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theladysunami · 5 months

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I listen to a lot of audiobook murder mysteries, which has me thinking:

Shen Yuan transmigrating into a murder mystery… as the killer!

There are a couple of ways the story could go.

First Option: Shen Yuan lets his System know, in no uncertain terms, he will not be murdering anyone.

Its response: [Alternate Plotline Initiated. New Assignment: Designated Red Herring].

Poor Shen Qingqiu finds himself stuck in a whole murder mystery series, and any time anyone is murdered, he somehow ends up being the number one suspect!

The victim? Probably picked a fight with Shen Qingqiu at some point. (Shen Qingqiu tries to avoid such arguments, but it never seems to work!)

The murder weapon? Yeah, Shen Qingqiu is almost guaranteed to have touched it. (Shen Qingqiu is severely tempted to start wearing gloves 24/7.)

The body? Either Shen Qingqiu finds it himself at some inopportune time, and/or it was stashed somewhere “only” he is supposed to have access to. (At some point it's just: Shen Qingqiu opens a door… sees a body… closes the door. “Time to call the cops, yet again.”)

Shen Qingqiu ends up a tad paranoid about the whole thing, setting up cameras outside his house, in his office, in his car, etc. just to (hopefully) stop people from planting evidence any of those places.

If anyone asks about the truly absurd number of (eventually dropped) murder allegations, Shen Qingqiu insists he's cursed. Even with genre blinders on (making the number of convoluted murders in the area seem normal somehow), it's hard for anyone to argue the point.

For Shen Qingqiu's day job (when he's not busy being charged with murder) he works as a professor at a university with a highly regarded Criminology & Criminal Justice program. I'm thinking the original goods was a literature professor, with a strong distaste for cops, who was known for grading anyone in the criminal justice program exceedingly harshly. Naturally one of his students is the protagonist, Luo Binghe.

After his transmigration, professor Shen Qingqiu suddenly becomes a very kind and doting professor with a real passion for literature. This leaves Luo Binghe quickly smitten and makes him a very motivated amateur detective, since he's determined to prove his beloved's innocence as quickly as possible and as often as needed!

Second Option: Shen Yuan takes over after the original goods already committed the murder.

He wakes up with a splitting headache (the victim attempted to defend themselves presumably), looks at his bloody hands… looks at the victim… looks at the weapon… looks at his bloody hands again. “Damn it, Airplane.”

He decides he doesn't want to try and hide a body actually, just to be caught by the protagonist later and charged with a whole slew of things in addition to murder, so he calls the cops himself. He might as well take advantage of the fact he has a concussion and literally doesn't remember a thing. Maybe he can get the charges reduced somewhat and get a lighter sentence.

Of course the first cop that arrives at the scene is Yue Qingyuan, who as the #1 Xiao-Jiu stan gives Shen Qingqiu way too much benefit of the doubt. The most obvious evidence also keeps being erased or damaged by weird as hell coincidences.

Shen Qingqiu knows he certainly isn't responsible for damaging evidence and wonders if the System is working overtime behind the scenes to ensure there actually is a mystery for Luo Binghe to solve. (After all, it wouldn't be much of a story if Shen Qingqiu was already charged and sentenced before Luo Binghe had a chance to even do anything.)

To his complete bewilderment, after a few days leave to recover from the concussion, Shen Qingqiu is actually allowed to return to his university teaching job. He decides to make the best of it, since who knows how long he'll be a free man.

As in the first scenario, a few months later and Luo Binghe is absolutely smitten, not to mention all the other students and faculty that have come to adore him.

As Shen Qingqiu has successfully endeared himself to pretty much anyone and everyone local that could actually charge him or provide eyewitness testimony, not to mention all the shady shit about murder victim Qiu Jianluo the ongoing investigation keeps digging up, the plot stalls for a bit until the state police (aka Huan Hua Palace) are finally called in by Qiu Haitang.

Unfortunately for the ‘HHP’ folks, the protagonist himself is on Shen Qingqiu's side, and Luo Binghe is perfectly happy to muddy the waters by conveniently “losing” evidence, sending them after every single red herring he comes across, and “accidentally” digging up dirt on all the shady dealings going on in their department.

The System keeps trying to motivate Shen Qingqiu to hide evidence, lie, or do literally anything suspicious to progress the plot further, but all its punishment protocols involve sabotaging Shen Qingqiu's coverup attempts (of which he has none) or revealing information to the protagonist (who is complicit by this point) so it's fresh out of luck.

Eventually the System gives up and Shen Qingqiu is congratulated for “getting away with murder!” despite the fact he didn't actually do anything.

“Seriously? Does it even count as getting away with murder when the original goods was the actual murderer? I didn't kill anyone!”

[...]

#BingQiu #Shen Qingqiu #Luo Binghe #SQQ #LBH #Scum Villain's Self Saving System #SVSSS #SVSSS Idea #Story Idea #* I know nothing about the Chinese justice system... but the 'original book' would have been written by Airplane so it's fine.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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AITA for slapping my mother in law?

I (27F) am married to my husband Jay (26M) and we recently had our first child Lily.

Well the pregnancy was a very very difficult one. I was throwing up every day for over six months, suffered long bouts of insomnia, developed gestational diabetes, standing up too fast made me incredibly dizzy, my entire body just constantly hurt, Lily kicked me so hard I legit had tears in my eyes (which combined with full body pain was...not pleasant) and to top it all off Lily weighed ELEVEN pounds and I tore really really badly.

Yeah...ow.

I love my daughter to death but never again. Ever.

Anyways after that literal hell of a pregnancy, I've been more or less bedbound for several weeks now while healing from that entire ordeal. Which means Jay has been taking care of pretty much everything, keeping the house clean, making food, taking care of me and Lily, etc. Its a lot I know and I wish I could do more to help but Jay has been insisting that I rest and recover and that he's got this. He's been handling everything like an absolute champ. Honestly if I didnt have him I dont know how I would be doing anything.

Well this morning Jay's parents came to visit and meet their granddaughter. So I was moved to the living room so I could introduce them to Lily and socialize a bit while Jay cooked lunch.

Now Jay's parents are very traditional. They believe that men make the money and that its the woman's job to take care of the house, the cooking, and the children.

You can probably see where this is going.

I introduce Mother in law to Lily and we get to talking. (Father in law went outside to go smoke)

Thats when mother in law asks why Jay is cooking. More importantly why Im NOT cooking. I tell her I physically cant even stand UP without help so how am I supposed to cook.

She only scoffed saying that I was just making excuses. I am very used to her bullshit by now so I just roll my eyes.

Then Lily started crying because she needed a diaper change. Mother in law tells me to go change her diaper. Again I cant even stand up by myself, much less get up to change a diaper.

I call Jay and he happily comes to get our daughter. Mother in law starts yelling, telling Jay no that I should do it because its my job. She grabs Lily and shoves her back into my arms and tells me to get up and go do it.

Jay, my wonderful angel, tried to tell her that I physically couldnt move for weeks and to mind her own damn business.

She then started yelling even more saying that I was making my husband do my job for me, calling me lazy and a slut (What that has anything to do with this? I have no idea) she went off on a complete tangent about how it was a woman's job to take care of the home and the children, that SHE managed just fine and she had five small children, that I was completely emasculating Jay, that I was a disgrace, etc.

She just kept going and going while not letting me and Jay even get a word in. Until eventually she said that my daughter will probably grow up to be a whore like I am.

I think it was a mix of pure exhaustion and hormones because somehow I managed to stand up for a moment and slap her across the face before immediately falling back on the couch.

Jay looked shocked, Mother in law looked livid. (Father in law was just watching from the doorway, equally as shocked.)

Mother in law started full on screaming, calling me every single name in the book until father in law physically dragged her out of the house by her arm.

Now hours later my phone has been blowing up with messages from my brothers and sister in laws, telling me that I was an asshole and that I had no excuse for hitting their mother.

Hell even my friends think I was in the wrong for hitting her (completely ignoring how she was yelling, calling me horrible names, in front of a newborn baby no less.)

So AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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cumikering · 9 months

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Possessive best friend Soap x reader

1.6k | angst, bullying, swearing Operation Sabotage: Soap crashed your date (Part 2) Idea from @ceilidho

Soap stepped into the quiet restaurant with an easy smile, not taking long at all to spot you. He could recognise you from anywhere even with your back to him. His smile turned into a cocky grin as he walked over to the table of two, his boots thudding.

He watched as your date looked at his figure approaching, his words trailing off. You blinked at his sudden withdrawal, and when you turned to see what had stolen his attention, you were met with the sight of Soap.

He grabbed a nearby chair, sitting next to you and your date with a chuckle. “Hey, you. Fancy seeing you here.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, pretty much knowing what was to come already. “Hi, Johnny. I’m in the middle of a date,” you said through gritted teeth, gesturing at the man across you.

“I’m sure the lad wouldn’t mind,” he dismissed. “Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I’m Johnny. What’s your name again?”

“Daniel.” He let out a nervous chuckle, shifting his gaze to you, as if asking what was going on.

“Nice to meet ya, pal.” He didn’t even try to mask the smack as a pat on the back.

You sighed. “Johnny, don’t you have other things to do?”

“Not at the moment, just want to catch up with my buddy here.” He shrugged, turning to Daniel. “So what were you guys talking about?”

Daniel seemed to have recovered from the interruption, going back to his easy-going self. “I was talking about my time in uni,” he began, before taking another bite of his pasta.

You stopped listening, severely distracted by Soap’s uninvited presence at the table as you moved your food around your plate. You always did this - you shut down when you were upset, as to not overreact and make a fool of yourself. If you kept it cool, hopefully Soap would get bored and leave you and Daniel alone soon enough.

Soap nudged you, pulling you back into reality.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t like guys who bounce their legs?”

In a burst of self-consciousness, Daniel’s leg stopped under the table.

“That’s none of your business, Johnny.” You stabbed your fork onto your food too forcefully, not lifting your gaze.

“But you told me it really irked you. Just like when people eat with their mouth open,” he replied, feigning innocence.

Daniel let out a cough at the comment, turning a little red.

You let your fork drop to your plate. You didn’t mean to make it ring that loudly in the room. “Sorry, I need to go to the loo,” you announced to no one, not daring to look at Daniel. Your heavy seat dragged across the carpeted floor before you left.

You were glad the bathroom was empty. You took a few deep breaths with your hand over your chest, going over to the sink when you were a touch calmer. With your hands supporting your weight, you leaned in, looking at your own figure in the large mirror.

Yes, you noticed Daniel bounced his leg – it was one of the first things you noticed of him. Yes, he chewed with his mouth open, even spoke with his mouth full. Yes, these things peeved, no, vexed you. But he was funny and smart, handsome enough with a light stubble, and from what you could tell, handled difficult situations well (like keeping his composure while getting humiliated by a third-wheel on his first date).

You tried to give the man a chance, clutching onto his redeeming qualities, but with each flaw called out, it felt like your attraction towards him drained.

You knew you had to be realistic. It’d been months of online dating, and you’ve met no one you were genuinely interested in. You were frustrated, near hopeless. You knew full well no one was perfect. Yet at this rate, you’d find nobody, not when you couldn’t stop holding every potential partner up to Soap. You knew no one would be as playful and fun as him, as loyal and strong, and you’ve accepted that. But after all these years, why couldn’t you let go of the fantasy of being with him, or even someone like him?

Soap wrapped a heavy arm around Daniel’s shoulder. “Mate,” he began.

Daniel turned to Soap, tearing his gaze away from your body disappearing as you rounded the corner. He took a large gulp of water, before looking back at Soap.

“Did I mention I’m Special Forces? I’m a Sergeant.” Soap watched as his eyes widened. ”We bench press recruits to warm up, usually about your size,” he added, nodding to himself.

“That’s wonderful,” he said, looking away.

He retraced his arm. “Och, I didn’t mean to scare you, pal! I thought we were getting to know each other. Daniel Harris, was it?”

Another uncomfortable chuckle. He didn’t remember mentioning his last name.

“Hey, you still live in Brentford, right? On Clifden and Brooks Road?”

This time he looked genuinely spooked as his brows shot up.

“Any plans yet for your wedding anniversary? October is fast approaching.”

Colour drained out of Daniel’s face. He stood. “I think I better go,” he croaked.

“Aww,” Soap cooed, the smug smile wider. “The very least you can do is pay for the meal, no?”

He pulled a few notes from his wallet with a shaky hand, placing them on the table.

“Och, away an bile ye heaid, pal!” Soap snapped, shooing him away. “Yer a fockin’ disgrace, ya prick!”

With that, Daniel quite literally bolted out of the restaurant.

You stayed in the loo for a few more moments, making peace with yourself as you regulated your breathing further. When you’ve cooled down enough, you walked back to the table with your head held high, determined to tell Soap to piss off as rudely as he’d interrupted your evening.

But Soap was the only one at the table, in Daniel’s seat, leaning back onto the booth. He smirked, his brow cocked. Before you sat down, you noticed the wad of cash, stark in the middle of the table.

“Where’s Daniel?” you asked, alarmed.

“Sorry, lass. He said something came up.” Soap shrugged. “He paid for the meal though. Good lad.”

Your stare narrowed at him as your fists balled on your sides, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Just before the first tear fell, you stormed off the restaurant, ignoring his calls for you.

Clouded with anger, you walked away far enough until it occurred to you you had nowhere to go. Daniel had picked you up for the dinner and you were left with not even the satisfaction of slamming your own car door shut and screaming to your heart’s content in private. You stopped, knowing Soap had followed you close behind, recognising the distinct thud of his boots.

“Hey,” he muttered as he approached you, a hand almost touching your shoulder, but decided against it.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hands before turning to him. “What’s your problem, Johnny! This is not the first time you’ve ruined my date!”

He softened as he saw your tear-stained cheeks. “Lass, I’m just looking out for you.”

“I told you, if you have anything to say, say it civilly not during the date. You keep embarrassing me!” You couldn’t help raising your voice, more tears flowing out. “At this point, I think you just don’t want to see me happy. I’m trying fucking hard here, Johnny! Just because you don’t want a relationship, doesn’t mean you get to ruin my chances.”

He blinked, the air still between the both of you.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said, eyes on the ground in remorse. “You know that’s not true.”

You hated how pretty his lashes looked. “No, you’re not fucking sorry,” you spat, wiping at your tears again. “Seriously, what’s your problem, Johnny? Are you scared we won’t be friends anymore? I’m royally sick of this. You’re making me fucking miserable.”

His gaze snapped to you, equally fervent now. “Me? I make you miserable?” he repeated in disbelief. ”Ye know wha ma’ problem is?” His head cocked to the side. “Ma’ problem is tha I fockin hate hearin those Tinder pings an knowin it’s nae me who’s makin ye smile at yer phone!”

Soap’s accent always got thicker whenever he got fired up. You usually understood him regardless, but this time you frowned. What you heard was so outrageous, you second guessed your hearing.

“Am fockin sick of seein the lot of arseholes ye meetin, when am right here!” He gestured at himself. “Wha the bloody hell do all these blokes hav tha I daen’t?”

“Johnny,” you said tentatively, taken aback by the sudden change of demeanour. “What are you on about?”

“Why are ye so blind tae me?” he softened. “I thought I made myself clear. All these years I’ve been trying to get you to notice me, to see me as more than a friend.”

Your eyes widened, not believing what tumbled out of his mouth. You watched as his lips parted, his chest moving under his crisp white shirt. For the longest time, you had wanted him to wrap his strong arms around you, pull you close against his broad chest before pressing his sweet lips on yours. And here you finally were, hearing the words you previously could only imagine from him.

“I like you too, Johnny,” you muttered against his neck, arms wrapping around him.

You heard the smile in his sigh.

First fanfic. Would appreciate feedback and constructive criticism. Thanks :)

@sofasoap

#call of duty #soap #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #johnny soap mctavish #soap mctavish #cod soap #possessive soap #best friend soap #bff soap #cbf!soap

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redtsundere-writes · 24 days

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Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader

Part 9. Don't Know

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Synopsis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Warnings: Cursed words. Fighting. Sexual harassment. I only read it once, lmao Word count: 2722 words. A/N: Shoutout to @ghosts-girl_ on IG for sending me a Sukuna fanart that was inspired by this fic! Tysm <3!

Btw I made a PLAYLIST

Going back to the hospital always scared me. I always enter the doctor’s office with sweaty hands while imagining the worst in my mind. The white and neat walls, decorated with informative posters about the importance of exercising regularly. The light gray floor was freshly waxed, I could see my scared face reflected in it. There were a few fake plants around to make the place look less intimidating.

The doctor was asking me questions about my lifestyle over the past six months while typing incessantly on the computer perched in the middle of the large desk. The doctor took out the new x"ray that had been taken of my neck and inspected it in front of the light screen. He didn't say anything, he just analyzed her very carefully to not make a wrong diagnosis. My manager, Mei Mei, came with me this time for support despite having a tight schedule. She noticed I was nervous, so she patted me on the back to calm me down.

“Do you think she can fight soon, Doc?" Mei Mei asked him my biggest concern.

“Her neck has completely healed, if she wanted, she could fight tonight,” the doctor answered with a smile.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips at the wonderful news I had awaited for so long. 3 years to be precise. I was out of the octagon for 3 years on medical recommendation so that my neck would heal completely and avoid future injuries. My face was about to cry with joy, so I hid it in my hands. I was about to reborn, I already wanted to return to the gym with my team to train like in the old days. Start again, conquer the battlefield and recover the title that was taken from me.

Mei Mei and I left the office to meet my friend and training partner, Nobara, who was waiting for us along with Mei Mei's younger brother, Ui Ui. I told her the good news, and she hugged me happily. We used to do everything together before I was injured, now we could go back to our routine as if nothing had happened.

“Everyone will be very happy when they see you back at the gym,” Nobara said excitedly.

“Finally,” I sighed heavily jokingly. “Mei Mei, shall I ask you to gather the team?” I asked her nicely.

Mei Mei was in charge of ensuring that my schedule was met without delays. She was the one who organizes my fights, gathers athletes for special training, hires doctors, etc. She was always busy, but she never let me out of her sight. Not only that, but she always took care of my my needs even though Team Black gives me everything I need. I told her not to worry so much in several occasions, but she always responded with “you never know.”

"I'm already on it, darling. Also, since your appearances with Ryomen, there are several sponsors interested in you,” Mei Mei reminded me of the unexpected kiss Sukuna gave me after his crushing victory against Naoya a couple of weeks ago. "Your life will return to normal in no time."

"When do you plan to come back?” Nobara asked me excitedly.

"I don't know yet, I have to talk to Sukuna's manager to agree on a release date and find a replacement,” I replied.

"When you have the date, let me know,” Mei Mei asked me without taking her eyes off her phone.

"When you return, could you bring me something signed by the King of the Ring?". Ui Ui asked excitedly.

"I'll see what I can do,” I answered honestly.

Mei Mei and Ui Ui left after that. Once we lost sight of them, Nobara took my hands to approach my face curiously. I moved away from her face at the unexpected proximity. When I saw her eyes sparkling from excitement, I could imagine what she wanted.

"So… You and Sukuna, huh?" she asked excitedly.

Since living with him, I have noticed that our relationship had improved, but only as a coach-athlete relationship. I haven't noticed that he treats me sweeter, that he gives me flirtatious glances or that he gets nervous when I am around. He continues to act as the same fearsome Sukuna as always.

My feelings towards him have also increased. When I have to watch him to make sure he does the exercises, my mind travels back to the passionate nights we've had together. I can no longer see his hands without thinking about how he holds me by the waist or his face without imagining him moaning my name. He made me blush without even trying, I was fed up. It was so frustrating not being able to do my job well.

"There’s nothing between me and Sukuna,” I answered, removing my hands from the grip.

"Don’t lie to me! Everyone saw that passionate kiss he gave you!" Nobara scolded while pretending to make out with herself.

"Sukuna only did it to annoy Naoya," I answered, trying to downplay it…

…but I couldn't ignore it. After that night, my perspective on Sukuna had completely changed. I wasn't surprised that I fell in love with him, I mean, I have a reputation for choosing the worst possible men. I had to get rid of this feeling as soon as I could. If I could do it while I lived with him, great, but I knew perfectly well that after asking for my resignation, Sukuna would throw me out and this feeling would go away on its own like a cold.

"And how are you so sure that he doesn't like you?" Nobara asked me.

The idea that Sukuna was interested in me in that way was tempting. It wasn't crazy considering we've already slept together twice, and he kissed me on international television, but I highly doubted that was the case. Yuuji had told me that Sukuna wasn't interested in having a girlfriend and I doubt that will change anytime soon.

“Impossible,” I answered without further ado.

"Oh, come on! Men never kiss woman just because,” Nobara argued.

"What do you know know about men? You're a lesbian,” I joked.

"I know how they behave when they like a girl, it's what we have in common," she challenged me.

My heart wanted to believe her, but my mind warned me with red flags that I shouldn't. Being in love is complicated.

At first, I had a hard time adjusting to living with Sukuna. I lived alone for so long that I forgot how it was living with someone. Quickly, I could adapt to his cold attitude in the morning, seeing him walk around the house wet and with a towel wrapped around his slutty waist, and listening to his complaints when we left the gym. Sukuna is the one who pays for everything, the only thing I could contribute to the house was to cook for him from time to time if the cook was not available. I couldn't help but feel like a sugar baby, but that feeling went away every time I used the magnificent indoor pool.

The microwave announcing that my popcorn was ready brought me out of my thoughts. I was preparing myself some popcorn as tonight's fights began. The schedule was not very exciting, except for the main fight. The fight for the heavyweight division championship between Toji Fushiguro and Aoi Todo. A battle between two powerful giants of the UFC.

I returned to the kitchen to prepare the popcorn to my liking in a bowl. I opened the refrigerator to look for the juice I had bought before I got home. Being a high-performance athlete, Sukuna's smart refrigerator only served to store large amounts of chicken breast, vegetables, and sparkling water. If I wanted something with sugar or “chemicals”, I had to buy it myself and hide it so as not to tempt Sukuna's appetite. As I closed the door, I noticed the new dietary regimen that Sukuna's nutritionist had asked hm to follow.

"Chicken, rice, and broccoli for 4 days straight? No wonder he's always so angry,” I thought out loud as I quickly scanned the sheet of paper.

No sugar. Do not eat carbs after 6 pm. Just an egg without yolk in the morning. I knew that Sukuna was a highly disciplined athlete, but going on such a demanding diet was ridiculous. If a nutritionist asked me to follow this regimen like a soldier, I would fire her in no time.

There were so many things I wanted to change about his extreme lifestyle, but I was sure I wouldn't be able to figure it out before my last day. Furthermore, I had to tell him that I would no longer be his coach and that someone else was going to take my place. I didn't know how he would even take the news. I just had to make sure to tell him when he is in a good mood. Who am I kidding? He is never in a good mood, that goes against his personality.

"Fuck this shit!" Sukuna yelled as he reluctantly entered the house. Now was not the right time to tell him.

He tossed his backpack onto the small stool at the entrance, where we kept our shoes and had a mirror for finishing touches. Sukuna slammed the door shut which offended my ears. I just watched him confused while I ate my popcorn.

"Things didn’t go well with the Olympian?" I asked, trying to understand where his anger was coming from.

While I was at the doctor, Sukuna went to the Olympic stadium to have an exclusive sparring with a boxing gold medalist. He insisted that I cancel my appointment to come with him, but I told him that even if I did that, I wouldn't be much help. My specialty is jujitsu, not boxing. I told him that Gojo knows more than me, and he stopped annoying me.

"That idiot asked for a break on the fifth round. Can you fucking believe that?! The best boxer in the nation?! My balls can last longer than that!” He exclaimed in annoyance as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"Could it be because it was training and not a real fight?" I asked before putting a popcorn in my mouth, staying calm. If I got down to his level, he would only get more upset.

"If I had wanted to waste my time, I would have trained with one of the gym's rookies,"Sukuna mumbled.

He sat on the stool and sighed heavily as he unlaced his shoes to enter the house. I could see the helplessness in his eyes at not having the demanding training he wanted. Having a perfect streak of 28 overwhelming victories, he hasn't had a rival who can match his level in years. Always being the winner means that you are not learning, and you are staying stagnant while others moved forward, Sukuna was afraid of being left behind.

I sighed as I understood his anger, putting the bowl aside to approach him. I took advantage of the fact that he was at my level to gently massage his shoulders. Even though I didn't do it with a romantic intention, touching him like that after weeks felt like drinking water in the middle of the Sahara. A temporary pleasure that I had to take advantage as much as I could.

"Do you know what it means that he didn't last more than 5 rounds?" I asked him while massaging his neck.

"I'm not in the mood for your shit," he mumbled, focused on his shoes.

"Let me finish!" I barked. "It means you're better than an Olympic medalist," he looked at me again, calmer now.

"You think?" he asked me, looking at me to deduce if I was saying it out of pity or not.

"Of course! You are the king of the ring, not just in the UFC!" I cheered, giving him a friendly pat on the arm.

"Not everyone can go against the king," he said with an evil smile.

It was one of those few times I've seen him smile like that. I'm glad to know that I could be of use to him outside the gym. I wanted to be the cause for him to smile more often, even if it meant he didn't feel the same way about me. A reality that I was willing to accept for the sake of both of us.

The fight between Aoi Todo and Toji Fushiguro was about to start. The current champion, Toji, entered shining his glorious belt with Welcome To The Jungle by Guns N' Roses in the background while the commentators read his statistics. Aoi, the challenger, Todo looked forward to the fight from the octagon. The crowd was excited, music was blaring from the speakers, and commentators were debating who would take home the belt. It was an important fight that deserved to be seen on the room's beautiful 80"inch screen.

"That son of a bitch," Sukuna snorted behind me, referring to Toji. He was in my robe as always before going to sleep.

"A talented son of a bitch," I joked. "Sit down and watch it with me."

"I'll watch it until I get sleepy," Sukuna scoffed as he sat next to me on the couch.

After formal introductions and the referee's instructions, the first round took place. The two mastodons faced each other face to face in a rain of punches and jabs that seemed to have no end. They were like two bulls striking each other with their sharp horns, making the plaza resonate with the power of their tackles. It was clear that Aoi Todo was a born boxer who did not allow himself to be intimidated by the enormous presence of Fushiguro with those beastly hits. Before Toji could take him to the ground, like he had done in the fight against Sukuna, the bell rang.

“Who are you rooting to?” I asked Sukuna excitedly.

"I do not know, and I do not care." he answered with a yawn. That answer deserved me to throw my empty popcorn bowl at him.

"It's a very important fight! You should know!" I scolded him as the TV went to commercial break. "Todo and Fushiguro have been fighting for the division title for 2 years. Both have won twice simultaneously. This is their fifth fight. It's the fight for 3 out of 3!” I explained. Sukuna shrugged his shoulders, downplaying it the importance it deserved.

"And who are you rooting for?" He asked me to make conversation as they returned to the fight.

"Aoi Todo is a magnificent boxer like you…". At the comparison, Sukuna gave me a killer glance. "Obviously, you are the best," I corrected before he killed me.

"That is what I thought."

"But Toji is a complete fighter, I am team Toji for life," I replied with a proud smile. Sukuna gave me another killing look, this time it was more stern. I really don't learn from my mistakes, huh? "Obviously I'm Team Black before that," I said with a guilty smile.

The champion threw a quick jab, but the challenger easily dodged it. Aoi responded with a combination of quick strikes that made Fushiguro flinched. He stumbled back, but stayed upright. He threw a wild right hand, but the challenger blocked it with his forearm. The challenger took the opportunity to launch a flurry of jabs that Toji dodged like a master. Aoi continued entering her field, causing Toji's back to hit the fence. He threw one last desperate right hand, but Todo dodged it and responded with a left hook that sent the champion to the ground.

"¡No!" I exclaimed upon seeing the knockout.

"Too bad…" Sukuna mocked me.

After my champion couldn't get up easily, the referee ended the fight. The challenger had won the fight with a monstrous knockout. The crowd roared and Todo raised his arms in victory as he ran around the octagon. He had defeated his legendary opponent and became the new champion of the heavyweight division.

"First words after defeating such an important rival?". The interviewer asked Todo as he celebrated with his team supporting him behind him.

Masterlist.

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Tag list: @maskedpacific @thepurpleempath @mazzd4 @charlie-xo @s0uldarling @sunako-0120 @berranurates @00frenchfries00

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clangenrising · 24 days

Text

Month 14 - Newleaf

Goldenstar felt like everything was moving both extremely fast and excruciatingly slow. Time was slipping through her paws, racing towards an inevitable confrontation with Razor and his Rogues but somehow, most days, she looked around only to realize she had nothing to do that day but sit around. It was maddening, like a dream where she was being chased but couldn’t go anywhere.

She’d gone to see StarClan, seeking guidance for what to do to help Songdust. The results had been inconclusive. Apparently no one knew where she was. Smokyrose, looking lovely with her starry coat and more energized than Goldenstar had seen her in a long time, had explained that she and several others had been looking nonstop to no success. Poppyblaze insisted she wasn’t dead but didn’t have any clue where she was either. Some cats were starting to give up on her. Goldenstar promised Smokyrose she wouldn’t be one of them but that still didn’t leave her with a good idea of what to do.

Thankfully, Mystique hadn’t been causing any trouble. At her request, Goldenstar had allowed her to start training cats in combat - under Russetfrond’s supervision of course. She wasn’t a great teacher but she was a good fighter and Goldenstar had watched Floodpaw drift from total distrust and contempt to secret admiration for the kittypet. He didn’t even get mad when he lost a duel, he just got back up and demanded to go again until he was better. Goldenstar was proud of him. It wouldn’t be long until he and his littermates were ready to be warriors.

Before that, though, she was going to have to apprentice Slatekit and Fogkit. Poppybird was still coming by to check on them every so often, which Goldenstar was very grateful for. Thanks to her, Fogkit had come back out of her shell and was once again dragging her sister on adventures around the camp. Goldenstar had asked Poppybird what she thought about them, if they seemed to be leaning towards an apprenticeship as a healer or a mediator but Poppybird said they both seemed pretty eager to be warrior apprentices and so Goldenstar had started trying to pick out good mentors for them.

She had been considering Ospreymask for Fogkit but according to Poppybird, Fogkit had disliked her ever since she delivered the news of Smokyrose’s death, which was a shame. Slatekit seemed to need someone who was going to be extremely supportive, and Goldenstar had a few cats in mind, but Fogkit was going to need someone who could handle her rambunctious spirit, especially given how much time she had been trying to spend with Floodpaw lately. Goldenstar was at least grateful that Floodpaw seemed to have warmed up to the idea of hanging out with her. She had seen him teaching her some of the tricks he’d learned from Mystique and while she thought he tended to play a bit too rough, Fogkit seemed to enjoy it and that was what mattered.

Still, she wasn’t sure about a good mentor. She sat atop the Stoneperch, tail twitching, and puzzled over the different possible combinations. She was so deep in thought she didn’t notice Scorchplume had padded up beside her until she spoke.

“Busy?” asked Scorch with a slight tilt of her head.

Goldenstar flinched and hurried to recover. “Huh? Oh, uh, no not really. What’s up?”

“I wanted to go out past the eastern border, take a look around,” Scorch said flatly. “I thought you might accompany me.” Goldenstar swallowed. She still hadn’t been able to persuade Scorch to stay and the dread of losing her again twisted in her gut like a pit of snakes.

“Sure,” she smiled, hoping it was convincing. “Why not?”

Scorch smiled in return. “Great. Let’s go.”

Goldenstar stood and followed Scorch’s lead, feeling distant. She wished she could lean her head on Scorch’s shoulder and twine their tails as they walked, she ached for that closeness, but she still didn’t know where they stood. Scorch had been so reclusive since her return. She did her duties and then spent her time alone, like she didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Goldenstar wondered if she still resented her for the fight they had been having when she was taken. But then, out of the blue, she asked to go walking? Goldenstar was lost and confused.

“I hope you’ve been doing alright,” she tried. Scorch glanced over at her.

“I suppose so. As alright as you can be knowing an army could march on your home any day.” It may have been foolish, but Goldenstar brightened upon hearing Scorch call the Clan her home. That was a good sign.

“Yeah,” she hummed. “It isn’t great. Have you been training with Mystique at all?”

Scorch scoffed. “No. I’d be satisfied if I never saw her again.”

“Really?” Goldenstar asked. “I thought you two got along.”

“As well as I get along with anyone,” Scorch huffed and Goldenstar frowned. “She’s nice enough but I want nothing to do with her. You wouldn’t understand.” She swished her beautiful tail as if to put an end to the conversation.

“Try me,” said Goldenstar. Scorch frowned at her and then sighed.

“Fine. Razor basically made her my prison guard. I couldn’t go anywhere without her watching me. She’s not stupid. I know she saw through my happy-little-mate act but she never did anything to help me. I can’t forgive her for that.” Goldenstar listened, nodded to herself, and hummed thoughtfully.

“I see…” she said. “That sucks. I’m really sorry, Scorch.”

“What for?” Scorch snapped.

“That you had to go though that?” Goldenstar shrugged. “I’m not, like, guilty-sorry, just… sympathetic.” Scorch opened her mouth then hesitated. Her gaze flickered to the ground for a beat before she lifted her head confidently.

“Hm. I half expected a lecture about how I ought to forgive her.”

“No, you totally don’t have to,” Goldenstar said. “It would be super unfair to say that.”

“Hm,” Scorch said again. She focused on the path ahead of them again and Goldenstar squirmed in worry. Was she mad?

“Uh, hey,” she said, hopping a step forward to catch up with Scorch’s strides, “I wanted to say, uh… I’m sorry. I never got to apologize for the fight we had.” She swallowed, the snakes in her gut twisting more violently. “It’s my fault you got caught. I’m really sorry that I was pushing you so much and that I didn’t get back in time.”

Scorch looked over at her, face nearly mournful, and said, “It’s fine. I knew you wouldn’t get back in time.”

“Wait, what?” Goldenstar’s steps faltered for a second.

“The twolegs are always nearby when they use those traps,” said Scorch. “They got to me just after you left. I just didn’t want you to get caught too.”

Goldenstar didn’t know how to feel. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m sorry for the other stuff at least.”

“It’s fine,” Scorch sighed again. “I was being stupid anyway. Can we just forget it? I hate it when you get all sorry and nervous.” That didn’t help to alleviate Goldenstar’s nerves.

“Okay,” she said, catching up. “Whatever you want, Scorch.”

“Ugh,” Scorch groaned.

“Sorry,” Goldenstar laughed nervously, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just, like, ‘okay, sounds good.’” Scorch’s tail lashed a little.

“You’re doing it again. You were doing this that day too! You keep doing that breathy little laugh and treading on eggshells like you’ve got no spine! What happened?”

Goldenstar swallowed. She’d realized she was in love is what happened but she couldn’t just say that could she? What if Scorch balked and left? Well, she was already planning on leaving… Goldenstar chewed her lip for a second, gathered her courage, and took a leap of faith.

“Well… Okay, this might sound weird, and don’t feel like you owe me any kind of response but, uh, that night you disappeared and came back late?”

“Yeah,” Scorch prompted.

“Well, when you came back I realized that I uh…” This was the hard part. No turning back! she thought. “I realized I have, uh, feelings for you.”

Scorch stopped walking. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Goldenstar laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m trying not to be weird, I just- I like you so much, I don’t want to ruin anything.” She shuffled her paws, not sure how to stand.

“Oh, please,” Scorch huffed. “If anything you’re ruining things by being so worried! Just be yourself, Goldie, that’s what I like.” That turned the snakes in her stomach to butterflies.

“You- you do?”

Scorch groaned loudly as she tilted her face skyward. “Yes, Goldie, I like you. Do I like you like that? I…” her exasperation softened and she looked away over her far shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t really have room for that kind of thing in my life. Besides, I’m not interested in… in doing anything or-”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” Goldenstar blurted. “I mean, if you did feel the same, I still wouldn’t expect anything like that or- or anything at all!”

“Everyone has expectations,” Scorch glared.

“O-okay,” Goldenstar laughed. “Fair, but I mean like… If you didn’t want to do something I wouldn’t pressure you to. I mostly just want to like… twine tails and share a nest and stuff like that…” It wasn’t like she would say no to something more… exciting, but she had always cared more about the person than any one part of a relationship. That was part of the reason she’d gone her whole life without any kind of serious partner, it just hadn’t been important enough for her to compromise on the ‘who’ in order to get the ‘what’.

Scorch was still, her expression nigh unreadable but definitely skeptical. Goldenstar wanted to squirm but she forced herself to breathe slowly and calmly. She waited for Scorch to speak and tried to look as open as possible.

“Let me get this straight,” said Scorch slowly. “The only thing you want… is to do cutesy garbage together?”

Goldenstar blushed. “I guess you could say that, yeah,” she laughed. “I’d be open to other stuff but I’d be totally satisfied if that was all. But like, you can also say no, I totally understand.” Scorch sized her up for another moment.

“Alright,” Scorch said, turning to face Goldenstar directly and unfurling her tail up above her back, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try so here are my conditions.” Goldenstar gulped and nodded, standing equally straight. “One: I refuse to use any kind of labels and definitely no sappy pet names like sweetie or anything, got it?”

Goldenstar nodded again, “Got it.” She couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Two:” Scorch continued, tail starting to swish. “There will be absolutely no sexual advances of any kind.”

“Of course,” Goldenstar said immediately.

“Three: This is a temporary arrangement. When I leave, that’s that, assuming you’re still determined to stay here despite my warnings.”

Goldenstar pursed her lips. “Alright,” she said, hesitantly. “I still think you should stay, but, like, obviously you can end this… arrangement, I guess, whenever you want.” She thought but didn’t say, Even if I’ll probably die.

“Good,” Scorch said firmly. She shifted slightly, like a bird ruffling its feathers, and let out a small breath. “‘Cause I’m not staying. I’m not letting Razor get another chance to take me back there.” She turned and started walking towards the border again. Goldenstar followed, feeling bright and bubbly and lonesome at the same time.

“I understand,” she said sadly. “Is there anything I could do to change your mind?”

Scorch hummed in thought. “If Razor were dead then we could talk.”

“Okay,” Goldenstar’s mind was turning. “How would we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Scorch said, “That’s why I’m leaving.”

Goldenstar sighed, ears drooping. Scorch looked over and, after a beat of hesitation, wound her tail around Goldenstar’s. The action sent affection flooding through Goldenstar’s body and she leaned in to rest her head on Scorch’s shoulder, a small purr rumbling in her chest. Scorch stiffened slightly but eased into the gesture. Goldenstar’s heart soared.

“We’ll think of something,” she said. “I’m gonna do everything I can to keep people safe. I’m not giving up yet.”

“It’s not giving up to run away,” said Scorch. “It’s just a different strategy.”

“I guess,” Goldenstar hummed. “It’s just that these territories, this land, it has a lot of significance and meaning to us. It’s just as much a part of the Clan as any member. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Better than losing your lives,” said Scorch.

“I know,” said Goldenstar, taking a deep breath as she closed her eyes and let Scorch lead her along. “If it comes to it, I will leave if we have to. But I wanna try a few other things first.”

“Well, it will be good to take a look at what’s beyond the border in any case,” said Scorch.

“Yeah, I agree,” said Goldenstar. She opened her eyes and looked up at Scorch’s perfect blue ones and smiled. At least for now, she could imagine that this was a romantic little adventure to some place new.

Scorch raised an eyebrow at her. “Goldie, are you going to stare at me like that all the time now?”

“Maybe,” Goldenstar laughed. “Is it bad?”

“No, you just look ridiculous,” said Scorch, a touch of a humorous smile on her face.

“What can I say,” Goldenstar sighed dramatically, “I’m ridiculously in love with you.”

“No,” Scorch said, suddenly detaching herself from their little embrace, fast enough to make Goldenstar stumble. “No you aren’t.”

“Aww, is that not allowed?” she pouted playfully even though her heart sank.

“Yep,” said Scorch, “Rule Four: We are not using that word.”

Goldenstar thought it sounded like Scorch might be joking but she couldn’t tell and she didn’t want to push so she just sighed and said, “Alright… Can I at least say I think you’re beautiful?”

“Hmm,” Scorch glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. Do that.” She smirked and swished her tail - definitely playing.

“Scorchplume,” Goldenstar purred sweetly, “you are intensely beautiful. Seriously, your eyes, your fur, your voice, all of it. You take my breath away.”

Scorchplume rolled her eyes. “You’re too soft, Goldie.”

“If adoring every bit of you is soft then that’s fine with me,” said Goldenstar moving back in to twine tails with her. Scorch made a noncommittal noise and fell silent. Goldenstar was happy to just enjoy her presence.

They made their way to the border then out past the territories into the wider prairie. Here, wildflowers grew in thick patches and the grass was sparser and dryer. They found a short, wide little tree and scaled it to get a look at the surrounding area.

“Looks like a desert out there,” Scorch hummed. Goldenstar chewed her lip in thought. She’d heard old stories about deserts before but the concept still seemed alien to her, like a mystical land of suffering designed to try the cats who dared to wander across it.

“There’s bound to be coyotes out there,” she said, mostly to herself. “Not somewhere I would want to raise kits.”

“It’s not ideal for me either,” said Scorch. “But surely there’s something past it.”

“Maybe,” Goldenstar shrugged. “You could ask Oddstripe. He came from out this way, remember?”

“That’s right,” Scorchplume muttered under her breath. There was a storm of thoughts behind her eyes. Goldenstar pictured it rolling out across the desert and pouring much needed rain on the scraggly wildflowers and parched earth. She imagined letting that rain soak her to the skin and thought that she wouldn’t mind at all.

Scorch leapt down to the ground and started back towards the territories. “Maybe I’ll have to see about the lake over the mountains then,” she said.

“Or,” suggested Goldenstar, leaping down beside her, “you could stay and help us figure out how to beat Razor.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Scorchplume curtly.

“Hear me out,” Goldenstar said, her own thoughts coalescing into rain clouds. She thought back to what Scorch had taught her about speechcraft and came up with a plan. “You hate him more than anyone and with good reason. On your own, there’s nothing you can do to stop him but I have a whole Clan, several Clans even, full of warriors who would gladly sink their claws into him.” Scorch hummed, unconvinced, and Goldenstar quickly continued. “You’re incredibly smart and you have first hand experience with his operation. You could teach us the best way to beat him and then we would do it. You wouldn’t even have to get close to him. Just tell us what to do and we’ll take all the risk ourselves. You’d be saving countless cats and securing your own safety all in one go.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Scorchplume said slowly. Her eyes were narrowed, calculating. Goldenstar held her breath and tried to maintain her casual facade. This was probably the highest stakes conversation she’d had in weeks and she wasn’t about to ruin it by looking too desperate.

Scorch stewed for a few moments then said, “Alright fine. We can give it a try.”

“Yes!” Goldenstar cried, butting her head joyously into Scorch’s side. So much for not looking desperate. “Thank you, Scorch!”

“Don’t thank me too much,” Scorch said. “I might have an idea but it involves using you as bait.”

Goldenstar smiled, ears perking. “Ooh, tell me.”

“Don’t look so excited,” Scorch huffed poutily.

“Sorry, I’m just- I am excited. I can’t wait for all of this to be over with so you and I can just be happy together.”

Scorch’s throat labored as she watched Goldenstar’s face. “Yeah… Me too, I guess.” Goldenstar rammed her with another loving headbutt. That was plenty for her. Visions of a bright and happy future were starting to form in her mind's eye, one where she and Scorch lived in RisingClan together for the rest of their lives, where Scorchplume felt happy and safe and knew just how much Goldenstar loved her. To her, there was no greater thought in the world.

UPDATES: - Goldenstar confessed her feelings to Scorchplume and they have become mates an unofficial no labels kind of thing

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Scorchplume #Goldenstar #Goldenscorch #Newleaf #clangenrising

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octoberclidan · 1 year

Text

Why didn't you say something?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean and reader (she/her) don't get on, but when Sam can't join Dean on a hunt, he calls reader to go instead. When she gets injured, she hides it.

Note: this was written by myself for myself; there are probably mistakes. My first language is English but I'm not American, so it may sound weird in places if you happen to be American reading it. If you do happen to come across this and spend time reading it, I hope you enjoy it somewhat!

Masterlist

Story:

[Y/N] had been hunting for a few years now, ever since her family had been killed by vampires and she had been rescued by the Winchesters. They had given her 'the talk', which is how she was introduced to all things supernatural. She learned that they hunted monsters and demons, and they saved people. If [Y/N] had known that vampires were real, if she had known how to identify them and kill them, if she had trained to fight, maybe her family would still be alive. [Y/N] had hunted ghosts and werewolves and shifters, even a wendigo once, but vampires were her focus. She had gone on several hunts over the years with the boys, she only lived a couple of hours away from the bunker. She got on with Sam really well; he listened to her, gave useful advice, and they worked well together. [Y/N] would count Sam as a good friend at this stage, even meeting up to hang out sometimes outside of hunting.

Dean was another story. He seemed to take a disliking to her soon after meeting. It had been Dean who had killed the vampires who had killed [Y/N]'s family and taken her hostage. It was Dean who had driven her to the hospital. That day he had been pleasant, sympathetic, caring, and nice. Sam and Dean had explained everything to her in the hospital, and before leaving, Sam had given her his phone number to call if she ever needed.

What [Y/N] needed had turned out to be hunting. She called Sam a few months later when she had recovered and had found a news article that sounded a lot like vampires. He had come out to see her, but Dean had been busy with something else. [Y/N] had been disappointed, she was looking forward to seeing the attractive hunter who had saved her life only months previously; she never really got to thank him properly. That news story did turn out to be vampires, and while Sam did most of the work, [Y/N] had been able to help out a bit. From that day on, she was a hunter.

[Y/N] had gone on quite a lot of hunts with Sam since then, but only a handful with Dean. Never a hunt with Dean without Sam. Dean always seemed distant from her; when she had thanked him for saving her he just shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of 'that's the job'. Over the years that distance had turned into dislike. They would argue from little things to important plans. According to Dean, [Y/N] was always too slow, or hadn't researched enough, or chewed too loudly, or had bad taste in music. She couldn't do anything without him making some snide comment about it.

It was a surprise when [Y/N] received a call from Sam asking her to help Dean out with a local case.

"You mean help you and Dean?"

"No I'm out of state with Cas at the moment helping him with some angel business, it will just be you and Dean"

"Have you asked your other hunter friends if they can help him?"

"I'm asking you [Y/N]"

"Is he aware that you're asking me Sam?" She heard him sigh on the other end of the phone. The conflict between his brother and [Y/N] never failed to annoy him.

"It's vamps [Y/N], everyone knows that's your thing, that you're the expert. Are you around to help or not?" Eventually, very unenthusiastically, [Y/N] agreed to meet Dean. The suspected case was actually pretty close to the bunker, she only had to drive about an hour and a half to meet Dean at a diner to go over what he'd found.

***

"You have to be joking. You are not Jody". Dean groaned when [Y/N] walked into the diner to find him halfway through a burger.

"Nice to see you too Dean". She rolled her eyes at him. "Let me guess, Sam told you it was Jody that was coming to help?"

"Wow, you know, sometimes you are surprisingly quick at figuring out the obvious".

[Y/N] took a seat opposite him. "Let's just try to get through this without killing each other?" She made a slightly disgusted look at him when he tried to fit the second half of his burger into his mouth in one go. What she tried to hide from her face was the strong attraction she still felt for him. Anyone who couldn't see that Dean was an objectively beautiful man would have to be blind. "What information do you have?"

"I think I can handle this one on my own"

"Dean-"

"No [Y/N], seriously, having you tag along will just slow me down. I'll have to constantly be looking over my shoulder to make sure you haven't done something stupid"

"That's not fair Dean. You know vampires are my thing, I've hunted more of them than even you have at this stage. I know what I'm doing, I'm not that helpless girl you had to rescue all those years ago. I am a good hunter, and you know that". Dean was starting off the insults early it seemed.

He just scoffed and turned to look out the window while finishing off his drink. [Y/N] sat back and folded her arms. "So? What do you know about the case?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Two dead. Two missing, John Kane and Katie Niell, both went missing yesterday. I've already seen the bodies and spoken to the coroner, definitely a vamp."

"You thinking a solo vamp or a nest?"

"Haven't found anything to tie back to a nest, but you're the expert, right? How often is there more than one?"

"More often than not, they live in nests. So unless one was cut off from it's nest for some reason? You find anything to tie the victims together?"

"Yeah actually. They all graduated the same year from the local high school."

"So... maybe it's some revenge thing? Kid gets bullied all the way through school, becomes a blood thirsty vampire with the sudden ability to get back at the bullies? We've had this sort of thing with a wolf before, could be the same thing". [Y/N] offered. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Dean picked off the rest of the fries he had.

"Guess we better interview some families then. You take the victims that were killed, I'll take the victims that are missing. We'll meet back up later and go from there".

"Make sure you do actually meet up again and not decide to just go off on your own with only half the information" [Y/N] warned him.

***

[Y/N] was surprised to see the Impala waiting outside the house of the second victim where she had just finished interviewing, Dean sitting in the driver's seat. She was about 70% sure that he would've gone after the vampire on his own after he finished visiting his two families and that she would be left to try and catch up with him. She opened the passenger door and slid in beside Dean, who didn't give her the benefit of acknowledging her.

"So from the two families I spoke to, the two dead victims were definitely friends, but they weren't close with the two that are missing. Said the names sounded familiar but neither family think either victim would consider the two missing to be their friends." [Y/N] looked at Dean, waiting for him to fill her in on his side.

"Well the two missing victims were definitely friends with each other. I get the feeling they were part of some nerd group. Kinda like you and Sam. Their families were familiar with the two dead vics though, they said they were bullies in school. Bullied three kids, two of which are the two currently missing"

"And the third?"

"Went missing two years ago. Just didn't show up to work one day and no one's heard from him since. They said his name was Robert Harris".

"Think he's killing his old bullies, recruiting his old friends?"

"You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were sort of intelligent" Dean smirked at her while she rolled her eyes. "Got an address off one of the missing guy's wives for the potential vamp, we should head there now and check it out" Dean started up the car and pulled out onto the road.

"You know Dean, you really don't know me. On the rare occasion that we're in the same place at the same time, you either ignore me or are just straight up rude. You don't give me the time of day". [Y/N] was actually getting a bit worked up and could feel her nose start to tingle, a warning sign that tears were coming. She quickly turned her head to look out the window to avoid him seeing; she would never hear the end of it if she cried in front of him. Dean didn't respond, he just started playing one of his cassette tapes.

***

[Y/N] had calmed down once they reached Robert's house. It definitely looked like no one had lived there in the last two years; the grass was dead, the hedge was overgrown, the paint was pealing on the front door, and one of the upstairs windows was broken. She and Dean stayed in the car in silence for awhile, just watching for any signs of movement. There looked to be someone in one of the front rooms of the house.

"You go around the back. I'll knock at the front, do the FBI bit and try get inside without any hassle. I'll call if I need back up"

"What, you want me to go around the back and just stand there while you take him out? No way, I'm coming in too" [Y/N] knew that this idea of Dean's was a way to keep her out of the best part of the hunt; decapitating some vampires. Dean glared at her but made his way to the front door, [Y/N] following closely behind him. Even though she was beyond annoyed at him in that moment, she couldn't help but admire him from behind.

Dean knocked at the door, and after a few seconds it opened to reveal a very pale looking man. "Can I help you?" He asked. Dean flashed his badge.

"FBI. My partner and I are in town investigating some disappearances, mind letting us in for a chat?"

"Now's not a good time, sorry" the man made a move to close the door, but Dean managed to stick his foot in the way.

"Yeah, not really asking". Dean pushed his way in, causing the man to stumble backwards. At the noise, another man and a woman made an appearance behind him, and [Y/N] recognised them immediately as John and Katie. Both Dean and [Y/N] pulled out their knives when, presumably Robert, regained his balance and snared at them bearing his fangs. When he moved to grab Dean, Katie jumped in to help, while John made his way towards [Y/N]. Both of them bore fangs, they had definitely already been turned.

It was a tight space in the hallway for two hunters and three vampires. Dean and [Y/N] fought back to back, preventing any of the three from getting them from behind. [Y/N] managed to stab John, causing him to fall down. In the meantime, Dean cut Katie's head straight off and was now shifting his focus to Robert. Robert lunged at him, causing Dean to take a quick step backwards into [Y/N], and she stumbled forwards onto the ground. She dropped her knife, and before she could pick it up she gasped as she felt a white hot pain rip through her side; John had managed to pick it up first and stab her with it, and was now wrestling with her, trying to sink his teeth into her neck. [Y/N] had almost given in to the pain when a splatter of blood hit her face. John's head rolled on the ground to join Katie and Robert's, Dean stood above her.

"You hurt?" He asked, holding a hand out to her. This seemed out of character for Dean, both the question and the helping hand. [Y/N] wasn't about to admit that she was hurt, even though it wasn't her fault that Dean had knocked into her. If she got hurt on a vampire hunt, which was her expertise, and Dean knew about it, she wouldn't be able to deal with him at all. Being a good hunter, especially with vampires, was all she had to defend herself with when it came to Dean.

[Y/N] swatted Dean's hand out of the way and tried her best to hide her struggle and she stood up. "No, it's not my blood. Can we just get out of here? My car is back at the last victim's house I visited. Can you drive me back there and then we can go our separate ways?"

"Now that is the best idea you've ever had Sweetheart".

[Y/N] climbed into the passenger side, trying to inconspicuously keep pressure on the stab wound in her side. It was only a twenty or so minute drive back to her car, but only a few minutes in and the adrenaline was wearing off. [Y/N] began to feel dizzy, her head felt light, and her vision was blurring. Dean glanced over at her when he was making a right turn and noticed that she had become quite pale and was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open.

"[Y/N] you feeling okay? You don't look so good". She just moaned in response. Dean kept stealing glances at her between watching the road, and he saw her eyes close and her hand drop from her side. "[Y/N], look at me, what's wrong with you?". There was no moan his time, she didn't answer at all and her head fell backwards against the front bench. Dean quickly pulled in and leaned over to take a closer look at her. He shook her, lightly tapped her face, but nothing. She was unconscious. He then noticed that there was a lot more blood on her top than the vampire would have bled, and he lifted up her shirt slightly to reveal the gash.

"Son of a bitch" he muttered. They were too far from a hospital this time, he would have to do something and quick. Luckily, he kept a first aid kit in Baby's glove box. He ripped her shirt to get better access to the wound, and grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the cooler he kept in the back seat. Pouring it onto the wound caused [Y/N] to flinch, but she didn't wake up. "Why didn't you say something?" He asked, not expecting a response. Dean did his best to stitch her up and put a bandage on it, which would hopefully stop the bleeding. He needed to bring her back to the bunker. Pulling back out onto the road he did a u-turn and began his way back to the bunker, calling Sam to ask him to get Cas back as soon as possible so he could heal [Y/N]. Dean was panicking, had he knocked her down? He remembered stepping backwards and bumping into her. Was this his fault? He tried to push the thoughts away as he sped down the road.

***

[Y/N] woke up to a dull, faint pain in her side, and a warm blanket on top of her. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the low light in the room. She felt a squeeze on her hand, and she smiled when she saw that it had come from Sam. He was sitting beside her with her hand in his and a worried expression on his face. "Hey, you're awake". He smiled back at her.

"Am in the bunker?" She asked.

"Yeah, you got hurt, lost a lot of blood and blacked out. Dean stitched you up and then brought you back here. Cas and I got back as soon as we could, and Cas healed you. He's not quite at full strength so it will probably still hurt for a few days, but you're not in danger"

"Dean must think I suck even more now, if that was even possible". Sam just shook his head at her statement.

"He was so worried [Y/N], once he got you back here he was calling us every fifteen minutes to ask where we were. You've been out for two days, he's barely slept, coming in to check on you at least every hour". [Y/N] was confused, that behaviour would suggest that Dean cared about her.

"Oh, you're awake" she heard a gruff voice from the doorway. "Cool, I'll leave you two to it". He started to turn around when Sam spoke up.

"Actually I was just about to go fix [Y/N] up something to eat, Dean why don't you keep her company while I'm gone? Help fill in some blanks maybe?" Sam stood up and kissed [Y/N] on the head. "I'll be back soon".

Dean shuffled awkwardly towards the bed and stood there for a moment contemplating whether or not he should sit down. [Y/N] motioned towards the chair and he reluctantly took a seat.

"So uh, how do you feel?"

"Like shit, but not like I'm dying". She looked up into his face. She hadn't seen that look of concern since the first day they met, when he brought her to the hospital, but there it was staring straight at her. "You saved me".

"I knocked you down. I let that stupid vampire push me back, and I knocked you down. Saving someone who you put in danger doesn't count" he looked away from her. "I'm sorry" he barely whispered. "Why didn't you say something? When I asked if you were hurt, why did you lie?"

"You think I'm useless, a bad hunter, I wasn't going to give you any more ammunition to use against me next time we cross paths on a hunt"

"I never wanted you to hunt. You could've had a life [Y/N]. You were, and still are, a beautiful young woman with so much potential. To think of you looking for danger and getting killed by some vampire or werewolf or demon... it would just be such a waste". This was the first serious conversation the two of them ever had. They had only been speaking for five minutes but that had to be the longest Dean had gone without insulting her.

"Saving people is not a waste. I'm happy with my choice Dean, and I am good at what I do. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Then after my parents died, I was depressed. I felt like my life didn't have a purpose or a direction. That first hunt I went on with Sam, that lit a fire in me. It feels right. I can make a good difference to the world by killing monsters and saving people. Just like you". [Y/N] felt a sudden surge of adrenaline and bravery and reached out to grab Dean's hand, giving it a squeeze and smiling at him. He squeezed back and looked into her eyes. He never let himself look at her for too long. She was gorgeous to him, and bright, strong, fearless. Everything he admired all rolled into one. He knew if he let himself get too close, she would never have a chance of leaving the world of hunting behind.

What she had just said though made sense to him. Hunting was her life now, and she was one of the best hunters he'd ever worked with. Returning the act of bravery, Dean leaned over and quickly pressed his lips to hers. [Y/N] was caught by surprise, and it took a moment for her to realise what was happening before she kissed him back. She reached her hand up to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his short hair. Dean touched her cheek, gently stroking it while he deepened the kiss.

"Hey I brought you - oh, OH, sorry, I'll just um, leave this here". Dean pulled back from [Y/N] to see Sam leaving a tray of food down on the desk in the corner and then quickly leave the room. He turned back to her to see a light blush on her cheeks, and he could tell by the heat in his that he was the same.

"I liked you the moment I saw you [Y/N]"

"Why didn't you say something?"

"To keep you safe. To keep my feelings in check. I don't know, I guess I'm saying something now, right?"

[Y/N] giggled and nodded, reaching out to him to pull him back in for another kiss. This recovery in the bunker was shaping up to be pretty good.

The end

#dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfic #dean fluff #sam winchester #supernatural #injured reader #hiding an injury #vampires #dean winchester x reader #comfort #dean winchester comfort

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thevioletcaptain · 2 months

Text

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

#cass says things #this is a very long #and heavy post #so i guess i should include some content warnings #uh #christ what do i even tag this with #cw: hospital #cw: health #cw: death #cw: parent death

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caffedrine · 1 year

Text

This is just a very quick and dirty plot summary up to chapter 10. Lots of spoilers, I'm leaving out a lot of information, and there's no guarantee that it's accurate.

I made it so that I could follow along with the plot, keep track of the mysteries, and a few of the interesting scenes.

Spoilers for Gilbert's route

Spoilers, Spoilers, Spoilers

Not all of the officials in the castle are aware of Emma being Belle, so after the ball they’re about to throw hands with her in the domestic faction’s office. From their POV - mystery woman shows up out of nowhere to ‘study’ at the castle, and then a week later she’s dancing with the Obsidian Prince at the ball.

The princes all saying that she’s trustworthy and fine doesn’t really convince them, and Emma leaves so the domestic faction can get some work done

Gilbert finds her and immediately drags her off on a ‘date’ to a store he has reserved for the night.

It’s Emma’s old workplace, and Gilbert starts talking about how much of her he already knows.

The book comes up - it’s game of thrones but everyone is extra evil. Emma doesn’t really know where it’s from, just that the bookstore owner gave it to her after his last trip. It’s currently Emma’s favorite book. (Sorry Sonia)

Gilbert tells her that they’re going to be friends and spend as much time together as possible over the next month.

When they come back, Chevalier immediately drags Emma into his secret library and directly asks her what Gilbert asked her to do.

He is absolutely flabbergasted when she tells him about Gilbert’s Project BFF.

He recovers quickly enough, and tells her that since she’s now ‘friends’ with Gilbert, she can be Chevalier’s exclusive spy/agent. Which also means that she doesn’t need permission to make decisions on how to handle Gilbert. He’ll take responsibility for the fallout.

Also, this is also a secret from everyone who isn’t Chevalier - including Sariel and Rio. Gilbert has several spies in the castle, and it could be anyone but Chevalier.

To signify this arrangement - he gives her a pin with his seal.

Chevalier also warns her that as much as that pin will help her, it might also get her head cut off - so yeah.

The next morning, Gilbert has Emma join him, Keith, and Silvio at breakfast - unlike what Silvio’s done in other routes, Gilbert fawns over her.

There is an interesting scene where Emma drops her fork, and when she bends down to grab it, Gilbert grabs her hand and ‘reminds’ her that grabbing things off the floor is what commoners do.

Also - Gilbert has enough pastries on his plate to feed 10 people. He very generously and loudly (in front of Keith, Silvio, and the servants) transfers enough food to feed 3 people from his plate to Emma’s.

During this scene, Gilbert starts talking about all the things he knows about Emma - events that go back before Emma even met Rio.

Keith and Silvio are now convinced that Gilbert is a creepy stalker - and Silvio gives Gilbert a new nickname.

Gilbert adds that since he and Emma are good friends, he’s going to help her help the princes with their duties. He’s obviously expecting Emma to balk at this, but thanks to Chevalier’s pep (?) talk, Emma pulls out the pin, fastens it openly on her blouse and welcomes his help.

Instead of getting angry, Gilbert starts laughing and praising Chevalier.

The first business is perhaps the most awkward carriage ride ever, with Leon, Yves, Gilbert, and Emma going to investigate an orphanage. Gilbert makes it very clear that he already knows what’s going on, and Emma is completely in the dark. Yves begins to ask Gilbert about his (Yves’) mother but Gilbert immediately shuts him down, he doesn’t want to talk about her, and he hates Yves.

At the orphanage, Gilbert immediately begins playing with the children. Leon and Yves go with the director to investigate the ledgers, and Emma decides Mr. ‘My Hobbies Include Training Spies’ probably shouldn’t be left alone with the kids. The play ends with them outside in the garden, and Emma sees the way that the director is acting with Yves (pretending that he’s not there and only looking at/speaking to Leon)

It turns out that while the orphans are raised well and treated nicely at the orphanage, when they age out they are essentially ‘sold’ to a baron who uses them for slave labor.

The group confronts the baron at his mansion, who literally has a dungeon of teenaged slave laborers and a fight ensures.

The baron tries to run away, but Emma and Gilbert cut him off.

Interesting - while Rhodolite has a full justice system - Obsidian is more of a dictatorship. If they were in Obsidian, since he’s part of the Royal family, if Gilbert decided the Baron should die because he didn’t like his socks, it would be legal to kill the baron.

This is also the scene where a Gilbert starts referring to Emma as his prey, and gets violent when he thinks his prey is threatened.

Later that night, Emma brings Gilbert a cart of 100 cookies to thank him for saving her during the fight with the baron. He invites her into his room for tea and cookies - and we find out that Gilbert is here without an entourage. He is his own servant, so he personally serves her the tea.

Emma also finds a familiar black book in his room, and Gilbert admits that he’s been reading it. It’s the sequel to Emma’s book. It’s very popular in Obsidian, and Gilbert offers to loan the book to her. He also does the whole ‘you aren’t leaving my room tonight schtick’ Emma then leaves his room that night.

Over the next few days Gilbert is very diligent with helping Emma, he goes over battle formations (with Emma) in the foreign affairs office, he helps Emma with documents with the domestic affairs office. He is her partner for dancing instructions (and warns her about stepping on his feet again lest he gets violent in response) He also adds supplemental instruction alongside Sariel. He even tries to get Emma to call him Gil-sensei.

Things come to a head, where one day Gilbert isn’t with Emma, and a mean aristocrat woman trips Emma badly enough for her to sprain her ankle. The woman and her maid start to make fun of Emma, but Yves comes in for the rescue and after yelling at them, makes them leave. Remembering how Gilbert got after the baron threatened to hurt her, Emma asks Yves to let it go or else someone will report it to Gilbert and the lady and her maid might get murdered. Yves does, brings Emma to her room, bandages her up, and gives her a pep talk about how it’s really okay to stand up for yourself.

They have an interesting discussion about Gilbert’s motives. Yves can tell that he’s trying his best to isolate Emma from the court, but he doesn’t know the end goal. He was thinking that Gilbert could be trying to start rumors that whomever she chose would be influenced by Obsidian, or even really influence her decision, but he doesn’t think so anymore.

While all of this has been going on, Emma has been giving daily reports to Chevalier. After her talk with Yves, she goes to report, only Chevalier isn’t in his secret library. Emma exits only to find Gilbert waiting for her. He’s decided that since she’s become familiar with Chevalier the prince, it’s time that she meets Chevalier the beast. He takes her out to the gardens.

He does pause briefly when he realizes that Emma is in pain while walking. He asks if she has anything to say to him, until Emma finally gives in and says that she’s tired and needs a small break. Gilbert stops for a little, then announces that his cane is too cumbersome for him to carry, so Emma has to carry it for him. Emma accepts the cane and finds that it’s weirdly heavy. Using Gilbert’s cane, they continue.

Because of the surprise break, they don’t make it in time to see Chevalier mow down assassins in the garden. But they’re still early enough to see the bodies, the blood everywhere, and Chev (for once in his life) wiping down his sword. While Emma BSoDs, Clavis pops out from behind the garden gazebo, and complains that Gilbert did this on purpose. Gilbert responds that he was just bringing Emma to Chevalier.

Emma recovers enough to say that Chevalier is obviously in the middle of something, and she’ll talk to him later.

Clavis manages to separate Gilbert from

Emma by promising him food, and takes Emma with him to calm down by the garden pond.

As revenge for what Gilbert did, they dig a pit trap for him. After he’s done eating, Gilbert happily hops into the pit trap, and announces that in recompense, he wants an invitation to Clavis’ next soirée. Three of them.

That night, Emma goes to Chevalier’s room to report/consult with him. Chevalier is mildly impressed with Emma willingly facing him, and we get our first sighting of Lucien, the guard who’s monitoring Gilbert in the events.

Chevalier doesn’t blame the assassination attempt on Gilbert - though doubtlessly he was involved. He tells Emma a little about Obsidian’s history, about how there hasn’t been a major war since 10 years ago. Instead, the countries Obsidian has taken over since have all willingly surrendered without bloodshed. This is Gilbert’s true power, and the reason he should be feared.

Chevalier and Emma come to the conclusion that Gilbert doesn’t see the people around him as ‘human’.

The next day, Gilbert, Emma, and Luke go through Clavis’ trapped mansion, with Gilbert pointing out the traps and Luke very skillfully dodging them. They find the anti-monarcy fist fighting with the pro-democracy faction in the party room, but they quickly recognize Gilbert. About half the room is happy and excited that he’s there, and the other half are pissed off. We start hearing about the Blood Stained Rose day 10 years ago, and seriously, how has Emma not heard anything about that?

Gilbert starts talking to the room, and remembering her talk with Chevalier the previous night, Emma asks if this is how he gets nations to surrender and join Obsidian without bloodshed.

Yes, this is Gilbert’s MO.

Someone else tries to stab Gilbert, and Emma tries to jump in and save him. Instead her collar is roughly grabbed, and Gilbert throws her into a nearby wall, and takes care of the assailant himself.

Emma takes this moment to speak - not to Gilbert - but to the crowd. She reminds them that if they close all dialogue, they’ll be no better than mindless beasts.

At this point, Clavis shows up to his own party, fashionably late. Luke and Emma agree that they’ve seen enough, and leave Gilbert to continue speaking with the anti-royalty factions.

Rio was waiting for them at the castle gates, and he is upset. Since Emma had gotten involved with Gilbert, she has gotten quite beat up. He is about to run off and attack Gilbert, but thankfully Luke stops him. Emma also tries to stop him, but Luke just picks her up, while holding Rio down.

They manage to convince Rio to not run off and pick a fight with Gilbert, but both men agree that Emma should cut herself loose from whatever hold Gilbert has on her.

Emma considers this, and ultimately decides not to.

Later that night, she follows Gilbert to the castle chapel, though she’s not a good tail so Gilbert knew she was following him the entire time. He was hoping to avoid her tonight, since he’s still very angry with her and can’t guarantee he won’t get violent. Emma doesn’t care, she needs to talk to him when he’s like this. She understands that he’s angry that she put herself in harms way and might of died, but she doesn’t regret the action. Even if he’s the final boss/main villain, he’s still a human and she doesn’t want him to die. Though, he really could take care of himself.

Emma has a new plan, just as Gilbert has been trying to isolate her into his cold desolate world, she’s going to resist him. Instead, she will drag him into her warm world full of human kindness.

Emma asks Gilbert to become her friend. Gilbert warns her that if she’s being his friend of her own accord, that means that she must promise never to betray him or he’ll be so sad he’ll kill her himself. Emma clarifies what he means by betrayal - if Emma becomes someone else. With that promise they kiss each other’s cheek, and Emma asks if this is a tradition in Obsidian.

No, it’s not.

They part ways, and Emma immediately goes to Chevalier’s secret library, only to find Clavis there as well.

Emma bluntly asks Clavis if he’s betraying Rhodolite, and they get into the whole kingdom vs. people, good vs. evil talk. Chevalier cuts in and asks Emma to report.

Afterwards, Clavis wonders again about what Gilbert’s plans are - specifically what was up with introducing her to the anti- factions. Is it to sow discord? Emma thinks it was some kind of test he was putting her up to.

Chevalier thinks she might be right - and furthermore, Gilbert might be using Emma’s reactions to make his own decisions going forward. They wonder about how Sariel picked Emma to be Belle, and just as Rhodolite is using her to decide it’s next king, Gilbert is using her to decide his next course of actions.

Chevalier orders Clavis to investigate the anti-Royal faction further, and to take Nokto with him. He is told not to involve Luke.

The next day, Gilbert brings Emma out with him on a date. And like all the best dates, he brings her to a sketchy deserted alley where Emma is convinced she’s going to be raped and murdered - maybe in that order. To put her mind at ease, Gilbert tells her it’s already too late, no one will come and rescue her.

He holds hands with her, and brings her to a desolate door, opening it and politely letting her in first. It’s a weirdly ordinary flat - and Gilbert explains it’s his safe house in Rhodolite.

While proudly bragging about how he just had it cleaned, Gilbert does not react well to the lingering dust and nearly keels over. Emma gets him a glass of water and rubs his back until his breathing gets under control.

Gilbert explains that back in the day, when he was a kid, the relationship between Rhodolite and Obsidian was pretty good, so he used this flat when he was visiting. Which he now bequeaths to Emma. He explains that this is the last time he will ever visit Rhodolite, so it might as well get some use. Even if he conquers Rhodolite in the future, he will not use this room.

Gilbert also reveals that he used to have four other brothers, all who died in ‘accidents’ and implies he’s the cause of the ‘accidents’. Emma thinks he didn’t kill then and is sad about their deaths.

Emma promises to take care of the flat - it’s not the request of an enemy prince, but the request of her new friend.

Gilbert is standing against the light in a way that she can’t make out his expression, but when he repeats the word ‘friend’ he sounds conflicted.

For some reason, Emma thinks this flat smells familiar.

Also, Gilbert reeeeealy wants her to start calling him 'Gil'.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri spoilers #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert spoilers #ikepri gilbert spoilers

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sowoozoo-7 · 10 months

Text

Love, Lust & Litigation | Interlude - NYE (Namjoon POV)

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader x Namjoon

Genre: lawyer!AU, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

Rating: M (18+) whole fic, this chapter PG-13 (for language)

Warnings: some swearing in this chapter, nothing explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Unfortunately, you have developed a massive crush on your new boss. Even more unfortunately, your equally attractive coworker is also harboring massive crush on your boss. AKA Jungkook and reader both pine for big, sexy brain Namjoon.

A/N: It's been a long time coming but here she is! The next installment of LL&L! This takes place in the middle of Chapter 5. More about it in the A/N at the end. Thanks for all your patience as I got over a bit of writer's block (and writer's unmotivation lmao). This is my first time writing a member's POV, so hopefully I did it justice!

As always, I’d love feedback if you have any! Enjoy ~

mlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | interlude | ch 6

Namjoon Kim doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions.

It’s a stupid concept, in his humble opinion. Not only is it an arbitrary date to make a change, most people spend the first day of the new year recovering from the night before. Can anyone really make any progress toward their goals while nursing a massive hangover?

No. If Namjoon wants to make a change, he’ll just do it. He won’t wait until Monday, or to the first of the month. He'll just do it.

Of course, if anyone asks if he’s made any resolutions, he’ll just smile and say “Oh, you know, the usual,” or some other noncommittal answer. His coworkers don’t need to know he thinks it’s a stupid concept. He hasn’t gotten to where he is today by ranting about the uselessness of New Year’s resolutions.

This year, though, this year might be different.

He arrives late to Jimin’s New Year’s Eve party. Everyone at Jimin's fancy high-rise apartment is past buzzed and barreling toward black-out drunk, and here he is, newly arrived and sober.

Before he can go in search of alcohol, Jimin finds him.

“You’re late! Why are you late? It’s New Year’s Eve!”

Some urgent thing at work kept him there. It seemed life-changing and super important in the moment, but as Namjoon opens his mouth to answer, for the life of him, he can’t remember exactly what it was.

Jimin flaps his hand as if to wave the question out of the air before Namjoon can think of anything to say.

“Whatever. The more important issue is, you’re not sparkling!”

The theme for the party is “Sparkle or Bust,” in reference to both drinks and outfits. Namjoon doesn’t make a habit of keeping spare sequined shirts in his office, so he’s in one of his work suits, sans tie and jacket.

Several hours’ worth of alcohol dulls Jimin’s outrage at Namjoon’s failure to follow the theme and he hands Namjoon a bedazzled NYE tiara and a glass of champagne without further berating.

“There. Much better.”

Jimin leaves as suddenly as he arrived.

Namjoon stays on the periphery of the party, sipping on the champagne. He recognizes people from work and some of Jimin’s friends he’s met in the past, but they’re all involved in their own conversations.

His gaze wanders from person to person, wondering if any of them made resolutions, if they’ve ever kept them. If anything has ever changed—actually changed—by making a resolution for the new year.

If it’s even worth it to hope for a change.

He keeps looking and his eyes catch on a familiar figure across the room. Jungkook, wearing a ridiculous, shiny blazer that he has no business looking so good in. Namjoon’s stomach does a little flip as he notices, not for the first time, how Jungkook’s shoulders fill out the blazer, broad and strong. He’s talking with Taehyung, Jimin’s roommate, a tall eccentric whose family owns half the city.

The crowd shifts, and Namjoon’s stomach flips again when he catches sight of you, looking increasingly irritated at the conversation between the two men. Now you’re rolling your eyes, annoyed at something they’ve said.

Namjoon’s eyes follow you as you yank the sliding glass doors to the balcony open. Before he knows it, he’s making his way to the door, murmuring his apologies as he tries not to bulldoze his coworkers out of the way.

Before Namjoon can reach the door, Jungkook is already there, round eyes apologetic and pleading as he slips out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. Namjoon stops in the middle of the crowd.

He’s too late.

Again.

He tips the contents of his champagne glass down his throat. It’s not enough to quiet the self-loathing, but enough to carry him to the glass door and peer out onto the balcony.

You’re looking up at Jungkook, something like disappointment on your face. He has his hands on your shoulders, rubbing the bare skin to warm you up in the cold. Your expression softens. You’re forgiving him for whatever transgression he has committed.

An ugly roil of feelings churns in Namjoon’s gut, a mix of jealousy, envy, and longing he doesn’t want to untangle.

Regret, though, is what he feels the most. There were so many moments when he could have done something, anything, when he could have made his feelings clear to either, both of you.

Yoongi pushed him to do something, to say something. Of course he did, what else are best friends for? But even though Namjoon saw want clearly written in Jungkook’s eyes, time and time again, he hesitated. Every time they touched, whether in passing in the office, or when they were working out together, Namjoon was so careful, so careful to not let his hands linger, even though all he wanted to do was feel the planes of Jungkook’s body against his, strong and muscular. Because it was inappropriate, because of Namjoon’s position, because he was Jungkook’s mentor.

And then you showed up, beautiful, confident. Every time you won a case, you lit up the room, radiant, victorious. And all Namjoon wanted to do was crowd you against the elevator walls as you headed back to the office together. He wanted to know if you were as soft and pliable out of your clothes as you were hard and unyielding in the courtroom. Yoongi had more to say every time you and Namjoon were in his restaurant. But again Namjoon hesitated.

And he was too late. All he has left is regret and unrelenting visions of both of you, soft and hard, next to him, on top and below him, wanting nothing more than the all-encompassing press of warm skin against skin.

A loud bang pulls him back to the party. One of the ladies from IT tripped into the glass door beside Namjoon. He reaches out to steady her, his hand on her elbow. She blushes when Namjoon smiles at her, and she laughs it off, embarrassed.

By the time he turns back to glance out to the balcony, Jungkook has you wrapped up in his blazer and you’re both facing out to the city.

Someone claps him on the shoulder, and he looks back to see Taehyung. “You look like you need something stronger than champagne.”

A karaoke machine appears sometime before midnight.

Namjoon has officially joined the ranks of the well and truly sloshed. Taehyung took him to the large pantry behind the kitchen, where Jimin had stashed the good bottles of whisky behind boxes of cereal, and he has gone back several times for a refill.

He doesn’t let himself get this drunk, not usually. He’s so careful, always so fucking careful, about how he’s perceived, about what he’s expected to do, how he’s supposed to act, as an adult, as a manager, as the hotshot lawyer people think he is. But the whisky warms his stomach tonight and blurs the edges of the sharp feelings deep in the pit of his stomach.

Whoever is screeching at the karaoke machine needs to stop. He feels it in the base of his skull and it’s making the night all the more unpleasant than it already is. He can tell them off, of course he can. He’s the head of Litigation.

He stumbles his way into the living room to make the horrible noise stop, but the song ends before he can get across the room. Thank god. He’s about to turn back to the kitchen to top up his glass when an angelic voice comes through the speakers.

It takes a few blinks to focus his eyes. He eventually sees across the room that Jungkook has taken the mic, with Taehyung’s arms slung around his shoulders.

They’re swaying as Jungkook sings “Leave The Door Open” by Silk Sonic. The rumble of the party quiets down. Someone whoops when he nails a high note.

Namjoon leans back against the wall for support. It’s not the first time he’s heard Jungkook singing. He hums constantly in the office, but it’s only when he’s several drinks in and past the point of self-consciousness that he lets loose and really sings. His eyes are closed, not needing the lyrics, as he belts the song.

A little sigh sounds next to him and he turns to see you, also leaning against the wall. Your eyes are soft for the man across the room, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Namjoon looks back at Jungkook, and those feelings he was trying to dam with alcohol come rushing back.

“You’re lucky, you know?”

He doesn’t even realize he’s spoken out loud until he hears your voice beside him.

“Lucky?”

Fuck. He has to say something. Clarify? Does he owe that to you?

“Look at him,” he says, gesturing across the room with his glass. “He’s hot and talented and good at his job. Competent people are hard to come by.” Shut up shut up shut up Namjoon, you’re rambling. “You’re competent too.”

“Thanks?”

The song ends and the room cheers for one more. Namjoon keeps his eyes trained across the room as Jungkook queues up another song. He can’t look at you right now. You’re too close.

"Don't be a manager. It's overrated," he says quietly. "Careers don’t fucking matter. You have that freedom still, to do whatever.”

The next song starts, “Falling” by Harry Styles. A shiver runs down Namjoon’s spine as Jungkook starts singing.

“Jesus, just listen to his voice.”

“Boss, are you okay?” you ask, putting your hand on Namjoon’s arm.

He closes his eyes at the touch, and at that fucking nickname. He hates it. Hates his role at work, his chronic overthinking. He fucking despises himself for the person he’s crafted himself to be, hiding behind a job title, too focused on what society tells him is success to chase what he wants now.��

He looks at you, finally, to see confusion and concern written all over your face.

“I’m happy for you two.” He can hear the sadness in his own voice and it’s fucking pathetic. He goes to take a sip of his drink, but it’s empty. Again. “I really am. Truly.”

You just look at him like you’re about to say something nice and sweet and heartbreaking. Fuck. He’s gotta get out of here.

In his drunk haze, he doesn’t realize that you don’t follow him to the kitchen.

Karaoke ends with everyone scream-singing some pop-punk song that Namjoon vaguely recognizes.

It’s getting close to midnight anyway, so the party roars back into swing, bass thumping, people dancing in the living room in a crush of bodies.

Namjoon stands against the wall, the empty drink glass in his hand, watching everyone else lose their inhibitions. Even drunk as he is, the vice grip of anxiety keeps him from joining the crowd, from letting loose, and letting his body move to the music.

He spots you and Jungkook in the crowd, your back against his, eyes closed as you dance to the beat, both faces flushed with alcohol. Namjoon waits, anticipating… something. What exactly, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that this picture is incomplete. He sits on the outside, watching the two of you from afar.

Then it hits him. He’s used to it now, like breathing, like the sun rising and setting, your faces turning towards Namjoon like sunflowers face the sun. Always finding him in a room. How many times has he locked eyes from across the room with Jungkook, with you?

And now, you’re not looking at Namjoon. Neither of you are.

As the countdown to midnight starts, Jungkook spins you around to face him. You laugh and join in counting with the crowd.

3…

Namjoon holds his own countdown, waiting for either or both sets of eyes to find him on the edge of the crowd.

2…

Jungkook’s arms wrap around you.

1…

Your fingers tangle in his hair.

Happy New Year!

You’re kissing and laughing, rejoicing in the new year. When Jungkook’s eyes open, they’re trained on your face, and you look back, eyes only for Jungkook.

Something breaks inside Namjoon. He doesn’t even know who his envy is aimed towards. Does he want to be Jungkook, kissing you, or does he want to be in your place, cupping the back of Jungkook’s head?

Things never change on New Year’s Eve, except this year, something has.

He slips out of the party without anyone noticing. The sharp cold brings him back to his senses. Without the party in his head, he can breathe. He can think.

His breath fogs up in the early morning air. Every inhale brings a cold clarity back to him.

He knows what he has to do.

A/N II: This scene was originally meant to take place in the middle of Chapter 5 from reader's POV. The more I worked on it, the more I struggled with it. The whole chapter was dragging and nothing I wrote was working, so I took it out. I think it improved the flow of Ch 5 and helped me finish Ch 5 a bit faster. It's still an important part of the story, and I think it worked better from Namjoon's POV. So before we head to the final couple chapters (!!!!) I really wanted to show how Namjoon's been feeling. (And my brain wouldn't let me work on Ch 6 until I finished this.)

I'm not gonna put a date on the next installment. It's still largely unwritten, but hopefully the momentum from finishing this helps with the draft for Ch 6. Thanks for your patience! Lots of forehead kisses for y'all 💕

#jungkook x you #namjoon x you #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fic #junkook fanfic #namjoon fanfic #fic: love lust & litigation

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genderqueerdykes · 9 days

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osiris-iii-bc · 2 months

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Cocoon [Papa Emeritus III x Cardinal Copia -Non related- OS]

Just me practicing fluff (and embarrassed at the moment). Born to be a ficlet, died as a whole one shot. Am I really surprised? If you enjoy old men softly making out, that’s the place for you. A very special thanks to @van-goghs-smoking-skull for the amazing beta assistance done on this text ❤️‍🔥

Rating: smut, slash, sex, domestic fluff, oral sex, anal sex, anal fingering, porn with plot, porn with feeling, romance, nsfw, established relationship, soft Dom!Terzo, Sub!Copia, Copia is an expert housewife, Terzo is… Terzo.

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Papa Emeritus III (non related)

Words: 4.314

Summary: Just Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia enjoying some alone time in their new residence after a long tour. Work outside, cuddles in.

>> AO3, Wattpad or down here 👇🏻

It had been several months since Copia had issued the ultimatum in that small tour bus kitchen.

"We need a house.", he burst out suddenly, flicking his cigarette into the plastic ashtray almost with relief.

"I don't recall us sleeping under bridges." Terzo lifted his gaze from the newspaper and fixed it on Copia, raising his eyebrows so he could look over his reading glasses. Then, without a word more, he returned to the newspaper with renewed interest.

"Terzo?"

"Copia... why do you want another house?" He put down the newspaper, conceding to him the attention he clearly demanded. Out of the window, Ghouls and roadies were preparing the stage for the soundcheck.

"I want a house," he emphasized. "But a real house. Our own house."

Terzo lifted the newspaper again, this time more interested and thoughtful. "A house?" he asked. "An entire house? Just for the two of us?"

Copia nodded vigorously. Not that Terzo was surprised; after all, it wasn't the first time they had planned something like this. Usually, it was just idle talk that ended up going nowhere. "The time is ripe." claimed Copia.

Terzo was Papa, it was his right to demand the purchase of a new property, and Copia certainly wouldn't let that opportunity slip away. As the years passed, they both started feeling the natural need men often desire after a life well-lived: an equally well-deserved rest, made of simple things and good company -. perhaps a book to read in front of a fireplace at night, instead of the wild parties they started to lack energy for.

"You're the Papa," he had insisted, swirling the spoon in the coffee cup he had prepared. That was a point he never stressed enough. "We said we would do it when you became Papa."

"Yes, but... let's take things slowly." Terzo had restrained. "The Church already owns other residences, and we should discuss it with Imperator, the others-"

"You're the Papa. You can and you will.", he retorted, sticking to his point. Then, he raised a finger, reconsidering, "No, wait, I'll tell Imperator. She trusts me more than you."

Terzo gave him one last resigned look, "You really have no tact, you know?"

And so it was that, a few months later, while Copia was busy with the real estate agent discussing the tranquility of the area and the good condition of the house, Terzo preferred to wander through the rooms alone, already imagining what their own house could look like. He could already see Copia fully immersed in the role of interior designer, choosing all the furniture and colors to decorate their little kingdom. He envisioned scenes of unusual everyday life, like a breakfast prepared together or a night spent close in their bed, in their room, without pressure and without restrictions.

Convincing Imperator that the pontiff was growing old and tired and needed a secluded residence to recover after the long tours where he could relax in privacy and silence, had been moderately easy. If Terzo had assisted in their meeting, he wouldn't have spoken to him for a whole day for having used his age again to justify his requests. After all, he wasn't that much older than him. And if he tried to bring up that bothersome rumor about him dying his hair to cover the white roots, it would have been even more catastrophic. Nobody seemed to believe his explanation that he was just reviving the color.

However, it had worked, and the end always justifies the means, right?

The house was well-ventilated, bright, and spacious, made comfortable by the warm tones of wood. Perhaps it was a bit too large for just two people, but they would certainly find enough space for parties or some star-like indulgence, such as a game room or a personalized gym, giving a purpose to that couple of spare rooms.

The completely glass structure overlooking the garden, which initially seemed like a small greenhouse, was actually a bathroom, complete with a large bathtub and a shower prominently displayed for "true lovers of privacy," as Terzo sarcastically remarked.

How could one not love a house with the toilet on display?

If Copia hadn't come back to him reporting the long-awaited positive outcome, he probably would have been the one begging him to buy it.

Copia waited for Terzo's return like a loyal dog awaits its human, with his nose up in the air behind the door.

He had been there for days, accompanied by a group of Siblings, to prepare the house and ensure that Papa had everything he needed for those well-deserved days of rest after such a demanding tour. It was the perfect excuse to be the first person he would see upon his return, and it had been even easier sending away all the collaborators before his arrival. Papa will be very tired and not inclined to have people around, of course… Inventing problems to find solutions had been one of the skills that brought him to the highest ranks of the Clergy, after all.

While following him during a few stops of the European tour was a relatively easy task, the American leg was a far more complicated matter. His services were needed more at the Ministry than in Papa's entourage, so the Cardinal had spent those weeks of excited expectation planning every detail, meticulously creating their little nest. He had required a surprising quantity of scented candles and soft pillows for the sofa, for evenings spent curled up together sharing tender moments—or indulging in carnal sins, depending on the mood. He had also needed a complete assortment of creams and toiletries to meet both of their shower routines, bottles of wine to celebrate his return… just the basics to make the night, or the morning, or whenever they pleased, comfortable enough to take all the time and freedom to make love wherever they wanted, without the usual furtive glances toward the door, anxious that someone might knock at any moment, especially at the most inconvenient times. Pots and pans were there for when they would wake up in the morning, hungry and inspired for a late breakfast. The food storage he had arranged would have probably been enough for a whole month, but he wanted to be prepared for any request the Papa might have had during those days...

Then, the metallic sound of the engine moving and tires running over the gravel had distracted him from that daydreaming.

He observed the black car pulling into the driveway from the window, and it felt like that day, many years ago, when Cardinal Terzo had irradiated him with his presumptuous aura at their first meeting, already feeling like the star he had become years after; hard not to fall for his raven hair and cumbersome personality.

First his shoe appeared from the bottom of the car door, landing on the gravel of the walkway, then his hair emerged at the top of it, and as he fully stepped out of the car, his entire figure materialized, pausing just long enough to adjust his coat against the gentle breeze that tousled his hair. He promptly slicked it back with a natural gesture so familiar to the Cardinal.

His more casual attire made him look less like a cult leader and more like a strange type of business man. For as much as Copia loved his casual look, there was nothing that could save him from the shivers he felt at black masses, where his vestments made him look like a divinity manifesting on the pulpit.

Terzo finally saw him at the door, the glimmer of a smile moved his lips. It was such a rare thing to see him smile.

The Cardinal efficiently grabbed two of his bags, just to speed up the unpacking process; he dismissed the driver and assistants and finally closed the door behind them.

"Home, finally." Terzo sighed, relieved. He slid off his gloves and looked around, curious about what the Cardinal had prepared for him. It was a strange sensation not to hear the constant murmur of the Ministry residents or find himself surrounded by Clergy figures and Siblings of Sin, finally feeling the trappings of the rockstar fading away as he entered the driveway.

"How are you?" Copia helped him take off his coat, in that respectful way that still betrayed an unnecessary professionalism, a hard-to-break habit.

"Hungry, If I have to be honest."

"Oh, great, I have prepared an asso-" But he soon felt something stopping his steps and his words. It was Terzo's arm, grabbing him by the waist, pulling him back against his body. "Where are you going?" and only in that moment did they share a proper kiss, in that way Terzo had to just reassure him that, though time had passed, his passion had never faded with it.

He had to credit Copia for the merit of that idea. He had managed to create a sense of family that they had never been able to experience before.

Living at the Ministry was both an honor and a burden; it had been their home for the larger part of their lives, but as time passed, they found themselves craving silence and the absence of obligations hanging over their heads. They longed for something that could make them feel like individuals and not just replaceable parts of something bigger.

The topic of work was only touched in view of some imminent commitment when Terzo was on break; this evening is no different, aside from the adventures Terzo had brought with him during those nearly three months of uninterrupted touring, shared along with a bottle of good wine. For the rest of the time, they were just simple men or, at least, for a small part of the year they could allow themselves the illusion of being so.

Copia had tried to say something deep on the matter, but Terzo had silenced him with his lips, tasting the intense flavor of wine in his mouth. There was no need to overthink, not that night. "We have an inauguration to celebrate." Terzo breathed on his freshly kissed lips, his arm still tightly around his shoulders.

They then rose from the couch where they had settled after a lavish dinner —cooked by Copia, as Terzo's hands were perfect everywhere except on the stove— to roll into their bed without clothes and without even closing the door, because they could.

On the way to the bedroom, Terzo spared no compliments for anything they encountered along their path, gradually freeing Copia from his cassock, starting with the belt, then the tunic, the shirt underneath, all while taking every opportunity to praise the choice of plants, the arrangement of books, the positioning of chairs, so meticulously studied in every detail! He alternated sweet comments with sweet kisses on his skin as he uncovered it.

Maybe a bit too sweet for his standards…

Copia stopped to take a good, suspicious look at him. "Why do I have a feeling that you are about to ask me for a favor?"

"Because I am actually about to do it." Terzo moved his chin to indicate something beyond the bed, "The wardrobe. I may need half of yours. Or a new one."

Copia rubbed his face with his hand, smiling faintly "Or a whole dressing room… How could I underestimate your vanity."

"Don't rush, we have time. It must have been tiring planning all this, ordering stuff, choosing the colors of the curtains…" he kissed him, sucking his lips lightly before a last, soft lip touch, "looks like you need a break too."

"There is only one task missing from the list…" and with a gentle pressure on his chest, he flipped positions, finding himself knelt on the bed, "Let me take care of you." As he always had, by the way. Sometimes you can't get rid of your profession even in the most intimate moment, and taking care of Papa was the best job Copia may have ever dreamt of.

He freed Terzo's arms from the shirt, pulling off one arm at time in a deliberate slow way, then kissed the back of his hand, like he had seen Terzo do countless times. He then placed it on his chest so that he could caress him; an excuse for Terzo to quickly reach to his back and pull him closer, enough to kiss his navel by lifting a bit on his elbow.

"Have you practiced while I was away?", his hand still on the Cardinal's back.

"I learned from the best teacher."

Copia leaned towards him, but Terzo swiftly met his lips halfway, as if waiting for Copia to bow down to meet him was too much wasted time.

Then, he quickly ran his hands down his stomach and a little below, to reach and unbuckle the button of Papa's trousers, hearing him hiss when his fingers lightly traveled along his hardening length, in an accidental caress, while unzipping them all the way down. The Cardinal hadn't even slid them midway through his legs yet when he - literally - rubbed his face in the middle of them, impatient, inhaling that scent he had waited so long to smell again. He breathed him in through his boxers, letting his tongue taste the fabric and the damp skin beneath it. Terzo's breath trembled, his neck extended until his head touched the wood of the bed frame behind it while holding onto Copia's hair like he was on the edge of a ravine, about to fall, inviting him to press more against his bulge, even if there was no need to.

The Cardinal didn't have to move away that much to slide down that last barrier between his lips and the pontiff's bare skin; in fact, he rested his lips and chin on the soft trail of hair that marked the way from his navel to the warm flesh he just uncovered, keeping his eyes gazing up to Terzo's.

The pontiff could only breathe out an honest 'Oh…' for that long awaited freedom.

Copia kissed the sides of that growing erection the way he used to kiss his neck, with the same devotion, lips sucking his skin with generous smacks at every suction; his curious tongue, a wet serpent licking all the way from base to top and down again, after twirling on his dripping tip, in an obscene display of desire.

"Don't torture me, Cardinal…"

It sounded like a prayer; he just knew how Copia could go on for hours with just kissing and teasing laps. Terzo's lips fell open, swallowing a weak moan when he saw his glans pressed between Copia's lips, his voice surprisingly high pitched.

The Cardinal's tongue showed up to caress his head once more, before Terzo let go of a liberating sigh when he got swallowed whole by Copia's warm throat, sucking him in and out a few times.

"I want to suck you off in every single room of this house, on every surface, at every hour of day and night…" Copia breathed out on his tense skin, finally dropping the glamor he loved to cover himself with.

A shadow of a weak smirk moved the corner of Terzo's lips up, meanwhile stroking his hair gently. They had now lost their elegant hairstyle, and it was a rarity only Terzo could brag, to see him disheveled like that. "Looks like you already have plans for my retirement."

"Oh, it involves some of my favorite activities."

"Can I have a little spoiler?"

Copia took his time to give a last, long goodbye kiss to his cock, before kneeling on the bed to finally take off his own trousers, and the underwear soon after, revealing a vigorous erection he couldn't help but leisurely stroke a couple of times.

Their body shape was similar but with details that made them unique. Where Terzo was still lean and agile, even though smoothed with time, Copia was a bit more muscular, although less defined, but only because he was a bit more filled out than him, his waist and shoulders slightly wider.

The years had softened the meat on his belly, the same way age had done with Copia's. When kneeling, the muscle of the Cardinal's legs contracted, showing up in a fascinating hump. Terzo loved to touch them, feeling them stiff under his palm.

Papa's hand was wrapped around his leg at that very moment, caressing it from behind. He pulled back when Copia sat on his heels, spread thighs, leaning back enough to disclose his most private part - well, not so private to Terzo. He guided his hand down, lower than his sex, until he reached for his entrance, teasing himself with his fingers; his erection rested stiff on his belly.

Terzo fixed on his focused expression while he prepared for him, framed by the hair now freely falling at the sides of his face and on his eyes, giving him an unusual, youthful look; he could see his face contort in a different way as deeper his fingers disappeared inside him. He loved the way pleasure manifested on his face, so limpid and readable. The urge to ravish him and be the source of those blissful expressions was aching between his thighs.

"No, wait…", he said, unsurprisingly, looking at him tilting his head back, moaning for that self-given pleasure; he had just started to move his hips against his own hand. "Turn."

The sweetest of orders.

Before Copia could give him his back, they shared a deep but soft kiss that tasted like trust and stable habits. The hand on the Cardinal's back, sliding between his shoulder blades and down on his lower back, was a gentle request to lower the shoulders a bit more and arch better for him. Since he was already there, he squeezed his butt on his way to his entrance, more like a slap than a caress. He pressed lightly, testing his resistance, finding easy permission to fill him with one finger and, with a bit of work, a second one too.

With no rush, no need to impress anyone, a sequence of smooth movements they had learnt with time and practice.

"I must admit…" Copia tried to say, "That the event of your retirement would be -oh! Not that dreadful to me…"

Terzo flicked his eyes down at him for a moment, then twisted his fingers inside him. Copia exploded in a harsh groan. "I thought you wanted to keep the work outside." Then, another twist, to which he added a generous stroke on the base of his cock, squeezing it to a point Copia must have felt uncomfortable, by the way he cried again, "I could consider these words a betrayal."

"Will you punish me, your Unholiness?" Copia's tone was cracked by panting and struggling, but slightly hopeful.

Terzo took his time to ponder the possibility. "No." He simply declared; and that was his punishment.

He cruelly kissed Copia on his back, between his shoulder blades, before finally positioning behind him. He spat on his dick and rubbed it against the Cardinals distended entrance, pressing in slowly. Copia let his legs part wider, patiently waiting for Terzo to fill him, squirming and clinging to the bedsheets when he finally did; his mouth fell open, alternating mute moans and irregular panting, hardly breathing with the side of his face pressed on the mattress.

Almost fully leaning over his back, enveloping him from behind, Terzo started to stroke his cock to grant him every kind of relief he desperately carved, indulging on the head of his erection, so wet with precum, easily stroked by the ring of his fingers speeding the rhythm around it. The faster he trusted in him, the faster he stroked his cock, as if it was his own.

"All for me…" Copia managed to say with what was left of his breath "Can-can you imagine? This everyday…fucking me everyday…"

That was easy to imagine, especially while he was actually fucking him, eyes closed, gripping those hips made just for him, until they had reached the climax almost together, groaning as if it were a release.

Copia loved to hear his voice change in those moments; it looked like he had a whole set of tones only audible while he was experiencing pleasure. His voice went down at least an octave, relaxed, almost tired, a raspy sound that rebounded in his chest and down through his thighs, especially when he got to hear that voice - broken and needy - heavy breathing curses and filth straight in his ear, animalistic and coarse, like his last groan suppressed on the skin of his shoulder.

Sweaty and breathless, Terzo had collapsed onto Copia's body, who had caught his breath and then uttered those words, seemingly out of nowhere. Because in those moments, Copia tapped into the poetic vein that he usually infused into his passionate sermons.

He said, "In a way, we are luckier than regular people because they have serenity right under their noses and are never happy. We have to struggle to reach even a bit of peace, but at least we know how to be. We really understand the value of it."

Terzo hadn't said anything because, even if he wanted to find the right words to reply, he wouldn't have found them. So, they stayed silent for a while, then Copia resumed talking because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut for five straight minutes anyway.

If there was a spectrum in how the mind works, Terzo and Copia would stand on the opposite sides.

Terzo, the pragmatic mind, was a man of action. He approached life with an impetuous attitude, even if his actions were often far from agreeable.

Copia, on the other hand, was immersed in theory. Talking with him meant exploring the infinite chambers of his mind. There was no question how he found himself most comfortable between the walls of a library, engrossed in the pages of philosophy or historical books or indulging in deep conversations with the elder members of the Clergy. Terzo often described his way of getting lost in his thought with the "well" metaphor he himself had invented: inside Copia's head there was a well he descended every time he got silent when exploring a certain concept, chasing every idea and possibility with his little wooden bucket, sitting at the bottom of it; then, all of a sudden, he’d emerge with the product of his reflection, which never failed to enrich the dynamic of their contrasting relationship.

"...And you know that some butterflies live on average from a few hours to a week? Some even longer, but it doesn't matter because they still don't last long... Anyway, in those few days, they manage to live a complete life. Have you ever thought that when we're together, even just for ten minutes, it's like we have everything we need to live a whole life? In a week that we spend in this house, alone, it's like we truly live another life, in which nothing is missing... don't you think?"

But Terzo didn't respond even then. Copia had always been curious about nature and animals, he had probably been fascinated by one of his last readings. He didn't even realize that it was a genuine question until Copia repeated it to him, but he still didn't answer. Not that he didn't want to, but he didn't feel the need to respond. It was nice that Copia said it, and it was nice to listen to it... It was nice that those words hung suspended between them, and that was enough.

That was how they had fallen asleep, and how they had woken up. Or at least, that's how Terzo had woken up, with that sense of serenity and complete life running through his veins..

Then they got up to prepare breakfast, and... Terzo's phone rang.

Copia patiently waited for him to pick it up, gazing at him as he rolled his eyes at whatever name was on the screen, then walked out to the patio to respond. He observed Terzo pacing up and down the perimeter of the platform through the windows before greeting him with a resentful, "We said no work while we're here." when he returned.

Terzo sighed, "I know, but unfortunately, my phone's signal still reaches here."

"... Mars would have been a better choice, then."

Terzo looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For the two of us. I'm pretty sure there's no signal there." Copia replied. He then attempted to take a bite of a cookie, which he had probably soaked in milk for too long, as half of it fell back into the cup just as he tried to bite into it.

Terzo didn't know it, but that morning, Copia woke up thinking about how they had ended up in that house. It was something that, in a way, reassured him, reflecting on how their relationship had solidified over the years. He was somewhat curious to know if Mars was still an alternative to consider or if what they had was more than enough.

Anyway, Terzo chuckled, amused, getting up to place his coffee cup in the sink while still emptying its contents. Copia, after staring at the half-cookie still between his fingers with disappointment, had finally given up, tossing it back into the cup.

"You've let the conversations with Primo go to your head..."

And he was right. Because there was no reason to go to Mars when everything they needed was in their little life in their little cocoon. A life within a life, which found its release only in a few days of complete serenity within those walls of pale orange, the dark gray roof, and windows with white wood.

Just a few days, but enough for a complete existence. Just like butterflies.

#ghost band #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #copiiia #terzo x copia #copia #terzo #fluff #c3

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thefisherqueen · 6 months

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I'm reading Letters from Watson's The three Garridebs as a bedtime story tonight. First things first - what even is this title?? *some research later* Oh, Garridebs is a last name, apparently. Wouldn't have guessed that. Yet another story title I will never be able to remember

It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost one man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another man the penalties of the law. I'm intrigued. They surely didn't still do blood-letting in the early 20th century? Or does this mean that Watson gets wounded in this case

I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month that Holmes refused a knighthood for services which may perhaps some day be described. I'm having a bit of trouble telling apart when Holmes wants attention and when he does not. He seems to thrive upon Watson's attention, and to immensely enjoy the attention he receives by acting Dramatic(TM), yet public praise or fame is to be avoided?

I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position of partner and confidant I am obliged to be particularly careful to avoid any indiscretion. Partner, confidant, collegue, companion, intimate friend. In other words, 'you are so important to me'

Holmes had spent several days in bed, as was his habit from time to time It's been years since I spent an entire day in bed. I wonder if that means that I'm doing better, or if I'm just not allowing myself enough time to rest and recover from Life

"Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?" I admitted that I had not. Same, Watson, same

"Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes?" I seemed to read sudden suspicion in those expressive eyes. "Your whole outfit is English." Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. "I've read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, but I never thought I would be the subject of them." Oh my. This man does not like to be deduced. I have a feeling he's going to be difficult

"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" asked our visitor, with a sudden outflame of anger. "What in thunder had you to do with it? Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one of them must needs call in a detective! Ah, here we have our trouble. I hope Holmes politely yet ruthlessly will tell him to shut it and keep his calm

"And now, sir, since you are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. My friend here knows nothing of the details." Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze. "Need he know?" he asked. Not even an actual king could pry these two apart, sir, you better not even try. They come Together

He made his money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago wheat pit: a market or exchange where wheat stocks are bought and sold (merriam-webster dictionairy)

one day I had a visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meet another man with his own name 'tickled to death' is one of the many amazing expressions I'm going to incorportate into my vocabulairy

I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in search of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said he, 'that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.' I thought he was joking, but there was a powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon to discover. "For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behind him. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State of Kansas. His property was divided into three parts, and I was to have one on condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the remainder. I... wow. That is some typical rich guy bullshit. I wonder if a third one exists at all?

"I am wondering, Watson—just wondering!" "At what?" Holmes took his pipe from his lips. "I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of this man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him so—for there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy—but I judged it better to let him think he had fooled us. Well. That does changes things. I'm joining Holmes now in wondering what that unpleasant american is up to

It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little Ryder Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within a stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. I think I read about this place. An execution site, if I remember it correctly. *googles* Yes, it was a gallows. From marble-arch.londen:

It is impossible to know exactly what form the original took as there are so few written reports. In fact, during their first hundred years from 1177 to 1273, only eight single executions were deemed interesting enough to make note of.

But we do know that in 1571 a permanent triangular frame was erected – a mammoth structure that could, and sometimes did, hang up to 24 people at a time. The Tyburn Tree was of such renown it is even mentioned in Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost: “Thou mak’st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of Love’s Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.”

Many met their end here. Records from the 1570s alone report that 704 felons were sentenced to be hanged there throughout the decade, for crimes ranging from murder to stealing cattle. Finally taken down in 1759 (presumably due to wear and tear), the structure was eventually replaced by a gallows that could be easily erected and dismantled each time. A gruesome early iteration of the London ‘pop-up’.

The last execution upon the tree was that of robber John Austin in 1783. The new place of execution became Newgate Prison. Today, a circular plaque embedded into the pavement on a traffic island at the entry to Edgware Road marks the spot of the Tyburn Tree

The house had a common stair, and there were a number of names painted in the hall some indicating offices and some private chambers. It was not a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemian bachelors. Didn't bohemian bachelors have some queer connotations? Sometimes I read so much I get it all confused. Damn, if I'm distracted by research all the time I'm not going to finish this letter before bedtime. Still going to do that *10 minutes later* I can't find much at the moment, save the definition in the Urban dictionairy, which I'm def not going to type here. Anyone who knows more?

The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a small museum. It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all round, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical. Cases of butterflies and moths flanked each side of the entrance. A large table in the centre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tube of a powerful microscope bristled up amongst them. As I glanced round I was surprised at the universality of the man's interests. Holmes will love this place

But you are a Britisher with solid references, and he is bound to take notice of what you say. I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always follow you if you are in any trouble." The American fellow is unavailable for the very thing he claims to have come to England for? Sounds like an elaborate ploy to get this mr. Nathan out of the way for a while. Little clue as to why yet. I assume he wants something that the man has?

“I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb,” said he. “In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse of it.” Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind his big glasses. “I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man,” said he. “I could take you round now if you have the time.” “Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them?” Holmes def has his suspicions and is not leaving the collection unguarded. Excited to learn how this will turn out

By the way, who is your house-agent?” Our client was amazed at the sudden question. “Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. But why?” I should go to sleep. I was convinced this was the adress of the American, but instead Watson just mentioned that street as he and Holmes walked past

“This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson,” said he. “It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. Holmes has finally accepted that Watson would never let him go into danger alone. This is so cute

I have identified Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law. He is none other than ‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation.” “I fear I am none the wiser.” “Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portable Newgate Calendar in your memory. Plot twist! Also, how funny it is of Holmes to acknowledge that it is not really Normal to memorize entire lists of prisoners

I'll give you an hour for a siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our Ryder Street adventure.” Since when does Watson get to have siesta's? I'm jealous

So these two are stuck behind a cupboard instead of a curtain this time. Fun times!

Then my friend's wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair. “You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!” It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation. “It's nothing, Holmes. It's a mere scratch.” He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife. “You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Ok not so fun times. Although Watson seems 100% fine with it. I've seen this scene quoted several times already, but didn't know it was from this case. This is some quality hurt/comfort. It has blood, desperation, removed clothing, and an excellent threat as the cherry on top. Brilliant

those bundles on the table are two thousand of Prescott's notes worth a hundred each and fit to pass anywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it.” Holmes laughed. “We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolt-hole for you in this country. Loving the implication that US is lawless territory

Well this was a fun case. Such a complicated ploy to get one old man out of his house, and some great Holmes/Watson interaction. I really need some sleep now

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #the three garridebs #I'm so tired now lol

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 4 months

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I finished acotar a while ago and I was gonna write a review right away but then christmas happened and I was pretty busy and wanted to enjoy myself so youre getting like two weeks late

It was fine, I really didnt have any strong feelings about the book itself. Like, my main complaints are that it was pretty boring and directionless for most of it and stuff thats mainly related to the next books, if I just look at it as a standalone I would describe it as "not for me, but not that bad"

That is, until we get to Under The Mountain, where everything just gets really stupid and convoluted. That whole section, which is a solid fourth or fifth of the whole book, severely clashes with the sweet fairytale romance that came before it. It reminds me of how all those twilight-knockoff trilogies in the 2010s would have two pretty low-stakes books worth of basically only romance with some weird magic sprinkled on top, and then in the last book it would turn out that the protagonist and her beloved need to Go To War or the world will end except even worse (also now that I think about it, the first three acotar books also seem to be structed like that, so youre getting two shitty plot structures in one. yayyyyyyy)

There was literally no reason for all of that happen, it was honestly just unpleasant reading about Feyre, who had spent the book recovering from her trauma in a way that was genuinely pretty nice to read about, being tortured for three months until she was feeling worse than she ever had before. And some people might say "oh, thats the point, its meant to be tragic" but it didnt feel like tragedy, it just felt tonally dissonant. Also, the entire ending was so weird and dragged out, like that bit where she and Tamlin are staying one last night UTM for some reason and then she talks to Rhysand before they finally leave and its like, BRO dont stay in the Palace of Torments for any longer than you have to, just leave through that portal-tunnel thing

Speaking of Rhysand, he wasnt that bad in this book but Im sure my opinion on him will change. The main thing that sticks out about him is how sjm simply could not resist ALREADY explaining all of his motivations and portraying him as someone whos obviously so noble, despite all the obviously horrific and completely unecessary shit hes doing. Like, theres that scene where Rhysand crushes that guy's brain when Amarantha ordered him to crush his mind and the narration goes "that was actually an act of mercy from Rhysand" ??? that mightve worked better in third person limited where youre working without the implication that the prose is the pov character's actual thoughts, but since its first person and meant to be Feyre's thoughts I was just like "why is she thinking that when she should be thinking 'holy fucking shit, i just signed my life over to a guy who could squish my mind like a grape if he wanted to?!?!?!!'"

Also, theres that scene where Rhysand comes into Feyres cell to "escape from it all" or whatever and he basically monologues to her about his sympathetic motivations and I just. sarah, girlie, you shouldve saved this shit for the second book. Like, rewrite the scene so that he just comes in eithout a word, hes totally unresponsive to Feyre insulting him or trying to ask him what hes doing here, he just sits down in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, he mutters something vague about just wanting to be left alone, maybe he's even got tears in his idk. I think that would be a far more effective way to have him be sympathetic in a more subtle way than just having him monologue his tragic circumstances and noble intentions at Feyre

Thats about it so far, I'll probably start reading ACOMAF in january when winter break is over and I can read it on the bus and in class again

#anti acotar #anti sjm #thorns and roses liveblog #book review

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stargazer-sims · 2 months

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The Art of Redemption

(part 12)

previous // next // story index

—————

"Good news, children!" Stan bursts through the doorway of the guest room without so much as a knock. He doesn't seem the least bit shocked or bothered by the fact that Beth-Anne is curled up next to Nikolai in the big bed. "You're gonna love this!"

Beth-Anne drags her eyelids open a little further. She’s tired, and it’s an effort. "Jesus, Stan! Ever heard of privacy?"

Stan quirks an eyebrow. "What? I'm not interrupting something, am I? I didn't think you swung that way."

"The fuck...?" She seizes the nearest soft object she can reach, which happens to be Nikolai's grey teddy bear, and flings it at him. "Fuck off!"

Stan catches the bear neatly. He's laughing. "And all this time, I thought you were a morning person. You too, little Kolya."

Beside her, Nikolai groans sleepily. "This is a bad dream, right?"

"Do you often dream about being in bed with your coach?" Stan asks, his tone filled with mock-innocence.

"Oh my God. Please stop." Nikolai grabs the edge of the quilt and pulls it up so that only the top of his messy brown hair is visible. "I'm not in bed with her."

"That’s not what it looks like, but okay," Stan says.

"You know what I mean!"

"I call it as I see it," Stan says, "Anyway, it's fine. Whatever the two of you get up to behind closed doors is none of my business. You're both adults."

"Stan, enough." Beth-Anne tries to put as much steel into her tone as possible. She knows he's only teasing and she's sure Nikolai knows it too, but just because she enjoys Stan's sometimes inappropriate sense of humour, that doesn't mean everyone's going to appreciate it. It's fairly obvious Nikolai is uncomfortable, and Beth-Anne isn't keen to let that continue. "What do you want?

"I just wanted to tell you the good news," Stan says cheerfully. "We had a shit ton of snow overnight. Everything's closed. Schools, shopping malls..." He gives her a conspiratorial wink, as if the closures were organized specifically for their benefit. "Municipal sport and recreation facilities."

Nikolai peeks out from under the blanket. "You mean, the rink is closed?"

"All the municipal facilities," Stan says. "Rinks, pools, libraries, the recycling depot. Probably even City Hall. We're having a genuine, certified snow day, and personally, I don't intend to waste it lying around."

"We weren't lying around. We were literally sleeping," Beth-Anne points out.

"Details," Stan says. "Now, let's go. Haul ass, kids. Milena's making breakfast, and then we need to clear the driveway. Betka's work isn't closed, and the whole fucking world would have to end before they gave her husband a day off, so she's bringing the boys over to spend the day. It's gonna be great."

"Can we at least take showers and put on some clean clothes first?"

Stan grins at her. "Sure, if you want cold breakfast. Come on. Eat now, shower later."

And so, unable to argue with the force of nature that is Stanislav Kovac, they do.

She and Nikolai climb out of bed and trail Stan to the kitchen where Milena is in the process of making what might be banana pancakes. The warm, inviting scents of coffee and savoury sausage fill the room, and there's already a pitcher of orange juice, a carton of milk and an array of condiments on the table.

Beth-Anne has lost count of how many times she's sat in the Kovacs' kitchen and shared a meal with them. After her accident, she'd lived with them for several months while she recovered her ability to walk and her courage to face the world beyond the safety of their four walls. They helped her stay sober and sane, and their steady presence healed her in ways she's sure none of them have words to explain.

Milena and Stan and their daughter Alzbeta — known affectionately as Betka — taught her what it was like to be part of a healthy and loving family, and from them she learned that relying on others isn't a sign of weakness, that there's far more strength in the care and support of others than anyone could ever find alone.

She feels at home in the Kovacs' house and comfortable with their quirks as well as their routines. It's not strange for her to observe Milena at the stove, dressed in old gym shorts and one of Stan's shirts, preparing what she and Stan both insist is the most important meal of the day, neither is it odd for her to see Stan dancing gracefully around the kitchen in his ridiculous plush moose slippers that would be a serious tripping hazard for someone less agile and less aware of the capabilities of his body.

The vintage radio is tuned to a classical music station, and one of Stan's favourite pieces of music has just come on. Beth-Anne recognizes it. It's Les Patineurs Op. 183, by the nineteenth-century composer Émile Waldteufel, and she'd once skated to it in a competition. She suspects Stan may have skated to it at some point too. His dance looks choreographed, the movements long-remembered and clearly beloved.

Milena says something to him in their native Czech, and he replies in English, "Yes, I remember." He spins fluidly across the floor until he's next to her, and then he kisses her on the cheek. "I remember we both got something gold that night."

Beth-Anne smiles. She knows exactly what he's referring to.

Stan delights in telling the story of how he proposed to Milena. He'd been planning it for weeks and had even bought a ring, but hadn't actually presented it to her when he asked her to marry him. Instead, he'd given her his newly-won gold medal from Skate Canada. Apparently, he'd been too excited and full of adrenaline to wait for their next proper date and he'd proposed right there at the competition venue.

The first time Beth-Anne heard that story, she hadn't been the least bit surprised. It was perfectly in-character for Stan. What was also characteristically Stan was how he'd later taken that very same medal to a goldsmith, where it'd been melted down and refashioned into Stan and Milena's wedding bands.

"So we can always wear our greatest victory for the world to see," he'd said.

Beth-Anne loves that Stan considers his marriage to Milena his greatest victory.

We should all be so fortunate, she thinks.

She asks Milena if there's anything she can do to help with breakfast, although she already knows what the answer will be.

"No, it's under control," Milena assures her. "Grab a coffee and have a seat. This'll all be ready in a few minutes."

She fixes coffee for herself and Nikolai, and then joins him at the table. True to her word, Milena carries a huge platter of pancakes and sausage to the table a few minutes later. Stan finally decides to sit down as well, and they all enjoy some carefree chatter and the delicious food that's as filling to Beth-Anne's spirit as it is to her stomach.

After breakfast, she and Stan dress up to go outside and clear the driveway. Nikolai offers to help, but both she and Stan veto the idea immediately. He may be walking more confidently now, but there's no way they're going to let him shovel snow.

Milena says he can stay inside with her and help tidy up the kitchen. Beth-Anne is grateful to Milena for offering him a way to feel useful, and evidently Nikolai is too, because he happily acquiesces.

With Nikolai left in Milena's capable hands, Beth-Anne follows Stan out through the garage. They collect two wide snow shovels and then make their way outdoors. Stan wasn't wrong about how much it had snowed in the night. Yesterday, she'd guessed it might snow, but she had no idea they'd be up past their knees in it. It's still snowing lightly, with no signs of stopping soon, but if they don't start cleaning up now, it'll be that much more difficult when the storm finally does dwindle to its inevitable end.

For the first little while, they don't say much, other than to comment about how cold it is or how astonished they are by the unexpectedly heavy snowfall. By the time they've removed all the snow from the doorstep and walkway and the front of the garage, however, Stan seems more inclined to converse. They're clearing around his car when he says, "So, last night...?"

"What about last night?" she queries. "If this is gonna be about me and Nikolai sleeping in the same bed..."

"No, it's not," Stan says. "I know nothing happened. Well, nothing like that at least, but even if you did get up to something frisky, it's like I already said. You're adults. You do what you want. What I'm talking about was you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night."

"Oh, God." Beth-Anne moans. "I'm so sorry. It's bad enough that I woke Nikolai. I didn't know I woke you and Milena too."

"You didn't wake Milena. That woman could sleep through World War Three. But, it took all my willpower not to run downstairs and check on you."

"And you didn't come down because...?"

"Because I remembered Nikolai was in there with you. Or you were in there with him, I suppose, since you didn't come up to the room we offered you."

"Yeah, well it was a little, uh... noisy up there for my tastes."

Stan snorts in his effort not to laugh. "Right. Apologies for that, but when your wife's rocking the boy-cut underwear and looking hot as fuck, sometimes you just gotta do something, you know?"

"I love that you still think she's hot."

"And why wouldn't i? Sure, she looks different than she did when we were eighteen, but so what? She's my benchmark for beauty. Everybody else has to measure up to her."

"You're amazing, you know."

"I know," Stan says, but then he turns serious again. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're okay after the talk we had yesterday, and then whatever happened last night."

"Yeah, I'm surprisingly okay," she says. "I'm not cured, obviously, but I do feel better today. It was a pretty bad nightmare, but Nikolai looked after me. We talked afterwards, and he gave me some stuff to think about, whether he realizes it or not."

"What stuff?"

"For one thing, he seems to think I'm not going to end up being a danger to anybody. Maybe he's an optimist, but he thinks the kids are safe."

"Of course they are," Stan says. "Don't I keep telling you that? We didn't have you in anger management therapy back in the day for no reason, did we?"

"No. There was a reason. It was to keep me safe. And other people safe from me."

"Yeah, but it was also for your future, and you see how well it's worked out. You're like a second mom to some of those kids of yours.

"Nikolai said something like that too."

"So Nikolai tells you one time, and you believe him?"

"No, it's not that," she says. "It's not like I believe Nikolai and I don't believe you. It just seems easier to believe when I'm hearing it from more than one person, if that makes sense."

"It does," says Stan. "Not that I'm telling you to take a poll or anything, but if you did, I'll bet you'd hear the same thing from all your students' parents. I mean, the fact that they trust you with their kids should tell you as much."

She smiles wryly. "I just wish I could trust myself."

"That takes time, but you know what I think might help?"

"What?"

"Remember how you used to be," he says. "Look at how far you've come since I first met you, how much fuckin' awesome progress you've made as a human being, not just as an athlete and a coach. Not only should you trust yourself to do the right things, but you should be damn proud of yourself for getting it mostly right so far."

"Mostly right."

"Nobody's perfect."

"True," she agrees. She moves a few more shovelfuls of snow before she continues. "There was something else."

"Something else Nikolai said to you, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"And...?"

"I told him about Abby, and I told him how I got the scars."

Stan makes a sombre hum of affirmation. "That took courage."

"It felt like the right thing to do."

"How'd he take it?"

"I'd say he was shocked, but not totally surprised, and he said he didn't think any of it was my fault. And do you know what he asked me?"

Stan plants his shovel in the snow. He rests his gloved hands on top of the handle and leans forward a little, meeting her eyes. "I get the sense it's something you didn't see coming."

"You're right," she confirms. She pokes the snow a bit with the blade of her own shovel before sticking it into the nearest drift and copying Stan's posture. "He asked me if I've tried looking for Abby recently."

"Have you?" Stan asks.

Beth-Anne shakes her head. "No, but the more I think about it, the more I think maybe I should."

"Are you prepared for something like that? Like, emotionally and psychologically prepared?"

"No, but if I wait for a moment when I fell like I'm totally ready, maybe I'll never do it, and maybe this is something I need to do now, you know? Maybe it's the next step I need to take to move on."

"What if you find out something you'd rather not know?"

"Like what? The worst thing I could learn is something I already accept might be a possibility, that my sister died in the eighties. But, Stan..." She gazes at him intently, willing him to comprehend her sudden earnestness. "Stan, what if she didn't? What if she escaped that hell, and what if some foster family loved her and raised her like their own? I could still have a sister out there somewhere."

"This may not have a happy ending," he says.

"I know, but even if she doesn't remember me or doesn't want to meet me, or even if she really did pass away years ago, I think I'd feel better knowing the truth about what happened."

Stan presses his lips together as if he's deep in thought, attempting to come up with an adequate response. "I don't want you to think I'm discouraging you from doing this," he says at length. "You should, if you think it's what you need to do. I just don't want you to be hurt."

"I know," she smiles at him. "You always want to protect me, and it's one of the reasons I love you, but remember what you're always saying. We don't achieve anything if we're not willing to take risks."

"That sounds like the kind of motivational shit I'd say at the rink."

"It applies just as well to life off the ice."

He frowns, but she understands it's not because he's upset. It's because he's worried but also has to concede her point. "Knowing the truth likely would give you some closure," he says. "Maybe it would help you move on.

"Nikolai suggested Milena might be able to help," she tells him. "He said she might know how to get access to family court records and old documents from Social Services and stuff like that."

"Milena's not that kind of lawyer," Stan says. "But I'll bet there's somebody at her firm who is. I can ask her, if you want."

"No," Beth-Anne says. "I have to be sure I'm really doing this. I need to think about it a little more. When I'm sure I’m going ahead with it, I'll ask her myself."

Stan nods. "Okay. If you need to talk about it any more in the meantime, I'm here."

"Thanks," she says. "I'm grateful I can always count on you."

He smiles. "Hey, what's family for? No matter what happens, we've always got your back."

#writing #the art of redemption #theartofredemption #beth-anne jones #stan kovac #nikolai pavlenko #stargazersims

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