alone.

 There is a girl in the practice courtyard.

 She is elven. With no vampire in her, Tasallir thinks; she smells like Nenae. Warm. She’s a little younger than him, or perhaps just smaller; dressed in a pink nightgown, with muddy slippers, and ribbons in her dark hair. His instructor has her sitting on the ground, tied to one of the practice racks, and there are huge tear tracks on her cheeks.

 “What is this?” Tasallir asks, utterly thrown by this development. And not a little fascinated, too. He has never met another child his age before.

 His teacher gestures towards the girl.

 “Kill her,” he says.

 Tasallir balks.

 “What?!” he replies, aghast. Kill her? He does not even know her, why would he kill her?

 Raising his eyebrows, his instructor gestures towards the girl again.

 “Outside of this castle, her kind are a dime a dozen. Like rabbits; long-lived but quick to breed anyway. Others use them as chattel. Your father could buy a thousand more just like her without batting an eye; indeed, I’m sure he has, over the years. And plenty others besides. Her life is essentially worthless. Take it, and I will let you conclude our lessons.”

 Tasallir blinks, rapidly; astounded.

 His teacher spreads his arms.

 “I mean it,” the man says. “Kill this girl, and you will never have to deal with me again. I know you would like to be rid of these lessons. Now’s your chance, boy.”

 The girl starts crying harder. He can smell the salt of her tears from here. Her fear, too, is a sickly scent. Bizarrely interesting, but also repellent. Tasallir gapes in utter consternation, and cannot even begin to process these instructions.

 “I’m not going to kill her,” he says, as incredulous as he has ever felt.

 His teacher’s expression does several odd things.

 “No?” the man replies.

 After a moment, he pulls a sword down from one of the display racks.

 “Don’t know how?” he suggests. “I can demonstrate. And then we’ll get another for you to do.”

 Tasallir takes a step forward, alarmed.

 “No!” he insists. His heart speeds up. What is going on? Is the man insane? He must be. Father has hired him a lunatic for a tutor. It would not be the first time, but Tasallir has never seen it take so long to demonstrate itself before.

 This is worse than when one of his former science teachers attempted to get him to vivisect a mouse.

 “Tasallir,” his teacher says, sharply. His gaze is hard. “Think carefully. This girl is of no consequence. Now that she has been here, she will die, whether on your sword or your father’s fangs. There is nothing to be gained by mercy. The only benefit is to you, if you strike.”

 “I’m not going to murder someone!” Tasallir protests. “Do you realize what you are saying?”

 His teacher laughs. It sounds wrong.

 “Do you?!” the man counters. He turns away from the girl, and gestures at him with his sword. “You’re half-vampire, boy! A dhampyr! A damn blood-sucker! The rabbit that birthed you is little more than a pet to the greatest predator who has ever lived, and his blood runs through your veins. Your father kills more easily than he breathes, boy. That’s what a vampire is. Death incarnate.”

 Tasallir takes several hurried steps back, as his teacher rounds on him. The sword comes level with his throat.

 “But you,” he says. “You. How can a soft rabbit heart beat in that chest of yours? Where’s the wolf!?”

 His heart, whatever it might be called, beats swiftly as he is cornered. Real fear grips him, deeper than even the shock and confusion.

 “I don’t understand what you are saying,” he tells his teacher, for what feels like the thousandth time.

 It is the wrong thing to say. The man’s expression twists, and in a swift move, he smacks the flat of the sword against Tasallir’s face. The metal stings. The girl cries out in alarm, as if she thinks he has been stabbed; but it would take more than a basic sword to cut him, really. Especially in the hands of a human. His teacher hits him again. It hurts, even if he doesn’t bleed. He raises his hands.

 “Stop!” he protests.

 “Where is it?!” his maddened instructor presses. “Where is the wolf? Where are your fangs? Son of Ravasan!” He hits, again and again, until Tasallir is crying and shielding himself. Pressed into the corner while the sword whips through the air, and even the cutting edge scrapes him a few times. “Son of a rabbit! What a waste, what a waste!”

 “Stop it!” Tasallir cries, and finally reaches up, and grabs the sword with his hand.

 The metal bites and scratches at the skin of his palm, but his grip is strong enough to keep his teacher from yanking it back again. The man staggers away in disgust, and draws a knife from his belt.

 “If logic won’t work, let’s see what a little blood can do,” he says.

 Tasallir watches in horror as he walks towards the girl.

 He can’t really mean to…?

 Oh no.

 His blood goes cold, as his teacher moves to grab her. Tasallir shoots up to his feet, heart pounding, and for a moment all he can think to do is stop it. This is all wrong, this is madness, he can’t kill a person! That’s murder! Tasallir has read books of laws and tales of history, he knows his father is a vampire and that vampires kill, but that thought seems abstract and very far away from the reality of a little elven girl and the knife in his teacher’s hand.

 He reaches his own palm outwards, even though he is still several feet away.

 “Stop!” he commands.

 The word lashes out the way no weapon in his hands ever could. For a moment Tasallir almost thinks he can see it. Like a silvery noose that ties itself around his teacher’s limbs, and abruptly halts him. But only for a moment. When he blinks, the air is empty. And his instructor is standing stock still, immobile.

 Except for his eyes. His eyes have turned towards Tasallir; wide in shock.

 For several breaths, there is nothing but stunned silence all around. Then the captive girl lets out a shaky breath, fraught with tears and the fear still clinging to her.

 “Are you… are you doing that?” she asks.

 “Boy,” his teacher grits out, in a tone of voice that promises punishment.

 Tasallir moves quickly. Leaving him where he is, not at all sure what he did or how long it will work for, as he hastily unties the girl. He’s not expecting her to throw her arms around him. It is an unpleasant surprise, she is wet from tears and rumpled and muddied, and smells like sour sweat. Tasallir carefully pries her back off, trying not to grimace as she clutches his hand instead, but he pushes past the physical discomfort as she looks at him with wide eyes.

 She doesn’t say anything until Tasallir has hurried her out of the training courtyard, though. Then she starts crying again.

 “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she says. “What is this place? Do you know where my family is?”

 “This is Ravasan’s Castle,” Tasallir tells her. “Where did you come from?”

 The girl sniffles.

 “Montsimmard,” she says. “My mothers work for Lady Julianne. I was sleeping, in my bedroom with my sister, and I heard a noise. And then the next thing I knew there was that man, and I was here, and he wouldn’t talk to me. He put a cloth in my mouth to keep me quiet, until he took me to that room…”

 “Was anyone else with you?” Tasallir wonders. “Did he take your sister too?”

 “I don’t know,” the girl says. “I was alone when I woke up.”

 They run, Tasallir unconsciously leading them towards his room, before he hesitates. That is probably where his teacher will go to look for him. It is where most do, because it is where he is easily found. But if what that man said was true, then Father might want to kill the little girl, too. Tasallir would not be shocked by such a thing, little though he cares to think of it.

 He does not know what to do. The castle is no place for the girl. The feel of her hand in his is making him agitated, too, feeling cramped and trapped and itching at the back of his teeth. As he hesitates, though, the girl finally lets him go. She pauses to catch her breath.

 Elves are weak, Tasallir remembers. They cannot run as fast or hit as hard or do as many things. His Nenae cannot, and so, probably, neither can the girl.

 He hopes he will not have to pick her up and carry her.

 But he thinks he knows how to, at least. He has seen his father do it, of course. Hands beneath the knees and shoulders, walk steady, go silent. The thought reminds him of his Nenae, and Tasallir makes a decision.

 “This way,” he says, once the girls’ breathing is not so bad. He leads her quickly down a different corridor; veering away from his rooms and instead following the path the leads to his nenae’s. When he was younger, the path would never bring him to their door unless it was the end of the week. But then for years, he did not even attempt to approach his nenae’s chambers unscheduled. When he was ten, he finally tried again, and discovered that the safeguards that had once deterred him were no longer in place. Father no longer expected disobedience; so he had simply let them fall away without renewal.

 Tasallir had not known what to do with the information. He had stood outside of his nenae’s door for an hour, fearful that pressing forward might still make him unwelcome, somehow. That it would lead to the whole thing being discovered, and revoked. And so for the past few years, he has only used the knowledge sometimes; when he is frightened or lonely, when he wishes for the safety of the nursery again, he will go and sit outside his nenae’s door.

 It never opens, so that is not a fear. His nenae is still confined in their rooms.

 But this time, he can only hesitate for a moment before he knocks on the door.

 “Tasallir…?” his nenae calls. “What…?”

 He opens the door at their answer, relieved that it is swift - it would be too impolite to open it otherwise - and hurries himself and the girl inside.

 Nenae stares at them in shock. They look as though they have just stood up from their writing desk. Their hair is loose, and they are wearing a soft day robe, with orange flowers on it. There are dark circles under their eyes, and no powder on their face. Tasallir closes the door shut firmly behind them, and turns the lock.

 “What on earth is going on?” Nenae asks.

 “I am sorry for the intrusion,” he says, and bows politely to them. “I believe my combat instructor has gone insane. He kidnapped this girl and told me to kill her. I stopped him, somehow, and we ran away. I didn’t know where else to take her, Nenae. She’s an elf, like you.”

 The girl glances at him uncomfortably for a moment. She stares at his eyes, before she ducks her head, and seems to come back to her senses a little.

 “Je vous demande pardon, ser,” she says to Nenae, with appreciable manners. “I hate to intrude.”

 Nenae stares at them for a moment. Then they shake their head a little, and breathe in sharply. Lifting a hand, they push back a few strands of their hair, and swipe self-consciously at their cheeks.

 “No. No, of course, you did the right thing coming here,” they say, reaching over and resting a hand on the girl’s head. “Poor child. Tasallir, take her into the solar, straight away. Just give me one moment and then I will come and you can tell me everything, properly.”

 With a nod, Tasallir gestures the girl towards the correct doorway. She goes, only scent of her fear still giving evidence to the fact that she is not really calm yet. The solar is a nice room, though. It overlooks the same rocky beach as the training courtyard, but with a more picturesque view, and there are plants and soft chairs and a neatly organized game board that can be reconfigured to play a number of games. The girl sits down and Tasallir reaches into one of the drawers beneath the main soft, and pulls out a pair of slippers. Normally he wears them while he plays games - the room can get too hot for proper shoes - but it seems more imperative to offer them to the girl.

 Her slippers are muddy, and mud itches.

 She takes the offering, and does not seem to know what to do with it for a moment. Until her mind catches up to her, and she pulls off her grimy slippers. Tasallir gives her a waste basket to drop them in, while she slides on the new ones.

 “I don’t even know how I got so muddy,” she murmurs.

 “The training courtyard has dirt floors,” he says. “I never understood why. It just makes things messy. In hindsight, I probably should have noticed my teacher was insane earlier.”

 “Oh.”

 They sit in awkward silence. The girl stares at her hands, and sniffles, and then reaches up and tries to straighten the ribbons in her hair. Tasallir doesn’t know what to say. He’s relieved when Nenae returns; this time dressed in proper day clothes, with their hair tied back, and powder on their face. Usually, when Tasallir visits, they have a tray of sweets. Today they only have tea, which they settle down onto the serving table, before moving to brush a hand over Tasallir’s head.

 “Are you alright?” they ask him softly.

 He looks up at them, and nods. One of their fingers brushes across his cheek.

 “He hit you?” they ask, in the same low, careful tone of voice.

 Oh. Tasallir had nearly forgotten that, in the rush of everything. He doesn’t like to think of it right now, either, he finds. After a moment, he shrugs awkwardly. Nenae’s expression shifts. They pass him a cup of tea and a cool cloth, and quietly tell him to just rest, before they turn their attention towards the girl. As Tasallir breathes out in relief and sips his tea, Nenae settles onto the seat next to their unexpected guest. They ask her several low, soft questions, too. Most of which the girl either nods to or shakes her head at. A few merit answers out loud.

 “What is your name, sweetheart?” they ask.

 “Serahlin,” the girl says.

 “What a lovely name,” Nenae commends. They give her some tea, too, and then gently fix her hair ribbons for her. “I almost named Tasallir ‘Seravir’, which is very close to that. Your mothers must have impeccable taste.”

 “They do,” Serahlin says, a little more steadily. “Memae and Mamae are the most respectable elves in Lady Julianne’s employ. They are always faultless.”

 “I suspected as much,” Nenae tells her. “It would take such people to raise a child so brave and well-mannered, especially under the circumstances. I’m certain that they will be proud to hear you handled a terrible situation so well.”

 “They’ll be worried,” Serahlin says.

 Nenae rubs her shoulder.

 “They’ll be beside themselves, that’s true. But we’ll get you back. I will even see to it that you are all given a gift, for the trouble.”

 Tasallir finds himself reassured. Serahlin also seems to be, as she tries to keep up the polite conversation for a while; before her distress wins out, again. Then he watches as she crumples into tears. Nenae shushes her gently, and pulls her into their lap. They rock her, as they used to do for Tasallir when he was much smaller. Humming and soothing until Serahlin’s elven body seems to just… give out, in exhaustion.

 He watches in consternation as the little girl falls unconscious.

 “Is she alright?” he checks. He can hear her breathing, and her heart beating.

 “Yes, just utterly drained. Poor thing,” Nenae clucks. They lay Serahlin out so that she can lie down on the seat, and then move back over to sit next to Tasallir instead.

 “Darling, what did you do, precisely, to stop your teacher?” they ask him.

 Tasallir considers.

 “I said ‘stop’,” he recounts. “And I held out my hand. And then… something happened. I think I saw ropes? But not real ones. Maybe they were just in my mind. They seemed to grab him, and after that, it was like he couldn’t move anything except for his eyes.”

 Nenae takes in a long breath and lets it out again. They brush some more of his hair back. In their lap, one of their hands is clenched into a fist. It trembles, slightly.

 “May I hug you, Tasallir?” they ask.

 Ordinarily, after having Serahlin grab him so much, he thinks he would say no. But watching her be cradled and cuddled by his nenae had left him feeling strangely. Almost envious, he thinks. So after a moment, he nods in agreement. And then he closes his eyes, as his nenae sweeps their arms around him and crushes him to their chest. The sensation is nearly overwhelming, but he savours it anyway. Surrounded by their scent, and the feel of them holding him. They bury a nose in his hair and breathe in deeply, before pressing several kisses to his crown.

 “My baby,” they say. “How dare. How dare you, Ravasan…”

  “Nenae?” Tasallir asks, tentatively.

 They lean back after a moment, and frame his face with their hands. Their fingers brush over the reddened marks on him, soothingly; though the marks do not hurt anymore, and have not for a while. They stopped stinging while he and Serahlin were still running.

 “Don’t worry,” they say. They have an odd expression on their face. “Nenae will fix it. Your friend will be alright, and you won’t ever see that ‘teacher’ again.”

 Tasallir thinks he should feel reassured. But for some reason, he finds himself wary instead.

 “How?” he wonders.

 “How?” Nenae asks, though they do not actually seem offended. They press a finger to his nose, before they finally sit back and give him his space again. “How indeed. There is no authority greater than your father’s, and there are some things he wants from me that he cannot take by force. Not without ruining them forever after. So, this time, your father will do as I tell him to. Because it will cost him nothing and gain something.”

 Tasallir sips some more of his tea.

 “What will you give him?” he wonders.

 Nenae shakes their head.

 “Nothing you have to worry about,” they say.

 “But I will worry about it,” Tasallir refutes. He is almost surprised at himself. Nenae frowns a little, and he stares down at his teacup. “Forgive me…”

 “No, no. I know you worry, darling,” they say, patting the table next to his hand. “It’s nothing. Just a little blood. It won’t even hurt me.”

 He stares at his nenae; at the pallor that has consistently overtaken their complexion. The dark circles covered by powder. The faint hollowness to their features, that seems to have grown more and more noticeable. Bit by bit, over the past few years. He knows it is rude, but he stares, too, at their neck. He never sees the bite mark, though. They always cover it up. He only knows it is there because once - just once, before he left the nursery - he saw his father come, and bite Nenae there.

 He smelled the blood, and cried.

 “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I made trouble for you…”

 “Nonsense,” Nenae says.

 Tasallir swallows, and thinks of what his teacher had been telling him, when he was trying to get him to kill Serahlin. About things costing nothing, and gaining something. But that is not how balance works. That is not the order of things. Even if one does not pay a cost themselves, energy must always be transferred.

 Does his father think in such terms?

 But surely Father has read all the same books that Tasallir has? Ethics and philosophy as well as science and physics and everything else. His history teacher once told him that there was not a single book in the world that Father had not read.

 So maybe it is Tasallir who truly does not understand the nature of this bartering, in lives and blood.

 “Nenae…” he asks, tentatively.

 They look towards him patiently.

 “Am I going to have to drink blood, one day?” he wonders.

 His nenae pauses. Their gaze turns down. Slowly, and with deliberate care, they unclench the hand in their lap. Then they smooth it over their lap, and onto the upholstery beside him.

 “If a vampire does not drink blood, then they will die. The same way that if I do not drink water, I will day,” they say. “You, Tasallir, will be able to survive on either. But. Blood will give you power, and it is power that is addicting. Once you begin to drink blood, Tasallir, you will want to keep doing it. The more you do it, the harder it will be to stop. So… I would rather you did not do such a thing, unless needs must.”

 Tasallir nods in understanding. He feels a rush of relief.

 “I will not have to?” he checks, just in case.

 Nenae smiles at him. The last of the tension seems to ease from their posture.

 “You will not have to,” they promise.

 Tasallir stays another hour, then. They finish having tea. Serahlin does not wake up, but Nenae tell him to leave her with them. When his usual breakfast time comes, he leaves. He stays away from the training courtyards, but his instructor is nowhere to be see. Tasallir manages to pass the rest of the day in relative peace; he goes to to his evening lessons, when his vampiric tutors awaken. He tries to focus on his studies, though it is harder than usual to curtail his thoughts.

 When he is finally free to have his own time again, he heads back to his nenae’s rooms.

 The way is warded, once more.

 Tasallir feels mixed feelings, and even apprehension when his steps - rather than rerouting him back towards his own room - instead bring him to the stark double-doors of his father’s study. He hesitates before them, trying to swallow down his trepidation, but knowing he must be expected.

 It is rude to keep people waiting.

 With his heart hammering, he reaches up, and pulls the door to the left open. It is heavy and solid in his grasp. Father’s study is massive, filled with the sounds of clicking machines and whirling devices. Bookshelves tower between wrought iron windows. A map of the world is etched into the floor, and a faint, acrid scent clings to the air. His father’s large, wingback chair is situated next to the largest window in the room.

 Tasallir can see his arm, as he sits in it.

 The door to the study shuts behind him. His father stands up.

 “Tasallir,” he beckons.

 Dutifully, he moves forward. The summons to follow is obvious, as his father heads through one of the side doors of the study, Head down, Tasallir trails after him. They head through one of the workshops, and then down an unfamiliar flight of stairs. Though the castle still has so many, even despite Tasallir spending all of his life in it. He watches the light recede behind them, while his father glides effortlessly downwards, until they are in a cell.

 His combat instructor is bound in the middle of it.

 Tasallir startles again. The man is covered in welts. His eyepatch is gone, and his clothes have been torn in some places, but what seems to be the weight of several heavy blows. Blood trickles sluggishly down into his collar. It looks as though someone has beaten him many times over with some kind of belt or whip.

 It is an unpleasant sight, and Tasallir does not want to see it.

 “What is going on?” he asks.

 His father comes to a halt in the nearest corner of the room.

 “Your nenae informed me your instructor was unsuitable,” Father tells him. “They have reprimanded him. I now leave it to you to decide what to do with him.”

 Tasallir shifts uncomfortably in place.

 “What do you mean?” he asks.

 His father’s gaze does not seem to rest on either himself or his combat instructor.

 “I mean what I say. What would you have done with him?”

 “I…” Tasallir’s gaze skitters away from the wounded man before him. The scent of blood makes him feel nauseous. “I don’t know.”

 A long silence descends. Father seems ambivalent. When he ventures a look back towards his instructor, the man only returns his stare with disgust. Disgust and disappointment, so apparent that even Tasallir cannot mistake them.

 “Where’s Serahlin?” he asks his father.

 “What?”

 “The elven child.”

 “Oh. The girl has been taken back to her home,” his father says. “Memories erased. Compensation provided.”

 “Truly?” Tasallir finds himself asking.

 Father looks at him, at that. As if surprised by the question.

 “When have you known me to lie?” he asks.

 “Never,” Tasallir supposes. “But I am learning new things every day.”

 He would never openly rebel against his father. His will is absolute; he is the oldest vampire in existence, and quite possibly the most powerful being in the world. Next to that, Tasallir and Nenae are only dust. But for some reason, today, he finds himself thinking of his mother’s gods. Of the way defiance tastes at the back of his tongue, like the crack of power flying forth at a single command. The chaos of these situations grates against him, like a hand pressed to tightly to his skin.

 He wants to put it right.

 Father looks away from him after a moment.

 “Decide,” he commands.

 Tasallir closes his eyes, before turning on his heel to walk back out of the room.

 “Send him away, then,” he decides. “No more combat classes.”

 His father does not object. So Tasallir walks out of the dungeon, and back through the work room. He is at the door to the study, before he hears his father’s voice again.

 “Tasallir.”

 He stops.

 “You must learn to fight.”

 A sigh escapes him.

 “A new instructor will be sent for. Do not trouble your nenae with this information.”

 When that seems to be all, Tasallir finally opens the door to the story, and hurries back out again. Waiting until he is in the hallway to slump against one of the walls, and retch over the stress and the lingering image of his instructor’s battered form.

  ~

   Tasallir is eighteen when his nenae dies.

 If he were a more sentimental person, he thinks he might claim that he knew the moment it happened. But the truth is, he does not. He only knows the matter after - knows when the castle shakes, knows when Ravasan’s fury and pain begin to resound through the firmament of his construct, and his cry of anguish resonates in such unfamiliar tones that Tasallir would not even recognize his voice, save for the fact that no other being could impact the castle so entirely.

 His blood, rarely warm, turns to ice in his veins.

 He can think of only one thing that even could merit such a cry.

 His nenae has been gone for nearly a year, by then.

 They left. A moment of opportunity, Tasallir thinks. Ravasan had, for the first time in memory, neglected the eluvian room. The sounds of a mirror activating were not unfamiliar, resonating through the other reflective surfaces of the castle, but the panic that ensued was. The castle had cycled through a hundred different locations, since then. Scouts were sent out. Tasallir was locked in his quarters; sealed away, at first, and then dragged out by contrast. Dangled like bait, as he was escorted from the castle for the first time since… the first time, in fact.

 We must find your nenae. It is not safe for them. They are in danger, Tasallir. We must bring them back…

 He had not known if he believed his father’s words, then. Wavering in uncertainty, lost in the knowledge that Nenae had left of their own will. Just as they had tried to do before. They had left…

 …They had left without him, in the end.

 In Kirkwall, Tasallir found something. Standing in a dingy tavern, trying not to touch the wealth of filthy surfaces; even with his gloves on, he felt over-exposed and surrounded by chaotic mess. The scouts were out searching the less visible parts of the city. Tasallir’s job was to be, by contrast, very visible. The bright lure to draw his nenae out. As he stood in the tavern, wishing to be elsewhere, some patrons had passed close. Making inappropriate comments, asking pithy questions. Reeking of ale and spit and even more unpleasant things.

 Someone passed into him from behind.

 Tasallir froze.

 For the briefest moment, he caught a familiar scent. In the corner of his eye, there was a flash of bright red hair. The feel of fingers brushing, just briefly, against his arm.

 Then it was gone. And by the time Tasallir had decided whether or not to turn around, whether or not to really look for someone who did not wish to be found, there was no sign of anything. The moment brief enough that it could have been a dream.

 He found the note in his pocket hours later. When he was alone in his room, and finally dared to look.

 My dearest Tasallir,

 I am so sorry. You will never know how sorry I truly am, my son, that I could not take you with me. That I left you behind. I can offer you no excuses. I had but one chance to go, and no time to find you. In a moment, I took it. In the next, I nearly ran back. But as you read this, you must know, of course, that I did not. I did not go back for you.

 And I cannot. That castle is a tomb, and I cannot let myself be sealed away. I cannot endure it any longer. The more freedom I taste the more I know that I would rather die out here than live another minute in that gilded cage.

 I do not know if you will understand that. You have never known freedom, so you do not understand the cost of its absence. It is my greatest regret that I could not bring you with me. That I cannot show you the world as I see it. But I know he has you searching for me. Dearest one, I do not know what my words will mean to you. If you are angry at me. If you are confused. If you are lonely and afraid. They may mean nothing now, after this abandonment, but I hope you will still heed me. If only a little.

 You must not stay in that castle. You must not remain with that dead man. The world can be a frightening and dangerous place, Tasallir, full of sorrow and treachery. But it is also full of so many wonders. Ravasan knows many things, but he understands less than enough to fill a thimble. There are wonders out here that you will never recognize until you are free. Win your freedom, my son. When you see the door open, seize your chance, and barrel through.

 If you can forgive me, come and find me again. My life is a string of regrets, but you are not one of them.

 All my love,

 Nenae.

 Tasallir had read and re-read the note. Until finally he had folded it neatly away, and hit it in a pocket on the inside of his boot.

 He was not angry. He could not even fathom being angry, and he had no reason to feel frightened. Loneliness… Tasallir could not say either way, he supposed. There was a gnawing ache in him, and like a missed step in the dark, the end of the week felt strained and strange without his nenae’s voice to steady him. But there was so much upheaval, how could he know if he felt loneliness, when his father’s minions dragged him through every major thoroughfare in Thedas, leaving him struggling through crowds and trying to navigate evening bridges, stranded in market squares with screaming children and aggressive vendors?

 Did he want Nenae to be found?

 …That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Nenae did not want to be found. So, Tasallir kept the letter in his boot.

 As the castle quaked, and his heart sank, he felt as though he had made the gravest mistake of his life.

 Father called a war council.

 The engines of the castle churned. Tasallir was summoned, but then, so, it seemed, was every other creature of the night. The castle was situated high atop a foggy hillside. The doors were flung wide open for seven nights, as vampires from across Thedas poured in; solitary figures, and covens, ancient beings and freshly-turned degenerates. To say that Tasallir had any advantage over the rest would have been folly. His father put out the summons, and screamed wrath into the various portals and machines of the castle; and when the fury would die down in him, he would retreat to his study, and seal the doors.

 Not once did he call for Tasallir in particular. Not even to recriminate him. It was days before Tasallir even learned what had happened.

 In Kirkwall.

 The Knight Commander burned his nenae at the stake. Maleficarum, they were branded. A wicked elven mage.

 Tasallir maintained his composure at the news until he was alone. Then he broke down. Falling to his knees, as he shook, and shook, and wondered where that anguished sound was coming from. Until he realized his throat was aching from the strength of his own cries.

 Like father like son, perhaps. But Tasallir’s fit lingered only in the unsteadiness of his limbs, and the way his mind could not focus on a single thought of fire, or the red of Nenae’s hair.

 Ravasan’s was far more enduring.

 On the seventh night, the doors slam shut. The war council is assembled. Tasallir takes not of the crowd. Not only vampires, in the end, but some others, too. Mages. Artisans of the dead from Nevarra; forgers of night-terror golems from Orzammar. Magister lich lords, abominations, and more. Ravasan’s war council is the most crowded that Tasallir has ever seen the castle be. It suddenly strikes him that the spaces around him were, perhaps, even meant for crowds these size at some point. The cavernous chambers feel, for the first time in his recollection, necessary to comfortably accommodate the crowds in the castle.

 The chatter of the masses goes silent, as Ravasan glides out into the meeting chamber.

 “Children of the Night,” he greets. “The time has come. A thousand years ago, I stood before a council of you. Some of you the same faces, even then. And I disbanded the armies of dusk, in the name of a prosperous future.”

 Ravasan seemed massive, to Tasallir. At that moment he all but towered. His cloak a black shadow; his body a wall. His skin bleached as bone. There was nothing in his eyes. Just a void, like the hollow pits of a skull.

 You must not remain with that dead man.

 “I stand before you now to decry that Ravasan as a fool. I call upon you, now, to join me in forsaking the world ruled by mortal souls. My beloved is dead. Burned by those who would count themselves as virtuous. I care not if they have any virtue to speak of. I care not if any living being does. I call for their deaths! For all of their deaths! I call for the chantry’s decimation, for the slaughter of their peoples, for the streets to run red with blood. I call for war!”

 The hall bursts into uproar. Tasallir is stunned; he had never even thought such a thing might be possible. War? Armies? He stares blankly ahead, as the uproar among the gathered crowds surges. Some cheer and roar in delight, crying out in triumph, as if something they have long awaited has finally come to pass. Others call out questions, raise their arms, trying to mitigate the furor of the crowds as they seek answers or clarifications or try and gain Ravasan’s attention.

 It is futile, of course. Father did not come to debate. He came to announce. Tasallir watches him leave, letting the crowd fight among itself. Some onlookers try and follow, but the castle will not let them.

 With what advantages her does have, Tasallir turns, and makes his way down a side passage. Detouring several times, before he finally manages to get onto a pathway that leads to the double doors of his father’s study.

 They are locked.

 Tasallir musters himself, and slams the knocker down.

 “It is me,” he announces.

 There is a long wait.

 But just when he has begun to abandon it in futility, the study door opens a crack.

 He pushes it the rest of the way. Once he’s inside, it swings shut behind him, of course. The study is quiet. The usual click and clack of machines has been silenced. The lights are dim. Moonlight streams in through the large study window, and shines against the skin of Ravasan’s hand, from where Tasallir can see it.

 He approaches the chair.

 “What are you doing?” he asks.

 His father does not deign to answer. His eyes remain fixed out of the window in front of him.

 “A war?” he presses. “You mean to sic the forces of darkness on Kirkwall?”

 Father’s gaze remains fixed. But one of his fingers taps the armrest of his chair.

 “Kirkwall?” he says. “No. My son. I mean to raze all of Thedas.”

 Tasallir hesitates.

 “What… who’s ‘all of Thedas’, in this scenario?” he asks. “The chantry?”

 “All of them,” his father insists. “The Free Marches. Orlais. Ferelden. Tevinter. Nevarra. Antiva. Every country, every nation, every filthy shore from here to Seheron. Every human, every elf, dwarf, vashoth, all of them. I will not suffer them any longer. This nightmare, this unceasing nightmare of rebirth and decay. Every inch of it must be destroyed…”

 Tasallir stares at his father, and feels a familiar incomprehension dawn.

 Suddenly, it is almost as if he is twelve years old again. Staring at his combat instructor, as the man commands him to kill an innocent little girl. The cold in his veins feels heavy. A stone in the pit of his stomach; the bottom of his heart.

 Madness.

 “Father… that is pure insanity,” he says.

 There is silence.

 And then, before he can blink, there is a fist around his throat. Tasallir’s eyes widen. He barely has time to lift a hand, to think of defense, before he is pitched across the room. His back slams into one of the study bookshelves. Hard enough to knock the breath clean out of him, as his father rounds on him like a nightmare. Looming and stone-faced, except that the hollow pits of his eyes seem lit with a hungry, all-consuming fire instead.

 “Insanity?” he demands. “Insanity, my son, is that your nenae died in Kirkwall! Where I sent you at least half a dozen times! Did you think this was a game?! That a dozen scouts scouring every city in the realm, an engine churning every night for months on end, was idle farce?! I sent you to find them, and you left them to their death instead!”

 Tasallir hurries back to his feet. Keenly aware of the creature before him, the ancient and unnatural being bearing down upon him. He raises his hands, and flinches as his father reaches out and flings a nearby chair into the wall. The crash of the wood splintering into pieces echoes on impact.

 “Father!” he beseeches. “Stop!”

 Another piece of furniture flies. This one collides with Tasallir, and knocks him into yet another bookcase. As Ravasan bears down on him again, he is struck by the sudden certainty that if he does not do something quickly, he is going to die.

 He draws his sword.

 The silvery blade gleams, moving from its sheath with the power of a thought. Physical fighting was never Tasallir’s strong suit; but telekinesis, as it happens, is something of a rare talent. He hurries out of his father’s path, and sends his sword arcing forward in a defensive move to deflect another thrown chair.

 Ravasan reaches out, in a sudden flash, and grasps the handle of his blade. He wrenches from the hold of Tasallir’s mind, so fierce that there is no resisting it. The pull jars him, badly. He staggers, and then falls backwards as his father strikes out at him with his own sword.

 The blow is shocking. The blade slices through his jacket and vest, and cleaves neatly into his flesh. Burning silver-bright as it cuts a swath across his torso. His own blood spatters, dark red, against the front of his father’s cloak, and the wall beside him. Tasallir’s eyes are wide. The pain is excruciating. He falls, clutching at himself; caught by a sudden, desperate fear that his heart is about to fall clear through the wound in his chest.

 Father halts.

 The fire in his hollow gaze seems to flicker out for a moment, as he stares uncomprehendingly at Tasallir.

 His sword clatters to the floor.

 “Father…” he breathes.

 The man stares at him.

 His head shakes, just slightly. Then he backs away. Hastily at first, it seems; but then maybe that was just the jittery state of Tasallir’s own mind. Because a moment later, he is gliding away. Back over to his chair, as if nothing of note has just happened. Tasallir’s blood spreads across the floor.

 “Leave,” his father instructs.

 With a great force of effort, Tasallir picks himself up off the floor of the study. He nearly slips in his own blood. His arm clutches his chest, as the wound burns. He does not know what to do for it; he has never been so badly hurt before. With numb fingers, he physically lifts his sword. More out of some obscure habit towards tidiness than anything else. His thoughts are scattered; delirious.

 You must not remain with that dead man.

 Leave.

 He takes the command further, perhaps, than he father intended; as he staggers from the study, and then hurries to his room. Stopping only long enough to wrap his torso in bandages, and try to stem the bleeding, before he pulls on a fresh set of clothing. The kind he normally would wear on one of his searches for Nenae. He leaves his hair loose, as he belts his sword on again, and then makes his way back into the churning corridors of the castle. Heading down and down, until he finds the main hall again. The double doors are closed; but the side entrances are open, as servants hurry to and fro, trying to accommodate the maelstrom of guests.

 Tasallir is not recognized, nor regarded.

 He slips out of the castle, and vanishes into the night.

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Missed Connections ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU (Part 3/7)

A/N: Hi my lovelies! Okay, first off thank you so much for all of the love especially on the last chapter of Missed Connections. I haven’t gotten a chance to respond to you yet, but I have read all the comments and I’m soo soo grateful. Also, I’m pretty sure I got everyone who asked to be tagged but if I missed you I’m super sorry. Just shoot me an ask or a message or comment that you want to be tagged and I’ll add you. I am still working on Primary Colors. The chapter is being a bit stubborn and this story just started writing itself so I figured i”d share. I really love this part so I hope you enjoy it as well. 

Summary: Second semester is a bit disappointing to start off with. But maybe things will start looking up. (This is a crap summary. I apologize.) 

Characters/Pairings; Eventual Steve x Reader, Bruce, Betty, Thor, Sam, Scott, Clint, Tony, Pepper, Nat, Wanda :D 

Rating: T (language? maybe)

Warnings: A little bit of self doubt on the reader’s part 

Word Count: 2303 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

“So we’ve officially covered everything that’s fair game on the exam,” Bruce said triumphantly.

You and Betty cheered.

“I vote, we take a thirty minute break. Let our brains revive themselves. And then do another round of review before we call it a night,” Betty suggested.

“I think that’s a fabulous idea,” you agreed.

“Sounds good to me.”

Bruce shut his textbook and pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m going to grab some more food. Do you guys want anything?” Betty offered.

“I’m good.”

“No thanks.”

“Alright. Back in a few.”

Once she was out of earshot, you slid over next to Bruce.

“You guys seem to be hitting it off.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve just been studying?”

“The lingering glances. Her laughing at your lame science jokes.”

He held his hand to his heart as though he were wounded. “I thought you loved my lame science jokes.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder.

“Love, sure. Actually find funny?” you grimaced and he rolled his eyes. “But seriously you should ask her to hang out after the exam..”

“And you should take your own advice.”

“I would if I ever saw him this semester. There’s been literally zero sign of him. I’ve seen his friends plenty of times, but… maybe he went abroad last minute.”

Bruce shook his head.

“No, he didn’t. He’s in my orgo 2 lecture.”

Surprisingly that didn’t buoy your spirits all that much. You were nervous he was avoiding you.

“Come on,” you urged. “At least one of us should get our love connection this semester.”

Before you could go too far down that rabbit hole Betty returned with a plate of chicken fingers and you could no longer ignore your hunger.

“Okay, I take it back. I want food. I’ll be back.”

You climbed out of the booth and grabbed your ID and phone before hurrying into line.

You wanted to give Betty and Bruce as much alone time as possible so you started looking for someone you could sit with for the time being. That was when you spotted Thor and Sam in a booth just inside the doors.

“Hey fellas, mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Y/n!” Thor boomed. In your few encounters you had figured out he was typically happy to see everyone. “Of course.”

He slid over so you could sit. You smiled at Sam and their other friend.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You smiled.

“Scott. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You arched an eyebrow at the word “finally” and Sam elbowed him in the ribs.

“I said finally. I meant it’s just nice to meet you. You seem like a really cool person. From your appearance.”

“Real smooth,” Sam snarked, rolling his eyes.

“So how’s the semester treating you guys?” You asked as you tried to hide your smile because obviously the guys talked about you.

Scott and Sam shrugged, but Thor groaned.

“It’s already kicking my ass. What about you?”

“Drowning. I had a chem exam Monday and I have a bio exam tomorrow. But hey, that’s what I signed up for.”

You leaned around the back of the booth so you could watch your friends. Betty was giggling at something Bruce had said and he was attempting to look cool.

“Trying to avoid someone?” Sam asked as he tried to see who you were looking at.

“No. My friend Bruce has a crush on this girl in our bio class who just so happens to be my lab partner. So I invited her to study with us and now we’re taking a break so I’m trying to stay scarce for as long as possible.”

“And here I thought you were just wanted to spend some time with us,” Thor teased.

“I mean that’s just a bonus,” you informed him as you smiled sweetly.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m having a party at my apartment tomorrow night. Do you want to come?”

The prospect was a bit daunting and you hesitated.

“You can bring your friends of course,” he said quickly. “The more the merrier.”

“Okay. Maybe. I’ll talk to my friends.”

He grinned broadly.

“Alright. Here, why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you the details.”

You opened up a new text message and handed over your phone to Thor so he could text himself while you chatted with Scott and Sam. Conversation was easy, and you quickly lost track of time. You would have stayed talking to them until Late Night closed, but Bruce texted you rapid fire to get your attention.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you guys later.”

“See ya.”

“Good luck on your exam.”

“Come out tomorrow night and celebrate,” Sam suggested with a wink.  

“I’ll try and swing by,” you promised. “Good night.”

You quickly rejoined your friends and returned to studying. Bruce and Betty called it around midnight but you continued studying until Late Night closed at two.

As you eyed the mountain of stuff you had to get back to your room, you silently cursed yourself from not bringing your backpack down earlier. You had made so many small runs up to your room for studying materials that you couldn’t really carry it all.

“Need a hand?”

Your eyes widened in surprise when you looked up and found Steve standing there with a hesitant expression. You were going to refuse but then your laptop slipped off the top of the stack and he snatched it before it could smash on the ground.

“That’d be great. Thanks,” you conceded, handing over your textbook.

Tucking the multitude of colored pens into the front pocket of your hoodie, you shoved the loose papers into the front of your notebook and hugged the stack of them to your chest.

“All set?”

You nodded and fell in step beside him.

“Bio exam tomorrow?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Do you have Fury?” he asked as you walked towards the elevators.

“Yeah. He’s super intimidating. I think it’s the eye patch.”

“It’s definitely the eye patch,” he agreed with a snort. “And the leather duster. Are Phil and Maria still TAing?”

You nodded as you stepped inside the elevator. “I have Phil for discussion. He’s the best.”

“Absolutely,” Steve agreed leaning against the opposite wall. “You should try to go to his office hours all the time if you can. He has the coolest gadgets.”

“I already do. I’m convinced he’s really a spy,” you confided with a giggle.

“I completely agree. One time he actually kicked open the door and tactical rolled into office hours.”

“No he didn’t,” you gasped.

“Cross my heart,” he grinned.  

“Oh my god. That is too funny.”

The elevator doors slid open on your floor and you sighed. You wished you had more time. He walked you all the way to your door, waiting patiently while you fished out your keys. You silently pushed open your door and dumped your notebooks on your desk before turning back to Steve and taking your textbook and laptop back from him.

“Thanks for your help,” you smiled and bit your lip.

He grinned and scratched behind his ear.

“Any time. Good luck on your exam.”

“Thanks.”

You both hesitated, before he mumbled, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

You slipped into your room and locked the door leaning up against it for a moment, before swearing under your breath.

“Shit. I still didn’t introduce myself.”  

“So what did you guys think?” you asked as the three of you walked out of the exam.

“I feel really good. I didn’t leave any blank so that’s a plus,” Betty reported as she tucked her pen into the front pocket of her backpack.

You looked to Bruce for his answer.

“About the same. There wasn’t anything off the wall.”

“Agreed. I’m just glad that and chem are over and I can actually enjoy the weekend.”

Betty nodded excitedly.

“Any fun plans?”

“I actually got invited to a party tonight. Do you guys wanna come?”

Bruce shuffled his feet slightly.

“We’re actually going to First Friday at the Science Museum.”

“They’re having a robot dance off before they open the floor for a massive party,” Betty elaborated.

You couldn’t help but grin at them. You did manage to refrain from squealing.

“It sounds like a blast. I hope you guys have fun.”

“I think we will,” Betty smiled before glancing at her watch. “Oh crap. I’m going to be late for work. I’ll see you guys later.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6:30,” Bruce told her.

“Looking forward to it.”

You waved until she was out the doors and then you gave in, squealing and flailing at Bruce.

“Yay! I’m so excited for you.”

“I’m so nervous. What if I screw it up?”

“You’re not going to screw it up. It’s going to be great. I’m so proud.”

He rolled his eyes and tugged on the straps of his backpack. “Come on, we have to meet the others for lunch.”  

You practically skipped towards the dining hall tugging Bruce behind. He was outright laughing at your enthusiasm by the time you sat down with the others.  

“I really wasn’t expecting this amount of giddiness just because I’m going to the Science Museum.”

“With the girl you’ve been crushing on,” you pointed out with a smirk.  

“That’s neither here nor there,” he spoke noncommittally. “Besides. I asked my crush out. That means it’s your turn. You have to talk to him.”

“Well she already has. Late last night,” Pepper smirked as she sipped her coffee.

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, looking up from his notebook where he was scribbling down his latest idea.

You thought you had been quiet enough to avoid waking Pepper, but her knowing look told you that you were wrong.

“Well, y/n, was walked back to our room by a certain someone we all technically don’t know.”

“And you didn’t text us immediately?”

“I’ve been busy. I needed sleep. I had an exam,” you drew out the last word pointedly.  

“And now you’re done so you can spill,” Wanda concluded with a grin.  

Knowing they weren’t going to let it go and honestly still being giddy about it, you rapidly recounted the journey from the dining hall to your room. It wasn’t terribly exciting in retrospect but you still beamed at the memory. After the gushing wrapped up Clint shook his head at you.

“I can’t believe you didn’t give him your number.”

“Technically she didn’t even give him her name,” Nat smirked at you and you stuck your tongue out in reply.

“He didn’t give me his either!” you argued.

“That doesn’t make anything better.”

“At least we had a full conversation. That’s progress.”

“True. But I think it’s time to kick it up a notch. And Thor’s party is the perfect opportunity.”

“Sit still or I’m going to poke your eye out,” Nat warned as you fidgeted for the thousandth time as she put the finishing touches on your make up.

Despite your rapidly mounting nerves, the afternoon had been fun. All four of you were going out that night, so you spent the time getting ready together. Wanda had left for her anniversary dinner with Viz an hour earlier. And Tony had come to pick up Pepper for Rhodey’s award ceremony shortly thereafter leaving you with Nat.

“Are you sure you’re not going overboard? This feels like a lot of makeup. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t question my makeup skills because I love you.” She smirked as she took a step back to admire her work. “Perfect.”

She held up the mirror so you could look at your reflection and you were pleasantly surprised. What had felt like a lot of makeup was really just touches here and there to enhance your features.

“You’re a knockout. Now it’s time for the finishing touch.”

She walked over to your closet and pulled out the black knee high boots you had bought on a whim during fall semester.

“I’m not wearing the boots, Nat.”

“Yes, you are. They make the outfit. Besides, you sass walk when you were them.”

“What does that even mean?” you snorted.

“It means you sway your hips, and make your ponytail swing. It’s hot. People notice when you do it.”

“Really?” you asked and your voice was way more hopeful than you wanted it to be.

“You’re not nearly as invisible as you think you are, sweetheart,” she said softly stroking your cheek. “Now, put on the damn boots.”

You chuckled and took the boots and zipped them up over your skinny jeans. You glanced at your reflection in the full length mirror on the back of your door.

Nat looked over your shoulder.

“You look like you want to puke.”

She wasn’t wrong; your stomach was queasy.

“I’m so nervous,” you admitted moving to sit on your bed.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a party.”

“It’s my first college party,” you reminded her. “And I’m going by myself.”

“Only for a little while. Clint and I will be there as soon as the meeting is over.”

“Are you sure I don’t need to be there?” you asked for the sixth.

“I’m positive. E-board only. We’re just finalizing numbers. The real work will start next week. Come on. Clint and I will get you on the shuttle.”

“I can do this,” you mumbled as you pulled on your peacoat and double checked your purse.

“Yes, you can.”

True to her word Nat and Clint, waited for the shuttle with you, making sure you got on. They also made you promise to text them when you got there and you resisted the urge to call them mom and dad.

A/N: So there you go. I’m super excited for what’s coming up. I have the ending planned out but there’s lots more fun and shenanigans to come. I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks so much for reading. Feedback is lovely! Mwah! 

[rose-gold-romantic]

Fidelity: Chapter Three

A Loki x reader that takes place during Avengers: Infinity War. Follow-up fic to Tesseract, Lokasenna, and What Heroes Do.

I WOULD LOVE FEEDBACK! Want to be tagged in updates? Let me know!

@malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstraya @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @pandaqua​ @person-born-winchester

We fastened ourselves into the pod, breaking free of the larger ship. Thor sat in silence, closing his eyes. I sat next to him, patting his back gently. Thor let out a large sigh, turning to me.

“I can’t believe that he’s really gone this time.” He whispered, his voice ragged. “As much as he has fooled me in the past, as much as he’s lashed out in response to his slights, both imagined and valid, I would be a fool and a liar to say that I don’t miss him dearly.”

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered in return, giving him a gentle side hug as tears rolled down both of our faces. “I can only imagine what you must be going through after what happened on the ship. So many of your people...”

“Our people.” Thor corrected, “You have every bit as much of a right to call Asgard your home. You lived there, learned there…” he placed his hand on my knee. “You also are my brother’s beloved. I can’t thank you enough for being the constant in his life that he needed. I had seen so much change in him since meeting you, and though he would relapse, he always came back around. Especially when it was important. He truly loved you. You are my family, and the only family I have left in this world, until I reach Valhalla. I am grateful to have you by my side.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” I said, smiling through my tears. “You deserve vengeance for the destruction of everything you fought so hard to preserve.”

“We both do.” He said, squeezing my shoulder, running his hand along the curve of a horn on Loki’s helm as he stood up.

“Rabbit, do you know where we need to go?”

“No.” Rocket responded. “It would be fantastic if you could give me the heading, your burliness.”

Thor moved over to give Rocket directions, and I sat back in my chair, slowly rubbing the helm with my thumb. My heart ached, and I felt hollow. The sickening sound of Loki’s neck breaking repeated in my ears over and over, each time strengthening my resolve. I would find Thanos, and with Thor’s help, I would end him.

“I am Groot.” the tree said, looking to Rocket.

“Tinkle in the cup.” Rocket replied. “We’re not looking for… Everybody’s seen your twig!”

“I am Groot!” Groot responded angrily.

“You can pour what’s in the cup out in space,” Thor replied. “Then go in the cup again.”

“You speak Groot?” Rocket asked, shocked.

“Yes, they taught it on Asgard.” Thor replied, “It was an elective.”

“I never got around to learning that.” I grumbled.

“It wasn’t commonly taught,” Thor said, “At least not to the public.”

“I am Groot?” Groot whined.

“You’ll know when we’re close.” Thor said, staring off into the vastness of space. “Nidavellir’s forge harnesses the blazing power of a Neutron Star. It’s the birthplace of my hammer; it’s truly awesome.”

Thor walked to the back of the ship, and Rocket sighed. “Ok, time to be the captain.” he grumbled, placing the ship on auto pilot. “So, dead brother, huh? That can be annoying.”

“Well, he’s been dead before.” Thor replied, “But this time… I think it really might be true.”

“And you said that your sister,” Rocket continued, “And your Dad…”

“Both dead.” Thor sighed.

“But, still got a Mom, though?” Rocket asked, trying to remain optimistic.

“Killed by a Dark Elf.” Thor replied.

“Best friends?”

“I have one left. The other was stabbed through the heart in front of me.” Thor said quietly.

Rocket’s face winced, “You sure you’re up for this particular murder mission?”

“Absolutely.” Thor said, his resolve strong. “The rage, vengeance, anger, loss, regret, they’re all tremendous motivators. They truly clear the mind.” He said, smiling slightly before adding, “So, I’m good to go.”

“Yeah, but this is Thanos we’re talking about,” Rocket countered, “he’s the toughest there is.”

“Well, he’s never fought me.” Thor said.

“Yes he has!” Rocket said, exasperated.

“Well, he’s never fought me TWICE.” Thor clarified, and I shook my head. “And, I’ll have a new hammer, don’t forget.”

“Well, it’d better be some hammer.” Rocket muttered.

“You know, I'm 1,500 years old. I've killed twice as many enemies as that, and every one of them would have rather killed me, but none succeeded.” Thor said. “I'm only alive because Fate wants we alive. Thanos is just the latest in a long line of bastards, and he'll be the latest to feel my vengeance. Fate wills it so.”

“...and what if you’re wrong?” Rocket asked.

“If I’m wrong, then…” Thor trailed off.

“What more could we lose?” I finished.

“I could lose a lot. Me, personally. I could lose a lot. ” Rocket muttered under his breath. “Ok. Well, if fate does want you to kill that crapsack,” Rocket added, walking up to his bag in the cockpit, “you need more than one stupid eyeball.”

Rocket handed Thor a small object, and Thor examined it.

“What’s this?” Thor asked, turning the object over to view it better.

“What does it look like?” Rocket responded, “Some jerk lost a bet with me in Contraxia.”

“He gave you his eye?” Thor asked.

“No, he gave me 100 credits.” Rocket replied, “I snuck into his room later that night and stole his eye.”

Thor removed his eye patch, grimacing as he slid the replacement animatronic eye into place.

“Thank you, sweet rabbit.” Thor said.

“I would have washed that.” Rocket warned, then muttering under his breath something that I could not hear.

We pulled out of hyperspace, slowing down as we approached what looked like a space station floating slowly.

“Hey, we’re here!” Rocket said, pointing to the station.

“I don’t think this thing works.” Thor said, smacking the side of his head in an attempt to right the new eye, “Everything seems dark.”

“But it ain’t the eye.” Rocket said.

“Something’s wrong.” Thor said, leaning closer to get a better view. “The star’s gone out. And the rings are frozen.”

We landed in one of the frozen rings, cautiously leaving the pod to explore. The entire place seemed deserted, a long, empty room filled with unused weapon molds, the floor littered with hundreds of scraps and other pieces of metal.

“I hope these dwarves are better at forging than they are at cleaning.” Rocket said, kicking a small scrap that was by his foot. “Maybe they realized they live in a junk pile in the middle of space.”

“The forge hasn’t gone dark in centuries.” Thor said, his tone foreboding.

I froze in my tracks, my eyes fixated on a mold in front of me. Rocket glanced up, seeing the weapon mold that I was so focused on.

“You said Thanos had a gauntlet, right?” Rocket asked, getting Thor’s attention.

“Yes. Why?” Thor replied, turning to look at the raccoon.

“Did it look anything like that?” Rocked said, pointing to the mold.

“Get back to the pod.” I whispered, my entire body tensing.

“If that’s the gauntlet mold…” Rocket said, “Where are all the people that made it?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Thor said. “Eitri would be the last one to want to leave this place, but I see no sign of anyone being here at all.”

Without warning, Thor was tossed across the room, a giant’s arm swinging down as they tried to send us flying as well.

The giant marched towards Thor, fists raised.

“Eitri, wait!” Thor yelled, wincing as the giant prepared to punch, “Stop!”

“Thor?” Eitri asked, confused. “Thor is that really you?”

After a pause, the giant backed away, sliding down to sit against a wall.

“What happened here?” Thor asked.

“You were supposed to protect us.” Eitri breathed. “Asgard was supposed to protect us.”

“Asgard has been destroyed.” I said, moving over to stand by Thor.

“Eitri,” Thor asked softly, “What did you do?”

“300 dwarves lived on this ring.” Eitri began, “I thought if I did what he asked, they’d be safe. I made what he wanted. A device capable of harnessing the power of the stones. And he killed everyone anyway. All, except me. ‘Your life is yours.’ he said, ‘but your hands, your hands are mine alone.’” the dwarf held up his hands, which had been turned to solid metal by the Titan.

“Eitri, this isn’t about your hands.” Thor said, “Every weapon you’ve ever designed, every axe, hammer, sword, it’s all inside your head. Now, I know it feels like all hope is lost…” Thor looked over to me, before returning his gaze to Eitri, “Trust me, I know. But together, you and I, we can kill Thanos.”

The dwarf sat for a long time, staring at his metal hands. With a sigh, he stood up slowly.

“Come with me.” Eitri said, “I have exactly what you need.”

The dwarf led us to a long table and he hauled out a large, rectangular box, that seemed to be made of stone.

“This is the plan?” Rocket said, gesturing to the large mold that had been placed on the table. “We’ll hit him with a brick?”

“It’s a mold.” Eitri said angrily. “A King’s weapon. Meant to be the greatest in Asgard. In theory, it could even summon the Bifrost.”

“Does it have a name?” I asked, looking at the intricate designs in the outside of the mold.

“Stormbreaker.” the dwarf replied.

“Yea.” Rocket said, “It’s a bit much.”

“So, how do we make it?” Thor asked.

“You’ll have to restart the forge.” Eitri said, “Awaken the heart of the dying star.”

“Rabbit.” Thor said, “Fire up the pod.”

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Just a Typical Day at the Georgia Capitol

Working at the Georgia Capitol has been an eye-opening experience for me. Since I am not currently working for the State, I can speak freely about my experiences here.  I want to make it clear that we have some wonderful people who work here and some great politicians. However, I’ll divide this into two sections. I will start with the “tea” if you want to call it that. Then, I will dive into the much more positive side of my experience which is the “sweet tea.” Let’s get right to it!

The Tea:

 Running around the Georgia Capitol super early in the morning can be frustrating especially when you do not have a badge. You constantly have to go through security if the security guard does not realize you are there all day every day. I am grateful the buildings here are kept secured, but my driver’s license does not change on a daily basis. Nothing I carry with me to work changes on a daily basis either.

 Second, I will do a deep dive on this subject- everyone knows everything, but no one knows anything. Some politicians fail to realize they are only in their positions because we elected them. They think they are better than the people around them including the staffers, administrative people, and interns. Meanwhile, we are working hard on their behalf to get them information from various meetings. Politicians have to be in multiple places at once. It makes sense to send staffers to fill in for politicians at these various meetings. Other politicians are aware of why we are there because they also are sending their staffers to meetings. Yet, they act surprised when we show up, take a seat, eat something, stand in a crowded room taking notes, and so on. Sometimes, we staffers will ask questions and get looks from those who think they are better than us. Generally, people walk around acting like they know what they are doing, but when you ask for help, you end up down a rabbit hole of misinformation. The bottom line is politicians would not be able to know everything they need to if they did not have eyes and ears everywhere in the form of interns and staffers. Communication is key and we need to work on that.

 If you do not have a slip and fall injury case from all this spilled tea yet, there is more. While we have some wonderful administrative staff members, some show clear signs of not having manners. I was yelled at by an admin person once because I walked on the wrong side of the rope. Some of you may know who I speak of on the third floor, but we will not mention names here. All she had to do was walk three feet up to me and let me know politely that I cannot walk on that side of the rope. Instead, she chose to yell from her seat while everyone around could hear her yelling. I quickly apologized and walked away embarrassed even though it is her who should be embarrassed at her lack of manners. I typically show up early to meetings just to secure my seat. One day, I had to use the restroom so I left my stuff in my seat I was sitting in for twenty minutes prior to the start of the event to use the restroom. I asked the admin at the door where to find the restroom. He pushed my question off and assisted other people he deemed more important. I found the restroom on my own. Upon coming back, he ignored letting me in to address other people and then asked me if I had a seat in the room. I said yes (which was so obvious because he saw me walk in twenty minutes early) and he let me back in. The problem is he was letting other people in when I returned from the bathroom, but then separating me out to ask if I had a seat.  So, the latecomers could go in. I had to be questioned.

 There is more fun to that story. In trying to exit to use the restroom, a house representative stopped me. They had begun Christian prayer. I have nothing against Christians. In fact, I love and respect all religions. I personally do not identify with any religion, but I support everyone’s beliefs. However, in state government, I have found on multiple occasions and almost at every event at the Capitol, there is prayer and it is always Christian prayer. That excludes a lot of people. For the house representative to hold the door and tell me I cannot leave until they are done praying was rude. If that is the case, would it have been okay for me to throw down a prayer mat and bow down to God based on the religion my family comes from? I wanted to ask her if that would be okay or if that would also be a disruption to her prayer like me wanting to use the bathroom was bothering her. This concept of locking the doors and forcing people to listen to prayers is archaic to say the least. It is also a waste of taxpayer dollars.  I say that because taxpayer dollars is how we pay for public agencies and work at the Capitol generally. It is also a waste because chair people in meetings will mention that we do not have enough time to get to certain bills or will have to extend meetings, but are willing to have five minute prayers at the beginning of these important meetings. We are there for the taxpayers and to work on the bills they want us to work on. We are not there to have a long discussion on where a certain leader of prayer came from, how the prayer leader feels about COVID-19, how connected this leader is to certain politicians, and the actual prayer. We are there to work.

 I also had the pleasure of meeting Regina George! She came in the form of a house representative. I was attending a democratic caucus on behalf of my awesome state representative. Regina spotted me immediately while I was taking a seat (among around 40-50 open ones).  She waltzed over and asked who I was. I told her I am here to take notes for my house representative. The response was that I could not sit at the table. I had to stand and take notes. Regina George is really lucky I did not read her name tag fast enough to keep note of it. If she even ever reads this, I hope it is okay with her that I am sitting in a chair right now! Put it in your burn book, sis!

 For this next part, the tea is piping hot because I can actually drop a name. It is very well known the involvement House Majority Whip Trey Kelley has had with a homicide. When Trey Kelley was informed of a severe crash, instead of calling the police, he called the police chief.  Kelley reported only seeing a bicycle when he went to the scene. The person who was on the bike died in a ditch during the time all of this was taking place. Had someone, including Kelley who has even more of an obligation, called the police, maybe that person would still be alive. An investigation is happening regarding this issue. A petition is also going around calling for Kelley to resign. Kelley is on the House Rules Committee so I saw him almost every day. One day, he was asked to lead the prayer before the committee started reviewing bills. He said in his prayer that he was glad God granted us another day. I wonder how he feels about the person who was not granted another day because of Kelley’s inaction?

 The Sweet Tea:

 Now it is time to get to the more positive things. To begin, I love the fast paced environment. From the time I arrive, I am checking off the list of things I need to get done. I am usually dodging people, making sure I report on things as fast as I can and attending meetings. Things change quickly so everyone always has to stay tuned to what is happening and where it is happening.

 Next up is there are some really great politicians that truly fight on our behalf. This is also a humble brag for the one I work for right now.  She works tirelessly and is really good at explaining to her staffers and interns how things work, what to expect, and even share some fun time with us. She is very patient and makes time for literally everyone.  That is the type of leadership that makes staffers and interns excited to come out and work for a leader. The day after I was laid off because of Governor Kemp’s budget cuts to state government, I called a good friend and asked to work for her. It had nothing to do with her giving me work to occupy my time. It had everything to do with using my time to serve someone I hold to high esteem. This is someone who fights for things I hold near and dear to my heart. It is an honor to be on her team.

 Also, interns and staffers that go to meetings on behalf of their state representative are some of the nicest people I have met. At the end of almost all meetings, we turn to each other and ask questions. We share notes. We explain things to others who may not know all the details of processes at the Capitol with no judgment on each other for not knowing everything. It is so awesome being able to look to the staffer or intern next to me and know I am free to ask questions and they are free to ask me for anything as well.

 Another thing I have loved about the Capitol is that there are a lot of kids involved at a young age in government.  You will find Girl Scout kids, kids from various high schools, kids visiting with their politician parents, and more. The more they understand at a young age how government works, the better prepared our youth are for the future. It fills me with hope when I see them looking around curiously and asking questions. Instead of blaming the youth for not knowing things, we should teach them from a young age and I see that happening at the Capitol.

 There is also an option to call or leave a written message for your representative which I think is one of the best tools. There was a note from someone so I called and left a response. The person could not even vote, but wanted to make sure to speak out on behalf of a specific community. I was blown away at how in tuned this person was with our government. The person was willing to fight for people even when that person does not have the ability to go to the polls. This is the kind of engagement we need. This is how much everyone should be paying attention to government.

 I have blogged your ear off and I am honored if you have made it this far. I want to end this by saying please continue to vote, keep tabs on what your government is doing, and keep an eye on facts rather than opinions.  Power is in the hands of the voters. Your vote counts. See you all at the polls!