#*desperately trying to do the right thing while leaving a trail of corpses and ruined houses and kingdoms in his wake* IT'S JUST NOT MY YEAR | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years ago

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Songxiao + Xuexiao (past) - M - read on AO3!

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Song Lan doesn’t notice anything wrong at first.

He can’t speak, his tongue gone. There’s no speech to slur, no words to stumble over.

It’s only when he leaves the inn one morning, two months after Xue Yang set him free, two months after Xue Yang, with a mocking smile, had decided it was crueler to let him live than to put him out of his misery and dropped him hundreds of miles away from Yi City—it's only then that he notices.

His left-side vision is dimming.

He reaches up, touches the holes left in his skull by Xue Yang’s nails.

Fine. You’re fine…

But the fingers on his left hand are clumsy as they grasp the heavy stick he carries for protection now that Xue Yang has Fuxue.

Fine…

Fine, despite his inability to focus on anything too complex, despite his difficulty remembering names and faces.

A blessing, that part. Let the memories of his years as Xue Yang’s slave fade…

But even if he has trouble recalling the details, he can still remember the emotions. The guilt, the grief, the helplessness.

The hate.

And he can clearly remember every word he said to Xiao Xingchen on that wretched day six years ago when he had turned on him, blaming him for the slaughter of his temple. They ring in his ears as he tries to sleep, haunting his steps.

“Your fault, all your fault—”

Song Lan knows better now.

Too late. Too late to apologize. Too late to do anything but guard Xingchen's corpse.

It takes him a year to find his way back to Yi City.

He doesn’t have to eat, at least, but before freeing him Xue Yang had maliciously altered him to need sleep, and he has to walk the entire way without a tongue to ask for directions or shelter. There are entire days at a time where he heads in the wrong direction, forgetting where Yi City lies, sleeping on the side of the road. His legs are clumsy, brain damaged by Xue Yang’s nails, but he can move, at least, struggle back to Xiao Xingchen’s side, protect him from Xue Yang's desecrations.

It’s late winter when he arrives at Yi City.

Snow has begun to fall, smothering the city in silence. The streets are empty, haunted by ghosts and memories of the dead, but the snow chokes all sound from any creatures making a home in the ruins.

The sun is setting in a riot of blood and fire when he stumbles into the Coffin House courtyard in a nightmarish echo of that terrible day all those years ago, the day he’d come to Yi City only to see Xiao Xingchen sitting beside that monster, smiling at the animal, laughing—

Xiao Xingchen sits on the steps beside Xue Yang.

Peacefully watching the snow fall.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Alive.

Song Lan ducks behind a coffin. His heart would have frozen, if it still beat.

It can’t be.

Xiao Xingchen is dead—has been for years—Song Lan has watched Xue Yang scream at his corpse, bathe it, dress it, touch it—watched him try ritual after ritual, sacrifice after sacrifice, spell after spell—

Xingchen e appears thinner than he remembers, as if he’d desiccated in death, and his grayish-white skin is mottled with purple. A white eye patch covers one eye, but a dark brown eye is set in his right eye socket.

“How do you feel, daozhang?” Xue Yang asks Xingchen, and every muscle in Song Lan’s body goes rigid at the sound of that hated voice that’s haunted his waking dreams. “Better than yesterday?”

The smile drops from Xingchen's face. He glances down at the ground, the snowy courtyard like a pool of blood in the light of the setting sun. Xue Yang lays a hand on his arm, and a shudder passes through Xingchen.

“It’s alright, daozhang,” Xue Yang says, and he speaks so soothingly that Song Lan wants to lunge at him, beat him to death, but he can’t get his limbs to move. “The more we do it, the better you feel. Take my yang…” And suddenly he’s leaning into Xiao Xingchen, mouth on his mouth, hand between his legs.

And Xiao Xingchen is on his back on the porch, one hand—one hand tangled in his hair—chest rising and falling sharply as Xue Yang—

As Xue Yang—

A moan of terror from Xiao Xingchen, moving beneath Xue Yang as if trying to thrust him off of him, and suddenly Song Lan is beside them, his stick slamming into Xue Yang’s skull.

A crack, and Xue Yang tumbles down the stairs, staring lifelessly up at the red-streaked gray sky.

It’s over now, Song Lan wants to say as he kneels beside Xiao Xingchen. I’m here, you’re safe—

He reaches out a trembling hand, fixing Xingchen’s robe, and Xingchen pulls away from him, eye wide with shock.

“What happened?” Xingchen asks, his voice thin and hoarse, as if it hasn’t been used in a long time. “Chengmei—”

Xue Yang! Song Lan wants to say. Not “Chengmei”—

Xiao Xingchen looks up from Xue Yang’s body, sees Song Lan’s face.

A smothered gasp.

“Zichen?” he whispers. “Zichen—”

He reaches up to touch Song Lan’s face, and Song Lan pulls away instinctively. Xiao Xingchen’s hand drops to the stairs, but his eye continues to drink in Song Lan’s face.

“You came back for me,” he says.

Song Lan nods. He wants to gather Xiao Xingchen in his arms, hold him close, be certain it’s not an illusion borne of the holes in his brain, but while his touch aversion has faded after death dulled his senses, it hasn’t completely dissipated.

But Xiao Xingchen falls forward onto his chest, sobbing tearlessly.

“I killed you—I thought I killed you—”

Song Lan holds him at arm’s length, drinking in the familiar face he never thought he'd see again—not like this. Xingchen’s face is bone-white, with dark bruises around his good eye and gray veins lacing through his ashen skin. A single tear leaves a crimson track on his cheek like the trail of blood Xue Yang’s head has left in the snow.

“Why don’t you say something?” Xiao Xingchen says, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why don’t you speak—”

Song Lan opens his mouth.

Xingchen looks away from the useless stump that had once been Song Lan's tongue.

Song Lan removes his hands from his shoulders.

It’s fine, he mouths. It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault…

Wordlessly, Xiao Xingchen rises and disappears into the house, returning with Fuxue and Song Lan’s horsetail whisk. He hands them to Song Lan and sits beside him, still without speaking.

They sit like that all night, watching the snow cover Xue Yang’s corpse as it lies sprawled at the foot of the stairs. A single candle illuminates the porch, the courtyard a wall of black dotted with whirling gray snowflakes. Xiao Xingchen makes sure not to touch Song Lan, sitting a good handbreadth away from him, but despite his deadened senses Song Lan thinks he can feel Xiao Xingchen’s warmth.

His imagination, he knows. Xingchen’s undead body must be as cold as his is…

But he enjoys the phantom heat anyway. Is warmed by the knowledge that Xingchen is back, Xingchen is alive—as alive as he is, at least—

At dawn Xingchen tears his gaze away from the snowy white mound at the foot of the stairs and rises.

“We should bury him,” he says.

Shaking his head, Song Lan gets to his feet and turns away from the mound.

Xiao Xingchen extends his hand, lets it hover over Song Lan’s forearm. “Please, Zichen. He brought me back. He kept me from…he kept me whole.”

He hurt you, Song Lan wants to say. He deceived you. He killed you, he—he touched you—

But he nods and digs a shallow grave on the side of the road. Heaves Xue Yang into it, covers him with dirt and snow, and stands a respectful distance back while Xiao Xingchen stands over the grave.

Bows his head.

Song Lan closes his eyes. Xingchen's compassion had been one of the things that had drawn him to him, but this was a step too far.

“We need to find A-Qing,” says Xiao Xingchen when he returns to his side.

Song Lan looks up sharply from where he’s been examining the mud splattered on his hem. She’s still alive? he writes in the snow.

“Xue Yang dropped her in Hebei. We were going to go find her together…”

Song Lan’s grip tightens on Fuxue’s hilt, the joy he feels at knowing A-Qing is still alive in some form tainted by how Xiao Xingchen says together.

Song Lan knows Xue Yang. Had spent years as his slave, with only a tongueless A-Qing to show him any kind of compassion.

Xiao Xingchen, it seems, still sees Xue Yang as Chengmei, at least in some way, for him to believe that Xue Yang would ever bring A-Qing back.

She’s probably dead, Song Lan wants to write, but then he remembers how Xue Yang had let A-Qing remain in Yi City despite her obvious hatred of the animal, let her sit for hours on end beside Xiao Xingchen’s coffin, let her fix Song Lan’s hair when Xue Yang would leave him standing for weeks on end in the Coffin House courtyard.

Song Lan’s skin had crawled at her touch, but despite the many things that have faded from his mind, he’s never forgotten her kindnesses to him.

We have to find her, he writes, and Xiao Xingchen nods.

They travel for a month.

Walking, their golden cores gone. Nighthunting as much as possible. Song Lan is clumsy, his vision bad, and Xiao Xingchen is weak, but they’d made a vow to each other, all those years ago. A vow to never let a cry for help go unanswered…

Xingchen sleeps beside him, close enough to touch, if he wishes. Song Lan would like to, he thinks. Would draw Xinghen to his chest, reassure himself that Xingchen is real, is here with him.

But then he remembers Xue Yang on top of Xingchen, Xingchen’s terror—

A memory he wishes he can forget, just as he’s forgotten the names of many of the people from Baixue Temple (I should remember their names, he thinks. I shouldn’t be relieved that forgetting their names and faces dulls the pain of losing them—). But the vision comes to him in dreams, haunting him whenever he thinks back with pleasure to the sound his stick made when it shattered Xue Yang’s skull.

Song Lan’s touch would be chaste, but he can’t do that to Xingchen. He needs to help Xingchen heal, help him forget…

He almost asks Xingchen how Xue Yang brought him back one night, as they lie awake in an inn, unable to sleep through the crash of thunder and dazzling flashes of lightning.

How— he starts to write on the wax table he uses for speech, then quickly erases it.

“What is it?”

Song Lan takes the stylus again. It takes him a moment to remember the proper characters. I was just going to ask how you’ve been feeling. It feels strange to write those words. He knows he and Xiao Xingchen must have discussed things as mundane as this in the past, but the conversations he recalls with any real clarity are ones about ideals, about their future together, the sect they planned on founding.

“I’m fine.”

You’ve been quiet.

In truth, Xingchen, like him, has never been very garrulous. But he can’t very well say, You’ve been distant.

A different kind of distant than he remembers. There had always been something untouchable about Xiao Xingchen, but in the past it had been like a star fallen to earth, slightly out of sync with everything around it but glowing with pure white light.

Song Lan had found small ways to connect with that star. He had done all of the cooking, partially because he couldn’t bear to have anyone touch his food but mostly to find ways to take care of the most human part of Xiao Xingchen, taking pleasure when Xingchen, who had little interest in food, ate something he’d prepared for him. He’d covered him with blankets at night and handled all the little details when they’d traveled together.

But Xingchen is the only one who can speak with innkeepers. No longer eats, no longer gets cold.

No longer needs Song Lan.

“That’s not what you wanted to ask,” says Xingchen. He’s lying very still, lit by the flickering lightning, silky black hair spread around his white face. “Go on.”

It’s nothing.

Instead of pressing him as Song Lan wants, Xiao Xingchen takes him at his word and rolls over, facing the window. His bony purplish hand rests on the blanket, almost floats.

There’s an odd, almost waxy coat to the skin. As if it’s been rubbed with half-absorbed grease that left a dull sheen.

Song Lan wants to take it, examine it closer, but he can’t risk touching Xingchen, not after what Xue Yang had done.

Song Lan closes his eyes and tries not to think about drawing Xingchen close. It’s a warm night, spring come early, filling the room with heat, and Song Lan imagines Xingchen might almost feel warm…

Feel alive.

He notices the odd waxy coat again a week later. It’s a grim and overcast morning, but with more light than the night in the inn. Far hotter than it should be this time of year, the humidity wrapping his limbs in heavy weights.

Song Lan walks a pace or two behind Xiao Xingchen, discreetly eyeing his hands.

A definite sheen, and not just on Xiao Xingchen’s hands. His gaunt, beautiful gray face too, Song Lan notices when he returns to his side.

And—

Flies. Flies buzzing around his head, settling lazily down on his throat, his nose, on the thin rust-colored skin covering his knuckles…

Song Lan’s stomach hardens into a cold hard knot. He squints slightly, trying to sharpen the faded vision in his left eye, and Xiao Xingchen notices. Shoos the flies away and quickly puts his hand behind his back, but it’s too late.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he mumbles in response to Song Lan’s horrified look.

How long have you known?

Xiao Xingchen swallows. Now that Song Lan knows what to look for, he can see the places where Xingchen’s lip has rotted away, where it’s—

Are those—

He looks away, but it’s too late.

Those are maggots in the hollow of Xingchen’s lip.

Xiao Xingchen steps away. “Let’s go, Zichen. There’s a ghost in the next town that—”

Song Lan takes hold of his arm, immediately letting go, but Xiao Xingchen freezes.

How long?

“As soon as you killed Xue Yang,” says Xingchen quietly.

A chill creeps up Song Lan’s spine.

“The cold weather arrested it, but now that it’s warm…”

Song Lan’s fault. All his fault. Just as the slaughter of Baixue Temple had been his fault, just as the loss of Xingchen’s eyes had been his fault—

“Forget it, Zichen.” Xingchen is walking now, as if trying to put distance between him and Song Lan. “Just forget it. It’s nothing…”

Song Lan runs after him, tripping, falling, scrambling clumsily to his feet. Not nothing! You’re dying—

“It’s fine.”

Song Lan wants to yell, scream at him, Your life is important! It’s not nothing! I only just got you back—

How? He writes instead. It takes him three tries to get the characters right, consternation making his memory even worse than usual. How did he keep you from—from rotting?

Xiao Xingchen glances away from the tablet. “He…he gave me his yang.”

He—

“Yes. I don’t know the specifics, he destroyed his work after I came back, I don’t know why, I don’t know…I….”

Dual cultivation? How is that even possible with two men?

Xiao Xingchen gives a soft sad smile. “He’s a genius. Was a genius.”

He forced you to—

“It wasn’t like that…”

What else could it be like?

Xiao Xingchen licks his lips, an old gesture of discomfort. His tongue dislodges one of the maggots, the writhing white creature falling into the collar of his robe.

“He kept me whole,” he mumbles.

Could someone else do it? Give you yang? Song Lan, as a fierce corpse, is full of yin. Yet another way he’s failed Xingchen. Had he not been a fierce corpse, he would have done anything to save Xingchen, no matter how revolting, but as he is, he's completely useless. Perhaps a woman—

“Only him,” says Xiao Xingchen shortly, and he heads down the road.

Song Lan remains behind, staring at the spot Xingchen had been standing.

He’d killed Xiao Xingchen.

Killed him as surely as if he had driven Fuxue through his heart.

Had Xue Yang been alive—

No.

Song Lan would never allow Xue Yang to come near Xiao Xingchen.

But he could have forced Xue Yang to figure something else out—

He’s been trying to forget them, but Xingchen’s words come back to him.

He forced you to—

“It wasn’t like that…”

But Xingchen had not been thinking clearly. Song Lan knows that. Xingchen, as always, is too compassionate for his own good. That monster had twisted his mind, forced him to allow him to—to touch him, just for the privilege of being kept alive—a life he’d been forced back into by that animal—

Song Lan follows Xiao Xingchen down the road.

They camp under the stars that night. Song Lan wants to make a fire, but is afraid of what the heat will do to Xingchen. Xiao Xingchen lies beside him in the tall feathery grasses, staring silently up at the clear moonlit sky, scattered with thousands of stars.

Like eyes. Like eyes watching them both. Eyes that know everything, have seen everything: watched Song Lan scream abuse at Xiao Xingchen, watched Xiao Xingchen blind himself for Song Lan, watched Xingchen leave—

The stars know that everything that happened in Yi City was Song Lan’s fault.

Know that Song Lan owes Xingchen more than he can ever repay him.

Know that Song Lan should have died in Baixue Temple with the rest of his people, the people he can barely remember, should remember—

Xingchen is silent, as if he too knows that Song Lan does not deserve to be there beside him.

Song Lan is seized by a sudden desire to tell Xingchen that he spent three years looking for him after their fight. That he hadn’t cast Xingchen off.

But that would be unfair to Xingchen.

Xingchen is dying, because of him. To tell Xingchen any of this now would be cowardly, the act of someone trying to lessen their guilt. Would place an unfair burden on Xingchen. Wouldn’t allow Xingchen to continue to fully feel the anger Song Lan knows he must feel towards him, Song Lan, the jinx who had brought about both of Xingchen's deaths.

Trying to calm his flurried thoughts, Song Lan draws in a deep breath for the first time in years, and his entire body goes numb.

The night is filled with the scent of rotting meat.

He forces himself to turn his head, glance over at Xingchen.

He is beautiful in the starlight, despite the rot. Despite the beetles nestling in his ear, the maggots in his mouth, the blackened lesions on his delicately-curved throat and the slimy red and purple spots marring his gray skin.

Silently Song Lan rises, goes to the nearby creek, returns with a wet cloth, and cleans Xingchen’s face. Wipes away the insects eating at his flesh, the writhing white dots on the yellow bone showing through on his hands and collarbones and jaw.

Something he can do for Xingchen, at least.

Xingchen opens his eyes when Song Lan is finished.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Song Lan nods and returns to his place beside him, making sure not to lie too close.

"I mean it." Xingchen reaches out, lays a decaying hand beside Song Lan’s, close enough for Song Lan to cover with his, if he chooses. “Thank you. For everything.”

Song Lan nods again. He no longer produces saliva, but he swallows hard anyway. He feels that phantom warmth again as Xingchen smiles at him for the first time since their reunion—his first real smile, the first one not touched by sadness, that same soft, gentle smile his faulty memory still remembers with painful clearness.

“I want to go to Baoshan Sanren,” Xingchen whispers, and the warmth fades, replaced by a ghostly chill. “And then we’ll find A-Qing…”

There is only one reason Xiao Xingchen would want to return to the mountain.

Song Lan knows that Xiao Xingchen would not risk breaking his vow a second time.

But it would not be breaking his vow to return home for burial...

Song Lan takes Xingchen’s slimy red hand and presses it between both of his, and nods.

It takes two months for Xiao Xingchen to find Baoshan Sanren’s mountain.

It’s more of a feeling Xingchen is following than an actual location, as her mountain moves every few years, and that inner spark has dampened with death and the decay that eats at his mind.

It’s at the end of the first month that his foot falls off, leaving behind a sharp shard of bone and rotting tangle of tendons and ligaments.

Without so much as a grimace Zichen helps him up, strong hands gently gripping Xingchen’s delicate waist, slipping his arm under him and helping him to the side of the road, where he fashions Xingchen a crutch with fingers that shake as they work.

He’s been touching Xingchen more and more lately. Cleaning the maggots from his skin, wiping away the ooze, bandaging the stumps left behind by his fallen fingers and toes and foot. Washing the foul liquid rot from his clothes, brushing the dead flies from his hair. Is willing to touch him despite his aversion to even the cleanest of touch, despite the decay.

Xingchen lets him. Zichen seems to need it as much as Xingchen does.

Xingchen can’t imagine the Zichen of six years ago would have done any of this. His friend has softened in this second life, grown more attentive, warmer, as if afraid that Xingchen’s frail body will crumble at the slightest frown from him…

Xingchen almost wants to laugh at that thought. That was what had finally happened today, excepting the frown.

Chengmei would have made a joke out of it…

"Need a foot?" he would have said, picking up the foot and handing it to Xiao Xingchen. "Get it? Like 'need a hand'? Admit it; that was funny!"

But best not think of him now. Should be easy enough to avoid thinking of him, given how Xingchen's mind is fading as his body falls apart.

Yes. Best not think of him now…

Think of him ever.

Think of his laugh, his stories, the joy on his face when Xingchen first opened his eyes.

Think of his mocking laugh, his cruelty, his fixed stare.

Of how quickly and brutally Zichen had killed him.

Of the surprising gentleness of Xue Yang's touch. The worshiping look on his face, as if he’d forgotten Xingchen could now see him. The warmth between his legs, Xue Yang’s lips nuzzling his throat, as if afraid to presume to kiss him on the mouth, as if unworthy now that the daozhang knew of his crimes.

Of how it felt to be so well-loved by someone so depraved, the one spot of light in another person’s darkness, his sole reason for being. The reason he was changing, becoming better, the reason he had spent six years trying to do something good, make up for his mistakes.

All of it as intoxicating as it was selfish.

How it felt to be forced to kill Zichen.

Xingchen rubs at his good eye.

The sad mound in the snow…

“Is it a ghost puppet?”

“I think so….it was shouting so fiercely a moment ago, but it should be dying…”

The clang of Fuxue as it hit the ground.

“Let’s go back and make food. I’m so hungry…”

Zichen used to cook for him.

He glances at where Zichen lies beside him, eyes closed. Chest unmoving, as still and silent as a true corpse.

Xingchen closes his eye. It’s hard to look at Zichen when he’s lying like this. A blatant reminder of what his friend has become.

Become because of Xingchen.

Not quite as bad as what you’ve become because of him…

He chases the thought away, as he has too many times before. His thoughts have been tangled and undisciplined since his return to life, a hectic jumble he can no longer control with meditation or breathing techniques.

Dying with Zichen watching over him is a better end than he deserves, after the countless innocents dead by his hand, after willingly lying back down with the beast—

With Xue Yang.

With Chengmei…

Zichen is not to blame for Xingchen’s current state. Not to be blamed for doing what he thought was right by Xingchen.

Not to blame for killing Xue Yang without hesitation.

Killing Chengmei...

How was he to know Xue Yang was going to help him find A-Qing? How was he to know Xue Yang had been trying to make up for what he had done, start fresh alongside Xingchen?

Xingchen knows full well there was no way Xue Yang could ever make up for everything.

But he had believed him when he swore he wanted to try.

Had to believe him.

Because if even someone as lost as Xue Yang could be better, could atone, that meant there was hope for Xiao Xingchen, too.

He speaks less and less as they near the mountain, even as Zichen grows more attentive, as if, in his solemn, subdued way, he’s anxious to bridge the gap between them.

But Xingchen is not pulling away intentionally. At least he doesn’t think so. It’s simply getting harder and harder to think straight as his mind decays…

The sad mound in the snow…

Stop. Stop...

Xue Yang cradling him, the warmth of his arms, the wild heartbeat vibrating through Xingchen, the hot splash of a teardrop on Xingchen's cold skin. "You're alive, you're alive, I did it, you're back, daozhang, you're here—"

Shifu is waiting for them at the foot of her mountain when they arrive, as if she had known they were coming. She looks exactly as he remembers her, tall and beautiful and deceptively stern.

Xingchen had not expected to last as long as he had. Had expected Zichen to bring his corpse to Shifu for burial. Had expected to spend his final moments beside his friend, had not expected to have to face Shifu as a walking corpse. Had not meant to break his vow again.

He’s surprised to find that he’s ashamed of what he’s become. But not for his sake, he realizes as Shifu stares at his monstrous face.

He’s ashamed on Zichen’s behalf. He can see the pain on Zichen’s face as he looks at Xingchen, the guilt.

It’s not your fault, Xingchen wants to tell him, but he can’t, not in front of Shifu. Not your fault...

He should have spoken earlier. Should have told Zichen that he doesn’t blame him, has never blamed him. Not truly...

He'll tell him tomorrow. Perhaps Zichen might even believe him...

Shifu says not a word about Xingchen breaking his vow and returning to the mountain again, at his bringing an outsider to her enclave a second time. Just reaches out to touch Xingchen’s face, staring at the slimy coat that comes away on her fingertips.

Silently she escorts Xingchen to his old bedchamber, meeting alone with Zichen while Xingchen rests.

Xingchen knows he should be looking forward to reuniting with his martial family, should sleep, meditate, something, but all he can do is lie in his familiar bed and stare at his half-blackened hand, three fingers already missing and the thumb beginning to wobble in its socket.

The missing fingers are in a qiankun pouch with his other dropped-off body parts, ready to be buried with him when the time comes.

He closes his eye as the hazy sunlight begins to fade, twilight filling the room with an eerie blue light, as if the room has been plunged underwater and he will begin to drown at any moment…

He drifts off into the nightmare-ridden in-between-state that passes for sleep nowadays, a sleep filled with bloated maggots feasting on his abandoned corpse as he floats, spirit-like, above his own body. Beetles gorge themselves on his rotting flesh, flies swarm his decaying face until his white skin is a liquid black mass of them. Worms curl around his exposed ribcage and dangle into his chest cavity like discarded rice noodles, twisting and writhing as they burrow into his bones.

The scene is lit by a fallen star, trapped on earth, lighting the skeleton with a lurid red glow, the once-pure white light tainted by blood.

Grasses sprout from his stomach, flowers, trees, vines ripping his skeleton apart with a cracking sound.

He can feel it, feel nature claiming him, feel the agony of snapping bone as he returns to the soil he never should have left—

He wakes with a cry.

Shifu stands beside his bed, a soft look on her face. The morning sun is dimmed by heavy rain, the room almost dark.

“He left you a note,” she says.

Xingchen sits up with difficulty and attempts to bow. “I—I don’t understand—”

She hands him the slip of paper.

I am sorry I couldn’t do more.

You will see me again.

Don’t forget about A-Qing…

The note flutters from Xingchen’s nerveless fingers, small greasy spots of rot staining the paper.

“He made me promise to heal you any way possible,” Shifu says, picking up the note. “For one who freed A-Xing, I have no choice but to oblige. But as an outsider, and a man, he could not be allowed to stay on our mountain.”

Xingchen barely hears her, staring at the wall. Then he looks up.

“Where is he waiting for me?”

“He will always be with you, A-Xing.”

A sinking feeling. “Where is he waiting for me?”

Shifu looks as if she wants to settle him back down in bed and pull up his covers like she used to when he was little. She had gone out of her way to tend to the children brought to the mountain. Abandoned baby girls, rescued by Baoshan Sanren. Xingchen had been the only male child taken in after Yanling Daoren left the mountain and become a tyrant. Xingchen had been born sickly and weak and not expected to survive even after being rescued from his basket in the foothills…

Sometimes he thinks he would have been better off fading away into the mountain all those years ago.

“You will know, when the time comes,” Shifu says. “Did you sleep well? You will need your strength. The procedure is a taxing one…”

Xingchen blinks. “Procedure?” His thoughts are increasingly, his mind rotting along with his body. "I don't understand."

“To replace your leg,” she says gently.

Xingchen glances down at his leg. It had fallen off several weeks after his foot, dislocating entirely from his hip socket. Zichen had carefully cut away the last scraps of skin connecting his leg to this hip, wrapped the putrefying limb with his cloak, and stored it away in the qiankun bag, carefully washing his hands in a nearby stream and giving Xingchen a gentle smile as he crafted him a crutch, as if to say, It's alright. I want to do this for you.

“My leg was rotted away,” he says. The words sound unreal on his slippery purple tongue. Rotted away. “It can’t be fixed…”

“I have a fresh one for you.”

“I don’t…”

There’s almost pity in her eyes. “There are many corpses around this mountain, unfortunately. Too many…”

He knows there’s something wrong about this, that they should be granting these bodies an honorable burial, but his dulled mind can’t formulate an argument.

After the first leg is replaced, his arm is as well, a week later, after it falls off into the stream with a gruesomely cheery splash while Xingchen attempts to scrape the putrid slime off his limbs.

Then his chest, his other arm, his other leg…

Shifu rarely leaves his side. She has him speak as much as possible, as if to distract his rotting mind from what’s happening to his body. Asks him endless questions about the world outside, from sect politics to the latest fashions, things neither she nor Xingchen care anything about, but it’s something. His knowledge is all years old, but he responds to her questions, glad of distraction.

“I want to go find Zichen,” Xingchen tells her one day, a month after he returned to the mountain. “Need to find him…”

“He will find you.”

“How…”

She puts a finger to her lips. “Quiet, A-Xing…”

And then one day Xingchen’s tongue bloats so that he can no longer form words. His throat is filled with writhing maggots, thick white larvae oozing from the split flesh of his throat, and Shifu, her face lit by sorrow, tells him they found a new corpse with an intact head, that she will transplant his consciousness, that he will still be himself…

“Better than you are now,” she says, shaking her head slightly, and Xingchen knows she’s picked up on his decaying mind despite how hard he’s worked to hide it.

He wakes a full week after the last procedure.

It’s raining again, a gentle cleansing rain that taps musically on the tile roof. Cool mists press against the windows, as if his room is suspended in a cloud, and off in the distance someone is playing a flute.

Silently he creeps from the bed, his new legs firm and strong, and pads across the room to where Shuanghua lies on the table.

He picks up the sword for the first time since returning to the mountain, the hilt solid and familiar in his pale, almost bleached-looking new hand. He has two eyes again, and though the vision is slightly blurred it’s sharper than his has been as his eyeball rotted, and his mind, though slightly fuzzy, is still faster and clearer than it has been in months.

He takes the sword over to the window, where the milky light is strongest. Chill damp radiates from the windows, ghostly fingers curling around the limbs that are not his own, as if trying to lure him outside into the haunted murk.

He draws the sword.

Holds up the shining silver blade.

Is about to look into the mirrored surface, inspect his new face, the stolen face of a dead man, when the door opens.

“A-Xing! You’re awake—”

Startled, he lets the sword fall from his hand with a clang reminiscent of Fuxue as it struck the ground of Coffin House courtyard.

Shifu holds out her hand commandingly. “Give me Shuanghua, A-Xing. You need to rest. Go back to bed—”

Xingchen tries to speak, can’t.

His tongue is gone.

“Back to bed, A-Xing, at once—”

Instead Xingchen stoops, picks up the sword, gazes back into the blade as if propelled by a force outside himself.

A familiar face stares back at him.

.............................

AO3!

#theuntameddaily #fytheuntamed #fymdzs #mdzsnet #xiao xingchen #song lan #songxiao #xuexiao #baoshan sanren #xue yang #lotus writes #Familiar Faces #no zombie rots/ex #I'm sorry too

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years ago

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Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

CW: mild gore

The light burned low in Alistair’s room, wobbling as the hearthflames sifted moodily through the dying embers for fuel, outcompeted by the gleam of Sevuna through the large windows that overlooked the formal gardens of the Winter Palace. If he had cared to, he could have spoken the command to wake the lyrium glowstones dotted around the room, but he preferred the silence. In the brooding dark, he could look out at the frozen splendour of the grounds, with its hibernating fountains and spears of topiary, and his thoughts could chase themselves in circles at their leisure.

How could the world have tilted so far sideways in such a small span of hours? If he turned inwards deeply enough, a molten core still burned with the anger of being lied to, but the surrounding fire had been doused almost the moment Rosslyn had stepped back into the ballroom, vanishing as the realisation of his own stupidity came crashing down around him. He had lost her. Again. That she was alive, and somewhere within the labyrinthine decadence of Halamshiral, tormented him as much as it made him breathless with joy.

She was alive. But she was also out of his grasp, with no one to blame but himself. His hands flexed against the window frame as his memory spat back the things he had said to her, accusations and disbelief and the promise that he could never hate her turned around not a moment later to be flung in her face.

You aren’t who I thought you were.

And yet, how could he doubt her identity when she had taken the blow with such grace, and pinned him with the steel in her eyes as she left him to the frost. Fear had gripped him then, more tightly than the idea that she had spent two years laughing at his grief; he watched her retreating back with her gaze a haunt of tacit pain, and only the jolt from his reawakened sense of politics had kept him from going after her.

Someone had to be coercing her, and in order to sneak her into the Orlesian court under a false name, whoever it was had to be powerful. Revealing her might only put her in more danger, even without the less than favourable reaction that could be expected from Celene. Not since his soldiers, digging through the ruins of Ostagar, had presented him the battered remains of the falcon helm had he felt such a bottomless drop to his stomach, such a bleed of strength from his legs. When he had staggered back from the terrace his shock had excused him from the rest of the party, but such an early night had so far only given him a better opportunity to berate himself. He doubted sleep would come for him before morning.

A chill whispered through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes, drawing him from his reverie. Confused, he glanced to the fireplace, where the flames burned low but undisturbed, and then to the rest of the dark room. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a slight billow in one of the curtains, from a draught through a window he was sure had been locked.

One of the shadows moved.

Before he could cry out, the assassin flashed out a hand, and a glitter of sharp powder caught in his lungs, stinging his eyes and choking his breath so that instead of a shout, only a dry rasp emerged from his throat. On instinct, he snatched up the closest curtain to foil the glint of the blade lunging for his stomach and flung it out as far as he could, already thinking about the dagger he kept within easy reach on the bedside table. The tearing fabric behind him told him he had little chance to reach it. His limbs wouldn’t move as they should. He had to hurl himself across the bed, with a whirl of dark velvet in the air above, throwing pillows and anything else his hands could scrabble at for distraction, before his fingers finally closed on the dagger’s hilt and swept it up in an arc that drew sparks from the assassin’s descending blade.

He tried to shout again as he kicked out and rolled away, savouring the muffled grunt he got for the effort, but only until he managed to right himself. His strength was slipping, adrenaline giving way as the effects of the powder worked into his blood. Desperate, he staggered behind one of the many overstuffed chairs that littered the room, knowing it would do little good. The smirking porcelain mask, floating like a phantom above the assassin’s dark clothing, had blocked the path to the door.

Waiting for the drug to take its full effect.

Then something else moved in the darkness. In the heartbeat it took for the assassin to follow the flick of Alistair’s gaze, a second figure leapt out from behind the bed to collide bodily with the first. The momentum of the blow threw the assassin into the nightstand hard enough to send the water jug shattering to the floor, but not enough to knock them down. As Alistair watched, the white porcelain flashed, turned, lunged forwards – and stopped, impaled on the stranger’s blade.

Even with a blank, black mask disguising her features, Rosslyn could not be mistaken. She straightened as her opponent convulsed in one last gurgle and slid off the end of her sword, impassive but taut as a drawn bowstring, radiating a cold fury that froze Alistair worse than the draught blowing in from the window. He swallowed. If he could just get to her, reach out –

“Your Majesty!”

He turned too quickly at the crash of the door and had to catch himself on the chair to avoid collapsing completely. In the confusion as his guards poured into the room, weapons drawn, he lost sight of Rosslyn, with only a current of air at his back to follow her passing.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

He tore his gaze away, from how she pressed herself into the side of the chimney and the frantic, pleading shake of her head as their eyes met. “Uh…”

“What happened?” Morrence demanded. She had already sheathed her sword and was kneeling to examine the corpse.

“I –” Even that small attempt at speech left him coughing. His eyes watered as he tapped his throat and managed to rasp out the word assassin. “Caught me by surprise. Got lucky.”

“Hm.” His guard-commander drew a dagger from her belt and used the tip to lift the porcelain mask away from the assassin’s face. The slender features and scraggy attempt at a moustache hardly made Alistair feel better, but before he could dwell too deeply on the age difference between him and his would-be killer, he caught Morrence peering at the blood trail leading away from the body.

He shifted his weight to block her line of sight.

“Looks like he got in through the window,” one of the other guards called from across the room.

“I want someone out there now to see where he came from,” Morrence ordered. “And alert the palace guard that there’s been an attempt on His Majesty’s life. It could be whoever’s responsible wants to try for the empress as well.”

Both the look on her face and the sullen note in her voice conveyed her suspicion about Celene’s role in the whole affair, the hope – on the slim chance she wasn’t behind the attack – that the assassins creeping into the empress’ chamber were having more luck. Even more than Alistair, she had found Orlais unwelcoming. Dismissed as both a Fereldan and as someone with obvious elven ancestry, her temper had been hanging on rather a fine string ever since crossing the border.

“Either way, it sounds like all the excitement is over for me,” Alistair huffed, flashing a brittle smile at the improving quality of his voice. “What a shame, I do so love being the centre of attention.”

“Your Majesty, this man was killed with a sword.”

He quelled the urge to glance behind him. “Was he? It all happened so fast – are you sure?”

“And yet there’s no sword in this room,” she pressed, rising from her crouch. “I still have yours right here.”

“What are you suggesting, Guard-Commander?”

Her eyes narrowed at the uncommon use of her title. “It would be a good idea to make a thorough search of these rooms in case of accomplices.”

“What? No, I don’t –” He coughed, fixed his gaze on a mountain in one of the tapestries so he wouldn’t give Rosslyn away – “That won’t be necessary, surely? Can’t you just take the body, maybe put a towel over the bloodstain?”

“Your Majesty –”

Sensing defeat, he sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “Look, it’s been a long day of disappointments, and someone just tried to kill me, if you didn’t notice. I really think if there’d been an accomplice they would have jumped out of the wardrobe while I was occupied.”

“You take your safety too lightly,” she protested. “At least let us get you checked over by a healer.”

“A good night’s sleep, that’s what I need.” He tried to smile again, to hide the lurch in his stomach at the idea that Rosslyn might disappear again if he gave her the opportunity.

“But –”

He held one arm out, the other firmly supported on the back of the chair. “Look at me, I’m not even injured. And whatever got thrown in my face, it’s wearing off. If you don’t take that body away right now and leave me to rest, you can be the one to tell Élodie why I spent half the night being prodded at by Wynne instead of getting my beauty sleep.”

For a long moment, he worried she would insist anyway, but at last she turned with her fingers tight around the hilt of her own sword, and he knew this particular battle was won.

“Fine,” she bit out, and nudged the assassin’s body with her boot. “With your permission, I’ll have Leliana take a closer look at this for any clues about just who might have wanted to kill you.”

“Good idea.”

“One of us has to have sense.” She sighed. “Allers, get over here and help me, would you?”

The guard still standing by the door saluted and stepped forward to take the assassin’s legs, while Morrence hefted him up beneath the shoulders. Shuffling and cursing, they hauled the body through to the next room, while Alistair kept up his smile and eased around the chair to block their view as much as he could, despite the pins-and-needles starting to shoot up his legs as the drug wore off. When the door finally clicked shut, he allowed himself to sag and turned, only to find Rosslyn leaning against the chimney, head bowed forward, a picture of exhaustion that pulled at something unpleasant deep within his chest.

“Rosslyn –”

“Thank you,” she interrupted. “For not revealing me.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” he replied, but the smile died on his lips. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if his legs were strong enough yet to cross the distance between them, or if she would even want him to. “That poison powder has a kick.”

“I remember.”

So did he. The night after they met in the mountains on his return from Orzammar, the first time he truly feared for her life, when had had so much left to tell her.

“It should wear off soon,” she said, pushing off the wall, her eyes still on the floor. “With no permanent damage.” She paused. “He would have killed you.”

“Then I guess it’s lucky you were here.”

No response. She half-turned to him as if to reply, but not far enough to meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes caught on her hands, as if she hadn’t yet noticed the assassin’s blood coating both them and the length of her sword. There lay the last piece of evidence carving away the doubt that it really was her; Talon’s blue-gold colour shone through the gore as it cut the light, the runestone in the pommel winking with power.

“There’ll be a guard outside the window soon,” she started. “I should –”

He staggered towards her. “Don’t. Please don’t go. What I said before – I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“What if I’m not who you think I am?” she replied, every word laced with sudden venom. For the first time, she looked at him, not bothering to hide the hurt within the depths of her glare.

“How could I mistake you?” he asked her, or himself. “How could I not recognise the woman who –” His throat wouldn’t work, though his mind screamed what he wanted to say. “I haven’t been able to stop wondering if it was a dream, if I really could be that much of a fool, but I was. I am. You could have let me walk away and I would have deserved it, but you didn’t, and I…” His laugh tasted bitter, and his eyes stung as he dared to edge the distance between them. “It’s crazy, right? Two years of wanting to see you again and the moment all my wishes came true I drove you away. I am so sorry, just – please, don’t go.”

Shrinking away again, she turned her eye to the tapestries, to the fire, to the blood on her hands that gleamed black in the low light, until the silence had stretched for so long it left a ringing in his ears and made his mouth dry, but he didn’t dare move. Finally, she wrapped her arms around her upper body with Talon held carefully to avoid its edge, steadying herself with a breath.

“I didn’t exactly make it difficult for you.”

Hope flared. As before, he approached her with halting steps as if she were an apparition likely to disappear, only this time he reached out to her in full knowledge that she wasn’t, that this encounter really wasn’t some Fade trick or conjuration. Her hands still held the cold of the Harvestmere night, the blood tacky against his skin, but she returned his grip with fingers that bore the callouses he remembered, the ones born from her dedication to her training, and when he breathed her name again she met his eyes with that fathomless winter grey he could spend hours studying without boredom.

“Come here,” he offered gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She followed him through to the suite’s tiled salle de lavage without complaint and watched him turn the taps. “I can manage.”

“Of course.” He tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to… well. You’ll need a new shirt, though, since that one’s got blood on it. I’ve got – I mean, do you want to borrow one?”

She froze with her hands running a cloth under a cool stream of water. Silence pooled like marsh fog between them, where the memories ran thick; once upon a time, his shirts had been her nightly attire, borrowed, and then naturalised to their new owner until her scent clung to the cloth even after he managed to steal them back, until it was the only thing he had had left of her. He shoved a hand backwards through his hair and coughed away the unpleasant rise at the back of his throat, made worse by the aftereffects of the powder.

“You don’t have to if you’d rather keep that one – it is quite nice, now that I’m looking – not that I’m looking – but it’s really the least I can do after the whole saving-my-life thing.”

“I’ll take the offer,” she told him with perhaps a shade of her familiar wry amusement. “Thank you.”

“Great! I’ll, uh… leave you to it, then.”

When she emerged from the washroom a little while later, he had stoked the fire and lit the glowstones, and found a spare blanket to soak up the bloodstain on the floor. He startled from his rummage through his drawers for a shirt to find her still rubbing at imaginary specks of blood in Talon’s hilt, the intense concentration in what he could see of her face throwing him back to old nights on campaign, when they would sit knee to knee, cleaning their equipment as an excuse to spend time in each other’s company.

“What’s so amusing?” she asked when she caught his expression, finally satisfied enough to sheathe the sword and throw the cloth onto the corner of the bedside table.

He turned away to hide the flush of heat up his neck. “Nothing, I just recognise that look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look on my face.” But she touched her fingers to the mask nonetheless, as if to check it was still there.

“If you say so,” he answered, grinning, and held out his least wrinkled shirt. “Here, this one shouldn’t smell too bad.”

The corner of her mouth ticked upward as she took the garment from him, but it faded into uncertainty when she glanced between it and the tunic she already wore. With an apologetic look over her shoulder she turned away, hiding herself from him as she started on the fastenings that kept the mask over her face. He tried not to let the action sting. Two years before, he might have helped her change – or hindered her, if they had time – and more than anything else so far this evening, the idea that she might not be comfortable in his presence cut deep, reminded him just how far the gulf between them had grown. He ought to respect her privacy, and tried to, but as she drew the tunic over her head the swish of the fabric caught his eye, and the sight of her held it.

Her scars were the same. The white starbust on her left shoulder from the crossbow bolt he had pulled out with his own hands on the night they first stumbled into each other; the small leaf-shaped depression below her ribs where Loghain’s sword had pierced her back. He knew them, by sight and touch and tongue, but the canvas upon which they were painted now sent a lance through his chest. What had she suffered to become so thin? How did she still endure, when he could count her ribs and see every strand of wasted muscle working beneath her skin? He had added to that pain. His gut churned with the guilt of it.

Before he was aware of moving, he had crossed the space and wrapped his arms around her waist almost before the new shirt had settled, burying his face into her neck and hating how she tensed.

“Alistair…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. “I’m sorry for everything. Everything you’ve been through. Everything I couldn’t protect you from.”

She drew in a breath and let it go, laid her fingers over his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“The things I said tonight were,” he insisted. “You deserved better. All those vile things – it was unforgivable.”

“And yet you appear to be asking forgiveness.”

She broke his embrace, just enough to turn in his arms, and this time as she looked up at him, without darkness or resined paper to hide her features, he forgot to breathe. The familiar, teasing curl of her mouth drew him in, but he stopped, and brushed a hand along her cheek instead. How many times had he wished for just one more look, bargained his entire kingdom to the dark for one more moment to admire the straight line of her nose, her high cheeks, the way her fine lashes fanned against her skin and perfectly framed her eyes?

“Alistair?” she prompted.

“What?”

“You were staring.”

“Oh! Well…” He resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. “The clockwork’s a little rusty – you know how it is. I forget to wind it up. Ah.” He swallowed, dared to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive me for that, too? I remember you being very forgiving.”

She chuckled. “Do you?”

“Very clearly. You’re the most merciful person in Thedas.”

For an instant, he watched a retort dance on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back and dropped her gaze to the middle of his chest, and he started forward to ask what he’d done wrong.

“You left me,” she said, before he could open his mouth. “On the morning of the battle I woke up and you weren’t there. Why?”

He flinched away from the quiet, even tone of her voice, as if she had shouted instead. There was no answer he could give beyond an admission of cowardice, nothing that would excuse it.

“I have regretted that every day,” he told her. “I couldn’t face that being the last time I would see you, I was terrified I’d change my mind. I wondered, after, if that was why…”

“You think I went and faced the Nightmare out of spite?” she checked.

“No! I mean… Sometimes. In the beginning, I was so angry, but you would never stand by while you could help. I should have known better than to try and make you.” His memories from those early weeks without her existed in a haze of vitriolic self-destruction, recalled only as flashes where he cast blame at anyone who dared come near him, until even Cuno was banished to the kennels after pacing one too many times from room to room, searching for the mistress who had not come home. He had begged the mages to help him, to offer him some hope that she lived, and now before him stood the proof that he should have tried harder.

Cool fingers laced tentatively with his. “I should have let Morrence lead the cavalry.”

“You saved us all,” he insisted, but sighed and looked away, because the wound still throbbed. “And you deserved more from me.”

“I promised you I would stay behind.”

“Shhhh…” Weary to his bones, he pressed a kiss against her forehead. “It’s alright. You’re here. And I should have known that not even death could ever stop you. It probably took one look at that glare of yours and decided to turn tail.”

The comment earned a brief, wet chuckle as he pulled her close, and left in its wake a more comfortable silence than those that had gone before, a relief and a comfort, taming the shadowy beast that since Ostagar had clawed its way through his mind and body both. That Rosslyn now clung to him too opened a new, bright kind of pain beneath his ribs, clean and healing where before his wounds had festered. He never wanted to let her go.

“I did everything I could to get back to you,” she said after a long moment. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, with another kiss to her forehead as if reassuring nothing more than a bad dream. “It’s alright.”

He trailed the declaration down the side of her face, his lips brushing over the lid of an eye, her cheek, the very corner of her mouth, while her hands curled slowly into his waist and the back of his neck. At the last, she turned her head and his mouth found hers of its own accord, instinct more than effort that sent sparks to the tips of his still-numb fingers.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” he breathed, not daring to pull away. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” she promised, and leaned forward again.

“Wait, does that mean you won’t stay or you won’t go?”

The sound of her laugh made him giddy as she pushed into him, rising onto her toes so the arms around his neck could pull him into a deeper kiss. Any caution urged by the overwhelming shadows still ranged against them fell to the press of her body against his, the beat of her pulse under his thumb and the whimper that slipped her throat as his hands wandered.

And yet even here in such a perfect moment, responsibility nagged at him. The gaudy porcelain clockwork on the mantelpiece chimed the early hour and drew them apart, flushed and breathing heavily and still joined by the gentle brush of fingers over each other’s skin. He had meetings to attend in the morning, and Élodie’s wrath to face if he spent them trying to hide yawns behind his hand.

“We should go to bed,” he murmured, with a rush of longing and doubt so strong his head spun. “To sleep! Not for anything nefarious. I mean –”

Breaking into a smile, she stopped him with a swift kiss. “You’ve never been nefarious in your life.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You should know… I don’t sleep much these days,” she admitted. “Not since I came back.”

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, at a loss for how to comfort her. He didn’t want to pry.

“Don’t worry about it. Perhaps this is what I’ve been missing.”

“You say the nicest things,” he replied, to cover, and brought the back of her hand to his lips.

In the few paces to the ridiculously ornate canopy bed, his heart thundered, stalling his breath with memories of the nights he had spent wrapped up with Rosslyn nestled against him, and after, even more nights when the place at his side lay cold and empty. He bit down on the urge to tell her sleep would likely elude him too, for fear of waking to that nightmare again, even as his heart ached with the stilted atmosphere between them, the experiences that had pushed them apart. His body responded to hers in a way it hadn’t for longer than he cared to think, automatically and carelessly, but reaching for her now felt like reaching across a tidal strait too deep to swim, close enough to hear her voice and see her waiting on the far shore but unable to cross the gap. But he would not push. The day he had spent with her in the meadow high in the Frostbacks loomed in his mind, when she had told him of her lacking desire and the fear that to others it would not matter, and the promise he had made to never be that person to her which still held true.

It didn’t mean he had to be tired of kissing her. They had two years to make up. Every line of muscle yearned towards her as he turned and found her still behind him, not an apparition, her hand warm in his and her breath soft and sweet across his face. He felt her smile as he leaned down to her, and then the jolt in his blood when the tip of her tongue darted out over his bottom lip.

“Does that convince you I’m really here?” she teased.

He bumped his nose against hers. “Just about.”

Humming her satisfaction at the response, she left him to sit on the edge of the bed, smirking as she lifted one leg across the other. “What, you don’t expect me to go to bed in boots, do you?” she asked when she noticed his frown. “I’ll get mud all over the sheets.”

“As much as I’d love to explain that one to the servants…” He shrugged as he knelt and waved her hands away from the buckles. “Let me do that.”

“I’m perfectly capable –”

“I want to see if you’re wearing embarrassing socks.”

The brief chuckle earned by the remark drew his eyes upwards. Rosslyn watched him, her head tilted in a wistfulness that reached down through her fingers as she twined them into his hair.

“You’re staring again,” she noted.

He turned to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Must be the view.”

“Hm. Get back to it, Your Majesty.”

Smirking, he did as he was told and set to the straps, content to go slowly, working his way down her calf. The boot slipped off her foot with a minor tug, accompanied by a sigh from above. She had lain back to gaze at the canopy of the bed while he worked, entirely at ease, and the normality of the whole scene eased a sigh between his lips.

“I’m disappointed in these socks,” he informed her as he started on the second boot.

An answering hum of laughter. “I will endeavour to do better next time.”

“Good.” He stayed on the floor a moment longer, kneading his thumb along the lines of hard muscle between ankle and knee until she relaxed under his touch. When he finally moved to join her on the bed, her head lay propped on one arm, her eyes warm as he settled at her side and laced his fingers into her free hand.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “And what would make it all better?”

The corner of her mouth tugged into a smile as she untucked her arm from behind her head and rose onto one elbow, closer to him, and his eyes fluttered shut with the gentle fingertips she traced along his jaw.

“Just this,” she murmured, and tilted forward to kiss him, long and sweet.

When she finally pulled away, the lack of her froze his skin as if he had turned from a campfire on a cold night. He followed after her, pressing his forehead to hers and curling his hand around the precious shell of her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” She paused. “This beard, however…”

He jerked his head back, one hand already flying to his chin. “What’s wrong with my extremely manly beard?” he demanded.

Laughing, she scooted around him so her legs no longer dangled off the edge of the mattress and did not answer, preoccupied instead with unbuckling Talon from her waist. He noticed she laid it still within easy reach as she peeled back the covers, but he pushed down the twist of pain caused by the implication in favour of a more pressing matter. He followed her up the bed.

“Teagan says it makes me look distinguished, you know.”

“Teagan’s never had to kiss you with it,” she retorted. “Or at least I hope not.”

He frowned as he settled next to her under the covers, on his side with his chest tight and heart dancing for her closeness. Their legs tangled together. As his hand found its old place on her hip, it awoke every forgotten habit his mind had sealed away, like a limb released from a tourniquet and allowed to move again, and when her arm slipped up to rest in a loose embrace, a sigh painting her lips, he never wanted to move again.

“I haven’t kissed Teagan,” he told her. “I haven’t kissed anyone.”

Damn those grey eyes. The intensity in them could turn a charging horse, or reduce a hardened criminal to gibbered pleading, and Alistair doubted he turned away fast enough to hide the well of loneliness that had eaten away at him for so long – perhaps stoppered now, in her presence, but still aching like the echo in an empty cave. Her touch burned on the side of his face as she sought to comfort him.

“You really don’t like the beard?” he checked, before she could speak.

“You mean these boar bristles?” she asked gently. She stroked her fingers along the edge of his jaw and the unexpected shiver it sent down his back made him want her to do it again. “The overall effect has… a certain charm. Perhaps it’ll grow on me.”

“I certainly hope not! The beard can stay on my face, thank you – but I’ll let you borrow it whenever you like.” He pulled her close, forgetting his earlier caution in her giggle as he held her face and rubbed his stubbled cheeks all over hers as if he were a cat, kissing where his lips brushed skin, until her hands twisted into his hair and they had turned so she was beneath him, wrapped in his embrace with her hair coming loose from its pins across the pillow. She bared her neck to him and he obliged, rediscovering the trail that led along her pulse as her breath turned to gasps and her hands fisted in the collar of his shirt.

But she wasn’t free, not yet. Even as he nipped at her skin and soothed the bite with his tongue, she drew his head up to bring his mouth to hers again, seeking comfort, the frayed ends of their connection severed at Ostagar. He embraced her tighter and at the sound of her name she turned his head and kissed along the exposed length of his neck, the juncture of his shoulder. Eventually they lay wrapped together like tree roots, quiet, lost and found without the need for words.

“Staying here won’t affect your mission, will it?” he asked when he again trusted himself to speak. “You won’t get in trouble?”

Silent, Rosslyn shook her head.

“Tell me about it.” He pulled back. “I want to help, whatever it is.”

“Alistair…”

“I’m serious.”

Defeated, she huffed and pushed him onto his back before tucking herself down against his chest, shuffling until she got comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he replied. “Who’s behind it? Not just anyone could keep you on such a tight leash.”

She tensed. “It’s Flemeth.”

“You mean –” The nerves at the ends of his fingers tingled like they had been dipped in hot water after coming in from the snow. “Flemeth Flemeth?”

“She’s the one who pulled me from the Fade. If not for her, I’d still be there.”

The reminder settled like lead in Alistair’s stomach. He curled his arm more snugly about her waist, as if that alone might keep her from being dragged back into the formless world beyond the Veil, to face demons and who knew what else. To turn his mind from the image, he set it the task of wondering what an all-powerful swamp witch might want with the glitter of the Orlesian royal court.

“It’s something to do with Morrigan, isn’t it?”

Rosslyn glanced to him. “You know about her?”

“I met her this evening,” he said. “Very like her mother, though I don’t think I’d dare say that to her face.”

“She has possession of an artefact, an enchanted mirror that acts as a portal to… somewhere, or something. Some ancient elven magic. Flemeth asked me to destroy the mirror before Morrigan can work out how to use it.”

“I wondered why Celene was bothering to keep the templars off her,” he mused. “Ancient magic the world has never seen could be powerful in the wrong hands.”

She hummed her agreement. “And as far as Ferelden is concerned, you can’t get much worse than Orlais.”

“No, you can’t. No wonder you didn’t want to be found out.” Discovering the supposedly dead Queen of Ferelden sneaking about the halls attempting to thwart the schemes of a political adversary would have lit a flame to the waiting pyre of Orlais’ warmongering nobles – could still, if Rosslyn were caught. Celene had made her intentions towards the Fereldan Crown very clear, first by housing Alistair in the Emperor’s apartments under the guise of having nowhere else fit for his entourage, and then by having him attend her and her proxies all evening, her charm a militant campaign of flattery he had no doubt could turn sour the moment she found herself upstaged. And that was without the threat of an ancient weapon held like a knife above the heads of his people.

“I can hear you thinking,” Rosslyn mumbled into his side.

“Not so much of a rare occurrence these days,” he told her. “Kings who are fools don’t tend to last long.”

She pushed herself up onto an elbow and turned to face him properly, palm flat against his chest. “You were never a fool.”

Celene posed a threat. He had no explanation for Rosslyn’s presence, and no way to protect her should the empress discover her purpose in Halamshiral. If she did not succeed, Flemeth might not release her, and Ferelden might suffer an Occupation more ruthless than the last. And yet…

“You do know I’m not letting you go again, right?” he asked though the sting at the corner of his eyes. “You’ll have to stay with me forever, and we’ll have to stay here in this bed because I never want another moment without you.”

Quiet, she leaned forward to stroke his cheek. “There are worse fates.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Glad we sorted that.”

There was a long silence as she curled into his side again, punctuated only by the command for the glowstone to dim. In place of words, their hands found each other in the darkness and chased random patterns from fingertip to wrist in slow arcs, reassuring touches that gave a focus beyond the disinclination for sleep. For Alistair, it was the lingering fear that Rosslyn might vanish as soon as he closed his eyes, the desire to savour having her warm and heavy against him. They had a whole lifetime for sleep, endless days where he wouldn’t wake and have to steel himself to brave the emptiness on the other side of the bed. At least, so he hoped, if she wanted it too.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #king alistair #king alistair theirin #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #cousland #f!cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

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salvejoon · 4 years ago

Text

No King Rules Forever | myg - M

I am the fire I am burning brighter Roaring like a storm And I am the one I've been waiting for Screaming like a siren Alive and burning brighter I am the fire

⇒ Summary: Escaping the Imperial City 4 years ago, leaving behind painful, bloody memories, your body scarred and your soul bruised, you went into hiding, swearing to never fall into the Emperor’s hands again but when his twin brother and the rightful heir to the Imperial Throne finds you, asking you to return to that God-forsaken city you had left behind, to re-open old wounds and place yourself directly in the Emperor’s gaze, to help him take the city and overthrow his brother, you find yourself at odds: do you stay hidden or do you step into the light and sink your fangs into the man who ruined you?

⇒ Or: Emperor Min needs to die cuz he’s a psycho and while you and Yoongi agree on that part, you don’t really agree on anything else.

⇒ Pairing: Dragon Aspect!Yoongi x Snake Aspect!Reader

⇒ Genre: Angst, action, a dash of crack, a tiny bit of fluff and smut.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 17k

⇒ Warnings: whoo boy, here we go, unedited cuz im a lazy fuck, mentions of torture and sexual assault (nothing too descriptive), gory fighting as in there will be blood, poison, people melting, arrows in kneecaps, character death, cursing, smutty goodness, soft smut uwu, Yoongi is a soft boi and reader needs to be held, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (Wrap it up, my dudes), creampie.

Spying eyes watched carefully from the shadows of the tall trees around him, moving as the cloaked figure before him picked up herbs and put them in a basket. Careful not to stand in the direction of the wind, he moved silently, stealthily through the bushes, cautious not to make any noise and draw the attention from the clothed figure.

It could mean his end if noticed but he had his orders and had to make sure it was whom they believed it was.

So far, he had nothing to go on. He could neither see shape or a face on the figure, a smart move for someone not wanting to be discovered.

But a gust of wind blew harshly between the trees and the hooded figure was suddenly without a hood, revealing long hair that glinted in the sun and his eyes widened slightly as the figure turned to the side, showing him the feminine features of their face.

It was her.

They’d finally found her.

But his ogling was soon interrupted as she whipped around and he felt her eyes on him, seeing him even under the cover of the shadows. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He had to leave.

Now.

Namjoon stared at the corpse at the ground, scratching his neck as he felt a sigh build up, “He was my best tracker…” He stated and let out a heavy sigh, “This is unexpected.”

“Y’know, as the smartest aspect, you really are dumb.” Jin commented and prodded the corpse’s knee with his shoe.

“How was I supposed to predict that poor Sijun would lose his life? Maybe he was ambushed-”

“He wasn’t ambushed. Look at the wound. It’s too clean, too precise to have been made by a soldier or an assassin who suddenly jumped at him.”

“Yoongi…” Namjoon looked at his oldest friend as he bowed down and examined the many cuts across Sijun’s body, “Sijun was the best damn spy we had! There’s no way that she did this.”

Yoongi scoffed and rose, “She is capable. It’s most likely that Sijun wasn’t hiding well enough and she discovered him.”

“She was the one who gave your brother the scar, right?” Jin asked as they walked out of the forest and into the clearing, the flow of the water strong in the creek as it had been raining.

“My brother didn’t see her coming either.” Yoongi stated as he looked around, spotting the basket near the water, tumbled over, no doubt having been left behind by the woman he was currently trying to find, “She’s around here. Let’s be a little bit more wiser than Sijun and not get killed.”

Namjoon sighed heavily as his two friend began walking east, “I should have stayed home.”

“Mistress.” Your handmaiden, Shari, looked confused as you scurried around the cave, “What has gotten into you?”

You shook your head, “We have to leave.”

“Why?”

“I was seen today.”

Shari’s eyes widened, “That’s not possible. We have covered every track and-” You grabbed her hand, clenching it and she took a few calming breaths.

“It was only a matter of time before…” Shari looked desperately at you as you paled visibly, “Before he would find me, Shari.”

“Are you sure it as one of his trackers?” Your handmaiden asked as you let go of her hand and resumed with packing a small leather bag with only the bare essentials.

“I smelled Dragon on him.” You stated, your hands beginning to shake as you were reminded of the taste and scent of it, “It’s him. Which is why we have to leave.”

“But what if he finds us again, Mistress? What happens then?”

“We will keep on moving. He will never find us.”

“But what if he does?”

You looked down at your hands, her shaking voice affecting you and sighed heavily, “Then you will to save yourself. Now pack your things.” Your tone was final and Shari nodded solemnly as she headed over to her own bedding to pack her belongings.

Shari was tired of running but she could not leave your side. Not when she owed her life to you. Ever since that fateful night in the palace, she’d sworn an oath to serve you and stay by your side until death.

But she wanted to fight.

She wanted you to fight.

She stole a glance at you over her shoulder, knowing that underneath your hard and cold exterior was a strong and fiery soul but that soul had endured so much pain and was now afraid. She knew that underneath your robes that hid your body so well, were scars that you thought so ugly and hideous that you still avoided your mirror image to this day.

She wished that you had never set foot in that horrible palace.

“If we set out by sunset, we can use the cover of the dark to-” You stopped abruptly when the air shifted and carried a scent with it that you knew all too well.

You got to your feet quickly and handed Shari your belongings, “We’re out of time. Take this and run.” You said to her, ignoring how puzzled she looked, “Run as fast as you can and don’t stop.”

“W-What’s happening?”

You simply offered her a sad smile and cupped her cheek as it dawned on her what was about to happen, “N-No, I won’t leave your side!”

“Shari, go. There’s no time.” She shook her head wildly and your heart lurched in your chest, “Go through the cave, take a left and follow the river once you exit the cave. Just like we’ve practiced.”

“Y/N…”

“That’s an order, Shari.”

Tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks as she slowly nodded and you leaned over, kissing her cheek as you whispered, “Take care, child.”

You watched as she bolted in the opposite direction, heading further into the cave. She would be safe, that was all that mattered. You took a deep breath, the scent of him nearing flooding your senses. You could almost taste him on the wind.

You felt fear take a solid hold on you as you headed for the entrance to your hideout.

You had often imagined facing him again.

You didn’t expect to walk away from this alive.

But you sure as hell would drag him down with you.

Still, nothing could prepare you seeing the dark figure behind the waterfall, the water bending his body in a weird shape and acting as the only barrier between the two of you. It was terrifying and you fought hard to take another step.

You were about to face the man that had ruined you.

It was now or never.

Shari stood at the secret exit to the cave, a brief pause as she looked back into the darkness of what had been her home for a year. Her heart was breaking in her chest at the thought of you dying but you had given her an order.

One that she intended to follow.

A gust of wind almost knocked her over and she felt the hairs on her arms raise in fear.

Then she heard the sound that she had only heard once in her life, that horrifying night when you had fought the Emperor himself and given him the scar, the night the two of you had barely escaped the Imperial City alive.

It was loud, the stone walls of the cave trembling, causing dust and debris to fall to the ground. She picked up her pace and ran as fast as she could towards the light at the end of the cave.

Yoongi didn’t know what to expect as he had followed the trail that had led him to the waterfall. The Aspect of the Snake. Enigmatic, elegant, intelligent, wise, fearless, cunning, scheming and striking.

Some of the wisest Emperors and Empresses had been an Aspect of the Snake.

He had never met an Aspect of the Snake.

Nothing could have prepared him for the real thing that was in front of him. It was as if the air itself dreaded what was about to happen as it died down, the forest around him grew quiet and only the sound of the waterfall filled the hilltop valley.

Then the wind picked up, in the opposite direction, almost sucking him toward the waterfall itself and then he saw them.

Glowing green eyes, looking directly at him and the ground trembled, the waterfall dispersed as the giant snake shot out of the cave with a roar. Yoongi had little to no choice but to change himself.

Namjoon and Jin were sent backwards from the sheer force of you and Yoongi’s forms colliding. As they scrambled back on their feet, they were almost blinded by the sun hitting the tangle of scales that was before them. Silver blended with black in a fierce battle. The ground shook beneath their feet with the giant Aspects battling. Yoongi’s growls and your loud hissing thrummed in their ears.

“We have to stop them!” Namjoon yelled out, fearful for his friend as he saw you twirl around Yoongi’s lithe body, most likely intending to squeeze the light out of him.

“How?!” Jin yelled back, “If you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of in human form right now and could easily die if we-”

“You idiot! Change!” Namjoon yelled before he changed into his own Aspect form and Jin followed suit.

Shari could only look on in horror as you battled the Emperor, his Dragon form even more terrifying than what she’s seen in paintings: the long slender body of his Dragonform, covered with blackened scales, his long claws digging into your pale imprenetable scales, trying to find purchase as you wrapped yourself around his body, his tail tangling with yours, his eyes glowing a bright golden color that some said was the representation of a setting sun.

His growls vibrated through his body and through hers which only gave away the magnitude of his size and power.

It seemed like you had the upper hand for a second but then she couldn’t but to cry out when he finally sank his claws into your body and you let out a wail of pain. Tears flowed freely when she saw blood stain the silver scales of your body.

But her heart stopped when she saw the Aspect of the Ox and the Monkey join the fight.

All of the Aspects towered above the trees and she had never felt more helpless in her life as she watched you not only battle one Aspect but three.

As strong and mighty as you were, you were no match for three of them. She saw how you strained your long body, trying to maintain a strong hold on the Emperor and to sink your fangs into the Monkey, the acidic venom dripping from them and onto the earth beneath.

She could smell the burned soil and wood in the air.

The Monkey finally got it’s hands on you, getting ahold of your head and pulled you away from the Emperor and his mighty form fell to the ground. Your body twisted itself around the Monkey’s strong legs and you squeezed, causing it to let go of you as it toppled over and you quickly got out of it’s grasp and you slithered your way through the forest, mowing down trees on your way, trying to get some distance between you and your enemies.

But there was nowhere to go because you were trampled by the Monkey and you let out a loud hiss as you curled yourself around it’s body again, anger now flooding your veins as you squeezed the Aspect in your grasp.

The Monkey, battling your crippling tight grasp, tripped over it’s own feet and fell, rolling towards Shari. The handmaiden let out a panicked scream, getting the attention of the Ox who was busy trying to help the Emperor get back up. It’s eyes widened as it spotted the small human, two fighting Aspects getting closer and closer each second.

It ran, leaving behind the Dragon and bypassed you and the Monkey, leaving dirt, dust and trees in it’s path.

Shari was cast in it’s large shadow. It huffed and she was knocked over by it. She covered her eyes to protect them from the dust, cowering in fear as the beast towered above her. It could easily crush her beneath it’s hoof.

But it didn’t move. Not even when the two other Aspects crashed into it’s large body, did it move an inch. It simply huffed again and it sounded annoyed.

“Enough!” Came the booming and deep voice from the Ox, “We didn’t come here to fight you!” Then as to get the point across, the Ox changed back into it’s human form and from the dust, Jin appeared, “We’re here to talk.”

Monkey, who was entangled in your body, stopped resisting, “It’s true.” He managed to wheeze out. Your eyes darted between Jin and the Monkey in your hold and you were at a loss of what to do.

“I cannot trust you!” You finally spoke, your voice distorted to a deeper tone, “He has gotten into your minds and poisoned you.”

“He…” Came the voice of the Emperor, now hovering above you and the Monkey, “Is not me.”

You lunged at him with snap of your jaws, “Liar!”

The Dragon hummed deeply before landing onto the ground, a little away from where you currently held the Monkey pinned down and evaporated into a dust cloud. Your eyes narrowed when they saw the figure emerging.

It was the same face that haunted you at night but yet, it was not. Instead of long, straight blonde hair like his brother had, his was jet-black and only went to his ears but the thing that caught your attention the most was his eyes. They were filled with emotion, nothing you could distinguish but there was emotion in the brown orbs.

Not the void you had so often stared into.

And he lacked the parting gift you had given your once would-be husband: the scar across his right eye.

The Monkey slowly felt you loosen your crushing hold on him and inhaled loudly when he felt like he could finally breathe.

Seconds ticked by and Yoongi raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to change back so we can talk like civilized human beings?”

“Careful.” You hissed but removed yourself from the Monkey completely, allowing him to change back into human form and you decided to take a chance and change back as well, “That you do not anger me further.”

You cautiously stepped backwards to your handmaiden and the young girl launched herself at you.

“Mistress!”

“It’s okay, Shari.”

“Y-You’re hurt…”

“It’ll heal soon. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, “No. The Ox saved me.”

Jin smiled and inclined his head, “Jin is my name.” He introduced himself and continued, “I had to. My friend over there is quite clumsy and would have crushed you had I not intervened.”

“Hey! How about a hand here?!” Namjoon called out annoyingly, “Gods have mercy, I think she’s crushed my ribs.”

You scoffed, “You would be dead if I had.”

Yoongi watched as Jin moved over to help Namjoon, cursing at him for being a clutz but you seemed to only have your eyes on him. It was clear that you were distrustful of them, making sure to keep your guard raised, even with your servant clinging to you, he didn’t doubt you were still able to hurt him.

You were also scared.

Of him.

He could smell it on you.

Yoongi took a step towards you and you hissed in warning, “Calm down, girl.” He grunted and folded his arms.

“Girl?!” You exclaimed loudly, filled with ire, “I will let that slide this once but you will tell me why you trespassed-”

“We didn’t actually trespass seeing as this mountain borders onto the Emerald forest and last time I checked, you weren’t the owner of these lands.” Yoongi interjected, looking bored.

“You have 10 seconds to tell me why you’re here.” You growled.

“Or what?” He challenged and the hilltop grew quiet as you glared at him, hands clenching.

“If your friends hadn’t intervened, I would have killed you, Yoongi.” You spat his name and his eyes widened slightly, “Your brother found out what happens when you corner a snake and it almost cost him an eye. Don’t make the same mistake.”

Yoongi. The twin brother of Emperor Min. The rightful heir to the throne. The first born son of the great Dragon Emperor.

You wanted to laugh.

A lost cause. Banished from the Imperial City forever by his own brother. You had never met him, only heard hushed whispers of him from your time in the palace. The Emperor had never uttered a word of his brother either.

But the things you had heard were more than enough. A coward was what he was, not even taking up arms against his brother when he had cut down their father in cold blood, no protesting when he had taken the throne as his own.

You weren’t impressed to be in his presence but you would listen to what he had to say.

You stared at the three Aspects that sat on the opposite side of the campfire, the sun barely noticeable on the horizon, stars beginning to dot up the sky in all their formations.

At this time, you and Shari would normally have been sitting alone, letting your full bellies settle after dinner and the young girl would entertain you with her hopes and dreams of a future where your lives were normal and you weren’t on the run.

Now you were joined by 3 other Aspects and the tension was palpable.

“After 10 years…” You dragged your eyes from the fire to Yoongi, “You decided to rebel against your brother?”

You were met with silence.

“Pathetic.”

Namjoon winced audibly and received a jab from Jin as Yoongi spoke, “I have my reasons. What is important is that it is happening.”

“And what, pray tell, are those reasons?” You asked coldly, standing up, dusting the dirt away from your dress and were again met with silence which didn’t surprise you, “Why should I help you, hm? Where were you when thousands of innocent people, children, were enslaved, killed, had their homes and livelihood destroyed?” Your tone changed as you continued, anger rising, “Where were you when he attacked the Northern Lands and slaughtered millions?”

“Hey, there’s no need to be so-” Jin began but you cut him off quickly with hiss and your eyes flashing green.

“Where were you when your people needed you? Hiding. Like a coward.” You finished.

“Like you?” Yoongi asked and met your hardened gaze.

You felt his words dig at your heart like a dagger, your lungs suddenly burning with how the air had been knocked out of them with two simple words, yet you refused to let it show, “You don’t know the hell I went through.” You spat, “I will not help you or your rebellion.” You announced, anger and hurt making your hands shake as you turned on your heel and headed for the cave.

“W-Wait Y/N!” Namjoon called out and moved to get up but Yoongi stopped him with a hand.

“Don’t bother. We shouldn’t have come.” He said, glaring at your retreating form.

“Maybe I can talk to her and-” Namjoon looked at his friend with pleading eyes.

“We have wasted enough time on your ideas, Namjoon.” Yoongi snapped, finally letting the anger from your words show, “The woman doesn’t want to help. Fine. Leave her to rot here.” With that he rose and left the campsite, walking in the opposite direction, disappearing in the darkness.

Namjoon sighed loudly and Jin shook his head.

What a mess.

“She wants to help you...” Came a shy, quiet voice and the two men looked at the young girl opposite of them, “But she’s scared.”

“Yoongi is scared too. He just won’t admit or show it.” Jin explained with a nod, “I’m scared. Namjoon is scared.”

“Me too.” Shari agreed and stood up, “You’re welcome to stay for the night. We have extra beddings in the cave, should you wish to sleep somewhere dry.” She bowed graciously, “Goodnight… And thank you for saving me, Jin.”

He smiled at her as she turned and left them alone at the fire.

“So… Jin, I think it’s your turn to talk to him.”

“Mistress.”

You were quick to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks as you heard Shari approach you and put a gentle hand on your shoulder. She didn’t say anything as she knelt down behind you and put her head against your back.

You felt a comforting warmth spread in your chest at her silent support and you reached up with your left hand, putting it on top of hers.

This girl had been your only source of companionship since you had escaped the palace. She had been there, next to you with her childish charms and naive hopes when you had been all gloom and doom. She had pulled you out of your night terrors, learned how to deal with them when all she should worry about was playing with other children and making friends.

She had to grow up too quickly but somehow she still had hope to keep her going forward.

You wished you still had hope.

“Shari…” Came your trembling voice and she simply squeezed your shoulder, understanding your unspoken words.

She was the only thing that kept you going these past 4 years.

Yoongi’s words had cut you deep and while you hated to admit it, he was right. You were a coward.

You were no different that he was.

You had a choice: help him overthrow his brother or stay here, in hiding... Being a coward.

You could return to a normal life. You could give Shari the life she deserved.

“You’re going to help them, aren’t you?” She asked, hopeful, and you nodded curtly. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew she was smiling.

Perhaps you could allow yourself to have some hope, after all.

Namjoon stood awkwardly shifting on his feet outside the cave, nervously anticipating your exit.

After the talk he had with Yoongi which mostly consisted of his friend telling him to fuck off, shut up and take his big words somewhere else. It wasn’t the first time Namjoon had to give a little speech about what was right to Yoongi, even though he was the oldest and should be the wisest.

Yoongi had listened to him and had seen reason.

Now he just had to convince you to do it too.

You appeared just as he blinked, like a lightning strike from a clear sky and he yelped, causing you to raise an eyebrow as he tumbled backwards and fell onto the ground.

“Y-You startled me.”

You looked down at him with a stoic impression, “Good. I haven’t lost my touch then.” You extended a hand to help him back on his feet and he took it. Dusting himself off, he took in your attire: a burgundy robe, tied around your waist multiple times with a black piece of cloth, black pants showing underneath it, stuffed into dark boots. You shifted and he caught glimpse of a black bodice.

Then he saw the dual kopis’ at your hip and the bag on your back.

“Are you here to try and convince me to join your little rebellion once again?”

Namjoon snapped out of it and focused his eyes on your face where he saw a tiny smirk, “You knew?”

You hummed and stepped out of the cave, “I had an inkling.” You said as you walked out, “But you pacing back and forth anxiously gave it away.” You stated, glancing at the tall man and his now rosy cheeks.

“Also you talk rather loudly.”

“S-Sorry.”

Shari came running towards the two of you, adjusting the straps of her back onto her shoulder, “All done!” She exclaimed as she came up to you, smiling up at you.

“You sure?” You asked, looking down at her.

She nodded definitively, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Because we won’t be coming back.”

Namjoon stumbled after you as you continued walking, “Does that mean you’ll help us?”

You kept walking, “No, I wish to see if my weapons can skin a Dragon.” You paused for effect, “Alive.”

Shari chuckled beside you as Namjoon halted in his steps, looking pale and fearful. You rolled your eyes and stopped, “I am joking, Namjoon.”

He released a breath, “Thank the Gods.” He mumbled.

“For now.” You shrugged and continued walking down the hill.

You could already smell them as you reached the base of the hill where Jin and Yoongi awaited you. Jin smiled as he spotted you and Shari while Yoongi didn’t even spare you a glance.

You were about to tell him how rude it was not to acknowledge a Lady when Jin opened his mouth, “Good morning, ladies. Looking battle ready and fierce as ever.” He complimented as you and Shari came up to him, “How are you this morning, little one?” He asked when she looked up at him, her big brown orbs twinkling with excitement.

“Excited!” Shari clapped her hands.

“I expected to see you return alone.” Yoongi stated, glancing at Namjoon.

You could still give him an earful but refrained and simply resumed walking, heading into the dense forest, Shari grabbing Jin’s hand to drag him along.

While Jin and Shari had fun playing games on the road, obviously bonding, you and Yoongi had yet to utter one word to each other. That didn’t stop the Dragon from talking about you, as if you weren’t there. He took your lack of acknowledgement as a challenge. You annoyed him. He didn’t know why but he wanted your fieryeyes on him as you lashed out at him hence his comments got more provocative as the hours went by.

You were twitching with each comment coming from him, wanting nothing more than to teach him a lesson or ten.

Instead, you tried to make small talk with Jin, asking him about his family. He had a wife, three sons and a daughter and he talked with such warmth and love about his family, that it made the annoyance caused by Yoongi fade into the back of your mind.

It made you a little sad too. While his tone was warm and happy, there was an underlying yearning to return to them.

“I miss them so much.” He admitted, the smile vanishing from his face and sadness washed over his features, “I’ve been gone for too long already.”

“How long?” You asked.

“A year, give or take. My wife sends me letters though.” He smiled but it didn’t have the same happiness as his usual ones, “The boys are getting wilder and stronger and are wreaking havoc in the house.”

“What about your daughter?” Shari asked, “How old is she?”

Jin looked down at his side, “She’s a little younger than you and she is amazing. Strong, beautiful, funny, smart… Takes after her father, you know.” He winked at Shari and ruffled her hair, “You remind me of her actually.”

You smiled at the interaction. The young girl sorely lacked a father figure in her life. You were all that she had but even you couldn’t give her everything a child needed, no matter how hard you tried. Certainly not a life where she feared for her life everyday was fit for a child.

“We’re nearing the camp.” Yoongi caused the moment to fade with his statement.

You didn’t have to wait long until the air filled with the scents of sweat, horses, leather and smog.

“How many men?” You asked Yoongi as he walked up beside you, finally looking at him.

“2000.” He said curtly.

“2000? That’s not nearly enough to attack the Imperial city. Your brother has tens-of-thousands of soldiers.” You stated, eyes widening as Yoongi merely shrugged and bypassed you, picking up his pace as the camp got closer.

Truly, he couldn’t be serious?

Shari clung to you as you walked further and further into the large camp, soldiers all around you barely paying you any attention, the few that did curtly inclined their heads as a formal greeting.

“I don’t like it here.” The young girl murmured and you hugged her tighter to you, knowing her fear of soldiers and wished you could whisk her away.

“I’ll protect you, Shari. Don’t worry.”

“I know.”

Yoongi led the way through the camp and when you came upon a larger tent, he entered it and you followed suit with Jin and Namjoon behind you.

In the tent was two men, each dressed in their own battle attire. It was the sigils on their back that indicated their status and just how important they were.

“You’ve gathered other Aspects?” You asked, eyes slightly widening when their heads turned to look at you.

“They’ve returned!”

You couldn’t distinguish whose voice it was, mind still reeling from the fact that Yoongi had gotten so many Aspects to join the rebellion, especially considering that some of them present was allies with the Emperor.

“Is this who I think it is?” A voice snapped you out of it and you took a step back when the owner of the voice strolled over to you with strong steps, inhaling deeply, “It is!”

You looked up, a very young but muscular man, with wide brown eyes stared at you with amazement and a grin that reached his ears

“Careful, Jungkook.” Yoongi warned him, “She has a bad habit of attacking first and asking questions later.”

Your eyes narrowed as Jungkook shook his head, “She looks nice though!”

Could they stop talking about you as if you weren’t there?

Then Jungkook leaned in close, too close for comfort and you felt the beginnings of a hiss in your throat when he sniffed you. Loudly.

“And she smells so good!”

Aspect of the Dog, you guessed.

“A true beauty.” Another voice drawled and you turned your head to see a slightly older man make his way to you, his eyes sharp and focused, his presence sending a shiver down your back.

He was intimidating.

“Jackson…” Yoongi warned cooly, watching as his comrade drank in the sight of you.

Jackson, as was his name, bowed graciously in front of you, “My name is Jackson and I am the Aspect of the Tiger, my fair lady.” He took your free hand and kissed it, making Shari giggle and he winked at her, “You honor us with your presence.”

Yoongi snorted loudly and you glared at him briefly before smiling at Jackson, “Thank you. Finally someone with manners.”

This caused Yoongi to glare at you.

“Ah, you make me blush, my lady.”

“Please, call me Y/N.”

“First name basis already. I like it.”

“Are you done making the rest of us gag?” Yoongi huffed.

“Jealousy is an ugly thing, Yoongi.”

“I am not-”

“Alright, everyone, settle down and let’s get back to what we’re actually here for.” Namjoon’s voiced boomed over the others, successfully silencing them. He walked over to the table and placed his hands on it, “Scout reports?”

“None yet, Namjoon. They have yet to return and-” Jungkook was cut off as the curtain to the tent was whipped aside and in stepped another man but this one, you knew.

Your eyes widened as you took in the huffing Jimin, his cheeks red from exertion but they were still those soft cheeks you remember cupping in your hands, the same plush lips that you remember kissing you on the cheek, the same brown eyes that had once pleadingly begged you to let him go and now they landed on you and he stopped speaking. You hadn’t even noticed that he had begun talking.

“Y-Y/N?” His voice crumbled steadily as you let go of Shari and walked over to him, your heart leaping in your chest as he quickly crossed the distance and drew you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

“Gods, I’ve missed you.” He mumbled before burying his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, nuzzling it with his nose.

You felt teary-eyed as he drew you back and he beamed when he saw your face, “I missed you too.” You managed to get past the lump in your throat.

The sweet reunion was interrupted as Namjoon cleared his throat and Jimin removed himself from your arms and walked over to the table.

“I have a few questions for you, Jimin, but we’ll talk later. Now, what have our scouts found out?” The Aspect of the Monkey asked, his eyes flicking between you and Jimin.

The sun was setting over the Imperial City, bathing the building in a golden hue and coupled with it’s brightly colored tiles and buildings, it would make for a breathtaking painting.

The golden towers of the Imperial Palace glinted in the sun as they stood high above the rest of the city, like a beacon of light guiding those who needed safety from the dark.

But all this simply covered up the grim truth of the city and it’s inhabitants. The streets were littered with sick people, the poor sitting on the corners, begging for a coin just so they could buy a loaf of bread, starving orphans that didn’t even have the strength to stand, let alone play. The streets were no longer clean or traversable as they were covered with garbage.

What had once been a bustling city, a hub for all traders alike, a place where teaching and schooling was important, a city that felt safe with the guards patrolling the streets, was now the opposite. It was a city full of hopelessness, death and decay.

And the one who ruled over the city and it’s people cared not about it.

Emperor Min sat on his golden throne, staring at his sword when his spymaster entered the throne room, his eyes locked onto the Emperor, “My Lord.”

“Ah, spymaster Lee.” Min glanced at the man, “I hope you bring good news.”

“I-I do, my Lord. The Southern borderlands raids have been successful… Um, the new recruits have proven to be quite effective.”

“That is good news indeed, Lee.”

“I do have… bad news, my Lord.”

Min sighed and reclined back in his throne, waving his hand, “Yes, out with it.”

“M-my scouts say that the Tiger Aspect...” Lee trailed off, fear interlaced with his voice, “That he has joined your brother’s rebellion.”

The booming laughter that followed made the spymaster take a step back as the Emperor rose from the throne, “Good, finally I have an excuse to kill him.”

“There’s more, my Lord.”

Min looked at the trembling man and raised a brow, “What?”

“Reports h-has come in and s-some say that they’ve seen her.”

“WHAT?!” Min roared and Lee fell to his knees with a whimper, “That bitch is still alive?!” He growled and swiped at a decorated vase, sending it flying across the room, “Not only did my brother, now her as well! Why doesn’t people know that when killed, you stay dead!”

Lee cowered before his Emperor as his shadow fell over him, “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” Min sighed and placed a hand on his spymaster’s head, “You will send assassins after her.”

“Y-Yes, my Lord!”

“But if they fail, my dear spymaster, then you,” Min paused, grabbing Lee’s chin roughly, forcing him to look up, “You will pay for their mistakes with your life.”

“This is your tent.” Jin drew back the curtain and you walked inside, Shari in tow, “I know it’s a little small but it will be a couple of days before we leave.”

“To the Imperial City?” Shari asked, looking up at him.

“Yes.”

“Will I be fighting too?”

Jin gave her a small smile as he knelt down and ruffled her hair, “No. You will be staying where it’s safe.”

“But who will be protecting me?”

“Some of the soldiers.”

“Then I’d rather be out there fighting with you! I refuse to be near-”

“Shari.” You short call of her name made her mouth close quickly, “Why don’t you find Namjoon and ask for some water?”

Hesitantly, your handmaiden nodded and left the tent, leaving you and Jin alone. When she was out of earshot, you looked at Jin, “Shari doesn’t feel safe around soldiers.”

“I gathered as much… Why?” Jin asked and leaned against the pole that held the tent up.

You sighed quietly and turned your back to him, “Before becoming my handmaiden, she had a family but they were poor and like so many other poor people, she had to steal food.” You began untying your belt holding your kopis’, “One day, she had snuck into the palace barracks after having followed a tradewagon of food. She was spotted and didn’t get away.” Jin nodded as you continued, “She was put in front of the Emperor as she had trespassed into the Royal Grounds and attempted to steal from the Emperor himself.”

Jin shifted on his legs, beginning to feel unsettled, “What happened then?”

“The Emperor told the guards to ‘punish her however they saw fit’.” You told him and he felt a shiver run down his back, “I begged him to call it off, to punish me instead and let her go. I knew what those guards intended to do, Jin, I could smell it on them. The desire.” You felt sick to the stomach as you recalled it, “She had her clothes torn off, in the middle of the throne room and all the Emperor was doing, was laughing as she cried for help.”

“Please don’t tell me they-” He began, eyes tearing up.

“No. I stopped it before it got that far.” You cut him off and placed your belt on the table and you heard him murmur ‘how’, “I killed the one who was holding her down. Sliced his throat.”

Jin closed his eyes and shook his head, “And the others?”

“I killed them that same night.”

“And you?”

You stilled briefly, thinking it went unnoticed but Jin saw, “What did he do to you, Y/N?”

You ignored the question and continued, “Two nights later, her family’s house was burned down. With her family inside it.”

“Gods…” Jin exhaled, his heart breaking for the young girl, “So you took her in?” You nodded.

“She has no else but me, Jin. Shari has been there for me when I had no one. I owe her much.” You turned to face him, “Which is why I am warning you, should any harm come to her while under your soldier’s protection-”

“I promise that she will stay safe.” He quickly cut you off, “Please. Shari will be safe when we head into battle.” You stared at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge if he was truthful but then you nodded and walked past him, just in time as Shari entered the tent.

“Namjoon said he will have someone bring water to us, Mistress.” Shari told you and you smiled at her.

“Thank you, Shari.”

Jin pushed off from the pole and inclined his head, “I’ll be going then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he left your tent, he felt deeply troubled by the fact that you had avoided his question concerning you. Just how much had you endured at the hands of Min?

He didn’t want to think about it.

“Did she say anything?” Yoongi’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and Jin whirled around to see his friend approach him, “I saw her kid leave the tent.”

“Are you stalking me?” Jin asked, crossing his arms as he raised a brow, “Or are you stalking her?”

Yoongi snorted and brushed past him, settling against a rack of weapons, “As if.”

“I’ve known you for over a decade, Yoongi.” Jin eyed his friend’s relaxed posture, “And I think you’re intrigued by her.” As his words settled, gone was the relaxed posture and his friend tumbled against the rack, almost causing it to fall over which resulted in Jin laughing out loud.

“I-I am not! She’s annoying, has a stick up her ass-”

“I think you want to be said stick.”

“Jin, I am warning you…” Yoongi trailed off, knowing by the grin Jin had, that his cheeks were tinted pink. Still, the older man held up his hands in surrender and Yoongi scoffed.

“But to answer your question, she told me of how she and Shari ended up together.” And so, Jin proceeded to retell the story to Yoongi.

Yoongi couldn’t sleep that night, thoughts running rampant in his mind, the story Jin had told him and the fact that you had avoided Jin’s question, troubled him. He knew his brother was a sick bastard.

But his mind ran wild with imaginations of what his brother had done to you and he felt sickened by it. It bothered him that it was all he could worry about when he was about to start a war in less than two days.

But he had also found a new kind of respect for you. To hear that you had willingly offered yourself for punishment to save a simple girl was not matching the image that he had created of you in his mind.

It actually proved it wrong.

And in a way, despite how horrifying that story was, he was glad that Jin had told him.

He wondered if there was more to you than just glares, snark comments and aloofness.

Why are people yelling, screaming and cheering at the asscrack of dawn? Was Yoongi’s first thought as he exited his tent, grumpy and still wrecked with sleep, “What the fuck is all this commotion?!” He yelled and some soldiers jogging by, stopped.

“There’s a fight happening, my Lord.”

“A fight? Who the fuck wants to fight each other before breakfast?”

The two soldiers glanced at each other and one of them spoke, “Jimin and the Lady and… It’s midday, my Lord.”

Yoongi rubbed one eye with hand, “Midday-” He looked up and squinted at the sun, “It’s midday… Shit.”

“Was there anything else you needed, my Lord?”

He waved his hand, “No and don’t call me that, I’m no Lord.” The soldiers saluted and ran off and Yoongi turned on his heel, heading back into his tent when he froze, “Jimin and Y/N? Fighting?”

He ran, following the stream of soldiers and he saw the large group of people, forming an arena around the two fighters. Grunting, he pushed his way through the crowd and reached the centre.

You grunted with effort as you pushed Jimin off you, “Gotta be faster than that, rabbit.” You goaded and took a defensive stan and Jimin attacked you again with a swift kick aimed at your stomach but you intercepted it with one hand and wrapped your other hand around his thigh and pulled.

Yoongi watched as you hurdled Jimin down onto the ground with a cry, creating a wave of dust at impact and he shielded his eyes.

“So far, it looks like she’s winning this round.” He heard Jin’s voice and looked around, trying to spot him and he saw him stand next to Namjoon and Jackson a few feet away.

“Why the fuck are they fighting?” Yoongi asked when he approached them, causing all three men to whip around to face him.

“Ah, overslept again, I see. Bad habit.” Namjoon stated with a shrug.

“They’re sparring, my dear friend.” Jin clarified and drew Yoongi in with an arm around his shoulder, “Come! Join us!”

“In what?”

“Betting on who is going to win this last round. So far the score is 1-1 so this is the last round.” Jin said with a grin, “I’d bet on Y/N. She’s been throwing Jimin around this round like he’s wet paper.”

“Jimin clearly has the upperhand and is simply dragging out the time!” Jungkook joined them, “Everyone knows that he’s the best damn close-combat fighter in these lands.”

Namjoon looked at the youngest Aspect just as Jimin was crawling out of the hole you had put him in, “I wouldn’t quite say that, Jungkook. You see, Y/N and Jimin trained together back when they were younger.”

Yoongi looked at him, “How do you know?”

“He told me. I was curious as of how they knew each other.” He explained with a bored expression.

“Yes, and apparently they were lovers at one point too.” Jackson grumbled angrily, “But I am going to make her my woman! No rabbit will stand in my way.”

Yoongi didn’t know if he wanted to hit Jackson or not, “You can’t force her to be your anything if she doesn’t want to.”

Jackson shifted his eyes from the fight to Yoongi, “I will not force her. I will make her fall for me with my charms. I’m sure you could learn a thing or two, young Dragon.”

Yoongi opened his mouth but Jin was quick to place his hand over it, turning his head to you and Jimin, “Alright, that’s enough kids.”

Jimin wiped the sweat off his brow and chuckled, “I see you haven’t gotten completely rusty on your old days, Y/N.”

“Did you just call me old, Jimin?” You asked as you began to circle each other, “We both know I was always the better fighter.”

“Not true. I’ve beaten you plenty of times.”

“That was years ago.”

You set off and Jimin jumped backwards, turning his body midair, avoiding your charge and you put one foot to the ground, whirling around, just in time to block a punch from him.

“We can keep going like this all day, Y/N.” He noted as you huffed, straining against his fist in your hand, “Or I can at least.”

“I am not tired, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

You headbutted him, hard, causing him to groan and stumble back but you gave him no breathing room as you charged at him again, wrapping your arms around his midsection at you collided with his body.

Jimin grabbed your shoulders as he placed his feet solidly on the ground, halting you and then he aimed a well-placed kneecap right into your stomach, sending you flying upwards into the air. You maneuvered yourself to land safely on both feet, a distance away from him.

The crowd began cheering but it quickly died down when your eyes began to glow green and the crowd moved outwards, creating a greater distance between you and them.

“Oh, so you want to fight dirty now?” Jimin yelled but stomped the ground with a foot, causing it to tremble slightly, his own eyes flashing pink, “Let’s go then.”

“Now it’s getting interesting.” Jin clapped his hands and smiled excitedly.

“You enjoy violence way to much, my friend.” Namjoon noted and shook his head.

At that very second, the sparring contest jumped up to a whole new level, ditching any slow movements, doubts or hesitations to leave room for two living blurs chaining blows and blocks at astonishing speed.

After a long moment spent out of time, you could hardly tell if it'd been one minute or one hour, you decided that you had enjoyed yourselves enough and impulsively went on the offensive. Jimin, still focused on the playful yet deadly dancing, noticed too late that the game part was over... He received a powerful blow in the ribs and growled with anger.

"Good one!” He groaned, frowning at her at the second he counterattacked.

You dodged him and resumed into a regular exchange of blocked blows, only this time much more violent... and aiming at hurting. You had struck without restraint, which meant you'd put enough strength in your fist to break his bones. Good thing he was an Aspect, because had he been human, he would have had a broken rib or three.

He kept playing cat and mouse with you until the right opportunity: he seized your right arm as he blocked it and pulled you toward him. Thrown off balance, you reacted by sending your knee right between Jimin’s legs.

Jimin froze on place as a wave of immense pain spread from his groin, "Really?" He managed to get out.

But he didn't have time to waste as you used his temporary loss of control to grab him and send him flying across the arena. People were quick to move out of the way and he crashed heavily against a couple of tents that fell or broke upon impact. Jimin clenched his teeth to keep his pain silent and shook his head to clear his thoughts just in time to see you rush toward him to try and finish the match before he was back in the game. Jimin dodged your leg that created a small hole in the ground and got up on his feet and leaped toward you, taking advantage of your precarious balance to grip your waist with both his arms and pin you on the ground.

You fell, entangled, and struggled on the dirt to take the upper hand. You finally got it, straddled him and threw a powerful punch toward his jaw. But your friend deflected it with his free arm and countered with a strong head butt.

Unfortunately for him, you were… pretty hard-headed.

“You can do better, Jimin.”

Then Jimin lifted his right leg in your back, placed it between your chests and gripped your neck in the bend of his knee before pushing you backwards. You saw the danger come; if you let the man block your head between his strong legs, you could very well lose the match.

You resisted the movement, all the effort concentrated in your abdominal muscles, then used your hands and arms to free yourself while sending your foot to Jimin’s jaw for good measure. You heard him growl as you rolled on the side and stood up. Jimin jumped to his feet and rubbed his jaw soothingly before joking, “You’re really trying to damage my handsome face.”

“It’ll heal.”

And you attacked, even faster, even stronger, to the crowd’s general amazement, trying more and more daring and risky moves to find a way past the each other's defenses. You both sometimes took the upper hand, but the more time passed, the more you gained the advantage over him, hurting his weak spots with the precision of a striking cobra. Jimin scored some good hits too, like the full-powered kick he'd managed to land on your shoulder and which had sent you staggering, the loud crack indicating that he had dislocated it.

You simply but it back in place with a small hiss.

Nevertheless, Jimin started to feel the match was escaping him. While he began to tire under your constant assaults, your energy seemed endless. You really were a formidable opponent.

You exchanged a new flurry of blows until he missed a block and took an uppercut fully charged in the throat, followed by another in his chest. The first cut his breathing for a short instant, the next caused a loud crack to echo through the camp and he immediately knew – through the sound and the intolerable pain that flooded his veins – that you actually managed break a pair of his ribs. He staggered and fell on his knees, coughing and grunting in pain.

He saw you hesitate; you’d heard the terrible noise but he could tell you really wanted to win this match. He knew why it was so important to you, that the soldiers and the other Aspects needed to believe in your strength, to assert yourself in a powerful position.

In the end, it seemed your fear to have badly wounded him superseded your determination and you moved closer to check he was okay. Your softness were really your biggest weakness.

Jimin sprung like a tiger on it’s prey. He had you.

But you had anticipated the deception this time – you knew him too well – and you leaped backwards, moving out of his reach. You both landed on your feet and observed each other.

Even with a few broken ribs, your friend would have no trouble trading blows until he saw an opportunity to immobilize you, so you had to be careful.

You could feel the audience holding their breath around you, waiting like statues for something to happen.

It seemed like you had to use the element of surprise.

Jimin was taking his sweet time to approach, knowing that rushing would only give you the chance to dodge and escape. You observed him intently, seemingly trying to figure him out. He could almost hear the wheels of your brain turning faster.

Then suddenly, he stood within striking distance, he focused and attacked, fist first so he could follow up with a kick to block your escape. You evaded the blow at the last second, but not in the way he'd anticipated.

You jumped. High.

Then you fell. On him. Legs wide open.

Jimin was so surprised he missed the only half-a-second long window that could have gotten him out of there, and suddenly his nose and mouth collided with your lower stomach while your legs closed around his neck. Your entire body suddenly weighed on his shoulders, and you used your momentum to accentuate the movement and make him topple backwards.

Almost slowly, Jimin took three steps back and, unable to keep his balance, collapsed on the ground. His back slammed against the ground, the impact only dampened by the presence of your legs crossed against his nape. You then bent forward to evade your victim's leg swings and kicks, and a large smirk appeared on your face.

“You give up?” You asked, still smirking.

“Yes, I tap out.” He rolled his eyes and felt you dislodge yourself from him. The crowd began cheering when you helped him back on your feet, your eyes having returned to their natural color.

“I am going to marry that woman. Gods, I am so hard right now.” Jackson mumbled, staring at you as you talked to Jimin.

“Gross, Jackson. Really? Ugh.” Jin scowled.

Yoongi ignored all of them but he had to agree with Jackson. He too, had never been so hard as he was at that moment.

After the fight, Jimin had invited you to a walk. You had your right hand placed on his forearm as he walked beside you, through the noisy camp, soldiers and horses running around you. The tension in the camp had heightened since you arrived, clearly anticipated for the battle.

You didn’t want to think about that now.

“How have you been all these years?” You asked him, looking up at him. He was just as handsome as you remembered him, even with dirt and sweat spattered across his face.

“I’ve been good. Busy. But good.” He said with a smile and glanced down at you, “And you?”

You slowly looked away from him and ahead, “I’ve been… Surviving.” Jimin’s smile faded, “Yeah. Surviving.”

“Y/N… Why didn’t you come to me?” He placed his other hand upon the one that rested on his forearm, “I could have helped you.”

“No, you couldn’t. I had just helped you escape from him and I would only have put you in danger had I sought you out. I didn’t want to endanger anyone else.” You shook your head, “I feared that he might have found you and killed you after you disappeared.”

“I have a friend, Taehyung and he took me in, helped me heal and get back on my feet but since I had no lands left, I sort of remained with him until Yoongi arrived on his doorstep, asking us to be a part of his rebellion.” Jimin explained.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him, Jimin.” Your head hung low as he slowed down, “I tried but he wouldn’t listen.” You closed your eyes, “You lost everything.” Your voice trembled slightly as your heart constricted painfully in your chest.

“Hey.” He put a finger under your chin to make you look at him, “Not everything. I have you, don’t I?” You nodded, blinking, and Jimin was quick to wipe away the single tear that fell, “I have Tae, Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, even Jackson. I got a wife and a kid on the way.”

“You what?” Your eyes widened, “Why didn’t you tell me?” You hit his arm and he laughed, “You tell me this now?!”

“Sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner.” He smiled and tugged you gently along as he began walking, “What about you, Y/N? Any bachelors?”

You snorted, loudly, “I haven’t really been lucky in that aspect, Jimin, and after the last one, it has sort of been the last thing on my mind.”

“Really? Hm, we should change that. What about Jackson?”

“As handsome as he might be, he’s a little too aggressive for my tastes.”

“Jungkook?”

“Too young.”

“My friend, Taehyung is still unmarried but I don’t think the two of you will get along very well.”

“Why?”

“He’s the Goat Aspect.”

You chuckled softly, “You’re right about that one.”

“Hm. What about Yoongi?”

You almost tripped over your own feet at the mention of his name, “The brother of the man who ruined my life? What a good idea, Jimin.”

Jimin frowned and stopped walking, “Yoongi is not like his brother, Y/N. He is a good man, albeit a little…”

“Cold? Rude? Pig-headed?”

“Yeah, that but he’s kind, compassionate and strong-willed. He actually reminds me of you.”

You threw your head back and laughed, “Please. He and I are not alike. He could have stopped his brother from killing their father but he didn’t. Instead, he let it happen and got banished from the palace. He could have stopped Min from doing all of the terrible things he’s done but no, he didn’t even try. It’s a miracle he’s mustered up the balls to finally do something.”

Jimin looked thoughtful for a moment before he spoke, “Yoongi actually tried to kill his brother that day he killed their father.” Your eyes widened and all humour left your face, “But Min… Killed him.”

“B-But how? He’s alive-”

“Magic.” He simply stated.

You reeled back, “Magic like that is forbidden and for good reason…”

“A life for a life.”

“Who…?”

“His mother.” Jimin sighed and it felt like all the air had been punched out of your lungs, “After Min killed Yoongi, he threw him into the river. Jin found him a couple of days later, floating in the river. He pulled him from the river and brought him into his house. At first he contemplated of burning him but… He was contacted by the Empress.”

“How? She remained in the palace-”

“She was a witch.” Your eyes widened at the revelation, “Yeah. There weren’t many magic users left back then but she was one of the few.” Jimin continued, “She made Jin take an oath to keep Yoongi safe until the time was right.” Jimin paused and looked at you, “So don’t say that Yoongi didn’t try.”

“But why now?”

“He was scared. Like you. He still is. So… Cut him slack.”

“We haven’t really… talked that much. Mostly fought, actually.” You snickered but it was hollow, “I may have treated him with contempt. Because he looks like him…”

“And you know that’s wrong.”

“Yes.”

“You know, maybe you should reach out to him, try to make him understand you a little better. Try to be friends. History tells us that the Snake and Dragon were always good friends.”

“That’s putting the bar a little high, Jimin. I’ll just begin with being a little nicer to him.”

“That’s my girl.”

Yoongi was, mildly speaking, having an existential crisis. Okay, maybe not that extreme but he was certainly having a crisis.

About you.

Okay, so maybe Jin was right. He was intrigued by you. He could even admit that he was attracted to you, as was proven by his earlier predicament. He had never seen such elegance and strength before, certainly not in a fight. Sure, you and Jimin were both excellent fighters but you… You had truly stolen his focus.

He still found you annoying and uptight but perhaps that would change with time as he got to know you.

He wanted to know more about you.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Your voice startled him and he visibly flinched, “Did I startle you? Good.” You snickered.

He expected you to walk away but instead, you approached him and sat down next to him in the soft grass.

“You are really annoying.” Yoongi said, sparing you a glance. You had changed your outfit. You were no longer clad in a bodytight suit that accentuated your curves, breast or ass.

Frankly spoken, he was glad that you had changed. He didn’t want a raging boner again.

Now you were dressed in a simple, long dress and your hair cascaded down your shoulders. You looked relaxed.

“So are you.” You retorted and shot him a glare, “Did you see the fight earlier?”

“I did.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, so you were looking for me?” Yoongi smirked and turned his head to look at you, taking much pleasure in how you sputtered and shook your head wildly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Hm.”

A moment of silence passed and you felt uneasy under his sharp eyes, shifting in the grass.

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

You froze at the question and opened your mouth to answer but decided to close it again. Yoongi took your silence as his answer and moved to get up when your hand grabbed his wrist.

“I am not scared of you… As per say.” You began, looking at him with pleading eyes, asking him silently to stay, “But you look exactly like him and… sometimes my mind thinks you are him.”

“I am not him.” Yoongi said but sat back down next to you.

“I know that! But that still doesn’t change the fact that you look exactly like the man that....” You trailed off, not wanting to venture out where you couldn’t go back.

“The man that what?” He pushed and he saw you pale, “Y/N, what did my brother do to you?”

You whispered something and at first he didn’t hear it but he heard it the second time.

“He ruined me.” You murmured weakly and gone was the strong, pig-headed woman he had only seen up till now. You were shaking, pale and afraid.

“He… ruined you?”

You rubbed your arms, suddenly feeling cold to the bones, “Your brother was once my betrothed but you already know that, I’m sure. My family thought that it would be a good match and an honor to have their daughter marry the Emperor and thus I was sent to the palace 3 months before the wedding would take place, to prepare me for the grandiose honor of becoming Empress.” You let out a short, emotionless laugh, “Empress. I was supposed to be nothing more but a trophy. He treated me as such as well. A thing... A plaything that he could burn, flog, cut and beat until I was drowning in a sea of my own blood. To torture endlessly until he grew bored of it. But none of that broke me… It wasn’t until he forced himself upon me that my spirit broke.”

Your eyes teared up but you continued, “It happened once and it was after I had betrayed him by helping Jimin escape from the palace. He thought giving me 12 lashes wasn’t enough. I had to be taught a lesson.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, wishing and regretting he asked, “And that was when I began to fear him.”

“Y/N…”

“Your brother not only scarred my body to the point where I can’t even stand to look at it, he also-”

“Y/N, stop!” Yoongi raised his voice, “That’s enough.” His voice trembled, wrought with emotion, “Stop. Please.”

You turned your head to look at him as he took your hand in his, his thumb gliding over your palm in an effort to comfort you. It didn’t comfort you and when you saw the emotions swirling in his eyes; the sorrow, the sympathy, you broke down.

Yoongi didn’t know what to do when you leaned into his side, crying softly, your hand clenching his strongly as if you needed him to keep you anchored, so your emotions didn’t get the better of you.

He hushed you gently as you wept and he stayed with you until the last of your tears had dried up.

You sat in comfortable silence, your head placed on his shoulder and you breathed in deeply, feeling slightly light-headed.

“I was wrong about you and for that, I apologize.” He said softly, clenching your hand within his.

You simply hummed in response and closed your eyes, silently wishing the moment to last a little bit longer.

Jin noticed a change between you and Yoongi. It all began when he saw you smiling a tiny smile in Yoongi’s direction that morning and the Dragon’s own lips tugged upwards. Then his friend had walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder and Jin expected you to send Yoongi flying, but you didn’t. Instead you let it linger there as the two of you talked.

Then Yoongi leaned in closer and whispered something in your ear that made you flustered and now you actually hit him.

Just not with full force. Which Jin had expected. No, you simply swiped your arm leisurely at his shoulder while Yoongi was smiling at you.

What was this?

The Ox kept a close eye on you throughout the day as it passed by. The two of you would walk, side by side, through the camp while Yoongi talked to you about his journey that led him here. He told you of how he had gathered the other Aspects and of how the rest would meet them at the city. Jin also noticed how your hand lingered on Yoongi’s arm, as you listened intently to what he was saying.

“Is it just me or are those two actually being… Friendly?” Jackson asked, eyes locked on you and Yoongi walking amongst the tents, “That’s quite a change over the span of a few days…”

“Are you scared he might steal her from you?” Jungkook smiled at Jackson, “I think he might.” That earned him a hard hit on the shoulder, “Ow.”

“Shut up, mutt. I refuse to believe that Y/N would fall for someone like him.”

“And what if she does? What then?” Jin levelled a hard stare at Jackson, “I actually think they make quite the pair.”

“His brother-”

“His brother is his own person, Jackson. You know this. Now Y/N does too. Let them be.”

“You know, you actually surprise me, Yoongi.”

“How so?”

“I didn’t expect you to be this smart. I actually kind of expected you to be quite… Dumb.”

“You surprise me as well.”

“Do tell.”

“You’re even more annoying once one get to know you.”

You slapped his arm but there was a smile on your lips, “It’s a part of my charm, thank you very much.”

“You are actually, quite charming.” His compliment made your cheeks heat up. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Complimenting you, that is.

And it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

“I have a question, Y/N.”

You looked at him with a tilt of your head, “Ask away.”

“What will you do after?” Yoongi glanced at you, “If we win.”

You hardly doubted that it would be a hard-earned victory. You had no doubt that people would die.

But somewhere, something told you that you would win.

“I… Don’t know. I mean, Shari and I have been on the run for so long, that I can’t imagine us doing anything else but…” You paused and looked off, into the distance, watching the setting sun, “I could see myself in a house, with Shari, tending to our garden.”

“No husband?” He asked.

You chewed your lip, “Maybe. If the right one comes along.” You felt him shift beside you, “What about you? What are your plans once you become Emperor?”

“I don’t plan to become Emperor.”

Your head whipped towards him, eyes wide, “W-What? Surely you must be jesting, Yoongi. Who else is there but you?”

“I can make a whole list of people who would be a better Emperor than I.” He declared and shrugged, “I don’t want to be Emperor. I never wanted that.”

“There are many that would disagree with you. Myself, included.” You stated, placing a hand on top of his, “But that is up to you. No one can or will force you.”

Yoongi smiled slowly, “Thank you.”

“What do you want then?”

He hummed and leaned back, resting against the tree that towered over you, “I want many things. To travel the world. Learn new languages. Meet new people. I want to settle down, own a farm or something like that.”

“You really want it all?”

“I want it all.” He parroted you, his brown eyes shifting from you to the sun, “Nothing less.”

“Then you shall have it all, Yoongi.”

Later that evening, a couple of hours after sunset, Shari pounced you the minute you entered your tent and you yelped, “Ah! Hello.”

“Miffed u, istres.” She mumbled into your cloak and you chuckled when she drew her head back and looked up at you, “You’ve been gone for almost the whole day.” She pouted as you patted her head.

“Namjoon hasn’t been entertaining you enough?” You asked as she let go of you, shaking your head at her small ‘no’, “You know it’s not very polite to be ungrateful, Shari. Namjoon offered to teach you to read and write all by himself.”

“I know, Mistress but it’s more fun when it’s you.”

You huffed out a laugh and took off your cloak, putting it on your bed, “I’ll teach you once this war is over with, I promise.”

“Yay!” Shari clapped her hands and you smiled at her excitement but then it died down and she looked solemn, “We’re leaving tomorrow…” She murmured and you walked over to her and knelt down, “I-I’m nervous.”

“I know. Me too.”

“What if you die?”

You cupped her cheek, “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

You kissed her cheek, “Promise.” and Shari graced you with a small smile, “Now, how about a bath? You stink.”

“That was rude, Mistress. You could use a bath yourself.” She scowled at you but her eyes lit up at the mention of a bath, “But I forgot my soap.”

“You can borrow mine.” You winked at her as she cheered, “It’ll be just a minute.”

“Ugh.”

“You can ahead and head towards the stream. Don’t leave the camp though. Stay within the light of the torches.” You told her and she was almost halfway out the entrance when you called to her, “And take my cloak. It’s a little cold outside.”

“What about you then?”

You snickered, “I’m going to be fine.”

Shari grabbed your cloak and ran outside as she struggled to put it on. She breathed in deeply, the scent of your vanilla soap and lotus perfume lingering on the cloak and hugged it tightly to her body. She pulled the hood over her head and headed towards the edge of the camp.

Sharp eyes landed on the hooded figure and grinned as he recognized the cloak. He dipped the arrow head in the bottle of acid and notched it, taking aim.

“This is almost too easy.”

You exited your tent, a cloth bag in your hand containing your soaps as you headed towards the edge of camp, looking forward to a nice bath and some time alone with Shari.

But then you heard someone yell and saw soldiers run by you. You picked up your pace but that was when you smelled it.

Blood.

You dropped the bag onto the ground and bolted, not giving a single care to the gathered people as you shoved them away, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you prayed to the Gods that what you feared was not-

You stopped. Stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Stopped thinking.

There, on the ground, lay a small body, wearing your cloak, in a pool of her own blood. You saw the arrow in her back, smelled the acid that had burned a hole into her chest.

You screamed. Loudly. You fell to your knees next to Shari’s body and turned her around, weeping loudly as you saw her lifeless eyes stare up at you, “No… No… Please… No.”

You pulled her to your chest, hugging her tightly, “Shari, wake up.” You whispered brokenly, shaking her gently but the only thing that moved was a single trail of blood from her mouth.

You cupped the back of her head, pulling it to you and buried your face in her hair as the hood fell from her head and wept.

Jin and Yoongi pushed their way through the crowd but halted the second they saw you cradling Shari’s body, weeping loudly, whimpering, begging her to wake up.

Jin’s eyes teared up and he took a deep breath, his eyelids closing as a stray tear ran down his cheek.

Yoongi slowly walked over to you and knelt down, his knees sinking into blood-soaked dirt and he slowly put a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t move as you kept looking at Shari’s face, “Please don’t leave me.” You sobbed.

“Y/N.” He said but you shook your head.

Yoongi looked down at the young girl, taking in her pained expression that was etched onto her face, her last moment. He took a deep breath before glancing at Jin over his shoulder, “Find the one who did this and bring them to me.”

Jin nodded and left.

Dawn came and you stood atop a hill, holding a torch and looked up, seeing the funeral pyre for the first time. You slowly walked over to it and looked down at the body that lay atop of it.

You heard Jin behind you, beginning his parting words. You tuned them out and took one last longing look at Shari’s face. She looked peaceful, with her eyes closed, her face clean, her hair done neatly in a braid. You could hear her bubbling laughter on the wind as it blew and you let your eyes close as you put the torch to the pyre and let it drop to the ground, stepping away.

Yoongi walked up to you, standing beside you, his head bowed. He could hear your shuddering breaths and he let his hand brush yours gently, offering his support in silence.

You took his hand interlaced your fingers as you silently let tears roll down your cheeks, watching the pyre carry the ashes of her to somewhere far away and you prayed, silently, that wherever it was, Shari had everything that she dreamed of.

Jungkook held the curtain to the tent aside and you walked in, accompanied by Yoongi, Jin, Namjoon, Jimin and Jackson.

“I chased him down after… what happened.” The young man said softly, You said nothing but simply walked over to the bound man and looked down at him. He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw you stand in front of him.

“He’s yours to do with as you please.” Yoongi stated.

You nodded and they took this as the cue to leave the tent. You sat down graciously in front of the man and removed the cloth from his mouth.

“How is this possible? I killed you.” His voice was dry and trembling as you calmly stared at him.

“You failed.” You explained, your voice cold as ice.

“I-I…”

“And now you will die.”

“You don’t scare me, snake,” He spat the word but there was still a sliver of fear in his tone, “The Emperor would have killed me anyway for failing him.”

You nodded slowly and pulled out a small vial, filled with a green substance, “Yes. He would probably beheaded you or have you hanged.” You removed the lid from the bottle and raised it up between your faces, “What I intend to do is much worse.” Your eyes flashed green as they met his, “Do you know what my poison does to a human body? It’s much like the concoction you used but much more potent. It will melt your insides, organ by organ, muscles by muscle, bone by bone until there is nothing of you.” You scoffed, “To think that he believed it would be strong enough to kill me is pathetic.”

The man opened his mouth, “Long live the Emper-” You grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing his mouth wide open with ease and he whimpered pathetically.

“Your Emperor won’t live for long. Neither will you.” You said slowly and moved the tiny bottle to his mouth, “Now drink up.”

You emptied the vial into his mouth and made sure that he swallowed it all.

You heard the rustling of the curtain to your tent, feet stepping onto the carpet, making the dirt beneath it crunch. You didn’t move when he placed a small plate of gravy in front of you, on the table you sat by.

“You need to eat.” Yoongi said softly, “You need the strength.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He sighed, “Y/N.” But you didn’t say another word, simply staring at the wall of the tent. Then he saw your hands move in your lap and he spotted one of Shari’s blouses in your hands.

You flinched when you felt him put a hand on top of yours, his face entering your vision as he gently turned your head with a finger under your chin. You looked at him, taking in how the light from the torch in the middle of the tent casted his soft, feline like features in a golden light. You saw how his eyes portrayed emotions so easily and just how easy it was to read them: his own heart filled with sorrow and regret.

Yoongi saw your lower lip beginning to tremble as tears gathered in your eyes, “She’s gone.” You began, voice a mere whisper, “I promised her that she would stay safe and I failed. I promised to protect her and I failed.” The more you spoke, the more tears flowed freely, “And it’s my fault. It’s my fault, Yoongi. I let her go. I made her put on my cloak… It’s my fault.”

“No, hey, no.” He cupped your face, kneeling down beside you, thumbs gently wiping away your tears, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I should have known that he would-”

“No. None of that. It is not your fault.”

“You don’t understand… Shari was the only thing that I had left.” You inhaled, soft noises escaping from you as you broke down, “I have nothing.”

“You have me, Y/N.” Yoongi pulled you to him and you desperately swung your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, “You have me.” He repeated as you wailed loudly, “You have me.” He felt your hands grip onto his shirt tightly, your wails muffled by the cloth.

To have him there, next to you, his presence and warm body, coupled with his words, it all washed over you like a warm blanket, shielding you from the hurt, the pain, the ache. It all seemed to lessen with each second.

You sniffled and drew back. Your arms shifted, moving your hands to his chest and you crossed the small space between you, placing a kiss to his lips.

Yoongi’s eyes widened but he didn’t move, seemingly frozen in your hold. Your lips, wet and tasting like salt, glided from his lips to his jaw, to his temple, to his ear and you whispered, “Make me forget. Please.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, “Are you sure?”

You nodded.

He pushed you back gently, his eyes searching yours for any uncertainty and when he found none, he pulled you to him, his lips collided with yours and a spark lit in his abdomen.

You whimpered softly into the kiss, feeling his tongue grace your lower lip, begging, pleading for entrance and when you granted it, you tasted him and a whole slew of colors exploded behind your lids. He pulled you up with him, his hands finding purchase on your hips as he guided you backwards, mouths still connected, to the bed and he broke the kiss to lay you down gently on the the soft mattress and he crawled over you.

You reached out for him, hands desperately trying to remove the shirt from his body and he let pull it over his head. He hissed when your hands glided up his stomach, over his dusky nipples and dipped his head, capturing your lips once more but this time with more ferocity.

Your skin tingled with excitement as Yoongi began to untie your robe but you froze when you felt his cool hands on your stomach.

He pulled away from your lips, “What’s wrong?”

You looked down and he followed your gaze, eyes widening slightly when he saw the many scars across your stomach and chest.

His heart twisted painfully when you began to close your robe, “No. Don’t.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you. I’m sorry.” You turned your head away as you couldn’t bare to meet his eyes, “It’s hideous.”

“No, it’s not.” He leaned forward and nuzzled the valley between your breasts, “You’re beautiful.” He kissed the skin there and ventured further down, planting soft butterfly kisses on each scar , pushing your hands away and let your robe fall open. He placed a kiss above your navel and gazed up at you. The intensity in his eyes and how they darkened with desire made your breath hitch.

You sat up and let the robe fall from your shoulders, laying back down you watched as he untied the ribbon that held your trousers up, slowly pulling them down, placing a kiss to each expanse of skin that was being revealed to him.

“Beautiful.” He murmured against your thigh, moving back so he could remove your trousers and he threw them to the ground and returned to you, pushing your legs apart.

Your hands shot down to hide yourself from his gaze, embarrassed at how he eyed your center with such hunger but he growled and slapped them away.

He placed himself between your fleshy thighs, taking in how your folds already glistened in the torch light, “I want to taste you.” He said, his voice deep and rough and it sent a shiver through you, “Can I?”

You nodded slowly and almost choked on a breath when you felt a finger run down your center, avoiding the aching bud, “Y-Yoongi…”

Yoongi didn’t waste more time as he dove in, his tongue circling around your clit and you let out a groan. He then slid one finger into your weeping cunt, moaning loudly when your hips bucked against his face and when he added another, you let out a mewl.

“Please.” You begged. Yoongi continued to lick your clit and pushing his fingers in and out of you, feeling you grow more wet under his onslaught.

Then he removed his mouth from your clit and his fingers from your cunt and you almost cried out when you felt his tongue push inside you, lapping up your juices, “Ah!”

Yoongi gazed up at you and almost came in his pants then and there; to see your face, contorted in pleasure, pleasure that he was giving you, your hands fisting your robe in desperation and the sounds that erupted from your mouth as he continued to eat you out.

You felt something building in your abdomen. It felt hot, tightening and you feared it would snap. He felt it too when your walls clenched around his tongue and he placed a thumb on your clit, rubbing in circles.

“Hngh - I’m going to cum.” You warned him, voice raspy and throat dry.

“Then cum.” He commanded.

He continued to lap at your center as your back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream. He drinks every drop that gushed out of you and only removed himself when you whimpered pathetically.

Yoongi crawled up your body, placing a kisses on his way and you put your hands around his neck when he kissed your jaw. You could feel his hard cock against your stomach, straining against the fabric of his pants and you sighed blissfully.

He kissed you then, mouth open, tongue invading yours, letting out a grunt when he felt your hands touch his cock over his pants.

“I - Hmp.” He silenced you quickly with his mouth but you pushed against his chest with your hand, “I want to-”

“Later. I need to be inside you.” He grumbled and removed himself from you and you had never seen a man shed his pants so fast in your life, eyes widening as you saw the size of him but you quickly found yourself caged under him again, his mouth on yours, arms resting beside your head. You felt the tip prod your entrance and whimpered.

“Yoongi, hurry up.” You huffed when his lips dislodged from yours and he grinned cheekily as one of his hands went down to grab his cock and line it up with your entrance. Your mouth dropped open when you felt him breach you, slowly, your walls clamping down on him tightly.

“Gods...” He hissed as he pushed deeper into you until his hips were flush against yours and he stilled, letting you get accustomed to him.

You put your legs around his narrow hips, hands venturing up his arms to his shoulders, “Move.”

He pulled out and thrust back in and all the air left your lungs. He set a slow and languid pace, head bending down to nibble at your collarbones while you gasped with each thrust, your cunt weeping onto the mattress. The blazing fire began to build in your lower stomach again but you needed more.

“Faster.” You huffed out, licking your dry lips. Yoongi looked at you and you saw uncertainty flash in his eyes, “I can take it.”

“As you wish.” He nodded and leaned back on his heels, removing your legs around him, moaning loudly as he looked down to where you were joined as he drew back, his cock glistening with your arousal, “Fuck.” He gritted out as he slammed back in.

You keened as his pace increased, your back arching, legs trembling as he held them spread for him, his cock leaving no crevice untouched as he fucked you.

You let out a cry when he shifted his angle and his cock hit a spot that made you see stars, “Don’t stop!”

He chuckled but that quickly changed into a groan when your walls clamped down around him, “Are you close, my sweet snake?”

You nodded wildly, your hands trying to find something to hold onto as you felt like floating. He put one of your legs on his shoulder and held onto it, nails digging deep into your thigh and fucked you harder. His balls tightened and he knew he didn’t have long but he needed you to give him one last orgasm.

So he moved his other hand and started playing with your clit and you let out a wail as you came, the blazing fire finally erupting and setting all of your nerves on fire. Yoongi cursed as your walls clamped down on him like a vice and he thrust a couple of times before he let out a groan, spilling his cum inside you, filling you up.

He fell forward, your chests rubbing against it each as you both breathed heavily, coming down from your highs.

He kissed you and rolled to the side, his softening cock leaving your cunt and you let out a tiny whimper.

“Thank you.” You whispered and turned over to face him, offering a tired but satisfied smile. He smiled back and let you scoot closer, resting your head on his chest.

“Stay.” You murmured.

Yoongi kissed your forehead, “Gladly.”

You stared at the closed gates of the Imperial City, seeing the soldiers running on the high walls, preparing for a siege as ballistas and archers lined up along the walls.

You felt anticipation for the upcoming battle. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“What about the people?” You asked as Jin appeared next to you, “Thousands of innocents will die.”

Jin hummed, “I have men in the city that are taking the civilians underground, to the catacombs.”

“You really have thought of everything.” You noted and Jin grinned.

“Actually, that was Namjoon. Gotta use his big brain for something.” He turned and walked back to the tent where the rest of the Aspects stood along with some new additions: Taehyung, the Goat Aspect, Hoseok, the Horse Aspect, Anduin, the Pig Aspect, Wrynn, the Sheep Aspect and Dina, the Rooster Aspect.

“The trebuchets are ready.” Dina said as it was her that had brought the majority of the weapons, “As is the ram.”

“Good.” Jackson nodded, “Then I’d say let’s get started.”

It was chaos. The ram had been a failure and countless of soldiers had already lost their lives and the gate was still standing as was the walls. You were growing frustrated and knew that something had to be done.

Something drastic.

“Jin!” You called out across the battlefield, eyes quickly finding the man amidst the soldiers, “We need to open that gate!”

“If you haven’t noticed, the ram was a failure!” He yelled back.

“I know but how about you use your thick skull and big brain for once and bash it open?!”

Jin’s eyes widened and he mulled over the idea, “Yeah… That could work but what about the soldiers?! I don’t want to tramble them.”

You rolled your eyes, “Everyone! Draw back! Fall back from the walls!” Your command echoed with the other Aspects as they commanded their soldiers and Jin nodded and ran towards the gate whereas others ran away from it.

You watched as he got closer and closer, dodging arrows with relative ease but when they began firing the ballistas at him, you grew fearful. He had to change.

Then he vanished in a dust cloud and you heard a loud, booming bellow and saw his Aspect form charge right into the gates, bursting them open.

“Everyone! Charge!” You heard the command and bolted towards the open gates, watching as Jin trampled down one of the walls, creating more entrance points for the soldiers.

The General of the Emperor’s army was quickly remobilizing his soldiers and they charged towards you, storming out of the gate in waves.

You drew your kopis’ and vaulted over debris, diving down with a cry, sinking your weapons into an enemy soldier, his blood spattering on your face.

Then you heard a horn sound behind you and you looked back to see the cavalry beginning to charge with Hoseok at the front, his spear glinting in the sun.

You smirked and yanked your kopis’ out of the body, letting it fall to the ground and proceeded to run further into the city.

Gritting your teeth, you fought your way through the enemy soldiers, never losing sight of where you had to go.

The Imperial Palace.

“My Lord, they have breached the city.”

“I can see that, you idiot!”

Emperor Min was pacing back and forth, perching high above the city, in the throne room, where he could see the battle unfold below.

He couldn’t lose the city. He wouldn’t lose to his brother.

He had the advantage of a bigger army but Yoongi had the other Aspects at his side and Min roared in frustration, “Damn it!”

But then he saw you run up the many stairs leading to the palace and he grinned, “It seems like she wants to greet me in person.”

Yoongi had lost sight of you on the battlefield and were growing anxious. He cut down another soldier with his sword and continued further into the city, Jin beside him.

“Where is she?!”

“I don’t know. She bolted right after entering the city!” Jin answered, grunting as he parried an incoming blow from a soldier.

“Damn it, woman!”

You reached the courtyard, breathing heavily and looked around. The place was vacant of soldiers.

What was Min planning?

“Min!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, “Come out, you coward!”

You heard laughter but couldn’t pinpoint where, so you whirled around yourself.

“Did you miss me that much, Y/N? That you had to see me before my brother comes to kill me?”

“I will be the one to kill you, you bastard!” You growled, your only answer was more laughter, “I intend to finish what I began those years ago!”

“Ah, yes. The parting gift you so lovingly bestowed upon me.” The hairs on your back stood as you felt his presence behind you and you whirled around to see him step out from the shadows of the tall pillars, “As you can see,” He paused when your eyes met, “It’s healed quite nicely but has left such an ugly scar.”

“That’s nothing compared to what you did to me.” You tensed up as he stepped towards you slowly, his sword still sheathed.

“Aww, come on now. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy some of it. For example that one night we made love.”

You hissed, your eyes flashing green as you felt nothing but anger, “Am I digging up some bad memories, my love? I’m sorry. How is your little handmaiden? I heard that she sadly lost her life. You have my condolences.” Min bowed mockingly and you had to restrain yourself from charging at him.

“Fuck you!”

“Is that all you can come up with? Where is that sharp tongue of yours?” Min began to pace around you, closing in on you slowly, “You know, I am a little disappointed in you, Y/N. To think that you joined my pathetic brother’s little rebellion… I had thought better of you.”

You didn’t answer and he continued, “Cat got your tongue? I saw the mighty Tiger down there. Are you warming his bed at night? He is tall and handsome, after all.”

You knew what he was trying to do: to goat you into attacking him. Too bad for him, you already knew his tricks.

“Answer when spoken to, dove.”

“No, actually…” You paused and relaxed your stance, “I’m fucking your brother.”

This got a reaction out of the Emperor as he stopped, his eyes turned hard and he scowled, so you continued, “What? Didn’t want to share with your brother?” You mocked.

“Shut up.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered what you lacked as a child to have grown into the sadistic asshole you are today but all I could come up with was that you are simply jealous of Yoongi.” You saw how he tensed up, his hand touching the hilt of his sword, “I can’t imagine how it must feel to always have been the second son…”

“I said shut up.”

“I pity you, Min.”

“SHUT UP!” He roared as he changed into Dragon form and lunged at you, a move that you had seen coming. It seemed like he had forgotten how cunning you were. You dodged his attack and ran into a nearby building.

Yoongi heard the roar his brother let out and he looked towards the palace where he saw his brother’s golden Dragon form and he could only think of one person who could have provoked his brother to change directly into that.

You.

He left the battle and ran towards the stairs leading to the courtyard.

You ran through the collapsing building as Min tore it asunder. You leapt out a window and fell to the ground but a huff.

You barely had time to get up on your legs when Min bashed his tail at you, creating a huge crater.

“You whore!” He roared loudly as you ran across the courtyard, “I am going to kill you!”

“You failed once and you will fail again, Min!” You yelled as you headed towards another building but Min had already seen where you were headed, so he moved his massive tail skywards and slammed it into the building, sending you flying backwards across the courtyard.

You groaned, head reeling from the hard landing when you felt something heavy land on top of you, pinning you down and you knew it was his claw. Min opened his mouth wide and you saw how he took a deep breath.

You had to change. Now.

Min let out a roar as he blasted you with fire, burning everything to ash but when he felt something snake around his body, he knew he’d failed.

Your silver scales glinted in the sun as you rose above him, the lower part of your body wrapping itself around his hind legs, your hood unfolding itself to cast a shadow over the Dragon in your hold and you hissed loudly, fangs out and ready.

Min didn’t waste a second to try and untangle you from him but you simply clenched around him and he tried to take move, his tail moving wildly behind him, destroying everything in it’s path. He roared when you lunged at his head, only to miss it as he moved and breathed fire on you again.

You could easily withstand his flames for a short period of time but he continued and youfelt the burning flames begin to dance across your scales, bringing pain with it, you hissed loudly before bending your body and sink your fangs into his right leg. Min reeled from the bite but before you could release poison into his system, he took off into the air, dragging you with him upwards.

He could fly.

You could not.

You removed your fangs from him and began to untangle yourself from his body but he used his claws to grab ahold of you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He growled, “I just want to show you the view from up here.” He sped up and you looked down, the ground getting further and further away from you.

You felt panic overcome you as he only soared higher and higher and then he let you go.

You plummeted towards the earth, bracing yourself for impact as you could do little else when you saw a black Dragon fly towards you.

“Change back!” Yoongi yelled out and you did so, vanishing in a puff of smoke and you were back to human form. Yoongi opened up his claw and felt relief washing over him as you landed in his palm.

“Thank you.” You said as he closed his claws around you to keep you from falling.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” He yelled as he made a u-turn, his long black body quickly heading back towards the ground, “You could have been killed!”

“We don’t have time to argue, Yoongi, as your brother is coming back! You yelled, seeing Min flying fast towards Yoongi and you.

Yoongi had barely time to turn his head when his brother collided with him, sending you flying out of his grasp and you could only look on as Min sank his claws into Yoongi’s body, forcing a pained whine from him as they hurtled towards the ground.

You fell through the roof of the palace and landed in the throne room and you whirled your head around to see the two dragons crash into the courtyard, a tangle of black and gold. They rolled across the courtyard and down the stairs and you jumped down onto the next roof, following them.

“I’ll kill you again and this time I’ll make sure you stay dead!” Min roared as he lunged at Yoongi’s neck, drawing blood. Yoongi twisted his body and sank both of his front claws into his brother’s body.

“Not if I kill you first!” Yoongi bellowed as he bit into Min’s leg.

You ran as fast as you could, seeing as the dragons finally came to a stop halfway down the stairs. You watched as they each took a lunge at one another, pained roars and whines coming from both of them.

At this point, they would kill each other. You changed into your Snake form again and slithered your way down the stairs. Min saw you out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to breath fire at you but Yoongi snapped his jaws shut around his snout, forcing his mouth shut.

You sped up and opened your mouth wide, fangs emerging from your gums and you launched yourself at Min, sinking your fangs into his neck. Yoongi struggled to maintain his hold on his brother when he felt you wrap yourself around Min’s body as you continued to pump your venom into him but he didn’t dare letting go.

It took minutes before your venom began to work but soon enough Min began to go slack and Yoongi removed himself from his brother watching as you wrapped your body tighter around his brother’s body, venom starting to dribble from the puncture wounds and onto the ground.

He watched his brother struggle weakly in your grasp but you responded by tightening ever further and Yoongi were sure that if Min didn’t die by your poison, then he would die from your body crushing his.

Then he looked into the panicked eyes of his brother and he felt a small pang of pain at seeing his brother suffer like this. Yoongi wished it could have been different, he truly did but his brother deserved everything he got and more.

Finally, Min sagged in your hold, his Dragon form going completely slack and you slowly untangled yourself from him and let go of his neck.

Yoongi stared at the lifeless form of his brother before he slowly began to disperse into ash.

“I hope you find redemption, brother.” He said as the ashes carried his brother away, “I truly do.”

You stood in the throne room, bruised, sweaty and dirty but you didn’t care. As you heard the people and soldiers cheering in the city below, you were filled with relief.

It was done.

Yoongi appeared next to you with a sombre expression and you turned your head towards him, “Why the dark expression?”

“I don’t know… I guess I feel a little sad about my brother.”

You nodded in understanding. As vile as Min had been, he had still been Yoongi’s brother, “I know.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi said nothing else but he felt a smile tug on his lips when he felt your hand graze his and he grabbed it, “So...Princess.”

You snorted, loudly, the sound taken Yoongi aback and he stared at you with wide eyes, “Princess? Don’t call me that.”

“What was that sound? Did you make that?”

“What?” You raised a brow at his dumbfounded expression, “Oh fuck off. Aren’t a lady allowed to snort?”

“That was a very manly sound, Y/N.”

You shrugged and squeezed his hand, “So what are your plans now, Dragon Lord?”

“Well, I was hoping that you would perhaps join me in celebrating the victory.”

“Hm.”

“Privately, of course.”

Jin groaned as he stretched his back, leaning against the pitchfork in his hand and he looked over the field of corn and sank his head, “Why is there so much left?”

Then he heard horses and he looked to the road, a smile creeping up on him as he spotted two familiar figures.

“Honey! They’re here!” He called out to his wife and let the pitchfork fall to the ground as he walked to the gate of his house, waiting to greet his friends.

“Why are you mad?! I didn’t do anything!” He heard Yoongi yell and he didn’t have to wait long to hear your response, “And that is exactly my problem! I needed help to get up on the horse and you just stood there and did nothing!”

“You usually don’t have a problem getting up on a horse, woman!”

“I am pregnant, you bastard. With your child!”

Jin simply smiled as your horses came to a halt outside of his gate. He was snickering when Yoongi came up to him, annoyed, asking him what was so funny and the Ox simply patted his friend on the back before offering you a hand to get down from your horse.

#thebtswritersclub #cypherwritersnet #Yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x female reader

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stones-x-bones · 3 years ago

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All You Left Behind || Solo

CONTENT: Head trauma (coma), Domestic abuse mentions, Parental Death mention

Bex runs some errands..

Georgie was still in a coma. She had brain activity, and sometimes she even mumbled in her sleep, in her unconscious state, but there was little sign of her waking soon. The doctors said they didn’t even know if there was a sign that could signal that. Comas were complicated. Magic ones even more so, Bex supposed.

Bex had laid the bouquet she’d bought down on the table at the end of the bed, but she hadn’t been able to stay long. She’d left with a promise that she’d fix her, she would. She just needed to...figure out how. But she needed to leave before anyone else showed up, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to look them in the eyes and pretend like she hadn’t done that to Georgie. It had been written off as a freak earthquake, but Bex was the earthquake. Her magic had done this to Georgie, and she’d fix it. She would, she would.

The second bouquet was being carried up a hill in a cemetery. She pulled the hood of her jacket up to conceal her face-- being caught here would be worse than being caught at Georgie’s bedside. August snow crunched under boots as Bex crested the hill and made it up to the plot of land that had been reserved almost as long as her own family’s plot of land in Harmony Hill.

Frank Goldman’s grave still looked fresh somehow. She half expected him to burst from the ground and reach to pull her in with him. She’d let him. She’d deserve it.

Frank still lived in her nightmares, in the shadow of her mother, and in the whispers of trees that made dark forests.

She saw his face, sometimes, in a crowd. A passing glance over her shoulder, or out of the corner of her eye. At the edge of the trees, where town gave way to forest and people gave way to creatures.

Her heart stuttered every time. Her heart stuttered so much these days. Sometimes it hurt and ached in a painful way, as if it could not pump enough blood through itself to keep the tide of exhaustion away. On those days, Bex stayed in the house, but never in her bed, all day. She pretended to do chores, instead, or to preoccupy herself with some hobby or another. Making bone art with Morgan, or drawing lazy edges of maps on canvas in her room. Nothing ever saw the light of day, but the bones hung on shed walls and the maps stayed rolled up in drawers next to her desk.

Frank Goldman’s grave came back into view as her thoughts came back to her and Bexley looked at it with shame. Carefully, she set the bouquet in front of it and watched the small breeze lift ready to wilt petals from the stems. “I’m sorry.”

Footsteps behind her dragged her gaze away from the stone, only to meet two eyes she thought had disappeared with Frank’s that fateful day.

“You.”

It was the same voice Bex had heard as she watched red pool over her hands in an attempt to quell the blood. It had not worked. She had sworn the boy had died right under her palms.

But here he was, glaring at her, eyes sunken, skin pale. He shook, but not with anger, with an ache. An uncontrollable tremor that Bex had once experienced, after she’d used up all her magic to destroy the warden who had hurt Mina. She recognized the magic, she could feel it drifting off of him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

With a startle, Bex realized she hadn’t said anything yet. “I-- I just wanted to--”

The broken warden’s eyes drifted to the flowers placed on his friend’s grave. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. How dare you! This is your fault!” The bouquet he had was thrown to the ground as hands swung up and clamped down around Bex’s neck. He shook her and she did not fight. His grip choked her, but it was weak, this was all he could manage. She deserved this. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. Then he wouldn’t be-- then he--” Tears in his eyes. He had loved Frank, Bex could recognize the look in his eyes. It was the same way she looked at Mina when she’d seen her bleeding out on a forest floor.

Bex felt her own cheeks burn, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, “I never wanted-- I didn’t want this.”

The other warden’s arms were growing weary, Bex could tell, but he kept his pressure on. He tried to step forward but stumbled, concentration all on Bex, and the two tumbled to the grass next to Frank’s grave. Bex put her arms up to catch the warden atop her as his grip finally released from her neck, no worse for wear, but ready to freckle with bruising later, when she would look in the mirror and wonder why she hadn’t fought back.

A limp fist came down on her chest. “Fuck you!” The warden boy shouted. He was crying and angry and upset. He was grieving. Bex would let him. “Fuck you! I hate you!” And it went on and on. The same few lines, the same limp fists pounding at her chest, her face, her arms. More bruises, for later. They’d go away, bruises always went away. Until then, she’d tell Mina she fell while walking in the woods. She didn’t know how to explain the ring around her neck yet, and she wouldn’t find one before going home.

When the warden grew weary, she sat with him, even as he protested. She learned his name was Lucas, and that he’d only moved to White Crest a year ago. She learned that over that time, Frank had become his best friend. And she learned that over time, Lucas had loved him like a brother. They went on hunts together, they compared techniques, they told each other the things they couldn’t tell their hunter parents-- Frank had tried his best to be there for him, until Bex came into the picture.

When she left, Bex told him she hoped things got better, that she was glad he wasn’t dead. He had just scowled and told her to never come back here, told her that he would finish the job next time (code be damned, it wasn’t like he was a hunter anymore, wasn’t like he could ever be one again, not really) if she did. He would be stronger, then. He would be healed, then.

The next stop didn’t require a bouquet of flowers, but a map. Bex traced the line of the river, remembering well all that it had tried to take from her. Daylight trickled through the trees, warm sunbeams trying to stave off the cold of the mysterious weather phenomena. Bex had never really minded the snow, but she missed the warmth of summer. She wanted to feel the moonlight in her veins again.

She walked past the spot where their boat had capsized, but there wasn’t a single trace of it left. It was as if it had never happened, and Bex would have believed it hadn’t had her mind not tried to constantly remind her of those days. Sometimes she woke up and in the dark of her room, it wasn’t Mina sleeping beside her, but her bloodied corpse. She’d always rub the illusion out of her eyes in haste, but never soon enough to stop her heart from pounding. Bex found herself checking Mina’s pulse too often, in the dark of her room at night, when the other girl lay asleep next to her. It was always steady.

Finally, the lake came into view, and Bex was thrown back to the moment where the sky had roiled with thunder and lightning, and she’d desperately gripped Mina in her arms, wading into the water as fast as she could. Holding her under, and for a moment-- just a single moment-- feeling peaceful as their eyes met. Bex had wanted to crash into the water with her, where it was silent and nothing was heavy.

She walked around the edge towards the dock, where the boathouse sat, still weary with old age, but refusing to give in. She didn’t stop in it this time, just shouldered her bag as she made it up to the front porch. The door was still open. She stepped inside and found the place untouched except by nature. Preserved. It was a moment of the past long gone but still haunting the present. Old bandages on the table, a pot by the cinders of a long put out fire, pink stains of dirty bath water-- deep red stains on the cotton sheets. She knew Mina thought about it a lot, too. The memories that stained the cabin floor, and the tub, and the raggedy couch were not good ones. They tore at Bex’s chest like the claws of a wolf and made it ache and she let herself ache. She hadn’t been able to for so long. But she could now. She could now.

She resolved to come back later. She needed more supplies. For all its painful memories, Bex did not hate the cabin. In fact, she owed it her life, and more importantly, Mina’s. This place had not been a cage, trapping them inside-- it had been a haven, in a terrible storm that consisted of rain and thunder and a boy who had lost his way.

She hurried back to town, marking the trail to remember easier next time. She nearly missed the ferry, pushing through the turnstile as she waved her ticket at the guard. He was more than happy to help a gracious young woman like herself, and Bex put on a tight-lipped smile as she sidled past and onto the ferry. She supposed even in death, her name meant something.

The third bouquet was set at the foot of the manor stairs. She didn’t dare go inside, there was still police tape up around the front doors, anyway. Instead, she looked up at the ornate doors that had once been her prison bars, and the columns of the old building, the arching entryway, and the inlaid windows, carefully carved and crafted out of the finest brick and marble. She wondered if it would burn.

There was nothing left to say to the building-- it was just as dead as her mother.

While she waited for the ferry to come back, Bex stared over the edge of the banister into the lapping waves. She’d visited three places that day that had been left scarred and ruined by her magic. No-- by her choices. If people caused pain, then her magic was a gun. That was the saying, right? Guns don’t kill people, people do. She pulled the trigger, each time. Frank may have died by Mina’s hand, but the inevitability of it was only set in motion because of her. She dropped a rock into the water and watched the waves swallow it, the ripples it tried to cause, as if the rock had never existed. She wondered if it might be a metaphor of the people she’d hurt.

But people weren’t rocks and the world wasn’t an ocean. Georgie had family and friends, always sitting by her side, reading her stories and telling her about their days and waiting for her to wake up. And Frank had had friends, and family, and even if they were used to burying their children, Bex knew his mother had wept. And even Odell’s absence was felt, in the hollow of Bex’s chest, and in the empty office that she’d walked into one fateful night and finally, finally found the key to her freedom.

The ferry horn whistled and Bex stood from her spot, rubbing at the soreness on her neck. She sat in a corner by herself and watched the island that she’d grown up on shrink in the distance. Her entire life had been about pain and suffering, but now she had a chance at something new. She’d caused so much pain, just to pull herself out of the hole she’d been buried in. She didn’t want to do that anymore.

Her magic had hurt too many people. The first step to getting through something was to admit the problem existed. Her magic wasn’t the problem, though. No, it was her lack of control. Her problem had always been a lack of control, and now she had a freedom she’d seldom dreamt about. Sometimes it felt almost wrong. Sometimes it felt overwhelming. But, mostly, it felt relieving. She had room to figure herself out now, to stretch her feet, and her arms, and stop folding herself into a tiny box. She could exist.

She wondered on her place in this world. She didn’t have an answer, but as she continued to watch the island grow into a speck on the horizon, she wondered if, maybe, that didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t need an answer yet. Maybe that’s what life was, like a dig-- searching for an answer and finding more questions along the way.

All Bexley knew was that she wasn’t going to let her magic hurt anyone anymore. All she wanted to do was help, and to protect those she loved, and she knew if she could just control her magic, she could. She could. And so it was time she took control of it.

It was time to put the pot back together.

#solo #wickedswriting #all you left behind #head trauma tw #domestic abuse tw #parental death tw

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sunflowersupremes · 4 years ago

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I’ve Got You

After Ciri’s death, Geralt felt as though he had nothing to lose, and went to fight the Crones of Crookback Bog, even knowing it meant certain death.

Whumptober Prompt: No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Context: This takes place after the “bad ending” of Witcher 3. If you’re unfamiliar, you can watch it here. Basically Ciri dies, Geralt goes to the swamps of Velen to recover her medallion (which originally belonged to Vesemir) and then he’s ambushed by dozens of monsters. The game leaves his fate to be pretty uncertain, but it’s generally accepted that he died.

Read on AO3

The swamp was littered with the bodies of monsters. The stench of rot hung in the air, turning his stomach. Dandelion swallowed back bile and nerves, well aware that he might be walking into an ambush. He’d found Roach’s body a short while away, the horse having been ripped apart by scavengers. That didn’t bode well for the Witcher’s fate.

“Geralt?” he called.

There was no answer, neither from the Witcher nor the monsters.

The bard clutched the strap of his lute and swung from his horse, creeping toward the abandoned hut in the center of the swamp.

Yennefer had told him that Geralt intended to reclaim Ciri’s medallion, but she had apparently considered it a suicide attempt, practically begging Dandelion not to follow him. “You won’t find him alive, Dandelion,” she’d said, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t want you to die for him.”

“Fuck you,” he’d told her and, ignoring her advice and the pleas of Priscilla, he’d headed off in search of the Witcher.

He was starting to realize how right she was.

His boots squelched into the mud, which seemed to be trying its best to keep Dandelion away from the hut. But he pressed on, determined to reach it, even as he became more certain that he would find nothing more than a rotting corpse of a Witcher to go with the monsters outside.

“Geralt?” he called again.

Finally reaching the door he took a deep breath, which he immediately regretted as he was assaulted with the smell of decay and death. Gagging, Dandelion shoved open the door and stumbled inside.

Geralt lay motionless on the floor in a pool of blood. A red trail led from the door, as though he’d crawled inside, to safety, only to collapse. Dandelion stumbled back outside and doubled over, retching up the meager lunch he’d had.

Then he ran back inside on shaky feet, falling to his knees beside the corpse. “Geralt!” He cupped the Witcher’s head, brushing his hair from his forehead. Tears clouded his vision.

“No, no,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “No…” Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Geralt’s skin was warm.

Dandelion froze as the realization washed over him, barely able to think straight. “It can’t be-”

He pressed his hand against Geralt’s neck, shocked to feel a weak pulse thrumming beneath his fingers.

The relief threw him back into action. He raced outside stumbling through the mud to his mount and dragging the gelding toward the house. Then, halfway there, he thought better of it and headed back into the swamp.

It wasn’t hard to locate Roach, her bloated corpse right where he’d last seen it. Thankfully, the scavengers hadn’t been interested in the saddle bags, and he cut them free as best he could with one hand over his nose. Then he dragged the bags back inside the hut before returning to his own horse for the supplies he’d brought.

As quickly as he could he sorted through their combined supplies - thankfully, he’d planned for the worst and brought medicine - finding bandages, alcohol, and suturing supplies.

He fetched water from the well outside, then stripped Geralt out of his bloodied clothes, exposing his wounds. If he’d been a human, they would have killed him, but, for better or for worse, the Witcher mutations had kept him alive.

“I’m here, Geralt,” he said quietly as Geralt moaned. “It’s me, Dandelion.” But the Witcher didn’t seem aware of anything but his pain. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was use Geralt’s ruined clothes to wipe away as much of the blood as he could, then he threw the clothes outside so he wouldn’t have to smell them.

Dandelion had gotten to be pretty good at patching up wounds during his travels with Geralt, so it was habit that guided him to pour alcohol over the injuries, washing them out and (hopefully) preventing any infection. Although, given that the wounds were already a few days old, he wasn’t certain how effective that would be.

The last thing he did was his least favorite part of caring for injures. Threading a needle he carefully stitched Geralt’s wounds closed, wincing every time he pulled the needle through flesh.

But Geralt didn’t move, didn’t even flinch or groan. Somehow, that made it worse.

Outside, it was beginning to grow dark, but Dandelion barely noticed, only thinking to light a candle to better see by, as he finished sewing his friend’s wounds.

Once Geralt was as patched up as Dandelion could get him, he changed him into a set of clothes that he’d found in Roach’s saddle bags (thankfully, the leather bags had protected them from any liquids in the horse’s decaying corpse).

Then he dragged him across the room and laid him on the bed, tucking the blanket over him.

The Witcher looked almost peaceful, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Dandelion managed to feed him a bit of Swallow Potion, also scavenged from the Witcher’s bags. He only risked feeding him a few drops, afraid that - on an empty stomach - anymore of the potion would overload Geralt’s damaged system.

With nothing else to do, Dandelion sat on the bed beside Geralt, strumming his lute as the hours passed by.

He lost track of time, as he played, until a howl ripped through the night, followed by the terrified scream of a horse. His horse.

Dandelion ran to the window in time to see something - gods, he hoped it was only a wolf - dragging his gelding away into the woods surrounding the swamp. Dandelion swallowed, fear clenching his stomach.

Then, whatever it was, stepped out of the woods. He was certain of only one thing: it wasn’t a wolf.

“Oh gods,” he moaned, slamming the window shut and looking around the room in terror. The hut was in ruins from the monster attack that had left Geralt incapacitated, and he doubted it could stand up to another assault.

With no other options Dandelion shoved a shelf in front of the window, then braced a table against the door. But it still didn’t feel safe, not when he could see outside through the gaps in the walls.

He looked back at Geralt, laying perfectly still on the bed and licked his lips nervously.

Something slammed against the other side of the wall and he screamed, racing toward the Witcher and grabbing him protectively, pulling Geralt’s limp body to his chest.

Between them, Geralt’s medallion was vibrating wildly, and it took all of his self control not to through the thing across the room.

“Geralt,” he whispered. “This would be a truly poetic time for you to wake up.” But the Witcher didn’t stir, only continuing to slumber on in silence.

Dandelion shivered uncomfortably and released Geralt, sitting still on the bed beside him. He absentmindedly stroked the Witcher’s hair, closing his eyes and trying not to think about the monsters outside.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “It won’t get in.”

For a while, it seemed to work. The monster scratched at the walls of the hut, but seemed unable to locate a way in. Dandelion tracked it’s every move, watching nervously through the cracks in the damaged walls as it circled around them.

The shelf he’d put in front of the window shook as something slammed into it. Dandelion pulled the blankets over them both, as though it might offer some level of protection.

Another howl ripped through the night.

Then the door trembled.

Without thinking Dandelion jumped to his feet and ran toward it, slamming his body against the table and struggling to hold it shut. Whatever was on the other side wanted to get in, no doubt smelling the blood. Or perhaps it had already written Geralt off as a loss and wanted the much more alive Dandelion.

For a moment, he wondered if he went outside and let the monster take him if it would leave Geralt alone. But he knew that would only make Geralt hate himself all the more, so he kept pushing against the door with all his strength.

Unfortunately, he was a poet, not a strongman, and whatever was on the other side of the door had a good deal more power.

With one last great crash the door splintered and Dandelion fell back, landing on his ass amid the remains of the door and table. Wood fragments stabbed into his hands as he struggled to sit up, but that was the least of his worries.

He’d traveled with Geralt a long time.

He’d seen a lot of monsters.

He’d never seen a werewolf though, because Geralt considered them to be highly dangerous, enough so that he’d kept the bard far away from them.

As he stared at the creature that had come through the door Dandelion was certain of two things: that he was finally looking at a werewolf and that Geralt had been right to keep him away from the creatures.

A whimper escaped his lips and the creature turned to look at him, it’s eyes gleaming red in the darkness.

It roared and lunged. Dandelion rolled out of the reach of its claws at the last possible moment. The monster slammed head first into the wall, dazing it long enough for the poet to run to Geralt’s side, shaking the Witcher. “Geralt, wake up!” he shouted. “We need to run! Geralt!”

He knew what the Witcher would say, that Dandelion should run, save himself and leave him to die. But, even if everything hadn’t happened, even if Ciri hadn’t died and Yennefer hadn’t given up on Geralt, Dandelion was certain he couldn’t leave him.

The werewolf had gained its bearings, turning and coming toward them, its fangs bared, drool dripping from it’s lips. Dandelion desperately tried to pull Geralt to his feet, hoping to make a run for it, but Geralt remained limp.

The monster lunged for them.

#jaskier #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #Witcher Fanfiction #Witcher Fanfic #The Witcher #Wiedźmin #My Writing

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seeker-n-rico · 5 years ago

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| Expectations vs Reality |

A trail of wreath petals burning into wisps of smoke. The clap of feet on the marble tile. Venomous promises of retaliation rumbling throughout the house.

Just the beginning of another day of Zagreus’ insufferable antics.

However, today was off. The normally, annoyingly punctual prince was nowhere to be found in the ruins of Tartarus’ temples. What was left of the desecrated structures showed tales of old, the age of the titans, left to rot like a festering wound. The contents of the walls constantly shifted, supposedly reacting to every new trespasser. They served as reminders of what the gods had to fight for, of what they still feared, and Megaera wanted nothing more to do with this cursed place.

Where the hell are you?

(Read the rest of the fic below!)

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Tumblr: @dragonanimeparty | Twitter: @Seeker_n_Rico

Pillowfort: @ DragonAnimeParty

Even as the Fury left, she could still feel the temple’s presence clawing at her back. Whether it was the ghosts of titans seeking revenge or her faithfulness to Lord Hades pulling her, she was unsure. But, what was certain, was that that foolish bastard didn’t want to spend a moment more in the underworld kingdom. That he knew how much that place uneased her. How she sometimes welcomed his steel against her better judgement just to let the River Styx take her away from that place. Zagreus knew better than to keep her waiting.

Closing the gates behind her, Megaera stalked Tartarus. Chasing off any shades that would even consider crossing her path with a glare that said, “I can do worse than what Zeus did to Prometheus, Sisyphus, and Tantalus combined.” Despite their surrender, the presence of the damned souls only helped to feed Meg’s anxieties. Although difficult to imagine with his usual, lax attitude, Zagreus cut down his foes with the precision that could only come from Achilles’ teachings. While Meg was trained to protect the House of Hades, she was still just a mere torturer who knew only of her place and that was to serve the whip. If Zagreus had truly been there, the shades would’ve been reduced to shadows already, swallowed by the darkness.

Lost in her thoughts, the fury almost didn’t notice how the spirits trembled and disappeared from sight as she continued her search. Almost. Scanning the room, Meg could not see or sense anyone’s presence. She knew of only two gods that could make them react that way, Lord Hades and…

“Than?” Meg softly spoke, treading carefully into the unfamiliar territory.

“I wish.”

That was not Thanatos. Meg swerved towards the voice, weapon at the ready. Immediately, her whip clanged to the floor as her eyes widened at her discovery.

“Zag?! You… Than… Is he?” So many questions began pouring out of Meg’s mouth as she tried to make sense of what she saw.

There, propped up against a pillar, Zagreus glanced up at her, eyebrows knit with worry. In his lap, death incarnate was curled into a ball, passed out. Decades’ worth of stress and ageing haunted Thanatos’ face. His pale complexion looked an even more sickly shade of white. The only sign of life within Thanatos was the sweat that dotted his feverish brow and the stuttering rise and fall of his chest as he took each new, raspy breath. A mindless fool might’ve assumed Zagreus had laid a corpse across his body. But Meg was wise, and the saddest truth was that this was not the first time she has seen this. Nor is it the prince’s.

The two silently stared at each other, trying to find the faults within their negligence. How could they have been so blind to this? Resigned, Meg joined Zagreus on the floor, shielding the both of them with her wing. It felt like the only thing she was capable of doing. The house was not made of healers nor love. It was a cold, unforgiving place, even to the honored occupants within its thresholds. Her entire immortal life was spent learning the cruelties of men and how to deal it in kind. Despite this, nothing compared to the burden that Thanatos carried. It was a curse that even the king of the underworld was forced to respect.

To say that Thanatos was simply loyal to his duties failed to describe how far he was willing to prove his devotion. It was a topic that Megaera tried to avoid talking about. There was no changing Than’s mind when it comes to his service to the house. After all, what was she supposed to say? Stop collecting mortal souls and allow the world to fall into chaos? Even Zagreus’ sweet, charismatic charm could do nothing to stop Thanatos. The two long ago agreed to keep an eye on Than, but death remains elusive, even to his friends.

After exchanging more silent questions and attempting to make Thanatos comfortable, it was Zagreus’ voice that crackled through the still air.

“Hypnos told me. It’s funny, I know. But, the two of them are still brothers and well, sleep being his thing and all…”

Zagreus took a deep breath and exhaled. The fury waited quietly as the normally chatty prince considered his thoughts for once.

“Ever since we were young, he would sneak into my room just to sleep,” Zagreus continued. “He was never good about remembering to take care of himself, but it was the one place where no one would look for him. Especially my father. I didn’t think anything of it when I left the house, but Dusa, bless her, was cleaning my room. I didn’t think… I didn’t know Than had been so desperate I would have-”

“He followed you,” Meg interrupted, clicking things into place. “Than knew he was going to collapse and there’s no one out here from the house to see him like this. He can’t afford to let people see him like this… It would put the house at risk...” She rubbed her eyes and hissed, “He had been stuck in the mortal realm for days cleaning up the gods’ idiotic war! How was I so foolish not to notice?!”

Zagreus reached over and took Meg’s hand into his own, gently rubbing circles into her palm with his thumb. “We’ll figure this out, Meg.” He sighed, then smirked at her. “Of course, we’ll only do something after we’ve let the vultures peck Than’s eyes out for causing all of this undue stress, right?”

Megaera had to chuckle at that. It was an awful attempt at humor, but it got them to smile at least for a little bit. She pulled the two closer to her, silently praying that some of her strength be given to Thanatos. The three of them weren’t going anywhere any time soon, not until Thanatos was awake, and that could be days from now. But, despite the circumstances, Meg was thankful to be together. Zagreus will escape to the surface and never come back. Thanatos… Thanatos could come and go however he pleases and maybe he will follow the foolish prince and break his chains for good. Even if it meant fighting each other, dying horribly, and continuing to struggle like this… Selfishly, Megaera didn’t want it to end. Not now.

#Hades #Hades Game #Zagreus #Megaera #Thanatos

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misfiredsynapse · 5 years ago

Text

wounded

someone binged the Witcher on Netflix and this spilled out

i regret nothing

warnings: blood, implied relationships (past), heavy wounds, implied violence. I don’t know the lore as well as i should so if i’ve cocked anything up, a wizard did it

Wounded

Tales of monsters haunting the village reached her ears long after the true danger began. From her little hut on the edge of the forest, it was easy to know when the beast began to prowl. She had reinforced her wards and kept herself very far from its usual trail. The village had collection plate going around to hire someone to deal with it. They had asked for a donation and she had given, though she wondered when the Lord planned to actually help his people.

Her little hut- the witch’s cottage- squatted in a glen on the edge of an unending wood. Where spooks and spectres lurked, where ghosts and ghouls wailed through the night. She had a reputation for healing, but only in the daylight. The few brave souls who had dared try to breach her door at night had seen a very different witch.

Smoke and mirrors. Necessary. Small towns bred small minds and she had no intention of letting them get the idea that they’d be better off without her.

It was so very tedious to start over.

The first she heard was that the mayor- in name only, for he was as dirt poor as the rest of them- had managed to find a foolhardy soul to send up against the beasts. A man and his bard companion, each likely to die. She had thought of them as little more than a sacrifice. A sacrifice meant to sate the appetite of monsters and keep the villagers alive one more night.

She had built a good life here. Simple, outcast, not quite belonging, but good enough. Townsfolk left her mostly alone until they had a problem they couldn’t fix on their own, and they made good deals when they asked her out of her hut. Nobody wanted to end up in her cauldron next- for as the rumour went, she would kidnap those who angered her and cook them for her dinner.

Quaint little stories and she did nothing to dissuade them. It kept thieving hands out of her garden at the very least.

From her hut, she had heard the fight. Bloodcurdling death screams of the beast, ending in resounding silence. She had sighed and peered out her window to judge the time. Still hours until daybreak. She didn’t expect visitors until the sun penetrated her shadowy glen- that is, if the mayor had been a good sport and delivered her message.

Without knowing what manner of monster lurked, she had no idea what it would be good for. Such a mystery rankled, and she had paid a hefty sum to ensure the monster’s corpse would be delivered fresh and bleeding in the morn. If the Witcher was gone by then, she wouldn’t complain. Especially if… rumours of white hair and golden eyes had flown over her head. Deliberately, perhaps. It had been over a decade since they parted ways and she had heard little of him since. If she was being honest, she had been glad of the reprieve. He was intense, he was overwhelming, and wherever he went tended to change just by his presence.

As if on cue, there came a horrid pounding at her door. Followed by pleading screams and muffled curses, the desperation pulled her from her languid chair. She peered through the window at the shadowy men waiting outside- a smaller figure holding a much larger, clearly unconscious one. The younger was the source of the noise. The other hung like a fresh kill off his back.

No monster, though.

With a disappointed click, she opened the door. “Please!” the young man cried, the moment her light spilled across his face. “He’s hurt, we need your help!” And he shifted his shoulders to reveal his burden. White hair, rugged face, familiar in all its lines- her heart stilled for several uncertain beats. He was pale- almost as white as his hair- and as he hung off his friend’s shoulders, she could see the pool of blood gathering beneath him.

She blinked herself into action. “Bring him in, quickly,” she said. With a wave of her hand she cleared space before the fire, laying out an old rug she didn’t mind ruining. “What got him?”

The signs had all been there. All the cats in the village mysteriously dying, one by one; the dogs growing stronger and fiercer with the proximity of a leader. Packs of wolves roaming closer, hunting livestock like it was their right.

“Werewolf,” said the boy, who looked doubly pale now that he wasn’t the only thing supporting the Witcher. “It had friends.”

She paused. “Friends?” she asked. If there was a pack of them- it wouldn’t bode well for the village. One cursed lycanthope was enough, but if the cursed one was deliberately infecting others… “Werewolves?”

“I don’t know,” the boy’s voice shook a little. “But there were so many.”

Her mouth twitched. She used to tease, when they were younger, that all he would never be rid of her. All she had to do was follow the corpses- monster and human alike- like following the rainbow for a pot of gold. Funny how the world worked. She stopped chasing him only to have him stumble upon her. The only gold at the end of her bloody rainbow was in his eyes.

Eyes that were currently crusted shut with blood, while the rest of him seemed determined to bleed out on her floor. The bard who had dragged him here- young, eager, but desperately unqualified for the life he had chosen- stood by the door, fighting the vomit rising in his throat.

She looked up at the boy, narrowed her eyes, and pointed at the door. “Fetch me water from the well, just outside, and a handful of dandelions and peppermint from the greenhouse beyond. Hurry!”

He nodded and was gone. With his nervous energy gone, she refocussed on the dying man. Her hands shook as she pressed them over his wounds. Deep and oozing, smelling of rot and death- she had not missed this smell. It would be another scar painted on his body, another story of a thankless task. In his younger days he had celebrated the scars. Another tale, another dead monster, another bag of gold at his hip. But people were rarely thankful for long.

Witchers were, by their very nature, unsettling to behold. Creatures able to stare into the black expanse of the void and kill the monsters lurking within.

She flattened her hands against the worst of the cuts and began to mutter a chant. She could feel the healing begin to take effect; her own body taking the brunt of his hurt to heal him faster. Between his gifts and hers, there would be naught but a scar in just a few days.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” she hissed, at the first sign of him stirring. One golden eye cracked open, swept the room, and settled on her. The groan he made might have been pain if she didn’t know exactly how much magic was in his system. His head fell back on the threadbare pillow.

“It’s good to see you, Flissa.”

“Fuck off, no it isn’t.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched. “You sound stressed.”

She resisted the urge to smack him. “You bring it out in me,” she said sharply.

“My apologies, then.” His eyes remained closed and she listened to the rhythm of his breath until it levelled, and he slipped into a true, deep sleep. She allowed herself a moment to study his face. Unchanged, but that was hardly a surprise. Magic was in his blood as sure as it was in hers. They did not age or change as a normal human would. Still a rugged jaw, a strong nose, his long hair as white as virgin snow.

Her eyes dipped to the hem of his shirt, torn to ribbons. Beneath was an expanse of skin she had once known by heart. Years ago, she could have mapped his scars with her eyes closed. She wondered how many new ones he had earned since then- and promptly tore her mind from the subject. He was not hers to know like that, not anymore.

Knowing him like that had been the thing to drive her off. Terrified of what it meant to connect that deeply with another, refusing to let it grow between them. She had run, she had left.

And he had let her.

The door opened with a swift bang and she was on alert at once. Geralt didn’t stir; perhaps a more worrying sign than his bleeding. The depth of his slumber did draw her concern.

The returning bard dropped a pail of water at her feet and held out a large bunch of dandelions. “Are these enough?” he asked, anxious. “Will he live? Do you need anything else?”

Flissa took the bundle in both hands and nodded. “That’s fine. Sit down, boy, before you pass out.”

The bard refused to move without an answer. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked again, firmer.

“Yes,” she said; and he sank into the nearest chair in relief, holding his head in both hands. Flissa’s heart panged with empathy for him. She was him, once, before she mastered her craft; a terrified companion to a man determined to fling himself through death’s door at a moment’s notice. The singular reason why she became a healer was Geralt of Rivia.

Flissa set the dandelions in a bag and hung it in the window. She fetched dried leaves and added the fresh water to the kettle, setting it on the fire to brew. The rest of the water she heated with a whispered spell and returned, cloth in hand, to Geralt’s side. Getting the blood off his skin was significantly easier than getting it out of his clothes.

How very fortunate that she had kept a shirt in his size.

“Help me get him up,” she said to the boy. He was still pale, still shaking- in shock- but he reacted instantly. His arms under the Witcher’s shoulders, hers under his legs. Somehow, between them, they moved the man to her bed. “Where’s his horse?” she asked.

The bard raised an eyebrow. Connecting the dots at once, he had the sense not to ask but this one was a damn sight smarter than the average. “At the tavern, three days paid.”

“When the sun rises, bring him here.”

“But the wolves…”

“Are gone,” she assured, gentling her tone if only slightly. “With the Weres dead, the rest will scatter.” She returned to the kettle when it began to boil. Dandelion tea with peppermint- to calm his nerves. Flissa slid the steaming mug onto the table beside him. “Sugar and honey are behind you.”

His head rose. Eyes lingered on Geralt, then to the tea. “Thank you…?”

“Flissa,” she said, taking the hand he offered.

“Jaskier,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “Bless you.”

His mouth twitched. “My name is Jaskier.”

“You are welcome, then,” she nodded. “How does a bard end up travelling with a Witcher?”

“I wanted adventure and he strolled into town. I’m still not sure he likes me.”

“He’s like that with everyone.”

A pause, in which the boy stared at his friend. “You do know him,” he said quietly; curious, without wishing to outright ask. Flissa could see the questions bubbling but his reluctance to anger her held his tongue. The villagers likely warned him off coming anywhere near her. As if the ‘witch in the woods’ asking for a dead monster corpse wasn’t warning enough.

“For years,” she confirmed. “I used to travel with him.”

“Why did you stop?”

She shrugged, gestured to her little cottage. “I fancied myself suited to the quiet life.”

Jaskier smiled in acknowledgement, but there was a glint in his eye when he asked; “And does it suit you?”

“It’s… very quiet,” said Flissa, but that little pause said it all.

#the witcher #fanfic #kate writes #kate writes a thing #geralt of rivia #jaskier #contains an ofc #oneshot

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rallis-fatalis · 4 years ago

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The Making of a Monster

The Battle of Dragons changed many things for Rallis. She was seen as a betrayer. She was hunted by bounty hunters and slayers alike. People across the world wanted her dead for one reason or another. She began to hate the world and everyone in it. But her real enemies weren't the people after her life or her newfound power. It was something much more wicked and inescapable, something that began to turn her into the monster the world wanted her to be.

Rallis held a hand out. "Watch your step."

Peg was glad to take it, stumbling down the rocky entrance to Taverley Dungeon. She tripped into Rallis as she hopped over piles of stones. Adam stumbled a bit more gracefully behind her.

As the three steadied themselves, Rallis smiled and held her arms out. "Welcome to my old home!"

Peg had been assigned to look into an issue regarding the hellhounds of Taverley Dungeon and Adam and Rallis tagged along at her request. Apparently the dogs were leaving their normal territory and growing far more aggressive. Someone needed to look into it and report back with findings and the girl was a bit too nervous to investigate the beasts on her own.

Peg rubbed her eyes and looked around. "It's pretty dark in here."

"Don't worry, it gets brighter deeper in. Humans hang up torches and other lights and there's lots of lava that keeps the caves warm and bright," Rallis informed.

Her eyes quickly began to adjust, raccoon-cursed eyesight kicking in. Sometimes her curse was a blessing in disguise, she supposed. Adam meanwhile was blind as a bat. He flicked out his lighter to light the way until they got farther in. Rallis eagerly pulled the girl deeper into the dungeon as Adam followed behind.

"So you've never been in here, right?" Rallis asked Peg. She didn't wait for her answer. "This place is great! There's so many friendly dragons and warm spots to sleep in and lots of small spaces to crawl through and explore! It's great! My momma and brothers live here too. I'm gonna visit them when we're done. Hey, do you guys wanna visit them too?! Momma Blue is the best, you'll love her!"

Rallis continued to gush and narrate as they went, neither of her companions ever able to get a word in. She had stories about everything they walked by, even for the smallest cracks in the stone walls.

"Don't get too distracted," Adam reminded her when she finally paused. "We're here to investigate the hellhounds, not explore your old home."

"I know, I know!" Rallis said with a pout. "But if we get this done fast then we can explore! We're almost in their territory anyway."

She motioned for them to listen and sure enough they could hear savage growling echoing off the cavern walls. The beasts were just up ahead. Peg bristled, Adam readied his shield just in case.

"Try not to start a fight with them," Rallis said. "They're one of the few animals I don't get along with. I won't be able to tell them to go away or that we're not bad."

Adam nodded and motioned to a large pile of rocks up ahead. "We should be able to safely hide behind those and watch the hounds. Keep low and quiet."

The three quietly snuck behind cover and looked into the pit that now stood before them. Their rocky barrier stood on the edge of a rather large ledge that descended into a wide pit full of hellhounds. Large holes dotted the cavern walls, presumably dens for the dogs. Laying around the pit were hellhounds of varying size, and they all looked dangerously underweight. One was so thin all its ribs poked through its short red fur and its skin sagged around its face. Others weren't nearly as bad but it was apparent the entire pack was weak and starved with hardly the energy to stand.

"They're not eating," Rallis whispered. "I've never seen them this weak before. They're normally strong enough to drive dragons out of their dens in a big enough pack!"

"Are they sick?" Adam wondered.

Peg hushed them quickly. "Something's coming! Be quiet!"

On the far side of the pit, three hellhounds growled as they dragged a corpse behind them. The rest of the pack perked up at the noise. The three dogs tossed their kill to the middle of the pit and the rest of the pack staggered over, drooling.

Rallis blinked in surprise. "They killed a human to eat? That's not normal. They should have plenty of food that's far less dangerous to kill."

The three watched as the hounds debated over who could eat. "Red robes," Adam pointed out. "A Zamorakian mage? That's ironic."

"Not a mage, a druid!" Rallis corrected. "The bad druids live all the way on the other end of the cave system. That's not a short trip by any means. Why would they hunt all the way over there?"

"You move to the food when there isn't any nearby," Peg said. "They look desperate enough to risk a fight." She knew she was growing up on the streets. The dogs were no different.

Three small hellhounds, hardly the size of a full grown cat, ran over to the dead man and began to eat. A tired adult dog trailed after them, weakly dragging its feet along the ground. The pack watched as the four of them ate their portion before jumping in to latch onto any scraps left.

"A mom and puppies!" Rallis exclaimed.

"They're adorable!" Peg couldn't help but blurt.

"And they're extra mouths to feed," Adam said. "But three puppies surely can't be enough to make an entire pack of hellhounds thin as sticks. What do they normally hunt, Rallis?"

"Overgrown spiders and the other big bugs and mammals that wander around, usually. They used to eat the lava fish too but the dragons have taken all those spots over since the humans drove the dragons back. Sometimes they'll hunt humans that wander by unprepared and on super rare occasions they'll try to hunt a dragon. I've only ever really seen them actively hunt in the bug and mammal dens though."

"It might be a good idea to investigate there then," Adam said. "Show us the way?"

"You got it! Let's go!"

Rallis continued to lead her companions through the winding tunnels of the dungeon. To Adam and Peg, this new section of tunnels hardly looked any different from the last, but to Rallis it was an entirely new neighborhood. "This is where most of the mammals gather," she said as she motioned to the wide cavern filled with den holes. "Lots of big rats and other huge rodents and the like." She sniffed the air and frowned. "Something isn't right though. Nothing is here and hasn't been for a while. The scents are stale."

"The dogs could have hunted enough to cause the animals to move, perhaps?" Adam suggested. "Or they ate them to extinction down here."

"Nature doesn't do that," Rallis said. "Animals know better and there's a balance that's maintained between all creatures. Which means this isn't caused by something in the natural food chain. It must be a hu--"

An ear splitting screech rattled the walls. The trio flinched and covered their ears as they waited for the sound to pass. Silence followed for a short moment only to be succeeded by ferocious roars.

"There's no doubt that's a dragon," Adam informed.

"And she's in trouble!" Rallis exclaimed. She ran off as fast as she could down the tunnels, leaving her companions trailing after her dust.

The dragon's roars grew louder with every twist and turn, until every growl and snap was punctuated by the sound of metal. 'A human!' Rallis thought with a snarl. She unfurled her whip and ran faster.

One final corner turn led her to a black dragon's nest. A mother was standing guard protecting her three children as a human geared in dragon hunting attire stood her down. One of the three babies had been stabbed by the hunter's lance but luckily it wasn't lethal. The poor thing was collapsed in the nest as its two siblings licked the wound in its leg. The mother had taken a beating as well, sporting stab wounds in her front legs and paws and a deep swipe across her face. Rallis screeched and dove at the attacker, wrapping her icy whip around his neck before he had a chance to react. He choked as he tried to pry it away, and the mother dragon took advantage of the situation. She let loose hellfire onto the hunter, but even under attack by a new enemy he didn't forget his basics. He threw up his shield and the flames bounced harmlessly to the side, nearly burning the two new arrivals on the scene. Adam turned away and covered Peg, protecting her from any stray flames and taking a nasty burn to the back. He winced and pulled her away from the fight, hiding her behind the rock piles of the nearby opening back into the tunnels. Neither of them were equipped to be near a wild dragon fight.

Rallis snarled and yanked on her whip harder. It came undone and lashed back to her side, but not before ripping a hole in the hunter's armor. His neck was exposed now and a prime target for Rallis' fangs. She lunged for the opening but it seemed the hunter was no pushover. He blocked her mid lunge and shoved her away with a bash of his shield. The dragon landed on all fours, snarling and practically foaming at the mouth.

Suddenly, Rallis' vision began to cloud with rage. A wicked voice in her head egged her on. The cries of the baby dragons, the pain caused by this foul hunter, the knowledge that it was people like this that were ruining the ecosystem here and causing the beasts to starve, it was fuel for the fire that voice was starting. She couldn't control herself, her mind went blank save for one simple thought: kill. Rallis shrieked and dashed at the hunter, mouth open wide. He caught her with the pole of his lance, her teeth scraping the metal and chomping down in hopes of breaking it. The hunter kicked her and sent her flying down the tunnel, passed Adam and Peg, out of the dragon's den, and into a clearing farther back. Rallis scrambled up with a snarl and her claws and eyes began to glow the faintest bit blue.

Adam realized what was about to happen and knew it needed to be stopped before it started. "You stay here!" he demanded from Peg and ran ahead with his shield at the ready.

The hunter strode closer to Rallis, cocky and far too confident. He knew she would lunge again, and sure enough she did. Just like before, he blocked her futile attempts to harm him, but this time one of her scratches burned. Her fresh claw marks across his shield had caught fire, blue flames eating away at the protectiveness of the shield. He shouted beneath his helm and dropped the shield before it erupted in a blaze of glory. Rallis struck again, and this time he blocked with his lance. Her teeth caught hold once more, but now the sound of bending metal pierced the hunter's ears. With a mighty crunch, Rallis snapped the lance in two. The hunter cried out and staggered back, staring aghast at the half a spear in his possession. The other half melted away in her mouth, molten goo trickling down her chin.

She smiled and chuckled savagely. "Stupid little human. Your life ends here for your crimes. Maybe I'll make those dogs happy and feed your corpse to them!"

The hunter cried out and threw his arms up in defence as Rallis lunged once more, only this time she didn't make contact. Adam had caught her on his shield and swiftly grabbed and pinned her before she could strike back. He turned to the terrified hunter and shouted. "Get out of here! Now!"

He didn't need to be told twice, running for his life and disappearing into the darkness of the cavernous dungeon. Rallis snarled and thrashed beneath her captor, snapping her fangs every which way in hopes of grabbing something to crush in her rage. He managed to grab her by the snout and hold it shut. "Rallis, you get ahold of yourself right now!" he commanded. He was furious, her rage-filled rampage endangering both him and Peg in what was supposed to be a simple scouting mission. The girl in question was still hiding, watching the scene unfold from a safe distance.

The blue glow left Rallis's eyes, but the fury stayed. "YOU LET HIM GET AWAY!" she snarled.

"Of course! I wasn't about to let you kill him!" he defended.

"Oh but it's fine that he tried to kill my friends?!" Rallis snapped. "And that it's his kind that's ruining the lives of everything here?!"

"No it's not but that doesn't give you the right to murder the man either!" Adam barked back.

"AND WHY NOT?!" Rallis roared, fury burning wilder in her eyes, and shoved her friend off her. "He is a slayer, a monster! He was made to murder and kill and destroy! He deserves nothing less than death!"

That was it. That sent Adam over the edge. He was shaking with a rage he couldn't hold back, a slew of scathing remarks just waiting to burst out. Endangering their lives, nearly murdering someone once more, and now this?! He had had enough of her growing mindless ferality as of late and couldn't stop what wanted to come out of his mouth. "Oh 'made,' huh? I'm sure you know all about that, don't you?" he started, borderline venom dripping from his voice. He was beyond incensed at her outburst. "Tell me Rallis, what were you made for?! And how is that going?! When will you realize you do not have the right to murder someone because of what they are?! PEOPLE CAN CHANGE!" His shouting echoed throughout the cavern, bouncing off the walls to taunt her again and again.

All grew quiet. Adam calmed himself with a huff, Peg stared at the scene in silence, and Rallis stepped back, ears starting to droop and eyes wide. What emotion was that splashed across her face? Anger? Shock? Heartbreak? For a moment, she looked broken, the weight of her friend's words forcing countless emotions to storm inside her. But she caught herself enough to fight back. "You think... I don't know that?" she replied, much quieter than either of their previous yelling. Her fury was gone, replaced by a scared and quiet sadness. "I'm friends with you, aren't I, 'Bull'?" She emphasized the last word with a hiss. Adam's breath hitched in his throat at the title. She turned away from him, couldn't bear to look at him any longer. "Some people can change, I know. But most never will... Not even..."

What sounded like 'me' caught in her throat, trapped by the sound of a cracking voice and the beginning of tears. Without another word, Rallis ran off, leaving Adam and Peg far behind.

__________________________________________________

Adam was about to finish his third beer that night at the Rising Sun Inn. He intended to drink until the rising sun, just like the name said. He even let Peg get a drink of her own, a definitive sign something was wrong and it was time to worry. He slammed the dregs of his drink back and lifted his empty mug to the barmaid. "Wontchu be a dear and hand me another one, Emily?"

The woman thought about saying no, but at the end of the day she needed money and was running low. She slid him another as he dropped more gold onto the counter. He immediately started to drink.

Peg sighed. On a normal day she would be ecstatic to break the "no alcohol" rule. But as she watched Adam drown himself in the golden ale, she just felt sad.

Adam noticed her sad stares after another long swig. "What's got you down? We finished the job! Those mutts had their food supply scared off by hunters and now they're dying. Now we report back and life is peachy. Easy job!"

The girl grumbled. It was most certainly not the stupid job that was weighing her down. "I can't believe I'm about to be the responsible one and tell you to stop drinking and go find Rallis. It's been hours."

Adam sighed through his nose. "She'll know where we are. I'm sure the last thing she wants to be around right now are humans." He said the word in an almost mocking tone but he didn't really mean it. Even he was a bit upset human intervention had begun to ruin an entire ecosystem, even if it was for monsters.

"You should still go find her. You really messed her up."

Adam looked ashamedly into the mug and took another small sip. "I suppose I did."

"What did you say even mean?" the girl asked. "What were you made for, or something? Really freaked her out."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose I never did tell you. I found out a good while after we joined the Myths' Guild, after she came back, so it wouldn't have come up during our trek back to the Guild." He took another sip of beer. "You understand she's an experiment, right? Made by some dragonkin from fuck knows how long ago."

Peg nodded. It wasn't something she actively thought about, but she knew. To her Rallis was just Rallis, her friendly dragon partner. But she supposed when you got down to the facts, it was true; Rallis wasn't a natural being.

"Well, what you wouldn't know is what she was made for," Adam continued. He paused, thinking over whether he should say it or not. He hushed his voice so only Peg could hear. "She's a bioweapon, and a dangerous one."

Peg sputtered. "What?! That's not--! That can't be--! There's no way that's true!"

"Lower your voice," he scolded. "There's a lot of evidence that points to it, a lot of which I've seen firsthand. It's safe to assume that Rallis was created with the purpose of destruction." He stopped Peg from interrupting him. "But that doesn't mean she has to be that way. That's what I believe anyway. Don't you agree?"

"Hell yeah I agree!" she exclaimed. "She's no weapon! She's just... Rallis! She's our friend!" She thought back to what Adam had said during their argument in the caves and realization dawned. "Oh so that's why what you said freaked her out. Don't you think that was kinda low?"

"It did come off that way didn't it?" he asked with a grimace. "I was just so frustrated. She needs to realize that people can change, no matter who or what they are, and that killing them because you don't agree with them isn't acceptable. And she needs to realize that she can change too. No one is 'made' for anything. They choose what they are, and they can always change."

"You should tell her that," Peg encouraged. "I don't think I've ever seen her run off like that before. You really hurt her, you dumbass, and you should apologize."

Adam smiled and finished off his last beer. "How funny to hear you being the responsible one for once! I like it! But you're right. I need to find her. I'll be back in a bit."

______________________________________________________

Adam had been looking for Rallis for what felt like hours, scouring every inch of Taverley and the open area west of Falador. He was regretting drinking so much before going back on a trek in the black of night. He was tripping over everything and his head had begun to ache. He really hoped she wasn't somewhere in the dungeon. If that were true he'd never find her. Luckily a druid by the river managed to point him in the right direction, toward the end of the river as it poured out into the ocean. Sure enough, there she was, sitting in the sandy dirt beside the water as she solemnly watched the waves come and go. She hugged her legs to her chest and rest her head atop them, making her seem even smaller than usual. Adam quietly stepped closer.

"Rallis..." he whispered, sound nearly vanishing on the slow crash of the waves. Rallis jolted to attention, not expecting Adam of all people to visit, but also not willing to turn around and face him.

She sniffled and wiped her face with her arm. "Go away, Adam," she cried, voice hoarse and raw. "Leave me alone."

He deflated. Hearing her of all people choke out through tears that she wanted him gone, it cut deep. He tried to think of what to say, how to even begin repairing the damage done. "... I'm sorry," he started honestly. "I really am. What I said, it wasn't right of me."

Rallis sniffled again, lowering her head back onto her knees. She didn't know if she accepted that apology just yet. She thought for a moment in the silence. "...Tell me," she asked the crashing waves. "What were you made for?"

Adam furrowed his brow in confusion. "Huh?"

"What were you made for?" she asked again. "Your purpose in life, what is it?"

"I... Well, I've never really found an answer to that that I've been satisfied with. Redemption, perhaps. I suppose I don't truly know yet."

Rallis scrunched even farther in on herself. "You don't know because you weren't made. You were born, as all humans are. You're all born, given the ability to do whatever you want in life with no force telling you what to do. You make your own decisions, your own goals, your own path. You live free, without something commanding you behind the scenes, without being a puppet. You have choices, you can change, you have no force pulling you back onto some predestined path, and you can find your own purpose. All because you were born instead of made." Her voice lowered, the sound of the waves swallowing it up. "I'm not like that..."

Adam stepped closer until he was only a few paces away. "How do you figure you're not like that too?"

Rallis growled, more at herself than anyone, and spun to face her friend. Her eyes were red and her face stained with tears. "Because there's a voice in my head that constantly reminds me I was made to kill. It tells me to kill and I have to listen to it. It makes my heart burn with the desire for murder and destruction, like I was meant to feel that way. I feel like I have no choice of my own anymore! I was created to kill and I can't go against what I was made for!" Her voice raised to a shout as she spoke, until she was all but screaming at her friend. "You couldn't possibly know what that feels like! Not someone like you with the privilege of being born!"

Her face looking up at him, lost and confused and scared. It truly hurt. He had never seen her so helpless before and it broke his heart. He sat down next to her. "Oh Rallis... I probably know better than anyone." Her face begged for an answer at that. "Maybe I wasn't some science experiment made in a lab," he continued, "but I still know how you feel. There are times when it feels like I've got a voice in my head too. Sometimes it shows up and tells me I need to kill again, that I need to go back to my old ways and run wild with murderous rage. To let fury and chaos run wild and remind the world who I used to be. But I don't let it control me. I fight back. And I know you can fight back too."

Rallis turned to face the crashing waves once more. "It feels like I can't... It feels like I don't have a choice anymore." Her lips began to tremble and tears began to well up once again. "I feel like I'm going to turn into a monster one day and hurt everyone I love and there's nothing I can do to stop it." The end of her sentence broke down into sobs. She bawled into her hands and howled.

Never in their years as partners had he seen her so distraught over something. This issue ran deeper than he thought and her tormented sobs were heartbreaking. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, less awkwardly than usual. He was finally beginning to get used to this whole comforting thing.

"You'll never turn into a monster like that. You're far too good to be something so cruel. And even if you do slip up for a moment, you've got friends to smack some sense into you just like before. Like I said, people can change, and that includes you." He sat with her and let her cry until her tears ran dry. Her howls turned to sobs and those turned to whimpers then eventually sniffles. Her head fell onto his shoulder and her eyes began to fall shut. The excitement from the day topped with all her crying left her exhausted. Adam nudged her to ensure she didn't fall asleep. "Come on. It's cold out here. Let's go back to Falador and get some rest. Peg is worried about you too."

Rallis chirped in agreement and let Adam help her up. They quietly strolled back to the Rising Sun, dragon holding her friend's arm tight the whole way. She had more she wanted to say, how she was sorry for earlier, how she hoped he would stay with her even though she felt she was slowly going mad, how she wanted to ask for his help to keep her from becoming the destroyer she was meant to be. But no words came. Instead she thanked him with a purr and looked forward to putting an end to this horrid day with a restful sleep with her invaluable friends.

#oc tag #my writes #osrs #runescape

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creepy-crowleys · 4 years ago

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The door handle twisted easily in Crowley’s hand, and her heart plummeted. She was too late. Again. She stepped into the upscale apartment, resigned to the expectation of finding Naonomi Tanaka’s corpse splayed out across the polished wood floor.

But Naonomi stood, alive and whole and wine glass in hand, at the window, gazing out at the Filth-choked city beyond. She turned dully towards her uninvited guest, looking her over with alcohol glazed eyes. “Oh,” she said, with a drunken giggle. “You are not who I was expecting.” She waggled the wine glass in Crowley’s direction, turning to face her more fully with a lopsided grin. “But the Messiah warned us about you,” she singsonged. “‘Ware the faceless shadows. Do not heed their whispers. To the starving they offer poison as sustenance. To the defenseless they offer slavery as protection-”

“To the dying they will will offer suffering as solace,” Crowley finished, taking a step back as Naonomi encroached on her space.

“Do not heed their whispers.” Naonomi nodded to herself, studying her guest more closely than was comfortable before wobbling back to her window. “Even the devil may quote scripture. See? We were warned.” Crowley trailed quietly after her to keep her from falling. “When things fell apart, we knew you’d be coming.” The drunk woman grinned at her, leaning back further than necessary and forcing Crowley to support her. “What took you so long?” she giggled.

Crowley gently ushered Naonomi to an expensive-looking chair and eased her into it, the other woman snuggling against her with every step. “I need to talk to you about Fear Nothing and the Morninglight. Can you tell me anything?”

Naonomi sighed into her. “The plan was almost perfect,” she began, twirling her glass. “We brought them in, shepherded them, the lost and lonely. And they fell in love with the faith. Some of them even fell in love with me,” she preened. “Did that matter? No.”

Naonomi took a long sip of her wine while Crowley considered her. She was very pretty, yes, but Crowley had little doubt that the pockmarked scars on her face and hands had been a sticking point more than once. Having the undivided attention of a group of vulnerable teenagers? Crowley was skeptical of her claims about how little she cared.

A thought struck her and her brows furrowed. “Was Yuichi Nakahara one of them?”

“Yuichi…” Naonomi rolled the name on her tongue before smiling. “Oh, Yuichi. I thought he was the one.” She swirled her glass, staring into the spinning liquid. “He was the perfect candidate - lonely and paranoid, detached and in desperate need of a friend. I became everything to him.” She sat back in the chair, fondness dissolving and completely oblivious to the growing ire of her guest. “...But in the end, he was just too afraid.”

Naonomi gestured with her glass, waving it as she thought. “But then we found John. The perfect man to spread the Great Message.” Fear and reverence spread over her features. “He’s still out there. Waiting in the spaces between the silences. I can feel him watching me in the static on the screens and telling me the mission is nearly over. The message is almost free.”

“What is the message?” Crowley asked coolly.

Naonomi blinked up at her, wide-eyed, a manic grin pulling at her lips. “You want answers? Look no further than the Orochi.” She waved to the window, to the great glass and steel tower in the distance. “We suckled at their teat, and we grew fat on the darkness that they were hiding. Riddles within riddles, cults within corporations, and everyone with their own agenda. And at the top of their dark tower? Lies.”

Crowley stared up at the tower as Naonomi cackled to herself. Morninglight hadn’t just infiltrated the Orochi Group through some high-ranking official, they’d been a product of it. Was she getting that right? But then the Morninglight had gone rogue. The Orochi Group had created a monster and lost control of it, just like-

“John was the only way to save them from themselves,” Naonomi continued, unaware or unbothered by Crowley’s thoughts. “I was his handler. I prayed with him, I guided him, and I prepared him for the new dawn. But something went wrong,” she murmured, staring into the distance. “The new dawn is coming, but it has not come yet.”

“Ms. Tanaka?” Crowley questioned in the ensuing silence.

Naonomi started, shaking her head and reaching for her handbag. She pulled a slip of paper, a card, and held it out for Crowley to take. The bright pink of it stood out in the gloom, just like the building it came from. “This is where I took John, before it all began,” she explained. “I know he’s still watching out there,” an oil slick chill dripped down Crowley’s spine. “,waiting for a sign. He will have the answers we both seek.”

Crowley turned the card over in her hands before tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you.”

Naonomi waved her off, taking another long swallow and emptying her glass, her eyes clouded with fatigue. “You should leave now. Orochi vengeance is coming,” the corners of her much ticked up with bitter amusement, “and it is wearing bunny ears.”

Crowley regarded the drunk woman slumping down in the chair, weighing how many lives she’d ruined, how little she cared, how much of a threat she still was… “I’ll send for someone to stand watch.” she promised. Naonomi simply hummed in response.

Crowley had barely made it to the apartment’s entrance when the dull thump sounded behind her. She whirled on the intruder, hands flying automatically to her weapon-

And stopped.

The White Rabbit stared back, just as frozen.

Crowley’s fingers flexed. She didn’t… have to fight the Rabbit, didn’t have to try to save Naonomi, someone who had exploited so many vulnerable kids and played such a significant role in the death of the city. She had what she needed. She could just… walk away, let Orochi have their vengeance, leave Naonomi to the fate she’d already accepted. No one would know. No one would even question.

Saving people had never been her job.

Her hands lowered, and the Rabbit gave her a quizzical tilt of the head. She offered the assassin a polite nod in greeting, a gesture the Rabbit returned, and left the apartment, trailed by the soft pops of a silenced pistol.

#.NO SIGNAL #.MISSION LOG #:One Kill Ahead #.long post

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propagandaprincess · 6 years ago

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The Human Huntress

Feysand

Chapter 1: The Kill

Chapter 2: Violet

Chapter 3: Dinner is served

Read on FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13257773/1/The-Human-Huntress

Summary: The human Archeron sisters fought to survive until Feyre landed them all jobs in the palace of the High Lord of Spring. Nesta as a handmaid, Elain as a chef, and Feyre as a huntress. When Feyre kills a rare elk to be served to the gathering High Lords, they ask to meet the impressive hunter who killed such a beast, only to discover a strong-willed human huntress instead. Rated M for future chapters.

Elk...why the hell did she pick elk to serve these damn high lords? Feyre thought as she blew the hair out of her eyes.

Why not whitetail deer or a nice rabbit stew? I know she can make a grand meal out of those. But no she had to pick Elk, the one thing that required a full day trek across this cursed court. She sighed outwardly as she pulled her mare into a trot, scanning the tree line for any signs of a gang of elk nearby. Finally she spotted fresh droppings to her east.

“This is about as close as your allowed to get girl” she patted her mare lovingly as she dismounted and tied her to a nearby pine.

Quickly she grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows to add to her arsenal of blades fastened around her thigh. With quiet feet she approached the droppings and examined them. Elk for sure but something was... off about it. She glanced up at the tree for more signs and found gashes in the tree bark above her likely caused by elk antlers but they were higher up than they should have been.

Fuck the male must be a big fucking elk.

From the freshness of the gashes she suspected the gang must have passed through less than an hour ago, but no hoof prints marked the soil.

Best to be careful than sorry, I’ve got 2 days to kill this beast, get it back, skin it and quarter it before Elain even starts on it. She thought as she crouched eastward toward where she thought they would be.

It was slow moving from here on out. No sudden movements, no loud noises, Mother help her if she suddenly got a tickle in her throat and fell into a coughing fit. It took her the better part of an hour to find the gang, lounging in a very small clearing.

What she found was again not what she expected. Instead of lots of cows and calves and one male. There were 3 male, two young, their antlers gleamed with velvet and blood as they shed their skin and one older male, the alpha one could say and he was...

Huge. That was the only word that came to mind. His shoulders held enough meat alone to feed her sisters for a week. His antlers almost seemed polished with varnish and his coat... Instead of being a rich walnut brown was white as snow.

Feyre let out a steadying breath and aimed at her target. As if he sensed his impending doom, the elk lifted his head from grazing and looked toward the tree line where Feyre was crouched. She didn’t waste second before she let that arrow fly to its target. Right behind the shoulder blade, straight toward the heart. It struck true. But the elk didn’t so much as flinch. He continued gazing at where she stood. The rest of the gang was in a frenzy. The few cows that were there ran off with their young the younger males followed after them. But the biggest elk held its ground. Completely unmoving.

She had the second arrow knocked quickly but before she could let it fly, he charged.

She had less than a second to think before his antlers pierced where she stood. Thankfully she was able to scurry up the tree next to her in time. The magnificent white elk did not let up. He circled around and rammed the tree she hid in. Shaking pine needs across the forest floor.

Feyre shot three more arrows in its neck but they earned no more than a grunt from the beast. The tree was cracking under the pressure of his brute force. Without a moment's hesitation Feyre did the only thing she could think of.

She jumped on his back.

The elk bucked like wild horse trying to throw her off but she held steady onto his antlers that were as thick as the branches she just jumped from. She unfastened her biggest dagger from her belt and stabbed it forcefully in his neck.

The elk thrashed and bucked harder nearly succeeding in throwing her off. She dug the knife in deeper and then with all her might she slid the it across its neck, slitting it’s throat.

As the elk bled out it fell to the ground. Feyre scrambled so she wouldn’t be crushed by his massive corpse. She watched the elk die she leaned up against the tree next to her trying to catch her breath.

Holy hell I’m going to make Elain pay for this. She wanted to stay put and rest a while but there was no time to waste.

*****************

The sun was starting to set as she finished gutting the elk. She had to go ahead and quarter it just to fit it on the back of her horse. She strapped the antlers on to her saddle as best she could. There was no way she was leaving those behind after all the hell she went through to kill the damn thing. Her poor mare was panting hard when they finally reached the palace stables.

The sentries on guard whistled when they saw what a magnificent kill she hauled.

"You've outdone yourself Feyre" Dominic shouted as she rode into the stable.

"Yeah but you look like you've slaughtered a whole fucking family with how much blood your soaked in." Shouted the other sentry, Philip.

She sent him a rude gesture as she made for watering her horse and unloading the carcass.

"You would be too if you saw the fight this one put up." She called back. For Fae, they weren't so bad. They were one of the few who actually treated her like an equal rather than "human scum" as some of the other High Fae that sometimes roamed the palace would say.

"Now are you both just going to stand there with your mouths watering or are you two lazy sacks of shit going to help me unload this beast? Elain is probably having a meltdown since this is supposed to be the main course for tomorrow night's dinner."

She hauled the antlers off and tucked them in her mare's stall. She would come back for them tomorrow, right now she had enough to carry.

"You could say fucking please." Dominic shot back as he and Philip made their way to help. The three of them made quick work on getting it back up to the palace.

Elain nearly started sobbing with relief as they hauled the elk into the kitchen. A loud thud sounded as they heaved it onto the butchering blocks.

"Finally! Oh goodness you are really cutting it close. It needs to slow roast all night and then I need to roast the potatoes and..." She trailed off as she fluttered around the kitchen preparing stations and barking orders and the other servants.

She turned to Feyre again finally "Will you get to work trimming the..." Was all she was able to get out before Feyre cut her off.

"Oh no, no, no. No way am I lifting another finger to help prep that elk. You wanted such a large animal to cook for the fancy meal so you deal with it. If you only knew what I had to go through to kill that damn elk..." She looked around at the scurrying servants as they worked. Most of the desserts were prepped and ready as well as the appetizers and such. Elain was in charge of the main course and all the trimmings to go with it. But Elain was just now getting out what spiced and ingredients she would need. She usually had all this prepared days before an event.

"Why haven't you prepared anything yet? And don't you lie and say you were waiting on me. You have a million other things to make I'm sure." She questioned her older sister with a sharp tone. If she was sneaking around with that damn High Fae again...

As the sisters bickered Philip and Dominic saw this as their queue to leave. With identical winks they left them to their work.

"I went to the village today." Elain stated quickly, hiding behind a pantry door as she searched for the right spices.

"Why the hell did you need to go to the village? You know we shouldn't be spending our wages. We are saving that for our passage to the continent."

I leave for one day day and she goes on a shopping trip. She knew she was being stingy but one of them had to be responsible. Despite her protests about helping Feyre washed her hands and started trimming meat off the bones, eager to do something with her hands that wasn't strangling her sister.

"I know, I know." Elain started, throwing her hands up defensively "I didn't spend much I swear and what I got was a gift."

"Why and who did you need a gift for?"

For the love of God please don't say Lucien I thought we were over this he can't love you. She pleaded to the Mother that she wouldn't have to have that conversation with her sister again.

"A needed a gift for you of course!" Elain looked surprised. Like what she said was common knowledge.

"I don't need a gift it's not even my..." Birthday. Fuck it's my birthday tomorrow. She had seriously forgotten tomorrow was her own birthday.

"Feyre I know where we live is eternal spring and it's hard to tell that it's actually winter. But there is no excuse to not remembering your own damn birthday."

"Right, Winter Solstice, part of the reason for this stupid party tomorrow." Feyre added quietly as she returned to working.

"Well? Aren't you going to ask what it is?"

"Why would I do that when you're just going to tell me I have to wait till tomorrow?" She knew her sister well enough that she loved surprises. There was no way she would ruin her own fun.

"You could at least show some excitement! I know you are worried about money but you deserve a little fun." Elain said stepping next to Feyre and taking the knife from her.

"On that note, you need a bath, desperately. Take some leftovers from dinner and go to bed."

"I thought you wanted my help." Feyre said indignantly.

"You'll just get in my way." And with that Elain pushed a container of food in her hands and she headed out of the kitchen and toward their quarters.

************

The palace really was beautiful at night. Moonlight showered the hallway, illuminating all the paintings she passed by on a daily basis. She rarely stopped to look, not allowing herself that luxury, but today she slowed her pace to admire the works of art.

She studied the swirls of color that made up each flower on the painting in front of her and how the colors and textures seemed to lift off the canvas. They didn't look real, they were extraordinary. A normal rose couldn't compare to the one in the painting. It was like comparing the beauty of a human like her to one of the High Fae that roamed these halls.

Feyre was so lost in the colors and contemplating how to mix paint to get that perfect shade of red that she didn't hear them approaching until they rounded the corner.

High Lord Tamlin and Lord Lucien were deep in conversation as they left the study. It seemed they were up late making sure everything was in order for the other High Lord's arrival in the morning. Feyre didn't want them to see her but it was too late. Tamlin's piercing eyes found her as she started to continue to her quarters.

"Feyre! Finally back it seems." Lucien was the first to greet her. He was a kind Lord. He often times tagged along on her shorter hunts for rabbit or deer.

She knew there was no avoiding them. She couldn't be openly rude to the two males who had graciously employed her and her sisters when they so desperately needed money. But it was a struggle biting her tongue sometimes. While Lucien was kind, High Lord Tamlin had a short fuse. She heard rumors around the palace that in his anger he shredded just about anything in reach with his power. Some servants were subject to that shortly before she and her sisters were hired. Feyre always wondered if they were hired to take the place of those servants who had accidentally gotten to close.

"Yes, finally. But the elk is in Elain's capable hands now and I'm sure it will be delicious tomorrow." She tried to leave it at that and head on her way but Lord Tamlin decided to speak up as well.

"How many elk did you kill? Judging by the amount of blood on you it looks like a whole gang." His eyes slid over her body taking in her stained clothes but they lingered too long to only be starting at that.

Feyre tried not to let her fury show.

"It was a large elk that put up quite a fight. Had to slit it's throat in the end." She added extra emphasis on that last part.

Touch me and it's your throat I slit. High lord or no. She thought viciously.

After a moment she added "The strangest looking elk too. It's pelt was whiter than a sheep's."

They looked startled at that. At first Feyre was worried that they caught on to her subtle threat.

"What? That's impossible." Lucien balked.

"You think I'm lying? Pelts in the kitchen if you want a look." She pointed down the hall in case these spoiled High Fae didn't know where it was. She didn't feel like defending herself tonight. She was tired and just wanted a bath and to crawl in bed.

"I don't think she's kidding Lucien." Tamlin muttered as he stared at her again. Thankfully at her eyes this time.

"Holy hell. You killed a shadow elk." Lucien nearly whispered that. He looked... in awe.

"A what?" Damn Fae and their damn cryptic bullshit. She thought.

"A shadow elk. They are notoriously hard to track and very hard to kill. I've only ever seen one once on a hunting trip with my father when I was young. He tried to kill it and was nearly impaled by it." Tamlin explained.

"Ah. Yeah it was a bitch to kill. Hopefully it's tasty though. Well I'm exhausted. Goodnight." She replied shortly. Before they could bug her for any more details of the hunt. She quickly scurried away. When she reached the room her and her sisters shared she locked the door for good measure. She didn't like how the High Lord always looked at her. There was something territorial about his gaze. Like she was one of his belongings.

That thought sent a shiver down her spine as she washed up for the night. She ate her dinner in the tub and was almost asleep before her head even hit the pillow. But a knock on the door interrupted her slumber.

It would be a while before Nesta and Elain came to bed. Worried that something was wrong she quickly robed and unlocked the door. Only to find the High Lord of Spring.

"There you are. You ran off so quickly I didn't have the chance to catch you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Hand still on the door knob ready to shut the door quickly if he made any sudden moves. Again his eyes trailed her body unabashedly.

If you kick him in the balls he will throw you and your sisters back out on your asses and you will be back to square one. She reminded herself.

"Do you need something Lord Tamlin?" She asked curtly, politeness be damned, it was late and he had no business bothering her in her own quarters.

"No, just a word actually. About tomorrow." He paused. Feyre lifted an eyebrow at him, curious as to what about tomorrow could possibly concern her. Her job was done until Elain decided she needed more game to serve up.

"There will be a lot of High Fae from different courts here tomorrow, many accompanying the various High Lord's. But not every court is as accepting of human staff like we are." Like I am seemed to be what he wanted to say.

Staff, servants, we are one step away from slaves here so don't think yourself so high and mighty for employing us. She kept that thought to herself, though. It was still generous for him to employ her and her sisters.

"What you’re saying is, keep hidden tomorrow."

"Unless called upon yes. By either myself or Lucien. Elain should be fine in the kitchen, I will assign Nesta to those visiting Fae that are accepting of humans. But I recommend that you stay here in the servant’s quarters for the day." He phrased the last bit like staying cooped up in my room all day was a vacation.

"So I’m a prisoner." Feyre challenged. His mouth curved into a pompous smirk.

"Of course not Feyre. You're never a prisoner. Like I said you are allowed to leave if I or Lucien call for you. I was actually wondering if you would join us for lunch tomorrow before the crowd descends. We would love for you to share the story of how you killed that shadow elk.”

She knew that this invite meant order. She learned that once when he was foolish enough to "invite" her for a garden walk once. In which she responded a simple no and stalked off. Only to find Alis, his personal maid, waiting in her quarters to march her straight back to him.

"Of course Lord Tamlin." She replied with as much melancholy in her voice as she could get away with.

"Please Feyre, call me Tamlin. Lord seems too formal for our... friendship." He paused before he decided on that last word.

Yes since you buy all of your friends I'm sure friendship is exactly the type of word you would use to describe us.

She ignored his request and simply stated. "Lunch, got it. See you then." And shut the door and locked it again before he could utter another word.

Not like locking the door would do any real good if he wanted to get in. But it made her feel safer regardless.

With a sigh she heaved herself into bed once more. Maybe she could snag some paper and a pencil from the library on her way back from lunch tomorrow and attempt to sketch those roses painted in the hall. She would need something to keep her occupied while she was locked in this room.

Not a prisoner he said, but not free.

#Feysand #acotar #acowar #acomaf #sarah j maas #nessian #elucien #feysand fanfic #my writing #tamlin #rhysand #feyre

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scarletraven1001 · 6 years ago

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The Final Price (Chapter 3)

Chapter Summary: Vegeta fights to keep Bulma safe as malevolent forces creep closer towards her, leading her to make another wish. However, they discover that things may not be as simple as a human conspiracy, as something about Bulma may have been intricately tied into Vegeta's past, as well.

Entry for the @tpthvegebulmayhem, Week 2 - Part 2.

Prompt/Challenge: The blood of an Englishman / Plot driven with twisted intent.

Chapter Warnings: Rated E - Profane language; Nudity; Torture; Minor character death.

All Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Also on Ao3.

8-8-8-8-8

Chapter 3: The Mysterious Blue Moon

8-8-8-8-8

Note: Part 2 (of 2) of my Week 2 entry for the Mayhem. I hope you like it!

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The attack was over in seconds.

Bulma was unable to tear her gaze away as Prince Vegeta flew towards her fleeing attackers, teeth bared in fury, and a scream lodged in her throat as she watched him effortlessly tear their heads off with his bare hands.

She stared, almost as if in a trance, as the decapitated heads rolled towards her feet.

She noted with morbid fascination that the eyes were left wide open, mouths frozen in their horrified screams as they watched certain death charge at them in the form of an utterly enraged warrior prince.

Prince Vegeta had paused, then turned around, his eyes landing on the petrified, dark-haired woman huddled in the corner, her eyes wide in horror as she watched a single man easily dismember her large comrades within the blink of an eye.

He walked slowly towards her, seemingly relishing the terrified stuttering of the woman who seemed too scared to move.

“P-p-please,” Mai was begging. “No. Don’t k-kill me! I can help you! Have mercy!”

Within a second, the Prince was upon Mai, holding her by the hair as he levitated, so she dangled helplessly above the ground, trying vainly to twist free from his grasp but unable to even budge from the strength of his grip.

“Mercy?” Prince Vegeta growled, the sound guttural and utterly hair-raising in his fury. “You were about to stand back and watch in glee as another female is violently defiled before you.”

He shook her viciously, and Mai gargled as her breath was knocked from her lungs, cringing in fear when the Prince shoved his face before her.

“What measure of mercy would you be deserving of?!” He hissed, raising his free hand, forming a ball of red energy that sizzled and sparked as he pushed it near her face.

She recoiled, and Bulma stared, half curious and half horrified as the Prince threatened the dark-haired woman.

“Please! I can … I can tell you who’s responsible. He commissioned me, Pilaf and Shu. He told us to kill the Blue Moon!”

The ball of light from Prince Vegeta’s hand suddenly dissipated, and he dropped the woman to the ground.

Bulma looked up at him and realized that the Prince looked… shocked.

She herself was confused. “The Blue Moon?” she thought, as she wrapped her arms around her bare breasts, curling her legs close to her body to cover her nudity.

The Prince floated down until he was inches from the criminal, who was now shaking, tears flowing down her face as she looked in abject terror at the glowing man before her.

“Speak. What do you know of the Blue Moon?” he demanded, his voice deceptively soft.

“That was what he called Bulma Briefs,” Mai replied throatily. “Kind of like his codename for her. He kept saying that we had to stop her from setting him free.”

“Setting him free? You mean, my father?” Bulma asked as she finally found her voice.

She glanced at the Prince, only to see him clenching his hands into fists, and she couldn’t help but notice that the glow around him kept growing even brighter.

Before Mai can answer her, Prince Vegeta stepped forward, blocking her view of Mai as he addressed her in a voice colder than ice.

“What is his name?”

“The conspiracy is being handled by Ginyu Lewis, he is responsible for Briefs being in jail,” Mai said.

Bulma gasped, finally putting together the last bits of scattered information that she had retrieved.

It made so much sense.

Lewis had been the supposed whistleblower, an English banker who held all the evidence, and she had long suspected that he was hiding a long paper trail behind a fake one that he had made to implicate her father.

Her thoughts halted when she heard the Prince yelling at the woman.

“I don’t give a fuck about Lewis! I need the name of the man trying to destroy the Blue Moon!”

Bulma reared up in shock. “What… what is going on? Prince Vegeta…”

He ignored her, leaning down to violently shove Mai, pinning her to the ground with a powerful hand wrapped around her neck. “Tell me the name of the man who pulls Lewis’ strings. Now!”

Mai whimpered, hissing as his fist began to glow red once more, and Bulma realized that the power within his hand was burning Mai.

“Give me his Earth name! Now!” the Prince screamed as he lifted the woman, only to shake her violently, leaving her lolling around like a rag doll.

Mai looked at him blearily, clearly in pain, as she whispered, “Cold. His name is Cold.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Prince Vegeta’s fists grew an angry scarlet hue, and Mai screamed in agony, trying in vain to push him off her as his hand began to ignite.

His hand burst into flames without warning, enveloping Mai in a fantastical display of tremendous power, and in less than a second, her entire body was gone… obliterated by the flames of the Prince’s power.

Bulma stared in shock, cowering into a corner of the room as she stared at the Prince, cringing back as he turned to regard her.

In a second, he was beside her, his hands hovering over her shuddering form, and Bulma closed her eyes as she thought of the ferocious flames that disintegrated the dark-haired woman before she could even deign to scream.

True terror overwhelmed her at the feel of his heat, and she remembered his ferocious snarls as he dismembered the two men before he also killed the female criminal.

She closed her eyes, whimpering as she felt his hand on her head, skimming her blue hair.

She felt him hold her face in his hands, and she realized that he was handling her with utmost care as he tried to make her uncurl from her fetal position against the wall.

“Bulma,” she heard him whisper. “Bulma, look at me. Open your eyes and calm yourself. I am not here to harm you.”

She peeked an eye open, and she noted with astonishment that the earlier furious red glow around him had dissipated, leaving behind a soft, golden light that shined like a halo around his form.

His hands were gentle as he pulled her, holding her wrists away from her body so he could assess her with his bright green eyes.

“Let me see you. Are you injured?” he asked, and Bulma shook her head, unable to speak.

He snapped his fingers, and a long red cloak appeared in his hands. He draped the cloak over her nudity, and her eyes misted over as she spotted the unmistakable concern on his face.

“I am glad that you called for me. Though I wish you had done so sooner, before they…”

He trailed off, and all of a sudden, everything that had happened to her, all that had nearly happened, and the deaths that surrounded her at that very moment rushed into her head, clouding her mind with gruesome images that she knew she could never, ever forget.

Her eyes met his as the tears began to flow once again, and she began to shake as all the fear, disgust, anger and grief from the past few minutes washed over her, threatening to drown her as her tiny body fought hard to manage everything that she had experienced.

Before she knew it, she was wrapped in the Prince’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably into his armored chest as her arms curled desperately around his neck.

She cried, loud, ugly heaves wracking her as she screamed, cursing at the gods, the people who had destroyed their lives, and the people who had gone so far as to try to end hers.

All the while, the fearsome warrior prince who had the power to destroy a human being with less than a single hand just held her, letting her use him as she mourned her ruined life and the deaths that she now felt responsible for.

It felt like hours, but she finally felt the tears begin to run out, and as she sobbed brokenly against Prince Vegeta, she felt his warm hands caressing her back, soothing her softly as he whispered foreign words of comfort into her ear.

When she had finally calmed down, she looked into his eyes, losing herself in the now-obsidian orbs, and she realized with a start that he had powered down from his god-like form and was now back in his dark-haired state.

“P-Prince Vegeta-” she began, but he cut her off with a soft but stern word.

“Vegeta,” he whispered. “Call me Vegeta.”

She nodded, nuzzling her face into his chest as the tenderness behind his softly-spoken words sent tendrils of delight through her chest, unfurling within her petrified heart.

“Vegeta,” she tried again, a small hiccup making her voice catch in her throat. “Thank you.”

She felt him nod against her head, even as a slight stiffness went through him.

“There is no honor in forcing oneself upon a woman,” he growled. “I, along with my men, have hunted down and destroyed countless civilizations… but I would never condone this putrid violation.”

A shudder went through her as she began to understand exactly what kind of person Vegeta was.

He was a warrior prince. A true conqueror, who had formidable power that could wipe out people, perhaps cities, with a single well-aimed blaze. He was a terrifying force of nature, but in spite of his awesome strength, he was honorable, a man of his word.

And right now, he was her rock… the only thing keeping her fragile self from shattering into a million pieces.

“What… what should we do about those… those men?” she asked, thinking of the headless corpses that she knew were just a few feet away from her.

He pulled away from her, and she watched as he lifted a hand, pushed his magnificent power into the tips of his fingers, before he aimed at the scattered bodies, making them disappear.

He turned his hand to the bloody sack near the doorway, and Bulma choked as she watched him disintegrate that as well, and her heart felt heavier than lead as she thought of poor little Dende, who had lost his life due to these ridiculous machinations.

Vegeta moved again, gathered her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly as she curled into his chest.

He lifted a hand to his forehead, two fingers raised, and Bulma felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her before she suddenly found herself within the safe confines of her tiny apartment.

He set her down to sit on her bed, before he opened her cabinet and pulled out a shirt and a pair of loose pants.

“Get dressed,” he whispered. “Your mother is cooking. I believe it would not be a good idea to let her know of tonight’s events.”

Vegeta turned around as Bulma dressed, and she called out to him once she was decent.

They both peeked around the thin wall, finding Panchy flittering around the tiny kitchen and dining area, which was separated from the tiny living room by a thin divider.

“I shall leave now,” Vegeta whispered.

“No!” Bulma cried, grabbing his arm in a tight, white-knuckled grip. “Stay, please… I… I’m still scared, Vegeta.”

“I can’t let your mother see me, woman,” he answered. “However, I assure you… I will not stray far. And the moment she falls asleep, I shall come to you.”

She nodded reluctantly, letting go of his arm. “Tonight then… and please be ready because…”

Bulma swallowed, opting to speak before either her nerves got the best of her, or her brain realized that she was about to give in to a very stupid idea.

“Vegeta, later tonight, I will make another wish.”

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The moon was high in the sky, looking forlornly down at Bulma as she opened the door out into the rooftop.

She took a deep breath, summoning her courage as she held her amulet, and softly called out.

“Vegeta.”

He materialized before her, and Bulma noted that he was still in his dark-haired form. However, he was now wearing a sinister grin, and he cracked his knuckles, as if in anticipation of a good fight.

“I expect to bathe in the blood of an Englishman tonight, woman,” he remarked, a feral gleam in his eyes.

Bulma shook her head, looking him dead in the eye as she spoke.

“I don’t wish for Lewis to die, Vegeta. At least, not now. However, I want to bring him to ruin,” she said vehemently, seething at the thought of the man who had caused her so much misery.

If she were being completely honest with herself, a bloodthirsty part of her wished so much to have Vegeta kill him… but that would not serve the purpose she needed.

“Vegeta… I wish for him to confess to every single wrongdoing that implicated my father into this mess. I wish… I wish for my father to be proven innocent, immediately. Can you do that?”

Vegeta’s grin widened, before he began to glow once again, his hair and eyes changing back into the menacing gold and green that she had first seen him in. He raised his hands, and Bulma watched as a small orb of power once again gathered between his palms.

The orb cast light upon their faces, and it began to grow until it was a sphere twice as large as the one he made during her first wish.

“You wish for the complete confession of Ginyu Lewis, to exonerate your father from the crimes he did not commit. In return, I shall add this debt to the one you already owe me, and the final price shall be named at a later time. Do you accept these terms?”

Bulma nodded, resolute.

She needed her father to be freed.

The cost of the final price be damned.

“Yes,” she responded. “I, Bulma Briefs, accept these terms.”

Vegeta smirked, smacking his hands together, as if crushing the orb of light, before thin slivers of red light flew from between his fingers, heading out in the direction of the main city.

He stared at her, unblinking, before he hissed.

“It shall be done.”

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The morning news exploded as the unbelievable confession of Ginyu Lewis became the most trending international headline of the year.

The man brought forth every single financial document that he had in his possession, a look of terror in his eyes as he voluntarily owned up to every single embezzlement scheme that he had spearheaded, implicating over twenty different politicians in what has become apparent was a widescale scheme that spun the government’s funds around aimlessly until it landed in a corrupt official’s pocket.

Within a week of the confession, all of the guilty parties had been arrested.

Trunks Briefs was exonerated, all charges dropped, accompanied by a public apology from the Supreme Court and a large settlement equivalent to ten times the amount he had been accused of embezzling.

But all those had been nothing compared to the unparalleled joy on the haggard scientist’s face as he was finally reunited with his wife and daughter.

Once their properties and finances were released, Bulma promptly gave a huge sum of money to the owners of the diner she had been working at, as her way of expressing her gratitude to them for hiring her at a time when no one else will.

The employees of Capsule Corp were ecstatic to have the family back, and the Briefs used the settlement money to provide a bonus to all the employees who stayed with them through the months of embargo.

Bulma cut herself off from all of her so-called friends, none of whom had been brave enough to stand by her in her time of need, and threw her ex-boyfriend, Yamcha, out of the Briefs compound a second after he set foot within the premises. He too, had left her when she needed him, and she had no use for a man who could not support her during the worst moments of her life.

There was, however, one man that did, even though he wasn’t exactly a man.

Bulma called upon Vegeta every day as she began to settle back into her old routine.

His silent grins and scoffed remarks kept her on her toes, and Bulma realized that having the strange warrior spirit around her filled her with a profound sense of comfort that she had never felt with anyone before.

He was strangely protective of her, hovering in the shadows, and she welcomed his slight intrusions as he slowly injected himself into her daily activities.

It was like having a friend who you could literally depend on to save your life, and it didn’t take long at all before Bulma realized that he had turned into her most trusted and valued acquaintance.

It certainly did not hurt that the man was absolutely striking, and she had seen enough of him to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that every single inch of his amazing body was molded to perfection, a canvas of sculpted muscles and delicious caramel skin.

It almost made her forget that he was a man capable of leveling cities, and had the uncanny ability to manifest anything he needed with a literal snap of his fingers.

She only wished that he would just tell her what the price that he wanted was, since her dread of the inevitable payment put a damper on her happiness, as she kept wondering what he could possibly want from her, and why he was taking so long asking her for it.

She almost feared that his price was so high, that even he was reluctant to charge her.

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On a tiny island far from the cities, was a small house that was occupied by a very old man and his elder sister.

The small house, to any ordinary man, was a simple little yellow bungalow that hid beneath the shade of a single palm tree.

What the ordinary man wouldn’t know though, was that the tiny home hid a small dark door that served as a portal that opened up into the netherworld…

And guarding that portal, was the elder sister… a tiny woman with faded pink hair, and piercing red eyes that saw centuries’ worth of mysteries from the depths of her large crystal ball.

Uranai held the crystal ball in her hands, concentrating on locating the last of the men.

The Prince would be needing them all, he was so close…

She had guarded the cursed orb of the Saiyan Prince for years, waiting for the one who could set him free. And she knew that the prince was one step closer to reaching his goal.

A bountiful reward awaited her, if she succeeded in assisting him.

The sensation of a great power erupted from behind her, alerting her to the arrival of the most formidable force that she had ever encountered.

She grinned. Her sources at the netherworld had been correct. The Prince truly was, awe-inspiring.

“Oi. Uranai,” his low voice called as she turned, facing the Prince.

Prince Vegeta stood in his usual battle armor, a golden glow surrounding his body, before he powered down before her, returning to the form that was native to all people of his race.

The dark hair and dark eyes of the mighty Saiyans.

“I have gathered them, my Lord. The last one, Son Goku, known to you as Kakarot, is on his way here from his home in the mountains. He has a son, but he is too young to join you…”

“A young son? How was this possible, there are no Saiyan females anymore…” the Prince asked in clear astonishment.

“A Saiyan-Earthling hybrid. Kakarot, had managed to marry an earthling and have a child with her. The child, Kakarot says, has amazing potential, but is not old enough to fight for you.”

Prince Vegeta glanced away. “Interesting…”

“You can truly rebuild the Saiyan race here, if you wish, Prince Vegeta.”

“There is no need for that. We need only to follow the intended plan.” he answered, turning away from Uranai. “Besides, there is no Earthling female that interests me.”

The crone straightened at the Prince’s last words. There was a strange edge to his statement, a defensive sort of anger that did not escape the old woman’s attention.

“Could it be…” thought Uranai.

“How fares the girl, Prince Vegeta?” she asked, slyly hiding her suspicions from the now-distracted Saiyan.

A very small, nearly unnoticeable smile graced the Prince’s lips before he wiped it away with a scowl.

“She is the one, Uranai. The Blue Moon. I feel it in her, screaming from every pore. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Then what is taking you so long, My Lord? You have been biding your time for months…”

“Do not question me, crone,” he snapped. “I have my reasons.”

“You realize that for you to be restored fully, you need her to-”

“I know what I need to do!” he shouted, angrily turning to her, fists blazing with flames in his aggravation. “But I still need time. There would be no use rushing into it if the living Saiyans are not even complete yet.”

“It is up to you, My Lord,” she responded, bowing low at the display of his power.

“I shall defeat the monster who destroyed my people, Uranai. And I will definitely use the Blue Moon to achieve that goal. You need only to do what I have asked you to do, and I shall take care of the rest,” he growled, before he flared into a massive ball of energy and shot out of the tiny house amid a furious flurry of fire and wind.

Uranai frowned as the Prince flew off. Looking at the Prince now, she realized that the Blue Moon, as much as they needed her, may potentially cause them a problem, as well.

Unless Prince Vegeta does what he needs to do with the Blue Moon, all their carefully-constructed plans will fail…

And it would not do at all, for the Prince to fail this time.

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To be continued…

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