#he's not even angry enough to be fuelled by spite

[itsza]

by yourself????

[nadvs]

better off (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary your split with rafe left its mark. when you feel like you’re finally getting over him, he pulls you back in. you decide that break-up sex is the best way to say goodbye once and for all.

warnings substance use, smut, toxic relationship

» masterlist

You have to remind yourself of his temper. Of his need for control. Of how fucking mean he can be.

Because when you’re at a party in a beach house on the north side of the island and your phone flashes with a text from Rafe, your drunken instinct is to reply to him.

It’s been a month since your last explosive fight. That argument in his car was the final nail in the coffin, the wake-up call that whatever you were trying to put back together was unsalvageable.

It ended abruptly. Your mind has replayed your last screamed words over and over again. This isn’t working, you shouted, your throat burning. Fuck it then, he shouted louder.

And you got out of his car and haven’t spoken since.

Despite its end, it’s not like your six-month relationship was all bad. Between great dates and even greater sex, you two had formed a real friendship. Because of those good times, you’ve been holed up in your bedroom since, grieving, crying your eyes out.

But when it was bad, it was toxic. You yelled at each other. Called each other names. Played mind games.

The worst was that you were both fuelled by spite when you were angry. He purposely hit you where it hurt, validating your insecurities just to crush you.

Although you exchanged some vile words, you think you’ll always regret when you told him he’s just like his father. His face fell. He went quiet. You’d never seen someone’s eyes lose their light quite like that.

Your eyes travel over Rafe’s text. You at Dec’s?

Your mutual friend Declan is the host of the ridiculously loud party you’re standing in the middle of. This is the first time since the break-up that you’ve felt okay enough to go out. And your stomach turns with anticipation that Rafe is somewhere here in the crowd.

At first, you wanted to text back that you are. But as your mind flashes through everything he did to you, every time he called you sensitive like it was ridiculous of you to be hurt by his mistreatment, making you feel crazy, you angrily respond: why tf do you care??

Your phone buzzes within a few seconds with his message. Lol calm down

It’s downright incredible how quickly he can piss you off. With that text alone, your blood is boiling.

Calm down. It’s what he always said whenever you brought up a valid reason you were upset. You would be completely collected, but he’d still tell you to calm down. He wanted to frustrate you.

You reply: fuck you. And you want to find him simply to chew him out.

You tell your friends you’ll be right back. You leave before they can ask where you’re going. After all the venting you did about Rafe, about what a toxic asshole he is, you know they’d give you shit for seeking him out.

Rafe’s heart is racing. From the coke, from the booze, from the way that missing you is still such a heavy fucking weight on his chest that isn’t going away.

It’s been weeks and he’s still pissed off about it. Life feels unliveable. When the argument started, he thought it was just going to be another bad night. You had threatened breaking up with each other a million times before. But this time, it was real.

And every time his phone vibrates, he hopes it’s you. He looks at your photos in his camera roll, wallowing in the hole you left in his life. He still has videos of you two fucking and he watches them late at night, touching himself and letting himself pretend you’re still together.

He even puts extra care into getting ready every time he comes to these parties so you’ll think he looks good if you run into him. But you haven’t been going out. At least, not that he’s seen, and he purposely searches every crowd for you.

So, when he saw you in the distance tonight, a sight he’s been dying to see, his heart stopped. And he texted you, pretending he didn’t already know you were here, because it’d be too much of a hit to his pride if he approached you and you brushed him off.

Good thing. Because your response told him what he needs to know.

When you find Rafe in the crowd, he’s knocking back what’s left of a beer. He had told you he was hoping to slow down on the booze back when you were together, but he continued to get shit-faced at every party.

He would disappoint you time and time again, and even now, as your ex-boyfriend, he still manages to do it.

You cross your arms as you approach him. One of his friends notices you, slapping Rafe’s arm to get his attention.

At that moment, you wonder what he told his buddies about you. Probably that you were a crazy bitch. He certainly didn’t have any problem calling you that to your face.

Rafe looks at his friend in confusion. Then, his blue eyes land on you. The same eyes that used to slowly flutter open after you kissed him, as if he was waking up from a good dream. The same eyes that pierced into you when he screamed at you.

“So much for cutting back,” you shout over the music.

Rafe swallows the bitter alcohol and the shock of your sudden presence. He was certain you wouldn’t talk to him tonight.

And of course you look stunning, like an angel that came down from heaven deciding it was worth the sin to torture him.

“Why the fuck do you care?” He’s wearing a self-assured smirk, purposely saying exactly what you said in your text just a few minutes ago.

You roll your eyes, remembering why you came over here in the first place.

“Can I not come to a party without you annoying me?” you mutter.

“You’re the one who came to find me.”

“Because you texted me.”

“So, you’re here to tell me not to text you? What happened to blocking me?”

This is exactly what it was like dating him. Infuriating, petty arguments that only go in circles.

“You didn’t this time, huh?” he adds just to embarrass you.

You had him blocked so many times before, but after the break-up, you just couldn’t do it. Because you had hope he’d reach out. And now he’s making you feel like an idiot for it.

It feels like he’s winning this argument. You shouldn’t care. But you do.

One of the things he said the night of your break-up was that no other guy would deal with your bullshit. So, you decide to lie just to hurt him back.

“I have someone else dealing with my bullshit now,” you say. “Blocking some asshole isn’t a priority.”

Your words have an effect on him. You can tell from the way his jaw tightens. You sink into this feeling all over again, the sick familiarity of playing mind games with him.

Rafe feels his chest twist with anger. Is that where you’ve been lately? Not showing up to parties because you’re with someone else?

He steps closer, ducking his head so that only you can hear his words. His familiar cologne washes over you.

You realize he’s wearing a button-up you bought him and you wonder if he doesn’t remember it was a gift from you, or he does and he doesn’t care to place any sort of sentimental value on it.

“Since when?” he asks.

“Since when what, Rafe?” you say his name with a sharp coldness.

“Since when have you been with someone else?”

You decide to provoke him and let the lie build.

“A while.”

Rafe’s lips thin. He takes your hand and you should pull away, you should want to, but you let him lead you through the crowd into a dark, quieter hallway.

You’re soon against a wall, looking up at him, his eyes darting across your face as the softened music reverberates through the air.

“What’s a while?” he says. “Did it start when we were together?”

You sigh and glance away.

“Don’t look away from me,” he orders. “Answer the fucking question.”

“For the millionth goddamn time, I am not a cheater,” you say. He used to accuse you of unfaithfulness all the time. You meet his angry gaze. “I met him after.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

Rafe plants his hand on the wall next to your head, leaning over, his intensity burning through you.

“I know everybody,” he mutters.

“What, ‘cause you’re so popular?” you scoff.

“You’re lying,” he says. He hopes.

“Sure, whatever, I’m lying,” you reply indifferently with a shrug. “Believe what you want. I’m going now.”

You start to turn, but he boxes you in, his other hand firm on the wall. You knew he’d stop you. It’s why you pretended to leave.

You look up at him through your lashes. His pupils are blown. Your entire body is buzzing.

You miss him. Of course you do. As toxic as you were, as many times as you told yourself this relationship was unhealthy, you miss him.

“Who is he?” he rasps.

“Why?” you say through gritted teeth. “You want to ruin another thing for me?”

“What the fuck have I ruined for you?”

“I lost friends because of you,” you say.

A smile of disbelief grows on Rafe’s face.

He always loved you more. He knows that. And you accused him of isolating you from your friends when all he wanted to do was spend time with you.

It’s not his fault you don’t know how a relationship works. You should want to be with your boyfriend more than your friends. Especially when those friends try to get it in your head that your boyfriend doesn’t deserve you. That you’re too good for him.

What guy wouldn’t want his girl to stop hanging out with friends who just shit-talk him?

“Those weren’t friends,” he says. “What kind of friends want to fuck up your relationship?”

“It was already fucked up,” you respond. “They just helped me see it. But I still cut them off. For you. For nothing.”

Rafe blinks a few times before parting his lips to speak again. Nothing. That’s what he is to you?

His chest aches. He wants to return the favor. He wants to hurt you back.

“You’re so fucking weak,” he says, tapping your temple. You slap him away. “You’ll believe anything.”

It’s a slam to your heart.

“There’s something wrong with you,” you say. “Anyone who can tolerate you for as long as I did is the farthest thing from weak.”

You managed to hit him back just as hard. The way he pauses is a clear sign of it.

“That’s all it was, huh? Tolerating me?” he mutters.

You nod, your breath unsteady.

“Was it tolerating me when I bought you every single fucking thing you wanted?”

“I never asked you to do any of that,” you counter. Your voice has lost its edge. The reminder of how he used to spoil you with gifts and spa days and getaways has cracked your armor a little bit.

“You loved it, though, didn’t you?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “And you loved thanking me for it.”

Your skin pricks with the reminder. The way your lips pressed against his, limbs tangled together in his bed, kissing and fucking and breathing out dirty praise.

He’s thinking of it, too. You can tell because when he brushes up against you, he’s hard. It makes your body go even hotter.

Rafe’s been wondering what you did with all the gifts he got you. His eyes sweep over your body, half-hoping he’ll see a piece of jewelry he bought. But he comes up empty.

He fucking loved it, the way your eyes lit up whenever he got you a gift for no reason. But right now, your eyes are full of hatred.

You still haven’t said anything. Your chest is rising and falling quickly. He struck a chord and he’s going to keep pulling the string.

“Gave you that princess treatment shit, didn’t I?” he murmurs.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You said that whenever he bought you anything or did something sweet. It had become a joke between you two. It’s almost unbelievable that the man towering over you right now is capable of doing anything sweet.

“What, you can’t talk now?” Rafe taunts in his typical frustrating way.

“I hate you,” you mutter.

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You said the opposite the last time I saw you.”

You tense up. It’s true. Albeit angrily, you had said you loved him after he accused you of not giving a shit about him during your last argument.

He didn’t say it back. He hardly ever did. He used his body and his credit card to show you his love. It was always a dark cloud that hung over you, the way he couldn’t just say those three words nearly as much as you did.

Even now, he can’t even say the word. He said the opposite. Because he’s so damn emotionally stunted.

You try to regain whatever power you have left.

“Things change,” you respond. “And I’m better off now.”

Rafe leans closer, eyebrows just slightly raising as he stares at you.

His heart is pounding. His legs are weak. He’s panicked that you’ll reject him, but he can’t control the pull you have on him. The fact that you’re walking around and existing and not being with him is agony.

He feigns confidence, his nose gently nudging against yours, his lips less than an inch away now.

“Can he fuck you as good as I can?” he asks. Your core aches with a hard craving for him.

“I just said I’m better off, didn’t I?” you reply.

Rafe’s stomach curls in pain. The thought of another man tasting you, hearing you moan, being inside of you… It actually fucking hurts. You’re his. You’re not supposed to be anybody else’s.

“You need a reminder,” he says tersely, “of how good I make you feel.”

Your breath catches. You’d be stupid to do this. You just bring out the worst in each other. Having sex will undo all the healing you’ve done.

But, because of this sick effect he has on you, you listen to the voice telling you that one last time will be a proper goodbye.

“You’re wasted,” you say. You already felt his hard-on brush against you, but challenging him is too addictive not to do it. “You sure you can even get it up?”

Instead of being pissed off, Rafe does the most attractive thing he possibly can. And it’s infuriating. He smirks, grinding up against you, his hard lust pressed right between your legs.

“When have I ever had a problem with that?” he murmurs.

And finally, finally, he leans forward, pressing his warm lips on yours, and tasting him is like coming home after a trip you never wanted to go on.

You sink into his touch, letting yourself enjoy this temporary high, letting yourself give into the impulse to drag your hands up his hard torso, palms running over the expensive fabric you bought for him.

You tightly cup the sides of his neck. He pushes you by your waist, up against the wall so hard that your back tinges in pain.

This is what this will be. A hard, angry, rough goodbye. One last struggle for power.

You push him off, your lips parting with a smack.

“Find a room,” you order him.

His grip on your wrist is tight as he takes you to a guest room near the back of the house. He shuts the door and pushes you down onto the bed, chest heaving as he looks at you on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching him as he undoes his belt.

You gaze up at him as he breathes heavily, unzipping his pants and letting the buckle fall to the floor with a thud. He palms himself over his boxers, shaking his head at you.

“You can’t take your own damn clothes off?” he mutters.

The fire in you blazes hotter when he leans over you, pulling the button of your jeans out of the loop, zipping down, roughly tugging the waistband down your legs.

Part of the reason you waited for him to do it is because you’re so struck by the way he looks, angry and horny and handsome. But mostly, it’s because if he undresses you, it’s proof of how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you, and you miss that feeling.

Rafe is light-headed simply at the sight of your bare thighs. How can you make him feel like this and not be in his life anymore, just like that?

Once your pants are off, you tug him down to you by his hips, using all your strength to pull yourself up over him.

Rafe could easily withstand you, but he doesn’t want to. This was the best part of your relationship. The battle for control. It’s always been intoxicating.

He’s on his back while you’re propped up on your knees, straddling him, looking down at him, at the way your fingers look splayed on his chest.

He dreamed about seeing you on top of him again. His ex-girlfriend, the only person who’s just as fucked up as he is, the only one who challenges him in such an infuriatingly perfect way. Now, you’re just another person who’s given up on him.

“I know you missed this,” he says with a craven refusal to admit that he missed it himself.

“Feels like you missed it more.” You grind against him, but your middle is hot and wet, and you’re sure he can feel it.

You tug at his shirt, undoing buttons but eventually getting impatient enough to rip apart the last two that remain.

Rafe expels a pissed off tsk. This is his favorite thing you gave him. It’s typical, your recklessness, your refusal to care about the consequences he’s left to live with.

Some of his anger dissipates when you bend to kiss him, your tongue running over his. He grips your ass, fingers dipping under your panties as your kisses grow in roughness, starting to nip at each other’s lips, rushed and hungry.

You pull at the sleeves of his shirt, tugging so he’s left in his boxers only. He pushes your shirt up as you remain bent over him, squeezing your tits over your bra. You hate to give him the satisfaction of your moan, so you keep it in, scrambling to take your shirt off.

His fingers move expertly as he unhooks your bra just like he always did before. You hate that your mind jumps to wondering if he’s taken off any other girl’s clothing lately.

You lied about having a new boyfriend. You know he’s not above lying, either. You wouldn’t dare ask if he’s done this since your break-up. Because it’ll show you care. And because his answer, lie or not, could destroy you.

Your bra is thrown onto the floor and rough hands dip to the backs of your thighs, pushing you so that your chest is right over his face, giving him a chance to put his mouth on you as you hover over him on your hands and knees.

His tongue is hot over your nipple and this time, you can’t stifle your moan. He smirks against you, locking his lips around the peak of your breast, kneading the other, just hard enough to hurt in a good way.

You’re so mad at him for ruining things between you. It’s unfair that someone who knows your body and soul so well is so fucking cruel.

You want to drown your anger in him, in the pleasure you know he can give you. You sit up to take off your panties and shift higher this time so that your knees are pressed against his ears.

You lower and the second you feel his mouth between your legs, you shudder. It’s even better than you remembered.

Rafe looks up at the perfect sight of you sitting over him, eating you out with fast, desperate licks and sucks, tasting you, savoring you.

Your thighs start to lose their strength and you sink slightly, putting more of your weight on his chin, and the groan that escapes from his mouth onto your clit makes you lose all composure.

His hands keep your thighs pinned so you follow his lead, fully sitting on him now, grinding against his mouth. Your fingers lace in his hair, pulling at the roots, every writhe of yours getting harder.

This is a fucking dream come true to him. You’ve done this before, but you’ve never been this rough. You were always afraid to hurt him even during angry sex. This is different.

You roll your hips and the sensation of his nose bumping against your clit sends sparks of pleasure throughout your body. You’re soaked from your own arousal and his spit, sliding over his mouth.

It’s impossible to hold back your moans now. You let the groans of how good you feel spill out of your throat, mixed with the sounds of his mouth on you and the music blasting from the front of the house.

Rafe’s fingers dig into your thighs, his tongue flattened for you so you can get the pleasure you need. You look down, meeting his eyes while you ride his face, the tension and lust and frustration you share thick in the air.

You slow down, arching your back so he’ll work your clit how you want him to. You don’t even need to tell him. He knows you so damn well, his lips locking around the most sensitive part of your body, sucking and slurping so hard that you start to tremble.

“Just like that,” you whimper. His jaw was starting to get sore, but your praise spurs him to keep going. You adjust your grip on his hair, throwing your head back as his suction grows even harder.

Your thighs press against his cheeks as you start to dissolve into your orgasm. Rafe’s not letting that happen. You’re not getting yours until he gets his.

He pushes your hips up and a frustrated whine tumbles from your mouth. He’s so hard it hurts, roughly guiding you onto your back, the mattress bouncing with how hard he throws you down.

Rafe stares at you with hard eyes as he pulls off his boxers, his cock springing out, holding himself at his base as he guides himself against your entrance.

His exhale is short and sharp as he plunges into you. It feels so damn right to have him inside you, on top of you. The way he sounds, the way he smells. It’s just right.

“You like that?” he mutters, thrusting hard with no build-up to his fast pace.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He revels in the feeling of your heat wrapped around him. Inside you is his favorite place to be. That’s never changed.

“Where’s that attitude now, huh?”

“I don’t have an attitude,” you argue breathily, your body jolting with his thrashes.

“Not when I’m eating you out,” he says. “Not when I’m fucking you.”

“I don’t have an attitude,” you repeat.

He grips your jaw aggressively, fucking you in a frenzy, fingers squeezing your cheeks so hard that your lips jut out into a pout.

“Yes, you fucking do,” Rafe says, panting. “You think you’re so fucking perfect, don’t you?”

“I’m better than you,” you reply.

“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs. “Fucking insufferable.”

The pressure of him thrusting into you, the way he’s holding you and breathing and groaning, pushes you into a mind-blowing orgasm, your entire body tensing.

You’re in a daze, knowing he’s close by the way his movements are starting to grow sloppier.

“Then why were you with me?” The words are out of your mouth before you can even think about if you should say them.

Rafe’s wet mouth is on yours, tasting like himself and like you, a combination of two people who never should have met. You’re sure that you’d both be better off.

He comes hard, going still on top of you, groaning against your lips. Once he pulls back, his breaths hot on your neck, he finally answers, echoing what you’ve said to him so many times. But this time, you’re the victim of the insult.

“Because there’s something wrong with me,” he says.

Your throat thickens with tears. It’s the truth. And the truth is painful.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you mutter, pushing him off. You promise yourself that tonight is the last time that you’ll ever feel him on top of you, feel him pulling out of you.

You can’t get your clothes on fast enough. Even though this is an old flame, it has the same amount of power to scald you.

“Thought you weren’t a cheater,” he grumbles behind you as you slide on your panties.

“This was a mistake,” you say. “And it’s the last time I’m making it.”

Your words sting. He thought this was make-up sex. That you had a little bit more fight in you for him, and then you’d walk out of this room on his arm. But you really are done.

You pull on your bra next, fingers trembling, knowing you’ll regret it if he hears you cry. You put your shirt on as he remains lying behind you, surely relaxed now that he got what he wanted.

You stand to pull up your jeans, finally meeting his eyes again.

“Why did you even text me?” you mutter. You loathe that a tiny part of you hopes he says it’s because he misses you.

But you’re glad he doesn’t. Because you two just start each other’s fires and douse them in gasoline, burning each other over and over. He simply says, “I wanted to fuck and I knew you’d let me.”

Rafe said it just to hurt you because you called this a mistake. The way you look down as you pretend to focus on buttoning your jeans tells him it worked.

“Don’t text me again,” you say. “Don’t call me. Don’t contact me at all.”

“You scared your new boyfriend’s gonna see?” he says, pretending to be unaffected, pushing past the hurt.

You cross the room and look at him one last time as you turn the door handle. You decide to say the most honest thing you’ve said to him tonight.

“I’m scared I’ll fall for your bullshit again,” you admit. “We’re bad for each other. If there’s any part of you that has a heart, you’ll realize that and you’ll leave me alone.”

For once, Rafe is rendered speechless. He gave you his whole damn heart and for you to insinuate he might not even have one is the last dig he needs to shatter him.

Just like the night this ended in his car, you leave. But you mean it this time.

Because something that was actually meant to be would not hurt this much.

(part two)

inspired by this ask and this ask by @diorjadore

[sayafics]

Just For A Moment - Part 5

Hello my beautifuls <33

Sorry for the really late update, I have been slammed with family events and have more in a weeks time 💔💔

But I do hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm going to try and update more often before I go MIA for a few days for wedding related stuff (not mine, silly😭)

This is a POV of Aurora's experience after she left and why she came back, enjoyyyy!!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

Masterlist

When Aurora had made the choice to leave the Intelligence department, and then Chicago, she didn't have it in her heart to discard the items that connected her to her life there.

So as days went by, her phone continued to ring and vibrate with a bombardment of messages and calls, one after the other. She didn't have the courage to silence them, nor the anger within her to turn off her phone or throw it out.

Instead, she bought a new one as she watched her phone continue to light up as weeks went by.

She tried not to read the messages, forced herself to avoid the voicemails left for her and soon they began to die down.

As weeks went by, the need for answers from friends and colleagues grew weaker as they accepted the fact she didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to explain herself or talk about the pain she had gone through.

Aurora threw herself into her work, hoping one distraction or the other was enough to pull her mind away from the horrors of her last few weeks in Chicago.

Soon her phone would only ring once a day, every day at ten o'clock. It was Jay, it was always Jay.

A part of her, selfish and greedy, found herself looking forward to those calls - entertaining the idea of picking up and hearing his voice, listening to the sounds of his breaths, seeing if he still felt guilty, seeing if he wanted her the way she found herself still wanting him.

That was the worst part.

After all he had done, there was a part of her that craved Jay - that needed his voice in her ear, his hands on her skin, his praises and his confessions, his love and his pain. There was a part of her which longed for him, that continued to yearn for him even though she had all but ran away from him.

Perhaps that was why she picked up.

It was 11:37pm when the phone rang. Jay's call had come at 10pm and been ignored. Still, he left a voicemail that went unheard, Aurora was too fearful of the pain his voice would cause her that her ache for it wasn't enough to make her want to listen.

No, this call was from Matt Casey, the firefighter she had given her phone number to so they could arrange a time for him to help her with some construction work on her property back in Chicago.

Maybe it was loneliness or perhaps pure desperation, or anger and spite which fuelled her actions, but she picked up at the third ring.

There was silence on both sides, the only sound being light inhales and deep exhales as both parties decided on what to say.

"You picked up."

His voice sounded surprised.

"Hey, Matt."

Her voice was soft, but cautious. She was unsure why Matt Casey of all people would call, but she was also not sure why she had picked up so quickly.

"Hey, Aurora," he sounded relieved at the sound of her voice, "how are you?"

She shrugged, despite the fact he couldn't see her, "better." It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

He didn't need to know she cried herself to sleep every night, that she spent every waking moment thinking about Jay, every lucid breath angry at him, and every calm second grieving what had been lost.

Casey sighed as though he could hear the lies in her words, but chose not to push, "everyone misses you here," he waited a breath, for a response, for a sign of regret she had left or a hint of longing, but nothing.

"Jay misses you."

Aurora inhaled sharply at that, by now she had only been gone just over a month, and the mention of Jay brushed viciously against a raw and gaping wound.

"I'm sorry," his voice was quieter now, speaking his words slower, "Kelly's worried about him. We all are."

"Jay's not my problem," her voice was shaky, but she forced her words out with conviction.

"I know."

There was nothing more to say, "I gotta go, Matt."

"I'll talk to you later."

It wasn't a question, and a part of Aurora was kind of glad for that.

"Bye Matt."

"Bye Aurora."

Their phone calls continued like that for the next few months - Casey would call Aurora every other week, keeping her up to date on things happening, telling her everyone missed her, giving silent encouragements for her to come back to Chicago. And every time, he would try and bring up Jay, to express his worries and the fears of others as Jay wore himself down with guilt and anguish. But every time Aurora would find an excuse to end the call, and pretend Matt had never said anything at all.

Jay's calls still continued, every day like clockwork he would call at ten o'clock, and still Aurora would not answer.

It had all come to a head when her phone rang in the early afternoon. She had finished a gruelling case recently, and had taken to hibernating in her quaint and scarce apartment as she readied herself for weeks under another alias.

The ringtone sang loudly as she stepped towards it, it was too early for it to be Jay, and too soon after the last call for it to be Matt.

Voight.

She thought about not picking up, but Voight wouldn't have called if it wasn't important.

Was it about Jay? Was he okay? Had he been hurt?

She took a calming breath, forcing her hands not to tremble at the troubling thoughts as she answered the call and brought the phone to her ear - "hello?"

"Aurora."

Voight's voice hadn't changed, he still spoke in his baritone rasp, slow and authoritative. A part of her was comforted by it, warming at the sound of a familiar voice she hadn't realised she had been missing.

"Did something happen to him?"

She couldn't help it, couldn't control her fears. It was the first time Voight had called her, and the idea that something bad could have happened to Jay being the reason why gnawed at her.

"He's safe," she let out a sigh of relief, hoping it was quiet enough to be ignored, but a part of Voight perked up at the sound as he continued, hoping his words wouldn't scare her off - "he's struggling though."

"That's not my problem," her voice was a quiet whisper, eyes closing as the words were repeated to her by someone other than Matt.

"I know," he was cautious with his words now, "but that's not why I called."

She was curious now, eyes opening as her brows raised in question, "hm?"

"I got a case."

"And I quit."

Voight sighed at her retort, "as an officer of the CPD. I don't need an officer, I need an undercover agent."

Aurora paused at that, curious as to why Voight would go to all this trouble to ask for her help when there were plenty of experienced undercover operatives within the CPD itself - Jay included.

The truth was, Voight knew someone else could help with the case. But over the years Jay had spent working in Intelligence, he managed to wedge himself into Voight's life with ease. After the death of his son, Voight's reliance on Jay's presence had grown stronger. In some ways, Jay was like a son to him.

So perhaps out of his own form of selfishness or an unprecedented amount of protectiveness, he wanted to help Jay.

Voight could see how Jay was breaking, could see the light fading from his eye as his prayers and pleas went unanswered. He could see the way Jay was losing weight, the way his eyes grew darker with lack of sleep, how he was angrier, and easily tired, how he was in denial and desperate.

He also wasn't in the dark with how Aurora was doing, her father frequently keeping in contact as he spewed his worries about how his daughter was throwing herself into her work, alienating herself from friends and family. Aurora was doing the exact thing she had told her father she wanted to run from. She was losing herself in the lives she lived, working a career that drained her.

Jay and Aurora were both suffering, both exhausted and tired. They both needed each other, but the pain that had been inflicted on them was too much for them to face, and they found it easier to avoid it through their own vices.

Jay's was alcohol, whilst Aurora's was her work.

And the paternal heart of Voight could not bear to hear and see the two torture themselves any longer.

"Why?"

Aurora's question broke him out of his reverie, so he spoke, "why not?"

She groaned in frustration, "Voight, I swear to God. Please. I can't come back."

"You don't want to come back. But I have a case, I need you."

It was true, she didn't want to come back. Fearful of what she would see if she did.

Would Jay have gone to Hailey for comfort? Would they have fallen in love? Was Hailey the one for him? Was Hailey enough for him in a way she wasn't?

They were questions she had forced herself to leave unanswered.

"I'll send you the case file. Have a look, and get back to me," Voight paused, listening to the shallow breaths on the other end of the phone, "the team's not the same without you. Jay isn't either, and I know you aren't. This could be good for you both. Think about it, kid."

Voight ended the call before she could reply, before she could think or before she could say no. She stood there with the phone still pressed to her ear, standing in baited silence even as her laptop pinged with a notification of a new email - the case file.

Still, she stood and thought.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, but soon, she was forced to blink herself back to reality. Her eyes were pulled towards her laptop, already open and waiting for her to investigate.

Aurora probably should have ignored it. She should have gone on about her day and left Voight's request unanswered.

But the agent in her, the officer, and the soldier drilled into her bones forced her to drag her feet towards the device and pull up the files she had been given.

She had a lot of thinking to do, and a very hard decision to make.

***

A few hours had passed since Voight's call, and for the first time in several months Aurora picked up her phone to make a call.

Her finger automatically selected 1, ready to speed dial the one person she was avoiding, simply out of instinct.

She forced her eyes closed as she took laboured breaths, calming herself before she opened her eyes and searched for a specific contact.

Matt.

She liked to think they had become friends during the last few months, and she hoped that he would help her now more than ever. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. A part of her wanted to hear encouragements to come to Chicago, and the other wanted him to warn her never to come back.

She wants him to tell her she should find happiness where she was, but she was afraid she never would.

Matt picked up on the last ring, and the pair spoke for a long time. Aurora was surprised - there were no encouragements nor any hints she should stay away.

Matt focused on what she wanted to do, what she felt was right. The truth is she wasn't sure, but looking over the case, she knew she could do some good.

There was a new gang in Chicago, distributing laced drugs to minority areas, causing children as young as ten to be hospitalised and on the brink of death. Voight wanted her to be the one undercover, to get close to who they thought was in charge, to get a confession, or to find some evidence. Anything to get this gang on its knees, to cut off the head of the serpent from where it was rooted.

The call was heavy, Matt reminding her that she would eventually have to see Jay, possibly even work with him. She didn't think she could do that, she thought her throat would clog and her eyes would water, that her mind would panic and she would run again.

Another part of her thought she would turn a blind eye to his actions for a moment of solace in his arms, even if just for a moment longer.

She was conflicted, she was struggling.

And she knew Matt could sense it, even if he couldn't see her.

"It would be great to have you back in town. I know 81 would be happy, I'm sure CPD would be too."

"Maybe. Doesn't mean it won't be hard."

"Nothing is ever easy, especially not in this line of work."

A bitter laugh escaped her, "not in this life, you mean."

Matt sighed through his nose, a silence emanating through the phone, "don't let this break you."

"What?" The words had been unexpected, causing her to sit straighter as she listened closely.

"What Jay did. Don't let it be what breaks you, don't let it stop you from being happy even if you have to come back here to find it."

Aurora let out a shaky breath. She hadn't thought that way before. She hadn't realised that was what she had been allowing to happen, she had been allowing herself to break whilst she lived in misery, staying away from her friends and from a life she truly enjoyed.

Yes, Jay hurt her in a way that was so damaging that she felt the need to flee. But that didn't mean she couldn't go back, or at least, it didn't mean she couldn't try.

She was still wary of the pain and agony she would face when she had to see him, had to hear his voice and face the possibility that he was happy without her.

But she had to try.

At her silence, Matt prompted further, "I'll be there every step of the way. If you come, and if not, I'll still be here."

Her eyes burned at those words, she watched the lines of their friendship begin to blur as she listened to his words of support.

Matt had been there, had been a listening ear, a helpful advisor, and a beloved friend.

She was not sure if she wanted him to be more, but she knew she appreciated his friendship and his support.

She continued to stay quiet, but Matt was undeterred, "I'll see you soon, Aurora. Goodnight."

He spoke as though he knew what her answer already was, spoke as though he knew she was coming, and he was ready to be there in any way she would have him.

Aurora glanced at the clock, wondering how it was gotten late so quickly.

9:58pm.

Oh.

"Goodnight."

Aurora ended the call, and the seconds ticked by quickly as another call replaced the one she had just ended.

She let it ring, until it went to voicemail.

Only this time, she listened to it. She ignored the rest, piled in her voicemail box, waiting for her attentive ears, and played the one Jay had left only seconds ago.

'Rory,' his voice was scratchy, as though he hadn't spoken for quite a while or hadn't drank water in hours. In truth, Jay's preferred form of hydration now was alcohol, 'I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know what to do.'

Jay's voice grew heavier with tears at every word, guilt weighing him down as he spoke, a debilitating weight began to fester in Aurora's sternum as she listened to his anguish - 'I can't find you. But I need you, please come home.'

Aurora thought it would end there, hoped that his other voicemails were similar babbles of mumbling and slurred apologies from drowning himself with alcohol to hide from his shame. But Jay continued with renewed vigour, his voice light as he reminisced about quiet moments he shared with her, 'we're working on a case. We've almost solved it. I just know it. You would've liked this one. It was a homicide - you always liked those. Said it reminded you of Sherlock Holmes. I read the books you bought me about him, after so long. You were right, I couldn't put them down. I fell asleep on the couch so many times whilst reading, would've missed work if it wasn't for my alarm too,' a strained laugh escapes him.

'I can't go into that room anymore,' her heart sinks as she realises which room he's speaking about, 'not unless I have to. I can't. Not when I know the last person in that room wasn't you. Not when I know I won't be able to sleep without thinking of you. Come back to me,' he spoke with a broken whisper, 'if you're ever ready to have me, ever ready to trust me. Come back home, to me. I'll always wait for you.'

Tears were now streaming down her face, eyes clenched shut as she tried to hold them back, but her shoulders shuddered with stubborn sobs. It was his last words that broke her, that tore down the walls she had placed between herself and her home for so long, that wiped away the distance she had drawn.

'You're enough. You've always been enough. I was just too blind to see it, but I know it now, and I see it now. You're enough.'

There it was. The reply she had been waiting for, all those months ago, out in the open when she had left him to stew in his guilt and misery.

She was enough, but was Jay too late?

***

Aurora tried to tell herself it was Matt's words of encouragement that brought her to this moment. That Matt was why she was here, and that every glance towards the windows and door wasn't in search of him.

She had accepted Voight's offer, unaware of his hidden agenda, and returned to Chicago within the same week.

She had gone to new lengths to avoid the temptation of listening to Jay's voicemails, hiding her phone deep into the depths of a suitcase she left abandoned in the house she had run from all those months ago.

That brought her to this moment now - refamiliarising herself with her surroundings and her friends by making a stop at Molly's. Matt was already waiting for her, with open arms and a hearty smile.

He knew she would come, and he was proud of her for doing so.

He stayed with her the whole time, a protective hand at her back and an ever-present guard at her shoulder as she spoke to old colleagues and faded friends.

But even he did not miss the way her face fell as it tracked a familiar car racing away from Molly's. He didn't miss how she became quieter, more reclusive in the moments which followed.

But he stayed by her side, a compassionate friend ready to help her deal with the brutal emotions that she fought with.

Matt Casey was a good man.

***

Aurora had come into the station the next day, greeted by cheers and welcoming hugs from all who recognised her - even Voight had embraced her tightly, a hug so warm she was left thinking about how long it had been since she had hugged her own father as she relished in the feeling of a heartfelt embrace.

Her presence had been received gracefully by all, except one person - Hailey.

Aurora kept her distance from the woman, not even sparing her a smile as she limited herself to Voight's office and Kim's desk whilst she reacquainted herself.

The desk she used to own still laid bare, but it was clean and tidy - free of any dust, as though it was cared for meticulously, ready for her return should she decide so.

She had passed through the police department several times over the next few days, preparing herself for the operation she would work undercover on. And on every single one of those days, a part of her dreaded seeing Jay whilst another longed to look into his green eyes one more time.

But he hadn't come, and she soon found herself thinking she wouldn't see him at all. That he would avoid her until she left, that all his words in that voicemail were truly drunken rambles, and he didn't mean a word.

She felt stupid, felt naive and desperate for wanting to see the man. For wanting to see his reaction, to see if he would cry, if he would yell, to see if he would embrace her gently or grab her roughly against him, holding her tight as though she'd slip through his fingers like dust.

Aurora wasn't sure what she wanted.

Aurora wasn't sure if she wanted Jay.

Aurora wasn't sure if Jay Halstead was a good man.

But she knew a part of her would always crave him, and the broken pieces of her heart would always search for his.

She knew she wanted to see him.

What do we think?

I hope you guys enjoyed it <33

Also, thank you to everyone who had been commenting, liking, and reblogging this series. I appreciate you all, every like, every comment, and every reblog means the world to me.

Jay and Aurora will meet again in the next chapter, and ofc Hailey will find a way to weasel herself in :/ what do we think their reactions are going to be?👀

[fanfictasia]

Angstober Day 18

“But I love you”

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Ben-Ekkreth-Chippie

Ekkreth: i probably won’t come back and i thought i should tell you

[Ben and Chippie come on several hours later]

Chippie: What? O_O

Ben: Are you okay???

Chippie: Obviously not. ;-;

Ben: Why wouldn’t he come back?

Chippie: idk but i think i should’ve gone to get him after all

Ben: I agree, but we still don’t know where he lives.

Chippie: ;-;

[several hours later Ekkreth comes on]

Chippie: Ekkreth! You’re finally back???

Ben: What happened?

Ekkreth: i got in trouble with my master

Chippie: ;-; Do you need a hug?

Ekkreth: yes

Ekkreth: But they dont’ fix anything

Ben: Why did you think you wouldn’t come back?

Ekkreth: i was nearly crushed by a rock slide 

Ekkreth: i was going to stay there but my master found me and he was angry

Chippie: WHAT? Why were you going to stay there???

Ben: What he was angry about? That you survived????

Ekkreth: no that i didn’t want to

Chippie: What? O.O

Ben: Why would you not want to?

Ekkreth: WHy would I want to?

Chippie: Um

Chippie: What do you mean?

Ben: Are you saying you want to die?

Ekkreth: yes

Ekkreth: i hate everything and i wanted to a long time ago but then i didn’t and ajsdlfkjasljlaksjlakljwerm

Chippie: ;-;

Ekkreth: and my master won’t let me die and i dont’ know what to do adsljksldjasdfevaseae

Chippie: but i don’t want you to die ;-;

Ekkreth: ;-; you would if you knew me for real

Ben: I can’t believe that.

Ekkreth: you would

Ekkreth: even my dad did

Chippie: just to get this straight YOUR DAD IS HORRIBLE

Ekkreth: I know BUT HE’S STILL MY DAD

Chippie: That doesn’t mean he’s always right

Chippie: OR EVER RIGHT

Ben: Agreed.

Ekkreth: ;-;

Chippie: and i don’t want anything to happen to you ;-;

Ekkreth: anything already happened to me

Chippie: What does that mean?

Ekkreth: idk

Ben: I think you need to go to bed

Ekkreth: I don’t sleep, remember?

Ben: I hope that wasn’t something else your dad taught you.

Ekkreth: close enough

Ben: At least don’t do anything else to hurt yourself. That won’t help anything

Ekkreth: i deserve it

Chippie: NO YOU DON’T

Ekkreth: fine i won’t do it again on purpose

Ben: The end of that sentence doesn’t sound promising.

Ekkreth: i do dangerous things so i can’t make any promises

Ekkreth: But if i die some day, you have what little i own

Chippie: Wait. What do you mean if you die someday?

Ekkreth: My unending existence is fuelled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full.

Chippie: o_o

Chippie: unending?

Ekkreth: feels like it

Ben: Are you sure you aren’t just having a difficult day?

Ekkreth: every day feels worse

Ben: It might seem that way but I doubt it will be true forever.

Chippie: I really need to kidnap you. Where do you live?

Ekkreth: I don’t live anywhere

Chippie: please don’t be difficult

Ekkreth: I move around a lot. You wouldn’t be able to find me and if you did, my master would kill you. I can’t hide from him

Chippie: ;-;

Ben: Just don’t do something you’ll regret

Ekkreth: I regret everything I’ve ever done and ever do

Ekkreth: but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine ;-;

Chippie: you know i’m not sure how much longer i can believe that

[kaiwewi]

im hooked on guilty conscience have some fries 🍟🍟🍟

Aww, and I'm hooked on all the lovely comments and feedback 💖💕 Thank you for the fries!! I shall humbly offer you ~1,000 words of fluffy nonsense - Villain and the little hero bonding over a silly childhood story 😎

Guilty Conscience #9

[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Synopsis: Villain reads through his chats and ends up sharing an embarrassing childhood story with the hero.

tw: talk about captivity

When the little hero didn’t say anything else and the silence became thick enough to choke on, Villain pulled out his phone and began reading through his chats in earnest.

Henchman had replied to his message with an “On my way”, a “Harper is coming too”, and a thumbs-up emoji; and though he didn’t need confirmation he could still count on Henchman, the gesture did make breathing easier.

As expected, Doc’s messages were requests for supplies.

Supervillain’s message was likely something he didn’t have the stomach for at the moment, so he read through Bax’s chat next…

“Henchman said you're working with Other Villain?! Really???? You’ve lost your fucking mind!!”

“Where r u?”

“I sure hope you’re not ignoring me ”

“Villain wtf”

“Villain answer your stupid phone!!”

“HELLO?! 😡😡😡”

“You little renegade if you don’t talk to us immediately I’m going to make sure you regret every choice you ever made in your damn life!!!!!”

“I swear, if you blocked me…”

“If you don’t call right this instant I’ll tell everyone the slug story”

“Haha! Too late!! We’re all making fun of you now 😈 that’s what you get for being a shit brother”

“F u Slugboy”

He rubbed a hand across his face. Ugh, Bax was angry all right. He might as well start looking for a shovel and dig himself a pit to go die in.

He looked up, caught the hero craning their neck to get a glimpse of his phone, and quickly turned the screen away from their prying eyes. Though not fast enough, apparently.

“Why are they calling you ‘Slugboy’?”

Ah dammit. “It’s… a stupid story…”

Because, once upon a time, he’d been a ten-year-old idiot brat who’d thought it was unfair his older sister got to hang out with her clique while he had to help their mum in the garden. Because he’d felt left out whenever Bax spent time with her teenager friends. And maybe also because he’d had this little crush on her friend Alex.

Fuelled by spite and a need for attention, he’d thought it would be hilarious to steal away with the half-full slug bucket and throw slugs at Bax and her friends.

Well. It had been funny. For all but the 2 minutes it had taken Bax to catch him.

He’d never forget Bax’s cruel smirk as she’d grabbed him and, with her friends’ assistance, dunked him face-first into the slug bucket.

“And that,” he concluded, “is how Bax and her friends came to call me ‘Slugboy’ for a few months. But they dropped it when one of the boys in the neighbourhood picked up on it and started making fun of me. Bax was furious – something about siblings having exclusive rights to bullying each other – and whatever she did to the poor guy, he never even looked my way again afterwards.”

He smiled. Despite the fights and petty jibes, Bax had always had his back when it mattered.

The hero watched him with a sort of eager fascination, like they were actually interested in his silly childhood anecdotes. Or perhaps they merely needed the distraction as much as he did. “The slugs… did you get them in your mouth?”

He cringed. With a shudder and a grimace, he nodded. Oh, he’d had slug slime in his mouth, in his nose, in his ears…

“Yuck!” The little hero gave one of those gleeful sorry-not-sorry laughs. “Did you swallow any? What did they taste like?”

Slimy, bitter, and acrid.

“I didn't, fortunately. But they taste like humiliation,” – a crooked smile played on his lips – “and two hours of retching, with Mum giggling in the background telling me I deserve it.”

He shared a chuckle with the hero, but they fell silent again and the conversation died.

Opening Angel’s chat, he was greeted by the image of a bemused-looking dog with a caption reading “new EMT on first shift: ‘It sure is quiet tonight’”.  Yeah, not only on the first shift…

Next was a picture showing Angel and Supervillain – Angel with his way too innocent-looking face and Supervillain with an uncharacteristic softness to their sharp features – posing on a hill with the cityscape in the background. The subsequent message read “This is already the fifth time we’re hanging out this month! Locations seem kinda romantic? You know, sunsets and stuff… Think they might be into me, or am I imagining things?”

Hm, perhaps Supervillain did look a tad… smitten.

He scrolled to the next message and tsked. Stupid Bax…

“B just told us the FUNNIEST story… Slugboy 🐌 (yeah I know that's not a slug but they didn't have a slug emoji 😒)”

“Wait, made you a meme. Lol check this out”

One look at the image – a slug donning a crudely-rendered digital likeness of the jacket he was currently wearing – and its caption “I didn’t choose the slug life. The slug life chose me” was all it took to make him burst into an odd mix of laughter and tears.

The hero regarded him for a long moment, then asked, “are you like this with all your prisoners?”

His small bubble of merriment burst and he sobered. “Hey, you’re not a prisoner – not mine and not anybody else’s. I can promise you that much.”

“And you expect me to trust you.”

“I don’t expect anything.” But he'd still like them to feel safe.

The little hero gave a thoughtful hum, fiddling with the power-suppressor bracelet Other Villain had put on one of their wrists. With their powers locked away, it was no surprise the hero still considered themself a captive. Unfortunately, Other Villain hadn’t conveniently carried the key around in their pockets, so the only way that cuff was coming off was by getting the hero back to base and bribing Thief into picking the lock.

“Kid, I swear, you won’t be wearing that for much longer.”

The hero glowered, no less torrid than the glare they’d given Other Villain. “Dude, if I choose to trust you and you turn out to be just another useless adult who'll let me down the second I give them a chance, I won't forgive you.”

He nodded, feeling a bit queasy. Since the beginning of the week, he’d only managed to disappoint pretty much everyone important in his life. With a track record like that, what could possibly go wrong…

Well, all the more reason he couldn't afford to screw this up.

Next to him, the hero suddenly began to snicker. “Heh, Slugboy.”

[Part 10]

[thefirstknife]

Some of the more interesting bits of today's reset and dialogues. I loved this from Mara. She acknowledges her participation in steering Uldren towards his downfall AND she realises that she will have to do better with him in the future. This is from the ending dialogue when you finish the exotic quest for the Ager's Scepter.

I want to mention something from the start of the week because I've seen people get angry (but when do they not when it comes to Mara?)

Long post under read more:

It's about the discussion she and Ikora have at the terminal. Hot take, but both Mara and Ikora are right and wrong in the argument. Transcript:

Mara: "How long have your Hidden been privy to Uldren's resurrection?" Ikora: "Long enough to watch over him in your absence." Mara: "And you didn't direct him home. Why?" Ikora: "There was a concern he'd pick up some old habits." Mara: "You know the Garden made him sick. Riven twisted his mind. Eris would have seen it. She is not so easily deceived by skin-deep tricks." Ikora: "It's true I made mistakes, out of an idea of justice... out of grief. Are you leveling this same scrutiny toward Petra? Wasn't she supposed to be watching his grave?" Mara: "Petra has paid her dues. The Vanguard murdered him and has yet to pay theirs." Ikora: "We both lost family. I am sorry for my part in yours, but... Crow has been treated --" Mara: "My brother is dead. He was exhumed; his body twisted into a caricature. You had your vengeance." Ikora: "Is that what you're after? Cayde... I still feel that grief like a stone caught in my chest. Some days, it's more pronounced than others. Vengeance didn't erode that grief." Mara: "Then tell me. Who am I to blame? Who sent him to Savathun's clutches? Who bludgeoned Uldren into a scared animal and drove him from his home?" Ikora: "You did, Mara. And those Guardians that hurt him, did so out of misguided anger. Don't make the same mistake. Don't make my mistake."

This is some heavy stuff and there's a lot going on. First, I like that Mara doesn't respond at the end. It's uncharacteristic for her. It shows that Ikora's words did something to her. This is evident in the exotic quest later which I've already put at the beginning of the post. She's had time to think and she's admitting the part she played.

I dislike some of Ikora's arguments a lot. First, "concern that he'd pick up some old habits" goes entirely against the Vanguard policy and belief that Guardians are new people. They were only concerned because of bias towards Uldren due to what he's done. And Crow knows this! He said so last week when he wondered why is he the only Guardian judged by his past life. No one else is subjected to the same way of thinking. This is the reason why Guardians aren't supposed to dig around their past lives. Obviously with Crow, there's no way for him to avoid it, but the argument that, if he knew, he'd just magically become Uldren (and not just base!Uldren, but murderer!Uldren who will... I don't know, go after Ikora and Zavala or the innocent people in the City?) really shows how much the Vanguard mistreated Crow.

I also dislike the move to Petra. As Mara says, Petra has paid her dues. She really has. Let's not forget that Uldren was not just some guy to her or just her Prince; he was her friend. She had to watch him spiral out of control due to things she couldn't help him with, she had to make the choice to put him away until Mara comes back and at the end she had to make the choice to kill him. This trauma has shaped her.

The Vanguard hasn't paid any dues. That's kinda the whole point of Mara's questioning. Ikora tries to explain that this was due to grief and losing family, but pray tell Ikora, has Mara not lost family too? Mara mentions this immediately as expected.

Ikora is however right to say that it was ultimately Mara's actions that led to the situation we're currently in. The Vanguard had no say in Awoken royal family affairs. Mara knows this, she said as much in the past few weeks and other lore in general: she spoke at length about the distance she pushed between them out of perceived necessity, the need to shape Uldren in a way to make him less like himself (since she disliked his recklessness and dangerous behaviours), but ultimately that only made things worse. She's aware that his venture into the Black Garden was fuelled by Uldren's need to prove himself. Ironically, in an effort to make him loyal and devoted, Mara pushed him into more recklessness instead of stopping it. She's aware of this. Asking Ikora "who am I to blame" was just waiting to be roasted.

But Mara is also right to ask about how the Vanguard treated both Uldren and Crow. How they washed their hands from killing him "officially" by hiding behind the Guardian, how nobody in the Tower answered for this. Their treatment of Crow as well: forcing him into hiding, isolating him. Excusing all the suffering he felt at the hands of the Guardians as "misguided anger." The torture he endured from Guardians just for showing his face was so much more than just "misguided anger" and Mara is right to feel heated and enraged when she talks about this and when she asks her questions. She expressed similar distaste and anger in a voice line with Glint in regards to how the Spider treated Crow.

I got an interesting dialogue at the end of my Shattered Realm run which also made me really irritated on behalf of both Crow and Mara when it comes to the Vanguard. Ikora asks Crow why didn't he send his latest report and Crow replies that he's had a lot going on and a lot to deal with. Which is true! He's not the Drifter who doesn't send reports out of spite; Crow genuinely wants to help but he's struggling with a lot of things that we can't even begin to unravel. He deserves patience and understanding. However, the following then ensues.

Ikora:

Crow:

Ikora:

This last part is a nice sentiment. But excuse me. Crow has literally been resurrected, isolated, tortured, enslaved and then "rescued" only to be thrust into a cage in the Tower and given "responsibilities." He is not obliged to be the Vanguard's errand boy. It's honestly quite rude from Ikora to tell him that he has to take his responsibilities seriously. The man hasn't lived a single day in his life without anxiety over whether he'll be tortured to death in the street if he shows his face.

I know the Vanguard gave him protection from the Spider and stuff to do (which he enjoys) and accepted him into their ranks. That's all good. But there's very little empathy here that acknowledges the life he's lived. Crow deserves to experience things that aren't isolation, imprisonment and following orders.

And most of all, he deserves to know the truth. Something the Vanguard has denied him for almost a year now. I know Savathun's schemes were involved and specifically, they were involved through impersonating Osiris which made a lot of people turn a blind eye. But now that this is known?

Crow can't share his burdens without knowing the truth. That's the whole problem. Everybody, except him, knows who he was. Everyone looks at him and treats him through that lens. He can't unburden himself without being told half-truths and being denied information. His burdens exist precisely because he doesn't know while everyone else does. So while the sentiment is nice, it reads more like a "that sucks buddy" than a genuine offer to help him with what is really bothering him.

On the other hand, obviously sharing the truth is difficult. His past life is more complicated than for most other Guardians. He's been through things that other Guardians haven't. The situation is complex on every single level and every character has a reason for the choices they've made.

Sometimes those choices are wrong and they are mistakes. And Mara isn't the only one who made the wrong choices and mistakes, consciously and unconsciously. It's a disservice to the complexity of the situation, Ikora, the Vanguard and Uldren to boil everything down to "Mara bad." Doesn't make for a compelling story.

That's what I wanted to address in detail because on the surface, it's easy to just dismiss either of the character you dislike more. And that's just reducing the story to a spectrum of black and white that Destiny really, ironically, isn't about.

[harrypotterbrainworms]

Denial Done (18+)

Summary: very very very spicy polyam fic. (request) 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Remus Lupin x Male Reader

Key: (Y/N)- your name

Word Count: 3387

A/N: i am so sorry. (sorry it took so long too. i feel bad. i wrote most of this VERY drunk. don’t drink kids.)

Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat with a disheveled look on his face, both of his boyfriends noticed this of course.

“Sirius… Can you not sit still for 5 fucking minutes while we finish our essays?” Remus sighed laying his face onto the nearly complete parchment, Sirius always ran circles around them while they were working, always.

“Really. We need to finish these before tomorrow, ya know? We have until tonight and if it wasn’t for you and detention we would’ve been done by now” (Y/N) sighed in discontent as well, a look of annoyance and frustration on his face, yet Sirius couldn’t help it. He was always restless, but especially right now.

“Please, Merlin, will you stop doing homework for one second and realise we haven’t had sex in a two weeks. You’re killing me.” He huffed out at his boring, hot, homework obsessed boyfriends. He had probably been hard for days by now, but every time he tried to fix it himself he just couldn’t make himself cum, not like they could.

“You’re killing yourself, Padfoot. If we keep getting full essays for pranks, we’ll never have sex again” He hissed at Sirius, very obviously pissed at how much of a pain in the ass his boyfriend was being. Acting like they had deprived out of pleasure and not out of school necessity, so over dramatic, he thought.

“Can we stop saying sex, I don’t think I can handle hearing that word again” Remus tried to hide the blush forming on his face, he in particular didn’t like to bring up their sex life in any way, especially not in front of the other studying students in the library. Sure it had been 15 days, 17 hours and 30 minutes since they last “made love” and maybe he had been dying for a choice to bring it up again, but not in such a public space.

Sirius pouted and slumped into the chair he was sitting on before crossing his arms dramatically.

“Fine. I’ll be honest. I’ve had the biggest boner of my life for the last 3 days” He huffed looking like a child throwing a fit, looking down at his boner that was politely tucked under belt for the time being.

“PADFOOT. We’re in the library. Keep quiet” Remus whisper shouted at him, giving him a death glare as he checked whether or not anyone had heard him or not.

“I’m sorry if my needs are so much less important than homework” Sirius pouted even harder looking away from them with an angry red face, leaving his boyfriends looking at each other a little awkwardly.

“Homework. That was your fault” Remus mumbled in response first trying to pull his attention away from Sirius’s bulge and back at the stacked parchment.

“Fuck me.” (Y/N) said trying to ignore him as well, but he just kept at it as usual. Trying to push the boundaries of what they would do if he pissed them off enough.

“That’s what I want you to do.” He replied too smuggly only to be met with the cold eyes of (Y/N) grabbing his face, leaving a knot in his stomach and throat. That was the straw he needed.

“You know what, Sirius? Fine.” He pulled his face closer, Sirius being too scared to even breathe anymore.

“What?” He was getting what he wanted, right?

(Y/N) ducked underneath the table with a sigh and started to unzip Sirius’s pants, he immediately knocked his knees up against the table at the sudden contact. Remus went red in the face when he realised what was unfolding, Sirius’s pants….

“Put muffliato on him, quick.” He huffed out to the very shocked Remus. He obeyed and charmed the already moaning Sirius.

“I haven't even touched you yet.” He groaned out, looking at Sirius’s twitching, dripping cock. He wasn’t sure how to feel, frustrated? Horny? Tired of his bullshit?

Sirius tried to say something, probably along the lines of “you’re so hot, just looking at you makes me wanna cum”, but nothing came out.

“This isn’t a good idea… Can’t you wait until we get back to the dorms?” Remus stuttered out nervously as he watched (Y/N) stare intently at the very hard penis in front of him, he may have even felt himself twitch in his own pants… not very convenient. (Y/N) looked at his tented pants and back at him, visibly dismissing his issue by sighing and turning back to the problem at hand.

“No, Remus. This can’t go on, we need to finish our essays and he’s not gonna shut up ‘till then” He waved in his general direction, extending his hand to rub his leg saying ‘later, okay?’. Remus looked a little uncomfortable, but would rather not get on (Y/N) bad side, especially while he was about to suck his boyfriend off.

“I guess.” He nodded and immediately looked at his book, trying to pretend like (Y/N) had just headed to the bathroom and was definitely not under the table.

Sirius just sat there, muffled and impatient. His dick twitching unintentionally at the swallow breath from (Y/N)’s mouth.

“You owe me.” He huffed out giving Sirius’s dick a kiss causing his boyfriend’s leg to shake a little at the anticipation. He slowly moved his face down while staring straight into Sirius’s eyes. The black haired boy bit his lip feeling very impatient, he wanted to push (Y/N)’s head down already, but he’d regret it immediately. Sirius looked like he was begging to speak, so he lifted the charm and let him speak.

“Don’t tease, please.” He pleaded to dead ears as (Y/N) harshly and delicately made sure to brush the head of his dick with every stroke.

“This isn’t a favour, Black. So just shut your face and then you can stop being horny for 5 fucking minutes” He stared through Sirius’s soul with that sending a twitch down his leg.

“Sit still, don’t be a fucking brat.” He groaned, grabbing Sirius’s feet between his thighs. Every time his boyfriend twitched he could just feel his leg rub up against him and for a moment he considered how much he could get away with, what if he just fucked Sirius unconscious under the table these thoughts only fuelling his agonisingly slow stroke.

“Come on, you’ve been depriving me all week.” He pouted in even a hopeful attempt to gain some control back, but was only met with evil horny eyes filled with all the possible things he could think of.

“No, Sirius. We’ve been studying all week and now you’re getting what you want. So you’ll sit still when I tell you, cum when I tell you and shut the fuck up when I tell you, okay?” He kept the same deep stare and deadpanned frustrated face, then grabbed his dick very roughly making Sirius dig his face into the book he was “reading” trying to muffle his moans without the charm.

“A-ah- okay…”

“Great.” He mumbled and pointed to Remus to cast it again. He looked up to the dripping boy in front of him once again, not leaving him a second to get comfortable before grabbing his dick full force. Not letting any moment to breathe with the fast and merciless strokes caused Sirius to involuntarily hit his knees against the table causing a few curious looks towards them.

Sirius felt like he just couldn’t keep up with the pace and rhythm anymore, just convulsing and shaking at every little touch he was given. The minute it looked like Sirius was gonna come, he just stopped dead in his tracks. He only moved on with slower and slower strokes and it never got faster than it was in the beginning which frustrated Sirius to his core. It felt like he would die at this rate, it added a layer of pleasure every time he just couldn’t do anything else, but watch his boyfriend work his magic.

“Wanna cum yet?” He gripped the base of Sirius’s penis pulling any form of pre-cum there was in the shaft making him gasp and keel over his face planted to his desk.

He nodded as well as he could, hoping only Moony and (N/N) could see and hear his muffled screaming at this point.

“Well you can’t.” He said picking up the pace just a little bit in spite trying to bring his boyfriend’s hope up.

He groaned at this response, tears starting to run down his face as he watched Remus shift uncomfortably. He thought he saw Moony rubbing one out over his pants, but was immediately distracted by the fact that (Y/N) had wrapped his mouth around his penis incredibly slowly and looked up at him. He couldn’t anymore, not with his boyfriend now running every part of his mouth up and down his dick. For the first time in the last 30 minutes it finally got faster and he begged and pleaded in muffled words and finally… (Y/N) nodded.

Remus slapped his hand over his mouth as he cum hard in his own pants leaving a small stain on it, the convulsions Sirius was pulled into sending him over the edge. A layer of sweat and tears glistening on his face under the pale candle light, he looked down to (Y/N) who had a long stream of thick cum running down his lips.

“What good boy, huh Moony?” He stared straight through Remus, he sat there shocked and upon seeing where (Y/N)’s eyes were going he removed his own cum covered hand out of his pants.

Remus nodded vigorously at (Y/N) as he watched Sirius convulse a few more times before panting heavily with a spaced out look on his face.

“Clean.” Before the words even left his mouth Sirius started kissing (Y/N) licking any remaining cum on his face with a smile of gratitude. He pointed at Remus’s hand as well leaving Sirius desperately licking up every bit of his cum too, not leaving a drop of anyone’s left.

“Will you disturb us again?” (Y/N) asked as he got up from underneath the table dusting off his knees and taking a cocky stride to his seat again.

Sirius shook his head starting to feel a headache coming on as he could barely tuck his very sensitive dick into his pants. Every little movement of his pants left Sirius feeling like he’d come again.

“Good. Homework?” He turned to Remus who was still looking at his hand in shock, but turned his attention toward with a nod.

“O-Of course” Remus replied and started absentmindedly writing notes and words onto his parchment. Every now and then he looked over to Sirius who still couldn’t hold himself together, everytime he was touched he flinched almost moaning in the process which left Remus harder than he ever imagined he could be.

(Y/N) looked up at Sirius to give a sympathetic look or a kiss on the forehead for being so good during and after the interaction. Leaving his black haired boyfriend very smitten and not at all mad at his still semi-throbbing cock. The days passed on as they always did, thinking about the next time.

Now in the dark room of their dorm, everyone and their mother could hear Remus Lupin pacing up and down the space, mumbling to himself. Nothing in particular just frustrated mumbling.

“Moony, just fucking sleep?!” James groaned with two pillows around his head

“He’s mad that I sucked Sirius’s dick and not his.” (Y/N) sighed pulling himself from the duvet he was hiding in, pulling a wand and book with him.

“You sucked his dick?!” James exclaimed pointing at Sirius who looked like he had folded himself into four different pretzels as he snored through the annoying pitter patter of his boyfriend.

“Yes, James. Keep up”

“I’m not mad or upset. You can suck who’s ever dick you want.” Remus huffed turning to face s corner to stand in alone while he continued his brooding session right in the middle of the common room.

“Remus. Just sleep, okay?” (Y/N) yawned trying his back away from Remus, wrapping himself in blankets in the process.

“Fine. I will. You’ll see.” He said before he could think, stomping off to his bed.

He threw himself onto his bed like an angry child sent to bed without dinner, but, he didn’t realise about an hour into being upset, the shadowy figure enter his four poster bed and closed the curtains.

“I know you’re upset. Do you want me to give you a wank, Remus?” The shadow now being recognised as (Y/N) whispered into his ear.

“N-No. Don’t call it that!” Remus stuttered out, but regretted saying it so loudly.

“Fine, do you want my hand to “make sweet love” to your penis?” (Y/N) dead panned at Remus sarcastically, moving closer to him on the bed until they were a few inches apart.

“Don’t patronise me.” Remus huffed around turning to face away from him, but that only gave (Y/N) access to his neck, leaving kiss after kiss on it.

“You’re doing a pretty good job doing that to yourself.” He stated between kisses.

“No I’m not.”

“Just tell me what you want, Moony.” He sighed and paused his neck exploration, hugging Remus from behind and snuggled his head into his neck.

“I-l- I want-“ He waited for a full sentence as he slowly pushed his hands into Remus’s shirt, making him more nervous.

“Yes?”

“I want you to-“ He felt (Y/N) hands slowly dragging up and down stomach skin, sending shivers down his spine. A small pit forming his stomach as he tried to say the words.

“To do what?” He smiled into Remus’s neck as he continued to kiss him.

“T-Touch me.” He finally said it, but it didn’t seem to be exactly what (Y/N) wanted to hear.

“Come on, Remus. I know you can say full sentences”

“I want you to t-touch m-me” He blurted out in a quick string of words as he felt (Y/N)’s hands falling south of his waist.

“That can be arranged” He said with a smirk, placing his fingers between Remus’s underwear snapping it.

He shiftly whispered a jinx into his ear, Remus feeling his hands pull together behind his back quickly. He looked up at (Y/N) who was usually shorter, but with Remus on his back and his boyfriend on his knees he felt inferior.

“You’re been a brat all day, honey. You didn’t expect me to just give you what you want on a silver platter, did you?” He cocked an eyebrow, pushing his boyfriend’s underwear and pants down, leaving it tangled together at his ankles.

“Of course not.” He huffed, trying his best to get into a semi comfortable position.

“Now, shush. I’m not putting any charms up.”

Remus suppressed a moan slowly escaping his lips as (Y/N) stroked him slowly, keeping a careful pace. He’d been sticking there hard for so long, he didn’t think he could last long.

“Please, god… I just” He huffed out, feeling the knot in his stomach as (Y/N) bent down kissing the light pink scars sticking out from his shirt.

“Speak up, I know you can.” Still kissing and suckling on Remus’s neck,

“I n-need to-“ He moaned as he felt his knees start to buckle from underneath. his toes curling in the process.

“Tell me what you need?” He said impatiently, always so needy and so apprehensive. He stroked faster, trying to pull Remus closer and closer to euphoria.

“I need to cum” He said blankly, a soft moan escaping his lips as he felt (Y/N)’s lips on his jaw.

“Aw? Already? Fine.”

“R-Really?” Remus perked up, a grateful smile on his face as he started to push himself closer to the edge.

“Knock yourself out” (Y/N) yawned a bit, looking as unfazed as he could.

“Thank you!” He was about to cum to the quick pace of (Y/N)’s pace, but before he could even bring himself over to the edge he stopped.

“No-“ He came everywhere, but he felt nothing. Only the lingering feeling that he was supposed to cum being left, he had every symptom of having the biggest orgasm in a while yet the pressure in stomach said otherwise. His legs shook and he was barely able to move where (Y/N) had pulled him to, his ass now in the air and his face buried into the mattress.

“What? Thought I’d let you cum properly yet after you’ve been brooding for days.” (Y/N) said pushing his boner against his boyfriend’s ass teasingly adding a few dry humps sending Remus through the motions again.

Remus moaned at the friction being caused, but immediately got a hand over his mouth which he thanked the lord for when he realised once again his friends were fast asleep around him. His core hurt, the unclenching and clenching of his muscles giving him unbearable cramps.

“P-Please, (Y/N)... This is too much” He twitched upwards, panting heavily.

“You haven’t said your safe word, Moony. If I knew better and I do, you’re enjoying this.”

He brought his boyfriend’s body to his own, Remus trying to cling to (Y/N) for his life.

“So fucking cute.” He said, grabbing the other boy’s face from behind, making him stare into eyes as he snaked his hand around Remus’s penis making him flinch with pleasure and pain.

“Yes” He agreed with him instantly as he moved his other hand to wring his nipple.

“Kiss me, love” He ordered and Remus connected their lips, every sudden fast stroke was a moan into (Y/N)’s mouth. He opened his eyes every few seconds to see a sweaty, blushing and moaning Remus making him want to fuck him right then. His thrusts became sloppy as he breathed a little heavy. He left out a sigh and stopped.

“I’m tired, come ‘ere” He propped himself up on the bedpost and patted his leg, Remus crawled to straddle his boyfriend’s leg and started grinding himself against.

“You can- cum properly this time- as long as you do it here” He said in between kissing and suckling on his neck, Remus nodded enthusiastically as he started to ride (Y/N)’s leg quickly.

“Slow down, love. No rush.” He held down his hips, slowing his movement which drove Remus insane while (Y/N) just brought his body toward him whispering in his ear.

Remus was flushed from ear to ear, his breath hinging every few seconds as he drew closer and closer to his release.

“Do you want to- ah- cum too?” Remus whispered as he was basically hugging (Y/N).

“Are you offering?” (Y/N) asked, rubbing his back comfortingly.

“Yes, Merlin. Yes.” He sighed out defeated as he left (Y/N)’s thigh.

Remus pushed (Y/N)’s underwear down over his dick, watching it spring out. He grabbed one of pillows as he positioned himself to suck him off.

“Merlin, you’re too good to me.” (Y/N) breathed out as Remus put his lips around him. He watched Remus, stroking his hair tiredly as he felt himself coming closer and closer to cumming as well.

Remus bopped his head up and down at an alarming rate making (Y/N) buck his upwards into his throat. He pulled on his hair a bit, Remus humming around him.

“Shit. I’m gonna cum.” He shivered as he felt Remus’s tongue work on his dick.

(Y/N) pushed Remus’s head into him, releasing down his throat. He watched Remus undo too, a few strings of cum spewing onto the bed.

“Good boy.” He breathed out shakily as Remus pulled his mouth off (Y/N). He smiled tiredly and (Y/N) kissed forehead lightly, ruffling his hair as he helped Remus clean up and tucked in bed. He yawned and stretched his arms out, heading to his own bed.

“You guys are so hot.” He heard Sirius whisper from his bed, he was probably listening the entire time.

“You’re a slut, you know that. Could’ve joined us” He sighed and climbed into bed.

[jaskiersvalley]

Please, Just Once More

@fontegagrilledcheese and @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde you wanted a cry, didn't you? Maybe this will help. It has some Lambert/Eskel and Lambert/Letho with off screen major character death, grieving and dash of an unhealthy relationship. Mature content ahead!

CW off screen major character death.

Please, Just Once More

A Witcher's lot in life wasn't exactly much. For decades, almost a century Lambert raged against it. He hated it, vehemently cursed it and wished he could have been anything but a Witcher. But, then again, if he hadn't been, he would never have met Eskel. Or, if he had, he would have probably been just as shitty to him as other humans were. As much as Lambert wished he was different, he knew himself well enough to know he'd have spat and sneered like the rest of the world. Having Eskel was the one small solace of his existence.

They had a rhythm worked out over the years, meetup points to see each other. It wasn't always glorious, muscle aching sex. Some nights they just needed a cuddle, a warm body who could be trusted to sleep next to. Those nights were Lambert's guilty pleasure. And the times Eskel growled and manhandled him. There weren't many people out there who could make Lambert feel small. In fact, other than Eskel, nobody had managed to do that. It was a wonder in his eyes, an indulgence that neither of them ever acknowledged but still actively sought out.

Another little while passed while Lambert was alone on the Path. Some nights the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that soon he and Eskel would meet up again. This time, it was in a little backwater village where one of the old crones allowed them use of her barn for a few nights. It was only after Eskel had cleared a rather cheeky hirikka out who kept stealing from her vegetable garden that they were allowed access to the barn. She's had no other way to repay Eskel. So now, once a year, they spent a few nights there.

Finally, it was time for Lambert to make the trek to the barn. Usually Eskel was there half a day before him and got things ready. So Lambert was surprised and a little disappointed to find the barn locked and dark still. At least it allowed him the chance to make things ready for Eskel's arrival for a change. Getting the key from the old crone, Lambert got started trying to make things as homely as possible.

The next day Eskel still wasn't there. Lambert did his best not to get antsy or angry, Eskel wouldn't forget him, wouldn't break his promise or their traditions. By the following day, Lambert was restless. Disappointment was hidden under a fiery wall of rage. He was going to give Eskel a piece of his mind when he finally turned. The bastard had probably gotten lost in another fisstech filled orgy and forgot about their arrangement.

On the fourth day the old crone threw Lambert out.

Anger fuelled by fear had Lambert blazing through the next couple of months with a vengeful violence. He seethed at the thought of Eskel skipping out on their meeting. As if Lambert hadn't made it obvious enough just how much they meant to him. It was rare to get a good fuck on the Path and Eskel had been providing that service. If Lambert kept telling himself that, his heart wouldn't break in two and he wouldn't throw all his training out the window in favour of tracking down Eskel to make sure he was okay. Eskel was one of the best Witchers out there, of course he had to be okay.

Another meeting spot, this time a clearing in a forest. Lambert made the fire, set out his bedroll and caught two rabbits. In the morning, the rabbit Lambert had left on the side, carefully bundled up was still there. Eskel hadn't arrived in the middle of the night and, feeling peckish, eaten it. Just out of spite, Lambert had the rabbit for breakfast, even if he was nearly sick afterwards. He had been foolish to think Eskel would come. As if he could have arrived in the middle of the night without waking Lambert anyway.

After a week in the clearing, Lambert was well and truly sick of catching his own meals. If Eskel couldn't be bothered to make an appearance then Lambert would teach him a lesson and not turn up at their next one.

He did go, despite his vow of petty revenge. Eskel didn't turn up there either.

Two more meeting points where Lambert spent as long as he could, waiting for Eskel to arrive. Twice more he was let down. Come winter, he all but charged up to Kaer Morhen, more than ready to chew Eskel out for being a dickhead. He could have at least sent word that he wouldn't be there, that Lambert shouldn't waste coin and time on a foolish matter of the heart.

The only problem was, Eskel never made it to Kaer Morhen before the pass closed. For the rest of winter, Lambert paced like a caged wolf, almost out of his mind with anger. The coward was just avoiding him, unable to look him in the eyes after standing him up. Well, Lambert would make the bastard pay. As soon as the snow eased and the path down the mountain was clear, Lambert was going to hunt Eskel down and give him a proper Witcher bollocking; with signs and all. In all his scheming, Lambert never saw the pitying glances the others sent his way. Or rather, he chose to ignore them because Eskel was alive, if only so Lambert could kill him as soon as they met again.

Spring was just around the corner, there were still patches of snow and ice but Lambert needed to go. He was going back to the first place where Eskel had left him alone and would track from there. It was one of the things Lambert excelled at, sniffing someone out and finding them; it wasn't all that different to tracking down a monster or a creature.

Working backwards, Lambert didn't have to go far. Two town down the road he heard of a contract that had been difficult to fill in one of the nearby hamlets. So much so, it took more than one Witcher to complete it. It had to be Eskel who finished off the contract, Lambert was certain. There was nobody else who could take on a difficult contract and come out victorious. If Eskel couldn't handle it, then the whole Continent was fucked.

The ground was just starting to come up green again after winter as Lambert stepped into the hamlet. He was given wary glances and people scurried out of his way. It suited him just fine, there would be no obstacle between him and the person in charge of the settlement. Knocking to keep an air of politeness, Lambert didn't wait to be permitted to enter, he barged in.

"I want to hear about the Witcher who completed the contract last year."

The woman gave him a shrewd stare, obviously weighing up her options. In the end, she shrugged, "Not much to say about him. Short chap for a Witcher. Didn't much fancy his chances after the big one failed."

Lambert's world stilled. Surely he heard wrong. He tried to smile and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Did you say short? And that the big one couldn't complete the contract?" By human standards, all Witchers were large. It didn't mean anything that this woman referred to the one that failed as big.

He was given another once over.

"The little one warned us not to melt down or sell the swords or medallion. That someone would be by for them." Her eyes landed on Lambert's medallion. "I'm guessing that's you."

That was not at all why Lambert had come. He wasn't there to ferry some random Witcher's shit back to their home. Fuck, if it was a Viper or a Cat then he'd have weeks of travel. Before he could protest, the woman stood and walked to a chest. Opening it, she pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle that clinked as she set it on the table. Lambert had no time to refuse, frozen in time while the world rushed by him as the cloth was flipped open. Two swords, one silver and one steel stared at him. Running up the almost familiar blades, his eyes settled on the pommel that he knew all too well. Wrapped around the handles, holding them close was a medallion, a snarling wolf angrily glaring up at Lambert for his failure to come find Eskel sooner.

"What happened?" His voice was hoarse, a hand reaching out to run a finger over the sharp edges of the medallion.

"Big brute, scarred to Nilfgaard and back, took the contract but never came back. After three days, his horse was getting restless so a few men ventured out. Found him propped against a tree, still warm but without breath in his body." The woman didn't seem all that bothered by it and Lambert wanted to rage. She should have been devastated that the world lost a good man. "Probably wasn't quick enough. The other Witcher came along not too much later, said we should burn the body, accepted the horse and the dead one's packs as payment. Left the swords and medallion though, said he had no use for those."

Logically, Lambert knew that Eskel was dead before he even got to the barn. But he couldn't help but feel like he should have gone looking. Shouldn't have assumed Eskel was fine, should have believed the little voice in his head that whispered that Eskel wouldn't ever deliberately forget him. Rage surged through Lambert, he wanted to slaughter the whole hamlet for now helping Eskel, for not going to find him sooner. Humans always claimed they were better than Witchers, but they hadn't gone searching for Eskel either. They were just as bad as Lambert, true scums of the earth.

Wordlessly, Lambert wrapped the swords up again but he took the medallion, tucked it into one of his pockets. The last bits of Eskel. Whatever bastard had the rest of his things, had Scorpion had better never cross paths with Lambert because the only way they'd part way was with one of them dead.

Turning to leave, Lambert marched out of the hamlet, kept walking, no destination in mind. He just wanted to reach the edge of the Continent and fall off the rim. Eskel was gone. There was no good left in the world. Nobody to cuddle close against, no broad chest to press into and feel small. Bereft, Lambert sat in the middle of a forest, heedless of what went on around him. Grief stole everything from him, almost as though Eskel had taken with him all Lambert had trusted him with. His heart was cold, there was nothing left in the world that Lambert cherished.

With no purpose, Lambert wandered the Continent. He took contracts without argument, without thought. In a way, he wished that the creature that had bested Eskel was still around, just so he could kill it. Instead, every other monster met their end on Lambert's swords and signs. No kill brought him any closure though. The rage gave way to numbness which eased into indifference.

"Hello little wolf," a low voice growled at the edge of somewhere South. Somewhere Eskel had never been, so no memories could taint it for Lambert. "You're far from your usual hunting grounds."

The Witcher was large. Far larger than any other Lambert had seen and he'd seen a lot. Snarling, he bared his teeth, protecting his pack, keeping Eskel's swords safe. He should have taken them and the medallion back to Kaer Morhen but that would mean letting go of the last of Eskel. Lambert wasn't ready to do that.

Laughing, the other Witcher shook his head. "Don't worry pup, I have no use for your knickknacks. The name's Letho."

"Lambert."

A Viper who seemed all too entertained by Lambert's very existence. He was probably all too confident in his size being to his advantage but obviously he'd never met Lambert who thrived on defying the odds. Within moments Lambert had a dagger at Letho's throat and was met with a delighted chuckle.

"So feisty. Okay, let's play!"

It wasn't much of a fight, more of a tussle but Lambert landed in a few good blows before Letho's bulk overpowered him, broad chest against slender back, all that weight. Lambert couldn't help but go pliant, remembering Eskel's weight against his back. It wasn't the same, too broad, too heavy, too much muscle but it was the closest Lambert could get.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Letho purred.

Not that night, but three nights later Lambert found himself naked with Letho in his bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was Eskel again, the heaviness of a large body making the bed, dip. But the smell was wrong, the fingers too thick, callouses in all the wrong places. Scrunching his eyes shut, Lambert tried to will his memories into reality.

"You're going to feel so good split open on my cock."

It was the wrong voice and Lambert growled, "Shut up. Just fuck me already."

"Eager. I like it."

The cock that sank into Lambert was big, too big. Eskel had been large but not to such a degree. Wrapping his arms around too broad shoulders, Lambert's fingers brushed against oily skin rather than hair. Nothing tickled at his face either, no hair that escaped from being tucked behind Eskel's ear. Huffing in frustration, Lambert shoved at Letho.

"Hands and knees," he declared. It would be easier, he wouldn't have to smell Letho's scent, feel his muscles or miss the tender, crooked kisses he and Eskel used to share.

In the new position, Lambert could almost feel Eskel behind him. But the hands on his hips were too large, the cock not curved just right for when Lambert angled his hips just so. Still, he could pretend, even if it was for just one last time, that this was Eskel and this was their goodbye.

Once they both spilled, Lambert panted, head on his arms while Letho cleaned him up with his tongue. Not something Eskel would have ever done, his stubble too chafing usually for Lambert, no matter how great the idea of it all was. Instead, that weirdly smooth Viper buried his face between Lambert's cheeks, a hand sneaking between his legs. Lambert came again, whimpering at the oversensitivity of it all. There were bites and kisses left on the insides of his thighs, across his hips, chest and neck.

They fell asleep, Lambert small and tucked under Letho's chin. Even his dreams betrayed Lambert though, as much as he wanted, he didn't dream of being back in Eskel's arms.

Come morning, the bed was empty and Lambert sighed in relief. He stared down at his body, littered as it was with bites and bruises. Even those were wrong. Eskel used to leave crooked marks, the notch in his lip making the shape of his kisses so unique. Pressing on them, Lambert wanted to cry at how wrong they looked on his skin.

"Not to your liking?" Letho asked as he stepped back into the room.

Lambert shrugged, not bothering to cover up. It wasn't like Letho hadn't seen it all the previous night. It wasn't Eskel, never was and never would be again.

"They're not the ones you wanted, are they?"

The question had Lambert stilling, blinking up at Letho. Finally, he managed a small head shake. "You're not him."

Eyes glancing towards Lambert's pack, the two swords still covered, Letho nodded.

"I know."

[eryiss]

Chapter One - INTRODUCTIONS

Summary: The Justine's were always a criminal family. The Dreyar's were forced into it due to prohibition. After gaining power and influence in the criminal world, the families were forced into a fragile truce. This was until the recently disowned Freed Justine arrived at Laxus Dreyar's door, demanding a job in exchange for information that could bring his family down. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as part of the Mashima’s Heroes Big Bang, hosted by @ft-ez-bb. I have been paired up with the wonderful @fairiesherefairiesthere​, who's made this great piece of art. Remember to give them lots of love.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter One: INTRODUCTIONS

~February 1921~

Slamming his hand on a stranger's door was not something he had ever done before.

But that night was populated with many firsts for the man. It was the first time he had ever left the comfort of his town house at two in the morning, walking the streets of New York in a thunderstorm. It was the first time a group of men had battered on his door and demanded entrance to his home, pushing past him without waiting for an answer. It was the first time his father had sat him down and explained in no uncertain – but definitely angered – terms that he was a disgrace, and that he was no longer part of their family. It was the first time that he had looked up the address of a man that, up until that point, had never held any real importance in his life. So yes, it was a night of firsts for Freed Justine.

With rain battering down on him and wind swirling both his hair and his clothes, Freed slammed his open palm on the door three more times with strength fuelled by adrenaline. Hardened eyes glared narrowly at the unmoving door, and with every whistle of the strong and manic wind he found his anger at the situation doubling.

The lights were flickering inside; someone was there, and Freed would be seen to even if he had to wait the whole damn night. He had nowhere else to be.

A droplet of rain hitting his eye further ignited his anger, and he balled his fist and pounded on the black door in front of him. His knuckles stung slightly at the force with which he acted, but the many other sensations of the storm coupled with his resentment and rage at the situation overpowered any glimmer of regret. He took a step back, walking down the stairs that lead to the house's front porch, and glanced at the curtains covering the view of the downstairs room. No movement.

Just as he was considering yelling through the window to get the homeowners attention – because his spiteful dedication to the situation was overwhelming his good sense of manners and politeness – he heard the sound of metal on metal; a latch moving. A moment later, the door was opened by an incredibly unimpressed man.

Laxus Dreyar; so-called up and coming king of New York's criminal society.

He was slightly disappointing, Freed concluded on instinct. The arrival of a new crime family had created a large threat to The Justine's legacy, or so his father seemed to think. They were gaining power and influence fast, and nobody was able to control them, nor predict them. They were led by a man who, in the telling and retelling of his actions, had gained a reputation that rivalled Freed's fathers. A monolithic force of nature.

But the man standing before Freed was just that: a man. Admittedly rather a handsome one, with striking blonde hair, broad shoulders and a perfectly trimmed waist shown well by his tight cut suit and jacket, the shirt untucked and ruffled. He was as much a regular man as Freed himself.

A glare was painted onto his features, and perhaps a lesser man might have crumbled under it. He had a clearly expressive face, and the anger was not forced. But Freed had been surrounded by the types of men who would kill someone without a second thought for any number of reasons, and had long since gotten past the ridiculous notion that a facial expression could instil fear.

Snarling dogs were still just dog. Freed would not cower to a dog, no matter how loud the snarl.

After a moment of looking at one another, ego fighting ego, Freed felt his patience snap. By all rights he should be in his bed, not standing outside in the cold, rain moulding his hair to his head only to have wind set it free again. Returning to his bed, and his house, was something he could no longer do. But he could get out of the rain. So, in an action that was aggravatingly reminiscent of his father entering his own house earlier in the night, Freed walked up the rest of the steps and through the doorway of the house, pushing the criminal to the side as he did so.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Freed, having learned early the usefulness of knowing one's surroundings, gave the hallway of the house a glance over as he turned to Laxus. The hallway was large, and decorated ostentatiously; a sure sign that the money the Dreyar's now had was new to them. If they continued getting power at such a rate in the future, they would have to learn to be more subtle with their spending.

Freed also couldn't ignore Laxus' unique taste in décor; put kindly. The little statue of a golden dragon was particularly… unexpected.

As he turned, he also spared a glance at the mirror. He had been wearing a delightfully expensive tuxedo before he'd left his home, as befitting a gentleman of his status. Now, it was drenched and bedraggled, making him look like a mess. He'd need a hotel with good bathing facilities tonight.

That thought quickly was pushed to the back of his mind, as he saw Laxus' hand resting on a pistol on his belt. Not ideal.

"Get out of my fucking house," Laxus continued, his voice a low growl. He could be threatening then. "I ain't gonna ask again."

"I thought you wanted to know why I'm here, have you changed your mind?" Freed asked; it would be easy to get the power in the conversation. The blonde seemed rather oafish, even if he seemed to pull it off well.

"Shut up," The man growled again. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"At the moment it seems I'm drenching your floor with rain water. You wouldn't be kind enough to give me a towel, would you?" He sent a polite smile to the man, who brushed his fingers against his weapon. Charm wasn't going to work then. "You should close the door, Mr Dreyar, I expect the draft might soon become bothersome if you don't."

"I don't expect you'll be here long enough for it to matter," Laxus grunted.

He didn't seem perturbed by Freed's demand, nor by the admission that Freed knew who he was. That was somewhat bothersome for Freed, who had hoped for at least a quirk of the eyebrow or a twitch of the fingers as a way to read the man. The rumours had said Laxus could be stone-faced, so perhaps his reputation wasn't as exaggerated as Freed wanted.

"Well I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disappoint you then," Freed replied conversationally, watching as the fingers that had been stroking the gun now wrapped around it. He was pushing his luck. "My name is Freed Justine; I believe you've heard of my father."

The gun was pulled out and aimed at him within a second.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, a finger resting on its trigger, was a horrid experience. Because of his lot in life, Freed had found himself in the situation many times. He'd gotten as used to it as a man could get, but his heart still lurched, and mind raced. The man who didn't react like this when threatened with a gun had lost all their will to live, and Freed had not gotten to that point yet.

But unfortunately for Laxus, he had exposed a weakness. The Justine's and The Dreyar's were rival families, even if nobody said it aloud. Freed, at least to Laxus' knowledge, was a high-ranking member of his family's syndicate. Someone with power and authority, who was a threat to Laxus. So for him to force his way into Laxus' house was dangerous; not only because he could have easily spooked Laxus into killing him, but also because being an invader meant there was no murder charges if he did decide to shoot.

But he hadn't. He had clenched his gun tighter, but not pulled the trigger. And that meant, unless attacked, Laxus probably wouldn't shoot at all.

Just as they had done when Laxus had opened the door, they looked into one another's eyes and held contact. Freed knew he had to win their silent fight this time, because if he lost then he'd be thrown out on his ass and with a further bruise to his ego. He also couldn't do anything more because, although he was fairly sure Laxus wouldn't kill him for no reason, it was easy to pull a trigger on instinct. The idea sent a quick rush of panic though Freed, but he did all he could not to show it as his heartbeat rushed and his blood flowed hotly though his body.

"Why are you in my house?" Laxus' tone was still angry and filled with a threat, but the fact he spoke told Freed that he had won.

"I have a proposition for you, but we can get to that later," Freed spoke calmly, pleasantly. "I think first I should get that towel."

"No."

"You can't blame me for trying," Freed chuckled, taking a step forward. The gun followed him, and Freed paused. So Laxus wasn't ready for him to move yet. That was fine. "If this is how you wish to talk, then so be it. I believe that, as of tonight, we both have an issue that need amending. And I believe that we can help one another with these issues; I'm here to offer that help to you."

"No."

"Yes," Freed said, adding some authority to his tone now. "This really would be a conversation more suited to a sitting room, holding me at gunpoint in your hallway isn't particularly-"

"No."

"Oh for goodness sake. Are you able to say anything other than no? Hardly the mastermind of negotiations that I was led to believe you were," Freed muttered under his breath, twitching as the gun was raised slightly higher. He continued without movement. "Fine. I won't mince my words if this is how we do this. You and your family are very quickly headed towards a catastrophe, something that I have already experienced. I can help you avoid your empire imploding, and all I wish for in return is that you help me with my… newly acquired issue."

Glancing at Laxus, Freed noticed a tenseness grow further through his posture. He had expected that to be the case; he had essentially just insulted the man and alluded to an inevitable downfall. But, even if his finger still rested on the trigger, he didn't seem close to shooting. The rigidity went as quickly as it came.

"My business is fine," Laxus growled. "And ain't none of your business."

"It is my business in every sense of the word," Freed snapped back. "And this little life you've created for yourself, if you don't change how you act, will die and will take you with it. Of course you don't know how that will happen yet, which is why I feel I can help you," He muttered the latter statement. "But the fact is, if you keep acting like you are right now, then the tense relationships you've made will turn antagonistic and will lead to a conflict that you know you can't win. You're new to this, it's extremely evident, and when people realise that they will take advantage of it. In that, there is absolutely no doubt."

He glared defiantly at Laxus, glaring straight down the gun's barrel, adrenaline replacing fear. He was desperate and needed the man to believe him – to help him – and would do whatever he needed to. But he wouldn't beg unless it was absolutely needed.

A beat passed. Neither man spoke.

"What d'you drink?" Laxus eventually grunted, and Freed almost smirked as Laxus kicked his door shut.

"Port, though I doubt you have any," He tried to keep his smugness hidden from his voice.

"Think I've got a little of it," Laxus spoke without emotion.

He motioned towards a door in the hallway with his gun, and once Freed walked through it he found himself in a sitting room. Freed no longer was paying any mind to the gun pointed at him, because the fact Laxus had conceded meant that he probably already had doubts about his standings in criminal society, and thought Freed was the answer. He needed Freed as much as Freed needed him, and that was enough to keep him alive so long as he behaved himself.

Again, after a jerk from the pistol, Freed sat on one of the ornate chairs that was both obviously new and grandiose; the house reeked of new money, it was almost embarrassing. He watched almost amusedly as Laxus walked to a drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle and a glass while still holding the gun. At least it wasn't pointed at him now.

When a small serving of the port was given to him, Freed took a sip.

"That's rather good," Freed praised, placing the glass on a side table. He expected he wouldn't get anything more, so wanted to savour it. "Perhaps not as good as what was available before all of this nonsense began, but certainly the nicest drink I've had in a long while."

"You said you had an issue, and you needed my help," Laxus said as he sat in a chair opposite Freed. His tone was almost… patronising. "And you seemed awfully passionate about how bad things can go for me, so I'm pretty sure you're desperate. What happened?"

Freed looked towards Laxus again, and his hackles raised slightly. This had been a trap of sorts, then.

The blonde was smirking, leaning back in his large chair. The gun was resting untouched on the arm, pointed towards Freed and clearly a constant reminder that Freed was the one in danger in the situation, not Laxus. His posture was relaxed, he had a toying glint in his eyes, and he was clearly trying to emphasise how much larger he was than Freed. Which he was, with broad shoulders rounded and thick legs spread to emphasise this. If Freed were anyone else, this might have been intimidating.

But Freed knew posturing when he saw it, and this was a clear example. They were both playing this little dance of dominance, wanting to remain in control should the situation turn sour. But that couldn't last forever with what Freed needed, so he allowed himself a disadvantage.

"I have been excommunicated from my family," Freed admitted, trying to sound nonchalant.

Laxus let out a little 'heh' at that, as if pleased. Freed bristled.

"And with that comes a lot of issues," Freed continued, though his tone was a little sharper now. "One of which being that, from now on, I no longer have a job, nor a home. So, I'm coming to you as I know that your main source of income comes from your tavern, and people willing to work at speakeasies are few and far between. I wish to have a job under you, and in return I will advise you on navigating the criminal world without making yourself a target."

"Bullshit," Laxus said plainly. "You could get any job, and not risk pissing off your father if he changes his mind. And with how needy you were being in wanting my help," He smirked, and Freed tensed further. "You're clearly not telling me everything."

"I've told you everything you need to know."

"Not if you want my help you ain't," Laxus laughed. "Why'd he kick you out."

"That's not important."

"Beg to differ."

"It's not," Freed repeated forcefully, and Laxus raised an eyebrow. How he'd lost his advantage so quickly Freed didn't know, but he knew he couldn't get it back yet without ruining his chances of getting help. He needed to concede a little more. "The reason will… it evokes strong reactions. My father will make the reason, and my disownment, known as a way to reaffirm his control. People know where I lived, will want to hurt me, and I need to make changes in my life quickly. And being the son of a notorious gangster means employment isn't easy to get in a hurry."

"That's a shame," Laxus smirked, sarcasm not hidden. "But I ain't even considering helping you if you don't tell me why he kicked you out."

"Why?" Freed narrowed his eyes. But the fact Laxus would consider helping him in the right circumstances did give Freed a glimmer of hope. "Why is it important?"

"Because you're the son of a guy who probably wants me dead, and definitely wants my business ruined," Laxus laughed, leaning further back in his chair. He was getting cocky, but Freed could utilise that. "And if you think I'm going to let some little prick in my bar who could easily be bullshittin' me, then you're fucking stupid. So tell me how you got on your daddy's bad side, I'll check it out to see if it's true, then maybe I'll be charitable."

"May I remind you, Mr Dreyar, that the reason I'm in this room is because you know you need me just as much as I need you," Freed snapped back, because subtlety be dammed. Laxus just smirked wider, and Freed knew he had shown his hand too early. "If you must know, I fucked one of his guards."

"He's guarded by women?" Laxus asked.

"No," Freed grunted.

Perhaps it was fuelled by his annoyance at losing control of the situation, but the time it took for Laxus to understand what Freed had implied was incredibly aggravating. Admitting something like that was never pleasant, as you could never guess if they'd simply be disgusted or think you're worthy of a beating.

"So," Laxus said after a moment, and there was a notable lack of disgust in his voice. In fact he sounded amused. "You fucked a guy and your daddy kicked you out? And now you're so desperate that you're coming to me."

"I need work, and doing something that pisses him off is ideal," Freed shrugged, and Laxus kept looking at him. Again, he needed to concede a defeat. "And you're more likely to overlook illegality than regular employment."

"Was that so hard to say?" Laxus taunted, and Freed was half tempted to attack the man.

But he didn't, because despite the blonde's clear cocky persona, and apparent enjoyment of the situation, Freed felt as though there was a chance he would get help now. The fact that Laxus didn't kick him out of his house, or shoot him, upon revealing he was gay was significant. Many men like Laxus would feel no guilt for killing a man like Freed, and yet Laxus maintained a conversation. The fact that he was taunting him rather than beating him was substantial, and Freed felt that as long as he didn't push Laxus too far, he might be his salvation.

Christ, the fact he needed salvation was humiliating.

Thankfully, it seemed Laxus was doing what Freed had wanted to do. He was making it known that he was in charge, but not forgetting that this was a mutually beneficial situation. And, as much as Freed didn't enjoy being the punchline of a joke, he could put up with it for now if it meant he got his way.

"What exactly did you think you could do in the tavern?" Laxus asked, and Freed had to stop hope from blooming.

"Accounts."

"Fuck no," Laxus laughed.

"Barman."

"No," Laxus repeated, and it was a word that was grating on Freed's nerves. "You ain't getting anywhere near my money."

"A server of some kind then," Freed gritted his teeth.

"Mainly have men as customers, and they like a pretty girl serving them," Laxus shrugged. "And as much as you might like flirting with men, not sure they'd feel the same way," He smirked again, a little sadistically. "How about scrubbing shit from the toilets all night?"

He almost took it. Because his dignity was nothing without his safety.

And he was desperate, he really was, even if he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't. Once his father made it clear that his gay son had been kicked out of the family, the word would spread. Employment in the normal places wouldn't be possible, and people would want to vent their anger at his so-called perversion through violence. A crime family like Laxus' could overlook crime, and people would be less likely to attack him at the risk of starting a gang war. That was why he needed Laxus' help.

As he went to speak – to confine himself to be the shit-cleaner of New York's drunkards – his eyes landed on something. A picture of what he assumed was the Fairy Tail tavern before prohibition started, sitting on the side table. People were standing around a piano, and Freed felt a further pulse of hope awaken.

"Do you have music played?" He asked, and Laxus frowned.

"Not for a while, no," Laxus shrugged, and Freed saw an opportunity. "Musicians ain't got the biggest balls really. Scared of getting into trouble."

"A shame. Most of the reason people go to taverns rather than drinking at home is the atmosphere," Freed mused aloud, hoping to get a small amount of control in the conversation again. "I assume that you've still got that piano, correct? I'm classically trained, and can play a variety of genres."

"You wanna be a pianist?" Laxus asked, amused.

"It's a skill I have, more dignity than cleaning bathrooms, and is beneficial to your business," Freed explained. "And since you clearly don't trust me, it allows you to keep tabs on me. Most of the night I'll be in the middle of the floor playing, and when I'm not it'll be obvious by the lack of music. It seems good for both of us."

Laxus seemed to consider this, and Freed said nothing, not wanting to risk ruining his chances. He noticed that, during their conversation, Laxus was no longer resting his fingers against the gun and his posture had changed slightly; a little less domineering than it had been at the start. This was all promising to Freed who, despite having insisted on seeing him immediately, had been pessimistic about his chances with Laxus.

Looking directly at the man, it was clear to see when Laxus had made a decision. The slight conflicted look lessened and his eyes narrowed a little as he looked straight into Freed's eyes. He didn't speak, waiting for Laxus to reinitiate conversation.

"Six AM," Laxus stated. "You're at the door at six AM. I hear how good you are. If you ain't good enough, you ain't getting a job and you leave me alone. For good. You understand?"

"Yes," Freed said.

"Then you'll leave," Laxus stood up, picking his gun up again.

He motioned with it for Freed to walk out into the hall again. Freed did as he was instructed, knowing that Laxus' charity – because that's what it was really – was tenuous at best. He walked to the door and opened it, sighing slightly at the heavy rain and wind that was still roaring. Previously he had been too engrossed in his anger at the situation to care. But now the idea of walking to the nearest hotel in this was repellent.

That sensation quickly died when a large hand wrapped around his neck from behind and a gun was pushed firmly into his spine.

"You even think about fucking me over," Laxus growled into his ear. "You make one mistake, you give me any reason to mistrust you, you take advantage of this kindness, then you're done. Your body gets discovered washed up and found by a guy working the docks, and your cock is sent back to daddy wrapped up in a pretty fucking bow. You understand me?"

"Yes," Freed growled back, glaring forward while gritting his teeth.

Laxus said nothing else, pushing Freed forward and out of his home. The door was slammed behind him, and Freed ground his teeth, fist clenching as he was left in the storm battering New York. He walked forward with a glare, deciding to go to a hotel that he knew always had rooms, the anger that had been steadily boiling up through the day coming to a rise.

But in the back of his mind, he had hope. And at that moment, that was all he needed.

~~~

~1 Week Later~

Walking into Fairy Tail always gave Laxus a small, perhaps arrogant thrill.

He'd grown up there, essentially. His grandfather owned the place before alcohol had been outlawed, and the tavern was part of who he was. He had always known that one day it would be his, given his father was no longer part of their family and he was the only other successor. But having it as his, being able to call it his own and do with it what he wanted, was so much better than he could have imagined.

When he pushed through the doors of what appeared to be an old, unused music store – they'd had to relocate for obvious reasons – he was met with the sound of people talking, laughing, and drinking. To know that he had facilitated this – that he was the reason for them being there – was addictive. He was in charge, and he loved it.

And really, who wouldn't?

Because not only did his new place in life give him a thrill, but it also filled his wallet and offered him a level of respect he'd never gotten before. Previously he'd been the grandson of Makarov Dreyar, just the young relative of the man who owned the famous tavern. But now he was Laxus, criminal and provider of alcohol during prohibition. People looked to him as someone not to be reckoned with, someone to both fear and adore simultaneously. He was the man holding his middle finger up to the unjust bullshit that his country had turned to, and the innate rebel inside crooned silently at the praise that got him. He was a man of power now, and it was incredible.

As he walked through Fairy Tail, people greeted him. Those who knew him were trying to get in his good graces, and weren't subtle about it. Laxus didn't care, he enjoyed the grovelling if he were honest. He didn't think he'd get used to it, and doubted that it would stop anytime soon, and he was content with that.

There was one outlier to this trend of respect: Freed Justine.

Now, Laxus hadn't surrounded himself by bootlickers and ass-kissers. While he got a rush by strangers scrambling over themselves to get on his good side, he wanted kickback from his staff. If someone was pissed off at him, he wanted to know; better to have honesty from his workers than have them attempting some sort of coup behind his back. So almost all of his staff had backbone, and voice their opinions when it was appropriate, just like Laxus wanted.

But the was Freed did it was… different. Maybe Laxus felt that way because of how they'd first met, where Laxus really had held all the cards in terms of power. He had expected that Freed would be so thankful and gracious for Laxus' display of pity – because he really did pity the man – that he would be obedient and wouldn't dare speak out of turn.

That had not been the case. There was no pretence with him, nor bullshit about what he was feeling. He felt as just comfortable speaking his mind as any of the staff members, many of whom who had known Laxus not as a criminal but as a kid.

Laxus was conflicted between wanting to threaten the bastard or to laugh at his arrogance.

He did enjoy pissing the guy off, though. Maybe Freed had realised that Laxus wasn't a killer unless truly pushed towards it, and that his threats were mainly empty, but that didn't make him a saint. The guy needed him and had a lot of pride, meaning Laxus could have some fun with him. For example, while he had told Freed to arrive at six AM for his audition, Laxus had shown up at eight-thirty, and Freed had been waiting in the cold for him. The glare and clipped conversation had been hysterical. It also showed Freed his place.

Though that had been somewhat diminished when Freed started playing, and Laxus felt his stomach flip at the slow melody that Freed had chosen to perform. He was an undoubtedly good pianist, and because of that Laxus had honoured his part of the deal.

As he walked to the bar, he spared the man no glances.

He walked behind the bar, where Gray Fullbuster and Lucy Heartfilia were working. They both greeted him while keeping their focus on customers. Good; he'd hired them not just because of their proficiency and making drinks, but because a flirtatious wink from some pretty young thing could sell a drink at a higher price. Gray had some young woman blushing as she nursed a glass of overprices booze, and Lucy had three men – and interestingly, a woman – enraptured as she poured them all drinks she would readily overcharge for.

"You kept an eye on him like I asked?" He murmured as he walked behind them.

"Of course," Lucy said as she slid over a drink, smiling at the older man who was ogling her. Laxus would have to get Elfman to keep an eye on him, he was almost drooling. "He's been fine. Hasn't done anything you don't pay him to do."

"As if he could," Gray laughed, walking from his customer to place used glasses under the counter. "He's literally the centre of attention, nobody can take their eyes off him. If he wanted to sneak off or whatever you think he's gonna do, his plan backfired."

"I don't trust him," Laxus muttered, glancing towards Freed again.

"Really?" Lucy said in mock surprise. "I thought having everyone spy on him was your way of welcoming him as part of the family. You really are subtle."

"Watch your mouth, woman," Laxus grunted.

"Why don't you make me," Lucy countered back, turning to face Laxus with a grin on her face. "Sir."

Laxus broke her gaze, and hoped that she wouldn't see the small, embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks before he willed it away. This was a new thing the women of his staff had begun doing; anytime he did something that pissed them off, all they needed to do was flirt even slightly and Laxus' innate discomfort when it came to people overtook him, and he became awkward and a little embarrassed.

He could only hope that the men didn't try it because that would be… that would be another problem entirely.

The embarrassment wasn't helped by the now ever-present sound of Freed's music playing. Freed being there made Laxus very aware of how he treated his staff. The Justine's were renowned for brutality and ruthlessness, so Laxus doubted any of their staff would dare to treat the headman like Laxus was treated. He wondered what Freed thought about it whenever he saw it.

"I've got shit to deal with upstairs," He muttered, and Lucy laughed. "Don't know when I'll be down again, so make sure you keep an eye on him. And once he's finished, you kick him out. No exceptions, okay?"

"Yeah, you've mentioned it once or twice," Gray chuckled. "He only gets to be here when he's working."

"And I mean it," Laxus said firmly, and both of his employees nodded. "And if any shit starts to happen, you better call me down to deal with it okay. No matter how…" He paused, glanced at the older man still ogling Lucy, and grit his teeth slightly. "Pathetic it is, I'll deal with it."

"We know," Lucy laughed, turning to the customers again. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. It was the same stupid flirtatious grin she used to taunt him. "Goodbye, sir."

Laxus glared at her, cheeks going red again as he walked to the rickety wooden staircase that led to his office. As he walked he overheard his employees talking to one another, Gray telling Lucy that if she kept calling Laxus sir in that way then he might start acting on the flirtations. Lucy had laughed, saying that Laxus didn't seem the type.

There was a slight falter in Laxus' step as he heard that. While what she said was true – he really would never act on any of the flirtations from his female workers – he had to wonder if she knew why. Hopefully, she just assumed he wouldn't fuck an employee.

He couldn't fixate on that, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

As he collapsed into his office chair, he sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He flicked open the top button of his shirt and opened one of the small windows, allowing the dank New York air to cool him slightly. With a yawn, he let his eyes close for a moment. He loved his work in Fairy Tail, and the benefits that came with it were undeniable, but it was exhausting.

Especially when one of his suppliers decided that he would bust Laxus' balls by raising then price of his booze. Of course that hadn't gone down well, and with Gajeel and Evergreen there to help make his point, the supplier had quickly changed his mind. Funny what a gun could do.

But it had been a stressful day, and Laxus wanted a break. He walked to the drink's cabinet in the back of his office, unlocked it and poured himself a glass. Like most of the drink's manufacturers, his favourite whiskey brewers had closed down during prohibition rather than going to the underground market, meaning this particular bottle of whiskey was a rarity. Laxus didn't sell it to his patrons; branded drinks were his and his alone. Though, he supposed if someone was desperate enough, he could name a price.

He tapped his fingers against the glass, the smooth brown booze gently jumping with each strong clink. He closed his eyes as he brought the drink to his lips and gulped down half of it, groaning as he allowed himself to relax. His drifting mind lingered on the gentle music.

Freed really knew how to play. It was astounding.

Although he claimed to be classically trained, he wasn't limited to old music, and he used his variety to his advantage. Laxus, after spending the first few nights of Freed's employ essentially spying on the man, had realised Freed had finetuned his song choices to fit with the different types of audiences. At the start of the night, he'd play understated music as an accompaniment to people's drinking. As it got later, and people got drunker, the songs became more interesting; something to dance to for those who wanted. By the end of the night, when the booze had truly taken effect, he went for fast paced jazz that elected cheers and hollers late into the night. He worked the crowd well without saying a word to them.

He was still at the first stage of his performance as Laxus relaxed in his office, playing light and inobtrusive songs that were pleasant to the ear but not taxing or overpowering. It was nice, and Laxus enjoyed listening to it.

When he'd been watching Freed, he hadn't been able to concentrate on the music.

Freed really was gifted musically.

Shaking his head to wake himself up, Laxus sat up straight and finished the rest of the drink. He needed to be awake, both because he had work to do and just in case any of his customers got rowdy; he couldn't leave his bouncers to work alone while he napped in the office after all. With that in mind, he unlocked his desk draw and pulled out some financial paperwork he needed to finish before the end of the week. This too was a downside of being a businessowner, even if not a legitimate one.

As he worked through his paperwork, he found himself absently humming along to the music slipping through the crack in his office door.

And in the few moments where he let his eyes close as a quick rest, he found himself imagining what Freed looked like as he played. How his hands would dance across the keys and his face would go into that relaxed expression that was such a contrast to the manic and almost feral look that he'd shown when they had first met. He considered why he couldn't decide which version of Freed he preferred; the calm musician or the bedraggled gameplayer. He asked himself why he should have a favourite version of the man that he didn't trust.

But, when a yawn split his lips, he found that he didn't care. Instead, he listened to the piano playing with contentment, and got on with his work.

~~~

~Two Weeks Later~

"You know you're allowed to drink an actual drink, right?" Bickslow laughed. "He doesn't mind."

Freed smiled a little at the comment, cupping his glass of water. He sat at one of the many tables scattered around Fairy Tail's main room, sharing it with both Bickslow and Evergreen. They were looking at him with amusement as they drank their beer – well, moonshine was a closer term for the drink – while Freed drank his water. They were teasing him, as they had been from the moment he arrived, and he accepted it; the two of them were the closest things to friends he had found in Fairy Tail, and he was enjoying them for their eccentricities.

They'd met one another a week back, where the two of them had arrived at Fairy Tail late and began working. Freed had noticed them beforehand, seeing that they had unusual work hours compared to others in the tavern, but were always there. Freed had assumed that they were more intrenched in the criminal aspects of the tavern, and their work hours were unusual because they were on the streets, working for Laxus in ways other than serving drinks.

He didn't pry into it; he knew better than that.

By happenstance, he didn't have to. Apparently his observations of the two of them hadn't gone unnoticed, and they had approached him after a night at the piano asking if he wanted a drink. He'd complied, understanding that this was some kind of test; one he had passed. They had tried to intimidate him, make it clear that if he wanted trouble they would happily oblige, and when Freed didn't cower nor clam up at their threat, they seemed to have respect for him.

At the time Freed had thought nothing more of the situation, but as the two continued inviting him to drinks after he'd finished work, they'd formed a friendship. He enjoyed their company, and not just because losing his standing in the Justine family – and the money that came with it – also made him lose his so-called friends. At least Ever and Bix didn't seem scared of him, like his old friends had; it was refreshing.

"I think it's best if I don't," Freed chuckled. "He practically salivates at every opportunity to get rid of me. Essentially stealing from him would be pushing my luck."

"Yeah, that's why he's salivating," Bickslow mumbled, and Freed frowned at him.

"You really shouldn't pay too much mind to Laxus," Evergreen laughed. "He's just quite territorial, that's all. But he wouldn't have let you here if he didn't trust you. I doubt he'll care if you get something to drink."

"I'd rather be cautious. Given the situation I doubt that I can risk getting on his bad side," Freed shrugged slightly; most likely everyone knew why he was there, so why be subtle? "And then there's the fact that I haven't drunk anything other than a half-glass of port since the beginning of prohibition. I've probably lost my tolerance for it, and I doubt anyone would appreciate me drunkenly screeching showtunes though the night."

"I dunno," A deep, gravelly voice from behind spoke, and Freed tensed. "Pretty good blackmail, I'd say."

The three gathered people turned to see Laxus, and Freed was trapped into a stare down by the smirking gangster. His hackles raised slightly at the look of amusement that was clear on the blonde's face – the same expression that Laxus got whenever he seemed to wrongfoot Freed. Admittedly that didn't happen often, given how careful Freed needed to be in his precarious situation, but it had always served to antagonise Freed. He promised himself that, should he ever have the same effect on Laxus, he would be equally smug about it.

"Hey man," Bickslow grinned. "You need us for anything?"

"Not tonight," Laxus dismissed. "You can be on the door with Elfman. Ever, I want you as a waitress tonight. Some creep's been after the girls, if he tries any shit with you I want you to deal with it. Do whatever, just make sure you can pass it off as an accident."

"Sure," Ever grinned, and Bickslow nodded. "Settle an argument for us. Freed gets free drinks like the rest of us, right?"

"Not if he doesn't wanna be thrown out on his ass he doesn't," Laxus replied, and the presence of that damnable cocky expression told Freed that he was probably joking. Still, he probably shouldn't risk it.

"You're fucking stupid," Bickslow laughed up at Laxus, shaking his head.

There was probably a subtext to Bickslow's words, and if Freed wanted to, he might have been able to figure it out. But, as had happened over the last few weeks, Freed found his mind preoccupied with how causal Laxus' workers acted around him. He was the head of both the Dreyar Family and the Fairy Tail business, which should have given him unrelenting respect. And he was by no means a pacifist, should the stories about him be true, so there should be a certain of level of fear aimed towards him. Nobody working for Laxus seemed to show it.

His father wouldn't have accepted any of that. If he heard so much as a whisper behind his back then he would have acted swiftly and with violence. Freed, as part of his ridiculous training for when he would replace his father, had watched as a man's fingernails were ripped out simply because the man completed an assignment an hour later than expected. It had been a long night full of shouting and screaming.

Would Laxus ever do that? Freed couldn't be sure yet.

"Justine," Laxus raised his voice slightly, and Freed looked to him. "I wanna talk to you. My office, come on."

"Of course," Freed nodded, and stood.

As he walked behind the bar and towards the staircase that led to Laxus' office, he missed the shared look of amusement between his two friends and Laxus' quick glare at them both. His mind was too busy fighting off the dreaded possibility that he might be losing his job.

Because it was almost inevitable that his father knew Freed was working for Fairy Tail at this point. He probably had informants keeping tabs on Freed and watching wherever he went, it was why he was keeping a steady rotation of hotels to stay at rather than finding an apartment to rent. That might have been a good choice, because if he was about to lose his job then he'd be without the protection of the Dreyar name, making him vulnerable to his father's whims.

Again, Freed wondered if taking that charming, barrel chested guard to bed was worth it.

"Take a seat," Laxus offered, motioning to the chair that sat opposite his desk.

Freed pulled it out and sat down, watching as Laxus relaxed into the large leather chair that had been tucked behind the desk. It was a grand and obnoxious thing, and it reminded Freed of just how new to having large amounts of money was to Laxus, because one of the few useful things of note his father had taught him was to spend modestly. The more evidence of illegal earnings the police could find, the larger the risk of repercussions.

He tried to relax into the seat as best he could, and watched as Laxus opened a small drinks cabinet from behind his desk. He pulled out a bottle of what seemed to be port – a cheap brand, but the fact Laxus had any branded alcohol at all was now a luxury – and poured some for Freed. He placed it before him and looked at him expectantly.

"I thought if I drank without paying then I got fired," He phrased it almost as a joke, but there was an edge of caution in it.

"I'll dock yer wages," Laxus shrugged. "We need to talk."

"I suppose so," Freed agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

"Look, part of the reason I hired you was because you said that you'd be able to help me deal with the politics of crime, and so far you haven't," Freed went to speak, but Laxus raised a hand to stop him. "And that's my fault, because I don't trust ya and I wouldn't take advice from a man I don't trust. But you've been here a few weeks now, and the numbers of people coming in have gone up since you've been playing," Freed felt a small flicker of pride at that. "And I'm pretty sure you realised that I've been having people make sure you don't pull any shit. And you haven't."

"Your bar staff aren't entirely subtle," Freed commented, and Laxus chuckled.

"Yeah, they ain't spies," He let out a small sigh. "Look, I think at this point I can trust you, at least a little. Not as much as the rest of my people, but more than I did at the start. But I wanna ask you a few questions before we do, because there's a couple things about your story that don't add up."

"If that's what you need then okay," Freed agreed. "But I didn't lie."

"Maybe, but you left shit out," Laxus rebutted, and Freed didn't argue the point. "So, you told me yer dad kicked you out of the family because you were fucking a guy, right? I'm pretty sure that the whole 'family is everything' bullshit is important to him. So even if he didn't like ya bein' gay, I wouldn't have thought he'd disown you just for that. So what's the real reason?"

"That was the real reason," Freed responded.

"The whole reason?"

"No," Freed conceded. "There had been others. He had a habit of hiring attractive men, and I had a habit of bedding them. Sometimes they confessed to it, sometimes they left his employ and he figured out why, and one on occasion he walked in on me in the act," Freed chuckled at that. "He was horrified, it was very gratifying. The attempt at beating me was less so."

"Attempt?" Laxus frowned.

"He expected his 'queer of a son' wouldn't fight back. He was wrong," Freed smirked. "But there had been warnings, demands and threats against me, to stop me from continuing. I didn't of course, and it seemed his bedding his most loyal guard was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Right, I guess that makes sense," Laxus said with a small nod. "I'll believe that, but I still don't think you've told me everything. Because my address ain't common knowledge and you knowing it, and going there ain't an impulsive decision. So why did ya do it?"

Freed sighed a little.

"It wasn't impulsive, you're right," Freed admitted. "My father and I have never gotten along well. We have opposing values on a lot of things, and we've butted heads more than once. Recently I'd gotten tired of remaining chaste for his reputation, and perhaps spitefully I decided to indulge myself. There has been a tension growing, and me leaving the family in some way seemed inevitable. He, and the people he surrounds himself with, are violent and cruel, I needed protection. You were the obvious way to get it."

"How'd ya come to that?"

"Politics," Freed shrugged. "My father excels at reputation. He's not as influential and strong as he makes people believe, and nowhere near powerful enough to start a gang war. You've been gaining power and influence at a fast rate, and his information on you is limited, so he's cautious. He wouldn't risk anything and therefore if you took me as an employee, then he would have to leave me alone."

"You've given this some thought," Laxus chuckled, leaning back in his chair was a somewhat amused expression on his features.

"I expect most people working for my father have considered how they'd disappear if they fell on his bad side," Freed shrugged. "I thought that was the same in all criminal syndicates, but it seems that the people working here actually like and respect you."

"And what about you?" Laxus asked. "What d'you think about me."

"I think you need to keep your employees loyal, because if anyone defects to another family and tells them how you act around your employees they'll assume you're weak and see an opportunity," Freed said honestly. "I think you're perhaps in over your head and don't know what you're doing, though maybe that's because I've only seen the side of you that owns a bar rather than the side that threatens people into silence. But I think as a person and a boss, you're perhaps quite kind. Which is unusual."

"I guess that's fair," Laxus nodded slowly. He didn't seem insulted, which Freed felt somewhat surprised by. "I like to think I ain't some dumbass kid who fell into a world he ain't ready for, but like ya said, you ain't seen me in action."

"No, I haven't," Freed agreed. "And what do you think of me?"

He might have been pushing his luck by asking, but he felt he needed to know. Laxus was something of an enigma to him, given that he seemed to reject every stereotype of a gangster that Freed had come to know. But he was at Laxus' mercy, and knowing where he was standing with the man could mean life or death.

"I think you play the piano really well," Laxus shrugged, raising a glass towards Freed. "And I think we could work well together, eventually."

"Yes," Freed agreed, lip curling up slightly. He raised his own glass in toast. "I think we could."

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

After finding out exactly how Nie Huaisang feels about him, Lan Xichen tries to get a grip on his emotions and to figure out what to do next.

The evening after it, Lan Xichen doesn’t go to the dining halls. He doesn’t dine at all, in fact. When his uncle asks about it later, he says that he got too deep in meditation and didn’t notice the time. It’s not quite true, and he doesn’t think Lan Qiren believes him.

Lan Xichen does lose track of time that afternoon though. After what happened, it takes him a while to sort out the way he feels.

The first emotion he can identify, once he stops crying and drags himself to his bed, is anger, fuelled by jealousy. He’s angry that Nie Huaisang, not for the first time, toyed with his emotions and pretended to flirt with him only to hurt him. He’s angry that Nie Huaisang once again treated their engagement so lightly, even after Lan Xichen closed his eyes on his previous betrayal. He’s angry that someone else got to touch Nie Huaisang when it is now so clear that he never will. He’s angry that he’s not angry enough to hate Nie Huaisang, even after this. He’s angry at the pain he’s feeling and the way he can't make it stop. He’s angry at everything.

That rage rolls and rises like a wave before coming crashing down as night falls, leaving behind a mess of guilt and sorrow.

If there was still any doubt in his mind about the way Nie Huaisang feels about him, it is now gone. His fiancé hates him, plain and simple.

Not for the first time, Lan Xichen wonders if his father too went through that realisation, and whether it was before or after forcing his wife to marry him. He hopes it was after, that his father was too naive to see the truth before. It is hard enough to be the child of such parents without having to face exactly how twisted their marriage was.

Because this is where Lan Xichen’s understanding of his father stops. If he had a choice, he would call off the engagement this instant. In fact it is so tempting to grab paper and beg Nie Mingjue to put an end to this cruel joke, because he loves Nie Huaisang too much to see him waste away as his mother did. How his father could bear it, he doesn’t understand. To love a person with all the passion Qingheng-Jun is said to have felt for his wife, and still keep them like a caged bird with broken wings… 

But there’s a war coming, and this isn’t just an engagement, it’s an alliance against a sect that threatens all their lives. Even if Lan Xichen asked to break this off, Nie Mingjue would have to refuse. Even if Nie Mingjue agreed, Lan Qiren and Qingheng-Jun would argue with him to change his mind. The feelings of two boys don’t matter when compared to what awaits if their sects do not stand together. Lan Xichen’s only hope is that the situation somehow de-escalates, that the Wen realise they cannot push much further before the other great sects have no choice but to push back. 

A fool’s hope.

Men like Wen Ruohan and his sons are born for war, and they will all pay the price of Qishan Wen’s ambitions.

Still, Lan Xichen, in the little hours of the morning, promises himself he will not profit from this forced marriage the way his father did. It was already wrong of him to force himself upon Nie Huiasang the way he did (and he does not, cannot, refuses to think how good it was to kiss Nie Huaisang, how even through the guilt he’d give anything to do it again, if only there was a way to make his fiancé want him). The rules of Gusu Lan are strict on such matters, and Lan Xichen will have to see what punishment he earned. 

He’ll do better in the future. He’ll see if Nie Huaisang can be given his own house, as Lan Qiren once suggested was possible. He’ll leave Nie Huaisang free to return to the Unclean Realm as often as he likes, as long as he likes, and to visit his friends in Lotus Piers or (Lan Xichen’s mind rebel at the idea, his stomach heaves, anger not quite as appeased as he had thought, but he forces it down because he has no right to make demands, no rights to tell Nie Huaisang who to be friends with, who to love even, if that’s what it is) in Carp Tower. And then, when the war that they all fear has happened, if they have, won, if they still live… then Lan Xichen will do what’s right and find a way to have their marriage annulled. 

Lan Xichen refuses to become his father.

When dawn rises, Lan Xichen is exhausted but confident that things, one way or another, will be fine.

That confidence lasts until he reaches the dining halls for breakfast and sees Nie Huaisang sitting with Jiang Cheng, chatting about something. His fiancé's face is pale, he has dark lines under his eyes, as if he did not sleep either, and he shows even less appetite than usual for the meal before him. Yet when their eyes meet, Nie Huaisang’s gaze is challenging. 

It occurs to Lan Xichen that after what the other boy told him, it would be easy to get him in terrible trouble. What for, though? Nie Huaisang already hates him enough. All Lan Xichen can do is, once again, promise him that he will keep this secret as well.

Jiang Cheng, noticing that his friend is distracted, follows his gaze until he spots Lan Xichen. He must not like what he sees, because he immediately puts a protective arm around Nie Huaisang’s shoulder.

In an instant, the anger that Lan Xichen had so carefully extinguished flares up again. He wonders if Jiang Cheng too… 

Lan Xichen hurriedly leaves the dining halls without having eaten anything. His cultivation is good enough that it's not a problem, and going hungry is better than taking the risk of letting his emotions explode in public. Luckily he does not have classes that morning, so he is free to return home, and meditate some more in a vain attempt to stop crying. 

When the bell for lunch rings, Lan Xichen ignores it. He has only just regained control of himself and cannot lose it again. It can't last forever, sooner or later he'll need to eat. There's still over a month left until the guest disciples leave, Lan Xichen knows he cannot stay without food that long. He knows, also, that he doesn't feel ready to face Nie Huaisang yet.

It's mid-afternoon when Lan Xichen hears someone come into the house, followed by a careful but familiar knock on his bedroom's door. Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, rises from his bed, checks that it is not too obvious that he has been crying, and puts on a smile. 

"Come in, Wangji." 

His brother enters the room, carrying a tray with food. Seeing this, Lan Xichen's smile grows a little more sincere. 

"You didn't have to," he says, coming closer to take the tray and put it down on his desk. 

"Brother missed several meals," Lan Wangji replies, some worry seeping through his normally unemotional tone. "Brother looks unwell." 

Lan Xichen sits down at his desk, and inspects the content of the tray. The dish there is one that he particularly enjoys, in spite of his efforts to follow the rule against preferences. It could be a coincidence, but… 

"Wangji, did you make this for me?" he asks, to which he brother nods. "You shouldn't have. I'm not unwell, I just have something on my mind. But thank you, I'm very grateful you made such efforts for me." 

As Lan Xichen starts eating (he was starving, he realises) his brother comes to sit near him. Lan Xichen feels a little guilty for causing him to worry, especially when Lan Wangji probably has other things to do. He needs to get himself under control as soon as possible to stop causing trouble. 

"Did something happen with Nie gongzi?" Lan Wangji asks after a moment, sitting down next to his brother. 

Nearly choking on his food, Lan Xichen throws him a startled look. 

"What makes you think that?" 

"If it were anything else, Brother would have told Uncle," Lan Wangji points out. "But on the matter of Nie gongzi, Brother keeps everything to himself." 

Lan Xichen grimaces, poking at his food. 

"I'm not hearing that from you when I still am not allowed to mention Wei Wuxian in your presence." 

It is, perhaps, a low blow to speak of that now, but Lan Xichen has yet to find a more efficient way to make his brother drop a conversation. This time though, it doesn't work. 

"Is Brother's situation similar to mine with Wei Ying?" Lan Wangji asks instead. 

Lan Xichen considers that for a moment, despondently looking at his lunch, and sighs. 

"If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said yes," he confesses, too tired to stop himself. "Now, I cannot say. I've made a mess of everything. I don't think there's any going back from this. I suppose I deserve it, for the way I've treated him before."

Patiently, Lan Wangji nods and says nothing, clearly inviting for further confession. It is tempting, but Lan Xichen cannot burden his little brother with his problems, that wouldn't be right. It's supposed to be Lan Wangji who comes to him for comfort, not the opposite. At the same time, that means Lan Xichen has no one to talk to. 

He wishes he could fly to Qinghe and cry against Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, but this is the one topic he cannot share with his best friend. He wishes his uncle were not so severe on matters of the heart. He wishes he had a normal father, one he could go to when things get too hard, one who would love him, listen to his problems, comfort him, and give him advice. He wishes, briefly, that his mother were still alive… though on second thought, perhaps it's best that she isn't. She wouldn't be sympathetic to his heartache, he suspects, and losing her respect would kill him. 

He created this mess alone, and now he must deal with it alone.

“It’ll be fine,” Lan Xichen says, hoping that’s not a lie, fearing that it is. “I will sort things out. I just need to…”

Words fail him. He’s not sure what he even needs to do. Talk to Nie Huaisang, probably, but the idea of that hurts too much and threatens to bring back tears, which he cannot afford in front of his brother. He doesn’t want to upset Lan Wangji. He doesn’t want to have to explain what happened, and face his brother’s disappointment. He doesn’t want to make Lan Wangji choose a side between his brother and one of his too rare friends. He doesn’t want to know what that choice would be.

“Can I help?” Lan Wangji asks, putting one hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Coming from him, with his aversion to touch, it is the equivalent of a hug. Lan Xichen is more grateful than he can say. It immediately gets harder not to cry, but Lan Xichen still manages, controlling his breathing.

“I’m really fine,” Lan Xichen insists. “You don’t have to worry.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t reply, but gives his brother a long stare that says it all.

“I don’t think you can help,” Lan Xichen sighs. “I don’t think anyone can. It’s too late now. Although…” 

He hesitates. It would be unkind to involve his brother in his problems, but at the same time, he simply does not trust himself to be near Nie Huaisang in public. There’s too much risk of causing a scene, and that would not be good for either of them. And yet, they need to talk. If nothing else, Lan Xichen needs to make sure his fiancé knows that he won’t tell anyone about this new… misdemeanour. 

“Wangji, if I asked… would you pass a message to Nie Huaisang for me?”

“Hm.”

“Thank you. If you could tell him… regarding the matter that we discussed yesterday, it will be kept between us. As for the rest, I would appreciate if he could come see me here at his convenience to see what can be done.”

“Hm. Anything else?”

“I will probably take my dinner here as well, could you see if that can be arranged? I will endeavour to have things under control by tomorrow but for now… I think that’s best.”

Somehow, Lan Wangji looks more worried now, and his brother wonders how much he can guess. Thankfully, Lan Wangji is a respectful boy and he doesn’t insist, leaving Lan Xichen alone so he can go deliver his message immediately.

Alone with a lunch he struggles to eat, Lan Xichen ponders on what he will say to apologise to Nie Huaisang. He will have to start with that unwanted kiss, for which he still needs to check the appropriate punishment. Then… then everything else. Every little bit of casual cruelty he showed as a child, every dismissive remarks he made, every disdainful silence… Lan Xichen, to his great shame, cannot remember everything he’s done, but he’s sure that Nie Huaisang does. His explosion of rage the day before is proof of that.

After a while, Lan Wangji returns. He gives the still mostly full tray of food a judging look, and seems upset that Lan Xichen is still still at his desk after this long, but doesn’t comment on that.

“Nie Huaisang acknowledged that you would keep certain things between yourselves,” he announces. “As for the rest, he declined the invitation to speak with you.”

Lan Wangji sounds disappointed as he says that, as he always is when he feels people are unreasonable. Lan Xichen feels guilty for asking his brother to play the messenger in such a matter, and hopes it will not cause a rift between the two friends. He would not forgive himself if he ruined that as well.

“I understand,” Lan Xichen says with a smile. “He has good reasons for that, and I did not expect him to agree. I’m sorry for bothering you, I won’t do it again.”

"Hm." 

Lan Wangji sits down next to him, and takes his hand. That simple gesture brings back too many recent memories. It breaks what little control Lan Xichen has, and he starts crying again, though more quietly. He wonders how disgusted Nie Huaisang must have been when Lan Xichen took his hand. He will have to apologise for that as well. 

"I'm here for you," Lan Wangji says quietly. "I will help, any way I can." 

"Play something for me," Lan Xichen requests after some brief hesitation. "I can't seem to meditate properly today." 

Without asking any questions, Lan Wangji agrees and goes to fetch his guqin. The song they decide on is perhaps not the most powerful one of the Lan repertoire, but Lan Wangji plays it well enough that afterwards his brother does feel some sense of peace. The pain of being hated by Nie Huaisang is still there, as is the fear of what the future will bring for them, but they no longer overwhelm Lan Xichen. 

Things are not ideal. In fact, they are almost as far from ideal as they can be. But he knows what the right course of action is, and he will do his best to act righteously. 

Lan Xichen will not be his father. 

-

Just as he promised, Lan Xichen has himself back under control by the next morning, and he has a plan of action ready. The first step, naturally, is to talk to Nie Huaisang. The thought is still deeply painful, but that doesn't make that conversation any less necessary.

Of course, talking to Nie Huaisang is easier said than done. When Lan Xichen tries to approach him at breakfast, the younger boy manages to escape. He does the same at lunch, all but running away with Jiang Cheng before Lan Xichen is even done eating. That’s not such a problem, though. Lan Xichen has some other business to attend, but as soon as he is free, he simply goes to the Jiang cabin. When Jiang Cheng comes to the door, Lan Xichen asks to see his fiancé.

“He’s not here,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Wasn’t he with you earlier?”

“And now he’s not. Try his own cabin maybe.”

Lan Xichen already has, and found it empty. Of course there’s always the option that Nie Huaisang went to hide with Jin Zixuan (it hurts and nearly chokes him, but he can control it now) but it seems unlikely. Nie Huaisang is too smart to do anything that might implicate his lover. In fact, since he’s still spending time with Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen takes it as proof that nothing must have happened between them, or else Nie Huaisang would be avoiding him too.

“I see,” Lan Xichen says with a polite smile. “I will try that, I suppose. Still, should you see him, please let him know that I would like to speak with him.”

“Didn’t he already tell your brother that he doesn’t want to?” Jiang Cheng retorts.

“He did. And yet, we must talk.”

“Then just wait until your next stupid meeting. You can force him to put up with you at that time.”

Lan Xichen wants to protest that he’s not the one who chose to have those weekly encounters, that he really needs to speak with Nie Huaisang as soon as possible, that Jiang Cheng shouldn’t make comments on a situation that he doesn’t understand.

“I will not bother Jiang gongzi again then,” he says with a smile. “Thank you for your help, and have a pleasant afternoon.”

As he leaves behind the Jiang cabin, Lan Xichen reminds himself that it is good Nie Huaisang has such a loyal friend, one ready to protect him even against his future husband. It probably helps that Jiang Cheng’s parents have a marriage that is known to be… less than satisfactory. He understands how messy things can get.

It’s good that Nie Huaisang has allies.

-

The rest of the week goes very much the same way. Lan Xichen cannot seem to get a hold of Nie Huaisang, who sometimes doesn’t even appear at meals in an effort to avoid him. When he is there, it is always at Jiang Cheng’s side, and even Lan Qiren remarks that Nie Huaisang no longer alternates seats in class as he used to do. Lan Xichen expresses polite surprise, and says nothing of the reason why Nie Huaisang might have started avoiding Jin Zixuan’s company.

As the days pass, Lan Xichen tries to comfort himself by thinking that, just as Jiang Cheng said, he will see Nie Huaisang during their usual meeting. When that day comes at last, Lan Xichen meticulously prepares everything. He brings biscuits, brews the tea which Nie Huaisang has shown the least aversion to, and readies an incense stick. He has an apology prepared, as well as a detailed explanation of how they might deal with this marriage which Nie Huaisang hates so much. He is as ready for this as he will ever be. All that’s left to do is wait for Nie Huaisang.

So he waits.

He is still waiting by the time the bell rings for dinner.

He waits even after that, against all hope.

He doesn’t stop waiting until his uncle and brother come home and find him still at the table. Lan Qiren frowns at the sight, but before he can say anything, Lan Xichen hurriedly tidies everything and seeks refuge in his room. He does not want to deal with his uncle’s judgement, not on top of everything else.

After days of keeping his cool, Lan Xichen ends up crying again that night. It’s the first time that Nie Huaisang misses one of their meetings. There’s never been any doubt that he hated those, he’s always made it extremely clear, but for him to simply refuse to come feels like a blow Lan Xichen was not prepared for.

-

The next day, Lan Xichen does not seek out Nie Huaisang. He also does not allow himself to look in his direction, accepting just how unwanted his company is. In the morning, he takes care of some things his uncle asked him to deal with. At lunch, he once more does not look at Nie Huaisang.

Afternoon comes, and with it a little bit of freedom. Lan Xichen is supposed to practice on the xiao and later to go to the shooting range to train, but he has different plans. If Nie Huaisang does not want to see him, he can understand it. Still, certain things have to be said, one way or another. So Lan Xichen sits before a sheet of paper, and proceeds to write down the apology that he will not get the chance to say out loud.

He is on his fifth draft when the front door violently opens and Lan Qiren comes in, dragging by the elbow a very unwilling Nie Huaisang whom he pushes toward the table.

“Orders are meant to be obeyed,” Lan Qiren states. “Weekly meetings until classes end have been ordered, and they will happen.”

Nie Huaisang stumbles a little at being pushed this way, but quickly recovers his balance and glares at the teacher. Lan Xichen feels cold seize him because while he knows his uncle probably means well, this is really just going to make things worse.

“Uncle, I don’t think it’s necessary…”

“You’re guilty as well,” Lan Qiren snaps. “If he doesn’t come, you’re supposed to tell me, not mope around. You’ll both be punished for this infraction. Now get to it, and don’t make me have to deal with you again on this matter.”

Just as suddenly as he arrived, Lan Qiren goes away, leaving the two boys alone. Lan Xichen quickly grabs his failed letters and puts them down on the floor so they won't be seen. He hasn't managed to write one that satisfies him, and so they cannot be shared. At the same time, being in front of Nie Huaisang makes it feel as though words are stuck in his throat, so simply saying those things might not work either. 

For a long while, the two of them remain as they are, Lan Xichen sitting with his eyes down, Nie Huaisang standing nearby. Lan Xichen knows he should make tea and light the incense so that at least they know how long to put up with this unbearable tension, but his body won't obey. He jolts in surprise when he hears Nie Huaisang open a fan, and again when the other boy comes to sit across from him, eyes challenging even if most of his face is hidden. 

The fan is the one Lan Xichen secretly gifted him. His heart twists. For this too he'll have to come clean. He doubts the fan will ever be used again after. Still, it must be done. 

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, and puts on a smile. 

"Nie gongzi, I must apologise for my actions last week. I shouldn't have…"

“I would not sleep with Wen Chao rather than you,” Nie Huaisang cuts him, still glaring from behind his fan. “That was mean, and untrue, and I shouldn’t have said that. For the rest, I'm not sorry. ”

It’s a stupid detail, and Lan Xichen didn’t believe that had been said earnestly because Wen Chao is an awful little monster. Yet it still makes him feel a little lighter. His pride took a severe blow already, he doesn’t think he could survive ranking lower than Wen Chao.

“So, Jin Zixuan…”

Nie Huaisang shrugs, frowning slightly before raising his fan so he can hide more fully. What little lightness Lan Xichen had regained is crushed by that confirmation. 

“Do you like him?” he asks, desperately trying to keep his voice neutral. 

“Just as a friend. And he doesn’t like boys that way. We were just kind of bored one day. It was a stupid thing to do, and it was even more stupid to tell you about it.”

“Then why tell me?”

Again, Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“I figured hurting you would make me happy. It did, but not as much as I thought it would. I didn’t like seeing you cry.”

It certainly worked. Even now, Lan Xichen can barely keep the pain under control. 

“I’m sorry?”

Nie Huaisang snorts and lowers his fan, showing a crooked, uncertain smile.

“If you’re going to apologise, at least do it for something that’s actually your fault. I can give you a list.”

"Do it." 

“What?”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly, grounding himself.

“Give me a list of the ways I’ve wronged you. I know I have not treated you right, and I’m ready to apologise, but I don’t know where to start. Tell me and I’ll make amends.”

"It'll be a long list," Nie Huaisang sneers, bitterness seeping through his voice. 

"I know. But I know that I've hurt you, and that I have been unfair to you. Not just unfair, I have been cruel. That was wrong of me, and you have every right to hate me. I apologise for that. If you tell me more precisely which of my words and actions have hurt you, I will apologise for that specifically and endeavour to not repeat those mistakes. If you are willing to hear me, I have also come up with some ideas so that when we are married, it impacts your life as little as possible."

The look Nie Huaisang gives him is not a kind one. It’s not cruel either, though. Lan Xichen feels like a horse being inspected by buyers at a fair.

"I will give this due consideration," Nie Huaisang says at last, raising his fan again.

“Thank you.”

Nie Huaisang’s grasp on his fan tightens, and his eyes narrow. “Aren’t you upset that I’m not just forgiving you? Isn’t that what you were expecting?”

“Honestly, that you’d even listen to me at all is already more than I was hoping for,” Lan Xichen admits.

The confession appears to startle Nie Huaisang who gives him another long, appraising look before hesitantly closing his fan.

"So what happens now?" Nie Huaisang asks, looking as uncertain as Lan Xichen feels. 

"The choice is yours. I feel I have no right to make demands. Though I know…" Lan Xichen hesitates. "I'd like to be friends, if you think that's possible. I think we could be, if we just try." 

"You mean if I try."

Lan Xichen doesn't answer right away because yes, that's what he meant, but of course that's unfair. If he had been kinder in his youth, if he had paid more attention this year too, they wouldn’t have ended up like this.

"I must make efforts as well. I know I have been unkind to you. I will continue making amends and try harder to show you I'm sincere." 

"Then act sincere," Nie Huaisang snaps. "Do you know how annoying it is to see you all controlled and perfect like this? People call your brother cold, but you're worse!" 

Lan Xichen blinks at the accusation and smiles. He can't help it, it's a habit. Between his sullen uncle, his absent father, and reluctant brother, someone in this family has to make a show of goodwill when things get tense. 

Of course, Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. 

"Exactly like that. I think the only moments I've seen you express a real emotion were our last meeting, and at Wen Chao's wedding! It's so frustrating! How can anyone be friends with you like this? I don't get how Mingjue put up with it, honestly." 

"I'm not like that with him," Lan Xichen admits. "I feel safe enough for that." 

"But you don't feel safe with me," Nie Huaisang comments, nervously playing with his closed fan.

Lan Xichen nods uncertainly. 

"I have always been taught that I need to be polite above all else. People expect it of me. I thought you would want that as well. If you prefer, I'll… try to be more open." 

Nie Huaisang doesn’t look like he believes Lan Xichen actually will. He’s not wrong to doubt him. It won’t be easy. He can do it with Nie Mingjue because they’ve become friends before he really learned to control himself and Nie Mingjue won't let him hide, but to let someone else in, that’s…

"And what should I do, then?" Nie Huaisang asks. “I know what annoys me about you, there’s got to be things you wish you’d change about me.”

The only thing Lan Xichen would change, if he could, is the way Nie Huaisang feels about him. That, obviously, is not an option, so he settles for the closest thing to it. 

"Give me a chance. A real one. I meant it, I think we could be friends. We like a lot of the same things, and we made a good team in Nightless City. I won’t ask for anything else but I… I like you. I really do. And if we could get along…”

“We’ve tried that already,” Nie Huaisang remarks with a pointed look at the place where they usually put their incense stick. They forgot this time. 

Lan Xichen grimaces, though all his carefully crafted instincts tell him to smile. This is a test, even if Nie Huaisang may not intend it as such. He has been asked for openness, and he must try to deliver.

“I don’t want to get along for an alliance,” he explains, “or because we’re ordered to. I want us to be friends because even after… after what happened, I like the idea of spending time with you. I really want to be able to chat with you. You are funny, when you forget you’re talking to me, and I think you’re one of the cleverest people I know. I like the way you paint, I want to be able to talk about that too, because neither Wangji nor Mingjue care about it. I like when we play Go, you’re the most interesting opponent I’ve ever had even if you cheated last time. It’s fine if you don’t like me the way I like you, but maybe you can learn to not hate me at least?”

Early into that explanation, Nie Huaisang’s fan opened and rose again. Even like this, Lan Xichen can see hints of a blush so intense it creeps on his entire face, up to the root of his hair. 

“Lan gongzi, you’re mocking me,” Nie Huaisang mumbles.

“Hm. If I try to be more open with you, you’ll have to try to believe me in return,” Lan Xichen points out, as gently as he can when he feels the sting of his efforts being dismissed this way.

"Then at least say something believable! You’ve made it clear for years how much to despise you, am I supposed to just trust that you somehow changed your mind about me?”

“No, it can’t be that easy,” Lan Xichen sighs. “It’s fine. I’ll prove it to you, over time. I really do think highly of you now, even if I was too stupid to see your worth before. For this too, I’m sorry.”

Nie Huaisang curls up to better hide behind his fan, which Lan Xichen finds a little cute, but mostly sad. It should not be so difficult for Nie Huaisang to accept that others have noticed what a wonderful person he is. It will be something to work on. It won’t be too much of a chore to frequently compliment Nie Huaisang’s qualities until he accepts that Lan Xichen is earnest about that.

“Lan gongzi, you’re really too serious,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “I… I think I need a little time to think about all that. It was a lot. I know we didn’t light the incense but I think enough time has passed, no?”

Lan Xichen nods. “I think so too. We can continue talking next week.”

Closing his fan, Nie Huaisang hums, throwing his fiancé another long, appraising look before standing up.

“We’ll see,” he says at last. Instantly Lan Xichen feels disappointed and wonders how he will convince his uncle to accept that the meetings must stop, but Nie Huaisang turns his back on him and adds: “Maybe we’ll talk before next week.”

At this, Lan Xichen’s heart is sent racing. It’s such a small thing, not even a promise, and yet it’s already so much.

“I’m always happy for your company, Nie gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang only shrugs at that, and doesn’t look back before he leaves the house. Still, it feels like a step in the right direction, and Lan Xichen finds himself hoping.

Not for love, he’s not that naive. Not for friendship either, not yet, not for a long time he suspects. But he hopes that at least, they can finally learn to be near each other without pain. After all that happened, it would already change everything between them.

[queer-crusader]

Okay update on my life since it seems talking about it doesn’t trigger another panic attack/breakdown:

So i graduated in july right

And with the end of uni, my student funding ends too

So i look for a job bc i cannot sustain myself otherwise

Except the economy is shit, because the UK is handling the pandemic almost worse than any other country in the world (we love that)

Knowing i’ll need some financial support to tie me over, i apply to universal credit

I also know my roommate, who i’ve lived with for 5 years, is moving out in october, and i will need to find someone to replace her or i end up paying £1000/month for living in this flat, which i don’t have of course

Job search becomes more frantic and exhausting and stressful

Also my dad started throwing up at some point and is eating less and is very specific about not upsetting his stomach. This is strange because he is known for his iron stomach and has not thrown up in years. I know my family history, i have my suspicions, but the doctor says it could be an ulcer. It could be fine, but my brain jumps to the worst-case scenario, because why wouldn’t it? More stress

Universal credit gets back to me - application denied

I think, hey, the category they filed me under seems wrong, i should be a habitual resident, not an EEA jobseeker, because i’ve lived here 6 years now. So i apply for an appeal, explaining the situation

Few weeks later, i receive a letter. Appeal rejected. It goes into detail how some rule that was set up in 2016 (Brexit year) lists all the reasons why just living here for 6 years, building up contacts, creating a future, feeling at home, being allowed to vote for Scottish parliament elections, is not good enough. Every sentence is like a punch in the gut. The letter boils down to fancy government words that translate to “you’re a freeloading immigrant who, according to our records, might as well be living in Fiji, and we’re giving you fuck all. Good luck surviving”

Full-blown breakdown ensues, because I’ve been fearing this ever since i arrived but was told by EVERYONE that that fear is ridiculous. I fit in, i belong, i sound English, i’m fluent, i’m passionate and well-educated about local politics, etc. I knew it wouldn’t be good enough. Race doesn’t matter; I’m European, and for the UK government, that’s good enough.

Anyway, cue the next day, and my mum phones me with news

My dad is in hospital. Turns out i was right - bowel cancer. He’s going into emergency surgery the very next day to get a tumour removed

I don’t sleep that night, for obvious reasons

Dad comes out of surgery fine, they got the whole thing, took some extra tests to see if it spread but it’s looking good so far. Meanwhile i have images of my dad, skinny as hell and with a tube up his nose seared into my brain

I fly home two days later to be with my family, who obviously need me

My dad is cleared of cancer, which is AWESOME, but we do learn that if the doctors had waited a couple days longer he could have had a perforated bowel. My mum is furious with the GP who underestimated the case

I get in touch with my landlady, saying “hey, this is my life right now, i am not in a position to search for a roommate replacement. Here’s the pics we took of the flat, can you look yourself? Also, if i don’t find a job by the end of the month, I may have to move out as well due to financial struggles, so keep in mind there’s a chance you’re going to have to look for two new tenants”

Landlady’s reply: “oh i can’t afford for the flat to be empty so i’m gonna sell it now”

So now i don’t even have an option of keeping the flat. I’ll have to move out, job or not. I can’t afford a new flat, and i can’t look for one bc a) pandemic and b) im in another country looking after my recovering dad (who is still losing weight btw, 15kg or 30-something lbs or 2.5 stone in a month, it’s horrible to see but at least he’s feeling a little better each day)

If i lose my flat, i may not be able to get a UK job. If i don’t get a UK job, chances are, i can not return to Scotland

6 years of living here, of building friendships, contacts and connections, skills for a career (which is also down the drain - theatre, an industry that is currently being killed by a lovely combo of the UK govt and the pandemic), a home, a love for the county, an intimate knowledge of the workings here, the language, the system, the stories, the history, i almost know the system here better than the Dutch one - my entire adult life. I may lose.

There is a chance i’ll be able to cling on, and god im fighting for it with the few spoons i have after all this stress, but the chance of me losing everything is equally plausible.

I have now flown back to Scotland where I put myself in self-isolation

In a week, my roommate will have moved out and i have 10 or so days left stuck in this place all by myself

I will spend this time packing up all my belongings, choosing what to take back to my parents’ place with me and what to put into storage, which i will pay for with my remaining savings and some financial support from the parents (they can’t afford much tho, my mum is unemployed and on benefits and my dad is a freelancer recovering from fucking surgery. I have no idea what their financial situation is right now, but apparently they’re okay-ish with their savings. Still, stress, and i don’t wanna burden them even more)

Then there’s the hope that the lockdown won’t have regressed back to that point where every plane is cancelled, and i’m stuck in this country without a place to call my home. (Don’t worry, i won’t end up on the street if this happens, I have friends willing to shelter me until i can fly home if they have to)

And once i’ve left, it’s only a question of when, and more promenently if, I’ll be able to return here, to Scotland.

I have never been this stressed, and i have never been this terrified. I am angry all the time (yes you can read that in Zuko’s voice lmao), I’m exhausted, and i’m fuelled by spite against prime minister Blow-Job and sheer stubbornness in refusing to feel like shit, because i just can’t be bothered with that. I just about manage to get through the day, to get up at a reasonable time, to feed myself, to shower, to exercise (because if i don’t, my wonky hip will give me hell and i’ll be in agony on top of my depression and anxiety. We love functioning bodies). But I’ll be okay. I’m trying to find solutions for everything, one step at a time. I’m taking care of myself the best i can. And if you wonder where my writing updates are, or my shitposts, or my ridiculously excited tags, then firstly, thank you for noticing ohmygod i love you, and secondly, know that i’ll be back. If God exists, know im kicking their ass. Fuck all this bullshit, my life is a mess but i REFUSE to let it stop me in my tracks. I’m too powerful, i am Brian David Gilbert’s interpretation of Sonic (either a god or can kill god and it doesn’t matter which). I’m gonna keep on truckin.

[gideongrace]

It's been years since they were in high school, years since Billy was that angry, rage-fuelled, spite-filled teenager he used to be. Billy smiles more now and he cracks jokes without malice or cruelty, without the intent of the joke being solely to wound or to bite. He laughs and it's a sound that coats whatever room he's in with gold and fills it with thunder.

He's learned safer, more useful outlets for his anger - from boxing to running to, strangely, painting. He paints these beautiful abstract landscapes sometimes full of reds and blacks and deep, dark grays and other times filled with thick ropes of gold and azure, with fat stripes of brown in too many shades to count and Steve's not smart enough to understand what any of it means but he knows how it makes him feel, knows how it makes Billy feel when he's painting it.

Steve's spent hours, nearly days, just pretending to watch television but subtly out of the corner of his eye watching Billy paint, watching the violence pour down his arm to his hand into the brush and onto the canvas.

Billy's learned to deal with his anger.

But not with his pain.

His pain he lets seep deep down into the dark and disused spaces inside of him, lets it sink in and refuses to let it out except for when he's no longer conscious to guard it and keep it hidden, keep in buried.

Billy doesn't look peaceful in his sleep like most people do.

Billy's face twists up, he grunts and he whines and sometimes on bad nights he writhes with it, body shaking, twitching, mouth half-forming snarls long since forgotten while awake and on those nights it's all Steve can do to reach out and touch him, to hold him, to run his hands over any bit of skin within reach.

Sometimes, on the really, really bad nights, Billy fights him, Billy rolls away, he pushes Steve's hands off and cries louder whenever Steve tries to offer even the tiniest bit of comfort.

It's on these nights Steve tries the hardest, it's on these nights Steve wraps Billy up in his arms and presses kisses to his hair and whispers the sort of small kindnesses that Billy still can't stand to hear while awake.

They've been together almost five years now and still he knows so little of Billy's past, knows so little of the details that have lead him to be like this, that have led him to be filled with enough pain that the reverberations of it could reach out as far as the stars themselves; the kind of pain that could make the stars themselves shudder and fall from the sky.

Steve knows so little of Billy's pain and yet he loves him so much.

He's determined, he's decided (decided long ago, in fact) that he can be patient, that he will be patient because he knows he'll get the story someday.

Because while Billy's pain might be enough to cause the stars themselves to crack and to falter, to crash land into the earth, his smile can outshine the sun and warms Steve better than anything else he's ever known. That alone is worth more than any and all bad nights he might have to endure for now and for years to come.

[goldenzingy46]

so i found i regulus black as potions master au

...and whilst it’s (unfortunately) anti-snape, it’s also fucking funny.

FIND IT HERE

and if that didn’t convince you, read below for some extracts:

And he goes home to his creepy obsessive mother and says, “Hey mom, guess what, the Dark Lord just tried to off me,” which is debatably true but guaranteed to piss her off, And suddenly the Official Black Viewpoint on Voldemort is that he Needs To Be Dead (which dismays Bellatrix but is actually something of a relief to Narcissa), Unfortunately Sirius is a bit busy being a covert operative for the Order of the Phoenix and doesn’t hear about this, and also he’s still basically disowned on account of being a reckless Gryffindor idiot

But because he’s there, Snape does not manage to get the job, which doesn’t help at all with his ‘everyone is out to get me’ worldview, and then Lily Evans is murdered by Voldemort and everything goes to hell and Snape doesn’t have Dumbledore’s backing and ends up in Azkaban just like everyone always knew he would, the greasy bastard (says everyone who has the time to think about it). Amusingly enough, he ends up across the hall from Sirius Black, who has been tossed unceremoniously in Azkaban for betraying his friends, murdering Peter Pettigrew, and blowing up seventeen Muggles. This has the somewhat unexpected side effect of causing the Dementors to avoid that entire hallway, because there are Absolutely No Happy Thoughts available, on account of Snape and Sirius being so busy hating each other. Like seriously, they basically come up with a schedule: up at seven, bowl of gruel, sneer at each other for two hours, have a screaming fight, bowl of gruel for lunch, three hours of furious glowering, another screaming fight, bowl of gruel for dinner, nasty sniping insults until bedtime. The Dementors have never found two humans so perfectly suited to torture each other before.

Voldemort was wrong and also had created Horcruxes and yeek, dude, those are so evil even the Black Family Library only has one book on them and it’s How To Not Create Horcruxes.

Incidentally, Grimmauld Place has been renovated, because after Regulus’s mother died, he looked around and went, “Wow, this place is creepy as hell. Kreacher! We’re going for a new aesthetic,” and Kreacher went, “Yes, wonderful Master!” and now the whole place is in white and green with silver accents and actually looks like a place you might want to spend time for reasons other than “on the run from the law and haven’t any better choices.” 

He does still end up mixed into the whole mess with the Stone, because this is Harry we’re talking about, but the Trio pretty much figures out the problem is Quirrell from the word ‘go,’ because Professor Black is not sweeping around being Gratuitously Evil all over everything and therefore is not the immediate target of suspicious eleven-year-olds.

Regulus Black hates Lockhart, because no one ought to be more fabulously dressed than Regulus in his own school, you flamboyant fucker, I will out-magnificent you if it’s the last thing I do

Malfoy is still a prat. Some things never change.

Sirius Black breaks out of prison during the summer, for reasons no one can figure out, and the only person to see him go is Severus Snape, who is found laughing hysterically and raving about a black dog, and has therefore clearly been driven mad by Dementors, ah well, no great loss, moving on, nothing to see here. 

If anyone is going to be able to master the Animagus transformation without any training, in Azkaban, for no reason other than Pure Spite (™), it’s going to be Severus Snape. 

Regulus is like, “werewolves are not supposed to be this calm and likeable, I do not even know what is going on, am I friends with a werewolf? I might be friends with a werewolf. Or allies. I can be allies. Allies is a good Slytherin term. We are both on Team Keep Potter Alive Until Voldemort Is Dead.” 

So then Sirius grabs Ron (to get to Peter) and everyone ends up in the Shrieking Shack and there is a lot of shrieking, which includes Sirius yelling “Get behind me, Harry, Regulus is a Death Eater,” and Regulus yelling, “Get behind me, Potter, Sirius is a Death Eater,” and Remus putting both hands over his face and going, “Oh Merlin, two of them, there are two mad Blacks in my life, what even the fuck.”

Unfortunately Sirius is still technically an escaped convict, so he turns back into Snuffles before they get to Hogwarts proper, and Regulus in a moment of Utter Glee (™) is like, “Oh, this is my dog, he’s very devoted to me,” and Sirius has to fawn doggily on his brother. 

Which is actually hilarious, because he walks in for the first time in fifteen years and goes, “Wait, do I have the wrong house?” because everything is light and airy and open and really quite pleasant, and there’s no screaming portraits anywhere, and even the house-elf heads have been relocated to Kreacher’s room. 

So anyway Ireland wins but Krum gets the Snitch and Harry and Ron are having the time of their lives, and honestly Sirius is too because he gets to cadge food from everyone and he gets ear scritches from Remus whenever he wants them and he gets to growl at that supercilious fuck Malfoy whenever he likes. 

Sirius is...not known for his Tactical Planning, and rushes off to Confront the Fake Moody, which honestly goes better than it ought to, because Barty Crouch Jr is not expecting Professor Black’s enormous dog to suddenly turn into Sirius Black and hex him senseless 

When the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black rips off his own sleeve and screams, “Does my Mark look fucking gone to you, you incompetent asshole?” at the Minister for Magic, and said Lord is also one of the most well-respected Professors at Hogwarts, the Minister’s approval ratings tend to tank. 

Regulus is a Slytherin, he’s supposed to be cunning and sneaky and fly under the radar, he shouldn’t be number two on Voldemort’s hit list, this is frankly embarrassing. Sirius is kind of indignant that his brother is higher up Voldemort’s hit list than he is. Really, Sirius? Remus says. That’s what bothers you about this situation?

And after the third nightmare which is pretty clearly a vision not a nightmare, Sirius goes right down to Regulus and is like, “So Harry is having visions in which he’s seeing through Voldemort’s eyes,” and Regulus is like, “Well fuck, that’s what that Horcrux does.” 

Sirius learned Occlumency from his father, who had a lot of things to keep from his mother, and then later from the Department of Mysteries after he became an Auror. His version has a lot of “setting traps in your mind so your enemies really regret trying this.”

Regulus learned Occlumency from his mother, who had a hell of a lot of things to keep from his father, and then later from being servant to a batshit insane Dark Lord. His version has a lot of “hiding everything important under lots and lots of obfuscating facts and memories.”

Voldemort does try to convince Harry that his godfather is being held in the Department of Mysteries. Since Snuffles is asleep on Harry’s feet at the time, that doesn’t have quite the intended effect.

1) Sirius stops following Harry around as a big black dog and starts following him around as a human

2) ...and then realizes that’s not going to work so well at Hogwarts and goes back to following him around as a dog.

3) Sirius formally takes custody of Harry, his godson, and declares that Harry never has to so much as see a Dursley again

4) Regulus points out that since Sirius is the elder son, this makes Sirius Lord Black

5) Sirius has a fit of the screaming meemies at the thought of politics and formally abdicates the title in favor of his brother, who’s been doing a pretty good job so far

Voldemort spends the summer moving into Malfoy Manor, which the Order of the Phoenix figures out after Sirius gets very drunk and flies his motorcycle to Malfoy Manor in order to “glitterbomb those pretentious wannabe-Blacks.” Glitter apparently does not register as a threat to the Malfoy wards, even when it’s been spelled to be unremovable. Not that glitter really needs to be spelled to be unremovable. Sirius figures out who exactly is in residence when a rainbow-glitter-covered Voldemort comes out of the Manor at speed and tries to hex him off his motorcycle. In retrospect, it wasn’t Sirius’s brightest idea ever, but he did learn where Voldemort was!

Harry’s sixth year is the year that Severus Snape, fuelled entirely by Pure Spite (™), reinvents the Animagus transformation from scratch and escapes from Azkaban as an extremely angry bat.

At this point, Snape is rather dubiously sane, on account of fifteen years in Azkaban, which even if he didn’t have to interact much with the Dementors was fifteen years of either solitary confinement or confinement across from the man he hates worst in all the world. Snape therefore has two driving obsessions right now:

1) Voldemort killed Lily Evans and must therefore die.

2) Snape has to outdo Sirius Black, or die trying.

So about a week after the news that Severus Snape, Death Eater, has escaped Azkaban, Hagrid goes out to open the main doors and discovers a dead Death Eater on the front step of Hogwarts with a neat little note that says, “For Lily.” General consensus is that this is Weird.

The night that Malfoy was supposed to get his Great Duty from Voldemort, which was going to be Killing Albus Dumbledore, was the night Sirius decided to glitterbomb the Manor. And Voldemort, whose Priorities can be skewed by Utter Wrath, decided that Malfoy’s Great Duty was going to be Killing That Fucker Black, How Dare He Disrespect Me, I Want His Head. Malfoy is actually sort of okay with this at first because his hair is covered in shiny red glitter and he looks like an off-brand Weasley, which is Not Acceptable.

So what he does is call Sirius in and say, “Hey, brother, do you want to fake your own death and have an enormous funeral so I can kidnap Cousin Narcissa?” Draco is in the corner trying to figure out when his life took an abrupt left turn into Weirdville, Population Him. Sirius is like, “OMG enormous funeral can I come as a Grim and frighten everyone? Please?” Regulus, who is only the practical one if you ask him, is like, “That is a great idea, it will give me a perfect opportunity to kidnap Cousin Narcissa, truly we are tactical geniuses.” Sirius wants there to be So Much Glitter and is rather put out when Regulus vetoes that plan. Harry, when told about this, decides that Amateur Dramatics on the theme of My Godfather Is Dead And Everything Is Terrible sound like a lot of fun, and wants to be chief mourner at the funeral. Hermione is So Done with all of these people. Remus declares that he will go to the funeral in ashes and sackcloth and rend his clothing dramatically at appropriate points for extra pathos. Hermione is Even More Done and goes off to write to Viktor, who can be relied on to talk about sensible things like spellcrafting and also say nice things about her hair. Albus decides that having Sirius be Officially Dead might actually be a good tactical move in the war, and authorizes the use of Hogwarts grounds for the Epic Funeral, but adds some... tactical revisions to the Kidnapping portion of the show. Minerva joins Hermione in the corner of Done With Everything. Sirius designs his own fake corpse, because of course he does. The Epic Funeral goes off without a hitch, somewhat to everyone’s surprise, and Narcissa is exceedingly surprised to be invited to Post-Funeral Tea by her Cousin Regulus and given a Portkey to a secluded and well-warded villa in France, to be used when necessary. Snape, who watched the whole funeral upside-down in a tree, is Delighted. He has Outlived Black! He has Won! Take that, Black! Voldemort is also Delighted. Tiny Malfoy is just as useful as Larger Malfoy!

Albus looks Wise and Cunning and strokes his beard thoughtfully. Regulus does not say Rude Things about Albus’s overblown sense of the dramatic, mostly because he knows perfectly well he doesn’t have a leg to stand on after the Epic Funeral

Albus hatches a Plan (™)

The first bit of seventh year is actually pretty uneventful, and Harry spends it waiting for the Other Shoe to drop, but the only things that drop are another large handful of dead Death Eaters, who show up on the doorstep every week like clockwork 

The Battle of Hogwarts ensues, Highlights include:

1) Ginny Weasley being cornered by Bellatrix Black and nearly killed, except that a fucking enormous bat interposes itself between them and takes the Killing Curse meant for Ginny, and dies with what everyone swears is a look of utter satisfaction on its face

-Literally no one ever figures out what the fuck was up with that, but the bat is buried in Ottery St Catchpole with full honors

2) Neville Longbottom drawing the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat (delivered courtesy of Fawkes) and beheading Nagini

3) Regulus Black being cornered by about eight furious Death Eaters and being rescued by his brother, who surprises the Death Eaters by appearing abruptly behind them and yelling, “Back from the dead, fuckwits! Eat that!”

4) Remus ends up facing off against Pettigrew, who has a silver hand which is poisoning him to death on account of the lycanthropy and Voldemort being Terrible. Pettigrew ends up dead. Eyewitnesses report he may have thanked Remus for the mercy.

5) Ron, Hermione, and Viktor Krum (a late and rather surprising addition to the Order) being a really quite effective team (“Er-my-own-nee is brain, I am brawn, you can be good looks,” Krum is heard to say. Ron spends the entire battle blushing furiously.)

6) Harry and Albus and Hedwig taking Voldemort on together

It turns out the Power the Dark Lord Knows Not is that of a really pissed off snowy owl doing her damnedest to claw his eyes out, during which rather chaotic interlude it’s surprisingly simple for Harry to trip Voldemort off the main dais. Landing on one’s head on a stone floor is liable to break even the most Dark Lord-y of necks. A whole bunch of historians have despaired of making the Battle of Hogwarts sound properly heroic when the Chosen One just tripped the Dark Lord and he broke his own fool neck by landing wrong.  Nonetheless it’s remarkably effective.

The most interesting thing to happen to Harry for the rest of the year is testifying in front of the entire Wizengamot that his godfather is, in point of fact, Not Dead and that the whole thing was an elaborate act for the purpose of fooling Voldemort.

NOW GO READ IT!!!

[crownofwishes]

we will carry on + casada

“I can’t breathe, I can’t –” | roman demigods cassius & ada for @bloodplums

The sharp brick of the wall dug hard into Ada’s back, but she barely noticed. Gods knew she looked weak, clutching the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing, lungs aching with the effort to remember to breathe. Ada felt sick. She was a far cry from the Praetor who, just hours earlier, had triumphantly led Camp Jupiter into battle. She hadn’t even changed her clothes. Or what was left of them, anyway, after the blood and dirt was removed.

They’d won — of course they’d won. Ada and Cassius has spent too many months planning to accept anything less than victory. They had made history, the brilliant Praetor and her formidable general. Favourites of the Gods.

The praise tasted bitter in her mouth. Ada didn’t particularly feel like a favourite. She didn’t particularly feel brilliant.

She was pathetic.

Ada dug her nails into her palms.

She was useless.

Her mind was useless. What good was her mind, when it was Gisèle’s body fighting for her life and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it? What good was always having a plan, always being in control, when she had never planned for the possibility of this?

Ada choked, feeling the nausea rise up in her throat. She would have bruises, tomorrow, from how hard she was pressed against the wall.

“ I can’t breathe, I can’t —“

Then Cassius was there, reaching out to steady her. His fingers were bruising on her wrists as he pulled her upright. His jaw tightened when he saw the little red wounds on her palms. Ada hadn’t even noticed.

“Greengrass, listen to me.” Cassius was fierce, unyeilding, leaning down until she was forced to meet his gaze. Ada didn’t have the energy to care how weak she must have looked to him. “She’s going to be just fucking fine. Parkingson’s too fucking spiteful to let a little thing like a fucking stab wound be the end of her. She’ll be back to fucking Matheson in your cabin in no time, making you wish you’d killed her yourself. Trust me, yeah? Besides,” he added, throwing her a grin. It felt hollow, even to Ada. “I think the Gods fucking owe us this one.”  

His fingers dug into her wrists as he spoke, as if saying the words out loud was more than a desperate plea to whatever God was listening, as if to say you owe us, you fucks, as if they would listen, as if they would care.

They would care for the destruction Cassius would rage if Gisèle didn’t make it. They would care for their entertainment, their blood sport. They would care for what Ada and Cassius would do when they captured the one that did it. Maybe they’d even be there, fuelling their rage. But not one of them would care if Gisèle lived or died.

Ada gripped his wrists, half afraid she’d collapse if Cassius let go. He wouldn’t let go, though. She knew that.

She choked a laugh, every bit as hollow as his empty grin had been. But that was what they did, wasn’t it? Pretended everything was fine, because if they didn’t, they’d fall apart and if they fell apart then the Camp would fall with them. If they fell apart, Ada wasn’t sure they could be put back together.

Ada trusted Cassius, maybe more than she trusted anyone, but she couldn’t trust him on this. Oh, she knew she could trust him with war. If anything were to happen to Gisèle,  Ada knew the destruction he’d wage would be devestating, because Ada would be right there waging war with him. He was her General for a reason.

But neither of them had ever been any good at saving lives. Gisèle had nearly died, could still die, because Ada hadn’t been smart enough. Her plan hadn’t been good enough. She hadn’t been good enough.

“It should’ve been me.”

Ada hadn’t meant to say that out loud — not to Cassius, not to anyone. Especially not to Cassius. But the words slipped out, raw and angry and selfish regardless of what she wanted. Ada wrenched herself out of Cassius’ grip. So much for always being in control of her emotions.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Cassius hissed. “Don’t pull that bullshit with me.”

“Bullshit?” Ada whirled back to face him. “It’s my fault she’s - she’s —,” she choked on the words. “She took that knife for me.”

“Yeah, and?” Cassius snapped back, fists clenching at his side. He towered over her, so close she thought he might reach out and shake this out of her. “Anyone in the camp would’ve taken it for you. I would’ve taken it for you. Fuck, I wish it was me. You’re our fucking Praetor, Greengrass. What did you expect she would do? Watch her best friend die? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Cassius glared. Ada dug her nails deeper, squeezing her eyes shut.

No, of course not. There was no universe where Gisèle wouldn’t take a knife for her. Where Cassius wouldn’t. Where Ada wouldn’t for either of them. The thought was ridiculous.

“I can’t lose her, Cassius,” Ada said, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he said with such fierce conviction Ada almost believed him. Almost didn’t hear the unspoken, I can’t lose her either. She was his best friend too. If anyone could make that promise real through sheer force of will alone, it would be Cassius. The thought almost made her smile.

“Now get up.” Cassius stepped back, reaching out his hand to pull her up. “You and me still have a couple of motherfucking monsters to kill and these plans won’t mastermind themselves. Camp Jupiter needs its Praetor.”

He glanced her over, taking in her bloody clothes and dirt streaked hair — it had long since fallen out of its braid —, a ghost of a smirk on his face that had Ada immediately wary. “Oh, and Ada? Take a fucking shower.”

[tartagilicious]

Yo dude, if requests are open, how about an Arthur fic(ikevamp). I heard a headcannon where he and Theo goes to a pugilist club to let off some steam and I was thinking of a fic where Arthur goes a bit overboard and Theo has to take him back to the manor almost passed out and mc is the only one who can take care of him, and finds out that Arthur is so beat up bc he had a lot of pent up jealousy,bc of how the other guys treat mc and he went the to release his anger. I'm sorry if this is confusing

I love writing Arthur because I get to dig up all of the early British slang I know. the way he speaks is so charming~ 

— 

Theo and Arthur had gone out to a pugilist club a few hours ago, the pair all talk was they walked out the door. You weren’t particularly worried about them then, since you hadn’t thought they would actually fight personally, but you would be lying if you said that your heart hadn’t almost beat out of your chest when Theo showed up at the manor again hours later with Arthur draped over his shoulder. 

Dried blood trickled from the man’s lips, and bruises bloomed on his chin as if he’d been elbowed there many times. You were sure there were also injuries you couldn’t see, too, and that did nothing but worry you more. 

Arthur was by no means acting the way he looked, though, still trying to project himself frivolously and speaking as he normally would. But, Theo still decided to leave him to you, to watch over of him at least until his injuries healed in a few hours with the excuse you were best studied to do so. 

“Arthur’s knacked, ___. Not just anybody can watch over him in a state like that.”

You wanted to do all you could, so you agreed, taking a medical kit that Sebastian, who was standing nearby, handed to you while battering off how to care for him in extreme detail.

Arthur had made a comment about you warming up to him as you walked him to his room, but you’d brushed it off. He was trying awfully hard to act normal, and for whatever reason, it hurt to see. 

And he acted that way until you let his body fall down onto his bed a few minutes later, a groan escaping him as his eyes began to flutter closed. 

“What a delightful bender,” Arthur mumbled, trying his best to keep his eyes open as you drew over his desk chair to sit next to the bed. “I’ll be sure to try that again sometime.”

“For the love of god, Arthur. Please don’t do that again.” You sighed out, your brows furrowing gently. “You’ll worry everyone even if you do heal like a monster.”

He just smiled bitterly as he put a hand over his forehead, pushing back his bangs. “Let them worry then, ___. I can’t be arsed to give a toss.”

“Arthur, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, your voice a hissed whisper. “Why are you acting so strange?”

He was quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Surely, you had no idea of his real intentions, and as of then, he wanted it to stay that way. Still, it was impossible acting in such a way that didn’t tell something was going on. 

He dropped his hand to his side as his bangs flopped down messily onto his forehead, turning his head so he was looking straight at you. 

“I’m glad you pay attention enough to notice something is off, love.”

Your expression didn’t change, and he was surprised when you didn’t retort. All you did was reach down to your feet, where the first-aid kid Sebastian had slipped you sat. 

“Yeah, well I also pay enough attention to know that you’re a total idiot. Why did you go out just to fight? Even if you are a vampire, you’re just a writer that’s fuelled on coffee - not very matched to a regular boxer.”

He stared at you, fascinated as you rooted obvliously through the box of first-aid supplies. He hadn’t expected you to react that way. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you.” He mumbled, looking away and staring up at ceiling. He felt his cheeks flush slightly as his mind replayed your words. 

“Yeah,” You poured disinfectant onto a cotton pad. “You’d better be.”

You reached out and gently grabbed his chin, bringing his face closer again as you wiped away the blood away from his lips. He stared at you in the close proximity as you did so intently, focused on getting the stain off his skin. He watched you for a few moments, before laughing. 

“It’ll take a while if you go at that dried blood with nothing but disinfectant, ___.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his sparkling ones, and you brought the pad down immediately, slightly embarrassed as you mumbled, “I always forget you’re one of the greatest crime novelists to ever live.”

“That’s wish wash, ___.” He grinned. “I’m just knowledgable, is all.”

You scoffed, dipping the pad again as you continued sarcastically. “How humble of you to say that, Arthur.” 

“I just know what I’m talking about, ___. I am a doctor, after a- ow!”

You cut him off unintentionally as you began dabbing the pad on the bruises and scrapes on his chin, smiling as he winced.

“Even if you are a vampire, like fists, infections are still just as dangerous.” 

You said this as you bit your tongue, trying your hardest not to laugh. He made no sounds, only squeezing his eyes shut tightly as you tended to his wounds. And slowly, the smile melted from your face as you watched him struggle to hide his pain from you. 

“Arthur,” His name escape from your lips softly, embodying the gallons of concern you held for the man laying in front of you. “Please tell me why you went to that club,”

He peeled open one of his eyes as you pulled away the cotton pad, his heart sinking at your expression. You looked utterly wrecked, your eyes filled with worry, and he hated that he was responsible for a look like that. 

He thought back to the reasons he’d agreed to accompany Theo, and while he’d seen them as rational then, he knew now that they weren’t really worth it. To put it plainly, he had been so jealous that he barely knew what to do with himself, the feeling so unbearable that the idea had seemed acceptable. But, the fights he’d joined had left him with even more wounds than he carried on the inside in the end. 

Jealously was like a disease, and while he was generally careful about not getting too attached to a fleeting woman, you were different. You pushed him away actively and talked to him with the power of a thousand suns in your voice, but also gave him sweet smiles and went along with his jokes. His attraction had grown because of those things, but, those very things had also caused his jealousy. 

You were kind to everyone, and you had your silly arguments with them just as you did with him. He couldn’t help but take something out of your conversations, while it was unclear if you did. 

“I was angry.” He answered simply, unblinking as he moved to stare at the ceiling. “I was angry at something that couldn’t be changed just because I wanted it to, like a child.”

“Everyone gets angry, Arthur, but this?-” You took his chin again lightly, turning his head so he was looking at you. “What could have possibly made you so angry that you had to go and get yourself so beat up?”

He stared into your eyes and found himself talking even if he wasn’t realising it. “Jealousy. The biggest motivator other than spite, which, to be fair, I was probably also feeling quite heavily.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “What could you possibly be jealous of? And - why would you be feeling spiteful? Did something happen?”

He just laughed, the sound almost pitiful. His eyes didn’t leave yours, and you couldn’t help but notice how uncharacteristically sad they looked. 

“Too many things, I’m afraid.”

You pulled your lips into a thin line, softly pushing, “Like what, Arthur?”

“Do you know how much it hurt when you spent an entire night in the kitchens with Napoleon and Leonardo? Or how you always dally around Issac and Theo?” He said this absentmindedly, avoiding your gaze as he continued softly, “It drives me mad.”

Your hand that was holding his chin faltered almost unnoticeably as you smiled. “Don’t tell me that’s the reason you were jealous, Arthur?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but felt his throat dry up as nothing more than a syllable came out. He had been so sure about his feelings, but yet he still hesitated to voice them. The way you changed him was remarkable. 

“By Jove, ___,” He mumbled, his eyes flickering back over to meet yours as he repeated, “I’m glad you pay attention enough to tell when something is off,”

“Don’t be jealous,” You patted his cheek lightly as your cheeks flushed. “There are plenty of reasons why… I like spending time with you.”

You trailed off, your words seeming to filter before they came out of your mouth as your skin flushed deeper. He caught onto it immediately, of course, quirking an eyebrow and momentarily forgetting about all the pain he was in.

“What was that, ___?”

You turned away to grab a bandage, grumbling, “Don’t push it, Arthur.”

“Okay, as you wish. But, how about we at least come to the agreement that you still love me to end it all and heal my inner wounds, hm?”

You looked back at him with an incredulous smile and laughed. “Fine, have it your way. I still love you, Arthur. Now sit back up so I can put this bandage on you.”

He grinned, doing as you instructed as his heart beat wildly in his chest. Maybe he could never have you completely, but, maybe, just maybe, this was enough.

[disaster-bi-shan]

eh figuring out ry’s backstory and it Really Hurts, it’s probably incredibly convoluted and bc of sleep deprival doesn’t make much sense, but I think @bunny-loverxiv did send an ask about it like yonks ago too so…. *shrugs*

(under the cut)

to make more sense of why Baras has a Cathar as his apprentice and give more incentive to Ry for revenge, i figure maybe he’s more involved in Ry’s life earlier on outside the class story - having made Master Zhet a friend of Nomen Karr’s, then there’s a reason for him to know about Ry if he monitors Karr’s contacts. At the time he doesn’t yet consider him for actively manipulating, but notes of his volatility/isolation from others AND being Juhani’s descendant that would be easy to use against him should the opportunity arise. 

(plus there’s supposed to be a Republic/Imperial conflict around the time of the Treaty on Dantooine  which Baras goes to visit, also wanting Satele to turn to the dark side as Revan’s descendant, according to canon which I very briefly read over. I also did not realise there was an all out conflict on Dantooine there either, so uh, shit, poor Dvuhmi family being caught up in the crossfire of Another Goddamn War after getting away from Ord Mantell’s civil war/unrest, so more trauma and opportunity to resent the Republic \o\ not my fault this time, I swear)

Could prrrrobably have it so Karr and his newly knighted padawan Somminick Timmns are after him too, so Ry could have met him as a Padawan. (later on that would be a hilarious and sad reunion on Belsavis with Jaesa involved too, the ex-padawans of his old master, his master’s old friend that got killed, oof.)

anyway, Baras plants a trap meant for Karr by using his spies in the Order to make him suspicious that there are Sith operated slave rings/pit fights on Nar Shaddaa that he’s manning and using to funnel force sensitives into his ranks, but Zhet takes the bait first, doing so on behalf of Karr. Zhet takes Ry along with the intention to capture the Sith in charge and end the operation (liberating the slaves is a secondary objective) and ends up with more than what he expected. Baras was covertly funding a gang/cult to keep tabs on Palladius/Republic activity and the gang’s occasionally thrown a few recruits his way as cannon fodder, but for all intents and purposes it appears to Zhet before he died as if it was just a lowly Sith in charge in his last report back to the Jedi and a random gang that killed him, not people under Baras’ order.

Baras is annoyed because it didn’t go the way he wanted with Karr, but instead he’s left considering the idea again of turning Ry, but to do so he needs to see if he’d be capable of becoming Sith and being a useful asset and to break his spirit enough to be a viable candidate. He leaves him there for a few years instead of having his lackeys kill him outright, and deciding he’d settle for a descendant of Revan’s entourage instead, should he survive that and the trials. 

Ry’s assumed dead by everyone he knew before through a combination force-repression cuffs and trauma he slowly cuts himself off from everyone, (unintentionally) severing Force bonds - which probably feel when the connection’s broken like they’ve sensed he’s died, even Vanami, (but she denies it anyway in a combination of denial and faith that he’s still alive despite what she felt. and she’s right. she blames herself at the time a lot for not being able to train him herself in the first place, then she would still have him and not’ve gone missing getting mixed up in idiotic Jedi and Sith conflicts.)

Story goes on, Ry goes on a murderous rampage killing most of the gang about four years later, the remainder of Baras’ surviving agents try to track him down and extract him, but they fail thanks to the friend Ry made in slavery, Hannen,  (and was probably Ry’s first crush, which is Unfortunate because he only started to realise he really loved him in the month and a few weeks they had after busting themselves out and freeing everyone. Also he ends up naming Teffhan after him). 

Since Penndi’s story starts a year before everyone elses’ and she’s already at the end of Chapter 1 with an established cult, he gets recruited by her instead, fuelled with spite and a whole lot of pain to get back at the Jedi any way he can, especially Karr. Logic kinda fails, he’s just really bitter at that point, willingly going off to join Baras because uh, self destructive, massively suicidal but taking everyone with him kind of mentality, mostly Jedi, and joining the Sith is the direct route, and what bigger irony than joining sides with his master’s friend’s nemesis? (Somewhat according to plan for Baras, I guess, just gets him later than intended.)

He also decides to go by Rylthos by this point and not Rai’lyos because 1) he’s too ashamed of himself and doesn’t think he’s deserving of the name/burying his past? 2) less likely to attract attention as a standardised name instead of Cathar,

Luckily he mellows out with Vette, since he was under Penndi’s tutelage and not immediately thrown into the meat-grinder that is the Korriban education system and he’s angry. but Not angry enough to take it out on her since he knows very well what it’s like to be a slave and it’s the first time in a while he’s Actually had someone to relate to and they both understand each other as alien ex-slaves. But still, he’s Pretty Damn Angry. 

Getting tangled up in the whole conflict of Karr and Baras would make it a lot more meaningful and give some deeper parallels to Jaesa too. Gradually he’d come to realise he’s doing the same thing to Jaesa that had happened with him in being a pawn for Baras against Karr so he ends up going oh fuck, I am an Idiot and tries reaching out to Jaesa instead of ruining her life even more on Tatooine and Alderaan. There’s about when he starts getting reluctant to continue Baras’ orders, and potentially wonders if he’s had more of a hand in Zhet dying than just an intel slipup because he’d never thought to consider that before, but he’s not got anywhere else to go, (who would take him back after what he’s done?) and he’s still disillusioned with the Jedi. He continues to serve Baras but gets increasingly bitter and starts trying to go behind his back to sabotage him, it’s the least he can do to start making up for what he’s done, but he’s still just kinda. waiting for something to off him.

Karr gets sent back to the Order, unable to use the Force like Timmns says, but relaying back to them that not only was his friend’s Padawan alive, but under Baras’ thumb all along. and maybe he’s more invested in the whole trying to reform the empire thing with Jaesa since they’re both stuck there now.

(also Brenki!!!! they meet on Taris!)

It’s only when Draahg drops the cave on him on Quesh that Ry gets to know the full extent of what Baras did, confirming Ry’s feelings by mocking him about how he was always too weak, out of the loop, and how easy it was for Baras to manipulate him into his puppet by telling him that it was Baras’ doing he was a slave and ruined his life as thoroughly as he did, just to twist the knife in the wound. And that’s enough to get him out the cave, and Draahg’s mistake, because he’s powered on Absolute SPITE ^TM at that point, currently outweighing his desire to just let something kill him because Oh Boy, he’s Super Suicidal but he’s gotta take down Baras AND Draahg before he’s letting himself die, even if that means doing things for the Emperor and it’s ROUND 2 of being someone else’s puppet, and taking a few steps backwards in development and holy shit. He’s not ok at all. He throws himself into the Wrath thing at first because he just wants revenge and he doesn’t feel powerless, but at least has some of the control/maturity he lacked the first time around.

(his relationship with Brenki sours a little because he’s just fixated singlemindedly on revenge, and doesn’t contact her for a while either. mostly because what’s there to say apart from, i’m doing even more terrible things? brenki kinda gets railroaded into it too with Tormen, but it’s Definitely not the same scale. they fix it post class story round about corellia/ilum it’s just…. oh jeez. complicated. while he went back home after taris, the second dantooine visit doesn’t happen until after the class story ends/post-ilum, just because he feels he’s not ready to come home again in the state he is until then.)

And then after a second round of realising “OH FUCK. I AM A MORON, I WANT OUT” fighting draahg/mid chapter 3 and in the final confrontation with baras changes the plan slightly with Jaesa to sabotage as much of the Sith as possible or at least reduce their effectiveness enough for more reasonable people to get in charge.

Maybe he ends up sparing Baras this time round - while he desperately wants revenge for what Baras did and death feels final, that’s also what Baras wants, and isn’t it more poetic to let him wallow in the knowledge he’s been beaten?