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wangxianficfinder · 11 months ago

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Fic Finder

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1. For fic finder: Instead of the Sunshot Campaign it is the western vs eastern clans who war. WWX and LWJ are on opposite sides but they recognize each other as honorable. At one point they work together to stop a village from getting flooded/some natural disaster. After the war I think LWJ asks for WWX as a war prize? Thank you!

FOUND! Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

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2. Hello! I hope you can help me find this fic.

All I can remember is that it is a Post canon married life wherein wwx and lwj get into a huge fight (love quarrel). I think the fight was about wwx safety (lwj getting mad and so on)

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3. Hey, I would like to find a fanfic from the MDZS fandom that I once read on ao3. It was about how Jiang Cheng almost strangled Wei Wuxian after the lotus pier fell. He didn't help him, he just left him. He told others that Wei Wuxian was dead and did not admit to his actions. Lan Wangji then went to look for Wei Wuxian. He found him lying in the forest and thought he was dead. However, it turned out that the boy was still alive, but barely. He came back with him and I think that's when the truth came out and Gusu Lan became very protective of Wei Wuxian. I don't remember if it was a completed fanfic. Thank you in advance for helping me with my search. @braveavocadosstuff

FOUND? �� a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

FOUND? Bright Voice Roughly Rendered Softly Silent by Preludian_Staves (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Muteness, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Not JC Friendly, Confessions, Angst, Choking, Red String of Fate, Appearances by Paperman!WWX, Inventor WWX, Good Uncle LQR, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, Feelings Realization, Caretaking, Supportive Lan Family, Genius WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective Lan Family, Character Death (not wwx or lwj))

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4. Hello! For ficfinder, whenever you have the time. I have searched the female lan zhan/female Wei ying tag up and down for a fic I very distinctly remember reading. It was about a typical straight girl wei ying never org/asming, and so wen qing and mianmian set her up with well known lesbian icon Lan Zhan. And that conversation was in the fic summary, and there was a whole sequel with Wei ying coming out to jyl and jc. But I cannot find it, any help would be appreciated. (Even just finding out it’s been deleted)

FOUND! sideways by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 20k, wangxian, F/F, Modern, Cisswap, butch dyke LWJ, Casual Sex, not so casual sex, many many orgasms, Fingerfucking, Cunnilingus, strap-on sex, So much kissing, WWX gets rekt, straight girl WWX, except for how she isn't)

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5. Hi! Thank you so much for all you do. Could you help me relocate this fic in which wwx finds out that instead of QHJ, the twin jades were actually conceived by other elders that broke their mother's seclusion so wwx takes revenge on their and their mothers behalf and puts the fear of well, himself, into those assholes? I can't remember what it was called but I feel like it was from LQRs pov (could be wrong tho). Thank you!!

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6. There's this fic that I read so long ago and I wish to read it again but I can't seem to find it. it was Wangxian and Wei Wuxian had his own sect in the burial mounds and I think they come down to Lanling or Yunmeng for a ceremony or competition. A-Yuan is a competitor and so is Jin Ling, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian talk about what happened in the burial mound and how they had survived.

FOUND? The Murder of Crows by cerbykerby (M, 101k, wangxian, slow burn, pining, yiling wei sect au, fluff & angst, dark, romance, WIP)

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7. Hello. I wanted a wangxian fic where lanzhan is the teacher and the juniors are his students. But they don't know that he is married. They make a group chat and later they get to know that lan yuan is lanzhans son, but he doesn't say anything about his other dad to his friends later when they get to know they ask him through chat.. At last they all get to know that jin ling is wei yings nephew. Its basically a chat type story. Please help me find it.

FOUND? Yearning by Sanguis (T, 9k, WangXian, LingYi, Modern AU, Professors, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Bunnies, Pre-Relationship Secrets)

FOUND? The Mystery of Professor Lan's and Professor Wei's private lives by SilverBells (G, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, online classes AU, Fluff, University AU, University second year LSZ, Humour)

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8. Hi!!! Luv ur blog sm! So I'm looking for a fic. I'm pretty sure its a twt threadfix where wwx d-words and reincarnates as a fox. Then he lives near cloud recesses with his fox family. He moved to the buny meadow and then later on ascends? or cultivates a human body becoming a huli jing. @fluffiestfluffer

FOUND! Pin the tail on the fox by RMoonberry (Not rated, 40k, wangxian, WIP, fox WWX, Reincarnation, Good Uncle LQR, WWX is too attractive huli jing, Light Angst, LXC is very naive, WWX & JC's reconciliation, the family feels, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, WWX is pampered, Typical Canon Violence, Spirit Animals, Shapeshifter, Canon Divergence, white hair WWX, Non-consensual drug use, historical inaccuracy, mythical beasts, Implied Torture, Inaccurate use of medicines)

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9. Very good, I love your content and I wanted to know if you or your followers could help me find some fanfic.

A) -I remember that a wangxian is about demons and angels where both sides are in conflict and lan wangji along with his brother his brother are the heirs of the angels and wei wuxian is the heir of the demons a succubus if not wrong and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian meet in the human world and fall in love even though their families are enemies.

B) - I don't remember if it was a modern Lan Zhan or Wang Jibo but it is about her traveling to the universe of ancient Mo Dao Zu Shi as Lan Wangji, second heir of Gusu Lan and how the world changes and her relationship with Wei Wuxian with her presence. and the decisions he makes, although I don't remember if he knows what world he is in or if he doesn't know what world he is in or if he was a wangxian or xianwang, that would be what I remember and it's a bit vague, sorry.

C) -and the last one is about the characters in mo dao zu shi are trapped in a room or it was a barrier well the thing is that they don't know why and they are made to see what a future would be like where lan wangji is the one who manages the resentful energy and what's more he is a xianwang.

I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, it's because I've been looking for them and I can't find them and I haven't even finished reading. You would be very helpful to me if you could help me. @alfithia

9A)

FOUND? The World Ends Eventually, So Come with Me by ValorousOwl (M, 14k, WIP, WangXian, Angels and Demons AU, Mpreg, Canon-Typical Violence, loosely based on Tete's Angels and Demons art, Succubus!WWX, Angel!LWJ, Eventual WangXian, and also past wangxian, I feel like I need to tag religious trauma, OOC behavior, Memory Alteration, Gaslighting)

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10. Hi! Please help me find this old fic. Unfortunately, i dont remember much. It's space au i think. WW wakes up in his space ship after long sleep (?). Then he found another spaceship and find out that spaceship hold many children. Those children is experimented to have an animal feature/abilities. There are the junior (i dont remember if its junior quartet or trio). WWX then rescue those children. Then he search for another spaceship that contain experimented children. There are cameo of hualian and bingqiu. I dont remember if its completed story or a WIP.

Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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11. 👋 Hello

I'm looking for fics where wwx actually answered inquiry and people discovered the secrets and truths. Thank you 😊 @karinasnowwwx

FOUND? just because it's what i am by kokozy (G, 4k, wangxian, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Ghost WWX, Song: Inquiry, Truth comes to light, Revelations, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Sad with a Happy Ending)

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12. I've got an oddly specific nsfw fic to find. There's a bottomji fic out there somewhere in which WWX asks LWJ to go soft during sex through sheer willpower? Fairly certain he manages it. I can't get it off my mind lately, so if anyone knows the title, I'd be very grateful! Thank you @kedaliya

FOUND! Shiver by anaphoricae (E, 119k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dom/sub, Dominant WWX, Submissive LWJ, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Brief mentions of LWJ/others and WWX/others, Co-workers, Praise Kink, POV LWJ, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Office Sex, Rope Bunny LWJ, Semi-Public Sex, Spit As Lube, Aftercare, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Blow Jobs, Snowballing, Service Submission, (but it's very light. like. they dip their toes in it), Lingerie, Jealous WWX, Subspace, Cock Rings, not a Subdrop but not exactly a Sublift either, Cock Warming, Collars, Angst, Power Play, Orgasm Control, Miscommunication, Face Slapping, Impact Play, Rigger WWX, BDSM fetish party, Public Blow Jobs, Rope Suspension, Cuddlefucking, Fluff, Porn with Feelings, Choking, Body Worship, Jealous LWJ) chapter 3

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13. For ff: Hi! I am looking for a fic I read about two years back. WWX and the Wens planted a ton of red spider lilies (corpse flowers) all throughout the Burial Mounds. I think they started with just one or two but WWX carefully tended the bulbs and they flourished. They might have also been medicinal? I think the fic is set after WWX dies because I remember the other clan cultivators coming and looking through the town and being amazed at the flowers. Maybe Wen Ning was there too? Thank you!

FOUND? Awaiting Your Return by Karmiya (E, 126k, wangxian, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, the opposite of slow burn, Found Family, Canon Divergence, Age Difference, discussions of WWX's canonical abusive childhood)

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14. and if Lán Zhan | Lán Wàngjī placed in front of the sword in the tombs and not Jiang Yanli to protect Weiying.

Please, I've been looking for this Fanfic on Ao3 for days and I can't find it. @lluyvernno

FOUND? If I Could Go Back in Time by Runningbarefoot (M, 122k, wangxian, JC & JYL & WWX, LXC/NMJ, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Not Everyone Dies AU, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Loss, YLLZ WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, The Twin Jade Brotherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Slow Burn)

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15. Hello! I hope you are having a great day!

I apologize but I also hope you can help me find these 5 fics (I’m sorry) that keeps getting to my head (which made wanted to read again but can’t find it). Thank you so much.

A.) Juniors ask LSZ what does WWX look in his old body and LSZ paints him. Juniors did not believe that painting until one day WWX got his old body back and Juniors were shocked

B.) I remember LWJ travel back in time and ask people in gusu that he’ll stay there until his husband fetch him. I also remember young lwj getting jealous because young wwx is close to old lwj

C.) About juniors where in I think they are in a night hunt. I remember LSZ doesn’t want to remove his robe when injured because he doesn’t want the juniors especially jin ling that he is a wen and had the burned mark logo on his chest.

D.) Married wangxian wherein there is a Clan (full of girls) who are homophobics that needed their help. I only remember a scene where wwx got jealous and very angry because the girl from that clan keeps trying to steal LWJ from him.

E.) I remember people got wwx journal and reads it. And found out what his conditions and the whens. I also remember there is a page in wwx journal filled with Blood and really bad handwriting (i think it was the last page)

15A)

FOUND! Transcend by covalentbonds (not rated, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff and Humor, Smut)

15B)

FOUND! 💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, First Love, Love Confessions, Fluff and Humor, teen wangxian meet adult wangxian, Happy Ending, Denial, Mutual Pining)

15D)

FOUND! Just As Much by Gemiblu (E, 23k, WangXian, Jealousy, Boys In Love, Homophobia, demonic cultivation bondage, Power Bottom WWX, Cockblocking, Semi-Public Sex, Crying During Sex, Intimacy, New World, Female Characters, Casual Intimacy, mentions of non-canon character death, description of violent acts, post marriage, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, Affection, supportive married couple, Pet Names, YLLZ WWX)

15E)

FOUND! dormiveglia (in between sleeping and waking) by comforting_monachopsis (M, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, Diary/Journal, Golden Core Reveal, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Character Death, YLLZ WWX, Oblivious WWX, Protective WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Sort Of, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, Dead WWX, Angst and Tragedy)

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16. Hi! Please help me find this fic. Its modern cultivation au where WWX, WQ, WN called for a night hunt by a mayor. They are not the only one called, the mayor called Lan clan too to solve a problem that related to Mo manor (?). WWX has a past with Lan clan that make him have a grudge with them. So, 10 years ago, WWX and LWJ has a mission that resulted WWX hospitalized. He is poisoned (a deadly one) and almost died. But he didnt recieve a care because he is fired by the Lan because he was reported many times of misconduct by LWJ. The Lan clan too claimed that they already give a notice email that WWX didnt recieved. Back to present, LWJ who only heard of that story start to investigate and found out it was Su She who made WWX fired from the job

Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ's canonically big dick, sort of a 'thirsting for your co-worker ex' vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

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17. I have a description so I’m hoping it can be found bc I can’t personally find it myself for some reason: LZ & his brother are immortals who get caught up in a murder mystery w JC & WY. WY (& this I remember /super/ clearly) at one point sneaks into LZ’s attic & finds his old cultivation gear in addition to a portrait of YLLZ!WWX & is bitch slapped w/ memories of his past life. WY is on deaths door, also & LZ gives up his immortality so they can be together, as well. @arisuamichan

FOUND? I think this fic is "Monotone" by Seredemia and I think it was deleted. I only have a google drive link for it. The scene with the attic is in Chapter 19. -bluekittenfire

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18. Apologies for dropping this in right after you've posted a fic finder. I'm looking for two fics.

A) The first is where Lan Wangji, having learned Wei Wuxian has lost his core, uses an old technique that allows him to grow a second golden core (the idea being the user would absorb the second to make the original stronger), so he can donate one golden core to Wei Wuxian.

B) The second is where Wei Wuxian has been cursed or enchanted in some way that he can't remember Lan Wangji, who enters the Burial Mounds disguised as a new Wen so he can get to the bottom of it with the other Wens helping him in the ruse. There's a scene close to the end where he comes across Wei Wuxian being wooed by someone (think it was Su She) wearing his Wen disguise. It leads to a confrontation where Wei Wuxian tries to defend the false Lan Wangji against the real one and it leads to the spell breaking.

Thank you, and again, apologies for the poor timing!

18A)

NOT FOUND! 🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 169k, WIP, WangXian, Lots of Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect, Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

FOUND! these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, wangxian, fix-it, fluff & angst, happy ending, WWX gets a new core, hurt/comfort, slow burn, pining, canon-typical violence & gore)

18B)

I have recently read 18B 😭😭😭 I wish there was a way to filter search history. Can the asker please bookmark this post cause I'll come back there to post it when I find it.

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19. Hello hello hello

I am looking for a fic I’m 90% I found on y’all’s blog and I meant to bookmark it for later and I didn’t and so now it is lost. 😔. But the summary was something like a negotiation between WWX and LWG and WWX makes a joke that goes along the lines of “well if you want nothing else then I’ll have to offer you my body.” And then LWG’s eyes like darken or something and WWX is like “oh you do want that.”

I hope this is enough and makes sense.

Y’all do gods work btw and it’s greatly appreciated 🫡🫡🫡

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20. Hey :), I'm just trying to find an all old fic where Wei Wuxian didn't get torn to pieces and instead ended up immortalised. I half suspect that it was removed from ao3 but the details are as follows: wwx 'dies' but is found breathing, the cultivation world examines his body and finds him at gates of immortality essentially.

At this point JC figures out the core thing because they build a shrine for him and bring suiban (still sealed but he can remove it) and LQR does too (independently examing the body). When demonic cultivation starts being a problem again LQR starts a rumour that they need to "fight fire with fire' and efforts begin after 13 years to resurect Wei Ying. He wakes up mad, storms into a conference and LWJ follows him out when he storms out. He bumps into Jingyi at the koi tower steps, later down the line adopts Mo XuanYi from the Mo village (joking that his name is stranger isntead of saying hes the YLZ), end up wearing lwj overrobe at one point and finally once again travelling with LY and LJY.

Plot really picks up when they enter the town which was affected by the demonic cultivation. It is deserted, but they encounter the being that tormented him in the burial mound, XY, and other new-immortals. Its revelead immortality is gained through suffering like WWX had and he's forced to accept a demonic core to save JC and JL. He dies once again in Gusu but LWJ keeps pooling qi into him, which makes his resurrection faster.

I'll stop here cause this is getting a bit long, but I hope this is enough for you to help me find the fic. THANK U SO MUCH! @geminimind05

FOUND! If One for you, then One for us by KusakabeNAyako (T, 85k, wangxian, WIP, Canon Divergence, WWX has no time for your shit, He died alredy leave him be, fucking up canon, WN is precious Cinnamon roll, WWX is precious cinnamon roll, Rape/Non-con Elements, YLLZ WWX)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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rise-my-angel · 1 year ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

18 - Afraid of a Ravens Flight

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 10.8k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, references to rape and abusive relationship, discussions of implied sexual context, canon divergence, strained familial dynamics

Notes: We start going gradually exploring new sights in not too long, so brace yourself. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Jon truly couldn’t tell if he wanted to talk about it or not. Spent so long lying about what it was, lying to himself, lying to her, lying to all of them until he woke from a delirious dream back in the beds of Castle Black did he realize he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie about loving Ygritte when he woke from such a horror stricken vision of you pale and dead in your own blood, and to make it all the worse? Sam coming to him to say that not only was that dream real, but just beyond what he couldn’t see then, was Robb as dead as you were.

For a while, he did think he convinced himself what he was feeling was want. He had lied so much he manipulated his own mind into thinking it was true. Seeing her as someone she wasn’t, when in truth so much was spent as he watched himself teetering on mistrust, her teasing him with a mean kind of playfulness that he didn’t like. But she was aggressive and bold, and not liking her meant finding himself on the other end of her own blood thirst.

Jon never felt like he had to walk on eggshells around you. He wasn’t combative with you, he never had been and he hated the idea of speaking to you the way Ygritte would him. As if the threats of violence were supposed to be cute. Strangely his time with Ygritte reminded him more of the dynamic he knew you once shared with Theon.

Always bantering, Theon would make sexual advances in jest but the two of you would play at a battle of wit to see who could knock the other down a peg the most as a game. Jon had tried to ask him subtly once if Theon was truly attracted to you and the man had laughed. Sensing no ulterior, he just shook his head and told him “Just because a girl’s pretty enough to fuck, doesn’t mean I want her in my bed, Snow. Only means I have eyes that work.”

Ygritte was pretty, and at times there was simple genuine amusement in her banter but more often then not it was nothing like that. The small moments build into lies about who she was until Jon made the wrong call. Tried to play off of what he knew she felt for him and it got him shot full of arrows for it, and if he were to be honest, all lies died then. She didn’t kill him, but love in Jon’s eyes would never be anything to hurt the other.

There was no scenario which would ever lead to Jon harming you like that, and he certainly knew there was none that would ever have led to Robb harming you like that either. Real love hurts in the heart, not in blood.

Jon had heard Olly’s story, the details of the redheaded wildling and it wasn’t until that night as he watched the arrows flying into her back be shot from that same boy did he realize the monstrous actions she did. That was not an Ygritte Jon knew, nor did he want to. If it were love, Jon would’ve taken the time. Held her, brought her body to the North beyond the wall to burn her like a lover deserved, but he didn’t. He let the men drag her into the piles of the rest and spend the rest of his time being called a wildling lover with no bravery to tell any or even himself, that he never wanted what she took from him.

Things now though, weren’t quite as easy as he had wished. Seeing you, in person, right in front of him as your fingers gently traced along the scars on his chest had made him snap. Like he was set on fire and the only way he could be put out was you, in your taste, your kiss, and as Jon finally slid inside of you for the first time he knew he was consumed for life. But then you pulled away. Struggled to look at him, and walked around with something so lost and broken that he was terrified it was him.

That your moans and pleas were only a response because of how it felt, but Jon knew that if he didn’t want it when it felt good with Ygritte, he may have just forced the same onto you. Forced something onto you after what Ramsay had already done with much more blood and violence. But then you said something that bothered him more then anything else so far.

That you would have wanted all of it with Jon all over again, but refused in the thoughts you being here was ruining his life. That, he truly hated. Hated that something inside you said that you shouldn’t be here with him, like he didn’t spend his old life in love with you, and his new life desperate for you to let him be addicted to you.

As Jon looked out to the night, much of that evening he spent with the one person who treated him no different. Edd could sense that the time was approaching that Jon would leave and no one would have any protest to it, that he believed in him as a friend and a leader and having you show up with new life and bring it to him as well? Edd felt that maybe he was just supposed to go back to the North he grew up in, and find himself as a leader there, that maybe he was just supposed to do so. And you were a sign to “get your ass moving” as the man put it.

Jon thought of Robb often, he thought of all his siblings often but it was he and Arya that struck him the most. The ones that his world felt a bit more cold and lonely without. Would Robb hate him for what he was doing? Hate that in Jon’s first true reunion with you, he spent over half the night with either his mouth or his cock buried between your legs? That he wanted to do it again and again and all he could see was you and how much he wanted to be inside you?

Was his need for the woman Jon always loved now a great offence to the brother who passed? Yet on the other end, Jon had a very distinct feeling what Arya’s response would be. The word dumb or idiot surely would be in there somewhere as she would scold him for always pushing everything away that would make him happy. Arya knew about you both in those innocent days, not that he ever told you.

Suspected it with her endearingly keen eye and caught you both in secret thinking you were alone in the stables one day. It was only a kiss she saw, but did Arya ever come barging into his room later calling him dumb for not telling her. But now that there was nothing in the way of the way you both felt for each other, his little sister no doubt would have taken it upon herself to force you both to talk.

But she wasn’t, and Jon wouldn’t force you to talk. He knew how gentle things should be taken with you right now, and he would never do anything to harm you regardless of how much he wanted you both to talk. Heavy in his heart, the little princess knew it too.

That talk they shared that day, how instantly she caught the lie saying he was only your friend and that the only person she felt she could go to and be honest about how much losing you hurt was Jon? That wasn’t fair. Shireen didn’t deserve to find comfort only in what was essentially a stranger to her, and yet throughout her time there he always felt her curious eyes watching. Would sit on the steps and watch him train the others, the last connection to the only sister she lost, in him.

Just how much death and bloodshed weighed on your mind? How much of that death kept you from letting Jon go to you. That moment in his office, he wanted so desperately to tell you it all. That you were the one thing that could keep him here on earth, and that you both experienced a violence that none other would understand. Both had died, and both were brought back and Jon knew it was you who was his reason. Didn’t know how or why, but it was you. He wanted to tell you his new life would mean nothing if you weren’t in it, but he didn’t. Not right now.

An utter mess that brought you back to him, and Jon wanted to make it better. But there was only more violence approaching, the most urging one to come from his once home and the people who butchered his family. A violence that Jon knew he couldn’t stand back and ignore any longer.

Yet as a large figure came to lean against the railing beside him, it did strike Jon somewhat amusingly that so much of what started as a tempered, untrusting dynamic full of threats of death had turned into a trusting friendship. Tormund didn’t hold back his thoughts, and never pulled punches which truthfully Jon desperately needed in his life.

“They think you’re some kind of god.” Gesturing across the way to where many both his men and the free folk would find their gazes onto Jon with reverence. There was nothing he could do to stop it, but being looked at in such a way didn’t feel normal.

Grimacing a slight bit, Jon’s voice was low. “I don’t think a real god would hate being called one this much.” Tormund chuckled beside him as Jon felt a small one of his own slip as well. “I died, and somehow I came back, and no idea why or how. But that doesn’t make me a god, just makes me tired.”

Humming, the man looked at his friend with a curious gaze before relenting. “I can tell you, you only came back because your pretty crow brought you back.” Jon stiffened, his gloved hands gripping the railing a bit too tightly as his jaw clenched. “Can’t tell you why, but I do know she showed up and next thing we know you’re by her side a whole lot less dead then when she got here. Your crows all say she died too.”

His eyes slipped shut as he exhaled roughly, giving it away to Tormund instantly. Grey eyes opening to train harshly on the door he knew you were in, like a man possessed to always keep an eye on you. It was quiet for a moment, but he had been honest about you to him before he died and there was no reason to keep this as well.

Jon and Tormund both knew what they’d seen at Hardhome and dreams and visions were child's play to that. “I used to dream about her. With my brother, south fighting a war, I just kept seeing her and they all kept coming true. Until..I finally got back here and I dreamt about her dying in a pool of her own blood and when I woke up they told me she was dead, my brother was dead and everything they fought for.”

It made him sick, thinking that Robb’s last moments were forced to watch that. “Maybe they were trying to tell you to find her before it happened.”

He considered that, that he was seeing you as a way to try and make him to find you before what happened, happened but he couldn’t focus on that. It did, and then it happened to him too. “And now? What are they telling me to do now?”

Tormund leaned closer to him, voice more a too loud whisper. “For one, they’d probably say that the little crow is wasting his time trapping himself here in this shit hole instead of fighting for what he actually wants.”

Just as Jon opened his mouth, his eyes whipped over cross the way. Watching you leave your mother’s quarters with an exhausted look in your eye and much to Jon’s irritation, his cock stirred at the sight of you still wearing his fur cloak keeping you warm. All the worse as for the entire time his eyes followed your person, a dark smugness fell across his face when you relented, and made your way to Jon’s own quarters rather then yours.

Tormund however, leaned even closer with an amused grin behind his wild beard. “Also that if you don’t take her for yourself now that she’s here, someone else just may.”

Jon was torn between amusement and slight anger, but the grin on his companions face told him that was the intention anyways. Face falling flat he turned away to the yard again. “It’s not like that down here. You can’t just take what you want, especially if only one of you wants it.”

Shaking his head, Jon wondered how much the man was catching from his vauge words. A wonder of how much did he realize Jon was far less wanting of the red head then Tormund presumed. But something seemed to connect enough. “I’m not telling you to take her like some dog, little crow. I’m telling you if you can fight for what’s right, you can fight for her.” Tone shifting to more mocking and light, “Or maybe I’ll just have to show her how giant a Giantsbane is, if you’re going to leave her be.”

Now that was purposely just trying to rile Jon up, which absolutely worked. Pushing off the rails as he glared at the larger man, “She’s been through enough. Don’t push it.”

Tormund truly was trying to guide Jon into something, and then kept pushing him further into taking the bait. “I wonder, is all of you so small, crow? That why you’re letting her walk around your camp full of men all alone? Can’t compete?”

Nothing but amused as Jon leaned in, a sprinkle of jestful competition in his grey eyes to match. “Trust me, she knows first hand there’s more then enough of me for her to handle.”

“Then go remind her, before I show her better.”

The man knew just where to poke at the most possessive parts of Jon to rile him up over you, but later as Jon walked into the dark quiet of his quarters? That burning desire simmered down at the gentle sight of you asleep in his bed. He never really had that. Never risked falling asleep so freely in the other’s bed risk of someone finding you in that castle of many who burst into doors unannounced.

Left only in his breeches, Jon slowly slid in behind you. His heart heavy as he pulled the hair out of your face gently to the side. A hand running smoothly along your upper arm as he looked down at you before sliding it just under your breasts to tug your back into his chest.

And when you gave the smallest of slumbering sighs, and moved to fit better with his own arms already around you, Jon found no other explanation to why he was still here then to fight for what he loved, and that was undoubtedly including you.

It was a gamble, but one that you knew had to be taken. The longer you waited, the more time to rally forces the Bolton’s had and the risk of losing too many allies would grow. Having to choose a place to start and this felt like the closest to what could be an easy ally. You sat at your fathers desk, Theon across from you ink to the parchment and Davos to your side.

Your eyes on maps, Davos helping dictate the best course of words to display in such a strange pledge of cause. You had been leaning over, running along the marks you were making trying to plan around what would be the quickest and least obtrusive path. You were only a Stark in marriage, but you were trying to rise against the House that murdered their King. To deny such a plea from where you sat was going to be a fight for some you knew, but denying the whispers of what could be a lie about their dead Queen would be much harder if you stood at their gates. With whatever small numbers you even had at your side.

The door to your father’s quarters had been slightly open and the cold ran steadily over your minimal layers with nothing thick to protect from the wind. Footsteps trickled in, but more then one pair had done so in and out during the course of the day and you simply ignored it for the most part. Theon’s voice reading out parts as he wrote them in bits, “...from my beloved father-”

Your eyes whipped up Theon, brows slightly confused before narrowing in dismissal. “He wasn’t my beloved father. We were at war, he thought I was a traitor. I didn’t love him, he didn’t love me.”

None of the eyes passed judgment, certainly not the ones who had met the man but it was the understanding from Davos who tried to speak up. Beyond what he knew first hand was a truly broken relationship. “A harmless courtesy, your grace.”

Your face twisted almost innocently in incredulity, not looking up from the papers enough to catch faces but for them to see how casual yours felt. Easy dismissal on your lips before looking back down to the papers. “A lie. Take it out.”

Theon scratching at the words before continuing on, your mind focused on the best way to approach full well knowing those left may not be the ones you fought beside. The figure that entered watched silently, leaning against the wall at the sight, watching Theon continue on in what he knew would have to be rewritten anyways.

More scramblings, and more dictating what Theon and Ser Davos had come up with before you glanced up to them once more with a little less sharpness in your tone. “...Make sure it’s written as Lord Roose Bolton. Whatever he’s done, the man is still a Lord.”

A look shared between Ser Davos and the curiously silent watching Jon shared a tinge of amusement between them. Like looking at a younger, female vision of Stannis Baratheon it felt like sometimes with you. Proper, but not bothering with a fake courtesy that was not deserved. “We should send for House Manderly as well.”

Theon looking up with narrowed eyes, “Haven’t they declared for the Boltons?”

You nodded, without looking up still. Much was planning war and battle sent looking at papers and numbers until your eyes threatening to fall out was what you had forgotten was such an irritatingly large part of leading. “They have, but I’m suspicious of their loyalty. Lord Wyman has nothing to gain from siding with them and if we swing his support we cut off Roose’s access to their resources.” Pausing, you narrowed your eyes to nothing before adding, “Send for the Umber’s as well. Only half their men have sided with the Boltons, the rest might be willing to listen to us.”

Having worked hard to keep up with the workings of Northern houses, Ser Davos put for a suggestion that to be fair, neither man had any reason to think was a conflicted one. “The Karstark’s haven’t declared for them either we should reach out to them.”

Your hand paused moving in mid air, your eyes rising up in a palpable tension as you glanced to Ser Davos, only noticing then as you saw Jon lean against the wall some way behind Theon before you swallowed harshly before letting the steel grace back over you. “I didn’t exactly part ways with them on good terms. I’m not quite sure Harald Karstark will have it in his heart to forgive me just yet.”

No one asked, but they moved on and you ignored the ever present eyes of Jon watching you as debates ran back and forth over who to approach, and where to move to get there. Theon finally circling the discussions back around to where you had begun your plannings. “We need to start somewhere that we know we can win. We show up with what, the three of us and a maybe few guards if we’re lucky, and any house that would side with the Bolton’s will have us trapped before we get two words out.”

You looked over everything, and the few promising house would be harder to get to get to safely in such small numbers for what you were to ask. You knew one that would say yes, if your friendship with them was to still be trusted even after all this time, even if they were gone too. But it was getting there with so few of you was the stop.

Before you could hesitate to say it, Jon said it for you. “We should sail for Bear Island. Pledge House Mormont to our fight, and we already have a stronger ally then the Bolton’s have on their side.”

All eyes looking up to his sure and confident ones, your voice was the softest to speak. “Our fight?”

Sharing a glance with Ser Davos, an understanding was between them. A talk that seemed so long ago, but finally at least one man was going to be there to see it finally come to fruition. Jon met your own eyes after a moment, and you could only hope that the lightness in your heart wasn’t so childishly hopeful in your actual gaze towards him.

But he spoke true, and he spoke with the determination of someone who had clearly been spending a long time mulling over this choice. “I’m only lying to myself if I act as if I was brought back to keep shutting myself away here, where my fight doesn’t reach beyond these walls.” You felt heavy, and he needed to know if this was his choice but you saw a leader in those eyes. One that you hadn’t seen such a conviction in, in many before like him. “The North is my home. It’s part of me, and I need to be the one to fight for it.”

If Jon was going to do this, he needed to know and it needed to be now. Looking to Theon and Ser Davos your voice was restrained but a bit rough trying to keep calm. “Would you two give us a moment alone?”

Watching closely, you followed them to the door as Jon walked further inside. Theon only getting far enough for you to tell him to hold off of drafting the rest of the letters until you had everything finalized. But it was really, just one thing you needed to be sure of.

Gently closing the door, you stood staying faced to it with your heart racing. For two night’s now you had found yourself falling asleep in Jon’s bed, in his arms and neither of you had broached the topic beyond those quiet moments of peace in the dark. First morning he was up and gone before you, and this morning had been your turn to leave first.

It was a solace in this turmoil that you were petrified you were about to lose before even understanding what it meant. Looking back with a stilted expression, and something far away in your eyes you didn’t move any closer to him. Jon now looking over your own work, hands tapping at the desk before looking back up to you. “It’s not just me.”

Your face morphed into a confusion as he braced his palms over the top of your chair to elaborate, nodding out to the window. “Most of the free folk here came from Hardhome. Your father lent me his ships so I could sail with Tormund and bring them all here. Told them I’d allow them south of the wall and if they wanted, find them land to actually live on for themselves.”

Not for a second did you show any doubt or lack of understanding, it wouldn’t have been an easy decision but something in your once dreams of cold and ice had you pausing. Not just the goodness of his heart did such a thing come about.

“The North has never had an easy relationship with the free folk. But I knew leaving them beyond the wall to die would just be me acting like a coward.” There was something in a toned down anger in his face, in his voice no doubt from how much issue that choice brought him. But then it was haunting. A darkness so far away in Jon’s eyes that was of horrors beyond most peoples comprehension swirling inside them. “I’ve seen them.”

You knew what their fight here was turning into, but as you looked at him, your mind remembered a dream. One that started as a memory in the rainy woods of Winterfell and ended with a towering figure of freezing cold with eyes so blue they that of another world. The ice, the cries, the bodies spread out in pieces your nightmares were his reality.

“The first time I was beyond the wall. I saw a father take his infant son out into the woods, saw him leave him there in the snow..and..” Jon’s gaze flew back up to you as the dreams played behind your own eyes.

“You saw them take it. You saw one of them take the baby away.” Jon trying to ask how you knew but you were far ahead of that. “I saw it...or...I saw it through you...” Pacing forward you leaned against the wall to the side, something far and disturbed in your own eyes to match. “I used to dream about it, about the cold and ice..and I dreamt about something with blue eyes taking a crying baby away in the woods.”

It was a looming fear trying to understand what you had been seeing, but it wasn’t just a creature or a nightmare. It wasn’t the dead, it wasn’t a monster you made up. It was them. You had seen the Others because Jon had seen them and your blood ran as cold as those dreams did.

“Jon..what happened at Hardhome?”

You had dreamt of blue eyes beside a mass of standing corpses beside him in the captives of the Boltons. Jon pushed himself up, running a hand over his mouth as he circled around closer to you as he leaned back against the desk. “There were so many of them, not just the dead but..more of them then I ever thought. We got out what we could, a good amount of the free folk, but one of them looked right at me and just like that...every single one of the dead stood up beside them.” Your name slipped roughly from his lips, beckoning you to look up at him properly. “Whatever brought you and me back, this was nothing like that. When they find a way to get beyond the wall, and we aren’t ready for it-”

Your voice was barley audible were the room not so painfully silent, and Jon standing as close as he was. “If we can’t protect the North from each other, then we have no chance against them...” If the North couldn’t stand together then there was nothing to fight them back from the rest of the realm at all.

The quiet between you was thick and it was full of something more chilling then the mere wind out that door. “We start with the Mormonts. The free folk at our side should be enough to help us get there, and we start finding a way to unite the North again, together.” He was so sure of himself, and yet you were so instantly on edge.

He almost reached out to you, but the hesitation in your own eyes caught him. He murmured your name but you turned away. Running a hand over your forehead firmly before sighing out. Stood just in the middle of the room, your arms crossing over your chest almost protectively as there was a worry in your eyes.

“I...I don’t- fuck.” Fidgeting on the spot you struggled to find the words, this wasn’t how this was ever to play out that night you first heard Robb propose it. Your face fell almost like a plead, “I’m not saying this to manipulate you, or force you into anything I truly promise but you- I cannot let you do this blind. I know, and so does every lord we go to for this, and you shouldn’t find out from them.”

It made sense then, and still did now but you also knew part of planning for this included you being just as dead and gone as Robb as the likely scenario. You didn’t foresee yourself being the one to say it.

Whatever it was Jon was bracing himself for, you knew instantly by the stunned expression in his face, his guess was nowhere near this. “Robb named you as his heir to the North.” You felt your own heart race and the exponential fear of Jon hating you for this broke your calm trying to justify yourself. But if he hated you already, you weren’t sure anything would fix it. “The Lannisters were desperate, we won every battle we fought, we were winning the war and they knew they couldn’t beat us in the field. Tywin Lannister started making moves and we knew he was planning something, and Robb needed to name someone as his heir, to be King in the North after him in case...”

You looked away, trying not to see the blood and the fire. Your voice cracking before forcing it back to something you could swallow. “And he named you. He wanted it to be you.”

Once more, you were struggling to find anything in Jon you could read easily as he stood as still as a statue. His voice rough and quiet in disbelief, “But you were..”

Blood soaking his hand as he looked up to you, a broken expression you had never seen and it would be the last one ever. “Even if..it would have been eighteen years before he came of age regardless...but we also knew, we thought,” you corrected yourself, “If something happened to Robb, it would happen to me too. You were the first person he named, and out of every other option that came to mind Robb never trusted the North to anyone as much as he did you.”

Eyes a little less wide in shock, but he was still as a statue more. Whatever he thought he felt hearing Stannis Baratheon offering him a true name and lordship was nothing compared to the brother who had everything he ever wanted, leaving the most important thing trusted in no one but Jon’s own hands. “Did...who agreed to it?”

You almost could smile in a cruel pain, “Only Catelyn had an issue with it. But when Robb told her, every other Lord had signed off on it already. He only asked for her support as a courtesy..but not a single person in that meeting protested. Because Robb was right and they all knew it.” You found his eyes and hoped that it wasn’t just another knife in his chest you were adding, “Robb made it perfectly clear, he knew you deserved everything he had. Because you were his brother. Because Stark or Snow..Ned Stark had four sons. Not three.”

You couldn’t be in here anymore, you couldn’t see the conflict on Jon’s face so drastically you couldn’t stand here and talk about Robb or the son that never came, or how you just wished Jon didn’t hate you for shoving this at him. “You needed to know, before you left. Because the first place we go, they are all going to know exactly who you are and..it would be a lot harder to turn around and leave at that point. You needed to know what you are agreeing too if you do.”

One last look at him, and his grey eyes were begging you for something but you both were in too much complicated of a mess to know what that was, or for him to just ask for what he needed. Your name slipped so, so gently from his lips but you shook your head.

Debating grabbing something warm, but it was your fathers coat next to Jon’s own fur cloak and you decided to just let the cold slam into your skin as you brushed a hand over the door handle. “I’m sorry. I’m...It wasn’t...I’m not trying to trick you into something you don’t want but in my defence,” Looking back at him you tried not to think too much about how Jon was almost trying to look at the scar under your clothes as you spoke. “I thought I’d be long dead by the time you found out. So at least I wouldn’t have to see first hand how much I just continue to ruin your life.”

You think Jon may have called to you, but you had walked out the door and made your way as far as possible. You just needed to be away from him. You’d have to leave soon, army at your side or just a fair few brave souls stupid enough to follow a leaderless cause. Making the same choice as those years ago, leaving Jon behind for the Night’s Watch as you left for something which would inevitably turn into a war.

Night approaching on Castle Black was when you were found. Finding a place away from most for just a while in silence before any could come to you with just one more thing to add onto the weight of your shoulders. Sitting up on a crate, one of your feet was resting up on a small clearing of firewood as the other hung off the crate free.

The wind was cold, and your bones even colder from how long you had been outside like this but ever since arriving here you hadn’t felt anything close to yourself, at least in captivity you had a reason for being so out of your own mind. Here though it was simply a barrage of mistakes or failures on your part that had you losing your sense of self.

At least when there was no one around, it didn’t matter how exhausted or lost you looked. You could sit and contemplate the place in life you found yourself in with disappointing ease. Fingers peeling the meat one small bit at a time from it’s skewer as you let the toughness occupy yourself with how much was needed to chew. Nothing special, but in that moment you cared not for what it tasted like as long as it kept you from passing out as soon as you stood up.

Only, not quite all of it, it seemed was to make it down to your mouth. Hearing nothing right up until a whine already was right beside you, you whipped around in place only to settle instantly. Ghost stood tall even on all fours, almost matching your elevated seating enough to where you felt the food over your lap. Red eyes looking to you and then the meat, you could almost see the little smile in his huff towards you.

Brows raised amusingly as you slowly pulled off a piece. “I see how this is, I finally decide I want something to eat of my own accord and here you are demanding I share.” Not wasting any time teasing the direwolf you held out a piece between two fingers as Ghost sniffed before ever so gently grabbing it himself. Just as you finished chewing your own, he stepped forward more. Eyes just as patiently waiting with excitement.

Chuckling, you pulled off two more small pieces, tossing them into your mouth before making a pile in your hand with the rest. Not having the chance to put them anywhere, Ghost simply bumbled into you and ducked his head into your lap to eat right from your hand. That smile felt genuine on your face, and you weren’t sure how long it had been since you felt a true one. Your free hand begun to run over his fur, occasionally scratching your nails along his scalp.

Finishing off your food, Ghost let another huff out before resting his head right in your lap. Eyes closing at the feeling of your nails and now too heavy to get up without the direwolf moving first. Your eyes simply stayed trained on him, watching his red eyes slowly dip the more relaxed you made him and yet you know this was a beast many feared.

You think you sat there with him for as long as you had alone, at least until his ears perked up. Moving his head off you to look to the approaching figure, and sinking back down to rest in your lap when it was only your mother. Standing quite a few feet away she eyes it with distrust, but you only shrugged a shoulder and ran a hand back over his white fur. “It’s alright, he would’ve been more aggressive if you couldn’t come near him.”

Carefully approaching, she made a wide path with narrowed eyes around the direwolf before gently sitting on the crate next to you. Albeit with far more grace then you had the energy to put off. Watching you run your hand lovingly along the giant wolf’s fur before breaking the silence. “How did you get it to trust you?”

Not looking at her, you smiled at the once more drooping eyelids of Ghost. “I knew him back when he was a pup. He likely just remembers my face. That and I offered him food.”

Neither of you rushing the conversation, Selyse simply sat quiet next to you for a while. Your relationship with your mother was as strained as it was complicated. She just as your father had, declared you nothing but a traitor with such callousness. But now he was gone, and Shireen was gone so all was left was the both of you. Two women who had not seen one another in over six years, since even before you returned to King’s Landing with Ned Stark.

When you did, it was all visits for Shireen. Most of your days on Dragonstone were out in the islands terrain together, trudging through the sun so you could show her all the places you found on your own as a child. Simply put, there was not much to say between you two at most times.

In Winterfell it was Catelyn Stark who saw fit to treat you as a daughter and it was that mother which followed you and Robb into war. A mother who died for that war. Instead you found a reunion with this woman and she was as strange to you as the father you met that one day in the fields of the south.

You couldn’t talk to her about Shireen anymore, telling her you would not hear it you couldn’t handle any of this religious fanaticism when you had to be the one to end her. What was left was only you two, but you didn’t want to turn her away entirely. Without you there was little left for her, and you dared not think what her life might be like so alone.

You already knew that was utterly painful.

“Your father saw something in him.” Your eyes flickered up, but you moved none else to show you heard her. “Spent much of his time here learning from him, as he learned from your father. I thought at first he saw him as the son I never gave him. But now I’m not so sure.”

You let your eyes drift to the ground to find a meaningless spot on it. “I didn’t imagine he offered him Winterfell for nothing.”

Selyse sighed, neither of you were making this easy but she wasn’t sure if it was you, her, or the habits passed from your father to blame for how awfully you all communicated. Unsure if it was worth trying to find a happy medium here or if she should just cut tight to the point.

“I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you.”

Your eyes flickering shut as you sighed deeply. Turning your head away from her with a grumble, “Mother.” Your tone in a stern warning, but you knew she would press on anyways.

Which she did, ignoring your protests entirely. “You can pretend the truth is otherwise all you like, but I have seen it. I also know, that he was prepared to leave everything behind here the moment he learned you were alive and ever since you brought him back he looks at you like he would have no idea what to do with himself if you leave again.”

You bit your tongue, shaking your head as you willed your breathing to settle a bit. “I would say he looks like a man who has had everything turned upside down since I came back into his life.” Ghost huffed in your lap as you almost ran your hand over his soft fur as a crutch. “And the second I leave he can go back to the life he was building for himself again.”

Her tone was as stern as yours could be, “How many times do you think there is a second chance at love, how many women even get a first chance and you are throwing away your-”

“Robb was my second chance.” Looking over at her, there was a mix of anger and a sorrow that had never gone away. But for once, you were pure and honest and it was the first person you so freely said it to and it was your mother of all people. “I loved Jon first. For a long time, then I got married. Jon left for here and we knew we’d never see each other again. And I fell in love with Robb. He was my second chance, he was the life I was to make after losing the first. And now I’m here. Back in Jon’s life as if he had any reason to want to help me beyond obligation. He shouldn’t want anything to do with me, and maybe Robb hates me for wishing it was otherwise.”

Your mother never met him, only heard through the whispers of a war and yet the way you spoke about him was with such a defeated sorrow. Difficult to imagine what it was like all that time with the Boltons when you lost so drastically. But she had met this one, had seen the way Stannis had admired something in Jon Snow and how you both stood here together after finding sure death.

“Plans the lord has for us go beyond the normal realms of a sacred vow.” Turning to look at her you tried so hard not to say a word about this belief of hers. But the look in her eye was serious, full of a true conviction. “Through everything that has happened, he brought you and this boy back from death so you could find each other again. Trust in him that it means something.”

You cared not for her god, not for it’s strange way of doctrine, not for the fire that demanded sacrifice and blood, and not for how it was brought to your family by the woman who strung your sister up on a pyre to burn. “Why would this god of yours care for two people who don’t even believe in him?”

Leaning in, her face narrowed trying to plead to a destiny just as the red woman spoke of, just as your father always spoke that you had no choice in and you hated all of it. “Perhaps your fate with this boy is important enough the Lord can see passed such an offence. Your father is the chosen and you without any belief in the lord still think he is out there. Still leaving to unite these people for a war you didn’t even know of until finding him.”

Ghost rose his head up, suddenly rising up on a dime, as he tilted his head towards you in a eeiry silence. Leaving you to lean forward out of her sight in your sides covering your mouth with hands clasped together.

“You are meant to fight by your father’s side. Come to him in the great war, only perhaps the Great Wolf she spoke of was this one. The one that is still here, the one that you brought back.” Your eyes once more flickered to Ghost before sighing.

Both of you were quiet for a moment before you muttered, “We leave in a few days, if you are sure you want to follow you should start packing now. Have Olly gather Father and Shireen’s things as well.”

Ghost had been sternly silent, until suddenly moving forward coming to Jon’s side as he approached the pair of you. Only a matter of time before it all fell apart between you two and now was that time. “Pardon, my lady but if I could have a moment alone with your daughter?”

Nodding without issue, you both stood as she gave you one last look. One of a mother you knew was telling you to just listen to her for once before parting ways. The silence between you and Jon was painful, at least to you. “How did you know where I was?” Jon’s head tilting towards Ghost as you narrowed your eyes the slightest with a whispered, “Traitor.”

Coming closer towards you, there was no tension in his stance or face that you expected from the man, instead it all sat on your shoulders. All plastered on how much you were keeping a stone walled expression that for so long was never, could never be directed towards him. But now you were afraid to let anything else slip passed.

Looking you over with an amused glint in his eye, “At least I know it’s not just you whose bad at dressing for the cold.” You only shrugged a shoulder, glancing away from him before he found more reason to fill the silence. “Come with me, I have something for you.”

Narrowing your eyes, Jon only turned to the side, beckoning you again to follow. Doing so quietly, and a few more feet away from him then what looked natural. Paths moved out of the way for you both when passing by with watchful eyes that never seemed to go away anymore. For you or him.

Coming back to his own quarters, he guided you in first as he held the door open for you. Noticing to yourself that certain things seemed to be moved around, or at least it appeared that way as it looked emptier then before. But it was where the bed was that laid a few things, leathers, gloves, all in dyes of black.

Jon kept himself a few feet behind you as you looked it over. “I couldn’t let you leave in just those. They aren’t perfect, what I could get from the Night’s Watch own supply but they should fit well enough.” A look over your shoulder your face a little softer, and finding nothing but his own genuine concern on his own. “You should try them on before you leave.”

Turning back, your heart felt a bit faster in pace but your mind also told there there was little point in hiding. At this point more then you’d ever care too had seen beneath it all. The room was deathly silent as you slowly took things off. Back facing him you knew he could see lashes fading across your spine and a distinct scar he knew was from an arrow that had not healed but just sat dormant like certain others. One also on your upper arm that matched the imprint from that night.

At least turned away from Jon, he couldn’t see the occasional wince that crossed your face. Not much hurt to the same degree, but the muscles within not without their soreness sometimes. Hard to forget you truly hadn’t been away from the Bolton’s long enough for the worst of it to go away.

The leathers were warmer then anything you’d worn in the past year, making you wonder just how much of you being used to the cold was simple over exposure. Neither of you spoke a word despite knowing Jon’s eyes watching you the entire time, only when you gently sat on the edge of the bed did Jon come forward, kneeling down in front of you. “Let me.”

Even behind the gloves you could feel such a gentle touch, making sure the much sturdier boots fit and lacing them up without thinking of it. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He didn’t look up, focused on the task at hand as his voice rasped out, “I know.” Your fingers flexing into your fists as a lightness shivered over your spine. He always was like this, doing small things for you, getting things for you simply because you needed them and he wanted to do it. Finally meeting your eyes again asking, “Everything feel okay?” When you nodded he stood up abruptly, “Good. I have one more thing for you.”

Eyes slipping closed with a sigh, you stood with a dejected tone almost in warning, “Jon.”

It was a proper sword and sheath he returned with. Nothing flashy, just simple black and an average hilt. Taking it gently from him, he explained as you pulled it out slightly to look at the blade. “It isn’t anything special, but I had adjusted to fit your size.” Your eyes had narrowed, containing the feeling that this had the distinct markings of newly forged. “Assuming you haven’t forgotten how to swing one.”

For the first time, you glanced up at his grey eyes with a slight smirk before lingering too long. “I remember a thing or two.” His hand reached to take it back, unexpectedly moving close enough you could feel the ends of his hair, as he moved behind you.

Strapping the entire thing properly to your person, no doubt Jon could hear the hitch in your breathe at the close proximity. Ensuring it was snug enough before so lightly he rested his hands on your forearms before sliding up to just below your shoulder. Rasping deep into your ear, “I had Theon prepare everything to be sent out when you’re ready. Had to make a few changes first, myself.”

He didn’t let you turn to face him, but you also picked out that he likely knew you’d try to walk away from him the moment he did. “Why?”

Another shiver ran down, but this time not at the husk in his tone but the sureness in words. “Didn’t want any of them to think they were about to be raided by an army of wildlings when they all show up with us.”

“Us?”

Jon turned you himself, but kept you in his hold. Things between you were delicate but so much of that strained state came from your nerves alone. “The North is our home. All of it. And I’m not going to let you walk away from me again to fight a war all by yourself.”

Tilting your head a bit with a narrowed gaze you looked with a hesitation, “Jon if this is only because-”

“It’s not.” He no doubt, felt the shiver that crossed your skin as one of his hands gently traced up your shoulder to gently run across the hair at the back of your head as he leaned in. Enough you could feel his breathe along your skin, but never pushed further. “I spent my whole life watching Robb get everything I ever wanted, and I spent my whole life wishing I could hate him for him. Then I watched him marry the one thing that was mine and mine alone for years, and I still never could hate him.”

It was a moment just like this, as Jon told you not to look for him during the wedding. That he wanted you to be okay with becoming Robb’s, and yet years and loss later for all of you it was you both back in such a similar position once more talking about Robb.

Only you were both older, one of you much more broken and the other strong and full of what makes a true leader. And this time, you already were Robb’s and this time you also knew too well what you were missing by pushing Jon away.

Your voice but a whisper, “He,” You swallowed as your eyes slid shut in a flicker before collecting your thoughts, trying not to think of the hand ever so slowly raking through your hair. “Robb regretted not being there for you more. Wishing he stood up for you more, stepped in between you and his mother more..but this wasn’t..He wasn’t trying to prove anything with this. He just wanted to give you the one thing he knew you never would’ve thought you deserved, because he knew you truly did.”

Much like the night of the feast as well, Jon watched your hands come close to resting gently on his person and painfully hold back. “How about we start with fighting to get our home back.”

That you could agree on, that was something you could focus on. Once more however, a small smirk slid onto your face catching his curious eyes. “I’m not sure anything has quite felt like home in a long time. It may be nice to finally find one for once.”

The wall somehow felt even windier in the sunlight. Your backs both against the edges of the opening looking out to the vast forest and snowy mountains fading into the far North. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, but you gave each offer it’s fair strengths and drawbacks. Theon’s choice to follow was simple, you or risk returning to Pyke and only one of them had a promise of someone to trust still at his back and defence.

Olly was a bit different. He was pledged here, but circumstances were different. Not here by force, but simply beacuse his only home was taken from him so suddenly and violently. He was finding his stride previously as Jon’s steward but since that day, he had found a strange fearful trust in yourself. You in a way seemed to scare him, your stern intensity but also there was a softer spot that he had seen in your fathers quarters. He had followed you and your every order since that point and now that you were preparing to leave in a number of days he felt conflicted about staying behind.

None had spoken of his involvement of that night, and it only confirmed your initial suspicions that he was very much manipulated into it by Thorne. None felt the need to throw him to your mercy or to Jon’s, likely as the rest found shame and guilt in their own actions knowing it was too their fault for letting a child become entangled in the crime.

Looking back to you, he clearly was fighting to find the right words. Knowing you watched out to the north with nothing but patience for him to find it. “He wouldn’t want me around.”

A small smile came to you, rolling your head back with an eyebrow raised and a gentle tone that he continued to find some comfort in. “He’s left your situation in my hands. Hasn’t even said a word about what I’ve chosen to do with you, and he continues to be here with ten other men who are far more guilty then you.”

It was a mix of what he did, and seeing Jon come back. He looked to you with a fear in ways, but it was stronger towards him. Crossing his arms behind his back as he dropped his head, you watched calmly without any prompt. You couldn’t choose this for him, it was a weight he was to bare the rest of his life and none could dictate how he would cope with it. At this age, anything was possible.

“What would I do if I stayed?”

Eyes flickering to the side in thought before finding his once more, one shoulder moving in a slight shrug. “Serve whoever runs this place all the same, learn and grow from being under their leadership and find a purpose the way you tried to before any of this happened. One action shouldn’t dictate the rest of your life.”

He narrowed his brows, looking back down to his feet in thought. Your voice speaking up once more before it got too far, “Olly, it’s not just him to consider. When we leave, the free folk are coming with us, fighting with us. There’s no escaping that if you come with me. I’m not telling you to get over that pain, but I am asking you to consider if you’re ready to let your anger sit aside yet.”

That got him, his eyes flying out to the other side of the high walls even though little could be seen from where you both stood. You could still so vividly see what he had told you of that day. Of the horrible numb feeling seeing an arrow fly into his father’s neck, how he crumpled to the ground without his face even shifting. And the memory of his mother shaking him by the arms telling him to hide before they were overrun and she was utterly slaughtered.

How two men snatched him, hissing in his ear about how they were going to eat them and to run to Castle Black before they did it to him as well. You wouldn’t get over that so quickly either, but you also had the advantage of age. You could shove that into a box and hide it under the earth beacuse you could look out now to the North and see the crystal blue eyes that haunted your dreams. Olly hadn’t see any of that, himself or in dreams and visions. It was harder to see.

He sighed deeply. Looking back to you with almost a sad hope. “When you take Winterfell, what happens then?”

It hurt, seeing such a young, innocent face so torn from his bias, to his actions, to the pain that would never go away. The way Olly was so horrified by the truth of his actions, that he burst into tears trying to confess. The weight that you knew was horrible and burning in your mind and it came to him after only just finding his way into teenage hood.

You were quiet, trying yourself not to put too much hope into the blood and battle you were eventually to walk into. “Some will begin finding land to settle into, ones that would be safer away from the fights to come, some will likely stay at our side and others will go to wherever our plans then take us. But there is no hiding from them, Olly. They’re here now, and one way or another you will have to find a way to handle that.”

Waiting a beat, you had one idea he way be able to live with. Stepping closer, you knelt down a bit in front of him. Once more, Olly seemed to find it a bit easier to look you in the eye when not forced to look up at you in fear. “You can either come with me when we leave, stay here at the Night’s Watch. Or...” You drew out the first few syllables of the next word trying to be sure and phrase it to the boy with hope. “..when we reclaim Winterfell, you can make your way there. I’ve made it clear to the men here that you are with me, and considering your age and why you even came here.”

More hope was in his eyes at that. Clearly being left behind here wasn’t an easy choice for him, and you tried hard not to think about how you leaving seemed to feel like being abandoned to Olly. You also forced yourself to not even slightly consider the implications of why.

“You promise they won’t catch me as a deserter if I do?”

Forcing a small smile onto your lips, you raised your eyebrows playfully. “I can write you up a pretty, formal deceleration if it makes you feel better.” He huffed out a laugh at that. While you didn’t tell him before you left, you made your way into his room and left two papers. One with just that, a promise from the Queen in the North of his assurance to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell, and another smaller note scrawled out much more personally and a tad playfully, saying just in case he thought he would need it.

It wouldn’t be for a few more days that you would leave, but being totally alone now made the most sense. And when Olly hugged you tight, it was harder and harder to deny that perhaps that admiration Theon was speaking of, was just a conflicted, hurt boy finding the only solace he could, in a woman who reminded him of the mother he lost.

The Sun was up still shining a gold in the sky, as three figures stood at the railings watching over the growing black in the skyline. Only years ago, this same image looked out over a war for the North, only this time the wolf next to you was the one which was missing last, his own person darker in heart, and a strange one that beat despite the very wounds in is chest to stop it.

And yours lay untouched but under the mutilation of something that left you to bleed out in agony but both knew they would not be in a living soul once more were it not for the other. You didn’t understand any of it, and neither did Jon. But it was a truth that you couldn’t ignore. You both had been dead, and both would be things that would no longer be able to be ignored.

The Northmen knew of your death, and the Free Folk of Jons and once those whispers converged, there was no telling what was to be in store for that, or for the blood inevitably to follow.

As the three of you watched the Ravens leave, a final decision that sealed what was to be walked in on, and what was to come of the enemy you were to fight. It was Theon to the right who looked at you. An underlying waver in his own voice as he watched the far away one in yours that both men beside you could feel radiating with it’s own fear. “Are you afraid to see him again?”

Your hands on the railing tightened as Jon’s eyes darkened at the sights and sounds of what he had seen all over you, and the vile things he had Theon tell of what else had been done to you. You could fight a war against Roose Bolton, but fighting one against Ramsay was truly what Jon knew would turn violent. Your war against Roose was for the North and for Robb, but to Jon, the war against Ramsay was for you.

All your response could muster as your eyes stayed trained on the distant ravens was a single nod. A nod that had Theon lean forward more against the rails. “Good.”

Both looked at you but you looked at none. “Why is that good?”

You knew why. Theon had endured as you did, and he was the one who dragged you from that hell out and running into the cold and the freezing waters to escape before his torment ended your life, at his hands or your own. And now, you were going back. Numbers at your side, a hope for more to join, and a wolf that Theon could see, would shed as much blood as he could to protect you. But still, all that horror and you would be going right back to face him. And Theon’s answer was as blunt as it was honest about why.

“It means you’re not stupid.”

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

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tsukimefuku · 9 months ago

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About witches and villages that hate sorcerers (f!reader)

What happens when your communication gets cut off during a mission in a village, and everyone knew you went there in the wrong state of mind?

Tags: Jujutsu Kaisen, f!reader, light nanami x reader, angst, ptsd, mentions of bullying and violence, some fluff, nobody gets hurt.

WC: 800

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a fic I'll eventually write (eventually). To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Everyone was worried, some more, some less. Yaga had told them the last thing you said to him on the phone was how the village was pinning the mishaps from the curse you exorcized on a girl whose parents died. They were calling her a witch. You said you were concerned for her safety, and sounded out of sorts. Then, the line went silent.

Nanami and Gojo were the most worried people of all. They knew your past, and specially, how you suffered for almost the same thing when you were younger. How you lost your parents very young, how you were from a place where you were hated by everyone, because they hated your family, and most of all, how you were, yourself, for so many years, pinned as a witch and hunted in so many small different ways until you left your house in the middle of the woods to search for a better life elsewhere.

"She's not Geto, we don't have to be so worried." Shoko remarked, as she was lighting a cigarette. She didn't realize she was lighting it the wrong way until Gojo turned it in her fingers. By that moment, any poker face she could be trying to conceive fell apart.

"S-she wouldn't, would she?" Ijichi asked, looking at everyone in the entrance hall. "I mean, she's kind-hearted and-"

"Suguru was kind, too." Gojo remarked, leaned over the wall with his fists tense inside his pockets.

"She has been off since that last mission, where the curse wound up burning the building in Roppongi." He sighed. "I should have never let her go on this. Damn."

"There is nothing we can do now. Her phone is dead and has been dead for hours, and all landlines are silent too." Nanami was seated with wide legs, elbows on each one, and rested his face on his pinched thumbs. "She will be back."

Nobody answered his last remark, said almost like wishful thinking out loud.

"I should've been here sooner." Gojo said, regretful. He arrived in the last 10 minutes and knew that if you did what they were thinking... there was no use for him to go and do anything, anymore. With the blasts from your technique, you could very well wipe the small village from the map in the last hours you went missing.

They heard footsteps, and the door opened as everyone got up, anxious in anticipation. You stood there, with a cold stare and a straight face, holding a child around 6 years old in your arms. The girl was dirty, but otherwise seemed fine, as she slept with her head on your shoulder.

"Shoko," you said, "I need you to take a look at her, please."

Shoko went to you, apprehensive and relieved at the same time, as she silently took the girl in her arms and started to walk towards her pseudo-office which she used to heal sorcerers and students.

Everyone was silent, looking at you and waiting for you to speak. If you did what they thought you did, you'd be arrested by them immediately, and that prospect hung heavy on their heads.

"There was a storm." You started. "My phone had no reception, the battery died and-" you were clearly numb and somewhat freaked out at the same time. "And I all I could do — think to do — was to bring this child here. So I blasted the door to where they were keeping her and-" you started breathing heavy. "And brought her. I had to walk miles before I got to a road and hitchhike my way here."

"Is that all?" Gojo asked, not turning around to look at you. He couldn't look at you at that moment. The moment you could confirm their worst fears.

"Yes. But someone should send help to that village. They are incommunicable." Your face had the slightest twitch.

Everyone let out a big exhalation at the same time, clearly relieved you had not gone under the same path Geto did, so many years ago.

Nanami walked towards you, standing still for a moment. You looked unsure as you gazed upon him. He then enveloped you in his arms and sighed heavily. "You came back."

Your body shivered as you reciprocated the hug. "I did." Your breathing started to become erratic as you pushed your face in his chest, and began to talk more silently. "Some of them, they were going to burn her. Like, actually burn her. A child. They were going to murder a child." Your eyes fell up with tears.

"We'll take care of this." Yaga said.

"We will. You can count on us." Gojo's voice came out of an actually genuine smile. He truly was happy he didn't lose another friend like that again. His fists were starting to relax.

"I know." You replied, as you pulled your slightly damp face from Nanami and looked at him. "I knew I could. Thank you all." A soft smile involuntarily covered your face.

He smiled back.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gege when i catch you gege #jujutsu nanami #jjk fanfic #jjk nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami #gojo saturo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #nanami x you #nanami x reader

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bluejaysandblackbats · 4 months ago

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Pick a fic 2/5

Green In My Costume: Dick Grayson talks about his parents' death to Donna, referencing an old circus superstition to place the blame on himself. (batam/fab five)

Quintennial: Tim invites Owen to visit their fathers' graves on the fifth anniversary of their death. (batfam/flashfam/flash rogues; canon divergent)

the ticking of the clock: Jason doesn't remember enrolling or arriving at his new boarding school, but he quickly realizes he's more of a prisoner than a student. (batfam; dark academia/boarding school AU)

under an indigo sky: AU where Natalia Knight is a movie star who does a movie with rags to riches actor, Jason Todd. She develops a close bond with him, wanting to become his mother. (batfam; actors AU)

Never Clearer Than This: AU where Jason witnesses/causes Bruce's death the night he steals the wheels off the Batmobile. (batfam; canon divergent)

Stage Lights: Lonnie works the lights and special effects for the Gotham Dance Academy. He notices something strange going on with one of the dancers, but he's conflicted on whether or not it's a good or bad change. (batfam; JayLonnie; ballet AU/no capes AU)

Shuttered Windows: On-again off-again couple, Jason and Laney meet up for a family trip after a prank forces them to share a room for the weekend. (batfam/superfam; JayLaney; no capes AU/no powers AU/vacation AU)

✨Fic Previews Under The Cut ✨

Green In My Costume:

“I think back to when everything started to go wrong, and it started with that costume,” Dick whispered. Donna reached out to touch Dick’s shoulder, but she drew back, knowing it would only make things worse. He drank orange juice out of the bottle as he took an aspirin.

“You know that’s not—.”

“What if it is? Maybe I’m cursed because I dared to laugh in the face of tradition. I told my mom it was a silly superstition. I insisted on it. Now, she’s dead. Dad’s dead. Jason is dead. What do I attribute that to? Do you really believe it’s a coincidence that everyone I love that puts on that costume dies?” Dick interrupted. Donna sat on the other side of his kitchen island, frowning as he took swigs from his orange juice bottle. “Jason was fifteen years old, Donna.”

Quintennial:

“Oh no, I don’t drink—.”

“You do tonight. Just hold onto it if you don’t want to,” Owen replied.

Tim took the flask, holding onto it as he sat on the rooftop of the mausoleum overlooking the graveyard. Owen sat beside him. “Why did you invite me?” Owen questioned. “I thought I was the last person you’d want to—.”

“We both lost our fathers, Owen. It wasn’t your doing. It wasn’t mine. You tried to put it aside for me the last time I saw you. I wasn’t ready but I am now,” Tim confessed.

“Okay. I know we might never be friends, but I—. It’s okay to grieve together. Isn’t it?” Owen questioned. Tim nodded, and Owen took the flask.

the ticking of the clock:

This doesn’t make sense. The only time we don’t hear the white noise machines is during lunch. I thought I heard a metronome in the background the first day, but I’m not so sure now.

I sit at a table with children my age, and I wonder why they’re so calm about all of this. I’m so nervous I realize I’m not breathing, but everything in me feels tense and tight. The four girls at the table talked amongst each other, but one of them stopped to look at me. I caught the look in her eye. It wasn’t flirtatious or malicious. She acknowledged my worries. “Look for the breaks,” she whispered, “But for now, they’re talking about the morning bulletin.”

I took a breath, trying to relax, and she smiled before returning to her conversation. I didn’t understand what she meant, but I knew she saw the same problems in the school that I did.

under an indigo sky:

“It’s a lot of work, but I liked it. Actually, there was a minute where I was a little bit scared… Because there was a minute where I really had to tear into her, and they cut the scene, and I couldn’t stop shaking and crying. I was under the assumption that you cut the scene and it just stops, and you go back to normal. That was something

“I had to get used to it during filming, but Natalia was super supportive. After scenes, she’d sit with me for a minute—. And she insisted on it. She would take me to wash my hands, and it was like um—. It was like we were washing our characters off. Natalia’s great with the mental part of it,” Jason complimented me. I smiled at him.

Never Clearer Than This:

“I know it’s my fault,” I whispered. Nightwing looked at me, blinking hard. “I can’t turn myself in because the whole city’s gonna want me dead. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to go home—.”

“Hold on. Hold on… Wait. How do you—? I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Nightwing interrupted.

“I stole his tires last night. I know—. I know he would’ve been safe if he could’ve used his car. I took his tires… He couldn’t get away. I didn’t mean to get him killed. I—. Honestly—.”

Nightwing extended a hand to me. “You can’t stay here by yourself… Do you wanna come with me? I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” Nightwing promised. I don’t know why, but I believed him. I took his hand, and he led me out of the boiler room. I followed him up the stairs and out into the alley. He gave me a helmet. “I’ll get you something to eat once we stop… And how do you know Batman’s dead?”

Stage Lights:

His lithe form glides across the floor, his arms stretching out toward a blur of color. The girls sped around him, but he was the star of the show. There was an agony on his face that could not be feigned. Starry sparkles of dewdrops in his eyes. I hate to say it, but every time I switched the lights from blue to purple, I hungrily awaited the single perfect tear drop that escaped his eye. I loved rehearsal because it gave me an excuse to watch him in all his glory. Mysterious and more raven-like than boy.

Every moment on stage felt special. After rehearsal, I’d turn the lights off, and he’d stay. Sometimes, he’d sit downstage and eat a sandwich, letting his feet dangle. I wasn’t afraid to approach. I knew he didn’t want to be bothered. Something kept him separate from everyone else, and it wasn’t any of my business… Until it was.

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huntingrays · 22 days ago

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i’m bored and wanna ramble about my works in progress (esp since it’ll be a while until i post a new fic) so little summary time! also you can ask questions if you want, i don’t mind rambling about my fics and/or even spoiling some stuff

small summery of current WIPs (all valgrace)

1: Main long fic - wrapped fic

3/5 chapters done, 2/5 fully edited

Will be betaed. Trying to get it done before the end of the year but no promises. Can’t post finished chapters rn bc hasn’t been betad yet and need to make sure the endings of the chapters are consistent with the ending of the fjc

Jason POV. Angsty with an “open to interpretation” ending (but i, as the author, consider the happy interpretation ending). Multiple AUs told through dreams, main au is canon divergence where the war with Gaea never happened (so valgrace didn’t have their og meeting), contains MCD (is it rlly MCD if it happened in a dream? Will be a warning anyway). Asks if you would love someone if you knew how it would end

Est word count: was SUPPOSED to be 80k (20k each chapter besides chap 5)

Current Status: 104k (no clue how that happened uuuuuh)

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2: College AU - 5+1 fic

Unknown word count, oneshot. Honestly all word counts besides first one are unknown. I just let the words wash over me

Leo is traumatized after confessing to a “sweet guy” who outed him so he doesn’t read to much into people being overly nice to him. Also, he doesn’t believe any guy could like him. This is unfortunate for Jason, the guy who is into him because his method of flirting is being very nice to him and “subtly” flirting with him.

The five times Leo thinks Jason is just being nice (and the one time he realizes he isn’t)

Current Status: 2k

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3: A/B/O AU (rated T don’t worry, I love sfw omegaverse)

Leo is a late bloomer and presents as an omega very late. He realizes (after recovering from sudden presentation) that Jason is his fated mate (based on the scent on some clothes he left). The problem? Jason has already met his fated mate and it isn’t Leo. So, Leo hides his scent and vows to never tell Jason.

Basically Leo angsting over Jason and dealing with new instincts. Meanwhile, Jason gains feelings for Leo and realizes his relationship may not be what it seems. Deals with some ideas i had for omegaverse that i thought would be fun to play with (like can you manipulate scents and what happens if you end things with your mate?)

Multichaptered fic that I’ll likely write chapters for whenever i get into an omegaverse mood. Only have plans for beginning, twist, and ending (kinda).

Current Status: 800 (just started)

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Other WIPs that I am off/on writing:

1: Modern/No Powers “Fake Dating” AU

Leo wants a bf and keeps annoying his friends about it. Jason doesn’t want their friends to murder Leo so he volunteers to be his fake bf and fulfill his romantic needs. They both have feelings for each other but are dense af. Their friends have to watch this train wreck happen

Current status: 1k words

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2: Canon divergence/post canon AU

Crack treated seriously. Leo is turned into a kitten. That’s it that’s the fic.

Current Status: 700

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3: Multiple whumptober fics (~7)

Will likely be very short (like under 5k hopefully fingers crossed). Mainly Leo centric but have a Jason centric idea for one. Have 5 ideas, need to work on the other two. Also have 3 additional prompts that I like and may play with

Current Status: 2 started, on hold until wrapped fic is done then they’ll be the main focus

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4: Please Please Please

Based loosely on Please Please Please (but not a wrapped fic since that song came out this year).

Leo has a bf but Piper is worried bc of his last (toxic) bf. She’s sus when they (Piper, Hazel, Annabeth, and Percy) meet Jason but she eventually realizes he’s a smitten fool and approves

Status: 3k words

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5: A/B/O drop fic

Scents change after presenting. As a pup, Leo hated his scent since it was similar to smoke. After his mom dies, he hides it. He continues to hide it even after camp. He ends up presenting but doesn’t realize. He keeps suppressing/ignoring his instincts. His inner omega gets upset at him and causes him to drop. He goes to Piper and Jason (he considers them his pack) to help him through it.

Current Status: 700

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6: Soulmate AU. Also college AU

You have dreams of your soulmate through the eyes of their close friends. Jason hasn’t had a dream for years. Then, one day in college, he suddenly has a dream (and worries about his soulmate’s best friend who nearly burnt their place down trying to bake a cake). He’s very happy and already smitten with his soulmate. Meanwhile, Leo had spent so long thinking his bond was one sided that he doesn’t know to react to this new development. He’s worried about not being good enough for Jason and worries about his friends hating him.

Status: 9k

#ray rambles #valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace #i’m so exited about all of these!#rlly wanna get the first fic done hhhhhh #i hope it’ll be like… before the year ends #maybe even end of nov? but probs not #hopefully before bday would be nice! ugh i love the idea SM #plot twist: there’s actually 3 omegaverse wips (one is whunptober)#i just rlly like having fun with it and also writing pack dynamics

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wangxianficrecs · 11 months ago

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Do you want to hear by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes

Do you want to hear

by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes

T, 12k, Wangxian

Part of Dark Lan Zhan Week

Summary: — about the deal that I’m making? Lan Wangji goes back in time to save Wei Wuxian. This changes everything. Day 4: Righteousness | Time Travel Kay's comments: This story is for all fans of Dark Lan Wangji, who love to see him do whatever is needed to ensure that Wei Ying lives a happy and comfortable life. In this story, he travels back in time and makes the Lan Sect save little A-Ying from the streets, with Lan Qiren promptly adopting the boy. Of course, this leads to conflict with the Jiang Sect. At the same time, Lan Wangji also makes sure his sick mother receives help from medical prodify Wen Qing. Major divergences follow! The entire story is told through beautifully-formatted letters, very creative! Excerpt: I didn’t even know A-Zhan was aware of A-Niang’s sickness. I say this, but really I should not doubt his perspicacity. He may be young, but he is much smarter than he looks. It sometimes feels as if my brother were an entirely different person. Some days it seems as if he is growing so fast — much too fast for my liking. I feel powerless in such moments, as if no matter what I do I will never be able to protect him from the world. What does it say of me and my ability to be a good brother? But then A-Ying came to the sect and I do realize that I have been thinking about it too much once more. With A-Ying here, I have nothing to worry about. A-Zhan is as he has always been, but he acts more like his age now, and has not left A-Ying’s side since they met.

canon divergence, time travel, time travel fix-it, somebody lives/not everybody dies, madam lan lives, epistolary, letters, minor character death, dark lan wangji, dark lan zhan week, wei wuxian is a lan, bad parents jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, good uncle lan qiren, no sunshot campaign

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(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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yeowangies · 1 year ago

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Blood Stains

CHAPTER X: If I bleed you'll be the last to know

❧

PAIRING: Raditz/F!Reader RATING: Explicit CONTENTS: Canon Divergence AU, Slow burn, Smut, Enemies to Lovers. WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content. WORDCOUNT: 4791

Summary:

You freeze in place. It has been a month since you had that argument with Raditz. What is he doing here? Even when weeks went by, you’re not sure you’ve cooled off enough to handle this yet. Or at all, since you were positive you would never see his face again.

Notes:

I feel like it's been a year since I've updated this, but it's only been a little over a month. I wrote this chapter like two months ago, and as I was reading this to check if everything is as I want it to be, I realized that I've written something that I wish I had in my life. I'm not gonna go too deep into this but it was weirdly comforting.

Again, I won't know when I'll post the next chapter, I'm currently busy with a lot of irl stuff, but hopefully it's gonna be in less than a month this time!

The lyrics in the title is from Taylor Swift's Cruel Summer. Enjoy!

You can check the tag #*bs if you wanna see the previous chapters.

A confrontation like that was not how you wanted to end things with Raditz. Because it was definitely over after that. You’re certain you won’t see him again.

You feel it in your bones, he likes staying with you and being with you. He has slept so much better the second time around, and he hasn’t been so tense. What he said hurt and you are still angry, so angry, but it was your fault he stormed out like that, you shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have talked to him as if he was going to break.

Then again, remaining silent didn’t feel right either. Even if you had agreed to only sleep together.

It was stupid to think you wouldn’t get attached. You never expected this affair to last for as long as it did, which wasn’t even that long to begin with. You even got to know him during his short stay, and even before that when he was staying at Capsule Corp; you know him too much for someone who you were just going to share a bed with every once in a while.

Lust was how all of it started, but it has transformed into something more, even if you don’t even want to acknowledge it yourself.

Would all that actually change anything?

You purposely had avoided the topic of his stay here on Earth, or about the Saiyans, before that day. But he said some things and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Nothing feels right, and you feel like punching a wall. Which would probably hurt less than when you slapped him, it’s like his face was made of steel.

You know for sure Raditz won’t ever come back, and you get more used to the idea as days pass by. It doesn’t hurt any less, though, and your heart feels tight whenever you dwell on it.

“I’m staying at Kame House for a few days, do you wanna come along?” Bulma asks over the phone one afternoon, in a cheery tone.

You haven’t told Bulma anything about Raditz at all; keeping it a secret was for the best, or so you thought. You were regretting it a bit now, all your emotions were bottling up inside and that couldn’t be good. But you’re not ready to share everything yet.

“No, it’s okay, I… have work to do.”

“Don’t forget the Saiyans are getting here one of these days, it’d be better if you’re here when that happens.”

“I know.”

“Do you know anything about Raditz?”

You inhale sharply before clearing your throat.

“I don’t.”

“That’s so weird, he just disappeared. I would assume he left the planet, but he doesn’t have any ship, does he?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Mmh, I’m sure we’ll know what he’s been up to once his two buddies come here. I know Goku can take them.”

“Yeah… Yeah, Goku is unbeatable, right?”

“…Are you okay? You don’t sound too good…”

“I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been thinking about this too much.” At least that part isn’t a lie. “Don’t worry, okay? Call me if anything happens.”

You hang up after that.

It has been almost a year since Goku died. It doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. Since you’ve been trying to avoid the topic altogether when Raditz was around, you actually lost track of time until Bulma called to tell you about it.

You’re reconsidering actually making a bag and getting to Kame House too when a loud knock on the balcony startles you.

“Open up.” Raditz’s loud voice demands from the other side of the balcony door. “Unless you want me to blast through the wall.”

Fuck. You know he isn’t bluffing.

Breathing in deeply, you open the door ajar to look him up. He’s still as handsome as ever even when he doesn't have his usual smirk, you want to gouge out your eyes because of how furious it makes you. You lock eyes with him for a brief second before moving to the side to let him in.

Raditz stands in front of you with his eyes fixed on your face, but your gaze is elsewhere. Now that he is here, you don’t want to apologize first. You’re hurt, but you’re still very angry too. You’re a lot of emotions together at once with him.

“Are you not even going to look at me?” He asks, annoyed.

You sigh, slowly, turning your eyes towards him. You can’t decipher the expression on his face, but Raditz is staring at you with such intensity you’re worried he might be seeing right through you. You avert your gaze from him after a second, unsure if you want to slap him again or jump right into his arms.

You’re startled when Raditz abruptly takes a few steps towards you and grabs your arms, pulling you closer and leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. A surprised noise escapes you, melting a little inside when you feel him so close after all that time. It takes a second for you to remember that you’re still upset and that you don’t actually want to give in this easily.

“No…” You murmur quietly into the kiss, pushing urgently at his shoulders to get him off. “No, Raditz, I don’t wanna do this!”

“Your body is saying otherwise.” He says with a smirk, hands sliding underneath your shirt and making you shiver.

“I don’t wanna do this when I’m mad at you!” You clarify, pulling away from him the best you can in his embrace.

“Isn’t this the best way to make amends?”

That smug grin of his grows wider and your face heats up, but you still roll your eyes.

“I’m not doing this until you apologize. What you said to me hurt…”

Raditz pulls away, frowning deeply, his hands closing into fists then opening and closing again a couple of times. You realize that he probably won’t apologize first; you wonder if he actually can apologize at all, not because he��s incapable, but maybe it’s something he has never done before.

“Though I guess, I really hurt you too.” You say after seconds of silence, taking the first step. “I didn’t mean to talk to you that way… I’m sorry. What I said was true though, I do care about you…”

He nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What am I supposed to say?” Raditz asks, with his eyes still on your face.

“I don’t know… tell me how you feel?” His frown gets deeper and you want to laugh because he looks like a petulant child who simply can’t have things his way. You offer him a small smile instead. “Do they not teach Saiyans how to apologize?”

“We do not apologize.”

You sigh, your smile turning sour because you expected that answer.

“It wasn’t my intention to upset you.” Raditz says, to your surprise, as he gets closer again with a smirk. “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You huff, smiling despite yourself, when his hands reach for you again, pulling you closer by your shirt until you’re flush against him.

“You’re only saying that cause you wanna get laid!”

“I’m saying that because I want you.” He leans down to bury his face in your neck, pressing his nose to your skin and breathing in deeply. “If you do not want this, tell me to stop.”

Goosebumps form on your skin when you feel his breath near your ear, and you jolt when his hands trail under your shirt once more.

You don’t know if that apology of his is enough, but he did say he was sorry in a way.

When Raditz realizes you won’t stop him, he removes all your clothes urgently, and you help him get rid of his as he kisses you fervently. You feel his desperation by the way his hands gripped your body, pressing you as close as possible while his lips devoured you. You had to pull away for air, but he just kept planting kisses down your jaw and neck.

You soon forget why you’ve been mad all this time, and your mind goes completely blank when he lays you on the bed and kneels down on the floor, grinning cheekily as he throws your legs over his shoulders.

“I may not be good with words, but I know I’m damn good at other things.” Raditz purrs, tracing his lips on the inside of your thighs.

You laugh breathily because he’s obviously right, and you’re too weak to argue about whatever you were talking about before.

Whatever Raditz gets out of going down on you, you don’t know, but you don’t ponder on the thought when he coaxes you into coming twice with just his mouth in what must be record time. You’re still in haze when he crawls on top of you, kissing you gently as he pushes his cock inside you.

“Fuck, I needed this…” He grunts in your ear, once he’s fully sheathed. “I need you. I want you.”

Raditz sets a steady yet hard pace, slamming his hips against yours. You whimper, your body still sensitive, and after a few rough thrusts you get closer to the edge again. You don’t even try to fight it or to make it last longer; after having come twice already, you’re too weak to do much.

Wrapping your arms around him, you hold him close as your release washes over you, shuddering and letting out a stuttered moan. Raditz groans against your skin before biting down your neck, moving into you faster until his body tenses, coming inside with a guttural growl.

He practically collapses on top of you once he’s spent but you don’t mind it; it’s nice to feel him so close after so many days when you were getting used to the idea that you wouldn’t meet him again. Running your hands up and down his back and threading your fingers through his hair, you sigh contently until he rolls over to the side.

When he pulls you closer with an arm around your shoulder and his tail on your waist, you look at him with wide eyes. He rarely initiates cuddling.

“I thought I was never going to have you again.” Raditz confesses quietly, only for you to hear.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back either…” You respond softly. “I didn’t want that to be the last time we saw each other. Everything I said… You shouldn’t take my word for it anyway.”

“Didn’t you say you meant it?”

“When I said I care about you, yeah, I did, but everything else… I mean, you know me enough. I come home to an empty apartment every day. Who am I to talk about how you live your life…”

Your eyes are looking at the window, fixed on the sky, tinted with dark orange as the sun sets, but you can feel his eyes trained on your face.

“I still have a lot to apologize for, is that what you’re saying?” Raditz asks, pressing you closer.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He hums in response, and you shut up for once, not wanting to drag this along anymore. When he presses his nose to the top of your head, breathing in your scent, you close your eyes, relaxing for a minute, pleased that he has magically decided to come and stay for at least a little while.

“You didn’t ask me to clean myself this time.” Raditz casually says, and you snort. You’re aware that you didn’t, but you also didn’t catch any weird smell when he was close, so you don’t really care.

“I was just ignoring how dirty you are.”

“Is that so?” He shifts, moving even closer and pressing his lips to your neck again. “Do you want to take a shower with me?”

You’re only human, and Raditz is looking at you with eyes that make you want to sink and drown in them. He effortlessly carries you to the shower, and as water falls down both of your bodies, he kisses you heatedly when he slides inside you again, moving at a steady pace, and it doesn’t take long until you both come simultaneously.

Later that night, when he’s sleeping by your side with an arm draped over your waist, tears well up in your eyes. You don’t dare to think about it, let alone say it out loud, but you know how you feel. You know well what the word is for how you feel towards him. Anxiety about the upcoming days keeps you from reveling in your feelings because you know this won’t end well. This was supposed to be just casual but you had been naive to think it could remain that way as time went by.

Swallowing down your feelings, and telling yourself to keep quiet about them and how much it’s going to hurt once he leaves, you blink your tears away before they can spill as you press closer to Raditz, and try to sleep.

Raditz was honest when he said he thought he was never going to lay with you again. He was sure you wouldn’t want to work things out when he got to your place to talk to you, you were the one who told him to leave after all. Thankfully, he had been wrong; he figured he would have to say sorry even if he didn’t know how. But when he kissed you and your body responded to him, he knew not all was lost. He’s very aware he did the bare minimum, but apologizing is something he has never done, not like this, not when he’s actually sorry and has to show himself vulnerable to someone else. It’s comforting to know you did the same for him.

He feels you moving more than usual when the two of you go to sleep that night, as well as how tense your body is against his. He’s close to actually asking if there’s something wrong, but you end up falling asleep at some point.

After sharing a bed with you for so many nights, Raditz already knows you’re not a light sleeper, not like he is. He moves to press closer when he wakes up the next morning, and you don’t even notice, too deep in your slumber to respond to his gesture. He can’t see your face from his position; your back is against his chest, the faint sunlight filtering through the window highlights the line of your body, and he can smell your hair. Small benefits from lying down like that.

The desire to stay like this, with his nose buried in your hair and an arm wrapped around your waist while the sun rises, is unfamiliar and confusing, yet not entirely unwelcome. Since he never actually had sex and slept with someone before, especially not as many times, he’s not sure how normal it is to feel this way, but it brings him a sense of peace that he has never experienced before. The closest feeling to this one was the one he got after purging a planet, like satisfaction from having finished a job, and knowing he could relax for a bit. Yet at the same time, it’s unfair to compare the two, they were similar, but nothing alike.

Saiyans rarely mated for life, but it wasn’t completely uncommon. Raditz is well aware, his parents were one of the few mated couples on the planet. But it had been a long time ago, and the image of everyone else he may have known is fuzzy. Is this how his parents felt when they were with each other?

He knows he’s become quite fond of you; after you told him to leave last time and the prospect of never touching you again sank in, how important you are to him became much more obvious. But what's more surprising is that it doesn’t bother him at all.

Except for the fact that Vegeta and Nappa are coming to this planet God knows when. Raditz has lost track of time a long time ago, all he knows is that they are getting here someday.

He remembers well that he was looking for the Dragon Balls too. For immortality, or something. He’s been rethinking that wish for a few days now, but there isn’t any alternative that satisfies him.

His focus shifts when you stir, humming softly as you wake up. You look comically startled to see him staring at you when you turn to him with sleepy eyes.

“Hey,” You mumble, clearing your throat, “You should have woken me up if you were awake.”

“Why?” His tail that has been draped over your hip tightens, holding you closer to his body.

“I don’t know, aren’t you hungry, or bored?”

“I’m not.” Raditz chuckles; maybe he’s a little hungry, but he rather stays like this. “You snore when you sleep and that’s pretty entertaining.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do. Pretty loudly.”

“Well, you snore too, and even louder!”

You’re looking at him with drowsy eyes, rosy cheeks, and messy hair; he can’t resist.

Laughing quietly, Raditz brings the hand on your waist up to your cheek to stroke it, pulling you closer towards him and gently pressing his lips to yours. You make a surprised soft noise and squirm in his arms, making him smile into the kiss, completely pleased with your reaction. He plants another brief kiss before pulling awake, and you stare at him with wide eyes.

“Why did you do that?” You ask shyly, blushing deeper. He’s not sure why you’re blushing, you had kissed each other before, plenty of times.

But he’s never kissed you just because, with no intentions of sex.

Raditz remains quiet, only staring at your face for a little while before you move to sit up.

“I should get up… I’ll make breakfast.”

Your cheeks still have a faint pink hue as he watches you walk out the room towards the bathroom.

You stare at him more often than usual during the morning, while he eats, and he usually wouldn’t mind it, but you’re not even saying anything that would explain why you keep your eyes trained on him with such intensity.

“You keep staring at me, girl, what are you thinking?”

“I didn’t realize I was… Sorry.”

Raditz grunts in response, noticing that you look embarrassed for being caught. He doesn’t get it, though.

“I don’t like it when you call me ‘girl’.”

“What? Why? You are a girl.” He frowns, confused.

“I am but I’m not a child, I’m a woman.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“How old are you, anyway? You look around Goku’s age.”

“I don’t know.” Raditz replies after some time.

“You don’t know how old you are?”

“No. I was seven when Planet Vegeta was destroyed. I stopped counting after that.”

You look sad for whatever reason; he doesn’t get that either.

“Goku was sent here as a baby…” You start after some time, thinking out loud and locking eyes with him. “Do you remember how old you were when he was born?”

“I was six.”

“So, a year later, your planet was destroyed?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Mmh… Goku was 24 when he died-”

“Can we stop talking about Kakarot?”

“-and he would have been 25 by now. And you’re 6 years older than him. So you’re 31.”

Raditz blinks, unsure of how to react.

“You’re not that much older than me then, I was a bit worried.” You smile cheerily.

“You were worried?”

“A bit, yeah. You could have been 100 years old for all I know. But I’m glad we are close in age.”

“Is age that important? How old are you?” He eyes you up and down; he doesn’t have any concept about how humans age, but you look young.

Do humans stay young for a long time, like Saiyans? Doubtful. Saiyans were built like that to fight for decades, but humans do not do that.

“I’m 28.” You smile wider, resting your arms on the table and leaning closer. “You also seem like a Scorpio.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s a human thing, according to when you were born, you have certain personality traits.”

“You humans sure have a lot of free time on your hands.”

Raditz yanks your chair closer to his with his foot, making you jolt, obviously surprised, but you keep talking.

“Yeah, well, we were never involved in intergalactic wars. But I’m not sure if you’re more like a Scorpio or a Gemini…”

“I don’t know what any of that means.”

He effortlessly picks you, making you sit on his lap and holding you close as his lips find your neck, pressing kisses up your jaw.

“You can be a Scorpio because you’re a little stubborn, among other things…” You giggle when he presses his nose to the skin under your ear, taking in your scent. “Or a Gemini because you’re mischievous, and a little tense…”

Raditz isn’t really paying too much attention to what you’re saying, he’s too preoccupied with how your body feels, how soft your skin is, and how sweet your smell is to respond to your words.

“You’re not listening to me…” You say, quietly and breathily, as he sneaks a hand underneath your shirt.

“I’m busy.” He nibbles your jaw, and you shiver slightly in his embrace. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying anyway.”

Capturing your lips next, you’re finally silenced as he kisses you ardently, digging his fingers into your flesh to press you as close as possible. You hum contently, kissing him just as eagerly, and Raditz feels his chest tightening with adoration.

It’s a strange sensation, being aware of his affection for you, and the affection itself, having never experienced anything close to it. He could spend hours just sitting there, kissing you, touching you, and even more.

When he pulls away to take off your shirt, Raditz notices that the sky has turned pitch black, leaving your apartment in the dark. It’s morning, the sun was out just a minute ago. You gasp when you notice it too, and you stiffen in his arms. Looking at your face, even in the shadows, he immediately can tell that you know what’s going on.

“What is this?” He asks, staring at you.

He hears you swallow as your hold on his shoulders tightens, but you don’t answer.

Raditz stands up, helping you stay on your feet before he walks to the window to look outside. There’s nothing going on besides the sky being completely obscured. He focuses on detecting energies, but there’s no one who catches his attention.

The darkness only lasts a few minutes before the sun is out again, just in the same spot it was before. He has been on Earth enough to know that hasn’t been a common occurrence on that planet. And there isn’t any moon for it to be an eclipse.

When Raditz turns to look at you, you seem upset, with your brows furrowed and mouth slightly open.

“You know what’s going on. Tell me.” He wants to sound demanding, but he has grown too soft to even raise his voice at you.

You open and close your mouth a few times, and he waits patiently for an explanation, but before he can get one, your phone rings. He’s about to tell you to ignore it, but you quickly turn to pick it up. His eyes follow you, and he listens in to your conversation (as he usually does when you talk on the phone with someone).

“Oh, hi, Bulma… Yeah, I saw. I figured it was you. So Goku is back? Tomorrow? But that’s a month early! Yeah, I know. I’ll be there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Raditz watches as you hang up, and slowly, very slowly, turn to him. You still look distressed as you lock eyes with him.

“The Saiyans are getting here tomorrow.”

He couldn’t hide the surprised look on his face. Tomorrow? Has it been a year? No, that’s why you said ‘that’s a month early’. It hasn’t been a year, but he has lost track of time to even notice how long it’s been. He’s been too distracted.

“And… They brought Goku back to life. Now you can’t use the Dragon Balls…”

Raditz frowns. He wanted the Dragon Balls to make a wish (immortality, was it?) but he doesn’t really care about that anymore.

You’re looking at him with big eyes, and he understands why you seem so upset now.

When Raditz takes a few steps forward he isn’t really thinking, he just knows that he wants to touch you and feel you close more than ever before. You’re startled by how fast he lunges towards you, and you even gasp when he kisses you. He presses you against the telephone stand, almost tumbling it over, but he really doesn’t care, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He kisses you as if he hasn’t been kissing you the past few days, the past few months, with intensity, tasting your lips and every corner of your mouth.

“Raditz-” You call for him against his lips, clinging to his shoulders. “Wait-”

“I don’t want to wait.” He practically growls, gripping your waist so tight he regrets it, thinking he might have hurt you, but you only hum in response. “I don’t want to talk. Just…”

At a loss of words, he trails off, but luckily you don’t try again.

You only moan his name, and the occasional curse, when Raditz presses you against the mattress moments later, moving in and out of you at a slow pace, kissing you heatedly the entire time, swallowing down all your noises and all the words that escape your lips. He groans your name against your skin every time he comes, holding you close, knowing this time that he will have to let you go once tomorrow arrives.

When he decided that this situation with you was just a distraction in what could only be considered a ‘pause’ in the usual pace of his life, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He feels like he’s bleeding inside again, for different reasons now.

Raditz stays in bed with you for most of the day (he still knows you’re human, and you can’t possibly keep up with him if he were to actually fuck you all day long, and you both need to eat anyway). For once you don’t talk too much, and he realizes he actually likes it when you do, when you ask him questions or when you quip a witty remark at him.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do tomorrow.

“You’re not going to go there, are you?” Raditz asks you the next morning, eying you up and down as you sit on the bed, tying up your shoes.

“No, I’m going to be at Kame House.”

“That pink house where we met?”

“Yeah…”

He nods. He doesn’t know why he even asked, if something were to happen to the planet, it wouldn’t matter where you are.

“I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, I can get there myself.” You show him a small smile. “Thank you, though.”

Raditz would argue but it’s better that way. He can say goodbye to you alone here.

As soon as you stand up, he kisses you. You get surprised every time, but you return it just the same. He glides his lips over yours, slow and sweet, as he holds your face. This might be the last time he gets to kiss you, so he makes it last until he feels you’re struggling for air. He’s going to miss that hazy look in your eyes when he breaks a kiss, the look you currently have as he leans his forehead against yours.

Unsure of what to say, Raditz just keeps his eyes locked with yours for a while. You said before you want him to say goodbye whenever he leaves. He doesn’t want to say it, but he does anyway.

“Goodbye.”

His body protests when he takes a step back, his hands on your face leaving you last. You still look distressed, and he waits for a minute, in case you want to say something.

When you don’t, Raditz finally turns to the balcony, opening the door and flying away.

#dbz imagine #dbz fanfiction #dbz fics #raditz x you #raditz x reader #dbz #raditz #my writing #*bs

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parragone · 1 year ago

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wip weekend except i haven't posted anything in weeks and now it's everyone's problem

this one is part of a currently... 31k Mando S3 rewrite where I'm being self indulgent in my ships because frankly it's my fic and i'll do what i please! the ship relevant to this particular snippet is pazdin but -

it's canon divergent, meaning that Moff Gideon fucking died, and there's in-story reasons as to why Luke's ended up vibing with the Mandos, there's a different big bad at the end of the season, it's fine dwbi there's nothing dangerous here :)))

this snippet covers Paz and Din having a tender moment, followed by Bo-Katan telling the story [ very abridged ] of how Din came to have the Darksaber. To a bunch of kids and adults sitting around a fire. Because I needed exposition about how Gideon died lmao

it's about? 2,770 words in length

To see Paz and Din at ease once more rather than at each other’s throats was wonderful by itself, but she quickly realized there was more to their motion than simple affection. She leaned slightly to tug the attention of the princess to the pair who stood nearly on the border of the firelight and discreetly pointed to where the two men had crossed their wrists together between them. They faced opposite directions yet made no attempt to move away from each other, each visor fixated directly on the gaze of the other.

She straightened up as she observed her beroya and cabur, the two men who had known each other as if they had never once been parted. Where others saw conflict, she knew well that there was only respect and love; they treated each other with the harshness they knew they could handle. They existed in tandem, each doing what the other never could.

“Watch,” she instructed softly. “You asked what I meant when I told you they loved each other, so watch.”

With the tender moment came quiet attention from those nearest to them, though the new arrivals seemed to be just as curious as the princess beside her. She watched as the two men slipped their wrists down to clasp their hands together, then as Paz lifted the beroya’s hand to the crown of his helm. Twenty years ago, this may have been a dance with paces too quick to track; tonight, it was two men taking slow and even steps in a circle in the sand.

As if not a day had passed since they had parted.

The shadows that flickered along the desert sand were united as though they were one being. Din leaned forward to rest his head on their joined hands, the silver and blue of their helms acting as lovely complements in the light, and Paz lifted his hand to rest on Din’s shoulder as the two stopped where they stood. She could see them shift just enough in the sand to face each other and their lack of weaponry became evident to her.

After a moment, the beroya touched his kar’ta beskar with his free hand before he placed that same hand against the heart of Paz’s armor, and something shifted in the warriors who were paying attention. Anyone familiar with their tradition knew that it was an act of penitence to do such a thing, an apology from the soul itself that could not be put to words. It was a sincere gesture given only when one accepted full ownership of the past.

And even a fool could understand the forgiveness shown in how Paz reciprocated the gesture. They barely seemed to breathe as they removed their hands from each other’s chests and lowered their clasped hands without releasing them. When they pressed their helms together, a soft murmur of approval filtered through the attentive warriors as they turned away and gave the men the appropriate privacy.

“I thought they were at odds,” Bo-Katan confessed quietly as she took her eyes off the two men. “Why the apology? And why so public?”

“Din became a product of what he endured during the Imperial reign.” The Armorer spoke softly as she kept her eyes on the two boys she had watched since their youth. They had settled into each other’s space and hadn’t tried to move away, and so she assumed that the moment was necessary. “I believe he sees himself as a crypt of things best left forgotten. As for the public display, I believe it is to show us that they do not need to be separated if they get into a fight again.”

Not that she wouldn't separate them if they gave her reason. She needed them able-bodied, and their physical combat had never been kind to either of them. Public apology or not, she knew they knew she would knock sense into their skulls if necessary.

The princess seemed to deflate slightly as her shoulders lost some of their tension. As she spoke, she shook her head with a soft laugh of bewilderment. “I’ll admit I thought he’d always been the way he is. I’ve asked around, heard the stories.”

“Stories?” That piqued her interest perhaps more than it should have and the way the woman reacted to her tone made her glad that she could not see the immediate shame. “I do not get the chance to hear stories of my warriors very often, and Djarin avoids the subject.”

“Yeah, stories. Not hard to find them, really.” Bo-Katan leaned back as she thought for a moment, a dim smile on her face as she watched the warriors mill about. “I heard one story about how he took it upon himself to annihilate an Imperial base by slipping in looking like one of them. How he slaughtered an Imperial sect alongside a Jedi I once knew well. Heard another about how he threw himself into the sky with nothing but a grappling hook and a blaster, hooked onto a TIE fighter, and blew the wing off before landing without a scratch. Another about how he supposedly took down an entire prison ship’s worth of droids on his own before getting double crossed, at which point he shoved the ones dragging his cloak into a cell themselves.”

The Armorer was quiet as she listened, her hands folded as she turned her head to watch the boy she had raised slowly rock in place with the man he had loved since childhood. He had never been one to speak on his own achievements, rather happy to allow the prestige of others to shadow him. There were a thousand things she could say, and yet-

“He destroyed an Imperial base?”

“Down to the foundation. According to the woman I heard it from, he did it to get the little one back, but I’d ask Fett for details.” The princess gave a small nod as she spoke, the silver strands in her copper hair shining in the firelight. “Not the first, not the last, I don’t think. I think he’d glass a planet if it meant he’d get that kid back. Took his helmet off for the little frog-eater.”

“He removed his helmet for the sake of the child.” Her heart sank to the core of her being. He’d never broken the Creed; he’d adhered to it in the most honorable way he could, and had chosen not to tell her.

“Right. Did he not tell you?” Bo-Katan tilted her head slightly as she asked her question, her attention now on the Armorer’s poised form. “That kid is why he has the Darksaber in the first place. Got a few friends to help him get on board a star cruiser, myself included, and then slaughtered anyone and anything that stood in his way. Beyond that, all the stories say the same thing; the man’s a phantom of death stained in Imperial blood.”

“And you can be certain they are true?”

“True as my heart beats, Armorer. I’ve seen his strength. I don’t doubt a single story I’ve heard.”

The princess sat upright as a child slipped past the skirts of a warrior, bright-eyed and fascinated with her. Another pair of children lingered behind the legs of the adults, and the Armorer realized that they were surrounded by keenly listening warriors and children alike. The one who had braved the approach folded their arms in a clumsy but well-meaning salute before they spoke.

“Can you tell the stories, alor?” Admiration was the only name that the Armorer could attribute to the way the child spoke. “Of the Mand’alor?”

“Well,” she started, then stopped. The princess followed the Armorer’s gaze and watched as the man in question moved indoors with his partner, apparently quite unaware of the goings-on. The older woman waited for a moment before she gave Bo-Katan a nod of approval, at which the warrior seemed to puff up considerably.

“I’ve heard many stories. He once slew a krayt dragon on Tatooine by leaping into the maw and allowing himself to be swallowed with explosives so he could trigger it from the inside,” the princess started as she waved one hand, and the excitement of the children around them grew. “From the stories I heard, he slew an entire clan of bandits and an assassin droid from the Empire to save that little one right over there. His foundling.”

Grogu cooed as if on cue from his cradle, his absurd ears perking up as he seemed to giggle with delight at the mention of his guardian’s achievement. The children seemed to laugh, several of them seeming to shift their attention to the child for a moment before the princess sighed softly. There was a certain weight to her shoulders as she pondered her next words.

“Let me tell you the story of how he took the Darksaber from a horrid demagolka and why he removed his helmet. The story that began his quest to return to Mandalore,” Bo-Katan began as she gestured for more children to come sit with her. “It’s the stuff of legend, really. I am honored to have fought beside him to see it.”

As if she had called to give them sweets, children emerged from behind the safety of their guardians to settle into a loose circle around where the princess sat beside the Armorer. Adults had shifted their attention to the two women and she could see that even Skywalker had turned his attention to the Kryze sister, who seemed surprised at the number of little eyes on her.

“Well, I suppose everyone would be curious, wouldn’t they,” the princess sighed as she leaned on her knees. “Din Djarin lost his foundling to the machinations of a man named Gideon, a Moff of the Empire. This man was cruel, the executor of the Night of a Thousand Tears, and had come across the Darksaber when I myself surrendered it to him in an attempt to stop the bombardment.”

There was a gasp from the children, and a collective discomfort for the warriors who knew of the Purge. Many of them had never known the surface, only the glassed remains of the planet that remained; a great number of them were converts or post-Purge foundlings, and so they too knew nothing of the planet they should call home. The fact that Bo-Katan was at least partially responsible was a painful truth, but a truth nonetheless.

Bo-Katan gave a slow, pensive nod as she continued. “I know little of what happened for Gideon to get his hands on Grogu, but I know that Djarin appeared in my presence with a deadly assassin and legendary bounty hunter. He intended to storm an Imperial cruiser with nothing but a beskar spear and the fury of a buir scorned, but had come to me for aid. In exchange, I asked for the cruiser, not knowing that the Darksaber was aboard.”

“You didn’t know?” One child’s voice was soft, barely audible from where she sat.

“Not a clue. I had thought Gideon destroyed the Darksaber to spite our traditions,” the princess confirmed. “I was not there when the fight began, but I arrived to the bridge that served as the arena midway through and sealed the doors behind me so no one could support the demagolka. I was quickly wounded and cast out from the fight beside the child. The Moff struck me in the hip with a dirty shot and promised that I would die that day once he was done with the beroya, that he would take the child and all we’d lost would be for nothing. The fool didn’t know who he fought.

“Din Djarin fought like the Manda itself had possessed him to take his foundling back from the Moff. He bore a beskar spear that he used to block every strike of the Darksaber and threw himself wholly into combat, not a single movement wasted, but even the greatest of warriors tire. When the Moff saw him stagger, he raised the Darksaber high to cut Djarin across the neck, where we are at our weakest; but before he could make his move, the Mand’alor struck him through the eye with the tip of his spear.”

There was a gasp of shock from some of the children and a nod of approval from some of the warriors. A slight twinge of pride rose in the Armorer’s chest as she listened; if a man was fool enough to fight without a helmet, then his hubris should be exploited. It was a lesson all the children she had taught learned early.

“There the Moff fell,” Bo-Katan said, her voice proud and strong as she raised her hands to imitate the movement of a corpse falling to the sand. “And Djarin stood, wounded and weary from his fight but victorious. A beskar spear in one hand, the Darksaber in the other, he knew nothing of what he had won. Yet he had no time to celebrate his victory; deadly death trooper droids had come to finish the Moff's work.

“Yet, somehow, we were not forsaken. An ancient enemy of our people had come to save us. We watched through the security systems as a cloaked figure carved through all the enemy’s reinforcements like a blade through air and came to the bridge. That he had saved us was pure coincidence, for the truth was that he had come for the Child.”

The children closest to Grogu looked at the child, then back to the redeemed warrior. It seemed that all who listened had gone silent, waiting on the truth that laid at the end of the tale. A story meant to be written in Song should have an ending, after all.

“The Jedi and the Mand'alor seemed to understand something beyond myself,” Bo-Katan said, her voice heavy with what the Armorer thought might be sorrow. “And the newly won Mand’alor knelt before the little foundling he had been willing to die for and removed his helmet. He urged little Grogu to be brave and to be safe. I watched as he placed a pendant from his neck with the Child, but not once did I see his face before he replaced the helmet as the Jedi left.”

“He gave the child his pendant?” The question escaped before she could stop it, and the way Bo-Katan straightened in surprise told her that the princess knew nothing of the significance. The Armorer cleared her throat with no small measure of embarrassment. “It... That pendant was the riduurok pledge of Paz Vizsla.”

“What’s it mean to give it away?” A child near Bo-Katan asked the question as they bounced eagerly in place.

“It means...”

She stopped to think for a moment as the tribe’s eyes settled upon her. He had no idea who had survived the tragedies of Nevarro. He’d lost his home, his covert, and as far as he could possibly know he had nowhere to go. The love he had held since his youth had, to his knowledge, perished in an act of devotion and protection; he had no reason to believe she had survived. To remove his helmet in any situation, especially in the presence of their ancient enemy, would mean that he had lost his Creed.

Silence settled over the tribe as she stood and approached the cradle. She lifted the little creature from his place and ruffled his robes with a tender hand until she found the pendant in question, hidden beneath the signet and the beskar shirt that kept him safe. Wide, brown eyes looked up at her with a curious noise of confusion as she ran her thumb over the surface of the old piece.

When she had made the piece, it had been a gift from Vizsla to a foundling who barely spoke. Before Djarin had become beroya, before he had learned to run from anything that might be stable because attachment led to comfort and mistakes. It was a symbol of loyalty, a bond that could not be broken by time, distance, or death. Paz had been safe harbor since the moment he’d given the pendant to Din.

The details had been rubbed away by time. It weighed nearly the same it had when she had pulled it from the forge for a patient cabur. An anchor for a soul that didn’t know roots.

A choice to reconnect.

“It means that Grogu is his child in all but rite.”

“He’s Mandalorian?” Ragnar perked up as he caught the Armorer’s attention. He'd nearly blended in with the adults by lurking in their shadows, a valuable skill for someone with a habit of getting caught by things far larger than himself. She gave him a small nod as she placed the child back in his cradle, an act which earned her a giggle and the clutch of a small hand in the curve of her thumb.

“He is Mando’ad.”

Her son had stopped running.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #fanfic #wip weekend #the armorer #bo katan kryze #grogu #mando #parragone's wips #pazdin

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bravevolunteer · 1 year ago

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VERSE — MOVIE ( CONTAINS SPOILERS & CANON DIVERGENT, tw for canon-typical themes & suicide mention )

just to get straight to the point : it's mainly canon divergent in the sense that i will be altering details in order to make mike an afton. do i think this is going to happen in the movie timeline? no. do i think it's more likely that they're going to explain the oddly personal kidnapping through mirroring the emilys? probably. but it's MY michael afton blog and i can put on my tinfoil hat as much as i want about it. of course i am willing to adapt based on other's info / preferences but given that this isn't my main canon anyway it is meant for those that are interested.

Mike thought he knew everything there was to know about what happened to his family: what he was never told is who his real father was. He was too young to remember anything about William Afton before his mom separated herself from him entirely ( one night stand, breakup, what have you, i'm not picky- ), so he always thought of the father he grew up with as his dad, the reality never changed anything about that.

Until he was twelve years old and Garrett went missing, and everything fell apart. William followed the Schmidts there, taking Garrett in a targeted attack ( whether or not he was trying to grab Mike, took him out of spite, anything else is also flexible ). Everything grew solemn and tense, each of the Schmidts lost in their own individual grief. Slowly, they stopped having dinners together, stopped going out as a family, stopped being able to feel like things were normal. The grief and guilt only added to Mike's developing anger issues and depression. Although it wasn't on purpose nor with any malicious intent, his dad was the more distant of his parents at the time, serving as the first hint towards his biological parentage and simply because as much as he cared for mike, he was grappling with losing his biological kid ( think tse henry- well meaning but drowning in grief enough for the child to pick up on it ).

This is where Abby comes in, where the Schmidts have another kid in an attempt to feel like a normal family again. It almost seems to work, although there is still that underlying sense of collective grief. Mike was older by then, too ( while he graduates high school, he either doesn't go to college at all or doesn't finish it ).

Their mom dies and the brief sense of possible stability disappears again. It's when Mike is staying at home again for the funeral/to help with Abby that their father commits suicide, unable to take the grief. Mike has had custody of Abby since then.

The events proceed as they did in the movie, William's recognition of Mike in the office not only stemming from the kidnapping but the fact that it's his kid, although Mike doesn't find anything out beyond the fact that it's the man who took Garrett. There is potential for more hints towards this in past interactions with his aunt or birth records or even his dynamic with Vanessa, but for the most part this specific realization is left open.

Following the movie's events, he... does come home to his aunt in the living room. After reporting her death, Mike actually goes back to Freddy's one more time to get security footage in order to prove his innocence. Afterwards, he does his best to hold down another job to keep taking care of Abby in peace, but something about Freddy's gives him the sense that he'll come back to make sure nothing like this happens again.

#⁂ ･ﾟ: the secrets that you keep when you’re talking in your sleep ➛ movie #fnaf movie spoilers #this is waaaay longer than it needs to be i have got to shut up #so i'm cutting it here despite having more thoughts those can be hc posts #ANYWAY YEAH. GOING WITH A.FTON THEORY. HONK HONK #i do really like the idea of them mirroring the emilys and i KNOW this barely changes shit but #i am just trying to find a way to Combine The Two in my brain and keep the general basis i've been working with for so long #it's like... he's michael but grew up under completely different circumstances. why he didn't treat his brother the same way.#he has completely different experiences but they resulted in a similar guilt. similar reactiveness. similar protectiveness.#so the a.fton thing just helps me tie them together even if it doesn't *really* come into play #'oh william pausing was because he recognized garrett's last name' mf why would he KNOW that if he just took a random kid.#'mike looks similar' that was a BABY. why would he go all the way to nebraska to kidnap some random kid it's so personal!#something about the way he's the only one to call mike 'michael' in the whole movie!#fnaf is all about going wild with it it's fiiine

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clairelutra · 1 year ago

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cuprous chloride (a Sapphire Blaze rewrite) (1/?)

Fandom: Hidden Legacy series - Ilona Andrews Relationships: Catalina/Alessandro, Catalina & Runa, Catalina & Leon Rating: M Chapter Length: 7.8k (7.8k cumulative) Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Discussed and Attempted Suicide Additional Tags: For Want of a Nail, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Casefic, Action & Romance, Friendship, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Smart Catalina Baylor Notes: CATALINA!! DESERVED!! BETTER!! MUCH MUCH MUCH BETTER THAN BOOKS THAT READ LIKE SECOND DRAFTS!!! she's MY BLORBO now. i'm breaking out of my hiatus for this because i love what ilona andrews wanted her to be so much and it physically pains me to read books where she is Distinctly Not That. my blorbo now. m i n e. 😭 Read on SquidgeWorld

My dreams had been stressed out even before I was woken up. A perfect aquamarine ocean stretched out in front of me, looking like Florida but somehow I knew I was in Italy. I bobbed along in the water, unaided as it pulled me back to sea. There were fish chasing my hair, brightly colored and curious.

I knew that I had to stay very, very still, or their little mouths would open to reveal great big teeth. I'd already been bitten once, my arm stung with the injury just above the bicep. Just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still, still, still...

BOOM!

I had a brief, powerful vision of the plane with my sister and brother-in-law it pitching into the water, and woke up with a gasp.

Heart pounding frantically, I scrabbled at the sheets, pain lancing through my chest as I took in the room around me—the loft room that had once been my sister, Nevada's, but was mine now because she wasn't here anymore.

In quick succession, I remembered that she wasn't here because she moved in with her husband and therefore wasn't dead, and then that she and said husband were out of the country for a funeral, and then that I, Catalina Baylor, was Head of House Baylor because she had stormed out less than a week ago.

A second stab hit my heart as I remembered her face, a mask of chilly stoic fury as she signed the rights and responsibilities of House Head over to me, witnessed by the Keeper of Records.

That feel when you disappointed your big sister so hard she just packed her bags and left, leaving you in charge of five people who'd never once in their lives thought of you as an authority figure? Hurt like hell.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, then realized there was another person in the room with me.

Or, rather, the head of another person in the room with me.

Arabella, my younger sister, was watching me from the doorway.

Habitually, I opened my mouth to tell her to get out, then shut it as I registered her expression. She was flushed, her blonde hair sticking up at odd angles—but her honey eyes were wide and alert, irritated and worried.

"You up?" she rasped.

No. But Heads of Houses didn't get to tell their sisters to fuck off, so I blearily nodded instead. My chest still hurt.

"Augustine's here."

That woke me up in a hurry. "Augustine Montgomery?" I croaked. It was still dark outside, and I had gone to bed at one A.M. after several hours of reviewing our business records. The alarm clock on my nightstand told me it had been only an hour or so since I had crashed.

Augustine Montgomery had come up in a lot of those papers, because technically, he owned our business. He was the Head of House Montgomery, and when we sold our business to pay for our late father's experimental cancer treatments, it was Montgomery International Investigations that bought us. We had it mortgaged on a 30 year plan, and Nevada, who supported our family after Dad died, had been whittling it down as much as she could... but there was still a solid one mil on the warehouse alone.

And she had left it to me to finish.

It was my job to keep the agency in good shape so we could do that, and my job to deal with the National Assembly politics, and my job to deal with any House matters that came to our table—which would be a lot more now, since our House was officially three years old and the protections afforded us as we found our feet were officially over.

Nevada had some timing.

And, unfortunately, she had left me to deal with Augustine too.

Sometimes, I really hated my big sister.

"Yeah. He's downstairs. He said he wants to talk to you. It's an emergency."

My first thought was, what could he want with me? and my second, sinking thought was, oh, he's here for the the Head of House Baylor.

Which was me, Catalina Baylor, the new Head of House Baylor.

My chest throbbed with a dulled pain, and I gave my younger sister a distracted nod. "Gimme five."

She bounced, no doubt jiggling that enviable figure; the genes for nice tits and a cushy ass had skipped right past me. "Hurry. Mom's with him in the conference room right now and she looks ready to shoot."

Mom especially wasn't particularly fond of our leash-holder, which meant I needed to get there fast.

Arabella snapped the door shut behind her and I flailed out of bed, the very image of grace and authority.

There was no time for anything I'd have liked to do when being faced with our scary, scary not-boss, but I staggered up to my childhood vanity and flicked on the rows of bare bulbs and viewed myself.

Oversized I <3 sleep tshirt over tawny stick-thin limbs? Check. Sleep-puffed face in desperate need of cold water? Check. A horribly tangled mane of dark brown hair? Check. The pock of a purple bruise on my left bicep from my fight with the cast iron skillet last night? I poked it and winced. Check.

I snatched up my hair brush and attacked my hair, mouthing the seconds to myself. It took 53 seconds to get it to a workable state and another 17 to get it into a messy but respectable bun. My shirt was shucked, my bra snatched off the bedpost, yesterday's jeans (miraculously unstained) pulled up over my ass, and a flowy white shirt that I saved for special occasions was snapped off a hanger in my closet. I stumbled out of my room and towards the bathroom with 116, 117, 118 on my lips.

Pressing cold water to my face and taming the strands of my hair that refused to put art into their messiness took me the better part of the next hundred seconds, but it tamed the flush and made me look (and feel) more awake.

No time for real makeup, but a brush of good concealer for the slight spots present on my face made me look a little less fresh out of bed, and a smidge of extremely careful eyeliner made my blue eyes seem a whole lot less groggy.

I was counting through the 250s as I took myself in.

Grandmother Victoria would have told me that if awoken between 11 P.M. and 5 A.M., I should be tall, regal, wearing a flattering silken bathrobe, with my eyeliner on fleek and a bit of rouge on my lips to perfectly project lady of the household, annoyed by your continued existence, don't test her.

Instead, I got professional 20-something after a long workday spent imbibing too much coffee, now trapped like a deer in headlights.

It was better than lazy teenager staggering out of bed on a Saturday afternoon, so I'd have to take it.

Though I should probably do something about the deer look.

I stopped counting for a few precious seconds, taking a deep breath to find my center (I was terrible at it, but sometimes it helped), then pictured what a Head of House should be—what Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter would be—and opened my eyes to the world, one hundred percent done with everyone's shit.

Good enough, I guessed.

(Nothing felt 'good enough' after Nevada left, but I couldn't give up before I began. My family was depending on me.)

My hands still trembled as I left the bathroom, counting 281, 282, 283 under my breath. I steadied them as I walked through the rehabilitated warehouse we called home.

The warehouse was where we had moved after selling our house to pay for Dad's treatment. The original plan had been to turn the whole thing into a comfortable house on the inside, but that was expensive and we had been broke (in more ways than one), so, predictably, walls and structures had been built as they were needed, and strolling through the main area that everything had been plugged into usually felt like strolling through a picked-over section of Ikea, if Ikea sold their showcases in blocks.

I found my family in the warm glow of the media room just as 300 left me.

Everyone was there except Mom. My brawny nerd cousin, Bern; his dark and wiry younger half-brother, Leon; my birdboned grease machine grandmother Frida with her halo of platinum curls; and, of course, small, full-figured and blonde Arabella.

They all looked even groggier than I had been, and they all were watching what looked like security footage.

The back end of a car was rolling through our gates, and one guard was saying to the other, "...a Bentley?"

The other shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was a birthday present."

"Dumbass," Arabella growled. I noticed then that the rest of my family looked distinctly pinched.

"Who? What?" I asked—and was glad I did, because it would have been terrible if Augustine heard me croak like that. I cleared my throat. "What happened?"

"Our security sucks," Leon announced. He said it lightly, but his hackles were up, his dark eyes flinty.

Grandma Frida's lips thinned, a rare look of condemnation on her laugh-lined face. "He didn't even knock. He pretended to be you and strolled right through the gates. And they—" She gestured harshly at the guards. "—just let him in."

A chill ran down my spine. If I had been more awake, a pit would have opened below my feet.

"What?"

Bern hit rewind and showed me someone who looked exactly like me passing the retina scan and the guards not so much as glancing at the logs that would show I was already home, and the person gliding through the gates was a fake.

Our three year grace period as a new house was officially over, painting a massive target on our backs that said fresh meat, and our staff didn't even double-check to make sure we weren't being infiltrated by an illusion Prime.

Nausea churned in my gut.

They had to be removed and replacements found ASAP. It wasn't reasonable to keep them on the payroll. The point of security was to keep the bad actors out, and for all we knew, these two would invite them in for tea and biscuits.

Mom wasn't going to like that.

"Try to look a little less like you swallowed a mouse," Grandma Frida advised, "and get in the conference room. Your mother is in there with that ass and a .50 Desert Eagle, and she'll put a bullet between his eyes any second now if there's no one to stop her."

She looked a bit mouse-inflicted herself, but she was right. I took a deep breath, fighting for my unimpressed and aloof cloak, and left the room.

I had been Head of House for three days, and twenty one for just as long. This would be my first interaction with another Prime as Head of a House, and Augustine was a shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit.

I couldn't fuck this up.

You are Nevada Rogan's sister, Penelope Baylor's daughter, and Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter. You can do this.

I walked across the hall to where the light could be seen shining through the frosted glass of the conference room window, bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, and strode into the room.

The two adults sat on opposite sides of the table; Augustine swiveled to the door to watch me ener, while my mother watched him like a coiled cobra, focused as a sniper on duty with her right hand below the table, doubtlessly fingering the Desert Eagle just out of sight.

They were a study in opposites when you looked at them like this. Augustine Montgomery always looked like a marble statue of some Greek god who thought it could Clark Kent with a pair of wire specs, and my mother was an ex-military mixed chick with a bad leg and nerves-slash-balls of steel.

Both of them could kill you faster than you could blink, and Mom looked like she was very, very close to that edge right now.

House business, House business, House business, I chanted to myself as I sidled over to Mom. As reassuring as it was to have a gun trained on the shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit, it would look horrible if my first meeting with a Prime as a Head of House ended with the other guy dead.

"Mr. Montgomery," I said. My voice didn't shake, nor did I sound half asleep. Score!

I looked at Mom and silently begged her to look at me. When she didn't, I said, "Mom, Grandma Frida was looking for you," and caught her eye as soon as she glanced at me. After a tense moment of me trying to ask her to let me handle this with my gaze alone, she nodded and withdrew, clicking the gun into her holster as she left.

Turning back to our... guest, I said, "Mr Montgomery, you know you're always welcome in our home, but it's the middle of the night."

He almost looked apologetic—or, at least, His Holiness was trying to look apologetic, which was as close as he came—and said, "It's an emergency."

I cocked my head.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone, and showed me the screen. On it, there was a teenage boy with short, bright red hair and a mischevious grin—the kind of grin that seemed to lurk on Leon's face at all times, just ready to be whipped out on a moment's notice. There was something about the shape of his face that tugged hard on my memory, but I couldn't place it.

"This is Ragnar. He's fifteen. He has a dog named Tank. He likes detective books and the Sherlock Holmes show." Passingly, I wondered if he meant BBC, Elementary, or some new one I hadn't heard of yet. "He plays a Ranger in Hero Tournament. Two days ago, his mother and sister died in a fire."

My gut wrenched, even as a logical corner of my brain pointed out that all this was coming from Augustine Montgomery and there was absolutely no reason he would be showing me this unless he wanted something from me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because right now he's standing on the roof of Memorial Hermann Hospital. He's thinking of jumping."

"Why are you telling me this?" I repeated around the lump in my throat. I couldn't look away.

"He's a Prime. Nobody can get to him. If we don't hurry, his broken body will be the leading story in the morning news."

I knew it would be broken, because I had been to Memorial Hermann Hospital all too many times myself. It was the place they told us that there was no hope left for Dad. It was far too many stories tall for little boys and girls who didn't want to be here anymore.

...If we don't hurry...

"Augustine, you know that's not what we do," I said quickly, but I knew it was too late. I was already praying I made it in time. "I've never pulled someone off a building before. We investigate insurance fraud, not..."

"But you can do it." He looked right at me. "It is within your power." When he saw my hesitation, he added, "Your sister asked me for a favor once. I'm calling it in. From one Head of House to another. He has one sister left. Right now, she's at the hospital praying he doesn't fall to his death."

It was within my power. If I walked away here and went back to bed, forget looking my reflection in the eye, I'd never sleep again.

"Okay." I straightened and wished I had something to fiddle with. "Let me grab my coat."

Augustine stood, a flicker of something that seemed terribly like genuine gratitude passing through his eyes as he stood. "Thank you."

---------

I turned the conversation over in my head as Augustine's driver took the silver Bentley through the empty streets at breakneck speeds, taking the two of us to the hospital.

Since when had Augustine Montgomery, leader of MII, CEO made of smoke and mirrors and ice, grown a conscience? Did Ragnar mean something to him? Did his sisters and-or mother? Who—or what—was worth waking him up at 2 A.M. and making a drive to a secondary agency to personally fetch a siren?

He had come to us.

There were a thousand halcyons out there. A careful poison specialist could immobilize him. A telekinetic could stick a wall in front of him. Why me? What game was he playing?

He had broken into our home, showed us our most glaring security weak points, and pulled all the pathos levers to get me to come with him. Pathos, not strength, not intimidation, not money. Just pathos. He'd called in a whole favor for it. I'd drink my favorite liquid foundation in a single shot if he'd done it out of the goodness of his heart.

God, House politics were exhausting, and I was still barely out of bed.

(What would Nevada think of all this? I wondered with a prick of pain in my chest. I wished I could ask her.)

"How do you know the family?" I asked. Might as well start with the basics.

"Ragnar's sister contacted MII in regard to her mother's and sister's deaths. She doesn't think the fire was an accident."

Which answered exactly none of my questions, and left me with several more. It didn't escape my notice that he had neatly sidestepped giving a House name—if they even were a House now. Ragnar was a Prime, and that was all I knew. Well, that, Tank, his preferred character in some video game, and his taste in fiction.

"Was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

So, that's a yes. And Baylor Investigative Agency was, as the name stated, an investigative agency. I'd drink the rest of my liquid foundations if he didn't plan to pawn this case off onto us.

That still didn't explain why we'd started with the suicidal teenager and not a formal meeting in his shark aquarium office.

"Did you take the case?" Do I get a say in the contract or not?

"She knows our rates."

"You turned her down." I didn't bother to keep the disgust out of my voice. As much as I appreciated being able to write my own contract, the thought of a heartbroken and desperate young woman getting the patented Augustine Montgomery treatment made my gorge rise.

"I'm not running a charity." He glanced at me in the rearview, clearly annoyed. "If I'm going to put my people in danger, I have to properly compensate them. You, of all people, should know how much is at stake when one looks into a Prime's death."

A Prime, singular. That meant it was a family of four, with at least two Primes. One dead Prime, one dead not-Prime, one living-but-suicidal Prime, one person of unknown magical strength. They were almost definitely a House. I still didn't know their last name. Or what happened to their father.

I did know that the mysterious sister was rich enough to get into Augustine's office, but not rich enough to hire him. Which meant she was likely rich enough to make our bills easier to pay and would still be on the lookout for investigators. Just $1,039,055.54 left on the mortgage.

I caught myself there and swallowed. Two people were dead and one more might be soon if we didn't get there in time, and I was thinking about the bills. God dammit.

I rubbed my forehead. "Did you at least tell his sister what to expect if I have to use my magic?"

"I told her the boy would have to be sedated."

Good enough.

The car pulled into the parking lot and a Hispanic man met us at a near sprint. He didn't bother with the front doors; he ripped mine open and subjected me to the sub-thirty temperatures. Thank god I had picked my windbreaker for this trip.

"Did he jump?" Augustine beat me in asking by a single breath.

"No, sir."

"Come on," he said, and jumped out of the car with me hot on his heels.

The gloriously warm air of the hallway beat back the icy chill of the outdoors. A group of people waited by the bank of elevators, some in scrubs and some in suits, all wearing the same panicked expression.

Apparently, they had been waiting for Augustine, because they saw us and scattered, leaving behind a single redhaired woman.

I knew that redhaired woman.

Runa Etterson.

I had met her at Nevada's wedding, when one of the many enemies of House Rogan (the House of her husband) had poisoned the cake. The only reason any of us were alive now, Augustine included, was because Runa had purged the toxins before the cake had arrived. She was a Prime Venenata, a poison mage.

Now, I could hardly recognize her. Her bombastic personality was muted; that vibrancy that could fill a room had been doused like a flame. Her pretty face was red, tearstained, and puffy. Her clear grey eyes were clouded over with fury and despair. She had grown since I'd last seen her, and shrunk again in the worst way.

Just looking at her was enough to make my chest ache so powerfully I couldn't breathe.

She looked at me like and a fire lit in her eyes. A blaze of hope.

I knew then that I would die before I let her down.

"Catalina?" she rasped.

"Catalina, there is no time," Augustine said, cutting off my reply. He strode into the open elevator, then turned and waited for me, and my feet obeyed.

The last thing I saw as the doors closed was Runa looking at me like I was the answer to all her prayers.

--------

The elevator hummed, carrying us upward, brightly lit and perfectly normal. In the mirrored wall, I could see the Heads of Houses Baylor and Montgomery standing side by side in the mirror.

At least I looked the part, even if I didn't feel like it. My bronzed complexion did me the favor of not looking too sallow, and my eyeliner made my eyes look more alert than they were. I took my thick, dark hair out of its bun and let it cascade over my shoulders—people liked that look.

Maybe it would buy me a few seconds.

Despite the older windbreaker and jeans, I could be considered a well-to-do young lady. Poorer than the painfully expensive suit beside me, but somewhat dignified. My eyeliner hadn't smudged yet.

If Nevada wasn't so pissed at me, she'd probably be proud of me.

I had a few answers now, at least. Augustine had likely rushed to get me because he had people inside the building, and a Prime Venenata completely losing it because she lost her last living family member would be more destructive than a sudden biobombing; as heartless as Heads could be, they often looked after their own with ferocious dedication. He had heard Runa out because he owed her a favor, and come to get me personally because he had a favor of his own to burn, free of charge.

Runa's little brother was going to commit suicide.

"You didn't say he was from House Etterson." If he was a Prime poison mage then that explained why that detail had been gently elided, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a little sour about it.

"Was it pertinent information?"

Yes. We owed Runa too, after all. Even more than he did. "That means he's a Prime Venenata."

"I told you he wouldn't let anybody get to him."

I could imagine. I was not looking forward to trying my luck.

"Has he killed anyone?" I asked. Distressed poison mages had been known to do that from time to time.

Augustine sighed. "He's a gentle child. He made them sick enough to turn them back, but he didn't inflict permanent damage."

I didn't show my wince. People I used my power on were not always so kind. Let's hope his nature held true.

The numbers on the digital display crawled up past the oncology floors. I had never been this high up in the building.

"When the doors open, turn left," Augustine said. "Go to the door marked 'exit', and up one flight of stairs. There will be a metal door that will give you access to the roof."

"And once I'm there?"

Augustine was too dignified to shrug, but he would if he hadn't been. "Have a talk with him, poison mage to siren."

"That's a terrible plan," I informed him sourly.

"Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I'll be there, and I'll help."

It wasn't me I was worried he'd hurt—or, at least, not primarily so. And Augustine being there could only make it worse. "If he sees you—"

"He won't."

Okay then.

The elevator doors opened, and I took the path at a half-run, heart in my mouth. The passage smelled overpoweringly of vomit, the stairs showing a hefty coating of chunky substance.

Okay, I could deal with a bit of unprompted food poisoning. Probably. It might make it hard to sing, though.

I took a deep breath, regretted it, and pushed through the door onto the roof.

Ragnar stood at the opposite end, a lone figure in a hoodie and jeans. The lights of Houston outlined him in their multicolored glory; he was young and small and far away.

Quietly, I took a few steps onto the gravel, then a few more. It was loud on the streets below, but not up here. Up here it was cold and dark and so very, very lonely.

The only thing worse would be to go back to the white walls and uncaring cacophony of the hospital below. To sit in that place that brought nothing but news of loss and pain.

"Hey," I said, just loud enough to carry, weaving the smallest amount of power into my voice as I could manage. The last thing I needed was for him to rocket over the edge because he felt me coming.

"You're not going to stop me either," said Ragnar. His voice was that high-low mess of puberty and terribly determined.

My heart pounded on my throat; I tasted copper. I wove a stronger thread into my voice as I said, "Why would I stop you?"

"Because people are stupid," he bit out. I took another few steps forward. "You don't understand."

"Runa—"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

I breathed through the lump in my throat and blinked my stinging eyes. I could hardly feel the wind. "That's not what you want to tell her."

Puzzle him. Make it so that if he jumps, he'll never know the answers.

Ragnar snapped around to glare at me. "What the fuck else would I say?"

"You want to tell her 'you're welcome'."

"...Excuse me?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him a wan smile. I pulled the power out of my voice again. I wanted him pissed off, not placid. "That's it, isn't it? Mom isn't here anymore. You're Runa's responsibility now. She's barely an adult herself. If you jump, she won't have to worry about you. All she'll have to worry about is herself. You know you'll be a mess, and she isn't any better off than you are; why would you want to drop that weight on her?"

It was what I thought about whenever I passed through the oncology office's waiting room. I remembered sitting there in one of those hard plastic chairs, nine years old, doing the math for how many mouths Nevada would have to feed all alone, and then subtracting myself and doing the math again. It would have been so much worse if it had only been the two of us. So, so, so much worse.

Ragnar stumbled away from the ledge, not wanting to fall by accident while he was processing that.

"No," he said, looking deeply disconcerted, "not that, I didn't mean— I didn't... wasn't..."

"My dad did chemo in this hospital," I continued. He focused on me again. "It wasn't working. My mom is disabled, and the rest of us were kids. My big sister was the only one who could take the hours needed to support us. She was seventeen."

The conversation had officially been deemed interesting enough; he took a few more steps back from the ledge and dropped into a sitting position like a discarded marionette. Thinking about Nevada hurt, but my pain wasn't for nothing.

I closed the distance, sitting a distant but companionable seven feet away, careful not to reveal how much I wanted to cry in relief. He wouldn't jump. "How much easier do you think her life would have been without me? Without us?"

"Lots." He was too raw and bitter to dress it up.

For a long time, that was what I had thought too.

"I don't think so," I said, and he shot me a flat, dubious, tearstained and empty look. I gave him another smile and a weak shrug. "You see, my sister is... responsible. She takes responsibility for things, and then she toughs it out. She would die for each of us, and she would live for us, too. I don't think she'd have kicked the bucket if she was the last one, but..."

Ragnar stayed warily silent, letting me search out the right words.

"She got married three years ago to a man she loved," I finally said. "Without us, she wouldn't have done that—definitely not this soon. With no one left to live for, she would still be fighting to get out of bed, not looking forward to her first baby." I held Ragnar's eye while blinking icy tears back from my own. "I don't know your sister that well, but I know family. If you jump, you'll save her the trouble of taking care of you. You'll take from her the will to live, survive, and thrive, too. You're the very last thing she has left."

Ragnar's mouth compressed, then stretched. He was absolutely furious with me, but too busy with his own heartbreak to do anything about it. In his heart of hearts, he knew I was right.

I had severed his way out.

I rested on the heels of my hands and dropped my head back to stare at the sky. Barely any starlight managed to prick through the pollution, but I admired what I could see. My fingers were well and thoroughly numb, and starting to burn with the chill, but I ignored that.

Healthy sobs from the lungs of a teenage boy wading through the worst night of his life came from a very mysterious source that I knew better than to seek out.

He wouldn't jump.

-----

By the time the noise had finally stopped for good, the rest of me was numb too.

I glanced down and found Ragnar a wreck, so burned out he looked like he was about to pass out.

I'd like to pass out myself, personally, but that seemed like a bad idea, especially when I couldn't feel my feet. That's what the little matchstick girl did, and look at how well that turned out for her.

With difficulty, I stood, and then I walked over to Ragnar and offered him a hand. He wiped his hands on his jeans and accepted—only to overbalance and drag me and my horrible footing down with him. Somehow, I managed to avoid kneeing him in the balls.

"Oops," he rasped into my windbreaker. Somewhere in all the pain, there were faint traces of humor. That was a good sign, probably. I hoped.

I patted his head, and together, we managed to get ourselves upright. Neither of us could stand alone, so we ended up supporting each other back to the door, and then down the stairs (they seemed to have been cleaned since I last saw them), and then into the elevator.

Augustine was waiting there, utterly impassive, to operate the elevator.

I didn't let go of Ragnar, and he didn't let go of me. With a stomach-turning bump, the elevator began its decent.

"Ms. Etterson will be thrilled to see you both in good health," Augustine said blandly.

I hummed an acknowledgement, gave Ragnar a squeeze, and waited out the rest of the trip in silence.

My eyeliner hadn't survived and now rimmed my eyes like a wannabe panda, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a failing.

When the doors opened, I caught exactly one flash of Runa's huge gray eyes and disastrous red mane, and then she was tackling her brother with a ferocity that made me ache inside.

Ragnar mumbled, "I'm sorry," and Runa started bawling, huge sobs of relief, too far gone for words.

I busied myself trying to rub some feeling back into my legs so that I could escape the elevator without falling flat on my face. Mostly I just got waves of pins and needles for my pathetic efforts.

Next to me, Augustine cleared his throat, and when I looked up, he offered a suited arm.

I grabbed onto it, and crushed back a smile when he stumbled under my sudden weight. Always nice to see an asshole taken off guard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy in scrubs approach with a needle. I tugged at Augustine's arm pointedly. "He doesn't need it. He's fine. I didn't use my power." Or, at least, not enough to need fixing.

Augustine halted the man with a wave, then gave me the side eye from behind his wire specs. "I seem to remember bringing you here to do just that. What was that about never having pulled someone off of a roof before?"

"Well, it's not like I pulled him," I muttered, only aware of how lame that sounded when it hung in the open air. "He came back on his own."

"For you."

"Details," I replied, then remembered I was supposed to be the dignified Head of the noble House Baylor, and shut my mouth again fast.

Augustine led-slash-supported me further away, until we were at an intersection where the bustle of activity would cover anything we said.

"From one Head to another, you should have used your power," he said quietly. "It would have made all of this much neater."

"My power is temporary," I said, "and suicidal tendencies linger. If I had used it, he may well have jumped as soon as I removed it again. If anything, it would've made things much messier." He knew why he had to live now, and that would last much longer than the glow of infatuation.

"I can't decide if you are abominably stupid, or very clever," Augustine mused conversationally. He didn't look away from the throngs of medical personnel. "The state of your security leaves me inclined to the former."

I tilted my head in acknowledgement, even as my cheeks burned. There was no point in denying it.

"Now House Etterson owes you a favor they'll never forget," he continued, "and one ally is better than none. Even if their House consists of two Primes alone."

I nodded and suppressed a yawn. I didn't point out that while they may have the bare minimum number of members in their House to continue qualifying as a House, they were poison specialists, and active ones at that. The number of people who owed Runa their lives started at the hundred plus member guest list from my sister's wedding and only stretched on from there.

There was a good chance they were critically isolated now, and could use all the friends they could get. Especially if the fire that killed the other two wasn't an accident.

"The reprieve granted to your house has just expired," he said under the sound of foot traffic. "People will be coming for you and yours. You're powerful but inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown quantity. Unfortunately, being unknown isn't enough of a deterrent."

"Thank you for the heads up," I said, and smothered another yawn. God, it must be well past 3 A.M. now. I should've been in bed. And I still needed to hitch a ride back somehow. I didn't put it past Augustine to not just leave me here, and I didn't want to impose on the obviously grieving young duo. "Never would have guessed that the ancient and noble houses of Texas tended to be bold about offing the newcomers."

I wasn't an empath, but I could still feel Augustine's tick of annoyance. It wasn't his fault that the fatality rate of new Houses was something I was intimately familiar with.

"Have you put due consideration into the connections you'll forge?" he asked. "Your sister has been very careful to untangle your House from her husband's enemies, but little to none in building your own friendships."

This was not necessarily true, but we were too busy trying to pay the bills to wine and dine properly. All our potential allies remained at a vague 'maybe'. I dropped to massage my calves again; the pins and needles were getting really bad now. "Got suggestions for us?"

"More than that—I have an offer."

There it was.

I glanced up and over my shoulder, hands not quite pausing on my leg; his Greek statue face was as impassive as ever. I probably shouldn't let him know I knew he had made Nevada 'an offer' no less than three times before, and that she had turned him down every time. "Go on."

"I offer a strategic alliance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I'd like you to handle them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII's resources within the scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my house."

To his credit, it didn't sound overly rehearsed.

I massaged the tendon above my heel, wincing. Why couldn't teenage boys pick nice summer nights to attempt suicide? "Do those benefits include better security?"

"As needed," he said.

On the tail end of Nevada leaving me in charge of House Baylor out of nowhere, I almost wanted to agree out of spite. If she wouldn't help us, why shouldn't we run into the arms of someone who would? And we genuinely, desperately needed security.

But Nevada had had her reasons for repeatedly spitting on the offer, and they weren't all because she was a hopeless daddy's girl who poured her heart and soul into maintaining the agency Dad had left to us.

"We would make nice arm candy for MII, wouldn't we?" I mused. A secret elite taskforce, and we looked good too. With good security. I switched legs and swallowed a pained hiss. My voice came out strained when i said, "How long would this arrangement last?"

"Ten years under these terms. Future iterations will be negotiable."

Yeah, no. No way.

I nodded slowly, and continued working my leg. My whole lower half was a blaze of pain, and my arms weren't much better. It made it hard to think.

Still, I managed.

If Nevada were here, it would be the money that drew her in, and a need for independence that pushed her out. If Mom were here, it would be protection that drew her in, and her own integrity that pushed her out. If Grandmother Tremaine were here, it would be information and influence that drew her in, and obstinate pride that pushed her out.

I agreed with all of them and none of them.

"Then let me make you a counter offer," I said slowly, turning the pros and cons over in my mind. "Keep your dimes. We won't become a subsidiary. We will provide MII with one thousand billable hours of our services—with stipulations—to a maximum of twenty hours every week, free of charge. In exchange, you'll give us three months of your best security, and publicly take me, Head of House Baylor, under your wing as a protegee for one year, affording me social protection and access to your connections through you."

If Augustine had an opinion on it, he was reserving judgement. "And the stipulations?"

I stopped rubbing in order to count off my fingers. "One, if there's a conflict of interest with a preexisting client, the client comes first. This courtesy will likewise be extended to you; we won't be bought. Two, we will not break the law for you. That is final. Three, we will neither aid nor turn a blind eye to hate crimes, harm to children, human trafficking, rape, death of uninvolved civilians, or mass destruction."

My sisters, cousins, and I had spent a while hammering out what, exactly, 'being able to look your reflection in the eye at the end of the day' entailed when we were stuck in the house and bored, and I was very glad we had. We had all agreed that there were always special cases, but those six covered most of them.

Hopefully none of them would hate me too much for this.

Augustine gave me a narrow look.

I smiled innocently. "You did say you would compensate us generously." I knew he had quoted Nevada at something like a hundred thousand per month the first time, and it had only risen from there as she proved herself. "Isn't this a steal?"

"I suppose it is," he allowed. His mouth slanted in something that could be considered a smile, if only by the farsighted. "Your sister was quite concerned with separating your names from ours. You don't share her reasoning?"

I shrugged, tested the stretch of my leg, swallowed a pained whine, and kept rubbing. "She doesn't want us to get swallowed up, but we're never going to get established as a House if we don't make friends."

Some other emotion flickered across his impassive face—entertained? "Am I a friend to you, Ms. Baylor?"

I opened my mouth; 'oh hell no' and 'well, you haven't wanted us dead in a while' ran into each other and went boom. Eventually, I said, "No, but I know you, and if you screw me over, my family knows where you live."

And then I yawned for real. Dammit.

"I see," he said gravely. He pushed away from the wall and offered me a gentlemanly hand. "This seems like a good time to conclude our business. I will think on your offer and call you for the details of the contract should I find it acceptable."

I grabbed his hand, and then clung to it for dear life. The state of my legs was so much worse now that I had woken them up. So, so, so much worse.

Disappointingly, he was expecting it this time, and wound my arms around his left bicep, letting me koala on him for the short walk to the Ettersons.

"Let me give you a small piece of advice, prospective mentor to prospective protegee," Augustine breathed to me as we walked. His breath was surprisingly warm and human over my ear; somehow, I had expected him to breathe like an air conditioner. "Do not become involved in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you're up against. It is no place for a young House. Sometimes when you search the night, you'll find monsters in the dark. You are not ready."

I felt myself smile wryly even through the pain. "Message received."

He knew we were all bleeding hearts; that 'warning' was as good as thumping a stuffed file and a quote on my office desk.

Runa stood by Ragnar, the boy pale and exhausted but alive as he slumped on the sterile white bench, the young woman hovering with ghosts in her eyes.

She saw me and broke into a mask of gratitude and relief so intense it looked like it hurt. She lunged for me, barely giving me the time to let go of Augustine before she swept me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you," she croaked into my hair, clutching me tight enough to make both of our skeletons creak. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..."

I held her close and stroked her hair. It was a knotted wreck. I wondered if she had a hairbrush wherever she was staying, or if personal hygiene had fallen to the wayside in the wake of her tragedy. "I'm just glad you're both okay."

She clung to me with trembling ferocity.

"Where are you staying?" I asked her softly. "I heard your home had been burned, but not much more... Home? Friends? Hotel?"

A twitch ran through her, like I had struck a raw nerve, and she jerkily shook her head. "Hotel."

I squeezed her gently. "That's no place to try to find your bearings from." Pulling free, I grabbed her shoulders, gave her a little shake, and caught her hopeless gray eyes. "Come on. We've got a guest bedroom and hot chocolate. It's good hot chocolate, I promise."

Her face crumpled; I drew her into a much gentler hug as she broke down sobbing.

"Shh, shh, shh... It'll be okay, I promise... Shh..."

Augustine looked at me over her head, flatly unamused. I rolled my eyes—like this wasn't exactly what he had wanted us to do anyway—and rubbed my cheek on the top of Runa's head.

"C'mon... Let's sit down."

Once we were sitting on the bench with Ragnar, Runa's face still in my shoulder and the boy looking at me like he hadn't decided if I was friend or foe, I pulled out my phone to text Leon, careful to keep the screen tilted away from the two Ettersons.

How're we feeling about two grieving unstable poison mages?

depends on the poison mage

Ettersons. They need a place to stay. I offered.

dear god... you make her head for one week........ shes gone MAD WITH POWER........

Mad with the power of squaring away life debts, yeah. You gonna get fam up to receive us or not?

Leon sent me a picture of a good-natured white man with a scruffy beard pointing a finger and saying, 'You got me there!', and then yeah i gotchu, and then need 2nd drvr?

"Did you drive here?" I asked Runa quietly. When she nodded, I rubbed her upper arm and typed, Yeah. Get Bern.

on it and then, after about twenty seconds, he added, eta is 15 mins

I let out a long, slow breath, locked my phone, and leaned into Runa, grateful for lots of things, but above all, grateful for the slight abatement of the pain in my legs.

#catalina baylor #hidden legacy #ilona andrews #sapphire blaze #catalina's trilogy #my fic #hallie's hidden legacy tag #cuprous chloride

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therealsaintscully · 7 months ago

Text

saintscully fic outtakes

I'm not sure exactly why I'm doing this, but I feel like sharing some things I found today in my Google Drive while looking for a file I was sure was there. I found a few documents with stories and ideas for stories that I never ended up writing and was just a little surprised. I completely forgot about writing some of those. Reading them is like reading someone else's stories. So, I thought I'd share some snippets, paragraphs that put a smile on my face, from stories I won't finish.

The longest one (2K+ words I forgot about!) is called After Life. Here's the description I wrote for it: 'This is a companion piece to I Have Not Lingered, told from John’s POV; it is set in Ricky Gervais’ After Life universe. This story is a canon divergence for both shows.'

Now I can look back on this and realize I ended up writing a variation of John's POV to I Have Not Lingered in Life and Death in Sunderland, which I love dearly. I'm shocked that I planned for this to be a crossover with Ricky Gervais' After Life. I have zero recollection of how I was planning to do that. Imagine that awkward reunion for David Brent and Tim Canterbury.

(TW: Suicidal ideation)

He’s counting up until he hits a number that would stand out as the number of days appropriate to wait before he joins Sherlock. Join where exactly, he doesn’t know. He’s been an uncaring agnostic his entire life. Calling Sherlock an atheist would be nothing short of an understatement. Sherlock would have berated him at the mere suggestion of a romantic afterlife reunion (“The only place to meet me after my death would be inside my coffin, John, but I’d rather not be so cramped for eternity, if you don’t mind.”).

So that's the reason he's counting: the number of days since and long enough until. Until he finds no reason to stop settling for watching the waves break against the shore. Until he decides to finally step into the water and walk, and walk, and walk until the water takes him. This morning he woke up thinking, "210 days since, 0 days until."

This isn’t the first time the counter had been at "0 days until." It almost happened before, but only almost. It was seven days after Sherlock died. That was the day John discovered that his gun wasn’t in the flat anymore. He tore the place up looking for it before he understood what had happened; someone had confiscated it. He would never know who or when. It was definitely there a fortnight earlier, but it certainly wasn’t by the time the count hit seven. It could have been Mycroft’s people. It could have been Lestrade. It could have been Sherlock, he realized back then, a wave of nausea taking over. Sherlock could have, would have planned his own suicide while John was being his oblivious, idiotic self. Sherlock would include confiscating John’s gun in his pre-mortem checklist. But that would mean… that would mean Sherlock had an inkling of just how much he’d meant to John. That he fathomed just how much John cared about him, loved him. But he didn’t, did he? No person in their right mind would jump so theatrically off a building in front of a man who loves them. No, Sherlock never knew how John felt. Or maybe he knew but it just didn’t compute in his brain, not enough. Not correctly. No. It must have been Mrs. Hudson. She knew. She knew everything. She caught every single one of John’s longing glances and heard every beat of John’s yearning heart. She’s a smart lady, tougher than he and Sherlock put together. She must have been the one to take the gun. She sensed John’s death wish well enough; she begged him to get rid of it by begging him to not leave Baker Street.

Next is Marrakech, which was supposed to tell us what John and Sherlock did in Morocco before they chased Mary down. I realized, after reading it, the idea of the story was for John to complain about not knowing anything about Mary, her childhood and her life, and ends up interrogating Sherlock about his favourite childhood books because that's what he really wants to know. I then I realized that I incorporated that long conversation into chapter 12 of Turned, nearly verbatim. I had no recollection of writing it in such detailed form for Marrakech.

They took a red-eye flight, hoping to bring his tempestuous wife back home this time. She has been gone for months. Sherlock, his sense of duty reaching new heights, had been waiting for a good opportunity to chase her down in a country that would turn a blind eye should anything go wrong or become incredibly illegal. They landed four hours ago. Not having had the chance to pack properly or book a hotel, they crawled into the first taxi at the airport and simply blurted out the word ‘hotel’ to the disinterested taxi driver. It took them about ten minutes to get here; they booked two rooms, but Sherlock, being Sherlock, was upgraded to a honeymoon suite due to a last-minute cancellation. John had never laughed so hard in his life as at the moment he saw a confused Sherlock scanning a king-sized bed decorated with swan-shaped towels and pink rose petals. "Congratulations, Sherlock," John giggled as Sherlock blinked wordlessly. The honeymoon suite had a fruit bowl and a steaming, minty tea cooking in a Moroccan teapot, so John saw no reason to venture out to his own room. Five minutes later, he found a deeply exhausted Sherlock spread like an octopus over bedspreads and petals, his phone nearly falling from his hand. Four hours later, Sherlock is still asleep, and John surveys the city streets through the screened window, wondering where his wife is and how it is that, despite his best attempts to always do everything right, he ends up watching men fly off roofs and wives running away from him.

The Guestroom was supposed to be a sweet post-S4 friends to lovers, with Sherlock babysitting Rosie at John's house for a week sleeping in the guestroom because John's due for a conference. By the end of the week, thing become... consummated, lol. At the guestroom, of course. These are the first (and only) couple of paragraphs:

He stares at the floor as he walks toward the hotel's car park, the entire lobby filled with doctors, all half-drunk, still willing to mingle on their first night of the week-long medical conference. Most of them will be staying at the hotel. Not that he has anything bad to say about Novotel Ipswich; it’s that the other choice of driving back and forth each day seems less threatening than spending a mind-numbing week with his mind-numbing GP colleagues. He clocks the long ride home in just under two hours, his mind mostly working out the logistics for the rest of the week. It's been a roller-coaster ride, making sure this week is somehow survivable; Rosie’s favorite minder agreed to the extra work at first, then cancelled last minute when her boyfriend (soon to be fiancé?) surprised her with a trip to Thailand. After scrambling last minute, he thought he’d found another minder who, unbelievably, was hospitalized with appendicitis on Saturday night. For a few hours on Sunday, John even considered taking Rosie with him and finding a minder in Ipswich when Sherlock came to his rescue. Yes. Sherlock. “She needs to be picked up from nursery and then there’s the whole evening routine, Sherlock,” John said. “Yes, I know, John,” Sherlock replied and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been watching you do it for months now. Nursery, tea, dinner, bath, book, sleep.” John stared at him. “I can take care of Rosamund,” Sherlock said, his face contorting in a way that only John would ever notice or understand. He was offended. “I know you can,” John said apologetically. “But… why would you want to?” “Would it be helpful to you?” “Yes, of course.” “Then that’s why,” Sherlock said, sealing the argument with his unshakable rationale. There was no arguing with that, really. He had to quietly persevere through several more eye rolls as he made sure Sherlock understood that means a) no taking Rosie on a case and b) not bringing a case to Rosie, and of course, their long-since established c) no explosives, period. Eventually, Sherlock dropped a large pile of cold case files in demonstration of how he’s planning to spend the week.

The End of the World was clearly supposed to be a nod Millenium, The X-Files episode. If you know, you know. I might actually write this one, one day lol :)

The room is just another hospital room, one of hundreds John has seen in his lifetime. The day, just another day with Sherlock: chaotic, unexpected, and ending—as so many of them usually do—with a concussion and far too many stitches. The only reason John managed to manhandle Sherlock into the A&E in the first place was because the suspect, a janitor at the hospital, was running for cover in the tangled web of the hospital’s expansive basement floor. Sherlock had chased the culprit down through emergency stairs and dove headfirst into a mangled hedge of roses and, well, here they are.

What do you think? I hope you like them :)

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bitacrytic · 2 years ago

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Idk if you have seen Bly Manor but there were two couples there. One w/w. Another w/m. And the w/m one; well there was something going on. And we have the main couple( the w/w one) comment on how the m in that relationship thought that love was about control. The way he pronounced his love- it was like ownership and how that can't be love. And this makes me think of canon kp and fanon vp.

By fanon vp I meant the glorification of the time in safehouse in some fics ( not all. Like maybe 2 in 8 or something)

____

Sorry, that it's taken me this long, Anon. Forgive me.

This is so so true. canon kp and fanon vp are just... *sigh

In canon, Kinn always believed that Porsche was his to own. From day one. We can dress it up as enemies to lovers, but the truth is that, his attitude towards Porsche was consistent. He doted on Porsche, but never really trusted him and whenever he got the chance, he made it known that Porsche was his property. Even when he was trying to let Porsche go, he said, "go before I change my mind," because it was his decision. Not Porsche's. Kinn viewed Porsche's actions as disobedience or obedience to himself. In the hospital, in the club bathroom, on the rooftop, when talking to his father. These weren't only things that happened in the first half of the show.

In the finale, Kinn looked Porsche in the eye and told him that if Porsche wasn't on his side, then he was the enemy. This was after Porsche showed up to help him. Yeah, he stares at Porsche like Porsche is the sweetest thing. But so do people who own dogs. They pamper the dogs and keep them on leashes so they don't move about freely. That is kinn's relationship with porsche.

And Porsche accepted it in the end. I can make an argument for Porsche -

wanting to use that as a ruse to go against Kinn's father, or

realizing he has nowhere to go and cracking under the pressure of Kinn's affection and just accepting it so that he can keep his brother and mother safe.

Either way, Kinn's love for Porsche was always coated in ownership.

HOWEVER,

In canon, even though Vegas started out as wanting to own Pete, the same way Kinn wanted to own Porsche, Vegas was aware of his own malicious intent. From day one, it was never about doing anything his father wanted. After all, Kun said to kill Pete. But no. Vegas was bored and lonely and in need of a toy. He took Pete so that he could play with him. Simple as that.

In a way, this was even more evil than what Kinn did. Because Kinn started out as seeing Porsche as some kind of enemy. And even though his feelings changed, his perception of Porsche as his property never changed.

But Vegas knew from the beginning. Pete was a toy.

And when Pete nearly died, things started to change. And honestly, if Pete had never broken down and threatened to kill himself, Vegas would have kept him locked up forever, content to know that his toy would never leave.

But Pete's behavior was the first red flag, for Vegas. That was the first moment he took a step back to regroup.

And this is the point that most people ignore about Vegaspete. This is where the divergence from canon begins. Most of fanon vp, not all, sees Vegas' love as ownership. They still view him as a man who wants a toy. Even though Vegas wants someone who isn't suicidal.

In canon, Pete didn't want ownership, so Vegas changed because that was the best way to have Pete.

In most of fanon, Pete accepts Vegas' ownership as love, the same way that canon Porsche accepted Kinn's ownership.

#kinnporsche #vegaspete

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 3 months ago

Text

Pairing: Aleksander Moroza x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Summary: Alyra Koshkova has always lived in the shadows, concealing her true nature to survive. But when tragedy forces her into the heart of Ravka's Second Army, she finds herself under the watchful eye of General Kirigan, the Darkling—a man as enigmatic as he is powerful. Struggling to come to terms with her newfound role, Alyra must navigate a world of hidden threats and dangerous alliances. As secrets unravel and the Darkling’s intentions grow ever more unclear, Alyra’s choices could reshape the fate of a nation—or lead to her own undoing.

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Warnings: Violence, Language

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Language, Depictions of Violence, War, Political Intrigue, Horror Elements, The Darkling has a Heart, Grisha!OC, Grisha Sympathetic, Alcohol, The Darkling was right about a lot of things

Chapter 4: The Rock and the Hard Place

As with all their most intimate of conversations, it was deep into the darkest part of the evening when Alyra strained against her bonds to settle beside him. It was then that he learned her story.

“The Druskelle took me in Ryevost,” her soft voice cut through the night, barely more than a whisper. “But the village I grew up in was in central Ravka.”

Ivan squinted at her, eyes narrowed against the dark as he tried to figure out where she was going. “I don’t understand—“

“You told me Petra’s story—the story of the General’s Grisha,” she cut him off. “Now I will tell you mine, the story of the Grisha beyond the Little Palace.”

He shuffled close so that he might hear her properly, stopping when only an inch of space remained between their shoulders. Settling in, he waited patiently for her to continue.

“My father died when I was young; I barely remember him. But my mother raised me outside the village. I never received a formal education, but I never suffered for it. She taught me my letters, how to chart the months by the position of the stars, and which plants would cull a fever or soothe a toothache. She always had a way with plants. I think the Second Army would call her an Alkemi, though she was only ever ‘Mama’ to me.” A soft smile played at her lips, some of the strain of their captivity peeling away in her sudden unguardedness. “I spent my days running through the woods and playing in the streams. They were the happiest days of my life.”

Ivan tensed, waiting for the inevitable turn in her tale. “But then she was taken by witch-hunters and I never saw her again.”

“You must have been very young to be on your own.”

“I was ten and wandering the woods when an apothecary and his wife found me. I think he knew what I was from the start, but he didn’t care. All Pavel saw was a little girl alone in the world that needed his help. They took me with them back to Ryevost, and that was that.”

Ivan nudged her with his shoulder. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t enough to save him.”

She shifted her cloak around her shoulders, pulling it up around her neck to block out the wind that had begun to pick up. “He had this way of making you feel like the most important in a room, and everyone who knew him respected his opinions. But he always had a hard time sitting by when he didn’t like something. So when Druskelle began to steal away Grisha in the night, and children with powers they never asked for were sold to brothels or pawned off to Shu Han to be experimented on, he decided that if the king would not do something, then he would.”

“I think I was thirteen when I first realized that he was smuggling Grisha into the country. He tried to shield me from the worst of his back-alley dealings, but life in a port city is rough and I would have been wrapped up in it one way or the other.”

Ivan drew a breath, the pieces starting to come together. “So that is how the Druskelle found you.”

She nodded, eyes drifting to some undetermined point on the horizon. “I told him it was too risky, but it didn’t matter. Not when there were lives at stake. It would have been fine, but somebody tipped them off.” A puff of laughter escaped her lips, bitter and hollow. “Pavel always said I couldn’t hide forever. That eventually the world outside would find me. And then one day, it did.”

He brushed his shoulder against hers, an uncertain show of comfort. And although he dreaded the answer, he asked, “What became of him?”

“They tore the shop to pieces before dragging Pavel and his sick wife from their beds. I tried to run, but a second troop caught up to me too. I don’t know what happened to them.” Her eyes glassed over in remembered pain, tilted her head up to meet his stare. “He committed his life to helping the Grisha when it would have been easier to bury his head in the sand. And look where it got him.”

“He did not deserve his fate,” Ivan murmured.

“No. He didn’t, and yet the world still turns.”

Ivan said nothing. There were no words for grief such as theirs. Instead, he nudged her towards him, settling her head against his shoulder, the ghosts of their pasts watching on.

The pieces of their pasts laid bare between them, and a tentative bond began to form between the captive Grisha. Each day, they endured the grim reality of their existence, and each night, when their jailors had fallen asleep, they would share stories of their childhoods, of memories from better times. Most were happy, some sad, but none as harrowing as the tragedies shared in those first tense nights.

One chilly autumn evening, with the stars scattered like diamonds across the sky, Alyra broke the silence, her voice barely louder than the rustling of leaves. “You know, you’ve never told me where you’re from, Ivan.”

The nights grew colder with each passing day, and in the mornings, the ground was covered in a lacy blanket of frost. The crisp air was a constant reminder that winter was fast approaching. Ivan watched as she tucked her legs beneath her, her movements slow, almost mechanical. She was thinner now than when they’d first met, a hodgepodge of sharp angle and ragged fabric. He wondered what he must look like to her—did she see gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes when she looked at him?

“You never asked,” he quipped, shaking the thought away with a slight tilt of his head, then rested back on his aching wrists.“I was raised on a farm outside Os Alta.”

Alyra hummed in amusement. “A farm boy. I should have known.”

He arched a brow at her, the shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing,” she teased, her smile evident even in the dark. “you just seem the strapping, hardworking sort. I bet you were quite popular with the girls in your village.”

There was a beat. He turned toward her, his expression loaded with meaning. The silence between them deepened, charged with an unspoken truth.

She caught on quickly, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ of surprise before she flashed him an understanding smile. “I see.”

He grunted in response, content to leave it at that. But Alyra seemed more keyed up than usual tonight, eager to engage in conversation.

“Did anyone ever catch your eye then?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach to watch him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “A handsome apprentice from a neighboring village, maybe?”

Ivan sighed, a long-suffering sort of sound. “Not during my time in the village, no. But there was someone waiting for me when I left the Little Palace.”

The strings of his heart tugged painfully at the thought of Fedyor, with his easy smiles and gentle hands. He wondered how he was faring if he was out there somewhere searching for him. Ivan swallowed hard, scooping a handful of loose dirt between his hands, letting it slip through the cracks between his fingers.

“And you?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than before.

Alyra snorted, a comforting sound in the quiet. “I fancied myself in love once. Andrei was a sailor. Scandalous, I know,” she said with a soft chuckle, the white of her teeth catching the faint light. “A few times a year, when the whether was good, his company would dock in Ryevost. Sometimes they’d only stay a few hours, sometimes weeks. But each time, he’d seek me out with some trinket he’d brought back from his travels in exchange for a kiss.” She paused, her expression clouding,” Pavel hated him.”

Ivan huffed in agreement, the sound low and thoughtful.

“I thought you might say that,” she said, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard ground. “I used to fantasize about the day he would take me away from the stink of the canals for adventures on the True Sea.” She scoffed, the bitterness in her voice cutting through the stillness. “I was a foolish girl. I let him take my virtue in a back alley. After that, the visits became less and less. That was a hard lesson.”

They fell silent, the weight of her words lingering in the cool night air. Ivan watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she shifted to lie on her side. Then, surprising even himself, he whispered, “I think he was the fool.”

He knew that she heard him because he heard her breath catch. But there was no reply—none was needed.

Ivan shifted onto his back, stuffing as much of his cloak beneath his head as he could spare without freezing. Sleep was within reach when he heard he whimper once, then again as little shivers dissolved in a body-wracking tremble. She had been unwell since they’d met, but her state had taken an abrupt turn for the worse alongside the changing seasons. With a harsh Ravkan winter approaching and mired down weeks away from the capital, Ivan doubted she would survive to see spring.

His chest tightened at the notion, an overwhelming fear seeping in around the edges of his thoughts. If something should happen to her, he would be well and truly alone. With a sigh, he slipped the worn cloak from his shoulders, tucking it around her frail frame, and exhaled in relief when the shivering subsided.

As he turned to pull away and search for sleep once more, her hand shot out and wound around his wrist. They lay there in the dark, face to face, both wrapped up in the silent terror of the unknown.

“Ivan,” she whispered finally, her breath ghosting over his face as she squeezed his hand.

“Yes?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and in the moonlight, he saw a tear catch on her eyelash before escaping down her cheek. “I’m afraid I’m going to die out here.”

Ivan closed his eyes as if the darkness behind them might shield him from the raw sting of vulnerability. “So am I.”

---

It was a frigid morning in late autumn when everything changed. The sun, hidden behind oppressive dark clouds, left the world wrapped in a shroud of thick fog. Alyra was jolted awake by the usual scramble of movement and the sharp steel of the Commander’s voice barking orders. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stretched her aching muscles and immediately sensed that something was wrong. The camp was in disarray—men sprinted from one tent to the next, rousing their dozing comrades. And when they emerged into the misty morning, fear was etched in their eyes. The air crackled with frenetic energy as the Druskelle shouted back and forth in clipped, panicked tones, rifles hastily slung over their shoulders. Alyra knew the source of their fear immediately. Three nights ago, scouts had spotted a large unit of Ravkan soldiers—Grisha in colorful keftas. Since then, it had been a game of cat and mouse, the Druskelle skittering through the shadows in a desperate dash to the border, hoping to avoid confrontation with the Second Army. But each time they seemed to gain the upper hand, Ravka was always a step ahead. Tension grew, the feeling of being hunted warping into a wretched, tangible weight, intensified by the sudden and overwhelming press of fog. It had crescendoed into a fever pitch. Her eyes strained against the mist, searching for the telltale colors of red, blue, and purple among the trees. Then, startled, she cried out as a rough hand yanked her to her feet. The man’s green eyes were tight with unease as he snapped at her in a tone that needed no translation, pushing her forward. They were going to make a run for it. Alyra balked, her heels digging into the dirt, eyes desperately roving the camp for any sign of Ivan. Her resistance earned her a backhand across the face. She hit the ground hard, the taste of blood trickling into her mouth from a split lip, but she paid it no mind. Forcing herself back onto her feet, she caught sight of the man who struck her—his eyes wide with terror—before he dropped like a sack of potatoes into the mud. His body jerked once, then went still, blood oozing from his nose. Her head whipped around, searching for the source as dread coiled in her gut. The fog had thickened, blurring everything beyond a few paces ahead, swallowing up the familiar landmarks of the Druskelle camp. A muffled cry echoed somewhere to her right, though she couldn’t say how far. Anything beyond arm’s reach might as well have been on the other side of the woods for all she could see. The Commander’s frantic voice cut through the fog, but his words were garbled, lost in the chaos. Then came the staccato bursts of gunfire, and she watched silhouettes retreating back toward her, dropping one by one as they fired blindly into the mist. All at once, the camp was lit up as if the sun had burst through the clouds. Alyra caught a glimpse of collapsed tent poles, the crumpled bodies of the dead, as a fireball arched through the clearing, heading straight for her. Heat licked at her skin, and she barely managed to throw herself clear before it exploded against a tent a few feet away.

She craned her head to assess the damage, only to find herself rooted to the spot as a powerful gust of wind ripped like a scythe overhead, cutting back the mist and carrying the flames from tent to tent. Within seconds, the world around her was a whirling inferno, the air filled with the cries of men burning as they tried to jump free of the flames, only to be forced back by the wind. “Ivan!” she cried out, coughing into her cloak, her eyes stinging from the plumes of smoke.

The remnants of the camp were in absolute chaos as the core of the Second Army battalion swarmed into the field, spreading out rapidly in blurs of bright color against the black uniforms.

A hand gripped her shoulder, tugging her back as another fireball whizzed by, close enough to singe her cloak.

“What are you doing, you little idiot?” Ivan growled, wrenching her around to face him. Metal glinted in his miraculously unbound hands, the dagger coated in blood as he cut her free. Her wrists screamed in gratitude, but she only had a moment to rub at the chafed flesh before he was tugging her away from the heart of the burning encampment.

The smoke was thinner at the edges of the clearing, but the fighting was just as fierce. She watched a man in blue and gray curl his hands into claws, sending a Druskelle soaring into a tree where he collided with a sickening crack. A burst of rifle fire exploded to her left, and she jumped back just in time to see a bullet graze the neck of an unfortunate woman, extinguishing the spark between her fingers. With a cry of pain, the woman staggered, clutching at her bleeding wound as a man in red rushed to her side.

Alyra didn’t have time to see what happened next. A flash of movement in her peripheral made her react on instinct, but she wasn’t quick enough. The Ginger-bearded Druskelle slammed into her, tackling her to the ground and out of Ivan’s grasp as they were parted by a wave of soldiers. She hit the ground hard, the air wrested from her lungs as she blinked up into a familiar, hateful stare.

He bore down on her, icy eyes murderous in the fiery glow. His knee held her legs in place, and when she tried to raise her arms, he pinned them uselessly above her head. Panic erupted in her then, and she thrashed against him with all her might, kicking and gnashing in desperation. But he was stronger, nearly double her size. He might as well have been carved from stone.

Fear pooled around her, cold and paralyzing, as he shifted her wrists into one sweaty palm so the other could wrap around her throat. The pressure was unyielding, the effect immediate. She kicked out blindly, hoping to make contact with some soft part of him, but found only empty air as the edges of her vision darkened.

“Witch,” he spat, squeezing hard enough that she feared he might break her neck. She struggled to make out the rest of his words over her screaming lungs and the chaos around them. Heat thrummed in her veins, eager to lash out, to protect, but rendered utterly impotent by the space between her hands.

“We should have killed you when we had the chance,” he hissed, breath hot against her face. “But I will make it right.”

It was a vow, a promise that chilled her to her bones as her chest heaved in agony and black spots seeped into her vision. The pressure increased tenfold, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a fountain of red.

The blood was hot where it splattered against her skin, her ribs aching as he collapsed against her with a gurgle. Then he was silent.

Alyra gasped for air, her lungs greedy and desperate, as she tried to wriggle out from under the dead weight. All at once, the pressure lifted, and she found herself staring up into two sets of dark eyes—one familiar, one unknown. She caught Ivan’s hand, allowing him to haul her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” the man beside him asked, his brow knit with concern on a face both soft and angular.

Alyra rubbed at her neck, her throat burning. She opted for a nod in response.

“Good,” he said, flashing her a weak smile, and she caught a glimpse of a dimple. “I’m Fedyor.”

“Alyra,” she rasped. He squeezed her shoulder before Ivan stepped between them.

“There will be time for introductions later. We’re sitting ducks here,” Ivan shouted over the roar of fire and shouting. He charged forward, his broad frame cutting a path through the carnage, making it easy for her to follow. Fedyor fell into pace behind him with Alyra at his heels, stepping sidelong out of the way as a Druskelle hit the ground beside her. It was only a moment, but just enough time for three men in black to slip between them, effectively cutting them off from one another. One of them whistled with a sharp hand gesture, directing his comrades toward the trees.

That’s when she saw them—six men with rifles, positioned between the thin trunks, all poised to fire, their barrels trained on Ivan and Fedyor.

Alyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she cried out for them, but her voice was carried away by the fog and the fighting. She needed to warn them, but they were already too far ahead, nearing the treeline, and she knew she would never make it in time. The soldiers’ guns raised in unison, and there was no more time to think. Alyra reacted, jaw clenched as she felt the power bubble up like an uncontrollable geyser. It surged forward. The grass around her withered and died, energy diverted in a deadly rush toward the gunmen.

It was over in seconds. Bodies dropped like flies, their skin withered and gray, eyes wide with horror. Alyra’s vision swam, her body drained from the effort. But Ivan But Ivan and Fedyor were unharmed, gathered near the fallen gunmen. Alyra stepped over the fresh corpses, her gaze drifting down to their lifeless faces, their empty eyes staring back at her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she realized what she had done. She forced herself to meet Ivan’s gaze, his expression stricken with a mix of shock and something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

Suddenly, it felt as if the world had narrowed to just the three of them, the burning encampment, the dead men, and the raging battle all fading into the background. Alyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath quickening as she took in the horrified looks on their faces. She knew those looks, knew the disaster that always followed them. Panic coiled in her gut, and her muscles tensed, fingers twitching in anticipation.

Ivan must have noticed her shift because he took a step forward, his hand outstretched. “Alyra, wait—”

But she was already running, her legs pumping as fast as they could carry her toward the dark stand of trees beyond. Her body was weak, unaccustomed to the sudden burst of activity, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. The treeline was close, tantalizingly so. If she could just make it to the safety of the shadows, she might be free.

Two soldiers in blue keftas stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She pivoted, boots sliding in the muck, but they mirrored her movements, cutting off any escape. The gap between them was small, but she was fast, and surprise was on her side. She shifted to the balls of her feet, ready to dart through any opening, but these were trained soldiers, seasoned by combat.

Salvation came in the form of a gunshot somewhere to her left. It was too close for comfort, but Alyra didn’t have the luxury to be alarmed. The soldiers’ eyes drifted toward the sound, just for a second, but it was all the time she needed. Alyra seized her chance with both hands, darting between them and bolting for the trees at a dead sprint. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Ivan’s voice calling for her, but she didn’t stop. She had a head start and the cover of the forest on her side. Ivan would be safe among his kind, but Alyra had no such guarantees.

Breathless, she pressed forward, unsure how much distance she had covered. Her lungs burned with every ragged breath, each step becoming more laborious as her legs turned to lead. The mud clung to her boots, making every movement a struggle. She finally pulled her foot free, only to lose a boot in the process. There was no time to retrieve it. She pushed on, her blood thick and sluggish in her veins.

Her chest ached with a vengeance now. She willed herself to keep going, but her body had reached its limit. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she crashed to the ground, her cry of frustration escaping as no more than an exhausted whimper.

Footsteps approached behind her. Slowly, she turned her heavy head to peer over her shoulder. Red fabric danced in her vision as the world tipped, and she collapsed into the mud.

#darkling x OC #the darkling x ofc #aleksander morozova x oc #aleksander morozova x ofc #grishaverse fic #darkling fic #aleksander morozova fic #general kirigan x oc #general kirigan x ofc

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sporesgalaxy · 2 years ago

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WELL GAMERS I told myself I should get more of the sequel done first. I told myself I should draw a new picture. But ive never been famous for my self control or patience, have I 💚

If I regret my writing choices after watching the finale later this week, thats between me and God.

•••

quick reminders abt how this is Canon Divergent:

1. Philip never directly witnessed the portal, and/or something happened that forced Circe to suddenly stay in the Demon Realm a bit sooner than in canon. The point is Philip never made it to the Boiling Isles.

ok teehee time to get sad.

CW: Philip's never outright transphobic but like. Some of the things he says about refusing to accept witchcraft may sound like it.

•••

?: [distantly] Philip?

?: [closer] Philip!

?: Philip Wittebane!!!

P: [weirded out cuz hes in the middle of the woods] What in the--

C: [running up to him excitedly] Philip!!! It's SO good to see you again!!!

P: [backing away] Er, excuse me miss. Do I...know you?

C: !

C: Come on, Philip!

C: Surely the King of the Witch Hunters can recognize the Dread Witch Beezelbella when he sees her!

---

P: ...

C: [smile falters nervously] Erm...Philip?

[Philip bolts]

C: Wh- Philip!

[He sprints through the woods as fast as he can, but weaving between the trees is slowing him down.]

[Circe suddenly cuts Philip off, riding on her staff]

P: [nearly falls over] GAH!!

C: What are you running away for?!

P: [shielding his face, peeking at her erratically, as if afraid to look directly at her for too long] You're not real!! You're some cruel illusion!!

P: Sent to-- to torment me, or tempt me to forfeit my soul to the devil!

P: Well it WON'T WORK!! So-- gh-- [flails his hands in her general direction] BEGONE!

C: [trying not to laugh] No, no...! I promise, no tricks!

C: [REALIZES SHE IS LEVITATING] Ah!!! Er...

[she jumps off the staff and holds it behind her conspicuously, too frantic to remember to store it as a palisman]

C: [smiling nervously] I meant to save that for later.

P: [incredulous] Did you?!

C: Yes, but-- really, it's harmless!

[gestures for emphasis, but is still holding the staff in one hand, and ends up accidentally waving it between them.]

[Circe realizes she's still got the staff out. Philip is staring at it like it might explode. She reduces it to just the bird and pockets the palisman in her cloak]

C: Er-- mostly harmless!

C: [smiling apologetically, holding up palms to show she's unarmed] I'd never dream of hurting you, anyhow!

P: [mentally recalculating] ...Is that so?

C: [beams] Of course!

P: [less defensive body language, but still clearly a little wary] Hm...

C: Before anything else, I'll need to re-introduce myself!

P: Re-introduce...?

C: [trying to stay chipper but looking more stressed] I told you! It's...it's me!! [she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, looking a bit uncomfortable] See?

P: The...Dread Witch Beezelbella.

C: [frustrated] Your s-- your sibling!!! You know, the one who raised you?? Who spent all those years putting gruel on the table??

P: [playing dumb but also being mean] The one who died seven years ago?

C: Er-- well-- yes and no! I had to go away for a while, but I'm back now!!

C: [trying to bulldoze through it] And hardly anything has changed!

C: But I HAVE learned I'm much happier being your sister! That's not too complicated, is it? You understand, don't you?

P: I...suppose--

C: [bulldozing again] Spectacular!!!!

C: So, you'll now call me Ci-- [seems to realize something] Er...just C.C. is fine for now! [smiles nervously]

[Philip gives her a perplexed look]

C: Probably easier and, er...good for an Adjustment Period! [nods to herself]

P: [mostly just baffled] ...C.C.

C: You've got it! And none of my old name, pretty please? [before Philip can reply] Great!

C: Now, with all THAT out of the way: It's YOUR turn! Tell me everything! How are you?! What's happened while I was gone? Tell me all about what you've been up to!

P: Oh. Er...

P: I'm...doing very well. I... ["thinks", bringing a finger to his chin a little too theatrically]

P: ...Goodness, so much has changed, I'm not even sure where to start!

P: Perhaps you could just visit the house with me and see what's changed for yourself? [grabs her arm and gently tugs]

C: [Withdraws, very nervous] Oh, no no no, I reeeaaallly shouldn't go into town.

C: You and I of all people know how they are about--!

C: ...!

C: [Squints]

P: ...Is something the matter?

C: [Squints harder]

C: It's been a long time, but I haven't COMPLETELY forgotten what it sounds like when you're LYING, Philip.

P: >:| ...

C: >:[ ...

P: ...I have no idea what you're talking about.

C: UUGGGHHHH.

C: [crosses her arms] Well, I've no plans to set foot in that town ever again, so it's no use to try.

P: Then perhaps you could wait here, and in just a moment I'll return and we can-- [beginning to walk away]

C: [Grabs his arm to stop him leaving] [exasperated] I'm not an idiot, Philip!

C: [sighs] Look, I know magic is going to be a lot for you to take in, but it's really not so bad!

P: [MAIDENLESS STARE]

[Circe continues holding Philip's arm to keep him there, and for now, he lets her.]

C: As it turns out, you DON'T actually have to sell your soul!

P: [no longer hiding that he's not buying it] Is that so?

C: [frustrated] It's true! I could prove it to you!

C: Well, I guess I can't PROVE that I still have a soul. Not that I know of. [to herself] I wonder if there's a spell for that...

P: [extremely sarcastic] Perhaps we ought to enlighten the entire town to the existence of this fascinating *benign sorcery*.

C: You're making fun of me. >:T

P: Nonsense. Since you can *prove* that it's harmless, then why wouldn't you prove it to everybody, hm? It would make our lives *so* much easier...

C: Philip.

---

P: Why, no one would have to do chores ever again.

C: Philip!

P: Maybe we could all be in one big witch's coven together.

C: Philip, STOP!

C: I'm not here to waste my time on them!

C: I'm not even here to talk about magic!

C: [taking his hand in both hers] I'm here to talk to *you*!

C: I...I need to tell you-- That is, I *should've*--

C: [squeezing his hand, struggling to find the words] What I mean to say is, I never explained that I--!

P: [Rips his hand away from her, furious] Enough of this!!

-----

P: I'm no idiot, either!!

P: You expect me to believe you're here to *talk?!* [scoffs]

P: Just where in the world could have you gone, that you'd *vanish without a trace,*

P: and then-- *reappear out of thin air,* only to TALK?

P: [facetious] I suppose you could have *dropped by to chat* at any time in the last seven years, but you weren't in the *mood!*

C: Well...perhaps, but I--

P: [more outraged] What?!

C: Now, hold on--!

P: Then where have you *been??!!!*

C: I *wanted* to visit, Philip! But I couldn't-- I couldn't just-- it's complicated!

----

P: So you just LEFT me here to assume you were DEAD???

C: Wait--

P: I spent YEARS trying to hunt down that *witch*--

[Circe grimacing/wincing rxn shot]

P: [gesticulating wildly] YEARS hopelessly wondering what might've become of you!!!!!

C: I was--!

P: I WASTED my LIFE searching for answers, when you could have just TOLD ME!!??

C: Please--!

P: I suppose you were too busy learning WITCHCRAFT in-- in-- WITCH-LAND!!

C: 😟

P: [still angry, but also tearing up] And what a cruel joke, that you'd finally deign to visit *now!*

P: [reaching subtly for his knife, which is holstered on his belt] After I'd finally managed to give *up* on you.

[Circe hugs him. like that portrait oooo!!!!! he freezes, hesitating over the knife]

C: I'm *so* sorry, Philip.

C: I *do* care. I *did* want to tell you.

C: But...

[she squeezes tighter]

[Philip, over her shoulder, looks desperately lonely.]

C: Truthfully...

[She steps back to look him in the eyes, still holding his shoulders.]

[Philip regains his composure before she sees his face again. His hand twitches over his knife.]

C: ...I thought you would be better off without me.

---

P: [genuine confusion. His hand looks less ready over the knife.] What...?

C: [drops her arms, steps away][bittersweet amusement] I was the one always getting us into trouble.

C: [sitting on a fallen log] And you were so smart! You could accomplish anything you put your mind to!

C: You could...fit in.

C: I never could. Not really.

[Philip seems confused that she'd say this about herself, and about him.]

C: [sighs]

C: I told myself that leaving you was a sacrifice I could make to give both of us everything we wanted.

----

C: ...But it wasn't just my sacrifice to make.

C: I don't regret leaving Gravesfield--

[Philip's expression darkens momentarily]

C: --but I regret leaving *you*.

[he's taken off guard by this]

C: I'm sorry, Philip.

[He tries, but can't hold on to the anger. His hand falls slack, no longer considering going for the knife.]

C: [brushes her hair out of her face] You don't have to forgive me. But you deserve to know.

C: And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

[Philip looks at a loss for words]

C: [gazes into the woods, fidgeting] ...I-if there's a way I could ever even *begin* make it up to you... I'll gladly try.

----

C: [looks sadder] ...But if there's nothing I can do, I understa--

P: [sudden, desperate] *Come home.*

[Philip looks alarmed that he blurted that out]

C: [wide eyed. that was the last thing she expected him to say, too]

P: ...*please.*

C: [sadly] Philip...

C: I can't.

P: Why not?!

P: If-- if witchcraft really doesn't cost you your soul, then-- couldn't you just...*stop?*

C: [serious] It isn't about magic.

C: If I'd never used a drop of magic in my life, my days would still be numbered here.

P: What??? Why???

C: [thinks for a moment.]

C: ...I was always scared in Gravesfield.

P: [concern, confusion]

C: I tried not to let you see it-- I was supposed to protect you. [rueful amusement] I wasn't supposed to be *scared.*

C: But the older I got, the more terrified I became.

C: I knew that I would eventually do something... wrong.

C: Too wrong for just one humiliating punishment.

C: The moment that anyone found an excuse...I would be judged unfit to even *exist.*

C: Because I couldn't...

C: [as if it puts a bad taste in her mouth] I couldn't be who *Gravesfield* thought I should be, *flawlessly.*

C: And if I couldn't be a *perfect* witch hunter, or *stay* a perfect witch hunter until the day that I died--

[shot of Philip with next line. He looks like he understands, and wishes he didn't.]

C: Then that would make me a *witch.*

[back to Circe. Looking very serious]

C: Magic or not.

C: Most of all, I was scared I would bring you down with me.

C: I was rash. And stupid. But I only ever wanted you to be safe.

C: Truly, I did.

[Philip looks conflicted, frustrated, trying to find his anger and righteousness again]

P: I...

[He gives up. Looks upset-- sad, frustrated...tired. Sighs, pinches bridge of his nose.]

P: [plops down next to Circe on the log]

[Circe watches him, wondering what he's thinking now.]

P: [closes his eyes tighter and leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. He presses his forehead against his clasped hands.]

P: [whispering] Lord...give me strength...

[shot of Circe looking at him sadly]

P: [offscreen, over shot of Circe] [quieter] *please*...

P: [in frame now] [very desperate, and quieter still] ...**please**...

C: ...Are you happy in Gravesfield?

P: [Hands still clasped, but eyes open, looking into the woods] ...

C: Philip?

P: [flatly] That doesn't matter.

C: [Leaning forward, trying to look in his eyes] ...It matters to *me*...

[Philip unclasps his hands and instead holds his elbows, which still rest on his legs. Does not look at Circe.]

P: [cold resentment] Does it.

[Circe shrinks back]

[the two sit in silence for a moment. Birds chirp, and the bare tree branches sway in the breeze above them.]

C: [quietly] ...are the trials as bad as they used to be?

P: ...

P: [even tone] Less frequent, maybe.

C: [hopeful] That's good.

P: ... [furrows his eyebrows]

C: Do you still--

P: Yes.

C: [guilt] ...

P: I've prevented what happened to you from happening again a dozen times over.

[Circe pales with horror. Philip still is not looking at her.]

P: [clearly bitter about something] And *I'm* actually *careful.* [seeming more vexed than proud] I've done more research than *anybody.*

C: [examining his face] ...Research?

P: ...

C: [dawning realization] Do they...*understand* that's what your doing?

P: [intensely, looking only at the ground] It doesn't matter. I can prove it to them.

C: [putting the pieces together] Philip, are you in danger?

P: [breaks a twig off a branch on the fallen log with his left hand] [curtly] *No.*

P: [looks annoyed at the stick momentarily. passes it to his right hand] *I* am not a witch.

P: [slightly hesitant] ...obviously.

----

[Philip starts doodling in the dirt with the twig]

C: [losing patience with his stubborness] Do you honestly still believe that only real witches get accused? Get *punished?*

P: [stops drawing. gives her an angry sideways glance. then glares at the dirt again] ...

P: ...*Yes.*

P: As long as you do it *correctly.*

C: [furrows eyebrows] ......

[Philip resumes, scratching the dirt more forcefully.]

C: But--

P: Witches die because they are born doomed.

[as he says "doomed," Philip finishes drawing The Belos Mask with a final, forceful scratch]

C: That's what we were *told*! That doesn't mean it's true!

[Circe looks at Philip, expression somewhere between frustrated and pleading, but he won't look up from his sketch]

------

P: [darkly] What does that mean for you, then?

[Circe is taken off-guard]

P: Do your witch-friends know what you used to do?

P: Or are you lying to them, too?

C: I--!

C: ...

C: [quieter] ...Not all of them know.

P: [snidely] Hmph.

C: [with a bit more conviction] But, the ones that *do* know...

C: They know that I was scared. And trying to keep us safe.

C: There are people who understand that I truly thought I was doing the right thing.

C: [guilt] That I would give anything to undo it now...

C: [focusing on Philip again] They trust me, and love me, even though I've made...terrible mistakes. Even though I'll *always* make mistakes.

C: [trying REALLY hard to get through to Philip] *Gravesfield isn't all there is.*

P: ...

[Philip scratches out the doodle forcefully.]

P: [unhappily] Good for you.

----

[a prolonged beat of silence, save Philip's stick scraping against the ground as he scribbles slowly, randomly on the spot where the doodle used to be]

C: If you want...I could show you--

[suddenly, Philip throws his stick to the ground and turns to Circe]

P: [frustrated noise] Would you get this over with already?!

C: What?

P: I don't care what you want anymore! Just take it already!

P: You win! So stop tormenting me with this awful vision!!

C: [taken aback] Wha--! I-I'm not--! You still don't believe that I'm real?!

-------

P: You *can't* be!

P: [breaking a little] I only *want* you to be real!

P: I *want* you to be *alive*!

P: I don't *want* to be *alone* any longer!!

P: But you insist on making me offers that I have *just* enough clarity of mind left to refuse!!

P: [becoming more desperate than angry] Why won't you just lie to me?! Tell me you'll come home? Tell me that nothing's changed?

P: *Something*-- *anything* that's easier to convince myself to accept!!

[Circe looks deeply hurt]

P: Won't you at least let me die thinking I was reunited with-- with you?!

P: [losing steam] ...What could you possibly want that you haven't had the chance to take from me already...?

[a beat. Circe's expression has closed off considerably. Philip holds his head in his hands.]

P: Please. Get it over with.

P: Or for God's sake leave me be.

[wide shot of them sitting in unhappy silence]

------

C: [very quietly] ...Alright.

[Circe stands, brushes her skirt off. Philip remains sitting, not looking at her]

C: I suppose I've done all I can.

P: ...

C: I won't disturb you again.

P: .......

C: I'm still thankful that I could see you one last time.

P: ...........

C: [trying to keep composed] Please...stay safe. Take care of yourself.

P: .................

---

C: I love you.

P: ............. . . . . . . . .

C: [offscreen] Goodbye, Philip.

[she walks away]

[a beat passes]

[Philips resolve breaks. As he looks up--]

P: Ca-- C.C., I--

[--he realizes he is alone again.]

P: ....

P: [slowly, he stands. brushes his jacket off. walks away.]

-----

been trying really hard to do things with my spare time over the last week besides rewrite the circe clawthorne au intro but youll never guess what happened

#adddna #circe clawthorne #toh #if i were wiser i wouldve waited a day and reread it and then posted #but i got rlly excited abt where its at rn #and thats either bc its really coming together or its just operating by my own emotional logic i cant see thru.#I will know.......with time.......#my wittebanes

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