#( I HAD TO RESIST THE URGE FOR RUBY TO SAY )

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[plaguechyld]

Dom!Reader x Sub!Muzan

Content contains: Overstim, Dom reader, gender neutral reader, Spanking, Punishment, Dom/Sub relationship, Sub Muzan, Basically just straight porn

I was planning on making this probably about twice the length but I’m lazy. Also I don’t know how to end smuts that aren’t complete (unfinished sex scenes) so… Awkward cut off, yay.

18+ content ahead!

His ruby red eyes are clouded with crystalline tears as his fluffy eyelashes stick together from the liquid. A whiny and needy sound escapes from the lips of his mouth, a desperate beg to tell you to do something. Muzan bucks his hips after being restrained from doing so for so long, he doesn’t care that he wasn’t supposed to. He was desperate, desperate for the agonizingly sluggish pace of the machine to speed up. For you to do something, anything else to him. However the demon freezes when he hears a tutting sound coming from you.

“Muzan… I told you not to move, this is the third time already that you’ve disobeyed me.” You say in an almost condescending way as they rub the demon’s cheek. Muzan shakes slightly and tries to bury his face in your shoulder, however the position the two were in prevents him from doing such things. The ravenette was sitting between your legs with his own legs spread. You had a tight grip on his thighs, holding him still now. Most prominently, there was a device attached to his dick. It sucked in an almost painfully slow manner. The inconsistency of the pulls on his dick had ruined multiple of his orgasms, causing the demon progenitor to fall into the state he was in currently. However the machine didn’t stop, it sucked away at him as inconsistent as it was. The red eyed man shakes and whimpers when he feels you rubbing his inner thighs. Your fingers were so close to his dick but they never touched it, merely stimulated the skin next to it. Muzan whines softly, he’s so desperate for the machine to stop or speed up, but he refuses to swallow his pride. You coo to him and gives his neck a kiss while you keep rubbing his thighs, making Muzan choke out a sob.

“P-please… anything else, bite me, cut me, hit me, spank me, just no more…” Muzan says in a shaky and whiny tone as his voice breaks at the end of his sentence. It had been agonizing, being held here and forced to continue this punishment. It made the demon king want to rip his hair out, to do anything. You hum while you continue to rub his thighs in that slow way that teases him just right. The black haired demon is practically shaking like a leaf in the wind, waiting for you to do something, to say something.

“Please! P-please…” He begs, finally, after resisting his urges for so long he finally caves. However you merely chuckles softly.

“Now, darling, why should I? You broke the rules and disobeyed me three times. Why should I give you what you want?” You murmur in his ear which causes the black haired man to whine. Muzan trembles as a fresh wave of tears spill from his ruby red eyes.

“I-I’m sorry! I’ll be good… Just.. please, please!” He begs before shuddering when he feels you trace the skin where the pump is attached. A moan slips out of him as he desperately tries to nuzzle his face into your shoulder, a habit he had picked up when the you two were intimate with each other. The human narrows their eyes slightly, as if debating to give in to the demon’s pleas. After several moments that felt like years to Muzan, the slayer finally decides. Muzan moans in relief when the slayer removes the pump from his dick but tenses up when he in laid stomach down over their thighs with his ass exposed. He knew what was coming and started to wiggle while grabbing one of the human’s hands in his own.

“W-what?! No no, please, not this!” He sobs out as he feels a strong slap on his ass. The slap leaves a pinkish handprint on his pale rear. He jolts when he feels another strong slap across his ass which makes him make a moanish yelp. Tears spill out of his red eyes as his black hair sticks to his forehead. He trembles and yelps once again when he feels another slap on his ass. He knew that the slayer was doing this on purpose, keeping from being able to hide his face in their shoulder while you punish him. He shakes when he sees you retrieve a paddle to use on his already red ass.

“N-no-” Muzan is cut off by you as you rub his perky rear with the palm of your hand.

“Count. If you mess up I’ll start over.” You say before bringing the paddle down on his ass, making him cry out and moan.

“O-one..” Another smack with the paddle is delivered.

“Ah!- Two!” More and more tears slip out of the demon king’s eyes as you repeat the action.

“Three!” Muzan moans loudly while he balls his fists. The black haired man is shaking as you continue his punishment. By the time it ends he’s a crying mess, tears staining his cheek as he is brought to sit on your thigh. You hum before pulling Muzan into a deep and passionate kiss. The demon progenitor kisses back instantly and desperately licks at your tongue. You wrap your arms around his lower back as he holds onto your shoulders with a needy urge. Muzan’s moans are muffled as you two make out, the black haired demon kisses the other like a starved man. He only pulls back when you deliver a tug on his rather sensitive dick. He pulls back and buries his face in your shoulder while moaning.

“Muzan, lay on your back.” You say with that same smirk. Muzan fumbles and almost falls face first onto the soft blankets in his rush to get into the desired position, however he’s able to lay down just how you want him to. You slide between the demon’s legs and he almost cries in relief when he feels the familiar sensation of your fingers slipping in his tight hole. He clenches down on them, trying to take them deeper and deeper while you curl and move your fingers in a scissoring motion. This makes you chuckle softly.

“Are we eager, my king?” You ask the demon in a sweet tone but don’t be mistaken, it was dripping with lust. The mere tone of your voice makes the red eyed man whimper and let out several quiet moans. He nods his head quickly, it was pitiful to see such a strong man, a demon, reduced to a mere whore. Muzan’s legs quiver slightly as he’s more sensitive from the punishments he went through. 

“Please… fuck me.” He mumbles with a far away look in his ruby red eyes. There are still tears threatening to spill over onto his already wet cheeks when you pull out your fingers. A moan slips out of Muzan when he feels you finally pushing into him. He grabs onto your back and rests his legs against your hips. You start moving your hips like a piston, making Muzan cry out loudly and cling to you as you ram in and out of his hole. He loves how you don’t treat him like glass but instead like a piece of meat. The black haired male practically screams when you start to thrust directly into his prostate. His nails dig into your back while he moans and begs loudly.

The once quiet night was now filled with obscene and explicit sounds coming from the strongest demon in existence, caused by a mere human. 

“S’good!” Muzan cries out while you shows no signs of slowing down. It was as if he was made to be the your toy, to be used like a common whore. Slowly but surely, the demon can feel the familiar feeling of a knot in his stomach. He knows that he’s close, but can’t say anything because of the force of the thrusts that he was taking.

“C-Close!-” He moans loudly, even louder than before. If any demon saw this happening, his reputation would surely be in shambles, but right now the king didn’t care, all he cared about was the pleasure that was flooding through him. Tears were sliding down his cheeks as his eyes rolled back into his head and his back arched.

“Cum for me, my king.” You say while continuing the harsh and brutal pace of your thrusts. This is all that the demon needs to hear as his coil snaps, he paints his own stomach with his seed as he screams out. However much to his surprise, you continue the pace. His body grows overstimulated and he can’t help but beg.

“P-please! I’m sensitive!-” He sobs out, tears staining his cheeks again while he clings even tighter to you as you relentlessly pound him into the mattress. You however doesn’t show any sign of stopping. He’s so pretty, his black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, clear tears spilling from his ruby red eyes and staining his flushed cheeks. His legs are shaking badly as he keeps moaning loudly, holding onto you for dear life. 

“So needy, you wanted this, demon. You wanted me to fuck your tight little hole so badly, so take it.” You say in a condescending way. Muzan lets out loud sobs at the your words, his whole body shaking from overstimulation. He grips you tighter, desperately trying to pull you closer to him.

“Pl- please don’t be mean… J-just fuck me..” He whined out pathetically. He was just so pretty like this, overstimulated, crying and needy.

“Oh Muzan… I’m going to ruin you.” You say as he lets out another sob, legs quaking.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 7

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader

Summary: Azriel and Cassian go feral trying to find you.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, torture

<<&lt; Part 6

Cassian was pacing, the roar in his mind loud enough to miss Feyre winnow into the room, her arm wrapped around an elderly fae, his bark-like skin unmistakable. 

“Finbark,” Tamlin greeted, moving to help the male into a seat as he leant into his walking staff. Finbark had aged during the war, and it was clear the long distance winnow from Spring to Summer was not easy to endure in his condition.

Azriel kept close to Cassian, but unlike his mate, his rage had fixed him to an icy steel. Arms folded at his chest, he was beyond pleasentries, unable to greet Finbark as Tamlin had. Not while his mate was still missing, not when he wasn't sure who or how many he’d kill to find you. 

The marbled room before him was filled with anxious tension. Tarquin had opened his home, with promise that his recruits had a lead on Y/N’s location. Finbark, Tamlin, Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, even Helion had come to support his friend. And while Mor and Amren worked with Azriel’s spies at the border, the rest of them were here, readying themselves for the essential intel to start scouting for his mate.

It was almost impossible to resist the urge to take to Autumn skies, to start ripping the heads of any guard or spy or missionary who served in Beron’s court. That instinct was outweighed by only one thing - Y/N’s safety. Start slitting throats, and Beron could easily follow the trail of blood back to them, and punish you for it. Especially in the ruthless, unforgiving manner that itched at both their limbs. It was better to wait for this lead - both he and Cassian had agreed. Better to know where to start the carnage before they set they world ablaze. 

Excruciating minutes had turned to hours, and both Cassian and Azriel were at their wits end. 

“Where is it, Tarquin?” Cassian gritted, his gaze an other-worldy darkness, unbound magic as bright as rubies twining his limbs. “You promised a lead.”

Tarquin’s face was a gruelling seriousness, one that Feyre herself had never seen. “Calm yourself, friend. It is coming.”

But that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy Cassian’s urge, so he turned from the male, driving his fist into a marble pillar, the thunderous smack silencing the room. Feyre threw Tarquin a sorry look. 

A maid entered then, hurrying to deliver a letter to her High Lord on a silver platter, before fleeing on quick feet – a wise move. 

Tarquin swallowed thickly while reading, not a breath shared amongst the rest of the room. 

“We have the name of the Inn, and the last known sighting of Y/N.”

Azriel’s voice was deadly. “We already knew that.”

He had snatched the letter before Tarquin could respond. He scanned it with quick eyes before raising them to Cassian. “This is different. Her last known sighting was underground.” 

Cassian’s eyes fluttered with rage. Naturally, Beron had chosen a concealed, subterranean lair to cloak his cruelty, making it even more challenging to locate his mate.

“It says here the entrance to the dungeons are glamoured, and are bound to an ancient magic.”

All eyes were on Rhys then. “Not even my magic can unbind that,” he said disappointedly, the tremble in his hands returning once more. Beron was a slimy bitch, and the thought of sinking his talons into his neck danced around in his mind.

“Then how the hell are we to find her?” Tamlin urged. 

“Hounds,” Azriel answered, looking over the letter once more. “Provided here are coordinates, where a pack will be provided to us for the search.”

“What in the Mother?” Rhys frowned, running a hand over his face.

“Who wrote that letter, Azriel?” Feyre asked, a knowing itch scratching at her brain. 

“It’s signed from Eris Vanserra.”

There were a few drawn breaths, and then silence. 

“It is a trap,” Helion said plainly. 

“Perhaps,” Feyre countered. “Perhaps not.”

“A trap would not be so wiling, so exposed,” Tamlin added. “I believe it is true.” He cast a look at Feyre, who nodded in agreement.

“And we are to risk everything on assumption alone?” Helion countered the male.  “When was the last time a Vanserra was celebrated for telling the truth?”

Cassian wasn't listening to their exchange, the General’s mind ticking as a strategy formed – for this was as good as war.

“Soldiers,” he said with a distant look, eyes finding his mate. “We need soldiers.” Be it a trap, he didn't care, between he, Azriel and the others, nor Eris’s or his phonies stood a chance. 

Azriel nodded in agreement. “Rhys, call to the camps. We need Illyrians.”

Rhysand didn't hesitate. “How many?”

“Hundreds.”

Helion shifted uncomfortably. “How many males do you plan to storm Autumn with? Power is one thing, but bring an army with you? You’ll start a gods damned civil war, right here in Prythian. Over a girl.”

Even as a High Lord, Helion stood no hope against Azriel’s strength, not as those siphons that usually kept his strength at bay now consumed him, pulsing in his veins, igniting his eyes with brilliant blue. 

Marble cracked as Azriel threw the him into a pillar, a snarl curled at his lips, canines inches away from his neck. 

“If you think my girl isn't worth waging a war for, you’re wrong. I’ll watch the whole of Prythian burn if she is harmed, and then some.”

Helion glanced around desperately, searching for an ally. But between Cassian’s fuming glare, Feyre and Rhys’s cold as night, and Tamlin’s own chest panting, he came up short. Even Tarquin showed no remorse.

“Please,” Finbark croaked from where he sat, his hands shaking as they rested on his staff. “Please, time is against us, we mustn’t waste it.”

Azriel withdrew at that, fingers flexing as he fought against violent urges. Cassian moved, his hand closing over Azriel’s scarred one as blue mixed with red.

Tamlin eyed the interaction curiously, before finding the letter from Eris on the floor, reading it over himself.

“The letter accounts for two females held in the dungeons,” he stated, slightly confused. 

Feyre blinked, her eyes fixed with Rhys as she paled even further. Forcing a breath, she moved those grey eyes to Helion. “When was the last time you saw the Lady of Autumn?”

Helion blinked, his brow then furrowing at Feyre’s suggestion. It had been longer than usual, he had counted the days. But he assumed she was keeping hidden, playing into their secret like she had always done. His hand intuitively found his chest then, rubbing at a gnawing ache, and panicked eyes found Feyre’s.

“Months,” he whispered, his chest tightening with every breath.

“That ache in your chest, friend. Has it not been a few months since you confided of your pain to me?” Feyre added.

Helion’s eyed widened. How could he have been so senseless? 

Pain turned to fear turned to an all-consuming rage, and feral eyes found Azriel and Cassian. 

“What was that you said of an army?”

————

The lethal point of that sword pierced through your clothing, its icy steel pricking at your skin, causing an immediate, searing pain. And oh gods, did it hurt. 

Your body, attuned to the peril through the bond, convulsed within, as if desperate to break free from your chest cavity, urging you to fight, protect, or flee as far as the gods allowed. In your anguish, screams and sobs erupted, fuelled by the intense desire to kill Beron, to snap his neck with your bare hands for even daring to harm you and your mates. Yet, the harsh reality held you at his mercy.

“STOP! I BEG OF YOU!”

Beron’s attention snagged to that voice beyond your cell, the weapon stilling as it lay pierced within your chest, stuck at your left breast.

“Please, Beron, I beg of you. I’ll rid of Helion, I’ll stay by your side. For the sake of the Mother, do not hurt this girl!”

Beron’s lips curled into a sickening smirk. “How brave of you, Seraphina my love,” he toyed. “How brave you become when finally faced with consequence.”

You had only a few seconds, but you used it to the best of your ability, calling on your power, begging it to fill your veins and swarm your skin. Your anger was of no question, but you were weak, and were only met with a faint tingle at your fingertips.

Cold eyes found you again, and you whimpered. 

Beron chuckled at the panic in your eyes. “Ah, sweet Y/N. Are you feigning fear, or do you really care for the bond?” He drawled closer. “Why would you have tossed them aside if you care for them so, hm?” 

His eyes darkened as he grappled at the sword again. “Try not to move,” Beron gritted,  teeth bared and he pushed with two hands now.

Your own howls and screams, Seraphina’s pleas and cries, Beron’s grunts as deadly power coursed through him – it was a hideous symphony of torture.

From deep within your chest cavity, death clashed with life, and so began the war within your heart. 

————

Azriel, Cassian and Rhys flew overhead, circling the location where Eris instructed to meet, scanning for traps while Rhys’s magic worked to unravel any glamours. 

Tamlin, Hellion and Feyre scouted from the ground, Tamlin in beast form, Feyre’s water wolves sniffing out the promised hounds.

They had left Tarquin to the border where the Illyrian army began to arrive, Mor and Amren with them. They would try to negotiate with Beron’s own armed forces while waiting on Cassian or Azriel’s word to strike.

Azriel spotted him first, ginger hair almost disguised amongst the matching tree tops. But it seemed the Autumn Princeling was true to his word, a litter of dogs leashed in his hand with enough apprehensiveness to be sensed from the skies . 

Three thuds were sounded as the males landed, stalking toward Eris with violent determination - the kind that sent most running. He spun quickly at the rustle of leaves, gulping at the three water wolves and Tamlin now prowling towards him, Feyre and Helion a few paces behind.

“Where is she?” Cassian spoke, his voice harsh and quick. 

“I don't know,” Eris replied, his own face grave. One of his hounds whined, and others pulled at their leads, desperate to start scouting. 

Cassian and Azriel shared a growl, unsatisfied with the answer. 

“No tricks Eris,” Rhys warned. “It wouldn't end well for you or your court.” And he meant it, because as he spoke, Mor sent images of the Illyrian soldiers now in formation at the borders of Summer and Spring, ready for their word, ready to tear the land apart to find you. 

“I am true to my word,” Eris replied, pulling slightly at the band of leather leashes in his hands. “I have trained these hounds in secret, since I first suspected of my father’s conspiring.”

“What you wrote of your mother, is it true?” Helion asked, voice desperate as an array of curved weapons and twining knives glinted in the sun – so unique to his own court.

Eris nodded morbidly, tears pricking at his waterlines. “I have let this go on for too long.”

No one offered him any comfort.

“And what do you get out of this, Eris? What is it you want in return?” Feyre had to ask, the lesson’s Alis had taught her all those years ago ringing through her ears. Make no bargain, help no one without knowing what the price might be. 

“This is beyond my own desires. My mother hasn't been seen in months, I suspect Beron has taken her. If she’s there, is she is… alive,” Eris had to pause and swallow before he could continue. “See that she is returned safely, and I will make it worth your while.” 

Looks were exchanged, before Rhysand nodded. “Will you be joining us?”

Eris’s eyes dropped, shameful shoulders slumping. “If he finds out I helped you, he’ll hurt me in unimaginable ways.”

“You coward,” Hellion spat, pushing past to grab at the Princeling. “You’ve known for months, Seraphina is down there, she–”

An outburst of agonising roars pierced through the forest, Azriel and Cassian falling to their knees, red and blue winking as they clutched at their hearts. 

“WHAT? What is it?” Feyre panicked, forcing Azriel up by his shoulders, scanning him over with wild eyes. 

Rhys was on Cassian, in his mind, digging frantically. “I don't know, I can't see past-”

Their screams intensified, their wings flexing and twitching with pain. Cassian howled as he clutched at the grass, and Azriel swore, barely holding himself up. 

“The-the bond!” he gasped. “Make it stop!”

Eyes were on Eris then, and he looked back, bewildered. “I don’t- I don't know what he’s doing! I don't know anything!”

As quickly as it had begun, the pain left their bodies, leaving the males sagged and trembling on the ground.

“We must move quickly,” Hellion murmured, eyeing Eris with distaste once more. 

Eris was already unleashing the hounds who began to kick and whine, desperate for their command. 

“Please,” he begged to Helion, his voice a mere whisper. “Please, bring her back.”

Cassian and Azriel had recovered quickly, forcing themselves to stand. They shared a quick nod, ensuring that the other was alright, flexing their wings and readying to take the skies once more. Whatever was happening, time was against them.

“Seek,” Eris commanded with a wavering voice, and the pack leapt into a sprint.

Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand launched to the sky, Tamlin heeding the hounds on all fours, and Feyre on Helion’s pegasus – an army of their own. 

Together, they would find them, or die trying.

————

You were loosing sense of reality, delirious with pain. You begged for it to stop, and then prayed for it to stay, to know that your bond wasn't dead, not yet. 

You were in and out of consciousness, your body blinking awake as Beron cut at that tether ever so slowly, not allowing you weaken or lay unconsciousness for too long. No, he wouldn't grant you that peace - he needed you alive, to withstand the torture, to survive, so his Seraphina could serve as his slave, mateless and obedient for the rest of her days.

“Stay with me now,” he gritted, slowly, oh so mind-numbingly slowly, forcing the rapier deeper into your chest, the bond whipping and lashing as magic clashed within, demanding warmth, demanding life. 

Your throat strained as you tried to scream, to exert just some of the pain that coursed through you – but no sound came out, your voice long lost amongst your cries and screams hours ago. 

Beron had assured you he was not trying to be cruel – that this careful extraction, and no matter how painful, he’d ensure you’d survive. Then you can die, for all I care - he had claimed.

As you thrashed, your mind flashed with memories of your mates, as if the bond or cauldron itself was showing you what was worth fighting for. Azriel and Cassian - each more handsome than the other. One of them wild, emotional, passionate and heated, the other a perfect match of icy calm, selfless, unyielding and determined. 

And you were a part of them, their anchor, the vessel where red met blue. You were what made them whole. And both of them flawed - oh so flawed. But their love was undeniable, unconditional, stubborn and powerful. You could see that now. You wanted them, you needed them, and if Beron was to break this bond, you did not want the life that awaited you.

So you fought with the little energy you had left, forging the bond to a weapon of sorts, sweat trickling as you writhed and grunted, your heart an open battlefield. 

Beron let out a frustrated roar, his rapier met with another bout of resistance, your bond swelling to provide a wall of magic he would again need to pierce. But it was draining him too – of magic, of whatever part of himself he had given to create such a tool. His son, Lucien, oh gods – but what else?

Lips curled with distaste, he pulled his hands back, wiping the sweat from his brow, wiping those sinful hands on his pants. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Flashes then, more memories. Tree tops, red ones, and distant yelping. You could not see them, but you knew that sound, heavy leathery skin flapping, pushing air under muscle. Your mates - the rhythm of their wings a lullaby. These weren't memories – they were visions. Your mates were coming for you - you only prayed they would find you in time. 

You hadn’t realised you had faded out of consciousness yet again, your head lolling before Beron grabbed you by the chin, forcing to wake. “Ah ah Y/N,” he grinned darkly. “Don’t give up on me now.”

Your only response was a whimper, an attempt of a beg left hoarse and unheard as Beron took aim of the weapon, ever so cruelly forcing it deeper into your heart chamber. 

—————

The auburn tree tops of the Autumn forest did little to soften either Azriel or Cassian’s landing. Their hands ripped at their leathers, clawing for their chest, to stop the phantom pain that carried through the earth somewhere below. 

Feyre and Rhys halted their search, sprinting to help the males, scanning them inside and out for the third time in the past few hours. 

Cassian held a palm up before Feyre could haul him to his feet, sweat trickling down his face as he panted, resting on hands and knees as the cuts from the branches were quick to heal. 

Rhys had just about eased the pain from Azriel’s mind, but there was no point, as it had disappeared as quickly as it did the other times. 

With a firm hand still pressed to Azriel’s chest, Rhys threw a panicked look around him. “I don't have enough magic to shield you and search for Y/N at the same time.”

Azriel shook his head. “Do not–,” he panted. “– for one second, spend your magic on us.”

Rhys’s face was grave, but he gave a small nod. 

Up ahead, a collection of yelps sounded, Eris’s hounds now excited and frantic.                                                                           

“Come quick,” Hellion called, the hounds leaping over one another, pawing and whining at the ground, his pegasus flaring it’s nose, wings tussling anxiously.

The group inspected the spot littered with dried leaves, a repetitive stretch of ground indifferent to any other area they had passed. 

“There doesn't appear to be anything here,” Feyre murmured, running her hand through the dirt. “It’s just ground.”

“Do we dig?” Rhysand offered as Tamlin neared, pawing at the ground with bear-like claws.

But instinct had taken over the males that were doubled over not moments before. Their eyes matched in brightness, their hearts panting in their chest. Everything about this spot, chanted to them – yes, yes, yes. 

They met each others gaze then, nostrils flaring. 

“I feel it too,” Helion said to them with a pointed nod, his own chest heaving. 

Azriel raised a scarred fist, shadows twining with raw, flowing power as he plowed a fist to the ground. 

And was met with a thud. 

Casting a quick look back at Cassian who nodded for him to continue, Azriel threw another punch, and another, until the ground beneath them fell through, leaves and dirt that had once been now disappeared as the glamour was broken through. Instead, an entrance was revealed, a ladder leading into the dark and damp depths of Beron’s hidden lair. 

Cassian didn't wait to jump straight through the hole, landing on fists and knees with a powerful thud. 

The passageway led both left and right, an ominous dripping could be heard in the distance, the only light offered by Cassian’s magic and the opening above.

Before could Azriel leap in, Feyre grabbed his arm. 

“We need to keep searching for other entrances, ones that might get us closer to Y/N.”

Azriel nodded wordlessly, quickly meeting the eyes of the rest of the party. 

“Be smart,” Rhysand warned. It would be hard advice to adhere to, each of them knew. 

Azriel didn't wait to watch the rest of the group leave, Feyre and Rhysand in one direction, Tamlin and Hellion the other. He jumped just as Cassian had, following that thrumming, beating instinct, the frayed and weathered tether calling faintly from within.

Cassian nodded in one direction, Azriel agreeing to the other. They would split up to find you - it was the only way.

“Be safe,” Azriel grumbled.

“You too,” the War General replied, his voice predatory and lacking warmth.

Without their siphons, Azriel and Cassian’s magic was tempered, raw, unbound and wild. It twitched at their wings and hissed at their skin, because even it understood it was finally time to start paying some dues. 

“We’re coming baby,” Cassian muttered under his breath, before the both of them turned their heels, picking up into a jog. 

————

The first guards Azriel encountered hadn't so much as drawn their next breath before he snapped both their necks. And the next two after that. 

Despite Rhys’s advice, he wasn’t being smart at all. He should question them, use his shadows to choke out any answers of how to get to Y/N that much faster. But there was a fierceness in him, one that moved his limbs and fuelled his breath before he could consider rationale. He hoped it had a purpose, that predatory instinct. 

Azriel had reached the next clearing within minutes – a storeroom of sorts, guards armed, their weapons glowing in the light of the torches aflame at the walls. 

Three of them died instantly, blue magic seeping through their nostrils and mouth, planting death from the inside out. The fourth was restrained by shadows, Truthteller firm against his throat as his body was pulled flush against Azriel, canines at his ear. 

“Where is she?” he hissed.`

“You’re too late,” the guard gulped, wise enough to not fight and risk pushing himself further into the blade. 

Azriel’s unsatisfied growl rippled through the room, contents in storeroom rattling. 

“It’s true. Even if you reach her soon, you–”

A final breath was knocked from his chest as the satisfying crunch of a broken neck filled the room, Azriel letting his lifeless body fall to the floor. He had told him what he needed to know – he was getting closer. That was good enough for him.

Azriel moved through the storeroom like a shadow, his eyes scanning for the way forward. His instincts screamed at him, urging him to find her quickly, to silence the haunting calls that echoed in his mind.

As he advanced through the next passage, he caught a glimpse of movement behind a stack of crates. Azriel's senses heightened, and he summoned his shadows, enveloping himself in an inky cloak. He moved silently, like a wraith, closing in on the source of the disturbance.

A hushed conversation reached his ears. Guards were discussing a secret passage that led deeper into the dungeon, a hidden route that only the elite were privy to. Hazel eyes flecked with blue darkened with a mixture of determination and desperation.

Without warning, Azriel emerged from the shadows, Truthteller in hand, its blade shimmering with an ethereal light. The guards startled, their eyes widening as they faced the deadly Shadowsinger. Azriel didn't waste time with words. Just like the others, he used his shadows to incapacitate them, rendering them helpless on the cold stone floor.

His gaze focused on the guard who seemed to be the most knowledgeable. Azriel's eyes locked onto his with an intensity that sent shivers down the guard's spine.

"Where is the passage? Tell me, and I might spare your life," Azriel demanded, his voice low and threatening.

The guard hesitated, conflicting fear etched across his face. The seconds stretched agonisingly, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, with a defeated sigh, the guard revealed the secret of the hidden passage, his words a reluctant admission that pointed Azriel in the right direction.

Azriel sheathed Truthteller, leaving the guard to choke on his shadows instead. He vanished into the darkness, unflinching at the choking sounds he left behind. He’d find Beron’s men in hell, and kill them there too. 

The calls in his mind grew louder, a symphony of urgency that spurred him onward.

As he moved through the hidden corridors, Azriel couldn't shake the fear that clawed at his heart. Time was running out, and he couldn't afford to lose you to the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

————

Cassian’s rage was brewing by the second.

He was yet to encounter anything but the unyielding, endless passageways of Beron’s underground labyrinth. He wanted to find men - to start killing, to save his fucking mate. Hell, he’d even take a torch of light at this stage. 

But the only hint of life was his own breathing, ruby red magic providing much needed light. Damp air clung to his skin, and the distant echoes of his hurried footsteps reverberated off the cold, stone walls. The calls of his mate, distant yet urgent, fueled the fire within him.

It was that other worldly sense - the one that revealed itself along with the bond - that stopped in in his tracks, his breath synching.

Ears pricking to an off-shooting passage way, the unmistakable sound of a slither made his stomach coil.

It was instinct to finger at his sword, to press his palm into the leathery wrap at its hilt, ready for anyone, or anything.

An ominous wind blew through the tunnels, blowing the loosened strands of Cassian’s forward. Whatever was coming for him, it was big.

It’s scent caught him then – the unmistakable smell of a wyrm, a putrid mixture of rot and dampness. He’d only encountered one in his lifetime, on a dare with friends. The fight was easy then, Cassian had lured it from it’s burrow, and had easily defeated the creature thanks to his ability to fly, striking from above. But in here it was different - he barely fit in these tunnels, there was not enough room to even flex his wings. The wyrm itself would take the width of these paths, leaving no room to avert or dodge.

The ground trembled beneath him, a warning sign the wyrm was closing in. He could feel the creature's presence, a malevolent force that sought to consume him. The faint echoes of its slithering were louder now, and Cassian knew he had to act swiftly.

Drawing his weapon, a gleaming blade infused with the power of his siphons, Cassian pressed his back against the cold stone wall. The wyrm, blind but relentless, relied on scent and sound to track its prey. Cassian suppressed his breath again, minimising any trace that might give him away. He was stealthily still, wings tucked close to his powerful frame.

The wyrm entered the tunnel, its massive body undulating as it sensed the air, circular rows of rotten teeth bared as it’s forked tongue flickered, tasting his presence as it inched closer and closer…

With a swift movement, Cassian launched himself from the wall, a set of throwing knives set straight for the wyrm's mouth. The creature howled and thrashed as one landed its mark, lodging in its throat, the other clanging against its teeth. As it began thrashing, rocks and soot fell from around, the structure of the tunnel rumbling with impact. Cassian knew he’d be lucky to not be smothered by the damn labyrinth itself. 

He’d have to kill the wyrm quickly for either of you to make it out alive. So the creature was as good as dead. 

Without a second thought, Cassian launched through the air, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws of the wyrm. The creature's writhed with blind rage as Cassian grabbed at it's large fangs, forcing it's hideous mouth open. 

His mind reeled as toxins belched from the wyrms belly, the heat of certain death within swarming around him. But his muscles pulsed, and clarity was a blessed treat as he heard the calls of his mate echo through in his mind. He would not die – not until you were safe.

Cassian roared as he forced the wyrm's jaw that much wider, one strong arm bearing its might as he used the other to unsheathe his sword, facing it upwards within the creature’s mouth.

In a daring maneuver, Cassian leapt back from the wyrm, its mouth snapping shut followed by a piercing howl. Cassian’s blade shot right through the roof of its mouth, pointing right through its flaring nostrils. As the wyrm thrashed in pain, Cassian drew his longsword, raking a vertical line down the exposed neck and belly, gutting the creature instantly. 

There was no time to observe the beast any closer, to wipe the tacky black blood that covered his face and hands or even catch his breath. 

With a heaving chest, Cassian pressed forward, following the calls of his mate that echoed louder then before.

————

Azriel’s roar of frustration sounded through the narrow passageway behind him. 

Another door, and likely another room of guards that lead to fucking nowhere. He was desperate, magic lashing violently from him, the blue almost fully overtaken the hazel in his eyes.

He didn't bother with stealth, kicking through the iron door, bursting it open with a large bang as it flew from rusty hinges.

The sight before him was a curious thing. 

A wide spanning room, and to his right, almost fifty guards, all of them armed. He blinked across him, and in front of an identical door was Cassian, chest heaving, splattered in some form of ink, red shining from beneath. 

The stretch of leathery string pricked his ears, Beron's archers pulling tight on their bows as they aimed at males. 

Cassian’s grin was feral as he met Azriel’s eye. 

This was going to be fun.

————

Part 8>>>

AN: Hello lovely people!! I so hoped you enjoyed this next chapter, and the beginnings of feral Cazriel! Did you see Tamlin and Feyre agreeing together? 🥺 Also Eris is such a mumma's boyyyyy, I love it so much 😝 As always, thank you for your patience with this fic. I never expected the plot to be this intense, and it's taken a lot more brain power than I had expected haha! I hope I'm doing the story justice. I'm thinking we only have another 2 parts to this fic FYI, so very keen to wrap up this big finale as soon as I can. Comment to join either my general tag list or just the one for Our Girl. Thank you always for your support and kindness with this fic <3

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Andromeda -

Roboute Guilliman x M!OC (Finch)

Tags: Arranged marriage, AU shenanigans, crossdressing and gender fuckery

Plot bunny AU set during 30k, Great Crusade era after the Fall of the Eldar but before the Horus Heresy, I was stewing about how they would interact before becoming tired old men. Guilliman is more confident/self-important, and Finch is more insecure. Very much inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond drawing 30k and 40k Guilliman side by side, as well as some wives of the Primarchs content. Big thanks to @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta read. Pls help unmedicated ADHD is cooking my braincells

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

- - -

Guilliman resisted the urge to glance around, but he knew that the voice— soft, sonorous, masculine— came from his new “bride”, the pile of gauzy fabric sitting beside him as revelry surrounded them. “You could have bargained for a better deal, you know.” It was the first time his new fiancee had decided to speak, most of the talking and the offering having been done by her (their?) father while the veiled figure had sat silent and stately on one of the mounts favored by the humans on the surface of this planet.

Lounging at the head of a table hosting a great feast for his legion, the chatter seemed to dim to Guilliman’s ears as this strange little secret unfurled before him, his focus drawn away from the impromptu celebration of his engagement to the xenos beside him. “There was no blood shed, no ammunition used, and I have returned another world to the Imperium. Enlighten me.”

“As in, you could have asked to see more selection.” Amongst the countless layers of bone white silk, accented with cold blue like winter fog and studded with dark rubies, a pair of delicate gloved hands folded upon the table. “My people may be licking their wounds, but they are ever prideful. Did you not think to appraise your sacrifice?”

Sacrifice. The concept of a defeated enemy offering tributes was not a foreign one, but the easy and almost dry acknowledgement was odd and discomforting. His crusade was a righteous one, he was not some drake resting upon its horde. “Theoretical: the Imperium wishes for me to find a wife, while accepting the offer of a bride may appear to snub other allies. Practical: this is an opportunity that has dropped right into my lap.”

“That was on purpose.” His fiancee sighed.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Guilliman’s voice was casual, but made it obvious that his question was not to be ignored.

“That your desires were foreseen, and my Craftworld has retreated with only a single casualty. It is as if you have been offered cuts of meat, accepting sweet fat hiding bones rather than sinew hiding flesh.” A white gloved finger trailed the rim of a fine porcelain dish before it, food untouched and veil unmoved.

Jaw ticking, the Primarch was not exactly pleased by the prospect of having been manipulated, his thoughts and motives sifted through by xenos he had fought quite regularly in the Emperor’s name. “Why say anything, my dear? Depreciating your own value isn’t quite the strategy I would employ.”

To his surprise, the figure sighed. Defeat. “...My role has been played. If you decide to kill me, there is little difference in the outcome the Farseer sought. Besides, you didn’t seem to be all that interested in my value before.” They listlessly waved a hand, almost mocking.

Guilliman hadn’t been raised with an absence of women in his life, unlike what he had discovered of many of his brothers. Tarasha Euten was one of his most trusted advisors and loved ones, and he held no illusions of masculine superiority. However, he had found that he couldn’t quite picture marriage to a woman. 

His enthusiastic legion had been delighted by the prospect of their genesire having a wife at his side, but somehow the xenos had seen and exploited a disinterest he thought he hid so well. That they had known he wouldn’t concern himself with a bride beyond appeasing the Emperor and choosing with only a political goal in mind.

“Who are you, then?”

“Not a princess, that’s for certain.” His bride scoffed. “We have no monarchy... I’m an artisan.”

That would have been amusing if it didn’t fill him with silent irritation. Such a flimsy lie, one that his new fiancee seemed almost eager to tear through like tissue paper. “A ploy to make their gift seem more enticing?”

“One of many to appeal to your human customs. The white garb is another, as is the veil. The one escorting me was a Seer, but apparently the father of a bride is charged with giving her away at the altar.” Not a drake upon its horde. Suddenly the phrasing of giving a bride at an altar brought to mind more myths of young women being left to be eaten by monsters from his youth on Macragge, making him internally shudder.

“I suppose your true father might have had objections.” Guilliman mused.

“Maybe.” They muttered dismissively. No family, a flippant attitude to the prospect of being executed for their betters’ deception, and a sense of honesty that felt like a slap to the face. Not to mention the fact he was having some suspicions as to certain details that were hidden behind those many layers of fabric. 

What was this feeling? Pity, perhaps? Intrigue? If nothing else he was curious.

“...I have little use for beauty, there would be no harm in showing your face.”

“That’s good, as I have none.” A soft laugh, like the chime of a bell, inexplicably warming him far more than any of the alcohol he had consumed alongside the feast. Guilliman’s bride searched for the hem of their veil, delicately resting the fabric upon their fingertips as they seemed to become bashful, turning to face him. “Just, ah… I assure you I have been genuine, and… I hope you are too.”

It took him a moment to recognize that his bride was holding their veil for him to lift, making his hearts jump strangely, torn between unwrapping them to uncover the mysteries hidden within the fabric and a desire to reveal them slowly like opening a gift. He felt as if this was a sight he wished to save for himself, rather than share with the rest of his legion.

Cautious, Guilliman bent down and carefully slipped his hands beneath the obscuring fabric, lifting it as he leaned in to study the face of the Eldar he’d been speaking to. 

One cheek was marred by a pockmarked array of scars, extending back over a ruined ear, a series of rough splits undoubtedly caused by blunt force to the side of the head. A gently sloped nose and sharp jaw, full mousy brown brows and freckles from time in the sun. Most arrestingly were his eyes. A deep viridian green flecked with sage, sharp and discerning, glittering with intelligence and… resignation. 

“…The Farseer hoped I would accept my place if I found a mate… she said it would make me happy.” A bitter little smile thinned his lips, looking ashamed as if this was a true admittance, rather than another deception to punch through. 

The Eldar seemed to expect him to respond, perhaps admonishing the fact that the gender of his bride was unsuitable for a man of his station. The thought crossed his mind briefly, the will of the Emperor ever on his heels, but fascination was leading him on. He claimed to lack beauty, but the story and wit he found on the Eldar’s face drew him in like the sublime expanse of the galaxy. With a hand he realized was large enough to splay across his fiancée’s entire face, he gingerly reached out to brush fingertips over the scarring on his cheek. 

“Uh, I seized and had a fall early in my training…” He muttered by way of explanation, dark eyes flitting to avoid Guilliman’s gaze, obviously bewildered. 

”Worried about battle scars with someone at the head of a legion.” The Primarch teased. “What would you like me to call you?”

The Eldar flushed, pursing his lips. “The envoy told you my given name.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“…Finch. Consider me to be… your future left hand man.”

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Sadly, being able to trap a vampire afforded absolutely no protection against being snuck up on in turn. They didn't even realise he was there until he was already right in front of them.

"What the-" They reared back, staggering, reflexively reaching for the silver mirror in their pocket. "Why are y-"

"Why did you let me find this?" the vampire snarled, his by now familiar features even paler than usual. He was shaking something at them that they at length realised were three empty, but still bloody vacutainers.

"What-?"

"This was your blood!" he hissed. There was a fierce, ruby glitter in the depth of his eyes. "Why?"

They resisted to urge to back away further and stood their ground. "The lab didn't have any leftover samples today," they replied curtly. The first spike of adrenaline was wearing off, giving them space to be annoyed. Who the hell did he think he was, stalking them on their way home!

They glared, but the vampire didn't seem to notice. He was staring at them in complete disbelief. "So you- you drew your own blood?"

They gave an impatient shrug. Clearly he already knew that, so why all the-

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"You need to eat, don't you?" they bit back, rather insulted at the implication that they wouldn't concern themself with whether he went hungry or not. How on earth would that help keep their patients safe? "You seriously think I would be this sloppy with medical waste without being certain you would dispose of it? I know you stop by on Tuesdays and Fridays."

He was still staring at them and he looked rattled enough for them to relax a little themself.

"Give me those," they ordered, snatching the tubes from his cold hand. Luckily the caps were screwed on properly. They stuffed them into their pocket. "How did you even know it was mine."

The vampire drew in a shaking breath that dissolved into a sudden, scoffing laugh. "You think I don't know what your blood smells like?" he burst forth, a tense, restless edge creeping into his movements. "That I wouldn't recognise it immediately?"

He threw up his hands and suddenly he was all up in their face again, grimacing with his fangs on full display. He was almost touching them.

"It was bad enough just knowing what you smell like! Now I'll never get rid of the taste of you��" The red in his eyes seemed to brighten somehow. "Three whole vials-"

They stared at him with as much confusion as suspicion. "You're welcome?"

"Sunlight take me, you don't have a scrap of preservation instinct do you," he gasped, turning abruptly away from them.

"I'm a nurse," they snapped. "You want to stop being my problem? Get the hell out of my town!"

"So you're saying you'll do this again!" He sounded like he was about to laugh again, but nothing about him felt amused.

"Not if this is what I get for my troubles." They weren't afraid, not exactly, if he had meant to hurt them he would have tried to already. But there was something about the way he was looking at them that was-

"Good," he snarled. "Because you shouldn't."

They narrowed their eyes at him and resolutely turned away. "Right, well, I have somewhere to be." They really didn't expect thanks, they didn't even feel like they were even owed gratitude for what was essentially emergency care, but they sure as hell didn't need to stand here and be told off. "You'd be easier to keep hidden from the slayers if you weren't so damn difficult," they muttered under their breath.

"And you would taste even better without anticoagulants."

"What?" They spun round, but there was nobody there. Not anymore.

They stood perfectly still for a second or two, but even the silence was empty. Empty enough to be completely filled with questions by the time they had hurried home.

[honeybeefae]

Secretly Mine (Azriel x Eris)

Eris Week Day Three: Secrets

Summary// Eris is visiting the Court of Nightmares to keep in touch with things now that he is officially High Lord of Autumn. As he mingles he is introduced to a lovely vixen who, despite Eris's resistance, takes no hints to his distaste. While Eris tries to search for a way out he catches the eye of a Shadowsinger who is none too pleased about the wandering hands touching what is his, even if in secret. 

(I love Azris. If I can’t have Eris I am more than happy to have him go to Azriel. Also sub Eris is HAWT. Writing this was so much fun if you know what I mean so I hope you guys enjoy it!)

WARNINGS: Smut, Secret Relationship, Dom/Sub Dynamics

Eris had never felt more uncomfortable in his life as Keir practically shoved the young fae woman into his arms, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he not so subtly brought up the woman’s accomplishments and marriageable age. 

“Such a beauty, wouldn’t you agree?” He pursed his lips. “She’s the daughter of one of the elite here. Well-read, submissive, beautiful, everything a man could wish to have.”

“Oh, you boast too much, Keir.” She faked a laugh, turning to Eris with a sly smirk. “My name is Carina and you, my lord, need no introduction.” The bow she gave him was so deep that he could see right down her dress, which he was sure was the point. “I am honored to be in the presence of such a powerful man.”

“Two powerful men, right Carina?” Keir corrected, his jaw clenched from the slight of being forgotten. She nodded quickly, a bit of fear flitting through her eyes before she turned docile once more. “Of course! You know I could never forget you and all you have done for my family, Keir.”

“And it should stay that way.” He raised his glass though his tone was anything but calculated as he bid the two of them goodbye. Eris went to turn around, hoping she was distracted, but sighed when she latched on to his arm. 

“And where do you think you are going, my lord?” She purred.

“I was just going to fetch myself a drink,” Eris replied cooly, trying to pull away which only seemed to cause her to sink her claws in deeper. “Did you need something?”

“A dance if you please, before you wander off and get stolen away from me.” Carina pouted her lips. “I would love to show you my moves…” Her fingernails ran up his arm suggestively and he had to resist the urge to cringe. 

He looked around for anyone to save him, desperate for an out, but found none. Eris ground his teeth and forced a smile while holding out his hand, leading her out to the floor. The music was soft as he began to sway, hating the way her body pressed against his.

If he were being honest there was only one body he wanted to be pressed against and that person was somewhere hiding in the shadows, watching his every move. He could feel the skin on the back of his neck prickle as he tuned out the woman’s mindless chatter, spinning her so that he could do a sweep of the room.

It wasn’t until his second turn around the room that he finally spotted the Shadowsinger. Azriel was lounging against a far column, his hazel eyes blazing with jealousy as Carina stroked Eris’s back while bringing him down to whisper something.

Eris could see Azriel’s jaw tighten, and could practically feel his hands around his throat as he finally broke his gaze to look at his dance partner. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“You’re hardly paying me any attention, my lord. I thought you were raised with better manners than that.” She chided, her ruby-painted lips ghosting over his ear as she cooed, “Perhaps you need a reminder of how to treat a lady. One night with me and you’ll never forget the lesson.”

“Wow, I-” Eris tried to respond, pulling back only to stumble into something hard. The smell of darkness and night air filled his nostrils as he turned to see Azriel glaring at the two of them, his jaw tight. “Azriel.”

“Eris.” He replied lowly, never taking his eyes off Carina. “My High Lord has requested an audience with you. Now.”

“Can his lordship wait? We were in the middle of-” She tried to interject but flinched back when he took a step forward, shadows curling over his scarred hands. “I’ll look for you after, Eris. Don’t keep me waiting long.”

However Azriel and Eris are already halfway across the room by the time she finishes her sentence, the anger and jealousy rolling off the Illyrian in waves as Eris holds back a whimper in his throat. 

It had been so long since he had seen him. They had to keep their…whatever it was between them, secret, for obvious reasons but especially now that Eris was High Lord of Autumn. And with how busy he had been with taking over the court he had barely had time to sneak away to his favorite distraction.

They entered the hallway and Azriel gave a quick look around before he all but shoved Eris towards a small closet, ordering him quietly to ‘Get the fuck inside now.’.

As soon as the door shut behind them Eris was pressed against the cold stone wall, a tan arm pressed against his throat as Azriel pushed his hips against his. He could feel his hot, throbbing cock through his leathers and this time Eris did whimper.

“Azriel, please, let me explain.” He swallowed, mouth dry as Azriel cocked his head. 

“What is there to explain? You vanish on me for weeks and then suddenly here I find you dancing in the arms of someone else, someone who was very keen on what you had to offer.” Azriel’s words were like ice as he tried to control his breathing. “By the pathetic noise you just made for me I know you still crave my cock so that little show was obviously a ploy for my attention.”

“It wasn’t! I didn’t want to dance with her, I swear, Keir-” Eris argued only to gasp when Azriel moved his arm away from his throat to grab a fistful of his long, styled mane. “Fuck, Az…”

“Look at how quickly you submit for me, prince.” He smirked, biting his bottom lip as he shoved his head back into the wall to expose his throat. “You were just dying for me to stake my claim for you in there, to fuck you in front of everyone and show them who owns you.”

Before Eris could protest Azriel had wedged his thigh between his legs, pressing up against him at just the right angle that had the redhead groaning. “You’ve got my attention, fox, what is you want?”

“You, fuck, I want you.” Eris crumbled faster than cake as his voice turned into a whine, his eyes half-lidded. “Please, Gods I’ve missed you so much. I need you, Azriel.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me,” Azriel tsked, lowering his mouth to his throat and grazing it with his teeth. “Come now, be a good boy and try again.”

Eris’s throat bobbed as he took a shuddering breath, feeling a wet spot forming on the front of his pants from how pent up he was as he whispered, “Please, Sir. Please touch me.”

He could feel the Shadowsinger’s lips turn up in a smirk as he whispered praises into his skin, his hand wandering up until he was palming him through his pants. Eris’s reaction was immediate, his back arching and hips rising to get more as he remained pinned against the wall. 

It was torture, sweet torture, as he kept the pressure just light enough to keep his pleasure from growing as he kissed his way up the High Lord’s neck. Azriel paused over his mouth, his gaze drinking in the neediness on Eris’s face, before kissing him passionately. 

The closet was too small for actual sex but that didn’t stop the two of them from grinding against each other, their tongues dancing together sensually as Eris fisted his hands in his lover’s hair. Azriel growled, pulling away to suck a deep bruise onto his neck, marking his territory before he placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder and shoved him to his knees.

“Worship me, prince. Show me how much you’ve missed me.” He purred, running his fingers through Eris’s hair as he made quick work of Azriel’s laces to free his cock. It was long and thick, dripping with precum and begging to be shoved down his throat which is exactly what Eris planned to do.

His mouth opened wide and Az wasted no time in shoving himself all the way inside, his eyes closing as the tip of his dick hit the back of his throat. Eris gagged, trying to breathe through his nose as he looked up at the God above him. Azriel’s shadows were peeking over his shoulders as his eyes practically glowed in the dim light of the room, his aura absolutely dominating as he clicked his tongue.

“Much better use for that mouth.” He taunted, gathering the long strands of hair in his hand before he started to fuck into his mouth. “You can feel free to go back to that girl after we’re done…though I doubt you’ll be able to speak after this.”

Eris tried to garble out something but Azriel wasn’t interested in what he had to say, more focused on using him to get off as his balls hit the High Lord’s chin with how hard he was going. The sounds coming from his mouth were filthy as drool leaked out the side of his lips, his hands desperately trying to free his own cock.

The musk of sex and sweat was making him dizzy as he finally got his dick out. He thanked the Mother that Azriel didn’t say anything to stop him, allowing him that small bit of pleasure as he started furiously jerking himself off. One of his hands braced itself on the Illyrian’s thigh while the other fisted his cock, squeezing tightly when he got to the top as he slobbered all over Az’s member.

“Such a desperate, pathetic little fox,” Azriel grunted, his eyebrows furrowed together. “A needy, greedy slut for this cock, for me. The only thing you’re good for is for me to use and abuse, isn’t that right?”

He pulled him off his cock for a moment, waiting for an answer, to which Eris moaned out, “Yes Sir.”

“Gods, your mouth was made for sucking cock.” Az growled as he shoved himself back in his mouth, throwing his head back as he felt the first tingles of his approaching orgasm creeping up his spine. “What would that woman think if she saw you like this, hm? Saw you on your knees for me, the Spymaster of the Night Court?”

The thought of others seeing him like this made him feel shamefully more excited as he stroked himself faster, his moans vibrating around his lover’s dick which only added to his pleasure.

“You love the thought of that, don’t you? Imagine if we didn’t have to hide. If I could just take you wherever, whenever I wanted.” The Shadowsinger sped up as image after image flooded his brain. “In the courtyard, on your throne, on the dining table, I would fuck you so much that there wouldn’t be an inch of your body that wasn’t covered in my cum.”

“Please, please, please,” Eris wailed around him, his eyes rolling back into his head as he suddenly found himself on the edge of bliss. “I want it, I want it so bad, Sir.”

“You know the rules, prince.” He reprimanded, tightening his grasp. 

Eris blinked away tears as he focused all his attention on making Azriel cum, knowing that as soon as he came Eirs could as well. His tongue toyed with the underside of his cock every time it slid in, his throat constricting around him while his hand went up to fondle his heavy balls.

Azriel’s hips started to stutter as he slammed his cock all the way into his throat, ignoring his gasps for breath as he growled loudly and emptied himself into his mouth. Eris swallowed like the good boy he was, drinking it down like wine as he went back to playing with himself.

It didn’t take Eris long to find his own release as Az pulled his softening cock from his throat, his cum dribbling out of his mouth as Eris threw his head back and moaned deeply with each spurt of cum that came out his cock.

Both of them were breathing heavily, a small pool of cum staining the floor as Eris closed his eyes and sagged to the ground. 

“I’ll give you a moment to rest, High Lord, before we go back out there,” Azriel smirked, tucking himself back into his pants as he crouched down and caught some of his own cum trickling out the side of his mouth. “I suggest you make a quick excuse to leave and meet me in my chambers within the hour lest you let everyone smell cum on your tongue.”

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova and her father. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Bellova gets her revenge, but also comes to a heart-wrenching realization.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, a good amount of angst

A/n: Buckle up y’all ;) Also, I recommend listening to Vigilante Shit, I Did Something Bad, and/or get him back! while reading this chapter.

“Come in.”

Bellova opened the door to Dean Highbottom’s office, swiftly shutting it behind her. 

“Ah, Miss Reginelle,” he said, setting down his papers. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of the students?”

She smiled dryly. “I’ve come to speak with you about a very important matter. I believe that the integrity of the Games have been tainted by cheating.”

He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands on his desk. “Go on.”

Bellova walked towards him, making sure to maintain her flawless posture and calm expression. “I know for a fact that Coriolanus Snow visited Dr. Gaul’s laboratory right before the snake mutations were released to attack the tributes. And I am almost certain that they were held there before being sent to the arena.”

Dean Highbottom nodded. “They were indeed.”

“See, being one of Dr. Gaul’s most favored students, she had discussed this particular breed of mutated snakes with me before. She told me that they would not attack any being who’s scent they have been introduced to before. Because of his…conveniently timed visit to her office, I believe Coriolanus slipped something with Lucy Gray’s scent into the snake enclosure before they were sent off. That is why she was able to survive their attack.” 

There was silence for a moment as the dean processed her accusation.

“I see,” he said. “I will look into it, for you have given me plausible reasoning to investigate. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

Bellova grinned. 

‘Sorry, Coryo,’ she thought. ‘Say goodbye to your temporary glory.’ 

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

Coriolanus was puzzled when he was torn away from the celebration and told to report to Dr. Gaul’s lab to meet Dean Highbottom. Perhaps the idiotic old man had finally come to his senses and wanted to apologize for his constant harassment. 

As he walked through the Academy accompanied by two Peacekeepers, he smiled at the thought of the dean begging for forgiveness. How he would love to see him grovel like a pathetic fool.

Then, he heard footsteps up ahead. Bellova was walking towards him, her ruby-red lips curled into a cruel smile.

As she passed by him, she murmured something so quietly that Coriolanus almost missed it. But when he processed what she’d said, he knew he’d never forget it.

“I hope you know you brought this on yourself.”

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

When Bellova arrived home, she went straight to her room. She felt nauseous and dizzy, climbing up the grand staircase clumsily and almost slipping several times. She stumbled into her bedroom, and collapsed onto her luxurious canopy bed. 

The full weight of what she’d done hit her like a pile of bricks. 

She ruined Coriolanus’s life. 

He would never recover from this. Who knows where he’s end up? Maybe in prison, maybe an Avox if Highbottom was harsh enough, or maybe somewhere in one of the least powerful districts. Either way, she was sure he would never set foot in the Capitol again.

Maybe she should’ve waited a few days before going to Highbottom to expose him. It was hasty to snitch on him right away, but at the time, it felt right. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

She buried her face in her crimson red pillow, resisting the urge to scream. 

Why had Coriolanus done what he had done? He was never sympathetic towards the districts like Sejanus Plinth. What made Lucy Gray so special? She was just another district animal, and yet Coriolanus had done everything in his power to ensure her survival. She knew he wanted to win the Plinth Prize, which required that the recipient was the mentor of the winning tribute, but stooping as low as cheating? It was such a desperate move that Bellova briefly wondered if he had gone mad.

‘No,’ she thought. ‘Not mad. Utterly insane.’ 

As the hours passed, she slowly came to accept the truth: 

Coriolanus Snow had fallen in love with Lucy Gray Baird. 

A single tear slipped down her cheek. There was a stabbing pain in her chest, which grew worse as she began to sob. 

What did a no-name district runt have that she, a Capitol heiress, did not? 

What made him fall in love with her instead?

There was no use in continuing to lie to herself, not with him gone forever. 

She loved Coriolanus Snow. 

She always had. And she thought he would eventually grow to love her too. But she was foolish to believe that. It was childish to believe they were meant for each other.

Her miserable thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked on her door gently. Hastily wiping her tears and fixing her messy hair, she croaked, “Come in.”

She expected it to be her maid, or maybe even one of her friends. Instead, her father walked through the door, holding a tray that held her favorite foods. 

Bellova instantly burst into tears again. 

Julio Reginelle frowned as he saw his normally composed daughter shaking, her knees pulled to her chest. “I heard that you haven’t emerged from your room since arriving home. What happened?”

He placed the tray on her bedside table and sat at the foot of her bed. 

She sniffled. “I don’t know if I should tell you. You’ll be angry at me.” 

He placed a hand on her shoulder gently. “I promise I won’t. It is more important for you to be honest with me.”

Bellova internally winced at the thought of discussing feelings of love with her father. Especially because of exactly who she loved. 

Her father raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to speak. 

With a trembling voice, she confessed what had happened earlier that day. She told him how she’d turned Coriolanus in to the dean, therefore ruining his future career and aspirations. Finally, she told him about her recently realized romantic feelings towards the young Snow heir. 

Her father sighed. “I am not angry at you, Bellova. You are a young woman, feelings are inevitable. I can see why you are angry Coriolanus. He chose someone over you.” She nodded. “And I’m sorry to say this, but no-one with the surname Snow should ever be trusted. His father was a snake too.”

Bellova cocked her head. “How so?”

“Crassus was an arrogant, overconfident fool. He was the most insufferable student at the Academy while we were attending together. If he didn’t have the top score on something, we would hear about it for weeks on end.”

Bellova laughed. That sounded just like Coriolanus. 

“And…” her father paused. “He was the original creator of the Hunger Games.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Casca Highbottom was distraught when Crassus, his closest friend at the time, took his drunken joke to Dr. Gaul, who embraced the idea immediately. Casca never forgave Crassus, and their friendship was destroyed.”

“How do you know about this? This has got to be one of the most well-kept secrets in Panem.”

Her father gave her a wry smile. “I overheard Crassus bragging about it to his eventual wife. She didn’t seem pleased, but never spoke up against it. I think she was too afraid to.”

Bellova grimaced. She would never let any future husband of hers walk all over her in that way.

“Now, as for you turning Snow in, you did the right thing. Cheating should never go unpunished, especially in something as important as the Hunger Games.”

Bellova leaned back against her pillows. “I know. But in telling the dean, I’ve sent him away forever. I’ll never see him again.”

Her father hummed. “Maybe that’s for the better.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s out of your life now. You can focus on other things: your career, your friends, your other aspirations. He will never be a hindrance to you again.”

Bellova sighed. “You’re right. There’s more to life than a pathetic boy who gave up his future for a district girl.”

Her father smiled. “Exactly right.” He looked over at the tray of food. “Please make sure to eat tonight, you’ll need your strength for tomorrow. I’m permitting you to skip school, because I plan to bring you with me to a conference in the Jubilee Convention Center.”

Bellova smiled. “That sounds lovely, thank you.” 

He stood up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll leave you to rest now, my dear. Sweet dreams.” 

As soon as her father left, she placed the tray on her lap and began to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until right then. 

After a relaxing evening of self-care, Bellova laid in bed, staring up at her chandelier that twinkled in the moonlight. 

Her love for Coriolanus would die eventually, she was sure of it. It was already starting to fade, slowly being replaced by contempt. He really wasn’t good enough for her. He was no real gentlemen, despite him parading around pretending to be one with his roses and faux charming smile. And he was too sensitive to make it in the world of politics. Sure, he put up a cold facade, but she knew that hurtful words got under his skin easily. 

No matter how handsome or intelligent he was, he’d never be a good match for her. If they were ever to marry, they would fight far too often, and ultimately, it would be a failure. 

Bellova closed her eyes, pulling her soft covers over her body and finally allowing herself to truly relax.

As she slipped into sleep, a quote from one of her favorite novels crossed her mind, making her smile.

“It is snow’s destiny to fall: that is what it is made for.” 

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This is the end of Part 1, but there will be at least two more parts in the series! Stay tuned for the first installation of Part 2!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[paingoes]

Rubies

Web 2.0

(Content: living weapon whumpee, guilt, conditioning, past abuse, caretaker new master)

Apollo had stayed true to his promise of making the room less sparse. He’d brought down books from upstairs so Delta would have something to do besides staring off into space whenever he locked himself in his room. He’d given him a journal too, which Delta found tremendously suspicious. Delta had a habit of destroying everything he’d ever written just as soon as he had finished. He would continue on in this tradition. Anyone having that kind of direct access to his thoughts terrified him. He was grateful for the books, though. 

It was Kitty who offered her old laptop.

“Don’t…look too hard through that,” She said with a nervous smile. She’d done all she could to reset it, but she couldn’t be sure there weren’t still some gems lying around in its SSD. 

Delta reflexively recoiled at the offer. There was such a strong impulse in his head to avoid getting caught with the laptop. It carried over now, even when freely offered. She left it on the desk for him. He would only use it in the dead of night, out of pure habit. It didn’t feel the same as it used to. It couldn’t hold his attention for very long.

There was a practical reason to reintroduce it, though. Kitty acted a bit furtive about it; Apollo said they weren’t supposed to be working. That’s what unpaid leave meant. But there wasn’t really anyone else they could kick it off to. They had to go through the archives. 

Kitty had already backed up everything he had posted publicly, plus all the exchanges they’d had in private. He’d focused in more once she’d mentioned it, agreeing it needed to be deleted as soon as possible so that there was nothing left to piece together about his alleged death. But there was other information on there that only he had access to, that they now needed to preserve before scrubbing.

katkittykat: ok we also were gonna try and offer u whistleblower immunity

katkittykat: but forget it i know u wont accept it

ndhakdvsnnd: im not a whistleblower

katkittykat: see what did i say 

ndhakdvsnnd: can you fuck off

They scrolled through the archived chat logs in dim silence. Kitty was sitting next to him on the floor with the new old laptop up on the coffee table. Neither of them needed to say it. It was weird to go through their old texts while in person. 

It wasn’t Kitty’s first time meeting an internet friend. She had done it more times than she could count. Almost all of them had been shyer and more reserved in person, so she had already expected Delta to follow in that trend. But it was clear that what was going on with him is a different beast entirely.

When she turned to look at him, his eyes were cast down again and his head was bowed. Loose strands fell in his face. He removed his hand from the touchpad, letting it rest in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I…shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“Just bants, man.” Kitty elbowed him — not a good idea. He winced, the pain reigniting in the handprint-shaped bruise around his upper arm.

“It was disrespectful.” He closed his eyes. It was guilt — not fear — that was audible in his voice.

“I’ve never done anything respectable,” she joked.

He opened his eyes to meet her own. His expression was wholly disbelieving. It wasn’t a joke to him. She remembered how sincerely he’d spoken the other day. Thank you for saving me. She’d tried to brush it off, but her heart had hurt badly afterwards. It hurt again now.

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” She had to resist the urge to squeeze his shoulder the way she would with her other friends; she saw how he had flinched whenever she touched him. Thankfully, he didn’t mention it again.

The loading icon went around and around as the account was deleted. Just as soon as it stopped, the home page of the forum appeared. In bold letters, it read Sign Up.

“You gonna make a new account?” She asked.

“Do you think I should?” His hand hovered over the button. 

“I dunno. You were active way before you started posting all the leaks. I thought you were having a good time with it,” she paused, “Guess it might be kind of touchy now though?”

It did make him really anxious to be on the computer. It made him feel too much like he was about to be caught out, as little sense as it made. He started to shrug, then stopped himself. Disrespectful.

“Yes, miss,” he agreed, “It’s…touchy.”

That was putting it mildly, but he had no desire to say more. He pocketed the thought, though. He probably would get back online later. It just felt like too much to do it now, without her explicit guidance. The thought alone was starting to overwhelm him. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Can I go back in my room, miss?” He asked in a soft voice. 

“Yeah, whatever. You don’t have to ask.” She tried to reassure him. He’d gotten scared at some point; she could see it in the way he held himself. She didn’t really want for him to go off to deal with it alone, but she wasn’t going to force him to stay. She watched as he disappeared behind the door. He’d left the laptop behind. She shut it for him, then stretched upwards, climbing up onto the couch.

=======

“Does he talk to you?” Apollo would later ask her. He added, a bit dejectedly, “He doesn’t talk to me.”

“Nah.” She shook her head.

“Well, it’s still early,” Apollo started arguing with himself when she wouldn’t, “I guess he’s still scared. I’m not sure what I can say to him that isn’t going to sound trite. He always hated it when I tried say stuff like that to him over text. So defensive. I don’t know if it’ll go over better or worse now.”

She could tell he’d been thinking about it often. Fussing came so naturally to him. She’d liked it a lot when they were a little younger, when she was even crazier and badly needed someone to try and reel her back in. It isn’t lost on her that Delta has the exact opposite problem, that Apollo’s delimiting nature could have the opposite effect. He badly wanted for things to be clean.

“You shouldn’t take it purrsonally.” The pun slipped into her voice even when she was trying to be serious.

“I know,” he agreed, “I…don’t think he was allowed to talk before. It’s rude to speculate. I don’t want to be presumptuous. But.”

He threw his hands up at the wrists, not finishing the sentence. There was nothing to do but speculate. It was clear enough Delta had not been treated well; the bruises spoke for themselves. But the particulars of his behavior were a kind of puzzle box. He offered no key for it.

Galatea had dealt with Empire’s lot before, both refugees and defectors. Apollo had met many of them personally. There was always a stilted manner in which they spoke. The customs of Empire still remained enigmatic to all those living outside of it. Apollo had no way of telling how much of Delta’s behavior was just a cultural difference — or even a linguistic one — and how much of it was something deeper. He could not tell how much of it was motivated by fear or confusion or simple exhaustion. How much of it was what he wanted vs what he thought he was supposed to do. Apollo wished desperately for some kind of candor between them. Still, he understood that it would be asking a lot of him at that point. He sighed. 

========

The knock was soft and rhythmic. Delta jumped, immediately moving to hide the laptop beneath his blanket. It wasn’t as good as beneath the mattress, but decent enough on short notice. He mechanically slid off the bed, dropping onto his knees at the foot of it. The door did not open.

“Can I come in?” It was Apollo’s voice on the other side. Yes, obviously. It wasn’t locked.

“Yes, sir,” Delta answered anyway. 

Apollo pushed the door open. His eyes widened a little to see Delta kneeling, but he did not show the same visible alarm that he had before. He slid the door shut behind him, leaning back against it.

“I thought it might be good for us to talk,” Apollo said. He tried to read Delta’s body language, but it did not shift by much. Deliberately controlled. He didn’t answer, staring up at Apollo with huge eyes, patient and expectant. Apollo pushed himself on. It was trite, but if there really was any confusion about Delta’s position, it wouldn’t be right to leave him hanging.

“You can sit. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Levon told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t he? And you know that me and Kitty won’t either? You don’t have to be scared of us. You’re safe here.”

Delta didn’t move off of the ground. His head had lowered a little bit, as if he was being scolded. He didn’t take his eyes off of Apollo. 

Apollo squatted down onto his heels, trying to get to Delta’s level.

“Are you scared?” He asked.

“…Yes, sir.” Delta nodded slowly.

“Okay,” Apollo nodded too, rubbing his chin, “That’s okay. Can I ask why?”

Delta’s wrung his hands anxiously; it was a childhood habit, one he’d mostly gotten out of by the time he’d graduated. It’d returned with a vengeance.

“I don’t know.” He said shamefully. “Sir. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay. I just wanted to check in on how you’re feeling. I can’t tell a lot of the time. You know you can talk to me or Kitty if you’re upset, right? We want you to be comfortable here. You can tell us if something is wrong.”

Apollo doubted it even as he said it. It seemed unlikely that Delta would come to them for anything, that he might not be physically capable of it at this point. But if he introduced the idea early — and reminded him often — it might start to sink in. For the time being, Delta did not respond.

“I’m assuming the kneeling is a habit, right?” Apollo ventured. Delta seemed a bit alarmed at the suggestion. 

“It’s just to be respectful. Sir.” Delta explained in a quiet voice.

He considered this. It might’ve been easier if it was just muscle memory, not a deliberate effort on Delta’s part. The mindset would be harder to get him out of. But Apollo was very glad that Delta had been willing to explain his reasoning to him. It was a good sign.

“Okay. You don’t have to,” He stated very clearly, “You can stand up. We won’t think it’s disrespectful. No one else will, either. You don’t have to do it.”

Again, not much changed in Delta’s expression. He offered the same quiet noise of affirmation, not voicing anything else. 

“Do you have any questions?” Apollo cursed himself for not asking sooner. But Delta didn’t take advantage of the opportunity the way he had hoped. 

“No, sir.” Delta folded his hands in his lap. He’d answered too soon. Apollo wondered if the question had come across as bullying. He got the sense he was starting to push too far out of Delta’s comfort zone. 

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything. Like I said, you can talk to us whenever. We’re right out here.” He stood up, feeling a little bad that Delta was still kneeling. He started to close the door.

He heard a soft “Thank you” just before it clicked shut.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat

[karoiseka]

2) Horizon

((MAJOR spoilers for the end of Myths of the Realm (the 24 Man EndWalker Raids). Please read accordingly!! ^_^ <3 This is a sequel of sorts to a different prompt that I answered after the first set of these raids came out!))

Karo watched as Deryk’s form slowly wound down the path away from the bridge that was named after him, and into the horizon.  Despite giving him her best impressions on the Twelve and what they meant to her–she hadn’t told him the entire truth.  What she felt now.was complex and spun in her heart like Oschon’s own wind.

Leaning against the stone rail, the sound of the bridge construction created a low background noise against the booming surf below.  The murmur of the workmen, the creak of the wagons making their way to and from the dry docks–all faded into the background as she watched the spot on the path where her own God in mortal form had walked out of her sight.

It was there, several bells later that she finally came out of her reverie with a start as the evening bells rang out, heralding another day done.  Resisting the urge to walk after Deryk, she turned, nearly jumping out of her skin as familiar red hair shone in the evening light.

“Raha!” they met in the space that had been between them, Karo holding him tight, glad for the comfort.

“I thought you went with Krile on the boat to Sharylan!” she hadn’t let him go an ilm, nuzzling her face into his neck.

“I had a feeling you’d be brooding after saying your goodbyes, so I decided to follow you at a distance and watch over for a bit.  I promised Krile I’d teleport in at or before the time her ship is due into harbor, so we have a couple of days together if you need it,” he nuzzled the top of her head in turn, kissing the back of her ear gently as he held her close.

“I definitely needed this,” Karo’s voice was soft as she continued the embrace.  Sheepishly she realized they were in the middle of the road, and keeping as much contact as possible, pulled G’raha over to the benches that she had vacated several bells prior with Deryk.

“I’m torn,” she finally said into the silence that had been growing as the workers went home, and caravans slowed for the night.  “I believed–oh how I believed my entire childhood in the Twelve, and in their mercy and kindness, their strictness and justice.  I followed Da an Pa to Nald’thal’s temples every year, giving thanks for our bounty, and to continue as successfully as we were.  I read the stories of Oschon and his wanderings and fell in love with his tales across all of Eorzea and beyond.  I was taught not to judge someone by whom they worshiped, and what the basic tenets of all the Twelve were so I could have a connection with people,” Karo sighed.  

“And they have been all that and more to me this entire time.  Despite all the primals, despite all the Gods of Domans, the Xaela of the Steppe, the Kojin, and the Thavnarians.  They were my childhood and stable rock.  If Louisoux was willing to reach out to them, who was I to deny that and agree with Gaius that they were just like those Gods I had fallen?”  A tear ran down her cheek as she continued to stare at the path South that Deryk had gone down.

“Yet when I finally meet him–them.  Finally see them face to face, I must fight them.  Defeat them.  And finally send them to the Aetherial Sea by my own hand while they smile and thank me. ME!” Her voice was horse as she nearly shouted through her tears, collapsing back onto G’raha’s shoulder as she sobbed.

“I just wanted to follow him.  I just wanted to explore and wander this world,” her sniffles almost drowned out the reply she wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t speaking directly into her ear.

“You–we–still can,” her head jerked back to look into his ruby eyes, her own bloodshot from the crying.

“The whole world is out there, My Star.  All you have to do is ask, and we will head off on our next adventure.  Whether you go alone, or it’s just the three of us, or companions new or old, I don’t doubt Oschon’s love of adventure and exploration has left you,” G’raha cupped her cheek, attempting to wipe the messy tears away, before leaning forward to kiss her gently.

“They wanted the same as Hydaelyn.  To give back and return.  They left something in return to allow prayers to still be answered, just–” he cut off his words, averting his eyes as he flushed.  

“Oh no you don’t, what were you going to say?” curiosity overcame her grief, anxious to know what would have made him stop in the middle of his mini-lecture.

“I–really shouldn’t.  I’m not sure you would appreciate it,” his younger side claimed his emotions as he stammered his own embarrassment.  A slight growl escaped from Karo’s throat in frustration.  Her mood was certainly dragging her along for the ride, not content to keep one feeling for more than a few moments before jumping to the next.  Perhaps that was part of her problem with attempting to grieve the Twelve, was the imbalance and the fact that they were so willing and happy to go in the first place.

“Raha.  Please,” Karo forced the words out as she concentrated on the thought that had caused him to stop his thought process.

“It’s just–” he started rubbing his arms like he did when he was unsure of himself, “it just reminds me of you,” the Bard could feel her mouth hang open at that statement as she stared at her love.  Even has her mind started to spin, he plowed on.

“It reminds me of the aftermath of the Eighth Umbral Calamity,” Karo continued to stare, as if starting with that sentence made anything better.  She had wanted to hear more of that time and the people there and his time there, but, perhaps not quite like this.

“You had been slain–centuries earlier–” G’raha winced at the way that sounded, but continued gamely on.  “But your stories, your tales, the songs you sang–the Legend and legacy you carried on continued throughout the ages,” the pieces he was laying down started to work their way together to her as well.

“It’s the same as the Twelve.  The legend and legacy they leave will continue on for ages, continuing to guide the people, even as you guided me all those years ago,” the wistful expression crossed his face as it always did when he thought back on his time there in the other time–and his early time on the First.

Shaking his head, he smiled, finally looking her in the eye again.  “I think the people will be fine,” he said confidently.  “The idea and ideals of the Twelve have been around for ages now, it will take more than them unknowingly allowing the last fragment of their original souls to return to the Aetherial Sea to break the people’s trust in them,”  

Karo had to concede that last point.  She knew that she wouldn’t be able to break herself of saying “By the Twelve” anytime soon, and doubted that Alphinaud would stop saying “Thaliak protect me” after she told him about what happened either.  That was to say nothing of the ceremonies that took place daily at the Sanctum of the Twelve–bringing light and love with happy blessings to those that pledged their Eternal Bond to each other.  Karo’s fingers brushed the necklace around her throat as she smiled.

“I will grant you that one concession,” she smiled, adjusting the way she sat–laying her legs across his lap as she leaned into his side.  “Now, tell me everything I missed up there!” G’raha laughed, knowing her Echo would allow her to go back and revisit everything that had happened, but preened under the attention, and started to talk as the sun began to set.

[inf1nyxw0rlds]

ouuugh thinking about runaways au again... maybe i will tell the rest of you about runaways.

in regards to prev rb, i have a hc that shadow has multiple safehouses in various secluded locations that nobody knows about except for him – rouge and omega included. his experiences with GUN never left him; they killed maria, and when he emerged from stasis in a foreign world they hunted him. he's stuck under their thumb (or, so he thinks. more on that later) as they want to keep him under control, but while they aren't trying to lock him up or experiment on him right now, he can never rule out the possibility and they still treat him as a lesser being while simultaneously praising his ultimate status. he doesn't trust them, and his justified concerns that things could go south anytime are what prompt him to discreetly make sure he has somewhere to escape to should the situation call for it.

he's scared. he feels trapped. he will not say either of these things. shadow will tell you, and at times, yeah, he'll show you that he does what he wants, but the trauma and inherent, programmed "do as you're told" instinct remains, too. why doesn't he leave, if he's the ultimate lifeform?

he's keeping an eye on them, he would say, and it isn't entirely a lie, just not the full truth either. he also has just... resigned himself, almost. he wants out, but out would mean being hunted again, out would make him vulnerable, out is... frightening. because, sure, death to all who oppose me sounds cool on paper – but he doesn't want to go through that again. why make his life harder? he pushes back where he can, shadow doesn't take shit, but he's also stuck in a big power play situation where unfortunately full "freedom" would actually be more limiting.

so. then we get infinite. war criminal, tyrant, world's most hated. secured by GUN and sentenced to imprisonment for his crimes. but it doesn't stop there, of course. it reeks bad news from the moment he's captured. it's about justice, sure, shadow thinks. totally just justice, and not the all powerful rock in his chest. naturally, they don't just want to subdue infinite, they want to run experiments, and take the ruby for themselves.

unfortunately for them, they can't get it out; it's fused to him with an unbreakable force, and they're left with several options... try and shape him into another living weapon, using him to utilise the ruby by extension, kill him in hopes that breaks the connection, or cut their losses and continue with other research.

option one is a bust. infinite is far more resistant and deemed far more dangerous than shadow as a result. he won't cooperate, he can't be properly controlled. they decide to get as much information out of him, verbally or via tests, as possible before considering executing him. it's mostly the tests that yield result. infinite's not much of a talker.

he's outfitted in power restricting cuffs and a shock collar intended to zap him if he tries to activate them despite a lack of effect, or in any instance where he lashes out physically. a warning, a threat, like training a dog. it doesn't stay that way. shadow walks by some soldiers having a laugh in the hall, and they're talking about infinite; about how funny it is when they rile him up, or how he jumps when he's zapped, how defeated he looks, how he deserves this. it's disgusting and alarming and however he feels about infinite, something in him urges him to do something about it.

he could go to the commander. he could report that the guards have been abusing their power. but would he listen? would he care? he may not know about this, but he had to given the go ahead for the experiments and the collar and who knows what else. he's beginning to feel rather sick. this could have been him. maybe rouge could keep watch on the guards, but she has other assignments.

things don't get better. and, maybe, shadow has lost his mind – but he can't just pretend he knows nothing, do nothing. so he finds his way to infinite's holding chamber. no windows, just the flicker of a flourescent light illuminating his form; malnourished and slouched, a picture of exhaustion. still, his eyes sharpen when he raises his head. the first thing out of his mouth is a low snarl, tail lashing, and a word spat through sharp teeth: "you."

his aggression doesn't phase shadow much. he expected it.

"finally decided to send in the executioner, did they? or are you just paying me a visit? want in on the action?" he hisses.

shadow doesn't waste his time with unpleasantries.

it's a stupid thing, freeing infinite; an incredibly stupid, impulsive, reckless thing. the jackal seems to be grappling with his disbelief and distrust, but the collar is pried from his neck just as the alarms start to blare. he makes quick work of the restrictors, as well, after a moment's hesitation. and after barking at infinite to move it, jolting him out of his shock, they run to the sound of angry shouts and screeching sirens. he isn't afraid.

they make it, barely. infinite is in terrible shape, collapsing to the ground as he coughs and wheezes, gasping for air. his fur is tangled and dirty, bones prominent, in no position to be exerting himself. shadow is, under his own shock, a little impressed.

he just let infinite loose. he let infinite escape, helped him escape. he aided a terrorist. there's no way GUN would let this go unpunished, infinite is still infinite, unpredictable and probably even more hateful of the world than he was before. the jackal pulls him from his spiralling thoughts, with a raspy "why?" and he looks at him again, beaten down and shaking with adrenaline. infinite may be infinite, but he's barely capable of standing right now. he can shelve that particular concern for a little while.

"what they were doing to you was wrong. i wouldn't wish it on anyone. even you."

infinite casts his eyes at the ground. it feels like such a ridiculous justification when he says it aloud.

they both understand that they need to stick together; infinite can't hold his own (something that infuriates him), and if he gets caught, this is all for nothing but severe punishments for them both. they're both wanted, now, and they're better off as a combined force, even though fighting is not on the table. infinite hates running, and shadow isn't keen on reliving this nightmare, but he thinks of his safehouses and has never been more relieved that he set them up.

they travel together, often utilising chaos control, though at first GUN are tracking them with suspicious ease, giving them no room to breathe. they chipped infinite during one of their experiments, something he was unaware of, and utterly disgusted by, seething with rage. shadow gets tasked with ripping it from the back of his neck and crushing it underfoot.

they move on, and things get easier from there, shifting between hideouts. they start talking more at length, actual conversations. in the meanwhile, GUN are freaking out, sonic and the others are freaking out, because there are two incredibly powerful people on the loose and nobody knows what's going on, or why shadow freed him to begin with. but in freeing infinite, shadow also did the thing that he was too afraid to do. he freed himself.

it's about as shitty as he imagined, but having someone else share the struggle with him is weirdly comforting, even if that someone is infinite. they don't have a longterm plan, but for now, this is sustainable.

and if they start bonding over trauma and developing feelings that they don't know how to deal with that's just the way it goes

[scattered-winter]

brother i have QUESTIONS (ao3) 3 12 19 27 29 30 and secret bonus question that was NOT included in the text post but as an additional special query , if someone (me) were trying to write an adashi fic for you for the past like two years but they were very fucking bad at committing to a fucking plot what would you want the circumstance to be

3: What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

DEFINITELY my voltron rewrite. its about the length of an entire novel and i've grown more as a writer during this project than . pretty much anythign else i've ever done lmao.

12: How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

uh. well. i tried to count all of my unfinished WIPs but i gave up somewhere around the 95 mark. i KNOW i'm well into triple digits however. and that number will only ever increase.

19: What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i wanna do more stuff with danny phantom in general. romantic platonic familial etc etc etc all the things. i ALSO really want to finish my team STRQ manifesto sometime next year because i am always so fucking sick over them

27: What do you listen to while writing?

instrumental music usually!! it WIDELY varies but generally i avoid things with lyrics because its too distracting for me. problem is, im so mentally ill about instrumental music that 80% of the time THAT'S too distracting for me too bc i'll be paying so much attention to what i'm listening to that i forget i'm supposed to be writing. i literally can't win </3

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

i was revisiting my STRQ manifesto today as i am likely to do and my god. i really really went off with this one here: _______

Summer sighed, and reached for Ruby. “I should put her down, too.” Qrow gently pulled his finger out of Ruby's mouth and reluctantly let Summer take her back. At the same time, he couldn't wait to get the baby away from him. He was all too aware of how small she was, how fragile. It would be so easy for something to happen to her, for his Semblance to hurt her. That all-too-familiar buzz of anxiety was climbing up his throat, making him have to resist the urge to tap his fingers against Harbinger at his side. He needed a drink. He needed to leave, before something bad happened. “I better debrief with Oz,” he said, half-turning toward the door. Summer's hand on his wrist stopped him in his tracks. She looked at him, silver eyes seeming to bore into him and peel his layers back, one by one. Her hand was rough against his skin, callused from years of battle. “You don't have to leave, you know,” she said softly. You know I do, Qrow wanted to say, but he gave her a crooked grin instead. “You know how Oz is. I'll try and swing by before I head out again, yeah?” Summer's brows drew together, her fingers tightening around Qrow's wrist like she didn't want to let him go. Her lips twitched, like she was trying to say any of the things she had to be thinking. “Would it really be so bad,” she said at last, “if you stayed? Just this once?”

Qrow looked at her, at the brightness of gathering tears in her eyes. She'd missed him, he realized, and it made his heart twist to think about how the months he's away on missions must be for her, for Tai. How they must wait, agonizing over every day he's gone and dreading that he'll never come back. It's strange, knowing that someone misses him when he's gone. Strange that he has somewhere to come home to, strange that there are people who will welcome him there when he arrives. Strange, and a little sad. He almost preferred knowing nobody would miss him when one of Salem's monsters finally did him in. Summer was still looking at him, expression pleading. Qrow sighed, and turned his wrist in her hand so his fingers were twining with hers. His other hand rose, to brush against the soft, plump curve of Ruby's cheek. “It's not worth the risk,” he said, so softly he could barely hear himself. Summer's eyes closed. Her fingers tightened around Qrow's. She nodded slowly. Qrow squeezed her hand back and carefully leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He gave Ruby's face one more gentle brush before turning to walk away again. This time, Summer let him go.

30: Biggest surprise while writing this year?

i have discovered that i am quite incapable of writing anything romantic and making it hit but if im doing some kind of platonic intimacy????? brother i will write the hell out of that shit. this probably should not have been surprising to me since i'm the most aromantic guy on planet earth but. well. i am also not a very smart man so jot that down

and in regards to your other question ,,,

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE PLS I WOULD BE SO HONORED ,,,,, you can do whatever your heart desires of course but i would love for it to be some kind of scenario in space in which one of them gets hurt and the other one yells so loud about it ,,

ao3 wrapped !!

[densesindealer]

Neo World: Pacification Project, Chapter Three

Dense and @thelewdpokemanik back again with the third chapter of our story. It can still be found up on AO3 here. We hope to keep it going strong, so please enjoy!

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Chapter Three: Panic, Persuasion, Pacification

His entire body felt numb, that was the only possible way to describe the state he was in. His stomach was twisting itself in knots and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He must have gone pale, or at the very least it must have been evident that his thoughts were a mess. If it wasn’t for the soft squeeze of the hand on his shoulder he would have believed this was merely a dream.

What had he done?

What had he done?

He did his best to resist the urge to retch, to avoid the disgust creeping its way up his throat. Another gentle squeeze, grounding him and carefully guiding his swaying body to a seat. His vision was hazy, it was hard to focus on anything other than the reality of what had occurred.

“Makoto.” Another squeeze, this time on his thigh, and he tried his best to focus his vision.

Slowly the figure in front of him came into proper view, Celeste, possibly his closest friend staring at him in deep concern. Always the calming force to his anxiety.

“Makoto, breathe.” He didn’t debate the command, and sucked in a deep breath. Such a simple action but upon releasing it he felt his tension ease, or at the least, the trembling in his hands cease.

“Wh-What did I-”

Celeste cut him off sternly, though not unkindly. “No, you will not go blaming yourself for this.”

Makoto barely heard her. “I did this…I made hi-”

“Look at me.” His eyes carefully rose to peer into the rubies that made up her own.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you understand me?” Celeste enunciated carefully, and Makoto felt frustrated with the sincerity he saw in her eyes.

“I chose to use that program! How could you say I didn’t do anything wrong when I caused this?”

“You did what was right! You stopped Nagito from committing a murder! You did nothing wrong.” The words felt heavy upon his ears, unnatural.

Wrong.

She stared at him, scrutinizing every twitch of his body, carefully calculating her next move, before finally letting out a soft sigh. She sank down to her knees to match his eye level.

“I understand how you feel, but look at this matter from a different perspective.” Celeste began, making Makoto blink.

“I don’t-”

“What would have been the preferred outcome?”

“What?”

“Should we have left Nagito to plot a murder? Should we simply have done nothing and let him start another killing game?” Celeste proposed.

Makoto’s stomach churned. “Of course not! None of them deserve to die!”

Celeste nodded, a slight smile on her lips. “On that we agree. Staying out of it was simply out of the question. So…what should we have done?”

Makoto’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, though only just the one. “We should have found a way to stop him… Helped him realize that he didn’t need to do something so drastic.”

“Is that not what we did?”

Makoto’s eyes flashed in irritation. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

Celeste didn’t try to defend herself, though her expression was still perfectly at ease. “Is it pretty? Is it perfect? Of course not, but was it necessary?”

“No! It wasn’t! We should’ve tried to find another way to change his mind!”

“What other way? We’re functionally locked out of there, and you used the only way you had to save someone’s life. Probably saved Nagito’s life too.”

Makoto’s head fell in his hands. “I ruined his life.”

Celeste scoffed. “Please. She doesn’t have a life to ruin anymore. You’ve already gone against the Future Foundation to save them, and now, you saved her life again.”

“His.”

“You saved her life, and probably the life of many others by stopping Monokuma’s Killing Game! Are you really going to stand there and say you regret doing that!?” Celeste said, her eyes almost physically drilling into the top of Makoto’s skull, even though he couldn’t meet them.

Because he knew. He knew he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t allow the Killing Game to start again.

And if he knew then what he did now- If he had to go back, and decide…

Makoto would use the Pacification Program to stop Nagito. Every time.

If he had to choose between using the Pacification Program and allowing someone to start the Killing Game, he would choose the former.

Every. Time.

Makoto’s shoulders slumped. Well, there wasn’t anything to do about it now, was there?

“God, what are we going to tell Kyoko?” He wondered aloud, already feeling the dread pooling in his stomach.

“You will tell her nothing.” Celeste hissed, making him look up at her venomous expression.

“Celeste-”

“No! I will not hear it!” Celeste said, her arms crossing angrily. “I am not giving her the opportunity to stab us in the back again!”

Makoto winced. “She’s not like that anymore…”

Celeste clicked her tongue. “If you truly believe that, then you are a fool. Kyoko will only give you enough trust to hang yourself with.”

“Which I did…”

“You did not! But Kyoko is stupid enough to believe you did, I have no doubt.” Celeste bit out, her voice a cold hiss.

“I mean…” Makoto’s eyes drifted to the pod where Nagito’s body rested. His changed body, let’s be clear.

He was still wearing his old clothes, and they fit her- him, pretty badly. Makoto was almost worried he might suffocate in them or something, the chest was so tight, her breasts almost looking ready to pop out of them, no, his breasts- His breasts?

Makoto stared at the sleeping- Nagito for a moment longer, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him the shirt should be removed- for health reasons only, of course!

“How do you expect us to explain that?” He asked Celeste instead, who smiled demurely.

“We won’t have to, of course. Kyoko’s too busy in the field to bother coming by, and as long as we don’t bring her attention to it, why would she even ask about Nagito’s gender?”

Makoto grimaced, but he could hardly fight the point. “And once the program runs its course? What are we going to say then?”

Celeste shrugged. “I think we have more important things to worry about. We don’t even know if they’ll make it to the end. Maybe our problem will solve itself.” Celeste said pleasantly, and Makoto couldn’t help the uncomfortable chuckle that escaped him.

“Please don’t joke about that…”

Celeste’s smile softened a touch, growing a bit more sincere. “Don’t worry, Makoto. We’ve already proven that the Pacification Program can be used to stop the Killing Game, right? If things turn dire again, we’ll just have to use it again.”

Makoto paused, his eyes growing wide. “Again? Celeste, please remember what just happened!”

“I do. You stopped Nagito from starting the Killing Game. Did anything else more important than that happen that I missed?” Celeste asked kindly, though…

Makoto recognized that tone of voice. He played with Celeste often enough to do so.

She wouldn’t ask the question if she didn’t already know the answer.

And- Makoto knew it too.

Every. Time. He would choose the Program over the Killing Game every time.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, before blinking as he felt Celeste’s hands clasp his in his lap.

“Makoto. You did good. You stopped Nagito, and probably saved her life.” Celeste said softly, her accent nowhere to be heard.

“You did good, Makoto. You did the right thing.” She repeated, and Makoto felt himself nodding after a moment.

“Y-Yeah…” He had to believe he had. No, he did believe he had. 

As for Nagito…

Makoto would have to make sure he apologized to her properly once she woke up. 

But, until then… Well, he was still quite busy.

Makoto turned back toward the monitors depicting the Neo World Program’s camera feeds.

It was- strange, watching who he intellectually knew was the Ultimate Impostor, even though his eyes wouldn’t allow him to think of him as anyone other than Byakuya Togami.

Though, Byakuya had never been so keen to claim responsibility for the whole group. Especially not their safety, so in that manner, Makoto could see through the Impostor’s disguise.

“Finally.” His tinny voice came through the speaker as Nagito entered the hotel. “Please make sure to not waste my time thusly in the future.”

Makoto couldn’t help but blush a little bit as he watched Nagito through the monitor. The- girl, he supposed, still had hints of a blush on her face, and though her makeup was impeccable, well-

It did little to chase out the memory Makoto had of her ecstasy-filled expression as she fingered herself desperately in her own room.

Both he and Celeste had been simply stunned by the scene, and neither of them had moved for several minutes as they stared at the new girl, begging for her master’s touch…

Celeste’s blush had been so bright it had actually brought color to her pale cheeks, and her eyes had seemed almost like crosshairs as she stared at him when he finally got enough of a hold of himself to toggle the main monitor away from that camera, switching it for another, which thankfully got rid of the audio. Thankfully, it seemed like she didn’t resent him making her witness that at least.

And, well. It was hard to think of Nagito as a guy after watching her cum her brains out, a brainless smile on her lips as she soaked her bedsheets.

Makoto blushed, shifting in his seat as he tried to focus on the screen in front of him, and not on the tightness of his pants.

Nagito only rolled her eyes before taking a seat, her legs crossing as she shot Hajime a glare, for some reason.

“I was busy with actually important stuff. So, say your piece so I can go back to actually doing that~” Nagito smiled as she finished, her eyes seeming to go a bit hazy as she, presumably, focused on, uh, what she would rather be doing.

Celeste giggled in her seat beside her. “She probably can’t be trusted to do anything other than cum her brains out, honestly. Good for her~” She purred, and Makoto winced.

Yeesh. Did Celeste have something against the lucky student?

The Impostor sighed, before crossing his arms. “Well, now that everyone is here, I suppose it is time for me to say my piece.”

Makoto couldn’t deny his nervosity here. They’d stopped Nagito, but would the Impostor… No, no, no, Makoto refused to believe it! He’d been such a good leader for the others thus far- but what if Nagito’s notes made him do something, thoughtlessly?

Makoto’s eyes drifted toward his second monitor, before he shook his head.

No, he wouldn’t have to use the Pacification Program. Everything would be fine. Right?

“Rejoice! I have decided that we will have a party tonight!”

“Huh?” Makoto said, surprised, echoed by multiple students on the monitor.

“I see,” Celeste said, attracting his attention. “He is trying to counteract Nagito’s note by keeping an eye on everyone.”

“Ah! This party’s just an excuse then, right?” Makoto had been surprised to hear the Impostor do something so frivolous, but that made more sense. “He’s trying to hide the note from the others, so there won’t be a panic, while still trying to stop the killing from happening, huh?”

“He almost reminds me of you.”

“Of me?”

“Yes, trying his best to protect others and draw them together. If he had half of your charisma, he would make for a compelling leader to the other students.”

Makoto chuckled. “He seems to be doing a fine enough job as far as I can see.” And indeed he was. Under his strict supervision, roles were assigned to students as they prepared for the party that would be happening tonight, in the abandoned building next door.

Sonia eagerly volunteered to clean, though several other students saw reason and decided to go with her, since the princess clearly had more enthusiasm than know-how.

Teruteru was eager to put his talent to work in the kitchen, and Peko went off to find Fuyuhiko and keep him abreast of the happenings.

Nagito wasn’t even considered for any role. Instead, the rest of the group seemed to know exactly what to expect of her. That is, that she would simply ignore their instructions and return to her cabin as soon as possible for, obvious reasons.

Makoto hummed for a moment. “Nobody’s said anything yet. They all seem to think Nagito was always as she is now. He is.” Makoto corrected himself, though judging from Celeste’s giggle, he hadn’t been very convincing.

“Nagito herself seems completely unperturbed by this change, as do Monokuma and Monomi. Is that a feature of the Pacification Program?” She asked instead, putting a finger to her chin.

“It might be. Wouldn’t do much Pacifying if it sent everyone into a panic, would it?”

Celeste nodded her head silently, watching as the group dispersed. The Impostor himself busily began making additional preparations for the party, mostly security concerns.

He really seemed like a good leader…

“Speaking of the Pacification Program,” Celeste said, making Makoto blink. “Why did it turn Nagito into a girl?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you didn’t make it do so?”

“Of course not!” Makoto replied, a blush reddening his cheeks, making Celeste smirk.

“I didn’t think so. But clearly, something must’ve.”

Makoto nodded slowly, thinking. He opened up the .txt file attached to the program to read through it again, carefully. He blinked when Celeste’s hand landed on his left shoulder, and blushed when she rested her head on his right, her pale face appearing in the corner of his vision, her drill twintail pressing against his back.

For a moment, Makoto froze as the strong scent of roses filled his nose, backed by the bittersweet aroma of tea, making his heart pound in his chest. His body felt hyper aware of her presence as she read over his shoulder, and he found that the words were bleeding into one another in front of his eyes as he failed to focus on them.

Instead, all of his attention was stolen by the soft breathing he could hear in his ear, by the light pressure of her delicate fingers on his shoulder, by the heat he could feel just an inch away from his back-

“Here.” Celeste said, a perfectly manicured nail tapping on the screen and making Makoto jump. 

“Wh-What?”

“This part here.” Celeste repeated, before reading out loud. “‘From there it will attempt to alter the base coding of the target into something more useful for the system moderator.’”

Makoto blinked. “Yeah? How does that explain what happened to Nagito? Are you saying changing him into a girl made him- more useful?”

Celeste’s head turned for a moment, and suddenly, Makoto realized just how close her face was to him, as she hadn’t backed a single inch from her perch.

Her eyes seemed like incredibly large rubies as she spoke, her breath gliding across Makoto’s skin.

“This Program probably does consider girls more useful to you, Makoto. After all, you are a man.” She said, and somehow, impossibly, seemed to inch even closer to him, until her lips brushed his as she spoke.

“I’m sure you can imagine many uses for a female body…” She whispered, and Makoto could only stare, wide-eyed, back into Celeste’s heated gaze, where he could see a spark of- something dancing within them.

Not humor, or satisfaction. Something more- primal, perhaps.

Numbly, Makoto nodded, and Celeste smirked for a moment.

“Good~” She said, before standing back up and stretching, leaving Makoto to stare shell-shocked into her chest as she arched in front of him. “I need a moment. I’ll be back once I’ve fetched myself something to drink.”

Thusly, Celeste walked away from the operations room, toward her personal lodgings, leaving Makoto to stare after her for a moment, a singular word bouncing around in his mind as he did.

“Good?” He repeated to himself, stunned, and torn between disbelief, confusion- and- well, something he thought should remain unnamed. 

Instead, he turned back toward the monitors, only to blush when his eyes immediately landed on a masturbating Nagito once more.

“Gonna have to look out for that…” Makoto said, pretending that the new spectacle was actually responsible for his present arousal.

He quickly shifted his vision to another camera, jumping around from each monitor until he found two unoccupied students. Akane and Nekomaru, and he switched their feed over to the main monitor, letting the audio from that feed come through.

Just in time for the sound of wood cracking to make him jump, his finger slipping off the key as he watched Akane fly into a tree, breaking it in half as she cried out in pain.

Makoto’s jaw fell open for a moment, and he almost jumped to his second monitor, only to notice how Akane was smiling.

“You going soft on me, Coach?” She called, completely ignoring the way blood was dribbling down her forehead from a cut, making Makoto wince.

“Soft?” Nekomaru’s booming voice said. “Of course! I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again- You lack discipline! You are wasting your potential! Even a mere Team Manager like me can easily take you down!”

Akane’s face twisted in irritation, and immediately charged again at speed Makoto might've called superhuman before he met Sakura.

Now, he could only agree with Nekomaru.

Akane was all instinct and violence, without even a hint of technique, unlike Nekomaru’s practiced form as he manhandled her and threw her to the ground once more in a great cloud of sand.

The girl coughed as she tried to stand up again, only for her limbs to fail her. “D-Damnit…”

Nekomaru laughed uproariously. “What did I tell you!? You charge in, again and again, without a single thought! Of course you’re going to stay weak!”

Makoto stared at Nekomaru’s tall silhouette, a whisper of something in his gut.

The team manager- was lying, he was pretty sure… But why?

Akane growled something incomprehensible, before finally making it up to her feet, though she was swaying in place.

“Next time-”

“You’ll lose again, until you learn how to properly use that body of yours. Now, go see Mikan, she’ll patch you up.” Nekomaru said, ignoring the way Akane stomped her way past him.

Makoto didn’t follow her, instead watching Nekomaru as he stood still, staring out into the sea.

Until he collapsed to one knee, groaning, a hand against his chest.

Makoto almost jumped out of his seat at the sight, only to freeze again as Nekomaru laughed lightly, weakly.

“Damn. My weak body really isn’t fit to be an athlete, huh?” He said softly, before rising back up to his feet carefully, as if a single gust of wind could knock him back down.

“But I would be a failure of a Team Manager if I didn’t pound some sense into that girl before she goes and gets herself killed fighting a Monobeast, or Monokuma himself.”

Nekomaru’s words floated on the wind for a moment, the moment almost fragile as the team manager panted heavily, before he straightened his back again with gusto.

“I!” He screamed, almost blowing the speakers off the monitor Makoto was using. “AM NEKOMARU NIDAI! ULTIMATE TEAM MANAGER!” He yelled, his whole body tense, as if he was using every muscle in his body to scream the words. 

“AND NOTHING WILL STOP ME FROM TRAINING MY ATHLETES! NOT EVEN DEATH!” 

For a few moments, silence reigned in the operations room as Makoto stared at the heavily breathing Nekomaru for a few moments longer, before the team manager began leaving the beach, his declaration having apparently helped him recover.

Makoto was still staring into the empty monitor, his mind running a mile a minute.

He- hadn’t been expecting that at all. He’d gotten used to incredible level of hand-to-hand combat, though he was patently not a fighter at all, especially compared to the likes of Sakura or the Great Gozu, the former Ultimate Wrestler.

But still, there was a level of- not professionalism in their fights, but…

Celeste’s voice drifted in his ear. ‘Savoir-faire’, yes. 

Those two knew what they were doing, and were able to fight seriously without risking either of their lives.

Nothing like Nekomaru and Akane.

No, even though Nekomaru had a better handle on fighting, he was also weaker than Akane, and couldn’t afford to hold back at all, no matter what he told her.

Akane, on the other hand, was like a wild animal. Dangerous.

Both to herself, and others.

Akane had already said several times that she would fight Monokuma given the opportunity, but Makoto hadn’t realized how real the possibility was until he saw her fight.

Thankfully, Nekomaru seemed to have a handle on her, and was able to direct her energy toward safer outlets, but…

Makoto couldn’t help but wonder, for how long?

How long until Nekomaru was simply no longer able to keep up? Be it because of Akane improving or his own body failing him?

And even if he could manage to keep up, maybe with Mikan’s help- How long until Akane ran into Monokuma in the middle of the night, and let herself be goaded into a fight.

The thought sent a shiver down Makoto’s spine.

He’d seen Sakura and Monokuma fight, and that had been a robot constrained by physics. Not a nigh-omnipotent virus.

If the two fought, not only would Akane lose, but…

She would be executed.

Makoto could almost feel the crash of the compactor through his bones as he clutched the desk in front of him.

He- He couldn’t let that happen to someone else.

But he also couldn’t stop it.

Not unless he used the Pacification Program again, but…

The thought of it made his stomach twist with guilt. He- no, he hadn’t made a mistake with Nagito, but- He hadn’t known what the Pacification Program would do.

Now he did. 

It might save Akane’s life, in exchange for- everything else.

And it was a ‘might’. Akane might grow under Nekomaru’s tutelage, or change her mind, or maybe whatever Usami did to Monokuma would stop the Killing Game before it ever started.

Maybe. But was Makoto willing to bet on a ‘maybe’? He couldn’t watch everything that happened on the island- Not realistically. Akane just might slip through his fingers and get herself hurt, or even killed without him ever knowing. Or maybe he would notice too late- The Pacification Program did seem to take a bit to work, if what it had done to Nagito was any indication.

It was not a quick thing, to Pacify someone. And if Makoto waited, he might miss his chance to target Akane altogether.

Makoto worried his lip as he thought. What would he regret more? Pacifying Akane uselessly, or letting her die?

Just the thought made his blood run cold.

No, he could never live with himself if he let Akane die. But could he live with Pacifying her, even if it didn’t end up saving her life? Was he fine changing her like he did Nagito, on the off-chance that it would save her?

Makoto’s head fell in his hands as he sighed. His thoughts were going around in circles uselessly.

“Makoto? Is everything alright?” Celeste said as she reentered the room, making him jump.

His mouth opened, a reassurance behind his tongue, only for his body to sag.

“I- think I need your help, Celeste.” He said instead, and the gambler’s smile at his words helped soothe his heart, if only a little.

“Well, I suppose I could lend a helping hand if you’re so desperate~” Celeste teased, making Makoto chuckle weakly at her joke, though his mood quickly turned.

Celeste seemed to realize it as well, and took her seat back, an eyebrow raised. “I only stepped out for a few minutes. What happened?” She asked seriously, making Makoto grimace.

Had it really only been such a short time? Makoto felt like he’d been struggling for a solution for an hour.

He looked at the monitor in front of him, still showing the empty beach and the broken tree, staring for a moment, chewing on his next words. Thankfully, Celeste let him do so, waiting for him to speak up again.

“I’m- thinking about using the Pacification Program again.” Makoto said, and it was like he’d opened the floodgates. His words almost fell out of him faster than he could speak them as he told Celeste about the fight, Nekomaru’s struggle, Akane’s wildness. His thoughts, his fears, his worries. 

By the time the flow dried, Celeste’s cup of tea had gone cold between her hands, and Makoto almost felt deflated.

The gambler hummed for a moment, hiding her mouth behind her cup, though she grimaced ever-so-slightly at the beverage’s lost prime.

“I believe you’re overthinking it. Your hesitation stems from what happened with Nagito, correct?”

Makoto nodded hesitantly. “Well, yeah, but… I just don’t know if the risks are worth-”

Celeste cut him off, her voice somehow both soft and as steel. “Once more, overthinking it. We agreed that what happened with Nagito was better than the alternative, did we not?”

Makoto licked his dry lips. “Yeah, I…I guess we did?”

“Then why does that same logic not follow now? It’s merely the same situation but from the perspective of the victim.”

“I don’t really think what Nagito was planning and this-”

“Both would end in the same outcome, albeit one less loss of life. You know as well as I that picking a fight with Monokuma would lead to death.”

Makoto didn’t bother answering. They’d both had front row seats to Mondo nearly losing his arm in that explosion.

“So if you are so worried that Akane will act the fool and put herself at risk, what makes that so different from the risk of Nagito’s life?” Celeste’s words had a way of pulling the rug out from under Makoto’s feet. What seemed like incredibly complex situations were being calmly broken down and divided, ordered and presented.

But still, “I didn’t know what the Program did then.”

“Would you still use it now, even knowing the outcome? Would you still save his life?”

“Of course.” His response came without hesitation. 

“So then, I believe we can agree Akane needs someone to save hers, lest she get herself killed and start the game anyways.”

“I don’t even know if she’d really do something like that!” Makoto protested, though Celeste didn’t waver.

“Is it worth the risk? Should we have blind faith that someone will always be able to talk her down from her ideas of grandeur?”

“I just don’t want to-”

“Makoto,” Celeste cut him off once more, and again, Makoto’s protests were brushed past skillfully. “You know I’m correct. You agree with me on every point I’ve raised. Clearly, none of what was raised thus far is your real issue. Tell me why you are against this, and if you do not know, reflect on it.”

Makoto paused for a moment, his train of thought cut off unexpectedly at the change of track.

She was right. This situation, saving Akane… It was the same choice he’d made before. So why? Why was he struggling to find a reason to save her? Why was he holding back when the opportunity was right in front of him?

No matter how much he twisted the situation around in his mind, he agreed with Celeste, and more importantly, with himself. This was the right thing to do.

But- Was it for the right reasons?

Unbidden, his eyes turned toward the monitors, tracking the various students as they went about their day.

The Impostor was scouting the outside of the abandoned building, carefully testing every point of entry.

Sonia and the others were cleaning as best they could with Teruteru flitting in and about to set up the kitchen for the night.

And Nagito was ruining her bed, screaming her orgasm silently, though Makoto could easily read the words on her lips.

‘Master’.

He gulped, staring at the picture. The words Celeste had pointed out in the instructions were still clear in his mind.

‘Alter the base coding into something more useful to the user.’

In other words, the Pacification Program must’ve made him Nagito’s master.

The thought made something pool in his stomach.

It was guilt. At least, in part.

He wished it was in its entirety. He wished he could look at that screen, and only feel guilt for his terrible mistake, and none of the anticipation, excitement, and arousal he felt at the sight.

But he didn’t. He really didn’t.

“I-” Makoto started, only for his words to flee him immediately.

His lack of a response must have truly gained her attention, as her eyes which at first had been watching him, traced his line of sight to the monitor he’d been unable to look away from.

“Oh?” It was a simple word, phrased as a question before she pressed on, “It frightens you to admit that the consequences don’t feel quite as wrong as you’d like.”

Makoto’s eyes widened, before he raised his hands in front of his chest, trying to deny the accusation. “No…that’s not-”

“Isn’t it? You may not want to admit it, but some part of you is more than just alright with what happened. Somewhere inside you’ve realized that you aren’t put off by what Nagito became.” Celeste pushed, her red eyes drilling into Makoto.

“I…I don’t enjoy this, you’re-”

Celeste raised her tea cup to her lips again, though she didn’t drink from it this time, only using it to hide her smile. “You shouldn’t lie to yourself dear, you and I share a mind that Nagito is much better like this~”

“Why are you so okay with this?” Makoto finally pushed back, feeling something akin to panic running up his back.

“Let’s weigh the options, shall we? The Nagito before, one with a rather demented view of hope, willing to take a life? Or the Nagito we have now, one who’s only focus is bringing herself to climax and is only willing to follow her master’s orders?”

Makoto found his words struggling to come out more and more as Celeste spoke. “I-”

“I don’t see much of a contest, and judging by the way your eyes are acting, this is a sight some part of you is willing to admit it prefers.” Makoto’s eyes snapped back to Celeste from where they had begun drifting toward a particular monitor, wide brown meeting amused red.

“It’s wrong.” It was a weak argument, and both of them knew it, a feeble attempt to convince either of them he wasn’t seriously considering her words.

“It’s not wrong to enjoy this, you just wish it to be. You’re focusing so much on your own rigid set of rules that you aren’t basking in the full outcome.” Celeste calmly said, making Makoto hesitate.

And when he didn’t answer, she answered for him. “Yes, it may not be the original expectation, but it’s not a crime to enjoy yourself. You’ve saved a life, you can save another, this is a gift for your efforts.”

“I just…” Makoto’s own words sounded weak to his ears as he tried to justify himself for- for what exactly?

“Let go, just this once, let yourself enjoy this, it’s only to save her.” Celeste said, smiling reassuringly, and Makoto felt himself wilt.

“But…” He tried, he really did, to come up with a reason she was wrong. His mind kept coming up blank, and even when anything started to form, his eyes caught Nagito’s monitor and immediately they would return to silence.

Was Celeste right? Was it really okay to not worry so much? Nagito did seem to be much happier like this, and she was safe from Monokuma. 

Was it fine if he let go and enjoyed this? If he took pleasure in the act, did that make the act wrong, somehow? Did it negate the good it did in saving their lives, to enjoy the side effects that came with it?

Makoto’s eyes drifted to Nagito’s monitor once more, watching her.

It was impossible to deny the truth, some part of him had already found enjoyment in this outcome. Both in saving a life, and Nagito’s newfound devotion. If it was to save a life, he’d do it a thousand times over, and nothing in his head nor in his heart could find an argument against that. 

So then why? Why was he still so unsure if he was doing this for the right reasons? His earlier conversations with Celeste played on loop in his mind. Was there truly harm being done, enjoying this when it meant saving a life too?

One last time his eyes flicked back to Nagito, screaming silently in bliss, and his resolve hardened. She was different now, that much was true, but there was more to it than that. She was safe, free from her possible fate, and she was enjoying every moment of it. 

So why couldn’t he? He’d done what was right, stopped a murder. It wasn’t harming anyone to enjoy the outcome, was it?

No, it wasn’t. Like Celeste had said before, he’d acted the savior, he’d done that for so long. It wasn’t wrong to enjoy himself too, not when it meant saving others, especially not then.

Makoto nodded to himself, slowly, and then more solidly.

“Yeah. You’re right, Celeste. Thanks.” He said, smiling at the gambler, who returned it with one of her own.

“You are quite welcome, dear,” She said, her eyes almost shining. “It’s always a pleasure to talk these things through with you. Especially when it allows you to realize you truly can help the Remnants better themselves.”

Something is the way she spoke, and the way her eyes bore into his made him shift uncomfortably in his seat, though it did nothing to get rid of his relieved smile. It also didn’t change the fact she was correct. He could help them, it was his responsibility. He pushed the lingering concern from earlier to the side, and opened the program once more. 

It would never be wrong to save a life. He had to believe that. He did believe that. And if any backlash like with Nagito did arise? He would be responsible for that too. 

For better or for worse.

[solarsnapp]

[ID: A primarily reddish-pink digital art piece fashioned like a magazine cover. It features Yoo Joonghyuk as the Punisher standing close to another version of the Punisher who looks like Lee Seolhwa from Omniscient Reader. Both are looking towards the viewer with serious expressions. Pink electricity dances around them, some of it arcing in the top left into two hearts. There is big white and pink text in front of the two figures saying “The Punisher.” End ID.]

whats better than one punisher? two punishers

some punisher-related snippets under the cut:

(the terms of address for joonghyuk are masculine in the first three snippets and feminine in the fourth) 

Dokja: When you played games for competitions, you always played as female characters. Why is that?

Joonghyuk: ...Many had Femme Fatale-esque perks which significantly increased their damage against characters of the opposite sex. This was especially useful in earlier years when meta comprised mostly of male characters and the pool for viable competitive female characters was smaller. 

Dokja: But, this year it was different, no? Weren’t all those perks weakened because of how powerful they were? And even then, there was a surge of popularity for female characters because that one group made up of skilled women dominated the leaderboards the year prior. 

Dokja: It offered you no true benefit anymore. Why keep using them?

Joonghyuk: ...

Joonghyuk: I’m not sure.

— Chapter 8 of “Transfem YJH AU”

Countless handles and usernames displayed on the screen, the battle roster filled nearly top to bottom with masculine playable characters. Then, there was one with startlingly white hair, red ruby lips, and a curvy figure, looking sultry and distinct from all her stone-faced competitors. That was stuck under his own name.

As the event progressed, the roster was blacked out. Competitors dropped team by team. That woman was still up there. Joonghyuk watched the more famous players in meta throw their headsets on the ground and storm off. He had to resist the urge to cackle and tell them to ‘eat shit’ so many times, it became tortuous.

“To keep it simple, I enjoyed seeing the looks on the players’ faces after they learned some gimmicky female character they didn’t take seriously wiped the whole damn roster clean.”

— Chapter 26 of “Transfem YJH AU”

“Ah, I see. What should we call you then?”

Joonghyuk knew he didn’t have to waste any more time. He could leave them without a name. But, judging from how quickly this random person picked up on his appearance, such a decision could lead to unfavorable theories spreading around. He had to think of something quick. 

His mind went back to a time still so clear when the apocalypse was only a far-off nightmare, to national competitions and competitors.

“The Punisher.” 

Joonghyuk said the name of the character he brought to the highest ranking on the leaderboards with, then dashed towards the monsters.

— Chapter 1 (Birth of the Punisher) of “Transfem YJH AU (The Prequel)” 

“Nah. Honestly, I’m more impressed.” Namwoon then casually strode up and inspected Seolhwa with a playful hum. “Can’t believe the old hag actually found a chick who looks this much like ‘the Punisher.’”

Joonghyuk tensed up. Seolhwa recognized the strange name she really should search up later. 

“Um...that is a game character, right?” Seolhwa asked.

“Hell yeah. You fit this bitch’s type so well, it’s almost like you came from the damn game itself. I mean, except for the outfit. The Punisher would have worn something way sluttier.” Namwoon then swerved around and jabbed Joonghyuk on the side with an elbow. “Must have been really disappointing for you, eh?”

Namwoon choked on a yelp when Joonghyuk slapped him upside the head. “Don’t talk about someone like that.”

— Chapter 4 (Chill Out Or Die)* of “Sparkling Water”

*As of posting, this has not been published yet.

[novankenn]

"Jaune Gets A Gun AU - Day 3" Zombie Rampage...

Doom / Ash vs Evil Dead / Lollipop Chainsaw

All five girls shuffled behind Jaune as he walked back into the Convention Centre for the third day of the event. He was embarrassed and a little upset, plus confused. His lips were bruised, his face red, and his neck covered in hickeys and love bites. He knew ever single person that saw him was judging him.

The girls were a little embarrassed themselves, having given into their urges and competitive impulses. They all knew they had all molested the man, and for Emerald the girl of their dreams. Add in the fact he hadn't said two words to them since the incident, they all were worried they took it too far.

Jaune: (Over his shoulder) Best behaviour. We're here to get me a ranged option.

The quintet of young women nodded in agreement.

Jaune: And we will talk about what hap...

Bystander: RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Civilian: NO! IT CAN'T BE!?!

Street Prophet: I WAS RIGHT!

The crowd started to push past the sextet. All their eyes trying to see what was causing such wide panic.

Jaune: Over there...

Ruby/Pyrrha/Tiny Tina/Jinx: What the...

Emerald: What ARE those...

Jaune: Zombies.

The Girls: Say, what now?

Jaune: I want you all to stay back.

Pyrrha: We can help!

Jaune: No, you can't. I need you all to get to safety.

Ruby: Yes, we CAN!

Jaune: Have you ever been bitten by a Zombie?

Ruby: (Meekly) No.

Jaune: Even the slightest scratch, even with aura, you would doom yourselves to turning...

Tiny Tina: What about you? If that could happen to us, it could...

Jaune: It can't. I've been bitten before... and apparently I'm immune.

Tiny Tina/Jinx/Ruby/Emerald/Pyrrha: Say, what now?

Jaune: Get to safety!

The girls hesitated as Jaune reached out his hand and pulled a familiar looking chainsaw from thin air.

Pyrrha: Come with us, you can't do this alone!

????: He's not alone.

Jaune: Ash? When did you get here?

Ash: Been here since the start of the convention. S-Mart Booth. Shop Smart Shop S-Mart.

Jaune: Is it just us?

????: Nope.

Jaune: Juliet! Doom-guy!

Juliet: Hey, ya, Sweet cheeks! Looks like the gang's all back together!

Doom-Guy: (Grunts)

Tiny Tina: (To the other girls) Did he say the one in the armour's name is Doom-Guy?

The others just nod, and watch in complete and utter disbelief at this scenario, as Jaune starts his chant. Ia flash of light, Jaune changed.

Juliet: You are so adorable in that outfit! I just want to accessorize with you!

Jaune: Maybe later, right now we have a city to save.

Ash: This is going to be... Groovy.

Doom-Guy: (Grunts)

The sound of four separate chainsaws roaring to life, causes the girls to step back, and with wide eyes, brimming with fear and horror they watch as the quartet of chainsaw wielders charges the horde...

Jaune: Hit the music!

Girls: Music?

Doom-Guy: (grunts as he touched a button on the inside of his forearm)

Ruby: I think I'm going to be sick.

As the slaughter raged on, the quintet of girls all had the same thought. Jaune was going to need a shower before any of them tried to kiss him again.

(SO SORRY, but I couldn't resist this idea when it popped into my head! But on a side note, "Somewhere in Vale..." is now cannon for this AU. Hope you enjoyed.)

[villanbelle]

In Sunshine or Shadows

I haven't posted to tumblr in forever, but that dock scene for romanced Astarion especially... I just couldn't let it go. I wrote this as the idea wouldn't leave me alone and thought someone else might enjoy it. Set between Karlach's ending and the morning chat with Astarion.

Astarion x Female!Durge (half-drow named Greyafae) Fluff, hurt/comfort, dancing and the tiniest mention of implied smut. Slight spoilers for the dark urge storyline

AO3 Link

With one final burst of flame, the portal to Avernus disappears with Karlach and Wyll inside. It leaves behind a warm kiss against Greyafae’s cheeks that’s quickly stolen by the breeze, and a ringing in her ears that fades as she stumbles to her feet.

She turns toward the others and feels Shadowheart’s eyes follow her as she nears. She spares her a glance and sees the quirk of the cleric’s lips as she says, “I shouldn’t be surprised Wyll volunteered to go with Karlach, I’m just glad she agreed to go back to Avernus after resisting for so long.”

Greyafae doesn’t respond as she marches past, trying to keep from tripping over her feet as each step quickens with every thud of her boots against the dock. The faces of her friends fall into frowns and raised brows that no doubt come to stare at her retreating back as she passes. But, as she brushes past Jaheira, a tight grip on her wrist grounds her to the spot. “Slow down cub, no use falling and breaking your neck now the day has been well and truly saved”. 

There was a time such interference would be met by a quick blade to the throat, or some other deadly display of irritation. But her murderous urge had been killed and usurped by another desire, one centred around a certain vampire spawn who had just disappeared in a puff of smoke. Greyafae looked down at the offending hand then up to the druid's face. “I need to find Astarion”.

Jaheria’s grasp doesn’t relent and neither does her glare. She narrows hazel eyes as though something well-hidden lays just out of view and squeezes a little tighter. Then she huffs, and as a herb-scented breath hits Greyafae's lips she realises how close their faces have gotten. “Go then, far be it from me to come between true love. Just be sure to tell him there’s a bottle of wine waiting for him at The Elfsong. I know complaining about the flavour is his favourite pastime.” 

Jaheira frees Greyafae’s wrist with a nod as Gale adds, “That’s assuming The Elfsong Tavern still stands after the havoc that’s been reaped upon the city.”

“Ever the optimist”, Shadowheart teases, but whatever reply comes after is lost to the distance Greyafae puts between them as she dashes toward a part of the wharf that has been mostly untouched by falling debris. Enough unloaded cargo stands unshattered with an offer of shelter that hope begins to blossom where fear had taken root. She calls to Astarion, but the screams of seabirds stifles her cry and so she tries again, louder, trying to push past the tightness of her throat and the urge to cast a few scorching rays toward the sky. The taste of bitter ash coats her tongue as she calls once more. No doubt the cinders of a burning house in the distance. But for one second too long, enough time to plant a seed of doubt, she wonders if it’s the last taste of her lover she’ll ever have again. 

“Astarion!” The crack in her voice makes her wince as she descends upon the last row of crates. 

Empty.  

An unfilled barrel bears the brunt of a sharp kick. Rather than face the same fate, those stacked on top tumble over the edge of the dock and into the river. Bitter droplets splash against Greyafae’s cheek as she darts ruby eyes along the view ahead and sighs, knocking the base of her palm against her skull in time with her self-inflicted scolding. “I should have been with you, I should have been with you, I should have been with you. Where are you, first in my heart?”

A slight movement catches her eye in an area of the dock she’s missed, where a few piled crates are hidden away by a mess of tangled fishing nets which now shift in such little motions a poorly timed blink would miss them. “I- I’m over here, darling.”

He is only a few feet away, but sounds so small his voice could be mistaken for a trick of the wind. She runs, skidding on the wet wood beneath her but keeping her balance long enough to  fall freely to her knees before him as though in prayer to the one God who ever loved her back. Astarion huddles in an empty space between stacked wine crates, his knees held to his chest in a tight embrace like a scolded child. His head hangs low, his white curls limp after their group descent into the Chionthar river. His skin has lost the deathly grey, no longer flakes off and flutters in the wind, but is still somewhat ashen and fractured in places. It reminds her of the golden veins streaked across Dame Aylin’s divine face. Though, heaven's touch was nowhere to be seen in the cold, blue cracks on her lover’s skin.

“You're a sight for sore eyes.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound like a joke. He would know by the way her shoulders sit hunched about her ears if he weren’t so fascinated with the floor. At his silence she adds, “I shouldn’t have let you run off alone.”

He still doesn’t spare her a glance, but does shake his head as he confesses in a gentle tone, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Greyafae clenches her jaw until her teeth start to ache, then asks, “Do you want me to go?”

Astarion looks at her then, eyes glassy and so impossibly round. “No. It’s just, I can’t stop myself from feeling this shame. This was supposed to be our glorious victory. Yet here I am, banished to the shadows once again. I’m the only one to have lost.”

She reaches out a hand that quickly falls to rest atop her thigh instead. “It feels like that now. But at sunset, you and I can walk hand in hand through the city that we saved, to meet the friends who fought by our side, then we’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to a world without any hold over us. I don't know about you, but that sounds like something close to victory to me.”

Astarion opens his mouth to speak but then seems to think better of it. “That was nearly poetic, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases with a rasp to his voice after a few heartbeats pass. 

“You’re a good influence on me.”

He barks a sharp laugh, the kind that has his fangs on full display, and the butterflies in Greyafae’s stomach flutter about all the way up to her heart. “Not too good I hope.” His smile softens but lingers enough to deepen the lines around his eyes. “You couldn’t just leave me to sulk, could you?”

She shakes her head and her shoulders loosen, making it easier to offer a smile in earnest. “I want it all too. In sunshine or shadows.”

His unyielding, narrowed, sanguine gaze holds her still then flicks across her freckled face before falling to his feet. She sees, more than hears, his gentle sigh before he meets her eyes once more and asks, “So, do you actually have a plan to get me out of here, or are we destined to linger amongst barrels of rotting fish until the sun goes down?”

A deep hum resonates in Greyafae’s chest, a grunt falling from full lips as she stands up into the sun's embrace once more. It feels like mockery to be bathed in golden rays before him and guilt eats away at her core like flies on rotting fruit. The urge to squint against the sun builds as she scans the horizon, but the sting feels like a pitiful punishment in comparison to what Astarion suffered by its light, and so she peers on unblinking. A crumbling warehouse, torn apart by a toppled building from the street above which has destroyed half the roof and far-side wall sits on the opposite side of the dock. Though, the windows sit up high and enough of the walls stand intact to embrace them both in shadow.

Crouching down once more she tells him, “I can transport us somewhere with a little more leg room.” Then adds with a smirk, “It’s lucky for us you’re almost as good at killing as me. It means I get to save all my useful spells for when it really matters.”

With a tut, Astarion wrinkles his nose as if smelling something awful, but doesn’t bite at the bait. “Ugh, you couldn’t come up with a plan that doesn’t involve dimension door? It’s like you're actively trying to make my day even worse.”

She snorts at the memory of their last encounter with the spell though it isn’t particularly funny. Maybe it’s finally having memories to look back on once again that brings her so much joy. “Perhaps you’d like me to fetch you a parasol instead?”

His pale brows knit together and the half-drow’s grin turns upside down. “I’m glad my abject misery brings you so much pleasure.”

It stings her right in the centre of her chest, no doubt he'd consider that a bullseye. “You know better than that.” 

Astarion relents as soon as the words leave her mouth, his face smoothing back into its mournful pout. “I know.” 

“Shall we?”

He breathes in a steadying breath through his fangs before tipping his head toward her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The incantation takes just a moment to breathe into life. An ancient, draconic heat wraps around them as her magic whisks them away to the ruined building. They land with a stumble, and Astarion uses the momentum to run toward the shaded half where the only threat of sunlight beams through windows far overhead.

As hard as her fingers twitch in their desire to reach for him, to tangle in his hair and tease the tips of his pointed ears and trace the fading cracks on his cheeks until all her love pours into them, she knows better. He stands still, glaring at one particular piece of debris by his feet as he drifts away somewhere she can’t follow. It isn’t until he turns her way and catches her looking she realises she’d been doing the same.

“You do realise you’re staring?” It is an accusation rather than a question. One asked by a wounded bird who fears the fox will see his broken wing if it looks too long.

Several quick blinks bring her out of the daze. She straightens her tilted head as her neck begins to protest and tucks a strand of white hair behind the subtle point of her ear. “It’s strange for you to be so quiet.”

He leans forward and gestures a hand toward her. “And what would you have me say?”

“You needn’t say a thing. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She can see the creases form on his brow despite the distance between them. “Well, we’re all having to deal with things we don’t like, Grey.” Throwing his hands into the air as he scolds her, he adds, “Apologies I haven’t the desire for a witty repartee,” then folds his arms against his chest.

Perhaps it’s the fire in her blood that always makes the sparks that fly from Astarion’s tongue fail to ignite her meagre fuse. Or maybe they fly over her head because she knows he doesn’t mean for them to burn her. So she asks him a question she’d asked once before, after his night of rebirth spent tangled together in the dirt of his grave. “Having regrets?” 

Astarion’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before he slouches forward like a puppet with snapped strings. “Still no. It does sting more than I’d hoped though. I truly thought for a moment the change was permanent. That I’d be able to walk in the sun for good.”

“I thought so too, seeing you standing there. It was a cruel carrot to dangle in front of you.”

He scoffs, a sneer making a singular fang poke out. “Compared to the carrots offered by Cazador, and the veritable banquet of sticks that followed, this one I can tolerate. I just need a little time to…adjust.”

A smile rounds Greyafae’s cheeks, yet despite its sincerity she can feel it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”

“Thank you.” He closes his eyes, inhales a breath he doesn't need and stands a little taller. “I’m grateful I don’t have to wander back into the darkness alone, and that I get to be here with you.” He turns before he can see her swallow past the lump in her throat and strides toward a piece of broken concrete, large enough to sit on. He sweeps a hand across the top before he does so, wafting away the rising dust before he takes a seat and drifts away into thought once more.

She watches him until a shiver crawls up her spin, a chill settling deep inside her bones. The cling of her damp clothes has loosened enough to be comfortable, still she takes off her boots and sodden socks so she doesn’t have to hear them squelch as she gathers up scattered pieces of broken, wooden beams. It’s quick work to bundle them into a pile, something close to how Wyll would when building a campfire hot enough for Gale to sweat over as he prepares an evening meal. She rubs her hands together as the last piece of jagged wood is placed, a feeling almost like pride making her grin. Resting on a knee, she takes off her bulging pack and rummages through the trove of wonders. Spare daggers, alchemical ingredients and a random selection of potions spill out as she unties the cord. Beneath them all are a collection of crumpled scrolls, simple spells she had meant to sell. Though now, as she shivers again and sees Astarion do the same, a better purpose comes to mind. While some are too damp to be useful, the rest she tears into smaller pieces and tucks into the woodpile. As she grabs a final fistfull of scrolls, a little wooden box beneath them catches her eye. There’s nothing else like it amongst her hoard and no memory comes to mind of why the little trinket was special enough to warrant keeping. For now, however, she focuses on warmth, a simple cantrip setting the wood ablaze.

“Bloody hells,” Astarion curses with a start at the sound of bursting flame and crackling wood.

“Sorry, I meant to warn you.” She means the apology, despite how far away she sounds, but the mysterious box has her mind wandering. Reaching deep into the bag once more, she pulls out her prize and lifts it high into the air as though it were a first-place trophy. A sweep of her tongue wets her lips as she brings the box closer to her frowning face. She turns it over, opens the lid, then leaps to her feet with a gasp as a sweet melody begins to play. “I can’t believe I forgot about this.” A music box, stolen from a decrepit hospital in a cursed land. She floats over to where Astarion watches her and places it next to him on his makeshift seat. Her shadow dances in the firelight as she begins to sway along to the tune, then she offers her lover a hand. “May I have this dance?”

He recoils a touch, no doubt if he had recently fed the tips of his ears would be a pale shade of red. “Don’t be silly, now is hardly the time.” Despite his objection, his wide-eyed stare falls to her presented hand.

Her eyes drift to a close as she continues to move, basking in the flames that warm the golden scales curved around her temples. “Pretend we’re at a masquerade, there’s a room full of faceless people with very deep pockets. Or pretend it’s just the two of us in a cottage somewhere, with a crackling hearth and moonlight creeping through the window.”

She hears him inhale through his nose, then breathe out a gentle sigh. “You paint quite the picture.” 

She opens her eyes as his long, nimble fingers slide against her own. He pins her with his stare as he stands and brings his free hand to press against her lower back, pulling her into his embrace until their bodies collide. Her own touch falls to the back of his neck to caress small circles against his cool skin as her arm rests lazily across his shoulder. They lose themselves in each other's eyes for a while, her chin pressed against his chest as she peers up through long, dark lashes. Astarion regards her through a half-lidded gaze, soft as Cormyr silk. If looks could kill, he’d have a road paved with indignant corpses as long as the Chionthar trailing behind him. But if a look overflowing with love and safety and gratitude could melt, he'd reduce her to a giant puddle on the floor. Eventually he blinks and she remembers to breathe, chuckling at the ease with which he is able to take her breath away. Rising onto tip-toes, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and he tugs her tighter in response. She lingers until the spread of his smile brushes against her lips and then, with a satisfied sigh, lays her head against his shoulder. Astarion’s cheekbone comes to rest atop her crown and, not for the first time, she wonders if in another life she’d feel his heart beating as fast as hers where their bodies melt together.

Their dance doesn’t last for long before the song begins to wind down with its final notes. Her heart clenches at the thought of it. But a sorcerer's gifts needn’t always be saved for flinging fireballs into enemy crowds. A subtle flick of Greyafae’s wrist and a whispered incantation has a transparent, blue hand manifest just out of reach. She extends the spell to last more than its usual minute and feels the last of her most potent sorcery ebb for the day. The hand floats over to the music box with nothing more than a thought, large fingers poised on the lever to ensure the song remains unending. Astarion shifts his cheek against her like an affectionate cat and, for a moment that makes her tense, lifts his hand from her back. Though he stills again as his touch returns, a little lower than before, she brings a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck to smooth what feels like teetering peace. But a sudden waft of something like dying embers has her peek over his shoulder once more at the campfire, though it burns as bright as it had a moment ago. Astarion’s questioning eyes fall upon her at the disturbance and she leans in to press a kiss against his temple in apology. As her nose presses close to his curls, however, the smell overwhelms her. The smell, she realises, of Astarion’s burnt skin and scalp clinging to his hair. The sick, heavy punch that lands in her gut has her bury her face deeper into his shoulder again before mumbling, “You can feed on me, if it’ll help?”

“Hmm?” He answers, voice thick like he’s just woken from a slumber.

“If it will help you to heal faster then you’re welcome to feed on me.”

Astarion’s grip leaves her briefly once more before he replies, “I seem to be back to my usual, unburnt self. As far as I can tell?”

She pulls back to look at him, prodding a finger against his chest to emphasise her point. “If there’s one thing we’ve learnt by now, it’s that skin-deep scars are the quickest to heal.” 

He grins, and even in these circumstances it somehow looks so wicked. “In that case, I’ll never say no to a free feed darling. Certainly not from your delicious self.” 

With a shake of her head and a poorly-hidden smirk, she stands on tip toes and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace. Astarion presses one, two, three kisses against her neck but lingers on the last one. She feels the scrape of his fangs a breath before he sinks them in with a quick thrust, one hand pressing against her still while the other cradles the back of her head, his skilled fingers caressing her hair like the delicate strings of a harp. The scar from the last time they’d shared a moment like this had faded long ago. A stark contrast to the deep bite carved out of Astarion’s neck, the first scar Cazador ever engraved onto his flesh and perhaps the only one Astarion isn’t even aware of. Despite their off balance hold, they still manage a subtle sway, their bodies moving as one. The press of his lips against her wound lets her know when he’s had his fill, followed by the soft flick of his tongue to capture rogue blood drops which threaten to trickle down her throat. She considers it an honour to be such a rare treat, one relished for succour over sustenance. A thought that makes her stifle a laugh; a bhaalspawn-shaped comfort blanket for a fearsome creature of the night.

They stay wrapped up in each other even though silence is their lone accompaniment, the mage hand floating forgotten by the fire which has long since turned to cinders. Greyafae pulls back to see Astarion’s lashes flutter open like he's been pulled from a deep dream. His curls have come back to life from time and warmth and billow about his head, fluffier than any cloud she’d ever seen. She places a hand against his cheek and rubs a thumb against a spot of dried blood as he leans into the touch. “Thank you for the dance.”

He laughs softly and takes a small bow as they part. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Karlach’s engine finally burnt out and, well, I wanted to keep my promise.”

He frowns for a moment and taps a finger against his chin, then spreads his arms out wide.  “At least she managed to survive long enough to rid herself of the parasite. Still, it is a pity.”

“She went back to Avernus in the end, and Wyll went along with her.”

Pale brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Really? So she chose survival after all. Funny, isn’t it? How little we know what we truly want until we hear those midnight chimes.”

“Fear does strange things to people.”

He dips his head in a deep, slow nod. “That it does, darling.” 

Craning her neck upward, Greyafae sees the traitorous sun has sneaked away from the windows to drown their exit in its light. “There’s still some time to kill yet.”

Astarion averts his rounded gaze for a moment, lifting it to look up at the ruined ceiling. “I’d like some time to myself, if that’s alright? You go ahead and meet up with the others. I’ll come and find you when it’s safe to do so.”

She swallows hard, lips pursing for a brief moment as her stomach twists into knots. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.” He tilts his chin forward, nose rising into the air. On anyone else it would look like pride, but his shoulders stoop in a way that roots her feet to the ground and makes her want to fall on scarred knees and beg him not to make her go.

Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes until he returns the gesture and says, “We’ll be at The Elfsong, or whatever's left of it. I’ll see you whenever you’re ready”. 

He brings his right hand to rest on top of hers where their left ones are joined. It takes her back a month or so, to the bottom of Moonrise towers, where he’d left his unbeating heart in her bloody hands and trusted her to help bring it back to life. She can tell by the way his lips fall into a smile, so similar to the one he’d worn back then, the memory echoes in his mind as well. “Thank you, my love.”

True to his word he finds her not long after the sun has set. Their friends cheer for him as he nears their table, deep into their fourth round of drinks, and he scoffs at their inability to hold their liquor with dignity. But Greyafae sees his bottom lip tremble, sees how unafraid he is to bare his fangs in a wide grin as Jaheira pulls out the promised bottle of red wine for him to critique. As the group settles into their cups again, Astarion slips a hand around Greyafae’s waist and whispers a wish against her ear that they hide away from the others for the night, far from the noise and the drunks and the embellished stories. They sneak away up the stairs like forbidden young lovers and retire to the only room with a lone bed. He kisses her first like it’s a question, then again like it’s a demand, and last like a pleading request from a starving man. She answers with a brush of her lips against each cheek, then his forehead, and pretends not to notice how his tears cool the skin on her cheeks. He makes love to her as though their eternity is guaranteed, stopping every so often to kiss her with such a hungry craving it takes her to the cusp of drowning before she has to break away and gasp for air. Afterwards, he falls into a trance with his head on her chest. Though, it's the weight of every win, every loss and sacrifice they’d endured this far which pins her against the bed and has her weep herself a lullaby before falling into a slumber.

When she wakes it's to an empty bed. Astarion stands just beyond an open window, pulling back a rich, red drape to peer down at the dawn-lit streets from a shadowy corner of the room. Though she isn’t quiet, he doesn’t notice as she slips out of bed and pulls on yesterday’s clothes.

“Good morning,” she says with a yawn as she comes to stand in the morning light. 

Astarion drops the heavy drape with a start and turns to her, stepping forward into the spot where the sun had just shone. Something about him feels different, there’s a softness to his stare but a tension that has him standing just a touch too stiff. She can feel an unspoken question haunting the room, but she just offers him time and a warm smile as he returns her greeting. “Hello, Darling.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little fic <3

[kraekat29]

All Too Well- Chapter Nine

Why do people do the things that they do..? It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, one I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand.

——

Ruby hadn’t seen or spoken to JJ in a week, anytime John B said she’d be around he’d make up some excuse to not come over.

She didn’t blame him, she knew what she had done crossed a line, she kissed Rafe Cameron, the very person who’d tormented him for years.

But Ruby liked the way Rafe looked at her, like she was special, like she actually mattered..

She sat alone on the docks, silently wondering how she’d get her best friend back, she wouldn’t let a guy ruin their friendship.

JJ is a hothead.. he feels too much but not enough at the same time. Through it all he could always talk to me.. at least until now.

——

Ruby finally found JJ two days later, she caught him in the surf shed and automatically seized her opportunity.

“ hey..” She said quietly, but he didn’t say anything, just continued looking for his surfboard.

“ look I know I messed up okay..? It was dumb and not to mention I hurt you.. just please tell me how I can fix this..” Ruby pled, hugging him tightly.

JJ huffed, but his eyes softened as he looked down at her, unable to resist the urge of having her in his arms.

Ever since I was little, I knew I’d always been in love with Ruby, how could I not be?

How could I sit here, knowing she’s with the worst guy on this island and not be able to stop it? 

— —

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry..” Ruby sobbed, burying her face in his chest, “Rubes it’s alright.. I was just being an ass as usual..” JJ murmured, rubbing the back of her head.

“ I hurt you.. god I’m so stupid..” She cried and he made her look at him, wiping her tears away, “ I forgive you, alright?” He said and she nodded.

“ now c’mon.. these waves aren’t gonna surf themselves” He said and took her hand in his, walking down to the beach.

Why do people do the things that they do..? It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, one I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand.

I’ll never understand why we hurt the ones we love, or why we can’t have them to ourselves.

I never believed in the term ‘love makes you crazy’ not until I’d looked it right in the eye.

I knew it was wrong, I knew I had a girl of my own, but she wasn’t Ruby..

Rafe Cameron was infatuating, something I’d never imagined I would ever want. But could i really give myself to him? He wasn’t JJ..

Maybe in another life..