#old riah speaks

[flickerbit]

What am I supposed to fucking do

[genderdotcom]

more thoughts on this. i've been reading too many drizzt books now the writing style has infected me and i need to be quarantined or put down or something. tw for haarlep's deal (implied) (deleted and reposted this bc im indecisive over it)

(DISCLAIMER. THIS WORK REFERS TO EYES AS “ORBS”. WEAR APPROPRIATE PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT AT ALL TIMES)

Dirin explained everything. His defection, his disguise, the innkeeper that had taken him under her wing and the bards he learned from on the road. He spoke with as much urgency as he could muster- this was a hero he was talking to. And he knew well the reputation his kin had.

Heedless of his tale, the ranger took a potato from her pack. It had sprouted, taking root in the darkness of her bag of provisions- but she began to peel it nonetheless.

Dirin began to feel, infuriatingly, as if he was making excuses and defending himself to an implacable sa’varsh. 

“Why did you call me out on my disguise if you didn’t wish to speak with me? Lay it out plainly, please.” He bit out with no small amount of barely reined-in irritation.

“Fine, fine. Like I said, I had a gith friend. And I like to stick my nose places it’s not needed.” He nodded, understanding it to be the most important quality of those fabled heroes he so looked up to, but the tiefling barreled on.

“I mean, it passes the time, y’know? Not much else to do.” “You’ve done a lot already, if the tales I’ve heard are true.”

“They aren’t.” Her reply was prompt.

“None of them? So the curse of Moonrise Towers still stands? So Baldur’s Gate is overrun by gh- by mind flayers?” “I know what ghaik means, mate, you don’t have to translate yourself to me. And what does it matter if I did all those things? A half dozen others were right there doing more than me.”

Yes, he knew all about them. The noble Blade of Frontiers, the archmage Gale of Waterdeep, Karlach Demonsbane who laid down her life for the city; even fragmented tales of a woman that must have been a Githyanki. Well, the ranger’s claim that she had a gith friend would corroborate that. It would have been the perfect tale to tell to get him in the spotlight were it not for his treacherous, cowardly heart skipping beats at the thought of mentioning his kin.

“Is there something special about this town, for you to stop here?” There didn’t seem to be. In the few months Dirin had spent in the town- more of a village, really- the people had proven themselves to be nothing but ordinary, though perhaps with more of a tolerance for novelty than he’d expected.

“Absolutely nothing. Didn’t you hear me? I’m not doing anything.”

It had been six months since the Netherbrain fell, and Dirin had heard many tales of Riah, the tiefling fighter- now a ranger, it seemed- and her stalwart defense of the Sword Coast’s frontiers. Her small knife pressed through the potato, and she dropped the cubes into the simmering pot. Her hair fell into her face hampered only by her horns.

She looked tired.

The stew was finished before the sun had fully set. Despite Dirin’s insistence that he didn’t need anything from her, he had his own food, she ladled it into two wooden bowls and pressed one into his hands. The warmth, at least, brought some life into him as they both sat there, sipping at it in silence.

A violent shudder passed through Riah’s body. Though Dirin could see nothing afoot, she convulsed strongly enough that the bowl of stew in her hand slipped and spilled over the packed dirt. Recovering quickly, she shook off the droplets that had landed on her hand and simply stared at the stew slowly absorbing into the ground.

“What happened? Are you al-” Dirin brought up his hand, ready to cast a healing spell, though he knew well that his prowess was very limited; but she stopped him with a gesture.

“Fine. Just an old wound.” Her breath hissed through her teeth. There was something tightly wound about her posture in that moment, the horrible tension of prey unable to flee. “It doesn’t la- ah- last too long. Usually.” She leaned down to pick up her bowl, her scarred red knuckles bleached pink from tension. 

“You’re a hero. I’m sure any healer along the Coast would-” “No, they wouldn’t. Couldn’t.” Waiting for Dirin to finish his sentence was too much of an effort, it seemed. “‘S what I get for dealing with… well, I told you already. It’s fine.”

But she made no effort to pour herself more stew, and spent the rest of dinner staring silent into the fire. Her nails bit bloody crescents into her palms.

Following some unspoken agreement, they took watch in shifts. The strangeness of the situation was almost soporific to Dirin, but ingrained discipline kept his eyes open from the middle of the night to the morning. 

He’d almost expected Riah to pack up and leave. Instead, she cleaned up the campfire and took her turn sleeping with no words exchanged. She was asleep in moments- but the twitches and shudders remained. Sweat beaded on her brow and pooled in the wrinkles of her twisted, pinched expression. If this was an illness or injury, it was like none he knew of.

Dirin woke with the dawn. Riah was still up, poking at the coals of the campfire with a long stick.

“It doesn’t usually last that long.” She said in lieu of ‘good morning’. “I’m fine now.” There was something in her other hand, a balled up piece of paper- a letter of some sort? 

She staggered to her feet, unfurling the crumpled sheet. Her piercing blue orbs examined it for one long moment, flitting between it and his face, there and back.

“Say, Dirin- your name was Dirin, right? How do you feel about going to a party?”

[isleofdarkness]

Like C already said, don't worry about it, you're a human being and we all forget stuff from time to time. Now here's, as always, my review of your fantastic work:

These Mim kids never fail to make me blue; the way Mara can't even verbalize she's wounded let alone her needing help and how “Gods, she really was Riah's sister”, how “Mara didn't speak but Maverick didn't need her to” and Mav's “expression worried but eyes soft in a way he'd never seen them”, Mara's small smile and Maverick's “Alright, my Salamander, more hurt or more scared?”. They're so soft and caring but can't show it because this is the Isle and it would get them used against each other and also their need to not depend on anyone but themselves because when they did they got hurt. They make me so ill, I want to bite their brains (affectionate)

Molly is crying and so am I, poor thing deserves the world :(

Now, I don't know who Mirabel or Jane might be but I do remember that Belle's gonna change her name to Tiana in the future, so maybe she's Tiana? Probably not, since Tiana is a cryptonym and then it wouldn't really work, but who knows.

Of course trying to read Maverick's mind would make your brain explode, of fucking course (light-hearted and joking)

“He's trying to keep all of you at arm's length because he's afraid he's unintentionally hurting you. But he isn't capable of it. I swear he isn't.” I don't even know what to say about this one, just- I love him and his capable-of-mass-destruction magick that he won't use. That's my kid, your honor, he wouldn't harm a fly but gods if he can (funny phrase because everyone can hurt a fly but you know what I mean).

I love how oblivious they are, “I'm blind and even I can see it!” Molly's so funny and so so right.

Magickal Evie is all I've been asking for. I love the way you write her.

These are the type of moments where I wish I knew how to draw because Maverick's outfit sounds so fucking cool.

Poor Maverick, she deserves to have a mental breakdown without anyone commenting on it, Ben.

Holy shit, dude. That was an amazing monologue and I mean it. I'm shaking, what the hell. I don't know how Ben didn't start crying right fucking there, because if Maverick fucking Mim said that to me ain't way I'm recovering from that.

You're an amazing writer.

Thank you so, so much

The wounds from Mara's surgery two days ago reopened. They'd been trying to let her heal naturally because healing with magic can cause complications, but clearly they aren't going to have the time. The three of them (technically the four, because Mordred is also part of the group) are so very close, it's so sweet.

Most Isle kids don't show fear, it's been trained out of them because it can only make things worse. The fact that Molly cried in fear after having a gun pointed at cos head, an entirely reasonable reaction from a seven-year-old, says a lot.

Belle isn't Tiana, that would be too easy to figure out. Tiana is a bit younger, around Harry's age, and does work in a restaurant when not busy with gang business. Mirabel is notable as someone without magic surrounded by people who do. And Jane is an unexpected ally from a world they thought they would never see, a world they never really imagined, the world beyond the barrier.

There is so much stress in her brain that trying to read her mind will kill you in an instant/j

Riah's power, in his mind, is a nuke. It stays on the shelf. Though, in that particular instance, Maverick was talking about his charmspeak abilities that the other Isle kids don't know about. Of course, they're all about to find out.

Molly hasn't even interacted with Riah and yet co knows.

Evie deserves magic and I'm glad you like my take on her.

I'm glad you like her Destiny outfit, too.

Ben, baby, please give Maverick literally one (1) break and don't get into an argument with her until she's calmed down.

Maverick really woke up today and chose violence against Ben and I am absolutely thrilled by your response.

Thank you so, so much

[thepropertylovers]

A Family-Filled Fun Day

Yesterday felt like it was the perfect way to spend a day with our kids before we leave to go out of town.

In case you don’t follow us on Instagram, we mentioned earlier this week that we’re leaving to go out of the country today actually (!), and it will be the longest we’ve ever been away from the kids. And we’re nervous. We’ve never been away from them for more than three of four days, so the thought of being gone eight or nine days feels strange.

We keep asking them if they will be okay or if they think they will miss us too badly and be sad or scared, but (luckily) they just keep saying they can’t wait for us to leave so they can do things like stay up a little later and chew gum, haha. They will be staying with our moms as they take turns watching them for the next week and a half, and they are a little less strict than we are, which I’m happy about. Everyone needs a break every now and then.

So I think we’re the ones who will have a hard time being away from them for so long, which I am also happy about. I would much rather us be the ones crying over them than the other way around.

Yesterday was spent with fun and exciting times with each of the kids in a totally unplanned way. We started with Allan.

His entire 2nd grade class took a field trip to our farm!! That’s right, we had 40 or so eight year olds running around Ocoee Farm and it was the biggest burst of joy for a few hours. They all took turns petting the chickens and holding goslings (they found a way to keep pooping on me over and over again). They fed the sheep and pigs carrots and celery and laughed/screamed when the donkeys sneezed on them.

Allan had a blast showing the kids around the farm, his playground when he gets home from school every day. I know how much joy he must have felt to have all of his friends and teachers in his happy place, a place he’s been to a million times but that they’re seeing with fresh, curious eyes. To him, it’s his backyard. To them, it was the reason for an entire field trip.

There was time for a Q&A and PJ answered about 100 questions on the pavilion about our animals and the farm. It was so cute to hear their little questions about everything and nothing. I love the way kids’ minds work. So curious. And PJ did so well!! He used to be a camp counselor and is used to speaking to and educating groups of kids, so he was a natural. All his old training came back to him, or seemingly never left? Either way, he was fabulous.

Beau was there to help out, too, and even grabbed some photos of the morning. Thank you so much, Beau!!!

After that, we got a message from Anna’s teacher saying they would be getting out of school early because their A/C is broken and it was 80 degrees in their classroom. Yikes. So we headed to the school to get her. We spent an hour with our girl, just the three of us, as we listened to her tell us about her day and watched her eat her new favorite snack: a giant heated-up-in-the-microwave marshmallow. The girl has an affinity for sweets.

After about an hour and a half, it was time to head back to school for Riah’s kindergarten program. It’s crazy to me that he will be in FIRST grade next year. What? How? When did this happen and where was I? Our youngest son can’t be in first grade already. Time hasn’t made sense for the last few years, but the fact that he will be a first grader in just a few months is something my brain can’t comprehend.

We sat in the first row as he and his classmates performed quite a few songs in front of a crowded auditorium of proud parents and supportive family members. It was the cutest. Riah had the biggest smile on his face the whole time, in between looking a little reserved and nervous. He did so well, though. There was also a slideshow of the whole year with the background music being “Never Grow Up” by Taylor Swift, which was a perfect choice by his teacher, if I do say so myself.

Then it was time for certificates. The principal called each of the kindergartners’ names and they took turns walking across the stage, collecting their certificate in the process. Before kids, I had always thought of kindergarten graduations as pointless and silly. Now though, I thought it was the sweetest thing ever, and I know we were both so proud of him for such a wonderful year. He has had the best teacher and we wish she was still going to be in the same position next year so that Anna could have her!

After his program, we checked him and Allan out of school for the rest of the day to spend it together at home before we all headed out to eat and go to Walmart for last minute things before our trip.

Now we are at the airpot waiting for our flight, and I am writing this from one of the seats in the terminal. It’s only been a few hours but we’re already missing them so badly. Walking through the airport and seeing all the little kids running around with their little suitcases is only reminding us of traveling with our kids, and how much we love it. They do so well in airports and on planes and it really is so fun to travel and take them places and show them somewhere new. Hoping for a lot of that this summer!!

Next time we check in will be from Barcelona, so here’s to a safe flight!!!

[debris-penumbra]

Let's play the game: Do I Have A Crush On Old Friend Or Just Desperate For Love?

Also let's play: Is She Flirting Or Just Being Friends?

[books-and-catears]

"How long are you going to pretend?"

"...It's your fault!"

"For better and for worse."

"Please tell me, what hurts?"

Tagging as requested: @gallantys @kyattodaemon @lovebugb @jiminbolala @eveningstar1516 @mandalor-jetii @nutmeg3dash7 @delusional-angel @crystalmystery @thedum1 @literally-ya-mom @chiaraowo @eu-4-riah @yaboihack @ovarysnake23 @fandumshippr @harujkookie @nowhearmeoutiswearitaintthatbad @bunna-does-stuff @your-local-fangirl1 @shinouzen @missrebustes @kadythethief @lemonandlime22 @olenoname @eckya @bikkss @wafermelons @melotie @sn0wf00x123 @satans-favorit3 @hungrynessforfics @heard-you-had-the-plague @fabulouslyflamboyant5

Noone had ever seen Barbatos quite this angry before. Even the usually unfazed Lucifer was terrified at his core, it was obvious from how hard he was clenching his fist to stop it from trembling.

Lord Diavolo stood behind his butler. His eyes looked far from angry. They held disappointment instead. Lucifer couldn't bear to look at him either.

As for Mammon, Levi and Asmo - they'd already taken several steps back. "Barbatos... We..we can explain."

"Oh? Is that so? Kindly do let me hear what reason you possibly had for abducting one of our exchange students? That too one that is CONSIDERABLY younger?" Barbatos was louder than usual, his hands turning clawlike.

Of course. How could they forget?

Barbatos and Luke also formed a special bond just like the brothers had with MC. They might as well have hurt his own son.

"We just wanted to see MC! Please Barbatos..."

"...for more than a month, it felt like MC had vanished off altogether!"

"We just wanted to see them once! Just once we wanted to talk and..."

Their words and emotions overlapped. A wonderful show of how absolutely shattered you had left them. Barbatos gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"You want to see them so bad? Come with me, I'll show you." He suddenly turned deadly calm. He spun on his heel to lead the miserable trio upstairs into his chambers.

They passed by the kitchen on the way. They heard voices. Especially the voice they missed most of all.

"Solomon no! We don't use garlic in vanilla cake batter!" Luke squeaked.

"Are you sure about that? Trust me it might add a tangy twist to the taste!" Solomon said.

"You also put in onions with the poison apples and ghoulberries?!" Simeon exclaimed.

"Onions and apples have more in common than you think." Solomon stated.

"No Solomon not all ingredients go together! I can't believe a child is disciplining an old man." Your voice makes the demons stop in their tracks.

"MC please stop calling me that or else..." Solomon huffed. Simeon laughed heartily at that.

"Or else what?" You challenged him.

"Or else this!" Solomon's voice was followed by the clattering of some cutlery and your laughter.

"Ahhh! This isn't fair! Let go Solomon! Ahahhaa! Tickles too much...too much!" You try to speak between chuckles. And then Luke tries to defend you by tickling Solomon. And Simeon fumbles trying to record the whole thing on his phone.

"They sound...so happy..." Levi sighed longingly, holding his shirt in fistfuls.

"So none of my two masters need me anymore...?" Asmo's eyes grew teary as he stared at the closed door.

Mammon was silent. Only listening. Wanting to store this deep inside his memory. What are the chances he'd ever hear this laugh of yours again?

"Come along now." Barbatos cold tone was enough to get them to start walking again. It's almost as if he deliberately let them wait enough to agonise them by letting them hear your voice. Or maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe.

"This door right here. It's called the Memory Lane. Go straight and then downwards. You'll see your MC." He said, holding the door open.

They ventured inside, almost on their tip toes. Even though there was no to listen, noone to turn them away.

They heard sobbing as they began their descent. Soft at first, growing breathier and more muffled. Like someone hiding their sorrows in a pillow.

And then they saw it. The most painful sight they could imagine. It was you. Their very own MC. Curled up, with your knees pushed to your chest, your face hidden by your hands.

"I can't do this...I can't do this anymore. I'm tired...it hurts..everything hurts..." You wailed and then stopped, looking around you scared.

This was the first time they saw you cry. This is what their always helpful, cheerful, perfect MC really went through.

"Oh no.. can't be..too loud... they'll hear. They'll hear and then scream...I don't know what they'll do...I'm sorry, Diavolo. I'm doing my best I promise." You gasped for breath. You were tired from crying.

Mammon's body instinctively moved to hold you. "MC what hurts? What hurts MC, I'll fix it! Or I'll get Satan to fix it! MC tell me please- huh?"

And Asmo was right there holding you from behind. "Oh darling what's wrong?! I'm here, you can tell me! Don't cry so much, MC, you're so much prettier when you smile- what!"

Levi sat at the corner of your bed, his hand rose on his own, to rub your head. Like you used to do to him after tear-inducing animes. "MC...wait, why can't I touch you?"

None of them could. Their hands passed right through you. This was just your memory. And they were just ghosts.

You hiccuped and breathed. Your pained eyes were calmer now, drowsy, almost closed. Your voice was that of defeat.

"I think they all hate me. I try to save Mammon whenever I can... but all I've ever be is a stupid human. I thought Levi could be my new best friend...but he hates me to point of almost killing me. And pretty little Asmo...why would he care about me at all?"

Mammon's head throbbed with guilt as he fell to his knees. Levi covered his face in shame, keeling over. Asmo's eyes widened in horror.

"I'm going to die here, aren't I? I just hope I can free Belphie before this...I just want all the brothers together again. Beel would be so happy." You were smiling now. The saddest smile anyone had ever seen.

"And when they kill me, I hope it's quick. I hope it doesn't hurt too much. Would they be kind enough to do that...? Hahaha of course not. They're demons. Why do I forget? Why did I think they'd love me back?" Two gentle tears trailed down your cheeks.

Asmo was on the floor, screaming your name and trying to hold you helplessly. Levi was kneeling down, his forehead on the ground, muttering endless apologies. And Mammon gritted his teeth and cried. He promised to save you,to protect you. And look what he did instead.

"Satisfied now?" Barbatos snapped them back to his chambers before they knew it.

"Barbatos please, please let us-"

"Apologize to MC? Go ahead. They're in the garden with Satan." Barbatos nodded towards the garden outside his window. The three brothers were on their feet in seconds and rushing outdoors.

But they weren't ready for what they saw outside. Satan kneeled in front of a gravestone holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. The you they saw in the chambers, the one they rushed here to hold, was already gone. They'd already let you die.

[maundcr]

( quintessa swindell ; genderfluid ; they/he ; me myself and i by five seconds of summer ) hey, look! isn’t that URIAH "URI" LAURENT? the 25 year old HUMAN is known to be CHIVALROUS and OPINIONATED. they’ve been in town for THEIR ENTIRE LIFE and always remind me of reaching for a hand that's no longer there,  trying to make sense of the folded papers in your pocket filled with scribbles from different times and different days,  lanterns glowing eerily in the darkness of an empty street. let’s hope they survive what’s to come.

𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴:  uriah laurent 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴(𝚂):  uri, riah 𝙰𝙶𝙴 & 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴:  25, february 18th, 1997 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂:  pisces sun, cancer moon, virgo rising 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 & 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂:  genderqueer, he/they 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:  pansexual

𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙾𝚆𝙽:  ashwick valley 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂:  n/a, human 𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:  songwriter, librarian

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃(𝚂):  mr & mrs laurent 𝚂𝙸𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶(𝚂):  caelan ( twin ) †  ..or so they think 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁:  youngest 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙽:  n/a 𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁:  n/a

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙸𝚃𝚂: brave, selfless, bold, chivalrous, dedicated, modest, generous 𝙽𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙸𝚃𝚂: opinionated, vindictive, obsessive, moody, impulsive, arrogant

✦ — —  𝙱𝙸𝙾𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝚈 !!

𝟶𝟷. uriah and caelan laurent were born mere minutes apart, with caelan coming first.  the long awaited twins were fawned over from day one, given everything they asked for as well as the things they didn’t, which were welcome anyway.  they were generously spoiled as children born into a well known family, descendants of the late manfred laurent, a highly gifted visionary, tenacious researcher, and inventor, who sadly died when they were just about ten.  his spirit lived on in their parents, who made sure they knew how their wealth came to be, from the man who was considered one of the pioneers of radio and television technology.  and while uri’s father, and later, his twin brother, followed in manfred’s footsteps, he himself never felt the passion for science and electronics as they did.

𝟶𝟸. though their parents attempted to nudge them in the direction of certain things, signed them up for multiple sports and extra curriculars, uriah could never settle on one thing.  he felt like he had no purpose, as it seemed to him that his brother knew exactly what he wanted in life while he was aimlessly meandering along an empty road.  it occurred to him that he barely knew himself, and in hoping to find purpose within himself, he started to write.  journals upon journals were soon filled, and uriah came to realize that one of the things he loved most in life was music.  it kept them grounded, and soon they’d found a love in putting their thoughts down in the form of creating their own music.  songwriting became an outlet of his, a way for him to finally put something of his own into the world when he previously felt like he’d never had anything to offer.

𝟶𝟹. the twins were fairly similar apart from the obvious differences, going out to party together and enjoying the finer things that life had to offer.  [ tw for car crash, death, brain damage ] however.. some time during their senior year, there had come a time that the two found themselves driven off of a bridge by caelan’s intoxication. uriah claimed, in the end, to not have known that their twin brother had taken pills beforehand, but uri was the only one to come out of the wreckage.  that didn’t mean that he wasn’t damaged, as they soon found that in attempting to save his brother before himself, uriah came out suffering from cerebral hypoxia.  they were in a coma for nine days after the accident, and didn’t speak for weeks after waking up.  for months, the injury to their brain made it difficult for them to complete tasks that used to come easy to them and had caused aphasia, the loss of ability to understand or express speech.

𝟶𝟺. what helped him return to normalcy was his one true love in life, writing.  but he'd experienced trouble speaking, and it took him longer than the normal person to put words together in a sentence and for a long time, he would get frustrated and quit speaking entirely for days at a time.  though time and speech therapy have made it easier, stressful situations and times when he’s feeling especially nervous, can bring about spells of trouble speaking and difficulty stringing sentences together.  such a thing made him insecure, though, so he’d taken to.. not talking.  what started as a way to not embarrass himself, soon became a long lasting defense mechanism.

✦ — —  𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 !!

seems like your typical snobby, rich asshole, but that assumption couldn't be more wrong.  they have a mysterious air to them, and they’re incredibly hard to get to know.  but once you have their friendship, they’re a good friend with unwavering loyalty.  they’re also charming and funny, but only to those close to them.  they have major insecurity issues due to his occasional trouble with speech, but at their very core, uri is an extremely caring person.  likes writing, and you can often find them in some cafe or library reading or writing because they like quiet places where it’s likely that no one will bother them.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {17}*

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Heavy cursing, HEAVY, HEAVY ANGST, Mild Time Jumps, MILD NSFW, LOTS OF WORDS, Triggering Sexual Assault Content

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY STRESSED!!

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY TEXTBOOK SEXUAL ASSAULT CONTENT BY DUBIOUS MEANS ON A MENTALLY INCAPACITATED INDIVIDUAL!!

Word Count: 6K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill? 

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

NOTE: DO NOT COME FOR ME.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

In the last two weeks, he’d become a shell of himself. His life drastically changed. What was him working and traveling almost nonstop turned into him having a lot of time on his hands. Instead of traveling and having no time to be the husband he needed to be, he now had all the time in the world. He found it ironic now. Every time he stepped into your shared bedroom, he saw you everywhere. You were in the décor, the scents that still lingered around, and your items strewn around the room.

Every time he looked behind him or around a corner, he expected to see your smiling face. When he closed his eyes, he expected to feel your soft caress against his jaw or your full lips pressed onto his skin. He expected it, but the expectation was not reality. His reality was far different. His days now consisted of doing his best to keep on top of work obligations even though mostly everyone understood his need to take a step back from anything work-related. If he wasn’t distracting himself with work, he roamed around the house, being haunted by happier times. If he wasn’t glued to the bed staring out at your side of the bed, he was beating himself up over the fact that he’d caused his current reality and wishing he’d done so many things differently.

His mother stayed in town to be his moral support and moved in with Scott. They said it was just to be there for him, but he knew they didn’t think he was in any state to take care of himself. They were right. He barely ate, didn’t sleep, kept to himself, and found the sustenance he needed in beer and Whiskey. He didn’t care if they had no nutritional value; it was all he cared to ingest to his mother’s dismay. She cooked all his favorites from childhood, but none of it enticed him. What was the point, he wondered. He didn’t want lasagna or beef stew or meatballs marinara. He only wanted you.

When he pulled himself out of his internal turmoil, he was sitting outside of Christiano’s house and twisting the knife in his heart deeper. He wondered what was going on inside, wondered if you were laughing with him, or letting him hold you at nights. He couldn’t get the image of you kissing him in your hospital room or the elevator out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, it was what he saw, and from there, his imagination went rampant until he was filled with fear that turned to rage.

He’d stay in front of Christiano’s house for hours just staring at it. He didn’t trust Christiano as far as he could spit. He knew he was up to something, and he felt that somehow if he kept an eye on things, he couldn’t pull anything. At least six times, he found himself speaking to a police officer who was given an anonymous tip that he was sitting outside the house. He knew it was Christiano who’d called them to report it, and he did it to fuck with him. The first two times, he was given leeway, but the others he was told to move or else they’d fine him. He now had more than eight violation tickets because he refused to move.

If it wasn’t the cops that told him to leave or threatened fines, it was Christiano’s security who always seemed to come out like clockwork every hour threatening him to leave or else. He wasn’t afraid, and his refusal to move showed it. He knew the asshole was somewhere inside either peeping through a window or watching on the video feed like the Lord Farquaad he really was. Every chance he got, he made sure to give the house a middle finger.

Every time he called you, the majority of the time, you didn’t answer. Instead, it was Christiano who did. He always sounded like the cocky fuck he was. Every chance he got, he goaded him into losing his temper, and when he was irate and fired up, he’d end the call. When he called, and Christiano didn’t answer, it rang endlessly. On a few occasions, you answered, but he was so surprised by it that he never found the right thing to say. What did you say to your wife that didn’t remember you in any shape or form? He could say he loved you or missed you. He couldn’t apologize. He couldn’t talk to you like you were old friends. All he could do was sit in silence with the knife twisting deeper until you hung up.

The doorbell snapped him out of another hour of aimless staring into space. He was alone tonight. Scott and his mom were at Scott’s house after he blew up at them, telling them to leave him alone. It wasn’t his finest moment. Slowly, he trudged to the door with a bottle in his hand; it was his normal accessory now. As soon as he opened the door, he saw Ana’s smiling face. He couldn’t help but sigh out. He’d hoped it was you.

“Hi, Ana.”

She gave him a once over then frowned. “You look horrible.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said before he turned to walk away. The clink of her heels on the marble was the indication she was following him. A few moments later, he dropped onto the couch and brought the bottle back to his lips.

“How many of these have you had?”

“Lost count. What’re you doing here? I’ve told you that you don’t have to keep coming here.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I thought we were friends.”

He didn’t answer; he just studied her trying to access her motives.

“Friends don’t let friends go through a tough time alone. I come bearing a home-cooked meal and company.”

He sighed again while taking another swig.

“I have plenty of food, and I don’t need the company.” It was rude, but it was honest.

Ana frowned before she sat beside him on the couch. “Look, I know you’re going through something really tough. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I don’t think you should lock away and—wallow. You have to keep going.”

“Ana, I appreciate you coming by these last two weeks with food and checking on me. You’re kind to do it, but it’s unnecessary. I wish everyone would just give me some space. Everyone hovers and tiptoes, not wanting to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing as if them avoiding the huge elephant in the room makes it so I don’t see it. I see the fucking elephant. My fucking wife is not here! My wife has no fucking memory of me. As far as she’s concerned, I’m some stranger from the street!” His frustrations were bubbling to the surface.

She didn’t speak for several moments after that. He was glad for it. Lately, he’d been looking at her with a new suspicious eye. He had all the time in the world to see things that either didn’t add up or just came off strange. He never thought Ana’s behavior was suspicious before, but now everything had a hint of awkwardness. He’d begun to wonder if you’d been right all along, and she was harboring some crush on him. Before, he saw her friendliness and willingness to help and be around him as a kindred spirit situation, but now, it was possible he might have had been wrong.

“Chris–,” Ana began before he cut her off.

“It’s not a good idea for you to here like this. The paps are camped out a block down and have constant eyes on the house. The last thing either of us needs is for you to be snapped coming in or out of here. Honestly, I think it’s best that we stay clear of each other by giving each other some space.”

Her jaw dropped for a split second, and along with it, he saw the anger flash through her eyes. As quickly as it happened, it disappeared. She took a deep breath and brushed her slick ponytail back as if there was a hair that was misplaced from the perfectly done style.

“Chris, we’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not what it looks like to the public and the fans. Twitter is on fire over this. My name, your name, and Uriah’s name has been trending for two weeks. This is all anyone can talk about. They all think we’re having an affair.”

“It’s not true, though. We’re not fucking each other, so who cares!”

Her shout was loud and shrill. This was the first time he’d seen her lose her temper, the first time he’d seen a crack in the perfect demeanor she always displayed. Again, Ana brushed her hair back as she cleared her throat. In seconds that perfect façade was back.

“I’m sorry. This is stressful for all of us,” Ana offered.

“Then, space is definitely needed. I’ll walk you out.” With that, he stood and walked out of the family room toward the door. Ana didn’t immediately follow; several moments passed before she even entered the hallway. As she approached, he could see her disappointment and annoyance.

“Chris–,” she began.

“I know Ana. I just—I’m angry and frustrated and honestly at my wit’s end. I don’t want to live in this reality anymore.”

She must have sensed there was nothing else to say, so she nodded. He opened the door for her to walk through, and once she did, he promptly closed it. It hadn’t even been a month, and he was already falling apart at the seams. He had no idea how much longer he could go on in this new reality.

The alert for his phone sounded in the eerily quiet house. As he approached it, he expected it to be another update from the private investigator he was paying to look into everything or even his mother or Scott checking in for the umpteenth time today. When he saw the ID as “Jackass,” his eyes nearly got stuck in the back of his head from how hard he rolled them. As he opened the message, his heart dropped.

MSG Jackass: I thought it was a good idea to get Uriah out of town so she could properly heal.

“Son of a bitch!”

He was in his car in seconds though he knew he’d been drinking that day. As he sped to Christiano’s house, he didn’t feel impaired. That text sobered his ass up in record time. He was in such a sobering mind-frame that he obeyed every light and traffic sigh though his instincts said to run every light he came across. As he drove, he used the audio recognition in his car to call Christiano back to back. Each call he placed was ignored, and he knew it was him ignoring it rather than missing the call.

When he pulled up outside of his palatial home, he pounded on the gate.

“Christiano! Open this fucking gate!”

He didn’t feel the wrought iron underneath his hand, or much of anything besides anger and fear.

“Open the gate! Uriah!”

He saw two burly security guards approaching the gate as if they had all the time in the world.

“Where is my wife!?”

“You again? Look, man, we’ve told you that you’re not welcome here,” the one with the goatee croaked.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m welcomed or not. My wife is in there! Do you hear me? She’s my wife. Where is Christiano? Tell him to bring his pathetic ass out here!”

“If you don’t stop banging on the gate, we’re going to have to call the police again.”

“Call the police! Where is the son of a bitch!”

“He’s not here.”

The two guards looked back, revealing a slender woman dropping in designer everything. Her strawberry blonde locks were framing her face that looked sad.

“What do you mean he’s not here? Where is my wife?!”

She approached the gate nodding to the guards silently telling them to back off.

“I’m Christina. I’m a friend to Uriah.”

“Christina—White?”

She nodded.

“Where is my wife?”

“She’s not here. Her and Christiano left an hour ago,” Christina informed.

“What! Where did they go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Look, I told him it was a bad idea. I told him that he should keep her here because, at the end of the day, she’s your wife. He didn’t listen. He never listens. He’s always been a fool when it comes to her,” Christina divulged.

“So you’re telling me he has my wife somewhere in this world, and no one knows where she is or going?”

His panic quickly raised. He’d never felt this out of control in his life. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears as he turned his back to the house.

“He won’t hurt her if you’re worried about that. He loves her too much for that.”

“Son of a bitch!”

~~~~~~~~

-Uriah-

 You walked through the airport toward the gate to board the waiting private jet with your hand planted in Christiano’s and your shades on. You could feel the eyes on you, and you even felt as if those who watched you were whispering about you. It shouldn’t have been anything alarming you’d been in the public eye for a few years and knew how this felt. The only thing was this felt different somehow.

“Is it me, or is it like they’re whispering more than usual?”

Christiano quickly looked around before he shrugged and squeezed your hand.

“Nah, they’re just blown away by the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You smiled widely and allowed him to press a kiss to your forehead. Once you got to the gate, Christiano greeted his flight crew and did all the talking. You liked how he always took control of a situation. It meant you didn’t have to worry about a thing when you were with him. Over the last two weeks, the two of you had been wrapped in a bubble at his house. You didn’t go out or even make an attempt to do anything but spend time with him. For some reason, you felt as if you hadn’t been together in months. Almost immediately from your release from the hospital, you began to feel sick as if something was off with you.

On a whim, you had a security guard bring you a pregnancy test which came out positive. You had no idea what to think or how to feel. You knew you’d always wanted kids, and the thought of kids with Christiano was something you’d thought about over the years you’d been together. You knew you and the baby would be well taken care of. When you told Christiano, he looked speechless, and for a few minutes, you feared he didn’t want the baby, but he assured you he did. From there, you were in this elated bubble at the thought of impending parenthood with the man you loved.

It had become apparent to you that you were missing some time in your memory. The therapy sessions that Dr. Diallo suggested was more than therapy for people involved in traumatic accidents. You’d pieced together that there were holes in your memory. When you asked Christiano about it, he filled in what he could, always stressing how much he loved you and how happy you were together. You didn’t doubt it. You knew he loved you. You remembered that there were a few times you’d suggested a break from each other because of the intensity of that love. It was always ion the back of your mind, but he was the perfect man toward you.

“Ready beautiful?” Christiano spun you to him, pressing his palms against your ass, pulling you flush against him. The touch felt familiar but also foreign as if somehow it wasn’t right.

“Of course.”

“I can’t wait to get you on that beach.” You smiled and allowed him to kiss you. This kiss wasn’t quick or timid as the once from the last two weeks. Christiano’s tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours unexpectedly. Though it felt strange, it also felt normal. You couldn’t wrap your head around the competing feelings and senses.

When he pulled back, he retook your hand and led you through the gate to board the jet. In a few short minutes, you were rolling down the tarmac and wheels up, gliding through the air to some surprise tropical island. You allowed yourself to mellow out drift to sleep. As you slept, your dreams were strange. You were in places you’d never been before, seeing faces you’d never seen before and having conversations you had no recollection of until you were sucked into a black hole. The darkness clung to you, but your hearing was that much more in tune. As you began to panic, the sound of a familiar but unfamiliar voice comforted you and spoke the sweetest words.

“I love you, Riah.”

 “I don’t think anything could have stopped me from marrying her. It was inevitable.”

Whose voice was it, you didn’t know. The only thing you knew was you liked it.

When the jet landed, and the chauffeured car pulled up outside a beach house, you were exhausted and in need of a bath and a nap. Your nap on the jet wasn’t enough, especially since it left you highly on edge and confused. Christiano’s beach house was gorgeous. According to him, it was a new addition to his collection of properties, one he said he didn’t visit much but knew you’d like. He gave you a quick house tour before you finally got to take your bath.

As you sat in the tub, the sound of the breeze rustling the palm trees, and the chips of the birds mixed with the soft crash of the waves onto the sand outside lulled your senses into a mellow state that had your mind completely blank. This was a first. Since you woke up from your accident, your head always felt as if it was reaching for something. You didn’t know what it was, but it never stopped, not even when you slept. When you slept, it only seemed to intensify its search. This usually meant you awoke feeling as if you’d never slept.

With your brain quiet and your muscles melting inside the water, you finally felt yourself beginning to enjoy your surroundings. Time stood still but flew at the same time. Before you knew it, Christiano was standing over you holding a towel.

“You’ve been in here for a while. Are you okay?”

“I’m great. I think I dozed off.”

“Are you ready to come out?”

You nodded and stood in the tub. Christiano’s eyes widened as they slowly roamed over your naked, dripping body. He didn’t move, and the look on his face was one you didn’t recognize. You worried you’d already gained weight from the pregnancy, and he didn’t like it.

“I know I look—different—the baby–,” you began before Christiano quickly wrapped the towel around your body, holding you against him.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life, and you will always be that woman,” he whispered while staring in your eyes before he pressed his lips to yours to scoop you into his arms.

Christiano intensified the kiss as he carried you through the house. When he placed you to sit on the bed, your heart lurched, and it felt like panic or fear. Christiano pulled back, but before he could speak again, a phone rang. He sighed out and assured you he’d be back before he walked out. Relief filled you, and that was strange to you. You didn’t understand why you felt relieved the moment had been interrupted or felt panic or fear once he put you on the bed.

Pushing it to the side, you went through your after-shower routine and dressed. When you reemerged from the bedroom, Christiano was placing plates on the table on the balcony that overlooked the beach. The two of you had a quiet dinner.

As the days ticked by, the two of you enjoyed everything the island had to offer. You went sailing, snorkeling, sunbathed on the beach, ate, and enjoyed each other’s company. There were several times you caught Christiano’s eyes on your body and even a few times where you placed his hand on your belly that was beginning to make its appearance. When he touched your belly, his eyes always looked sad, but it was a look that was quickly gone to be replaced with his smile. When you brought it up, he assured you he was just worried he wouldn’t be a good father. His admission made melt. He always came off so self-assured and confident in everything he did. It was your turn to assure him he would be an amazing dad because of how he took care of you.

Every morning he prepared your breakfast. A breakfast that always consisted of a part of the food groups from the food pyramid and four pills he identified as a prenatal vitamin, Iron, Vitamin E, and Vitamin C.  You found it sweet that he wanted to take such good care of you. It was a side you’d loved about him since meeting him. Every time you kissed, they got longer and longer and more intense than the last. No matter who initiated the kiss, you were always the one to pull away from it.

Something always felt off. Something inside of you wouldn’t let you get there with him, and you didn’t understand it. He’d been nothing but good to you. He hadn’t mistreated you or done anything hurtful that would give you right for the pause. Still, every time Christiano’s lips touched yours, your psyche fought back. Excruciating pain usually always followed with an echoing scream in your head. By the time a week had passed on the island, you could tell Christiano was beginning to get frustrated with the constant back and forth though he swore he was fine and wanted you to move at your pace.

You found your hands always on your burgeoning stomach, just tracing along it, envisioning the baby inside of you. You’d thought about kids in passing, but never as if it would actually happen. You felt as if you should have been terrified, but you didn’t feel any fear. You felt content, ready. You now loved to spend mornings just lying in bed, feeling your stomach, and envisioning life as a mom. You couldn’t believe this was life now, but you wanted it more than anything.

“Ready for bed?”

You turned around from the vanity you sat and saw Christiano toward you. He wore no shirt and sweat shorts that were low on his hips. He looked good.

“Yeah.”

Christiano took your hand, kissed it, and led you out of the vanity room to the bedroom. Once inside, the two of you slinked underneath the covers. When Christiano slid to your side and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, you hesitated but only for a few seconds. With your hesitation, Christiano brought his lips to your temple to trail kisses down the side of your face to your jaw and down to your neck. Once there, he capitalized on knowing your spot and teased it with soft kisses. As he continued, you both remained frozen, unable to move. Nothing was preventing you from moving, but you felt as if you couldn’t.

When Christiano’s lips dropped to your cleavage at the swell of your breast, you clutched the sheets in your hand for dear life.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding vigorously, you did your best to keep the panic out of your eyes. Cristiano kissed you gently, coxing your tongue to play with his. When you allowed him in, Christiano’s tongue wrapped around yours as he sucked it. In a matter of seconds, he was on top of you using his hands to caress your exposed thigh. The hand you envisioned was not his, though. In your mind’s eye, you saw a large hand gripping your thigh before it pushed along your skin up to your hip to pull down your underwear.

As quickly as you envisioned it, it disappeared, and you were underneath a hardening Christiano. That fact was what had you pulling away from him. When he looked at your face, he must have seen everything you felt. The disappointment in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. Christiano sighed, dropped his head, then nodded as he rolled off of you to lie on his back while staring at the ceiling. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was small, a whisper.

Christiano didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure he would. A full minute ticked by before he spoke.

“It’s okay, little dove.”

You sighed, hearing his nickname for you. Relief flooded you.

“Let’s get some rest,” Christiano suggested ending any conversation.

You knew he was frustrated with you. How could he not be? Glancing over to him, you saw he still laid there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The look on his face was unreadable. Slowly you rubbed your belly and closed your eyes. It was quickly becoming a comforting mechanism for you, one you found yourself doing more and more since your arrival on the island.

The next morning you woke up alone with Christiano nowhere to be found. You didn’t know what to think, but you didn’t feel any panic. You felt relief. It was yet another thing that you didn’t understand. Why did you feel relief knowing he wasn’t there but panic when he was close? As you ate breakfast, your thoughts drifted. You thought about life before waking up in the hospital, this new life you found yourself in, and the one that was waiting in the future. While you felt as if you were getting back to normal, you always felt like none of this was normal. You didn’t feel normal. The ringing of a phone brought you back to reality and sent you on the hunt for where it came from.

You found the phone in Christiano’s bedside table.

“Hello?

The line was silent, but you just knew someone was there. You repeated your greeting, but your voice was lower than before.

“Riah.”

You didn’t know if it was the name or the way the voice sounded, but your heart raced, and your belly fluttered. You felt something familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew you’d heard it before. You knew this was not the first time you’d had this reaction.

“Who is this?” Your voice was even shakier.

“Me,” he whispered.

Everything in you was fighting, but you didn’t know what it was fighting for? Was it against something or for something? His name was at the tip of your tongue.

“Ch—Chris?”

“You know me?” He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. For some reason, you wanted to ease his pain, but you didn’t know how.

“No.”

He sighed out and sniffled. The realization he was crying weighed heavily on you, so heavy you had to drop to the bed to sit.

“I miss you so much.”

The words meant something to you, but what? The words made you feel, but what? As you were opening your mouth to speak, you heard a door close.

“Little dove?”

Quickly you ended the car and put the phone back into the nightstand then hurried out to greet Christiano, hoping he didn’t suspect anything. You felt as if you were a cheating wife.

Christiano made all your favorites for dinner that night, and the two of you ate surrounded by a sea of candlelight and flowers. You worked hard to keep your head in the present and not on the way Chris’s voice sounded or the effect it had on you. You were curious, but you also knew that curiosity was like opening Pandora’s Box. What if you’d cheated on Christiano and he didn’t know? That was your biggest worry right now. You wanted to bring it up to him, but the ramifications were what stopped you.

After dinner, you sat on the beach watching a movie from the projector and sipping apple cider. Without warning, Christiano stood, allowing your feet that were in his lap to drop to the sand. He turned to you and held his hands out for you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Take my hand.” Slowly you slipped your hands into his. Christiano lowered his head to your hands and kissed the backs then dropped to one knee in front of you.

“Oh my god,” you began. You wanted to leap out of your skin and run down the beach. That was your true first instinct.

“I love you, little dove. I’ve loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you. We’ve been through so much together. There was a time that we didn’t know what was next, a time both of us went through a lot. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you. You’re my everything, Uriah. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—with our—baby.”

Your tears rolled down your cheek, and you couldn’t help but slide closer to him.

“I don’t want to know what it’s like to live a day without you. I don’t want to do it. Will you marry me and spend the rest of your life with me?”

You remembered a time where you wanted him to ask you more than anything. You remembered a time where you’d even planned the kind of wedding you’d want and imagined your name with his last name. Though you knew all of that for a fact, you hesitated with your response. You also remembered another voice asking the same question. A voice you’d heard before. Both voices echoed in your head one over the other until you heard nothing but the words. It was deafening. After a minute the silence returned and you were finally able to breath. You saw Christiano’s panic, and from his panic you tried to calm your own. 

“Yes.”

It took him a few moments to move, but when he did, he threw his arms around you and hugged you so tightly. The two of you giggled together like lovestruck idiots who’d just taken the biggest leap for mankind.

“I love you so much.”

His lips were soft and tasted like the Bourbon he’d been drinking. This kiss wasn’t a timid one, it was one that spoke of his love and passion for you, but you also felt his possessiveness. It was stronger than usual. When he pulled his lips back, he sat you down and held out papers.

“What’s this?”

“Remember when we began dating, and you found out that Christina and I would have a prenup for any future spouses?”

You nodded.

“That’s where I was today. I wanted to get them taken care of. This is my love for you. I want to forgo the prenup. I want us to move forward with nothing between us. All you have to do is sign this, and what’s mine is yours.”

You studied him half in disbelief he’d do this and the other half in awe that he’d go against his family and do this. You took the papers, opened them, and began to read them. Almost instantly, Christiano dropped onto his knees again and kissed you.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife—Mrs. White.”

Hearing the name, you giggled on his lips and returned his kisses as fervently as he gave them. The two of you got lost in kisses for a few minutes.

“Hurry up and sign them so we can be the three little Whites.”

You smiled widely and took the pen he offered. Without reading the documents any further, you signed your name without even looking. Instead, you stared into his eyes. Once you’d finished, you threw your arms around his neck. Christiano lifted you and spun you around, making you giggle like a little girl. You walked along the beach hand in hand, admiring the colossal diamond ring he’d planted on you and just imagining the life you had before you.

A few hours later, once you returned to the house to shower and climb into bed with Christiano beside you with his arms wrapped around you. You don’t know why you woke, but when you did, you were alone in the bed. You looked around and found the room empty. Slowly you walked through the house looking for Christiano. You were sure he wouldn’t leave you alone this late at night, especially since he’d already taken care of the business of couriering the paperwork off the island.

When you turned the corner leading to the living room, the lights were off, but you heard whispers. Your footsteps slowed, and you pressed your back to the wall and listened.

“That wasn’t part of the plan. You’re fucking crazy. you could have—still, it was not the plan.” He sounded angry and spoke as if he wanted to yell but was keeping it down. “It’s been handled. I sent him a little surprise or a present. It is your move.”

You had no idea who he was talking to or what he was talking about. You stepped out of the shadows and into the glow of the moonlight.

“Tino?”

Christiano quickly spun around with his hands behind his back.

“What’re you doing up, little dove?

“You weren’t beside me, and I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

Christiano scoffed and smiled as he approached you.

“Yes, perfect. I was just making plans to start our beautiful life together. You and me.” He kissed the tip of your nose.

“You, me, and the baby,” you corrected. Christiano’s jaw clenched, but it was a quick movement before he smiled again.

“Of course. The three of us. Everything I’ve ever wanted in life.”

You smiled and let him lead you to the bedroom. Once inside, you slipped under the covers again and allowed him to kiss you. as he kissed you, you felt the urgency of his kisses and the need coursing through him. His moans echoed in the room as your fingers danced across his bare back. When he rolled onto you, you didn’t freeze this time, and you didn’t hesitate when you felt his need.

From there, Christiano’s movements were deliberate. He kissed where he knew you liked, but it didn’t feel quite right. As he sucked your skin and undressed you, you ignored the strange feeling you had. It was a feeling you assumed cheaters felt. You felt like you were somehow cheating. It made no sense. The man you loved was above you kissing you, licking your skin, and pleasing you the way he knew how. This was the man you were going to marry, the man you were going to make a father. Because it made no sense, you pressed forward.

After a while, both of you were naked. Christiano kissed your temple, then went to your ear.

“I love you, Uriah. I’ll love you until my last breath.”

You smiled and caressed his jaw and brought his face to yours. You wanted to stare into his eyes. They were filled with so much emotion, but there were things there that you didn’t recognize. Christiano dropped his lips to yours and kissed you passionately before he thrust his hips forward, joining your bodies.

You clung to him and shook as you heard your name panted in your ear, only it wasn’t Christiano’s voice you heard. As he moved inside of you, your moans and pants melded together, but your head was fogged with images of things that couldn’t have happened. The faster Christiano plunged in and out of your heat, the quicker the images flashed in your head. The louder his grunts got, the louder your moans became. Soon you felt as if you were close, but no matter how close you were, something was holding you back. This felt right but oh so wrong. He felt like yours, but you didn’t feel like his.

“Chris,” you panted without a thought. You said it again and again like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

Christiano’s thrusts became sloppier, and his grunts rougher.

“Yes, Uriah, you’re mine. Yes!”

“Chrissss!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee’s Afternote: Yikes. Are you guys okay? It’s okay to be pissed at me. I understand. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!  

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Tag List:

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[dont-research-in-the-dark]

Aight, I've snapped, we need to talk about cants and argots more.

Cants are the jargon or language of a group, often employed to exclude or mislead people outside the group.

Argots are languages used by various groups to prevent outsiders from understanding their conversations.

(They're both basically the same thing and can be pretty much used interchangeably, but I use the word cant much more commonly)

So one historical cant that is more well known but would probably interest a ton of you is Polari. The dates of when Polari was most often used are debated, but it's usually somewhere around the late 1800s to around the 1950s/60s. Polari was used primarily by drag artists and gay men to talk openly about some topics without endangering themselves, and is where we get the words camp and butch!! It's very fun and whimsical, like "Bona to varda your dolly old eke" Is the most common phrase you hear nowadays and means "Nice to see you!" Or literally, "Good to see your nice face".

Many different cants used words from other languages or cants, so there is a lot of overlap. Some other cants are backslang, which was a word, but backwards, such as ecaf for face, or riah for hair, cockney rhyming slang, which had a very complicated rule for words which would take a lot of time to explain, parlyaree which was used primarily by outcasts such as beggars and criminals and people who were in the circus profession, and thieves cant, which was the first recorded cant and may have started around 1530.

Nowadays, plenty of our slang could practically be a cant, the best example for which I can think of, is asking if someone likes Girl in Red to tell if they are queer or not.

Anyways, the reason I'm bringing all this up, is because it would be amazing if we could talk about cants more. I would love to learn certain cants and speak in them with other people, or how cool would it be to start intentionally making our own cant and making it widespread?! Like, fuck it, let's talk in polari, and cockney rhyming slang and write hobo symbols on places. Stuff is weird right now and what with shanties making a huge come back (as they should) we should talk about cants more too! Maybe make a lil cantblr or something? Or argotblr if y'all prefer that? Maybe even cantcore or argotcore fbfbxbxb

[thepilgrimofwar]

Deathseeker

6.

Sederis nodded at Elleynah’s whisper. He may have had power within him, but he was not about to test himself against powers that he did not know- Powers, wreathed in ancient blood were never to be trifled with- Without consequences.

His gaze went down to her other hand, then up at Elleynah. But he did not stop her. She would be the master of her own fate and Sederis wouldn’t dare stop her from trying.

Even as she moved, the cards pulsed. Elleynah’s hand plunged into the flames; the cards swarmed them like insects. It was simultaneous, and it was by a hair that Elleynah’s hand was the quicker. 

The flames here in death were hungry. They consumed her skin and Elleynah swallowed her scream as the cards wrapped around them, shifting the world into something bleak and dark. It was a vision she had no control over; her blood fuelled it, but she maintained herself in the wildness. Lucky, that she had managed to burn her hand and cauterize the wounds to staunch the flow of her blood. 

Holding tight to Sederis, she pulled him closer as the scene around them changed. They were no longer in death; they were in a courtyard of Silvermoon, and the sky was overcast. No rain would fall, for the shimmer of the eternal Spring remained over the city. Elleynah’s breath caught at the scene.

It was a small square; shared by many small businesses, above the open ground floors the winding living spaces of those who manned the shops. A small group of children laughed under a curling goldwood; quel’dorei spoke under blue and silver awnings, birds singing far away. 

And there, sitting on the edge of a green patch, sat a little girl with copper curls.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a chill go down his spine. He had been here, to this very square, long ago. Before an eternity in the realms of Death. Before war had consumed him. Before the scars who made him were made. This was a scene from a distant dream. A happier time- Though it did not truly belong to him. Not as he was then. Not as he was now.

Sederis stared, watching the girl with copper curls.

“When are we?” he asked quietly. Unmoving. Still prepare to run if need be.

The girl sat quietly, looking down at her hands. The Elleynah at his side clenched her own, and Sederis could see the crisscrossing marks on the child’s palms-- scabs, some old, some new, all arrayed over her skin and deep enough to make her fingers tremble when she moved.

Elleynah hissed. “I am not reliving this.” She closed her burned hand, and let the layer of ash on her flesh flake away. “We’re leaving.” Blood seemed to bubble up from the ground under Elleynah’s feet, and she pulled Sederis with her as she turned.

The world shifted; she turned, and they once more faced the square. She pulled Sederis after her, but no matter the steps, they always stayed where they were.

The girl did not look up to them, instead closing her hands once more with a wince.

“Oi, Elleybutt.” A voice cracked over the pleasantness, and a woman in baggy clothes, hair a bramblepatch of dark locks cut across the scene. She had two good eyes, but the familiar tattoos showed where the skin flashed between trousers and ill-fitting tunic.

Elleynah froze a moment, looking at her sister. Baelisian was so much more vital in her memories. Seeing now how the woman was so much the same as the bitter creature she knew as an adult…

“No.” She shook her head and turned to Sederis. “I need you to think of… something painful. I’m sorry. We won’t linger there.” She clasped his hand. “I need to channel the magic into something else that isn’t this. You’re dead, I know, but it should still work since your memories are your own.”

Painful?

He said both outloud and in her head. The place unnerved him. He had grown comfortable with the rules of the Shadowlands. Bearing all the power that the Lady could bring upon him. But this was alien. It felt wrong.

Sederis hesitated for a moment, but as she saw little Elleynah stare at the scabs on her palms, he shut his eyes. He drew upon moments of misery. Of war. Of sacrifice. But none of them were painful- Not anymore. Too much peace had been made during his crossing into death.

Painful.

His voice within her mind’s eye lowered into a growl. There were things that still hurt him, even now. Things that even he, at a God of Death in his own right- Still feared to think of.

Elleynah was working before the memory had blossomed in his mind, the fetid wound of it giving her magic something to latch to. His hand in hers, she reached to her hip and drew the slender dagger she had not dared yet to use; the black glass was jagged and split their skin as one. A norma dagger made of steel would not sever the un-flesh of the dead; but this was an athame made in death, forged from the black sand, tempered in the pyres of bones and doused in… doused in her blood, spilled too much in the Endless Wood. 

The square vanished, and they were plunged into a nightmare of a dead man.

The scene peeled backwards into darkness. No longer were they in the courtyard of blues and silvers, but a dark spartan room lit by cold moonlight. No laughing of children, no bustle of life of a living city. Just a woman, weeping.

There were two of them now, one, a vicious man with a clenched fist- The other, a shadow of his former self. Both of them stayed silent. At their feet was Relriah, bruises across her face, ugly tears running down her face.

“Say it again,” the unscarred man said. His voice was low. A deadly calm. A dare, wrapped in a promise of further violence. “Say it again Riah,” he said, almost lilting this time. Goading her on to speak her mind.

Please be quick Elleynah. Please.

The sobbing made a part of her heart hammer; she knew that kind of crying. Yet the woman in the scene was not the half-mad mother whose body she could not bear to look upon even in memory; this was another ghost, another’s pain.

“One day,” the woman spoke, low and venomous. “You will find that the world doesn’t belong to you. That I don’t belong to you.”

“Only that you will. What will you do? Huh? Run? Where to? Who would take you?” The man kneeled over her, lowering his voice. Anger turning sick, in the same way power twisted all who bore it. “Or do you plan on going alone? Someone as useless as you? Whoring yourself to eat? Don’t make me laugh.”

Sederis considered turning away, but could not. This was who he had been, once upon a time. The part of him that he hated. That he spent the remainder of his life trying to atone for. The first of which was leaving her, to keep her beyond his own reach.

Once, you had asked. On a flying city. What would we have been without The Fall. This is who I’d be. That for all the terrible things that happened to me, I still made my peace. Because for all the time I spent suffering as a Pilgrim of War and a Deathseeker, it all meant that I wasn’t this.   

Elleynah listened to the callous words and cruelties of a man she had never known; and she turned away, despite the blackening mark in her memory. She would not delve into this tragedy here. 

Away from her own panicked memories, she could see the seams of where the Three of Swords had forged this painful truth. Holding tight to Sederis’ bleeding hand, she pulled him away from the scene of his shame, of his dark history. Whatever he had been, whatever haunted him, she would not let it sink its claws in him. He was not the Oracle to be punished; he was the Usher, and now, he lead her through to where she could once more change the future.

She could not change this past, but she would not let him suffer it.

The dagger in her hand shattered, and she winced as she pulled him along. Despite the scene trying to chase them, Elleynah knew now where the vision was weakest. Running her hands over the magic, she let her blood flow into it, warping the weave of it.

Push, she thought at Sederis, hoping he would hear her through the pain she was inflicting on him. Push hard against this. Put all that pain into this moment, and we’ll get out. I promise.

Sederis could not turn away. His gaze fixated on himself, whole, unscarred, as the man stood back up and listened to the cries in the darkness. He heard Elleynah’s thoughts, directed at him, echoing inside himself. Though he had wanted to, Sederis could not weep. So instead he stepped towards the scene.

Placing himself between him and Relriah, he looked at each of them. A memory replicated in perfection. Fueled by all the emotional power it bore within him. Then he pushed, and pain shot through his entire shadowed being.

I…

The word held a note, inhuman, more akin to the howl of a beast.

I spent my entire life trying to outrun you.

His voice spilled out from him now, radiating into the realm of memory.

Performed greater and more terrible sins, just to be rid of you. To atone for what you did, even if no one else remembered my sins. Not even Riah.

Sederis looked back at the woman, who wept still.

But without you, I would have never become me. Never strived to become nobler- kinder- better- to not be you. So-

Though it took all his courage, and all his will, The Deathseeker stepped up to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. It almost seemed as if the memory itself felt it. His nobleborn eyes glancing to his side. All the pain, all the shame that he carried within him was drawn to this moment. Connecting his past, present, and future in this one point. One gesture.

I will make peace with my sins. You aren’t someone I was trying to outrun. You made me. You are me- And I forgive you.

Elleynah’s hand dropped. Watching him, she could not focus on the spell… what Sederis was doing was the more powerful of their magics. Her hand closed at her side, one ruined and burned, the other unscathed, and they clenched tight.

Sederis’ hand rested on the shoulder of the man he had been, and all his terrible pain laid bare.

The world stilled.

And then… it shattered.

Deathseeker and Lifespeaker were one moment in a room haunted by pain and memory, and the next once more in a pavilion in dead sands, a witches hand in the fire.

Hissing in pain Elleynah snatched her hand away, and cradled it to her chest. Her eyes went to the illusory cards which turned to ash even as she gazed at them, fluttering into a deathly wind.

You will Listen and feel all that you Denied.

A broken laugh burst from her. “Gods, you really are an Usher aren’t you?” Bitterness coated the words, and she tried so hard to find the kind girl in herself who had been so shy at hurting others who hurt, so painfully aware of their pain and unwilling to exist if it meant adding to their burdens. It hurt, to know she was there still, beneath the desperation. Baelisian had called her a hypocrite and in the end, perhaps her sister had been right. 

She had made him hurt, and she hated herself so much for it that it came around to hating everything else again. “You fulfilled the cards demand. You Felt and Accepted when I couldn’t just so we could get out.” Her voice turned softer. “I’m sorry. Gods, I say that a lot but I always am, even when it’s useless.” She looked down at the palm of her burned hand where the scars that crisscrossed her palm seemed to stand out in stark relief against the blackened skin.

The Dead Man blinked once, then twice. The sensations of his gesture still hung heavily within his chest. It moved him, even in his state, even after living in time outside of time. Because for as many eternities he had spent wandering the Shadowlands, he had merely did as he pleased. This was different. It was change. Growth. In a place where nothing ought to grow.

“Are you alright?” He said suddenly, taking her palm into both hands and examined the wound. “Well, don’t worry yourself about that. If anything, I should be thanking you. I think… I needed that.” Sederis seemed… More alive somehow. Beyond the shadows that hovered over her palm, and beyond the appearance of the Usher. There was new life in him now.

Her stomach twisted. Yes, the thanks for having revealed the truth, ordained the stars mysteries and showed the future, warned or healed or brought to a head. She closed her eyes, and even in that warm dark, she felt the change rendered in Sederis. Her presence was altering him, again.

It had altered him just-- just that small amount, in Dalaran in the halcyon days, and now she had done it once more, only this time, the Deathseeker had found what he sought. Faced the darkness in his history and accepted some of it. 

Well, she had become Lifespeaker; she spoke, and now in him was life. Her blood may be catalyst but perhaps there were other reasons the living did not last long in death.

Elleynah did not know how to process the bruised face of the woman she had never known, and how alike it was to the pained expression she had seen on her mother when Aeyanti returned from her absences; there were parts of Sederis’ life she had known would not be hers to know and yet now she had glimpse them, maybe more than most who called him friend could. It roiled around in her. She had once, in her heart, absolved him of all unkindness in his past for his present virtue. Some part of her wished to rescind the judgement, and yet...

He took her hand and it was like she slipped into that memory; sitting on the couch, the cub in her lap, the pain in her hand as he touched her with a gentleness she needed and yet did not deserve. 

This time, she let him inspect her wounds without flinching away or flushing. She was awkward yet but they had grown beyond those golden hours, suffered and become more… less… different than they had been. And in that moment, she accepted him again. Not with the eyes of a woman helpless with her affection, not the superior who prized his skills and cared naught for their origin.

Elleynah accepted Sederis; the flawed man he had been, good and bad, noble of heart and cruel. Her friend, who kept his promises.

And in that moment, she knew she could mourn him. He had never really been hers, but he had been and that was enough.

It was a shift in her perspective, all at once. Elleynah stared at him, and overlaying him was the man he had been, and the spirit he had become, and she smiled. For the first time in all of her journeys through death, a peace spread through her chest. If this was to be his ending… it was not a bad one.

She watched as he gazed down at her, the burned skin, the slicing scars across her palm. He had seen them in visions, she remembered-- knew that they bled when her powers overwhelmed her. “I’ll be fine; I’m alive, and living things heal.” She spoke quietly. “I’ve lived through worse down here. Lots worse. It’s just terrible timing on the part of the Three of Swords.” She glowered at her hip, where the deck lie dormant. “They all want their turn to tell me what I’ve done wrong or right and they won’t shut up.”

Rolling her shoulders, she lifted her good hand to cover a yawn, fatigue at all they had survived catching up to her. “Gods, I’m tired. I haven’t slept in forever.”

He nodded, giving her a sheepish smile. Not sure what had become of him, not really, as he drew backwards, more animated than before. “Here I was worried that living things were fragile. But you’re right. They change. They heal. And are better for it.” Sederis smiled in response to her. 

“Out here when you unravel- You tear yourself into strings. Not as painful as that sounds, but things don’t… Heal.” He withdrew his attentions over her palm, realizing, at last, quite obviously that there was nothing he could do. “Out here, there’s an exchange. Shadows of something are taken to replace shadows of your being that are lost. You’re made of everything else, bent to your will. Least that’s been the case for me. Lady willing.”

Sederis stood up again, looking out into the dunes outside the pavilion of shadow from and agreed. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch- It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” He joked. Better this time. More naturally than their initial meeting.

Stretching, she nodded and unclasped her cloak. “I’ll try to sleep then, for a spell. Wake me with a shake if you need me up, I don’t sleep very deep.” Elleynah laid the cloth under her head, and curled around herself in a tight ball, protective of her wounded hand. 

It was easier to sleep than she had feared it would be; the warmth, the spark that had been given back to Sederis seemed to set something in her at ease in a way she had not felt… since before her plunge into the Shadowlands. She closed her eyes, and drifted off to the sound of crackling flame and the stalwart presence of the one and only Deathseeker.

-Fin-

-

Edited Commission by CherryVioletsS

@retributionpriest​ @stormandozone​ @thanidiel​

[flickerbit]

I had so many nightmares last night 😭

[officialleehadan]

Flags and Black Stone Walls

Hello darlings! Guess what?! There's going to be a lot of new storylines launching soon, and this is one of them! Many of you know about my books, Return Again and Leap back (books 1 and 2 of the Sunborn series) and have wondered what happened before Riah came to the magical world!

(Return Again)

(Leap Back)

I am pleased to introduce By Way of the Wolf Star, which will follow Zan's story before his appearance in Return Again!

This series is also accompanied by an announcement! Book 3 of the Sunborn will be launching December of this year! Look for that and the two prequels on Amazon!

+++

Zan ducked around a corner, gave his gloves a good pull to make sure they were tight, and turned to the stone wall at his back. The walls of Darkhame Fortress were old and crumbling. It was no difficulty to find handholds.

After all, humans rarely remembered to look up, and wouldn’t expect him to waste time climbing when he could be running.

They always forgot that the point of this exercise wasn’t to escape, it was to claim the enemy’s flag.

Unfortunately, the rest of his team tended to forget that in the heat of their training battles, and now Zan’s options were decidedly limited.

But the rules, such as they were, were simple.

There were four teams besides his own.

To win, he would have to get the flags of the other teams and make it back to the instructors.

Without losing his own.

Or getting killed, literally or metaphorically.

The shouts of his pursuit were closing in, and he did his best to tune them out. The wall was a familiar climb, and he preferred to gain altitude whenever he could. With any luck, they would forget that. Or, even if they didn’t forget, it might buy him enough time to double back on his own trail.

This would be so much easier if he had at least one ally.

The blackened stones were slick with the rain that was still falling lightly. Zan blessed it, for all that it made the climb more difficult. The sound of rainfall muffled hisi own slight sound, and if he thought the climb was difficult, so would the full-blood humans behind him.

Once in a rare while, his elvish heritage, the gift of his half-elvish mother, was more use than it was hindrance. He would never have the muscle of a human, but sometimes his speed and weight worked in his favor.

As it happened, now was one of those times.

The stone crumbled under his hands as he climbed faster, but that was familiar too. Darkhame Fortress was cursed to ever fall into ruin, and it spent a lot of time doing exactly that. The stones rotted magically fast, and had to be rebuilt constantly.

Shouts below told him that the team behind him had discovered his disappearance. Zan hauled himself over a ledge and rolled out of sight just in time.

They couldn’t climb as quickly as him, but there were two mages and an archer in their group.

And it wasn’t against the rules to murder the competition if you could pull it off before the instructors noticed. There were plenty of people desperate to join up with the Cult of the Dark Master. Losing a few in training was no particular problem. It just meant they weren’t good enough to serve.

Zan dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand, and focused all his skill on moving silently. The ledge was narrow, but not impossible, even slick with slime and rain. Zan picked his way back across the fortress, grateful for his black clothing and the hood his mother sent him with her last letter. It had a mask that fastened inside the hood on clever clasps, and hid the pale of his skin against Darkhame’s dark stone.

If he was clever, the teams below him would think he was just a gargoyle.

If he was lucky, he could get to one of the other teams’ flags before they figured out where he went.

Of course, they would also have to figure out where his flag was. He managed to grab it as the rest of his team ‘died’ and were sent to the sidelines in shame.

Speaking of…

He reached inside his tunic for the scrap of bright yellow fabric. There were no rules saying that it had to stay on his person, and they couldn’t ‘win’ without it. It might be spiteful, but he could ‘die’ knowing they would still have to search all of Darkhame before the instructors would let them inside. He stuffed the yellow flag under a gargoyle and continued on his way, pausing only when he saw another of the trainees. So far, none of them were looking up, and that would be their undoing.

The rain got heavier, and Zan used it to his advantage as he slid down the sharp roof of the main keep and caught himself on a gutter before he could fly off into nothing. Like the climb before, this too was familiar, and he tossed his thin climbing rope around a steel beam that provided the support for a piece of the roof that was being rebuilt. If it was any older, he wouldn’t trust it to hold his weight, but that beam was lifted into place only a few days ago, and the curse, potent though it would, still needed time to act on new material.

His line caught and Zan swung himself around the side of the keep. They weren’t allowed to go inside, but that was just as well. The soldiers were inside, and they hated the assassin trainees. He would be lucky to escape with a beating if they managed to corner him.

Far below, he caught a glimpse of brilliant green. The flag of one of the other teams.

It was guarded. He caught the glimmer of a mage going around a corner. He didn’t have any magic of his own, didn’t have the magesight that would tell him what the magic was, but Star Elves could see magic sometimes, and that was a secret he guarded carefully.

So far, none of the mages had caught on, and he meant to keep it that way.

He took the slide down th next rooftop faster than he liked, but fast was better than getting spotted. The edge of the roof cut off sharply and he threw himself into the open air at the last moment.

The stable had a thatch roof over wooden beams, and it hurt when he hit it at speed. He held still, barely breathing as he listened for any sign that someone heard him.

A dozen breaths later, he dragged himself to his knees. The flag was hanging from the rafters, in plane sight, but he had a trick, planned out when he saw the five flags.

As long as there was still a scrap of green hanging from that rafter, they wouldn’t notice the real flag was gone.

Zan crawled on his belly across the roof until he could reach the flag, and pulled his decoy, a handkerchief lifted off one of the stable hands on his way past, out of his pocket. In moments he had the flag in his hands, and the kerchief in its’ place.

Getting off the roof was significantly more complicated, but not actually hard.

He took a flying leap off the roof, hit the roof of the smithy running and took off back towards the keep.

Shouts below told him that he had been spotted, and he made it to the wall just in time. An arrow rattled off the stones above his hands, but he didn’t slow as he grabbed for the rope he left on his way down, looped the end through his belt to take it up with him, and scrambled for safety.

Unless they could climb like he could, they would have to take the long way around. By then, he could be hidden again.

Another arrow hit the stones, closer this time.

That would be Sheena. She was the best shot of all the trainees, but he wasn’t an easy target, climbing fast and hard to see against the black stone.

Of course, she also used live arrows in these training games. Probably she would shoot to wound; they weren’t enemies and were sometimes allies, but the prize for winning this game was a hot bath and a good meal for the whole winning team. If she got a chance to drop him, she would do it.

When he risked a look, he spotted Red team, Blue team, and White team below him. Green team was swarming around their flag. As he watched, a fight broke out, and someone from Blue team appeared on the roof, grabbed Zan’s decoy, and took off with it.

The brawl that broke out in response was a thing of beauty, and Zan smiled under his mask as he kept climbing until he was well out of arrow-shot.

On his way past, he paused to collect his flag and stuffed it into his shirt, while leaving another decoy, difficult to see but visible, in its’ place.  

Three to go.

He skirted his original path over the keep. It had been Green team chasing him before, and he would bet that there were still at least four of their original dozen who hadn’t noticed the melee in the courtyard.

That was alright though. It gave him time to thin the herd a little.

No point in leaving enemies behind him, after all.

As it turned out, he was right, and there were two were still climbing up th slick roof.

All the better.

This time when he slid down th roof, he pulled both of his training knives, the edges lined in brilliant yellow paint. It was magical, of course, impossible to wipe away without the proper solution, which only the instructors had.

Before they even noticed him, he was on them. His knives left lines across the inner thigh of one, a killing blow in moments, and across the throat of another before he was past them, still sliding, this time all the way to the ground.

Two dead.

Before the living two could turn on him, he pulled a leather ball out of his pouch and threw it at the ground between them. As it was meant to, it exploded into bright yellow and left them both coated. It was meant to mimic a fireburst-potion. At such close range, they were both ‘dead’.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop them form killing him for real if they caught him, so Zan bolted again.

The inner wall of Darkhame was in decent condition, and hard to climb anyway, so Zan took the stairs two at a time. He was pretty sure he knew where Red team’s flag was, but they would be looking for him as soon as they saw the four dead from Green.

Fortunately, Red was mostly made up of fighters who should really be in with the soldiers. Purple hit them early and took out both their mages and their only archer. The rest of Zan’s own Yellow died to bring down the rest.

As it turned out, Blue had the same idea.

Zan dropped down behind a crumbling statue as the Blue team swarmed the few remaining Reds, tore through them leaving injuries both glowing blue with magic and dripping red with real blood. The Blues took injuries, but no deaths as they claimed Red’s flag from the last Red to go down.

Well, alright. Fewer enemies for him to kill.

By the time he circled around again, this time over the roofs of the outbuildings, Blue had already displayed Red’s flag alongside their own.

White was nowhere to be seen. That was concerning. White had the only two trainees that Zan was truly concerned about. Grenden Bakersson had magic, and Tever Mo’tan could sling a throwing dart through the eye of a sparrow on the wing. Either of them alone was a challenge Zan didn’t want to fight, but together they could bring him down.

He stayed flat on his protected roof as Blue milled around, came together in a huddle, and scattered out. Shouting broke out around the corner of the keep. He could see two of the instructors over by the training yard, with everyone who was ‘dead’ seated in the mud beside them. They always knew when someone took a killing blow, although Zan wasn’t sure how it worked. It did help to cut down on cheating, at least.

After a while, the last of Green came around the corner, ushered by another of the instructors. Their clothes and skin were marked with white paint.

Zan watched as they joined the rest. He recognized those precise swipes.

Grenden Bakersson didn’t have much in the way of magic, but what he had was devious. He would never throw magical bolts, or fight as a mage, but he could vanish, completely and absolutely. Even the greatest of the Cult’s mages couldn’t find him once he chose to hide.

It made him a difficult, dangerous opponent.

Apparently Green had forgotten that little fact. All to the better.

Best of all, most of White came too.

Zan had to look twice when he saw them marked with the white of their own blades. Friendly fire wasn’t against the rules, but no one had ever taken that particular route before. It was foolish to go after the flags alone. Zan was only doing it himself because the rest of his team was already ‘dead’ and out of the game.

And because he was pretty sure most of Blue would actually kill him if they got the chance. He did not want a knife in the rubs, thank you very much.

As he thought it, a blade whispered up against his throat.

“Got you.”

Zan stilled. He didn’t feel the wet of paint on his skin yet, which was… interesting. Grenden’s voice was low, and it was Grenden. No one else could sneak up on him while he was on battle-alert.

“Get it over with,” he murmured back and wondered if he could get at his own knife fast enough to take Grenden down before the other assassin cut his throat. “You got me.”

“What fun would that be?” Grenden asked, a smile in his voice, and suddenly the knife was gone. “Want to team up?”

“We’re on different teams,” Zan pointed out, intrigued as Grenden settled beside him, eyes on the melee below. “Did you do for White?”

“Most of them,” Grenden admitted, and flashed a wry grin over at Zan. His blonde hair was dark with rain, and he had a white streak of paint across his cheek. It wasn’t a kill-blow, but it shimmered in the gloom. “Tever is around here somewhere. Tried to get him, but he’s quick.”

“He’s a hard fight. He give you that cut?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I have our flag. Trade you one for one.”

Well. That was even more interesting. Zan watched as Blue pulled in around their flags after doing a quick headcount of the ‘fallen’ and coming up with how many were left. Not many. With Red, green, and Yellow entirely out of the fight, there were only three opponents left.

Of course, Blue, which had the most mages of everyone, knew perfectly well who was still ‘alive’. They wouldn’t take any of their few opponents lightly.

Zan considered his odds, realized that they had three our of five flags between them, and considered his odds if he was they instead.

He pulled his yellow flag out and proffered it. Grenden flashed him a roguish grin and passed his own flag over in return. Zan checked to make sure it wasn’t a decoy, was surprised to discover that it wasn’t, and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I can get to their flag,” Grenden said when they looked down again. There were a couple Blues around the Keep, searching for them, no doubt, but most of them were clustered around their flag and Red’s. “But I can’t grab it without getting caught.”

Zan looked down at the flags. Blue had their flags tied to a poll in the middle of the courtyard. Nowhere to jump from. No easy way to get at it without cutting through them.

But maybe there was another option.

“I can get them away from their flags,” he said finally, and wondered if he was being a fool. There was nothing in the rules about teaming up, but he didn’t know if they could win together. “If you can get there, and be ready, I can get them clear for you. Signal me when you’re by the flags.”

The punishment for failure was two lashes and three days of hard labor. Zan did not want to lose, but he also didn’t think he could win alone.

“Don’t betray me, Pretty,” Grenden winked, and vanished without another word. His voice whispered out of nowhere just behind Zan’s ear and Zan barely kept from stabbing him on reflex. “I’ll meet you back here.”

Zan didn’t hear him go, but he expected that. No one ever saw Grenden when he didn’t want to be seen.

For a while he counted his own heartbeats and hoped he wouldn’t be spotted. His hiding spot was a good one, but Blue knew he was still out here somewhere. One of the Blues appeared around the corner, Zan’s green decoy in his hands, and a fight broke out almost immediately when they looked closer and realized it was a fake.

All the real flags had the Master’s symbol and a swipe of glowing paint on them in their color. Zan’s decoy was green, and had enough paint to look right at a glance, but it wouldn’t pass up to more than a passing glance.

As the Blues argued, Zan watched the flags. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he might have missed the faint swipe of white-glowing paint that appeared on the edge of the blue flag.

Grenden was in place.

Zan stood and took a running leap off the roof, rolled, and came to his feet still running. Rather than go for the flags, he cut through the Blues around the flak, leaving splashes of yellow paint in his wake.

Three dead.

He didn’t slow, and ran for another of his preferred routes up the walls. Magic flared at his back, and he dove around the corner just in time to take Tever clean off his feet.

For a breath, they stared, choosing whether or not to fight it out.

Blues swarmed around the corner and the choice to fight was taken for them. Tever swore viciously, and Zan didn’t stick around to find out what happened next. He swept Tever’s legs out from under him, slashed blindly with his knife, and ran.

Fortunately, they were far more interested in Tever than they were in Zan at the moment, and Zan went from walls to tree to roof with the help of his light climbing line.

When he looked down into the courtyard, the two flags were gone.

“Trade you one for one.”

Zan stifled a yelp, nearly fell off the roof, and was only saved by Grenden grabbing him before he could actually fall.

The older assassin was grinning. A gleam of blue showed along his arm, and again on the same wrist, but he pulled out the two remaining flags.

“I assume you have Green,” Grenden continued as Blues, down several and marked with white, circled back from where Zan left Tever.

Tever himself was down by the instructors, glaring about him and about ready to murder his way out. His clothes and body were covered in blue. The Blues had taken no chances. Tever was very thoroughly dead.

“Let’s get to the instructors,” Zan decided as Blue noticed their missing flags and began fighting again. “You going to stab me in the back, Bakersson?”

“And ruin my chances of being your special friend?” Grenden said with a grin. “Not today, Pretty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop when I come up with something better.”

“Maybe I should stab you after all.”

The banter took them all the way back to the wall, and Zan boosted Grenden up before scrambling up himself. When he slipped, the rain now falling in heavy sheets, Grenden caught him and hauled him up to solid stone.

“Ready?” he asked when they were on the roof directly above the instructors. Grenden nodded. “Go.”

As one, they dropped down to the muddy training field.

Instructor Torbu stared at them, and Zan stifled a twist of satisfaction. It was hard to sneak up on the instructors.

Shouts told him that the Blues noticed their appearance. Before they could be swarmed, he pulled out the green flag, and Grenden’s white one even as Grenden produced Red, Blue, and yellow.

Torbu looked between them, and cracked a gap-toothed grin that showed gold  here and there.

“And here we thought none of you idiots would ever realize you could work together,” he roared with laughter and held up a hand to stop the Blues. “Hot baths and hot food for the both of you. The rest of you, remember that Warriors of the Sun work as a team, and you will never take them down working alone. Now get out of my sight. Your punishment duty starts in the morning.”

+++

By Way of the Wolf Star:

The name of Wraith the Assassin is known throughout the land. Where he goes, only ghosts remain. If you see him at all, you may assume he has not come for you, for if he had, you would know he was there only when his blade found your throat.

But he was not always Wraith the Assassin, and Zandithas has a long way to go before he becomes the living nightmare of the known world.

Flags and Black Stone Walls

[isleofdarkness]

Dude- you can't do this to me. Oh my god, that was AWESOME. I'm literally shaking. What the hell.

I can feel the desperation and anguish in that room so fucking well. Your writing is just so cosmically good. Can't wait for this chapter to be complete.

I don't know what to say other than how the fuck I didn't realize Sunshine was already born, I'm so stupid.

These fuckers break my heart, they love their babies so much. Bonus points for Diego's Spanish line, my mexican ass loved that.

So many people are getting involved, this is going to be wild.

Your character designs are so cool, everyone is so different and it's a breath of fresh air from the "every character has white features and normative bodies" shit media has been doing forever. Justice is strong and she LOOKS strong and I love that.

I also love the fact that Ben refers to Justice as "the tank" and I'm dying to know what she would think of that.

Hatti is great, I just knew I was going to adore her since I saw she was Loki and Circe's daughter. Loved her chaotic energy, too. She's not like that because of who her parents are, that's just the average 13-years-old girl/j

LYDIA IS HEREEEEE JWODNQIDNQKSKQMSKQ KAKDKADNKAJDAKKSAKKS AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I love that she's so tiny that Ben confused her with a ten-year-old.

“ "I got two hours or else Constantine..." she grimaced. "Yeah, you know." ” Are you trying to kill me or what. Because if you are, is working.

I don't know what it is but I love the way Lydia talks, it's quite similar to Maverick's speech but at the same time different(? Her speech is just so outstanding to me and it's weird because it's not really different from the rest. I don't know if you did that on purpose or if it's just my obsession for her doing its thing, lol.

Now I really want to know what your process is when giving your characters a voice and differentiating that voice from the rest (considering the number of characters you handle, too).

This does not reflect the emotional damage this has had on me so I will proceed to AAHHHHHH HELP IM IN PAIN AHHHHHHHHHH HELP ME AHHHHHHH MY BABIES AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

-Dante.

Gods please give me the strength to finish this chapter just so I can see how Dante anon will react.

I mean, she's a newborn and my old posts did have her not even born yet, so that's on me.

Oh boy, you're going to murder me.

All these people and no one has had more than two hours of sleep in the past three days.

Thank you. I love describing Justice because she's taller than literally everyone and usually bigger. The girl looks like she could bench-press a tank and she can and I love that.

Oh, she would go on a whole rant. She doesn't mind it when Isle people do it but King Ben? She would spend fifteen minutes yelling at him about how she wants to dress all feminine and grow out her hair but no, she's locked on the Isle of constant war and all of that stuff would put her in danger so she can't do any of that. She likes being a tank to the Isle people, but it's poking a bruise when it's Ben

I am so glad you love Hati

If Lydia had time she would have gone on The Whole Rant but, unfortunately, they have to get Riah off of the Isle as fast as possible.

Oh, I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to kill Ben/lh

The Isle has a lot of different dialects and ways of speaking and Lydia's trying to adopt the same one as Maverick and Mara, but her speech is different because she grew up with a different dialect. Honestly, the language on the Isle could be its own post.

I just keep their personalities in mind. It's hard to explain but maybe I'll do a post about it sometime

Oh man, I can't wait to finish this chapter

[thepropertylovers]

A Magical Night on the Back Porch

We love our house in town. We’ve called it home for the last five years and it’s the house I grew up in, the house we brought our children home to, and where we became a family. So it’s special and sentimental all at the same time. One thing about it though:

It’s short on outdoor space. It’s right in the middle of town and in between a bunch of old houses, which has a certain charm to it, but because of that, we don’t have much of a yard or a place for the kids to run around (another reason we’ve been spending so much more time at the farm recently). But, we’ve learned to make do with what we have and try to use every inch of our space there.

PJ got the boys a basketball goal for Christmas and now that we’ve had a little bit of warmer weather the last few days, he finally put it together on the back porch and they’ve been playing on it nonstop. I find it so cute that they love it so much, especially Allan, who comes straight home from school and runs to the back porch to shoot a few hoops.

Last night, as I was making dinner and PJ was down in the yard with Anna tending to our sheep (watch next week’s vlog to see why we brought one of our sheep home!), the boys were playing basketball on the back porch and having a blast. We had the back doors open and there was a nice breeze passing through the house. Bossa Nova music was playing as we were both sipping wine.

It was one of those perfect moments in time that happens every now and then where I wish I could freeze time and play it over and over. Thank goodness for technology, right?

Then, when dinner was ready, Allan asked if we could eat outside since it felt so good. I told him he could if he wanted, and he immediately ran to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of lemon cleaning spray, a rag, and ran back outside to wipe down the table. He then picked up a plant from the living room and asked if he could bring it outside. I had the biggest smile on my face as I told him “sure” because that’s absolutely something PJ or I would do to dress up the outdoor table and make the entire experience a little more special.

Allan put the plant in the middle of the table and brought his food out as the sun was starting to get lower and lower. What he said next surprised me and made me laugh:

“Okay you can eat inside with your husband, and I will eat outside with Riah and Anna. Sound good?”

From the mouths of babes I tell you!!! What a cutie little stinker. So the three of them ate at the table that Allan set on the back porch while we stood beside them and just watched. They were laughing and talking and just having a good time. Now that everyone can talk, it’s fun to listen in on their very real conversations.

I love that they’re getting older and more independent and coming up with their own ideas on things to do and make. It’s both a challenging (so many mistakes, so many messes, so many frustrating situations) and beautiful (so fun to see them stretch their creativity, so rewarding to watch them think for themselves, so wonderful to witness them problem-solve) time in their lives and I know I speak for both of us when I say we’re both so grateful to call them ours.

[lal-ffxiv]

The Perfect Night (Complete)

Story of Asdis - Asdis attempts a ritual to return home. At it’s failure she unleashes Achlys on a Keepers of The Moon community. Leaving devastation and destruction in her wake.

“Ni a gnir fo snroht. Rednu eht wodahs fo a lluf noom. Htiw eht riah fo a nettogrof erutaerc. Dedlem htiw eht htaerb fo a tnesdiov. Deliob ni eht doolb fo enoemos tsol. Revo a dloc erif.”

“In a ring of thorns. Under the shadow of a full moon. With the hair of a forgotten creature. Melded with the breath of a voidsent. Boiled in the blood of someone lost. Over a cold fire.”

Asdis drank a flask full of ether as the lesser moon overcame the larger moon. All the animals and beasts in the forest made sounds of panic as the night became darker. Asdis remained calm.

She casted a small blizzard overhead. Then Asdis sighed into the glass mortar. Her warm breath was caught on the sides in the cold. Speedily,  she cut some fur tuff from around her ear put in as well. She took the bottle with the rust red blood and poured it into the alchemy bowl forcing it meld with the other ingredients.

She continued to melded the potion items together at great cost to herself. Taking a handful of ampoules from her sleeve pocket. She broke the vials in her mouth. The hi-ether straightens her vision enough to see she was causing clouds to cover the sky above her. Achlys stood back silent to watch her other half struggle.

Asdis’s breathing became ragged as she swept away the thick purple clouds that gathered over her. The spell caused a windstorm to tear through the canopy as it whipped away the clouds.

Asdis couldn’t mind it though. The shadow of the full moon was dwindling. She took the marbled jewel into her hand and with the other held the mortar. The previous time Asdis attempted this technique it did not give the desired results. The scars over her hands as evidence, but these were desperate times. Dalumad could perhaps never overstep Menphina again.  

Asdis’ whole arms shook with exhaustion. The sweat on her brow was falling over and burning her eyes with the salt.

Still, she casted the spell of her own creation with a touch of joy. As a cluster of ice built over her hand, from the ice came a flame. A blue flame. The mixture in the mortar turned blue to match. Then, yellow, red and then a burned black before becoming shades lighter as it bubbled like oil in water.

White. Asdis needed to wait until it was white. She held the spell for the longest time, but it was the weakness of her hands that had gotten the better of her. Asdis began to read the geometric symbols on her wrists too late. She lost all sense of her hands. She couldn’t catch the bowl. Only watch as the snow white liquid spread on the ground around her.  

Fat droplets of salted water fell from her eyes before she could consider the situation, yet the mixture began to eat away at the ground. It revealed a different land underneath.

Asdis for the first time since she came to this time was seeing her homeland. She could hear the music of the fairies. She could smell sweet dew of purple grasslands. She could see the ethereal light, but she could not feel it. She could not cross. The spaces where her tears fell remind white and when Asdis tried to push herself through her hands only came up with mud.

The moonlight came out again making the images disappear as it became something similar to the smell and appearance of black foam.

“Emoh nsi’t tahw uoy kees syawyna,” Achlys said from her side of Asdis’s mind. Words of comfort or words of mockery. Asdis did not know.

Losing control of herself, Asdis let herself go to an overwhelming feeling of despair. Achlys seized this chance to come forward.

Asdis’s body stood and spoke under the voidsent’s control. She looked at the pile of burned black goo at her feet. Looked at the full moons in the sky without concern. Achlys could only be concerned with one objective. An intense physical pain demanding to be attended.  

“I was a person once too.” Achlys said with Asdis’s voice as she widened Asdis’s senses.  “Now-” Achylys took in a deep breath of the aetherflow, “Now I am only hungry.”  

Asdis felt the village before coming upon it. The mothers radiated with a ferocious warrior energy. They were battle ready to protect their children. Only a fool or a voidsent would attack a Moon Mystel community on a full moon. However, it could be argued that Asdis was both.

Achlys hummed happily at the mist gathered at the edge of the village. Asdis could feel the Keeper’s unease, but none of them felt fear.

“Make them afraid.” Asdis said and Achlycs let a gleeful laugh. It was a high pitched, twisted sound that the Keepers aimed their weapons on. Although it was useless, the mist rushed into the village from all sides. They were hardly able to notch their arrows before their flesh decayed. The warriors were dried off of their aether in seconds by mist of death. 

Asdis become overwhelmed with their emotion in their last living moments. Regert. Anger. Hopelessness. Still, not even a touch of fear did they feel at the face of death.

For Achlys, the Keepers’ lunar energy infused aether was pleasing yet not satisfying. There is more aether in the village. Specks in hiding, but there is a strong source as well. Whoever it was also the only source of pure fear as well. Asdis wanted them, but before Achlys could send out the mist to find out the little ones. A voice came out clear in the mist calling to the intruder.

“Unholy creature give me your name.”

Asdis stepped forward alongside Achlys to answer the voice that called out, “I am not a creature. I am a goddess to you.”

“Your name!” The voice sounded aged, but shouted with vigor.

Shes retreated the mist enough to relieve an old woman with a full face of white paint. She glowed with Menphina’s blessing and something more.

Amused by the old woman, the viis answered her, “I am Asdis Heolstorm. Who are you to stand against me without a weapon?”

“I am the priestess of this village. I have walked with the true goddess Menphina. I have her blessings. You are nothing, but the beast which murdered all my daughters. I do not need a weapon. My fury will be your reckoning.Then if I fail. I have faith. The Twelve will stop you.”

“Priestess.” The voidsent and viis answered as one. A double voice. One clearly speaking, the other backwards and unnatural. “I am a being from a forgotten time and place. I hold Achlys, a voidsent of chaos and darkness. It would take more than your twelve false gods to stop me.”

Coming to stand to face the woman Asdis was washed by the priestess’s feeling of faith. It allowed Asdis to take in all her senses. The fearful little one had escaped. The village was empty. The pure concentration of aether that led Achlys here had become a dim light now on the verge of vanishing.

Achlys was compelled to go after it and Asdis was going to allow her to, but the priestess spoke again.

“The Twelve will never allow you home Ari Kisne. You will remain on this shard alone. Even when heroes rise again, you still won’t be saved. For you are lost, now and always.”

Exhausted of the old priestess words Asdis summoned her unique form of umbral fire. The burning shards pierced through the old woman’s chest. The fire burned her from the inside until her whole body was ash.

Achlys whines about the waste of aether, while Asdis becomes caught in the woman’s dying emotions. It was a deep, calming peace.

Asdis felt the wetness of a single tear on her cheek and was revolted to know it was caused by her own emotion.

[itslmdee]

The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins (II)

With Dan still imprisoned without trial, Sarah finds someone who might be able to help, a scientist willing to contradict ICM's model.

The office looked much as Sarah had expected with bookshelves of academic literature and well-worn leather chairs pulled up by an old mahogany desk where a laptop and coffee mug took pride of place. A solar powered decoration sat silent at one corner of the desk, the plastic yellow anchor of a boat unmoving amongst blue plastic waves.

The professor, however was not as Sarah had expected- she'd imagined a white bearded bespectacled older man, like the head of ICM, but Professor Jones was not yet forty with bronzed skin, raven black hair held back in a short ponytail, and piercing blue eyes that softened as he greeted her.

"Thank you for coming," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. He placed a book back on a shelf and moved his briefcase from the other chair so he could sit.

"Thank you for seeing me," she responded. She sat, clutching her handbag in her lap. "If there's anything you can do for Dan, I'll be grateful beyond words."

Jones nodded. "They've been talking about genetics and how that's informed the ICM model. Some of my colleagues and I have been looking at the data we can get hold of, which is precious little, and we're concerned. When we compare their findings with our own research, these supposed danger markers that make someone prone to violence or to carrying an infectious disease are, to be blunt, bullshit."

Sarah blinked. "They're a lie?"

"They are without a doubt unproven," Jones said. "You'll see similar markers in most people if you look, and in many animals, and, as I've been trying to prove, in plants. You can argue for a violent killer horse, maybe, but a murderous carrot?"

Despite, or perhaps because of the situation, Sarah laughed. It felt good, even with the tinge of hysteria to it.

"The problem is getting the ICM to acknowledge this. Government funded organisations never like to admit they are wrong. It would affect their funding in future. Academia is not now, if it ever was, a bastion of truth seekers. Everyone has their biases, myself included. Money talks." Jones leaned back in his chair. "And speaking out against the mainstream narrative can get your own funding cut. It can get you ridiculed and have you lose your reputation or your position. And, in some cases, worse. Like Doctor Riah."

Sarah remembered the unfortunate man. He'd been found dead from a supposed self-inflicted gunshot wound. A wound, some had insisted, that could not have been self-inflicted at all.

"Speaking out is dangerous," Sarah acknowledged. The hateful comments on Dan's social media accounts and those of his supporters were one thing but this was something else. Bryan, Dan's lawyer, had warned her that things could get ugly. She'd thought he meant graffiti on their house or broken windows, but social media influencer Tamara had received death threats for vlogging in Dan's defence, and many experts Sarah had approached had refused to have anything to do with her or Dan's case.

Jones was the first researcher who'd agreed to speak with her.

"It can be. But we cannot live without risk," Jones said. "That's part of why I'm agreeing to help."

No doubt he, like Dan's lawyers also hoped to gain from the exposure this would provide, the Davids against the Goliaths of the government and the ICM. There were also rumours he and the head of ICM had always been at odds, academic rivals. Sarah didn't care. If he supported her cause sincerely that was a bonus, but his support alone was enough.

"What they're doing is unconscionable," Sarah said. "He's never had a trial or any chance to plead his case."

"I know. This imprisonment, to confine someone just in case they cause death or injury, is the epitome of a risk averse culture and is utterly alien to our very way of life." He leaned forward in his chair. "If I can help provide evidence that will release your husband, or at least get him a fair trial or a transparent, public, evaluation that outlines what minimal risk he poses to the public, then I must."

"Thank you." Sarah bit her lip, tried to hold back tears of relief. Through the window behind the desk sunlight streamed as the clouds moved off. The solar powered decoration responded and the anchor bobbed back and forth amongst undulating waves.

"My testimony, the research my colleagues and I have been doing, won't be enough," Jones told her gently. "But it will be a start."

She took a tissue from her handbag, dabbed at her eyes. "It only takes one pebble to start an avalanche."

He smiled. "Quite."

As soon as she got home Sarah emailed Dan. She didn't mention Jones by name, only that she'd found an expert who would defend him. That they had to have faith. And that she loved him.

When she prayed that night it was with thanks for renewed hope, and requests for Dan to stay strong, and for Jones to stay safe, and for her to be able to keep striving to free her husband. She missed Dan holding her, but that night was the best night's sleep she'd had in weeks.