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wri0thesley · 1 year ago

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let me see - arlecchino x fem!reader (3.8k)

you work as a tutor at the house of the hearth; but the father of the children you teach seems to haunt your thoughts.

cw: not sfw, fem reader. employer-employed dynamics, reader calls arlecchino 'sir', chubby reader, reader is inexperienced. arlecchino calls reader 'good girl' and 'darling'. guided masturbation.

You see your employer only rarely, but that does not mean that you do not think about her often.

It’s in the way that the children - your students, the ones you have been engaged to teach basic arithmetic and reading and as much history as you can squeeze in - speak of their ‘Father’. The look of wonder and devotion and just a touch of intimidation that comes over them, even as they chatter to you about the next time she is coming home and what they plan to do to welcome her. It’s in your salaries; perfectly paid, on time, with extra money left in an envelope and a note in beautiful, sharp handwriting mentioning your students by name and how well they’re progressing.

And, of course, it is in the times you see her - for you do not think anybody could see Arlecchino and not think about her regularly for the rest of their life.

She makes you nervous. There is something about her commanding presence; her lovely marble face, the strangely striking appearance of her eyes, the self-assured way that she stands. You think her beautiful, of course - but you have always had trouble around beautiful people, and so you find yourself stumbling over your words, your cheeks burning hot, coming far too close to making a fool out of yourself whilst she keeps a small, polite smile on her face as she watches you falter.

You worry, sometimes, she knows that you find her at once intimidating and irresistible - that something about the way you hold yourself will give away that you have wondered what her nails would feel like, digging into the soft skin of your throat as she tipped your chin upwards - or that you have wondered what it would feel like to have her corner you like a trapped rabbit and have her way with you--

But they are just daydreams. The truth is that you are as green as they come; you had gone to Sumeru’s Akademiya, a child who could not stop devouring books, who was obsessed with learning - and you had returned back to your native Fontaine to teach, and had no time in between that to pursue romantic relationships. The sum total of your romantic experience is a hurried kiss with another student, another beautiful older woman, who had pulled back and laughed at you, touching your cheek gently.

“Aren’t you adorable?” She’d asked you, in a low, sleepy voice with her eyes half-lidded. “Maybe a bit too adorable for just right now. Come find me again if you’re ever in Mondstadt.”

So . . . your fantasies about Arlecchino are just that. Simple fantasies. You have other things to attend to, after all! You care about the children whose education has been entrusted to you - even those who have now grown too old to need your guidance, who you watch flower and blossom and strike out from the House of the Hearth. Even if they stray beyond the nation you live in, though . . . they always seem to come back, to pay their respects to Father.

But it doesn’t stop the fact that sometimes she looks at you, when your paths crossed, with her head tilted just slightly to one side, and you feel like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. She always makes you feel strangely exposed; you keep up with fashion, because you enjoy it, but something about the fripperies of your gowns and skirts and blouses and the ribbons and the carefully chosen accessories in front of Arlecchino make you feel as though she is stripping you down in her mind, so perfectly poised and tailored. So you drop books in front of her. Your sentences get tangled together. You go hot all over and look at the floor--

But still she employs you, and still you hurry home at night and try to ignore the pounding in your chest and the way your breath goes short at the sight of her. Your paths cross only occasionally, you tell yourself. Next time you will be prepared.

But you are not prepared, the day that Arlecchino meets you in the hallway (your arms full of books and the work of the children that you intend to look over that night), running late with your hair ribbons askew and your dress crooked and she looks at you and says, in a voice that brokers no argument;

“Won’t you stay a little longer and have afternoon tea with me?”

“Do I make you nervous?” The red crosses in her eyes bore into you as she pours you a steaming cup of tea into a delicate teacup. You sit primly, your hands folded in your lap, your feet together, feeling entirely too exposed alone in this room with her. “You shake like a leaf whenever I speak to you.”

You wet your lips awkwardly, your throat dry, as you reach out for the teacup. You notice your hands are shaking and try to stop them, but she leans forward herself and places one of her hands over yours, steadying you. You stare up at her, eyes wide, whilst she looks down at you with something calculating and predatory in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice very soft. You can feel your cheeks going hot against your will, and you wonder what you must look like to her - because you feel like a rabbit who is about to be pounced on by a wolf. Arlecchino slowly and purposely guides your hand back down, to put the teacup back on the saucer, and you begin to get the strangest impression that her invitation for ‘afternoon tea’ was actually an invitation for something entirely different. Her hand comes back up, and one of your idle questions is given an answer as you feel her sharp nails dig into the soft skin under your chin, tipping it up as she leans in closer. Close enough that she could kiss you, if she wanted - close enough you can smell the scent of Rainbow Roses and smoke that lingers on her clothes.

“Oh,” says Arlecchino, and she smiles at you and something about the smile makes you go hot and cold all over all at once. “Don’t be. It’s terribly cute.”

You don’t know how you end up sprawled out over her lap, your thighs hooked over the arms of her chair, as she takes control of you - but before you know it, that is the position you have found yourself in. Her hands roam slowly all over you, savouring the feel of your skin - soft and warm, generously curved - beneath her long, elegant fingers.

“These ribbons drove me to distraction today,” she murmurs against your ear, as you melt helplessly against her and she tugs at a brightly coloured red ribbon that trims your blouse. “I kept thinking about tying it around your pretty wrists instead.”

“M-Miss Arlecchino--”

She clicks her tongue at you in admonishment, running her thumb over the seam of your lips.

“Call me ‘Sir’, darling.” You practically fall over yourself to rectify your mistake, your tongue messy and heavy in your mouth, and you win a little chuckle from the woman who has you at her mercy. “You’re just so eager to please, aren’t you? What a good, obedient little thing.”

“Please--” You whisper breathlessly, as she tugs at the ribbon completely and the throat of your blouse falls open. Her nails scratch a slow line over your neck, almost like a threat, and you shiver again helplessly under the touch.

“Please what?” She murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You know, I did employ you as a tutor . . . for an academic, you’re rather inarticulate.” One button of your blouse, torturously slowly. The next, and she smiles against your bare skin to see the way your chest is rabbiting. “One would think you’d never been touched like this before.”

She knows.

There’s an edge to the way she says that, a note that’s teasing and suggestive, and it tears from your throat a little whimper of embarrassment that, in turn, makes her let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“My, my,” Arlecchino says to you - two more buttons, and your blouse is barely fastened. You’re inordinately glad you wore pretty underwear today, though you suppose it must look rather fussy to Arlecchino. “Have you not, sweetheart?”

“Sir,” you whine out, feeling tears spring to your eyes at the humiliation of the whole thing. Despite the humiliation, though, heat spirals out from between your thighs - your matching fancy underwear, you know, is soaked through. “Please-- it’s embarrassing--”

The final button, and Arlecchino’s fingers are running over bare skin now. The pudge of your stomach, the curve of your chest through the ruched cups of your brassiere.

“Say it,” she says to you, her voice sharp in the command. She circles a finger over your nipple through the lace and chiffon and you squirm in her lap at the sensation of the bud puckering and hardening. “If you want me to touch you, you understand, you have to at least have the confidence to tell me the truth. Or I’ll just send you home without your blouse and with your poor little aching cunt untouched, hmm?”

“Sir--!”

She grabs your cheeks between thumb and forefinger, squeezing the roundness of them roughly. The Father of the House of the Hearth, after all, is not one to be intimidated by whining or begging. She has plenty of experience dealing with brats. Her fingers still as she waits for you to do as she asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut and hiccup out a sob of longing.

“I--I’ve never . . . had anyone else touch me . . . l-like this--”

She lets out a pleased purr in the back of her throat.

“There,” she soothes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” She drops a kiss on the side of your forehead like a reward, her hands sliding over your body to find the catch of your brassiere. There’s a brief tussle of movement as she ensures you are shed of both your blouse and your underwear, and then you’re once more on her lap, your entire top half bared, only your skirts and stockings and underwear still on. “And if I’m honest . . .” She moves back to your ear, pressing a kiss on your jawline beneath the earlobe. “I rather like getting my claws in someone before they can learn any bad habits. I, too, am an excellent teacher.”

She takes a firm hold of you, pulling you even closer to her so that her hands can each take a palmful of your breasts. You feel exposed before her; the rolls of your stomach, the way that your chest sags into her grip, but Arlecchino does not seem to care about these things - instead she just sighs like you’re a fine wine she’s sampling, palming and squeezing the heavy weight of them.

“You’re such a pretty thing beneath the flounces,” she says to you, plucking idly at your nipples between thumb and forefinger - the movement sends hot lightning flashes of pleasure right down to the space between your legs. “If I were in charge, I think I’d leave you naked in my bed. Much more practical like that, don’t you agree?”

“I--”

“What about kisses?” She asks you, not letting you say anything. Your head is spinning pleasantly, and you cannot say that you are annoyed she’s stopping you from making a fool of yourself. “Are you as unversed in those, too?”

“I--I’ve kissed . . . someone--”

“Just one?” She laughs, a not unkind noise. “Oh, just the one kiss, I see. Poor thing, your cheeks are like Pyro slimes. Come here. Let me show you how to kiss someone properly, hmm?”

Arlecchino pulls you into a kiss that is so unlike the one you once had that to call them both by the same name seems a great disservice. There is no other way to describe it; she claims you, her mouth like a conquering king, your own the battlefield. Her teeth tug at your lower lip and you are helpless to do anything but open your mouth, let her tongue sweep over yours. She tastes like fire and tea, some of the little cakes she had offered to you - and you whine helplessly, clutching at her slacks because there’s nothing else you can reach in the position she has you in.

She lets go of your face with a satisfied sigh, and your head lolls back against her shoulder as she delicately wipes a smudge of her lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Let’s get this off you,” she says, tugging at the frills of your skirt. “Let me see you, darling.”

You’re only too eager to assist, embarrassed but needy, wanting but nervous. The fastenings at your waistband are unhooked, and then she is carelessly sliding it off of you until you are back before her in nothing but your underwear and your stockings, digging into the fullness of your thighs. For a moment, you are embarrassed again of your softness - but Arlecchino grabs your hips, pulling you back bodily onto her, and you realise from the possessiveness of her movements that she does not see it for a moment as something to be ashamed of.

Arlecchino’s hands are hungry as she squeezes at the softness of your thighs, as her palms sear hot across your stomach, as her fingers drift towards the gusset of your underwear. Her touch is feather-light, there, but you keen even so - terribly aware of every movement, even the smallest brush of her fingers. Arlecchino clicks her tongue against your ear again.

“So sensitive,” she whispers. “I’m afraid I might hurt you, and I’m afraid I’d very much like it. Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”

Your breath gets caught in your chest. Her suggestions so far have been, perhaps, embarrassing - have put you at a disadvantage due to your lack of experience. But nothing so far has been quite so brazen. You burn with the unease of it, but Arlecchino is already grabbing your hand, placing it over your soaked underwear.

“Don’t worry about making a mess,” she murmurs into your ear. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. My pants are soaking.”

She seems to enjoy watching you squirm as you whimper again, face hot. But her hand does not move, keeping your own anchored against your underwear until you do as she asks and shyly, nervously, rub at yourself through the sodden fabric just a little.

“Oh, darling,” she breathes, condescension dripping off every syllable. “You’ll never get anywhere like that.” You are inarticulate with your touches, still trembling and shaking at the strangeness of all of this - and you have done this, of course, but never with an audience! Never spread out over someone’s lap as they critique your technique!

“Sir, please--”

“You’re supposed to be a teacher,” she admonishes you. “You’re supposed to know everything, are you not? Have I really got to help you with something so simple as touching yourself?” She’s enjoying it; the sight of you, normally so prim and shy, utterly undone by her every word and action. Her hand moves over yours, holding it, guiding you to press two of your fingers together and circle over your swollen clit through the underwear.

It’s different, with her guiding you. You turn your head to try and bury it against her collar as she continues to mercilessly guide you into circles, sniffling pathetically - but she just coos, just nudges you back so you watch the visual of her hand over yours between your thighs.

“Shall we get your underwear off too?” She phrases it as a question, but it’s not one - she is already peeling off the frilly cotton, inching it down your generous thighs. She laughs a little meanly when she sees just how large the damp, darker patch is, and you think you will cry. Every feeling you have ever had is magnified a thousand fold here, in this incredibly vulnerable position spread over the lap of your employer.

(There are whispers that Arlecchino is even more than that; that there is a secret purpose behind the orphanage you have been employed by. But you do not put much stock in rumours, even when the children look at each other strangely and whisper when they think you cannot hear them. The thought of who you might really be letting touch you . . . You wish it did not stoke a fire in you even hotter and brighter than before).

“There we are,” she murmurs. “Good girl. Look at you. Look how pretty you are.” She deals your sex a short, soft slap - her palm comes away sticky, the noise indecent in the little room she had brought you to for afternoon tea. “I wonder how much prettier you’ll look with three of your fingers stuffed inside of you?”

Another strangled noise from your throat at the easy way she says the filthy things, and Arlecchino merely makes a soft huff of laughter.

“Carry on touching yourself for me,” she says to you. “Let me see.”

It’s an order, and you know that orders from Arlecchino are to be obeyed. Shyly and hesitantly again, you bring your fingers back to your sex. She rests her head against your shoulder, and moves her own hand; uses two of her fingers to make a ‘v’ shape and places them on your sex, using them to spread the plump outer lips aside so that you have better access to your clit and your entrance, still soaking and leaking slick out onto Arlecchino’s lap.

You’re hot and awkward as you touch your clit; as you try and mimic the circles that she had drawn on you earlier - but you are not brave enough to keep at it, and before long you have returned to your own faithful back-and-forth motion on your clit, your hips moving in little thrusts to try and prolong the sensation. You can hear yourself in the charged air; the hot little pants, the whimpers of frustration that none of it feels as good as it did when she was in charge. Arlecchino, though, merely watches you struggle.

You cannot see her face, but you can imagine the look upon it; the barest quirk of the lip, the single raised eyebrow. You carry on as best you can, trying to think of all the things you would usually think of - but it all spirals back to where you are, what is happening, and the fact no fantasy can truly compare.

Her voice is a little thick when she speaks next, and you realise with a strange jolt of pleasure that your inarticulate touching is still having an effect on her. It’s almost unnoticeable - but Arlecchino’s normal tone is so very poised, even the smallest change feels like a blaring siren to you.

“Put two of your fingers inside of you,” she says. And then, as you inexpertly slide two of your fingers inside your channel, she lets out a shuddering breath. You’re wet and tight around yourself, aware that you must look a mess - but Arlecchino’s fingers are sliding between your sex, moving to touch the space on your clit you just vacated, and your entire mind goes blank. “Don’t stop. Let me see you move them.”

You do your best, but Arlecchino’s own movements are just too much. The sensation of her dragging the pads of her fingers over your swollen clit; the way she circles and flourishes and swirls . . . you try, desperately, to keep your fingers in some kind of rhythm as they slide in and out of you, but before you know it you’re using your other hand to clutch at her arm and whimpering as you hump upwards into her touch.

“I ought to stop you,” she tells you, but she doesn’t for a moment stop her ceaseless assault on your clit; the wet, sticky clicking noise of your slick between her fingers. “You’re being a brat.”

“Please, Sir,” you whisper, babbling, “I’m . . . it feels so good--”

“Flatterer,” she murmurs, in that low, hungry voice. “You’re lucky that you look so very pretty like this, and that I am perhaps more soft-hearted than I appear . . .” Tears are running down your cheeks, sniffling, whimpering, helplessly moving your hips in time with her touches. Nothing seems to exist but the feel of Arlecchino’s fingers on your clit and the firm, certain way she touches you. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The order tips you over the edge. The knot of heat in your belly comes undone and you whine helplessly as you buck into her touch, and you feel a gush of your own slick wet the fingers that are still stuffed inside of you. Your thighs try to clamp shut around the sensation, but the position that Arlecchino has you in with your thighs over the arms of her chair stop you from doing it - and so does she, still working her fingers over your clit through every trembling moment of your orgasm.

You come back down, panting, aware of the wetness between your legs and your nakedness, the stiff points of your nipples and Arlecchino’s fingers on you and the fact that Arlecchino is still dressed exactly as she was when she caught you in the hallway.

She moves her hand, and to your surprise she presses her fingers against your lips, forcing your mouth open.

“Taste yourself,” she tells you, and you are still so in awe of her that you can do nothing but obey - the slightly tangy taste of you lingering on your lips. You’re even more surprised when she uses her other hand to pluck your hand from between your thighs and guides the two fingers that had been inside of you to her own mouth, her tongue hungrily drinking in the wet webs of your slick. “Well. Aren’t you sweet?”

The unprofessionalism of what you’ve just done begins to creep up on you, shame drenching your back. All of those talks about ethics that you’d had at the Akademiya - but Arlecchino takes your head and turns it and gives you another firm kiss, another bite to your lower lip, another conquering that makes you feel weak at the knees. Your own taste lingers in your mouth, but, too, it lingers on her lips, and she seems supremely satisfied as she pulls back.

“I’ll be away on business for the next week,” she tells you. “In Snezhnaya. I’ll bring you something back.”

“Sir--”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she continues. “That little apartment you live in - well, it seems a shame, when we have so many empty rooms, and a live-in tutor would be far more beneficial - don’t you think? The children do adore you, and it seems so very practical.”

It’s a bizarre time to be having a business meeting, with your slick staining her clothes, with your own clothes a crumpled pile, with your position so terribly open and exposed - but all you can do is blink at her, and she smiles at you like a cat who has gotten the cream. She pats your cheek.

“Besides,” she says. “It will give us far more time together. And I do have so much more I’d like to teach you.”

#writing #arlecchino x reader #fem reader #genshin impact posting #im GAY okay!!!!! leave me alone!!!! this is self-indulgent and i dont care!!!!!#not sfw text

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gemsofgreece · 6 months ago

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Common Modern Greek phrases with Byzantine origins

"Παίζω στα δάχτυλα" (Pézo sta ðákhtyla) = I am very good at knowing something, I have learned it very well. Literally, I can play (sth) on my fingers. Children in the Eastern Roman Empire learned the basics of arithmetic by counting with their fingers, a practice still used in the old years of the modern Greek school.

"Ο ήλιος βασίλεψε" (O ílios vasílepse) = the sun set, literally "the sun reigned" It might seem counter-intuitive, however in Greek when you say "the sun reigns" or "sun-reigning" (ηλιοβασίλεμα), it is not about the sun being high in the sky but it is instead used for the sunset, the early evening. This is because of the striking colours of the sunset; gold, orange, red, purple - the luxurious colours associated with the Byzantine emperors.

"Ἐφαγα τον περίδρομο" (Éphagha ton períðromo)= I ate too much, I ate everything on sight. Literally, I ate the "peridromos". The peridromos was the edge of a deep bowl in which the Byzantines ate soup, so when they filled their bowl up to the peridromos it meant they were eating a lot. The interesting thing is that the origin of this phrase is very little known to modern Greeks and because peridromos can also have other meanings, there are also other interpretations that however make too little sense (IMO). This alone could perhaps be proof of how the phrase survived organically amongst the people even after the fall of the Byzantine empire (and its bowls).

"Μη με παιδεύεις" (Mi me peðévis) = don't bother / torment / trouble me, etymologically deriving from the word for "child". In Ancient Greek, the child was παις and its derivative verb παιδεύω meant "educate", an action interwined with childhood. Progressively, however, the verb became more and more associated with the pains and struggles of being educated until by Byzantine / Medieval Greek's time it had the meaning of "bother / torment". In Modern Greek the verb παιδεύω has kept the Byzantine meaning of tormenting / bothering but its respective noun παιδεία (peðía) still retains the ancient meaning of education or more accurately the full transformative period of learning in a young person's life. There are however other also ancient derivatives from the same words that are more precisely used for education terminology.

"Ἠμαρτον!" (Ímarton) = an exclamation in the likes of "I have sinned! (Forgive me)") Ancient Greek did not have a word for the sin. The verb αμαρτάνω (amartáno), whose form above is the past tense, meant "I miss the target / I make a mistake". In ancient Greek they would say it for example when an archer did not hit the target. By Byzantine times, however, the word had acquired a more figurative, Christian theological meaning because one's ultimate goal was the virtuous living, so when they did something bad or wrong, it was perceived as "losing sight of their aim, their intent". And that's how the word developed into meaning "sin" in Medieval and Modern Greek.

Source: Byzantinist historian Helene Ahrweiler

#greek #greece #greek language #history #languages #language stuff #linguistics #greek history #byzantine history #eastern roman empire #byzantine empire #greek culture

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inky-duchess · 1 year ago

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Fantasy Guide to Education

I'm always asked what sort of education different people recieve throughout different historical eras and since I'm heading back to college soon, I thought it was high time I made this guide.

Disparity

Education is viewed as a right by many but for some and thoughout history it was a privilege. For the wealthy and those of high status, education can be easily accessed. They can afford to tailor an education to fit their needs, they can hire tutors, and they can afford tuitions to top schools. For the poor, education was a luxury. However this doesn't mean that it was available. Some communities would fund a school or send their children to a local teacher - usually they had to pay a daily fee or at least bring kindling for the heating. Many poorer children also worked so they could not attend school consistently or were pulled out very early into their education. However, some poorer students could gain access to high level education if they were extremely bright or caught the attention of a wealthy benefactor who could fund their education.

Education as a Weapon

Education could also be banned for certain groups in society. It could be illegal to fund schools or host gatherings for students of a certain background, race, religion or gender. Education against the law could be punished by imprisonment, exile or execution. This is a measure usually taken by oppressive governments in order to follow a moral code or restrict the betterment of a certain group. An example would be the Irish Catholics under the Penal Laws.

On the otherhand, there is education that is influenced by the state to inject certain values, moralities and Opinions into a population. This is the intense restriction of reading material, removal of books that contest the teachings of the government or the kidnap of children from their culture, in order to forcibly educated them in alignment to their beliefs. An example would be the residental schools of North America and Canada and the AHS schools of Nazi Germany.

Content

As above, content of what children learn usually falls into a certain category. This is also true for the education offered to the wealthy and the poor. The poor would be offered a basic education, learning literacy and arithmetic, usually with an expectation that the children would not go on to any jobs that needs a broader education. Any higher education would be hard to obtain because of cost and the discriminatory view of the enrollment panels. The wealthy would have access to an array of different subjects including: The arts (drawing, music, painting, poetry, dancing), sports (riding, martial skills, rowing, hunting), arithmetic, geography, languages, geography and history. While progression to higher education will still be difficult, any affluent families are legacies of prestigious colleges or can make a donation to grease a few palms. These schools would be where the wealthy make lifelong connections and get springboarded toward opportunities.

Private Tutoring

Whilst some affluent, aristocratic and Royal families send their children to schools, private tutoring in the home was a popular choice. Children would be educated at home but tutors who either lived in the home or come to the house. The children would be educated alongside siblings or the children of courtiers or neighbours. Private tutoring sessions would often be the only education for upper class women recieved, taught by governesses and tutors.

Premises and Equipment

As mentioned above, wealthy and aristocratic families would usually attend established schools or attend school at home. They would be provided any equipment they needed. If they attend school, they would often wear a uniform. Some schools had multiple variations of the uniform for different activities. Many of the schools attended would be boarding schools. Boarding schools offered education to those who boarded and day students, however day students were often looked down upon as lesser than.

Poorer schools would be relient on donations and fees paid by students. As mentioned above, there may be a building reserved for classes - sometimes an designated schoolhouse or a teacher's home or a public building such as a gathering house or sometimes even outside - hedge schools. Equipment would be provided by the school. Uniforms at poorer schools were not a thing but students were expected to show up neat and tidy.

Corporal Punishment

Corporal punishment at schools was the go to punishment for students. Teachers had free rein to strike children for mistakes and bad behaviour. Punishments include insolation, physical stress positions such as standing on a chair all day, getting objects thrown at them, being slapped on the back of the legs with a cane, being rapped on the palms or knuckles with a crop or ruler. Students may also be humiliated by teachers through the use of dunce hats, encouraging other children to bully them or by the use of verbal abuse. Corporal punishment did extend to all classes except for royal children since that was either taken by proxy by whipping boys or left up to parents.

#Fantasy Guide to Education #Fantasy Guide #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #writer #spilled words #writers #Writer's research #Writer's resources #Writer's reference #writer's problems #Writing help #Writing resources writing reference #Writing reference writing resources

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helpallthenamesaretaken · 1 year ago

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..." snickered the villain sarcastically. The hero started breathing fast. "...What do you mean?"

The hero suddenly heard a gunshot in the distance and a familiar scream. "Wait--is that--"

"Your best friend. Hmm, yes, heehee"

"Wait, I'll do anything--"

"I would have done anything too to not experience the things you've done to me" The hero gasped, outraged. "I killed your father to save the world!"

The villain ignored it. "I'll miss you, teehee" The last thing the hero heard was a chuckle.

karma could have been my boyfriend, a god, the breeze in my hair on a weekend, a relaxing thought, a cat, or an acrobat, but nooooo. it chose to be a bitch that’s with you right now

#when arithmetic progressions get too boring

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insight-chronicles · 1 month ago

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Chapter 5 - Is this the end?

Word Count: 3.2 Content Warning: Swearing Summary: Is everything you’ve worked so hard to conceal about to come to light? Plus a little bonus Jinwoo POV

Authors Note: Thought I would try something, I added a little bit of Jinwoo POV at the end of this chapter, let me know what you think and if that’s something you want me to continue try to add sporadically as it makes sense.

AO3

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Masterlist

Dodging all the questions and making sure you weren’t followed was harder then you had expected so it had taken you longer to get home then you’d wanted. After finally locking your front door you collapsed onto the bed still in your hunters gear, you’d worry about the blood stains on your bedding tomorrow. You slept hard that night, so deep was your sleep, in fact, that you’d completely ignored your alarm this morning. Jolting awake at a car horn just outside your window you looked over at the clock on your nightstand. Shit, was that really the time!? Some quick mental arithmetic said if you rushed and skipped breakfast you should still be able to make it to work in time, you always set your alarm nice and early so you had a nice leisurely time to wake up and get ready, you hated nothing more than being rushed.

You’d made it, slightly dishevelled and stomach rubbing, but you made it. Luckily you had a slow day and you planned on just catching up on some paperwork so you could spare a few minutes to got to the breakroom to get a cup of caffeine and a pastry to tide you over until you could get some lunch.

As you found out that day, there was no such thing as enough caffeine to make a report bearable when all you wanted to do was go back to bed. Thankfully the report was not urgent so it didn’t matter that you had been yawning at your screen all morning and making no progress whatsoever. Although all those trips to the breakroom for more caffeine had meant you had overheard some rumours that set you on edge.

There was a knock on your office door, not that you heard it having mastered the art of falling asleep with your eyes open that morning. You didn’t even notice the cause of the knock entering the room and clearing their throat in front of your desk. In fact it wasn’t until they leant over the desk and tapped the back of your hand where it lay on your mouse, that you noticed the intruder. You startled from your half sleeping state to see Chief Inspector Woo straightening up.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you, I did try knocking but you were so engrossed in your work you didn’t notice.” There was a hint of admiration in his tone, you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the undeserved praise. Usually when Jinchul visited you there was a cheerful, friendliness to his tone that was missing today, replaced with a hardness that suggested he was here on official business not a personal call.

“Oh, um, sorry. Was just, yeah, concentrating.” His sudden appearance and seriousness was making you stumble over your words, “What can I do for you Chief Inspector?” You tried to match his formalness but it felt odd on your tongue. Taking your eyes off him you save the document and make sure to close down the application before returning your gaze to him, giving him your full attention. Whatever this was about you were sure you would be leaving this office, you just hoped that it wasn’t about the rumours circulating, it would be just your luck at the moment that the party you’d worked with last night couldn’t keep a secret for even 24 hours.

“You're needed for a meeting with the Chairman.” Jinchul straightened his tie, his straight to the point no nonsense approach to this conversation had your hackles raising.

“Can I ask what the meeting is about?” Whilst there was legitimate reasons that you would need to see the Chairman you could not see why the summoning would need to be so formal.

“That’s confidential I’m afraid. The topic cannot be discussed outside of Chairman Go’s office.” You felt yourself visibly, and probably audibly, gulp. It was never a good sign when officials got cryptic.

“Right, well, I’ll be up as soon as I am finished with this piece of work.” You gesture to the blank screen in front of you, silently cursing yourself for already having closed everything down.

“Your presence is required immediately.”

“Right now?” Jinchul nods. Well then, guess I don’t have a choice. You take a deep breath nodding your head slowly as you make a show of turning off your computer. Standing you wipe your sweaty palms down the fronts of your trousers, both drying your hands and smoothing out the creases that had formed from being at your desk all day.

Rounding your desk you follow Jincul out of the room, pausing to shut and lock the door behind you. Jinchul says nothing as he leads you to the elevator, stepping inside you lean against the back wall while he stands to attention near the centre.

Your upwards journey is paused at the lobby where the doors open to admit 2 more passengers into the cramped space. Baek Yoonho and Choi Jongin. Both smile at you as they walk in but the smiles quickly drop from their faces as they take in the worried expression on yours. Whilst you had not had many personal interactions with Jongin he had been to your office enough to scout new hunters and discuss the possibility of poaching others from rival guilds. He had insisted almost from the first meeting that you call him Jongin, even now it felt weird. Yoonho on the other hand has been even more attentive and protective of you since your disaster of a date. Great, stuck in a cramped space with 3 guys with egos the size of Mars and all protective of little old me, this is exactly what I needed today. Not.

“Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” Yoonho skirts around Jinchul, shooting daggers at him with his eyes as he does, he comes to a stop in front of you. You nod in response but you don’t trust yourself to speak. Whatever he saw in your eyes put him on edge, he reached up to grip your shoulders almost harshly. Before he could speak, Jongin's voice cut through.

“What’s going on here?” The question was directed at the Chief Inspector but Jongin was looking at you.

“Just heading up for a meeting with Chairman Go.” Jinchul replies nonchalantly, shrugging.

“Then why does she look like she's about to walk in front of a firing squad?” Jongin gestures at you, his fiery gaze cutting to Jinchul. Looking over his shoulder at you Jinchul is surprised by what he sees.

“I have no idea.” Turning his whole body to face you, a wave of confusion and concern clouds all other emotions. All three of these men feeling the same thing in such a confined space is making it hard to block out. “Y/N, what's the matter? You’ve met with Go many times, why are you so worried?” You shake your head and shrug, dislodging Yoonho's hands from where they still rest on your shoulders.

“I don’t know.” Your voice is weak.”This just feels different. You came into my office all serious and have barely said a word to me, being all cryptic and shit. Only telling me we can’t talk about it outside Go;s office and that it needed to happen right now. What am I supposed to think?” The words come out fast and garbled together, you're surprised they understand you.

“Go just wants to discuss the progress of your assignment, that's all.” Jinchul tried to comfort you but his efforts were thwarted by Yoonho and Jongins reaction to the news.

“What assignment?” Jongin was curious as to what the Chairman could be getting as an office worker or do that required classified updates.

What have you gotten her into?” Yoonho was just plain mad. You knew Jinchul would have to choose his next words carefully or risk Yoonho’s tiger coming to the surface. “Wait, has this got something to do with why you were upset leaving Go’s office the other week?” You can feel Yoonhos power emanating from him, you nod slowly hoping you don’t cause him to tip past the point of control.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Whilst I am aware of the assignment I cannot discuss it. Although I can tell you it is perfectly safe and should pose no risk to Y/N health.” Jinchul held his hands up almost in surrender. Yoonho relaxed slightly, the glow of his eyes dimming but you could tell from the tension in his muscles he was still ready for a fight.

“We’re coming with you.” You weren’t expecting that to come from Jongin, Yoonho sure, that was exactly the sort of thing he thought he could get away with as a S-Rank Hunter and Guild Master. But Jongin always seemed so cool and calculated but this came across as more of a rash move on his part, one that could potentially land him on the bad side of the Chairman.

“I can’t allow that.” Jinchul knew he couldn’t make the two S-Ranks do anything but he hoped if he reminded them of the rules they would fall in line.

“You don’t have to allow it.”

“We are going with her.” Yoonho cut in, an unspoken threat in his voice. Jinchul’s eyes met yours with a look you couldn’t decipher, it was more than just concern.

The four of you entered Chairman Go’s office. Jinchul leads the way, you following just behind with Yoonho and Jongin flanking you like bodyguards. Chairman Go looks up from the file in his hands, surprised by the number of people suddenly in his office.

“My apologies, sir, but when we met in the elevator they insisted on coming.” Jinchul bowed his head.

“Right,” Chairman Go started, “Do they - “ He trailed off, communicating the rest of his sentence with his eyes.

“No, sir”

Clearing his throat, Go straightened some papers on his desk. You felt a wave of unease from him. The Chairman was always such a confident man, it made you wonder how he thought the men flanking you would react to the news he was obviously about to share with them.

“As it seems that you two have latched yourselves onto Miss L/N, I suppose it can’t do much harm to let you know what her assignment is.” His voice is calm and authoritative, much more like the Chairman Go everybody knows and looks up to. “After all you would be partial to the information she gathers eventually anyway.”

“What information?” Jongin steps forward so he now stands between you and the Chairman's desk. Yoonho rests his hand on your lower back as if to remind you he’s there for you if you need him. Go’s eyes lock on to the movement before meeting yours with a raised, questioning eyebrow. You returned his question with a subtle shake of your head.

“Before I tell you anything I need you to understand that it is the role of the Hunters Association to gather information on all hunters.” The men nod, murmuring their understanding, “I have given Y/N here the task of getting close to Hunter Sung so we can find out more about his power. Of course, both of your statements regarding the raid on Jeju Island were invaluable,as were all the statements. But it is my belief there is still more to Sungs power then we know. It is my belief that he is one of, if not the, strongest hunter to grace South Korean soil, if not the world. And he just seems to keep getting stronger. We need to know more” Chairman Go rests his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers, waiting for their response. Jongin stands frozen. You feel Yoonho’s fingers dig into your lower back, your sure it would hurt a human so you fake a flinch.

“You’re using an analyst as a spy?” Yoonho’s voice is low and dangerous.

“She is in no danger.”

“You don’t know that! You just said yourself that you don't know what Sung is capable of!” Yoonho releases you and storms forward, slamming his fists onto the desk, threatening to split it in two.

“Sung could be the biggest threat this country has ever seen! And you think sending someone from the archives is the best way to get information from him?” Jongin snaps out of his daze, just as mad as Yoonho. Flames dance along his shoulders just waiting to be released and he struggles to keep his power in check.

“I can’t believe this. What was the plan if Sung found out what you were up to and took his anger out on her?”

“Shut up.” You could let them yell at each other all day about the morals of using you for this assignment but you could not stand them dragging Jinwoo's name through the mud like that. They were still yelling. “I said SHUT UP!” you matched their level. This time they felt quiet turning to you as if they forgot you were even in the room. “Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room. Stop implying the only way this can end is with me getting hurt. Stop assuming I’m some damsel that needs saving or protecting. And most of all stop saying Jinwoo is going to hurt me. I know him. He may not remember me, but I know him and he would never, and I mean never hurt me!” You stand there chest heaving when suddenly the reality of what you just revealed hits you.

You bolt from the room.

Panting you skid to a halt at your front door. What have you done? Have you just ruined everything? The perfectly constructed narrative you've worked so hard for over the last few years, is it all gone? Fumbling you insert the key into the door. You would bet you had around an hour before someone shows up at your door.

There was no getting out of this. There was no possible explanation you could give as to why you knew Jinwoo that wouldn’t reveal things you didn't want people to know. You collapsed onto the sofa, you’d fucked everything up.

There was a knock on the door. You looked at your watch, yep right on time. Pulling yourself up from the sofa you walk over to open the door. Turning and walking over to the kitchen you let the door swing open. Jongin stands on the other side of the threshold unsure if he's allowed into your apartment or not. Suddenly he jerks forward as Yoonho storms through the door, furious eyes searching for you before finding you casually making yourself a drink.

“Drink?” you tilt your glass towards them.

“No, we don;t want a bloody drink. We want an explanation!” Yoonho stalks across the room before being halted by a hand on his shoulder.

“ What our hot-headed friend here meant to say was. Are you okay? What happened bak there? We're worried about you.” Jongins voice softened as he spoke to you. You felt suspiciously like he was talking to a scared cornered animal, one he wasn;t sure if it was going to run from him or fight.

“You know, you two spend an awful lot of time together and are very touchy feely for two people that are supposed to be rivals.” You try to lighten the mood and take the spotlight off yourself. At your words Jongin takes his hand off Yoonho's shoulder like it burned him. If you looked close enough your sure you could see the tell tale sign of red in Jongin cheeks as well,

“Don't go changing the subject.” You should have known it was not going to be that easy.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” you shrug

“Why don’t you start from the beginning. How do you know Hunter Sung?” Now you really were starting to feel like a cornered animal.

“That's not my story to tell, at least not mine alone.”

“But you said he doesn't remember you?” The anger is gone from Yoonhos voice, now the only thing to feel from him is sympathy.

“That's right. I don't know how and I don't know why. What I do know is that I am a firm believer of not starting a story I can't finish. Which means this is not a tale I can tell. Not yet anyway.

As Jinwoo watched his shadows fight the beasts he couldn’t help but be distracted. Thoughts of that mysterious woman plagued his mind. He couldn’t help but run over every memory he had trying to find her. To explain why she thinks they have met before. But nothing. He knew for certain he had not met her since becoming a player, which meant he must have met her when he was still known as the World's Weakest Hunter. But then what could he have possibly done to make her hate him, how could he have hurt her like that?

She was beautiful, funny and, to his surprise, powerful. Not quite as powerful as him but she could definitely give the other S-Ranks a run for their money. Who was she? She must be a hunter with power like that so why was she not at the raid of Jeju Island?

He had hoped to get some answers out of her at their last meeting but Jinwoo had been called away to deal with a gate that had opened and was causing chaos. The gate was in the upper levels of what would be considered A-Rank and all the other S-Ranks and their parties were either already busy or were too far away. Jinwoo had reluctantly left the cafe, assignment and shadow to his new obsession in the hopes of being able to catch her at her apartment later that day. Only the gate had turned red as soon as he stepped inside. At least he was still able to keep an eye on her through his connection with the shadow soldier, plus Beru would be able to protect her if needed. It was a risk assigning one of his strongest soldiers to keep an eye on her, but Jinwoo felt it was definitely worth it to keep her safe. The army would make do without one of its generals. Shortly after stepping through the gate he’d lost contact with Beru, Jinwoo tried not to panic, there was nothing he could do about it but he may have used excessive force on a few beasts. Besides Beru had not respawned with him so he hadn’t been killed. Jinwoo just couldn’t communicate with him. Where had the little minx gone that severed his connection to the shadows?

It had taken some time but soon the connection had been restored only for Jinwoo to see his girl fast asleep on the top of her bed, spread eagle in what appeared to be hunters gear. Jinwoo demanded answers from Beru, if bugs could look smug, that was the face Beru was giving Jinwoo. Beru refused to answer, knowing that Jinwoo would not call him away from his charge in order to punish him. Beru had decided that Jinwoo needed to find out what the minx was capable of by himself. Jinwoo wished he sent Igris instead.

Jinwoo had been in the red gate for a few days now, a constant feeling of melancholy washing over him from his connection to his girl. It had started on the first day, after some intense feelings of fear and then anger. She’d been sad ever since. Jinwoo really wanted to defeat this gate so he could go to her.

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nihongoseito · 6 months ago

Text

vocab for going to bed at 10 pm on a friday (jst)

nouns:

身（み）バレ = being doxxed

零れ（こぼれ）話（ばなし） = tidbit, sidebar, digression

地獄耳（じごくみみ） = sharp ears

薬品（やくひん） = medicine, chemicals

器具（きぐ） = tool, instrument, utensil

実務（じつむ） = practical business, business affairs

悪知恵（わるぢえ） = cunning, guile

悪意（あくい） = ill will, spite

損得勘定（そんとくかんじょう） = profit-and-loss arithmetic, mercenary point of view

打算（ださん） = self-interest, calculation

隔離（かくり） = isolation, quarantine

道楽（どうらく） = pastime, hobby

境目（さかいめ） = borderline, boundary

経過（けいか） = passage, elapsing (of time); progress, course (of events)

処方せん（しょほうせん） = prescription

接触感染（せっしょくかんせん） = infection through contact

ひた隠し（かくし） = desperate cover-up, hiding at all costs

出頭（しゅっとう） = turning oneself in, surrender (e.g., to police)

八方（はっぽう）塞がり（ふさがり） = blocked in every direction, cornered

親孝行（おやこうこう） = filial piety

余談（よだん） = digression

verbs:

負う（おう） = to be injured, incur (wound, damage)

つつく = to poke, nudge; to pick at (e.g., food); to peck at (e.g., someone’s faults)

委ねる（ゆだねる） = to entrust to; to leave to abandon oneself to (e.g., pleasure); to yield to (e.g., anger)

塞がる（ふさがる） = to be closed, healed (e.g., wound)

感染る／伝染る（うつる） = to be infected, contagious

突き放す（つきはなす） = to push away; to keep away from, abandon; to act coldly

弔う（とむらう） = to mourn for, grieve; to hold a funeral for

引き継ぐ（ひきつぐ） = to take over

生き（いき）ながらえる = to live long, survive

拒む（こばむ） = to refuse, decline; to prevent (from doing), deny (access)

尖る（とがる） = to be pointed, sharp; to be sour, touchy

はぐれる = to stray from, lose sight of (one’s companions)

adjectives:

理不尽（りふじん）な = unreasonable, outrageous, absurd

執拗（しつよう）な = persistent, tenacious, relentless

非現実的（ひげんじつてき）な = unrealistic

世渡り（よわたり）上手（じょうず）な = having worldly wisdom, cosmopolitan

邪悪（じゃあく）な = evil, wicked

有能（ゆうのう）な = able, capable, competent

心細い（こころぼそい） = hopeless, forlorn, discouraging

うやむやな = hazy, vague, undecided

興味本位（きょうみほんい）な = just out of curiosity; sensational

かなわない = unbearable; beyond one’s power

愛情深い（あいじょうぶかい） = loving, devoted

もどかしい = irritating, frustrating, feeling impatient

expressions:

無駄口（むだぐち）を叩く（たたく） = to chatter pointlessly, waste one’s breath

面倒（めんどう）を見る（みる） = to care for/look after someone

路頭（ろとう）に迷う（まよう） = to be down and out, rendered homeless

裏（うら）がある = to have an ulterior motive; to have a catch

天秤（てんびん）にかける = to compare and contrast, weigh (options); to try and have it both ways

#no adverbs at all this time!#japanese #日本語 #vocab #langblr #sasha.txt

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 7

Where Cassian learns the importance of conversation and Nesta learns how strong she is

The bracing summer air chased Nesta all the way to the big house. She dreaded winter already. By winter, things would be different though. There would be more permanent homes built – Nesta would make sure of it. That spark of purpose was shiny and new, but Nesta was desperate to see it grow. She knew exactly how painful life could be when you were hungry and exhausted with no hope. These children deserved a better life. There was nothing else for her in Velaris except sitting on her backside reading, and whilst that was enjoyable, it could not be her forever. Maybe this wouldn’t be either – but Nesta could help here. She could put her extensive, expensive education to some use. If it only changed one child’s life then it would still be worth it. Cassian didn’t scare her, didn’t intimidate her. If he was going to make a move to hurt her, he’d have already tried. Nesta could deal with him.

More than once that morning when Nesta was busy in the big house, Cassian came by. He would look at her, attempt a word or two then shake his head before departing again. It was rather irritating.

Still, Nesta’s thoughts rarely went to Cassian unless he was looming over her, casting shadows with his wings. Nesta had more than enough on her plate. There were forty-three children in the house. Of those, eight of them were babies or toddlers so would not need a formal education yet. All of them would be starting from scratch, but Nesta expected the quickest progress from the younger ones so she had grouped them that way. Most of her day was spent watching the children – how they interacted with each other, who were the extroverted ones or the very shy children. With help from the females who cared for them, Nesta devised seating arrangements to try and split up the boisterous children. She was sure her well-made plans would rot before they came to fruition, but it was worth a try.

Another thought began to grow too with her ambition. Despite throwing her into it, Cassian’s heart had been in the right place by wanting her to teach the orphans. But why stop with only the children in the big house? Didn’t all the children in Iron Crest deserve the chance to learn? Without consulting her darling husband, Nesta made herself busy in the camp by seeking out females with children and offering them to opportunity to come to the big house in the morning where Nesta would try to group them amongst the others. The ones who only spoke Illyrian would be difficult initially, but hope was a dangerous thing.

It felt so good to have a purpose. Had she ever had such a thing before?

The hours slipped away quicker than Nesta would have liked as she sat outdoors plotting and planning in the late afternoon. They would alternate between reading and arithmetic each day, with time given to rest too. On many occasions, she had stopped simply to watch the camp. Not once did she feel unsafe as she had in Windhaven. There had been no uncouth comments from males. Even the females were smiling or holding their heads up. Children flitted over her head as they chased each other under the sun. She knew this camp was different thanks to one male. Cassian had brought about this change.

‘You haven’t eaten today,’ came his voice, as though he’d known he’d been in her thoughts.

‘I’ve been busy.’

Cassian settled a bowl of veal stew down for her. ‘Don’t neglect yourself.’

‘I’ll try to resist,’ she sniped.

***

There was such joy on Nesta’s face that Cassian could barely breathe. Warmth seemed to radiate from her as she grappled to hide her smile. He had the sense that she didn’t do it often. That maybe she hadn’t had many reasons to smile in her life.

They were virtually strangers. The titbits of information that he’d been able to harvest about her since that first meeting in Windhaven were likely false. It was the superstitious talk of Illyrians who refused to accept changes. As far as Cassian was concerned, his wife was not a witch. And if she was then he didn’t care.

He hated to take that joy from her. All day, she’d busied herself in the big house then the camp itself. She hadn’t stopped once. When Cassian had heard from Balthazar that she’d gone to families and invited their children to learn too, he had known then that Nesta Archeron was truly his; that the mother had chosen her for him for this reason. They would tend to Iron Crest and see it grow together.

If she would give him a chance. A foundation built on lies would crumble. He wanted to build a legacy with her. One that was stable and to be proud of. So, Cassian prepared himself for the worst and beckoned for his wife to follow him.

As regal and as proud as a queen, Nesta raised her chin and uttered, ‘If I must.’

It would be easier if he could fly her but he wanted their first flight together to be special, not one where his nerves were in tatters. Instead, Cassian led Nesta up through a rocky path which would lead to an overhang that overlooked the camp. What he hadn’t anticipated was how unsteady she’d be on her feet on uneven terrain. Her long skirt hindered her as much as her heeled shoes. When he offered her an arm to steady her, Nesta reluctantly accepted though she didn’t ask where they were going. Cassian wouldn’t have been able to find an answer for her had she asked.

The camp sprawled out below them as it quietened for the evening. They were treated to a glorious sun set that bathed the tents in warmth as mothers chased their little ones inside to bathe before bed. The work was done for the day so many were enjoying the quiet part of the evening.

‘I am to sit on the ground?’

Cassian was about to retort that his lap was always an option but thought better of it. ‘Only for a while. I need to talk to you about something.’

‘If it’s about contacting the Hewn City, do not bother. I have told you my opinion on the matter.’

Cassian patted the dry grass beside him gingerly. Amazing him, Nesta did sit although she sat straight back with a rigidity that suggested she had never in her life sat upon the ground. Maybe she hadn’t. She was the high lady’s sister who was likely born with a wealth that Cassian had never known. There was so much about her that he didn’t know, but he’d assumed they’d have a forever to learn about the past.

‘When word was given that I requested to marry you, why did you accept?’

Nesta gave a hollow laugh. ‘You phrase it as though I had a choice in the matter.’

He’d been brutal and threatened Azriel and Rhysand with bringing war to their veiled city to show that he meant his words.

‘You didn’t want to marry me,’ he said, unable to stop the defeat leaking into his tone.

‘No, Cassian. I do not know you. I have no intention of knowing you.’

The hand resting on his crossed knee bounced as his nerves frayed.

‘Then why agree?’

In a dream world, Nesta would tell him that there was a spark inside of her that she was desperate to see grow. That a hand on her shoulder guided her to Illyria.

Nesta frowned down at the camp. ‘What choice did I have? You would bring war to innocents. There was no option of me refusing. The others made that clear. Only my sister was vocal about the inherent wrongness.’

There was a lurch to Cassian’s gut. For all of the savagery of Illyria, the high lord had given away his mate’s sister with little difficulty. The thought angered him greatly. He’d thought she’d agreed out of desire or curiosity, not because they had forced her hand. He had forced her. Cassian had taken away her choice by blackmailing the Night Court.

‘You cannot think of why I would want you at my side?’

He tracked the bob of her throat as she swallowed. ‘My sister is the high lady of the Night Court. If it wasn’t you who wanted me for the advantage my position holds, it would be another. The heir to the Autumn Court has already raised my name in conversation.’

It took Cassian a long time to find the courage to speak again. This was the moment he’d lose her for good. And Cassian hadn’t even had Nesta yet.

‘The reason why I wanted to marry you was because I thought you felt what I feel,’ he explained, treading as carefully as one could on thin ice. ‘You are my mate.’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘In Windhaven. When I saw you. The bond snapped for me. I thought… I thought you knew it. I thought you agreed to marry me because you knew we were mates.’

‘We are not mates,’ said Nesta, voice fracturing. ‘We’re not. We are not.’

With surprising speed, Nesta lurched around and made to strike him. Cassian squeezed his eyes shut before her skin met his. He heard the crack, violent and loud.

Nesta screamed.

The magical binding on their contract had prevented her from striking him. What it had not stopped was her breaking her wrist in the process of trying to hurt him.

She swayed where she sat, face pale, as she clutched her injured wrist to her body.

‘Breathe,’ he urged. ‘Breathe, Nesta.’

Her breathing was shallow from the shock. Her wrist was already swelling from the break. In any other time, he might have congratulated her on the strength behind the hit.

‘Healer,’ she gritted out.

‘Illyrian magic aims to destroy. We don’t have healers. Not magical ones at least.’

Carefully, Cassian helped Nesta to her feet as darkness encroached upon Iron Crest. Her breath rattled through her teeth and she still seemed unsteady.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen. I will fly you to our tent. Bal will fly to the Hewn City and summon a healer.’ Cassian stepped closer to her. ‘Put your good arm around my shoulders.’

Despite his attempts at being delicate, Nesta was yelping from pain as he carried her. It broke him to hear it. Balthazar heard him booming his name across the camp then tore off towards the Hewn City to seek a healer for Nesta.

In his belongings, Cassian found a herb that could numb pain and forced Nesta to chew on it while they waited.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

Nesta jerked away when he tried to touch her then yelped again in her agony.

It did not take long for the Night Court to descend upon his camp with fury roiling from them. Cassian met them at the entrance to his tent with his hands braced in front of him. Feyre’s face was livid. Morrigan looked as though she might scratch her nails down his face. The other two stood silent and furious.

‘What have you done to my sister?’

‘Where is the healer?’

‘What have you done to her?’ Feyre repeated.

Cassian shrugged. ‘Two high lords wrote the contract. Do you doubt their ability to protect Nesta from harm that I might cause?’

A hand landed on his waist then Nesta was ducking under his wing. Only her iron-will kept her standing. ‘I need a healer,’ she grunted, holding onto him for support.

The mad desire to lean down and kiss her forehead nearly seized hold of Cassian’s control.

Feyre stepped forwards then beckoned for Nesta to come closer - as though she couldn’t bear to be any nearer to Cassian. A savage Illyrian who’d hurt his wife a few days after their wedding.

And then they were gone. All of them winnowed away, taking Nesta with them.

Cassian had lost his mate.

#nessian

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