#Brothers in arms earned in blood controller mapping

[dritanext]

Brothers in arms earned in blood controller mapping

Brothers in arms earned in blood controller mapping free#

The bottom line: Still the best WWII game around. Official photos, maps, after-action reports and eyewitness accounts were consulted.

Brothers in arms earned in blood controller mapping free#

3 A free demo version is available from GameFront. Since you ask: All of the battles in the game are based on real WWII events. The Brothers in Arms Collection (released in Europe) is DRM-free and all 3 games have the latest patches integrated. Most exciting moment: Using a flimsy barn for cover while your men carefully outflank a machinegun nest, allowing you to dash out and blow everything away. The all new skirmish mode offers shorter, more abstract, missions for greater longevity than the first game and also a great excuse to team-up with a friend for some co-op action. Earned in Blood hardly marks a paradigm shift, but still has a number of cool new features: enemy artificial intelligence is now far more realistic, and the graphics have been noticeably improved, with a lot more urban environments. The lowdown: Since the first Brothers in Arms game only appeared in March, the first question to ask is: what was the rush, folks? There’s no obvious answer. Brothers in Arms: Earned In Blood Brothers in Arms: Hells Highway Brothers in Arms: Road to. Aside from the setting and characters, new features in Brothers in Arms: Earned in Blood include weapons such as the M3 grease gun and vehicles like the. A mixture of first person shoot ‘em-up and squad-based strategy, the game features totally authentic locations, weapons and tactics. In order to run Brothers in Arms: Hells Highway properly. In a nutshell: While most WWII games seem to be based on flimsy Hollywood history, Brothers in Arms is the real "proper history" deal, making your trail of wanton destruction all the more satisfying.

[wutheringmights]

Call Them Brothers - Chpt 6 Preview

Since it’s taking me way longer than I thought to write the next chapter, here’s a preview of what’s to come! (Be warned that this is lightly edited only, which means there may be some typos and awkward phrasing).

--Chapter 6 Preview--

“Embarrassing is what it is.” The general paced the central tent, hands thrown around in large gestures. “We have not one, but two holders of the Hero’s Spirit on our side—and what does Hyrule have to show for it? We are cornered in Hyrule Field. We have lost thousands of men, and for what? A scant fifty-mile radius that we have not fully reconquered. You—” Here, he returned to the table, just long enough to smack his palms on it. The bang was loud, shaking the glasses set over unrolled maps, yet Link refused to flinch. He kept his shoulders squared and his face carefully neutral. He stood before the table, too low-ranking to earn a seat. Behind his back, his hands shook. “—should be ashamed to even call yourself a hero of Hyrule.”

“I ask that you reframe from slander, General Balder,” Impa said, red eyes turning sharp. “Our aim today is to determine the best course of action for our kingdom—not assign blame.”

A cough—another general, this one younger and green around the gills. If Link remembered correctly, he inherited his position from his father. “At the very least, the display you both put on the other day was an insult to the title of hero,” he said.

“Captain Walton was pivotal in ensuring our victory against the enemy,” Impa said.

“We still lost the northern front.”

“The burden of that blame does not fall onto him.”

The young general raised his hands. “I’m only stating my opinion. Am I not allowed to voice my thoughts, General Impa?”

Link could see the covert snarl on Impa’s mouth, but before she could explode, Zelda raised her hand. She sat calmly at the head at the table, having witnessed the argument with nothing more than the tight pressing of lips. Sweat gathered at her hairline. She turned her forced neutrality onto the rest of the tent. “Wisdom is cultivated through diverse perspectives,” she said.

Link wanted to scoff. What a pushover.

“The goddesses despise us.” General Balder lowered himself back in his seat, pensive. “Giving us an incompetent fool for a hero. And what of that other hero you keep around? He couldn’t even make it through one battle. Perhaps the goddesses want us to fail.”

Refusing to let his anger show, Link subtly looked at Zelda. She sipped her wine, refusing to make eye contact.

He fidgeted. He wanted to yell at her until she spoke in his defense. He wanted to remind her that about the roles she played in all the legends—the princess always supported the hero. Their dedication was mutual. They were supposed to be equals. Yet it was always him having to swallow the disappointment of her people.

But he did his job. He kept his face neutral, but his chin high. His body felt the echoes of a cane striking his back and shoulders until he held himself like a well-bred noble man—Impa’s regiment to take an average infantry man and turn him into a poster body of legend. “I have a series of suggestions for our next series of attacks, sir,” he said.

There was a pause—the vague hope from the older generals that this young brat would give them more of a reason to be mad. But Link held his ground, and they relented.

The army would split in three, each going in a different direction. Lana would take her men and some trusted generals southward to reclaim Faron. Impa would lead the forces west for Kakariko and Death Mountain. Zelda and Link would go north through Zora’s Domain until they reached the Gerudo Desert in the east. Link had intel on enemy movements mapped for the generals to observed. He had bore through a long series of letters with Lincoln to figure out where he should assign the Knights of Hyrule. He had calculated the costs of battle, plans for where to allocate supplies, and had written a draft for a proclamation to be sent to every village across Hyrule to reassure the people the crown had the war under control.

The generals grumbled and shot out objections to each idea, and Link politely countered them. When common sense failed to persuade, Link adjusted the finer details until it was palatable. Eventually, their hemming and hawing turned into a reluctant agreement. Zelda said a few more words of encouragement and dismissed the meeting. Just in time too—Link was ready to scratch his skin off.

“Stay, captain,” Impa ordered, rising from her seat. “I would like to exchange a few words with you.”

Link remained at attention as the generals mingled for a few minutes longer, chatting as they gathered their notes and bags. They didn’t even seem to see Link, not even when they walked by.

It wasn’t until they had left that Impa rounded the table, saying, “At ease, Link. You did some good work today.”

He loosened his shoulders, smiling when Impa clapped a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Zelda, finding her slouched in her seat, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Sweat gleamed on her skin and, for once, it made her look sickly. Seeing her without her royal façade felt like an invasion of privacy.

“Thanks, Impa,” he said. “Now my plan just has to work.”

“It will. Despite what they say, you have never led us astray.” Impa held out a slender package wrapped in simple brown paper, tied up with string. “I got this in the mail this morning. Arrived just in time, didn’t it?”

He grinned and took the package. “Thanks. Was there any problems with the money?”

“You were short about a hundred rupees.”

“A hundred! How?”

“Inflation has already hit the kingdom. Paper’s in high demand.” Impa smirked, teasing. “I took the difference out of your paycheck.”

Link pressed his lips together. Impa had made sure his pay improved when he was promoted to captain, but a career in the royal guard did not make a man rich. Even as the hero, his salary was an insult. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about sending money back to a loving wife and three kids. His only expense was his monthly fee to store what few of his mother’s belongings he managed to hang on to after he had to give up her tiny store in Castle Town.

“What do you have there that is causing so much trouble?” Zelda had sat up, if only to uncork another bottle of wine. Here, her royal grace had returned to the grip of her gloved hands. Link wondered if her feathery touch and lofty hands were a genetic gift passed down through the lineage of Hylia.

Link held up the package, settling back into his professional persona. “A gift for the engineer, your highness,” he said. “Today is his birthday.”

“Oh.” Zelda poured another glass of wine. “How old is he now?”

“Sixteen, your highness.”

“Not much younger than us.”

“Yes, your highness.”

She scowled at her chalice. “If you had mentioned this to me sooner, I could have given him a proper celebration worthy of a hero of Hyrule’s past.”

“I appreciate your offer, your highness. But with all due respect, he’s not one for formal events. He’s as common born as I am, so we and a few of our fellows are going to the civilian camp to celebrate. If it pleases you, we would be honored if you would join us for the festivities.”

Zelda nodded. She chewed on her lip, a hunch forming in her shoulders. She seemed shrunken, her chair gaining height. A scant ten feet stretched between them, yet she seemed like she was far away on a stage. “You honor me with your invitation,” she said at last. “But unfortunately, prior engagements have already claimed my time. Please give Link the Royal Engineer my congratulations and well wishes.” She paused, considering. “If you would be receptive, I have a friend who may attend in my stead.”

Resisting the urge to smile, Link pressed his fist to his chest in a salute. “I will welcome him with opened arms.”

She smiled, a crinkle in her eyes. They were as blue as water and reflected light just the same. Link’s chest fluttered. He felt his heart pounding against his knuckles. Her passivity always made him frustrated, but that ugly emotion always passed through him like water in a sieve.  How could it stay when she could look at him like that?

The giddy feeling carried in from the central tent. Gift tucked under his arm, he felt like dancing with every step, and he could not rip the toothy grin from his mouth even if he wanted to. He felt like a fool, but in a good way. The last time he had felt so young was when he got his first kiss back during his training days. It was a lifetime ago— he, along with Uri, Toto, and Anders, had shucked off their duties to crash a party at a nobleman’s Castle Town residence. A girl, blue blooded as they came, let him press her against a window and kiss her. He didn’t remember her face or name, but he could still taste the wine that had graced her lips before him.

Memory brought the ghost of that taste to his tongue now, intoxicating him better than any whiskey.

[archangeldraws]

Battles and Consequences

Warning: Direct conversation about Suicide, You have Been Warned.

"Leave Me Be, I have come here for one thing, To finally Die"

Those were the words Jet Jaguar told Aptenodyte upon the giant penguin discovering him on the shore of Antarctica during a Blizzard. upon hearing this Aptenodyte was well aware he ill equipped to deal with the situation, So He called Rodan.

Rodan spread the word, and One by One, The Monsters gave it their best shots at changing his mind, Except for Mothra, Battra, and Godzilla. Mothra and Battra didn't come not because they didn't care, but because the Climate Jet is trying to kill himself with would most certainly kill them. And Godzilla Couldn't be bothered.

Rodan gave it his best, even drudging up some saddening memories of the fight Jet put up in Barb's Honor during the Muto War. This was ineffective as Jet told that that fight in the MUTO war is what got him into this mess. Jet didn't elaborate further.

Scylla tried stirring up Memories of Jet's other victories, Megalon, Gigan, Shadow Chaser. Jet merely turned away, saying that Humanity fears him because of it.

Jira reminded Jet of When Shadow Chaser attacked, how he placed herself and Ghiji well being in front of his own. How he inspired two normal humans to pick a fight with a Demon from space. Jet said how he doesn't even know where they(the humans) are anymore. Jira left determined to change her brothers mind, Godzilla was gonna get through to his knight even if she had to drag him to see him.

Next Up was Ghidora of all creatures, He reminded Jet of how they overcame Shadow Chaser toghether, all the times Jet earned his place among the monsters. Jet remarked that standing by the monsters got someone important to him killed.

The last ditch effort of the monsters was not one any one expected.

Jet Looked over his shoulder, seeing the blood red wings and emerald eyes of the Crimson Empress.

"Go Away, you can only do more harm than good." Jet told her

"Not even giving me a chance?" She said "Not even gonna tell me what all this is about?"

"Okay! Sure! Why not!?" Jet was clearly at his whit's end "Where should I start, hmmm!?"

"The MUTO war"

"Our Mate"

"Ex-Mate"

"Sure, Let's talk about Shadow Chaser, Why not?" Jet Flung his arms up "In a way He was the catalyst that started this. Though it wasn't exactly him, it was me working with your son that was the problem"

"Mind yo- I mean what do you mean?"

"He was the first reason humanity used to doubt my Loyalty to them" Jet explained "People are afraid of Ghidora, thus when I helped him, some people feared me, they were the first to call me a monster."

"But you embraced being a monster, you're the knight!"

"Yes and Humanity didn't like that one bit, I was supposed to be on Their side." Jet said, his eyes shifting closer to red "The Government said I was Humanities Champion, the good solider who would defend them from monsters. In the MUTO War, I had to make a choice, That choice showed my allegiance. I was to either Save Mothra or Save a couple of Destroyers who I told to stay away."

"And you saved your queen"

"Make sense, They disregarded your words"

"Yes, they made their graves"

"Yeah, You three agreeing on that doesn't put me at ease" Jet said "Especially since the COST for that Choice was My MOTHER!!"

Crimson Empress was taken aback by Jet's outburst, though it would explain his sour attitude towards her in particular. After all He lost his mother, what help could a being he was introduced to as a mother sooth that pain, instead of inflaming it?

"We're sorry to hear that"

"How did it happen?

"My mother was an Army General, she had stopped multiple of the military's attempts at Kaiju based weaponry, this infuriated a lot of the Warhawks among the ranks. After I abandoned the Ships, The Army declared me a traitor. And those Warmongers saw their chance to rid themselves of my mother, and then they tried to make me sign a loyalty agreement. They still have Zilla, Komi, and Kozi, and I'm not strong enough to save them." Jet Jaguar sat back down "I have failed them, Just like I failed Nick, and now, Mom. So, Now I choose to die, so that none may be hurt by my consequences"

"So you're just giving up?! I know Mothra didn't Knight you just so you could do that!"

Jet and CE turned around to Jira and Godzilla walk on to shore.

"She Knighted you, because you will always do what's right and Fix what goes wrong because of it." Godzilla Continued "If the Human's have made you their enemy, and Kidnapped our family. That's not our fault, but it is theirs, and they are gonna pay for it!"

"However, we understand if you want to solve this peacefully" Jira said, trying to temper her brother's bloodlust "What was that thing you said? "I'm gonna walk tall and carry the biggest stick."?"

Jet had said that to her before facing a group of MUTO's heading for her nest. He didn't want to kill them, but he wanted to scare them so he still brought his Spear.

"I'm gonna need an really frickin Big Stick" Jet said, hope returning to his voice

"Or an Army" Godzilla said

Jet Jaguar stood up and grabbed his spear, His eyes shifted back to blue. He nodded and took to the skies. Godzilla, Jira, Scylla swam after him with Rodan, Ghidora, and Empress joining the Movement.

15 minutes later, United States Pentagon.

"Sir, Jet Jaguar is back on the move" An intelligence officer ran up to a General

"What's his heading?" The General replied

"The Capitol, we think he's going after the president" The Officer said

"Sir! Monarch just sent this over" another officer hands the General a tablet with a map showing Kaiju Movement, All the red dots are heading towards America's East Coast.

In the bottom right of the screen there is a message from Monarch Command saying "We Warned You, You Don't Control Nature."

[choco-mark]

A Marriage of Inconvenience (3)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: language, mentions of violence + death, oppression of women, murder/homicide, forced (?) kissing but it’s implied that she likes it, mentions of drugs + drug use + drugging someone else, emotional blackmail (kinda)

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 5.2k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

18 April

You felt yourself wake up with a haze in your brain, feeling like you were fogged from heat as you opened your eyes with a few blinks. Your body felt like it was on fire, and just as you let out a groan, you tried to bring your hands to your face to rub it a bit, but you couldn’t. Your vision blurred, you tugged at your arms again, now hearing the chains that were coming from the cuffs around your wrists and ankles, anchoring you to the ground.

What happened? It was like someone had read your thoughts when you heard a bright, yet deep laugh in front of you, startling you as you struggled to look up from where you were. I was at the hideout, in the hallway, a smoke bomb went off, and—

Your memory blanked out from there, the last words in your brain being those from your darling fiancee. The entire world is a game, Park. We’re all just a bunch of players. But nothing seemed to come after that, a complete wipe out of everything that could have happened after that smoke bomb went off. “Who’s there?”

A figure came closer to you, your vision clearing slowly with each move it made until it was in the front, kneeling down to the level you were at. The ‘it’ was rather a man, and a very beautiful one in your perspective. His face inched closer to yours, eyes darting all over your face before the ends of his lips darted up in a twisted smile, painting his face gorgeously. “He was right, baby, you’re a pretty one.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the motion was cut off harshly, the man’s lips coming crashing down on your own as you attempted to push him away. The jingle of the chains was a loud echo in the room, making the man giggle as he dodged your teeth, pressing his tongue into your mouth instead. His mouth was warm, so sweet and inviting as his tongue molded against yours, urging you to give in—to kiss him back for just a moment.

He pulled away from you, the dyed silver hair falling over his eyes as he pushed it back in one motion, licking his lips as if he had just tasted something. “I could just ruin you, Park—” A hand went to your jaw as you opened your mouth again in the slightest, grasping it tightly in his palm as he pulled you closer to him once again. 

In all your years of experience in fighting, never did you think you would go so weak in the knees for such dominance like this. Whoever this mysterious man was, he was making your heart jump in less than a second, making you wonder how you were being so affected by this. I’m drugged, aren’t I? That’s why I’m so weak. 

You weren’t wrong about that, but it wasn’t the drugs that let out a soft whimper when his teeth grazed across your neck, hoping that he wouldn’t hear. He did, however, the darkness of his eyes focusing back on you as a smirk plastered his face again. “So impatient, you are a Park indeed, sweetheart. Say—”

The man’s words were cut off short with a bang coming from the end of the room, making you jump as a door had flown open, a man coming in storming hastily towards the two of you. He let go of the grasp around your jaw, sighing deeply as he stood back up, licking his lips once again as his eyes never left yours. God, why is that so hot? What the fuck? What’s wrong with me?

He turned away from you, facing where the opening of the door was, the people coming into closer view as your eyes focused on the one in the front, his eyes narrow and full of pierced anger. A wave of exhaustion took over you as you recognized the person, the one with the familiar sound of his jeans and black polished boots.

“I told you to watch her, bastard!” he snarled as he took a hold of the other’s man’s collar, pulling it closer to him with a force that made it seem like he would destroy. “Not taint her with your foul blood.”

“Shut up, Taeyong,” the silver-haired man pushed him away with a palm, dusting off his clothing like it was nothing. He looked back up at him, rolling his eyes with another step closer. “All I did was kiss her, brother.”

Taeyong didn’t look at you, his eyes only angrily shaking at the man in front of him as you tried to connect the dots. Your brain was failing to cooperate, however, because with every mental move you tried to make, you felt like you were going to pass out. Taeyong. Lee Taeyong. Where am I, then?

“And you know what,” he continued, looking down at you to where he had just previously stuck his tongue down the wet walls of your throat. “My blood is your blood, you know that. Can’t you lend the girl to me? She’s a Park after all, how can I resist?”

Taeyong seemed to be annoyed with his answer, waving him away for his behavior as the anger dissipated from his face in an instant, looking down at you instead. In his eyes, you looked perfect, just where you belonged as you were locked down to the ground by his own handmade chains wrapped around your shimmering skin. 

It was exactly what you had thought when he just smiled at you, scanning your entire body as your completely wrecked figure overtook his vision. No, Taeyong wasn’t here to save you, you didn’t think he would be the type to do so. He leaned down closer to you, the other man watching as he came down to your level, raising a hand to stroke your hair softly.

“D-Don’t touch me,” you tried to get out, but it was weak, falling from your lips as a desperate whisper that almost pleaded ‘please, touch me’ as they both chuckled, the argument that had taken place merely seconds ago no longer seeming to be an issue. He’s the one who drugged me, isn’t he?

“You’re so much better like this,” his thumb brushed over your lips, the lingering kiss from the silver-haired man still sugary on the edges as he pressed past them, slipping it into your mouth for a brief second before pulling it out. It was filthy, the way your saliva coated his finger until he traced your jawline with the wetness, the liquid drying onto your skin uncomfortably. “So much prettier, pure and hmm—beautiful. Aren’t you just a work of art?”

He didn’t just drug me, he kidnapped me too. His hand trailed to the back of your neck, coldness meeting your hot skin as he chuckled at your heat, eyes darkening from how messy you were getting. Your eyes faltered, looking from Taeyong to the other man, and then back to him; you tried at the chains again, feeling so out of control.

And I think I know exactly why.

Jeno’s hands ran through his now dirtied blond hair for about the hundred time, ruffling it madly as he made his way through the hallway. It had been only a few hours since he had—just lost you from his grasp, and it was already taking a toll on him. Not only did his father just threaten to kill him, he also had held Mark with a knife at his throat, his own son’s throat, threatening to him that he would kill his brother if he didn’t bring you back in one piece.

It didn’t matter how much he reminisced over the events that took place earlier, because your presence was gone almost as quickly as it was there. He had one thing to do, and he fucked that one thing up; if he wasn’t able to find you before the two of you were supposed to have your ‘formal’ engagement, your family would probably wage war against the Lees. Well, it was inevitable at this point, though, since everything that just happened seemed so intricately planned out leading to your disappearance. It wasn’t normal.

Mark walked beside the younger man, scrolling through his tablet on something related to illegal hacking, seeming deeply focused on whatever it was until Jeno reached his room. He looked up from the screen, his eyes shining as he bid him a short goodbye and a promise to inform him if he found anything related to your whereabouts.

It was obvious that Jeno was beyond frustrated: frustrated with himself for being able to lose his hold on you so quickly, and with his father, who didn’t even offer an ounce of help in order to locate you. It was all up to him, and if you weren’t found and brought back to the Lees, other things with happen, things that included your family and his.

He was halfway through stripping his dirty clothing from his body when Mark came bursting into his room, a laptop covering his face as he slammed the door and walked over to his brother, shoving it towards. “I found something—”

The screen reflected a large map of the city, with a point fixated in the middle, marking familiar looking coordinates. Jeno couldn’t quite pinpoint what was so oddly familiar about it, and the longer he looked at the numbers, the more confused he got. He looked up at Mark, blinking a few times. “I don’t get it.”

“Doesn’t it look familiar?” He used his fingers to zoom in on the touchpad, tapping again to show the numbers of the coordinates. “Remember when Father first took us out for a battle, maybe when we were like—thirteen or fourteen? He made us memorize the coordinates.”

Of course Jeno remembered his first battle, the first time he had ever held a gun in his hand away from the training room and the first time he had shot a bullet into a living breathing person. He had earned one of his very rarely occurring praises from his father that day, but it had easy been taken away when he had overestimated himself, ending up with a broken shinbone for a few weeks. It was also the first time he had gotten hurt in battle, and the first time he had lost one.

“Y/N had a phone,” Mark continued, making Jeno perk up from the words. He hadn’t seen you using a phone, not that you were necessarily allowed anyway. “I saw her take one with her before she left, so I traced it down from a few networks to see what was actually on the phone. Whoever kidnapped her had tried to erase everything from the net, but I was able to scavenge the last message sent from her phone.”

With a few taps, he pulled up a encrypted file, typing a few more things to show the actual message. “It was sent from her phone, almost right after we got back home. I couldn’t find who the message was sent to, but it was to a contact that was frequently called in the past few days. But, I was also able to scavenge her last call.”

He pulled up an audio file, pressing it a few times before it played. Your voice came ringing from the device, a voice softer than what Jeno had ever heard from his time with you. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay without me.” The second voice was deep, and Jeno was obviously not expecting it to be a—male.

“But I miss you,” he could hear the slow burn of the other’s voice, the very slight crack that he was able to hear. “Will you come to see me after? Will you visit me soon?” There was a pause, and for a moment Jeno thought that the clip was over, but your soft chuckle was vibrant, startling him a bit; he hadn’t heard you laugh purely before, only in sarcasm or annoyance. 

“Maybe one day, Sungie, I’ll see you.”

Jeno couldn’t help but feel like he was eavesdropping on a conversation that he clearly was not supposed to hear, but he continued listening intently, listening to the male let out a dry chuckle. “But you won’t be with me anymore.”

“Shh, I’m always with you, Jisungie.” The audio broke, your voice being the last ringing noise in Jeno and Mark’s ears as Jeno looked over to his older brother, confusion spreading across his face. Who was she talking to?

“It’s her younger brother,” Mark seemed to have read his mind, taking the laptop back into his hands as he plopped down on the bed, starting to type rapidly. “I tracked him down too, Park Jisung, eighteen. Lives in the Park mansion on the other side of the city, where Y/N used to live. I’m assuming that these coordinates were also sent to his contact, which means whoever kidnapped her also wanted to tie in her family with this.”

It was all a sudden blur to Jeno, it didn’t even seem like it was real as he thought about how coincidental the entire situation was. You were kidnapped, apparently last tracked down at the exact coordinates that he had his first battle at, along with a message sent to your brother basically asking him to come there. It didn’t even seem a little bit right.

After a little more blanking out, it hit him. He clapped his hands together loudly, startling Mark as he sat down next to him. “Remember what Father said on that day? He said that one day we wouldn’t be part of NCT Lee anymore, because we would have evolved into our own people.”

Mark scrunched up his face, nodding for him to continue. “He told us that all of our skills would go use eventually, and it wouldn’t be for the Lees, it wouldn’t be for the family anymore because fighting isn’t about family. Winning isn’t about family.”

“I don’t get it, where—are you going with this?”

“Listen!” Jeno threw up his hands in slight frustration. “He told us that clans never lasted for as long as they thought they would, and that NCT would have to be reorganized once again with all of us included. That’s what the coordinates are for, he wanted us to memorize them because that’s where the beginning of the new clan would be. Or—rather, group.”

He pointed straight at the longitudinal coordinate, the numbers flashing on the screen brightly as he did so.

“NCT 127.”

There was a silky blindfold drawn over your eyes when you woke up again, the initial haze draining your body once again as you sat up, the chains having been removed from your body. But you were tied together now, ropes enclosed your wrists together behind your back, making you struggle.

A hand yanked off the ribbon around your eyes, bright light finally filling your vision. You could feel your head spinning, probably from whatever they had given you previously. “Aw, pretty Y/N is finally awake—”

It was the same sweet voice as before, and you watched as a figure appeared in front of you. You were on some kind of couch now, no longer in the same white room full of painful looking chains, and there was someone sitting across from you. The silver-haired man leaned down to your level, clicking his tongue in mock pity.

“Who are you?” The words came out groggy, almost as if you had been dehydrated for days as your mouth involuntary salivated, making you press your dry lips together. “Who—”

“You can call me Haechan,” he cut you off, his hand moving to your jaw as he forced your face upwards, his own face inching closer to yours. “Oh, baby, it’s so sad that you can’t be mine. Look at you, you’re gorgeous, hmm. I even brought you a gift, darling.” His last words came out as a low hiss, sending shivers through your body as he moved away, letting the person in front of you come into view.

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped in your chest as you saw the familiar dyed hair masking the dark eyes of your younger brother; his eyes were closed, probably dozed off from the way his stance was relaxed, though he had the same ropes around his wrists and ankles. How did he get here? Why did they take him too?

As you opened your mouth to speak, Haechan leaned over to you, untying your wrists just to yank one towards him, a syringe shining in his hands as you tried wriggling away. No wonder you were feeling so out of reality, dozing in and out so quickly, your heart rate faltering as you could barely even keep your breathing normal. “Heroin,” you whispered as you gave up against his grip, wincing slightly as he injected you with it.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he answered softly, contrasting from how he had just given you some of the most dangerously addictive stuff on the planet, pushing you down against the couch as he retied your wrists. “You’re starting to love it, sweetheart, and I’ll keep giving it to you if you continue behaving like a good girl. Hmm?”

Haechan’s hand stroked your hair as he leaned you against the soft cushions, wandering his eyes over your face as he saw you fall into the drug, being thrown into a pleasurable rush, resulting in you letting out a quiet sound. “Feels good, hmm? You like it?”

You couldn’t answer him, your mind being thrown into another reality as you foggily saw him moving over to Jisung, pulling out his arm in the same fashion. “No,” you cried out, launching yourself forward until you were on the ground, your knees grazing painfully against the wooden surface as Haechan looked down at you in awe, his hand drawing back. “Don’t—” He saw your look of desperation, a look that said ‘please, don’t drug my baby brother’ as you struggled against the ties, trying to stand up in your position. 

“You don’t want me to give him some too?” He threw the syringe on the other couch, pulling you up by the waist and throwing you back across from your brother. His fingers lingered on your body for a second longer before he pulled away, tucking a hair away behind your ear as he watched your eyes flutter shut, and then you force them open. “Don’t be selfish, baby, let him have some too.”

“N-No, don’t—please,” you choked out as he took a step back, hooking your legs around his to keep him in place. “Don’t—give him any, please. Don’t touch him—please...”

Haechan wished he could’ve given into your pleads, seeing your eyes turn glossy with each move he made. He glanced over to where the door was, knowing that his older brother would come in at any second to see if he was doing his job properly. All he had to do was put you in a position where you wouldn’t be able to refuse him, and Taeyong was smart enough to know that you could bare the pain against yourself. 

But if it was your family, that was a different situation. Parks did everything for their family, fought for pride and not victory, that was something he learned at a very young age. Family was the last sacrifice that a Park would make, the last sacrifice after themselves. “Please don’t drug him, H-Haechan—”

You weren’t sure if using his name would have convinced him not to, already having seen that he was hesitating from the way you were looking so sincere and affected by just the idea of Jisung being drugged. It wasn’t fake, for once, the emotion was just as real as you showed him, because no, you didn’t want your brother to be harshly drugged the way he had just done you.

But he didn’t speak, only pulling your legs off of him and smoothing it down to the ground, wondering if he should tie your ankles together. You watched as he let his hand wander, rubbing your thighs in a slow fashion, making you believe that he was focusing on you instead of him. It was working, but only for a second until he pushed your body back against the couch with a hard force, knocking the air out of your lungs as he grabbed the syringe again.

“I have to.”

April 19

Jeno knew that he shouldn’t have waited the next morning to go after his lead on you, but his father had refused to send him out on the same day, which seemed contradictory from his words before. He expected that he would’ve agreed immediately, considering he wanted you back that much before, but it just seemed to change in the matter of a few hours.

There was something off about the whole situation, and Jeno didn’t know if it was just his inner self telling him that something was wrong, or if he was overthinking it all. Maybe your entire disappearance was a whole mystery, which was right, it just seemed all too perfect for it to be real. There was no way that Mark would have been able to track you down that easily, usually if someone went missing from the Lee crew, it would take weeks for them to be tracked down, where they were usually found dead.

What was even more confusing was that someone had knowingly kidnapped you, which was what Jeno still couldn’t wrap his head around. They had contacted your brother from the Park household, so was there a possibility that this was a feud between the mysterious 127 gang that was only a myth from his father’s old stories. Yet they had kidnapped you under his own nose, right beside him with the knowledge that you were taken along with the Lees for a mission, which was something that no one but his team and his father knew. 

“Have you seen Donghyuck?” Mark snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look up from his spot in the lobby. “He said he was going underground for dealing before we went out, but I don’t think he ever came back. I just called him like four times, he’s not picking up and I can’t trace his phone—”

Jeno sighed, shaking his head from his thoughts at the mention of his younger brother as he stood up. “Just hope he didn’t knock up some girl again; are you ready? Shouldn’t we have left like—ten minutes ago?” Mark nodded, looking down at his phone before stuffing it in his pocket.

“Yeah, the rest of the guys are in the van already. Also, Father only gave us one today, I asked him for two but he said we wouldn’t need that many people.” He rolled his eyes slightly at his own words, gesturing Jeno towards the door. “Whatever, I think he wants us to find her because we technically lost her, so we only got five other guys. Don’t tell him I said this but, I think he’s kind of crazy.”

“Like, Y/N just got kidnapped and she’s one of the highest ranked soldiers in all of NCT, shouldn’t that like—ring some warning bells? Shouldn’t that mean we should bring more men? Unless he’s wishing us death.” Mark sounded fed up as he spoke, opening the doorway to the large garage, making his way to the van with Jeno following suit.

“I wouldn’t really be surprised if he wanted us to die,” Jeno mumbled in response, running a hand through his head as he climbed into the back of the—not very large vehicle, sitting beside Mark and his technical gadgets. “But he’s obviously expecting us to bring her back before some war breaks out or something.”

It was true, there would be an easy war started with a small match if the Parks found out that the Lees had lost you, their literal prized soldier. And the worst part was that it be completely in the hands of Jeno, the person who was supposed to fucking marry you. He let out a strangled sigh, placing his head in his hands as the van started its engine, driving off to the destination.

At this point, Jeno wished that he was married to you, rather than looking for you all over the city while having his head, and his brother’s head, on the death toll basically waiting to be chopped off if you weren’t brought back in one piece. Wait, no, why would I want to marry her? She’s a bitch.

He glanced up to Mark, who was hastily working on his laptop with something. Mark liked you, at least from what Jeno was able to perceive, he had seen the way you had calmly talked to him the day before him, in a van similar to this one. You didn’t look like you wanted to kill him, not the way you usually snarled at Jeno whenever he spoke. Mark even called you by your first name, which was weird hearing, considering you and him usually just addressed each other on a last name basis.

It had hit him earlier that day that you certainly didn’t want to be inside of his house as much as he didn’t want you in his house, especially from how you talked so highly about your family as if they were the only thing that mattered on the planet. Well, to you, family was everything. Loyalty was everything, just like you had said.

“She’s not as bad as you think she is,” a voice came from beside him, startling Jeno as he looked over at Mark, whose eyes never left his screen. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve just been a complete ass to her, even though you’re the one she’s marrying. You know that she was supposed to marry Taeyong, right?”

“Yeah, I—wait, what?”

“I assumed that Father didn’t tell you, clearly from the way that you were, uh, behaving around her. Taeyong was the one who saw Y/N on a mission and told Father he—wanted her, I think? And you know Father, well, he’d do anything for his oldest son. So, he sent a letter of engagement. But Y/N is five years younger than him, so the Parks declined. I mean, they declined but not really, they still wanted the peace treaty, so they said they would give her hand to someone who was the same age as her. And, well it went down to you, since Donghyuck wasn’t, well—considered pure blood.”

So that’s why Taeyong was always lingering near her hallway, so he wasn’t fucking one of the servants. Jeno scratched his head confusedly. “Why didn’t I know this? Wait, how do you know this?”

“Donghyuck told me everything, yesterday actually. Taeyong was kind of—the first person Y/N when she got to the palace, and I swear he looked like he was gonna eat her or something. I knew that he was the one who wanted her in the first place, but he didn’t really seem to care that you were engaged to her, so I didn’t think it was really that big of a deal. He kept trying to go into her room, apparently according to some of the servants, and I even saw him once. But, I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I don’t think he knows that she’s gone...”

Something didn’t feel right, for about maybe the third time in the same day. So Taeyong was the one who wanted to marry you, that explained why you had kept saying you were here because of the Lees. She said it on the first day, that someone in the house wanted her here because they saw her during a battle or something. I thought she was lying—

The van came to an abrupt stop, making everyone lurch forward with a combined yelp. “What the fuck happened?” Jeno called for the driver, who had just survived some serious whiplash. “Hey! Why’d you stop? There’s nothing—”

The backdoor of the van slid open with a quick motion, making Jeno and Mark turn tense up, with Jeno aiming his gun straight at the now open door. His hands loosened as he saw who it was, the familiar man he had known so well taking a step up into the van, kneeling to avoid hitting his head against the top. The rest of the men lowered their guns, looking at each other in confusion as he turned to Jeno, a smirk on his face.

“I knew you would come, brother.”

“Y/N, Y/N, wake up,” you felt cool hands on your cheeks, contrasting from the warmth coming from your body as you heard the recognizable deep voice. Your eyes fluttered a little, opening enough for you to see Jisung, his eyes wide and concentrated on you. “Are you okay? Y/N, wait, wait, no don’t close your eyes!”

You took in a short breath, feeling at your wrists to see that they were free, your arms moving slowly as you tried to control your movements. The memories from earlier surged through your head in one motion, making you force your eyes open at your brother. “Did he inject you? Sungie—did he—”

You let your hand slide down his arm, your eyes falling on the puncture mark in the middle, making you let out a painful sigh. He only gave him one dose, right? That’s why he’s still cold. It wasn’t that much. Right? More means he would end up like me. “Inject me? What—what do you mean?”

As he hoisted you up, you looked around the room, scanning it to see no trace of both Taeyong or that—Haechan guy. With another sharp breath, you let yourself lean against the cushions, feeling completely drained out. “Do you know how you got here? Where were you? H-How did they find you? Did you leave the house for a mission, what happened?”

Jisung shook his head, his hair bouncing around with him as he looked at you worriedly and then looked to the ground. “I—You texted me. I mean, I don’t think it was you anymore, but it was from your number. There were coordinates, and it said that you would meet me—there. I told Mom that I was going underground, and I—took a car. It was the center of Seoul. I went into one of the parking garages, and that’s all I remember until—now.”

You hummed, brushing your hair away from your face as you stood up slowly, seeing the broken ropes on the ground and glancing back at your brother. “You got out of the ties, like I taught you?” He nodded, a small smile on his face as you couldn’t help but feel a little proud, reaching over to ruffle his hair. 

You knew how much he hated when you did that, but he received it with a soft expression. It hadn’t even been too long since you had actually seen him, but it had felt like too long of a time, and even though this wasn’t the most ideal reunion, it was better than nothing. You had really thought you wouldn’t see him for a long time.

“How about we get out of here, hmm?”

previous | next

hi guys, here’s the third chapter! it’s gonna get wow very spicy in the fourth part like VERY SPICY, and i won’t make you guys wait as long this time!! expect the fourth part before the dreamies comeback?!?! i hope this chapter wasn’t too boring because there’s no...action between y/n and jeno but this is important for future chapters!! :) love y’all, stay safe and healthy ♡

[shintorikhazumi]

English!AU (2): Has To Be.

A/N: Yey. I don’t know smack about what I’m writing. So warning. Badly written. Rip. Might suck. 

Hannah solo chap. Next chap two idiots and their chaperones are coming along.

Enjoy?

~ShintoriKhazumi

She wanted to cross her arms and show just how irritated she was by all of this.

But she couldn’t.

The tea was getting cold from her ignoring it, hands folded on her lap, unwilling to take up the cup and allow it to serve its purpose of providing her refreshment.

Like anything could refresh her for what was about to go down.

“After all that effort to create as much distance as possible... and here you are.” Hannah hated that condescending chuckle. “Sorry and without freedom. Simply under father's mercy."

She grit her teeth, fingers twitching. She needed to keep it all in. Control. Control. She could do it. She had long since been trained on ways to hold her composure, not that she'd ever found the need to use this skill back in Luna Nova.

Ah, Luna Nova. How she missed it. She had the freedom of expression, she could voice out her every opinion. Well, yes, she could be a little bitchy at times. She was working on that bit. ‘Sorry Akko.’

Here, however, she could not allow herself to lash out. She had to be composed, elegant, dignified. Bottled up and choking on all the expectations she had been trying to escape.

And yet, here she was. Back in their clutches.

“What a sad, sad girl.”

The voice was incredibly irritating. Hannah would love to shove a sock in it.

"Pathetic really."

'Shut it.'

“I bet you’re planning something. Conniving as you always were.”

Hannah released a sigh, shutting her eyes to avoid looking at the sore sight of her current companion.

"I'm not here because I want to fight you... Jared."

'I'd rather murder you right now without needing to. Annoying little prick.'

"Right. No fighting. And yet you came back." Jared sneered. "That in itself is already a declaration of war, my dear, dear sister.

“Listen.” Hannah growled, finally looking him in those similar-colored eyes that reminded her that she really shared the same blood as this terror of a family. “I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well that’s because-”

“The Prince of Wales, Harold Windsor, enters.”

Hannah whipped her head about, eyes wide, unable to mask her emotions this time around. And it seemed like her the new arrival was unable to as well.

"Why... Are you here." It was a question that didn’t really sound like one. It felt more like a statement whose true meaning actually translated to, ‘I don’t want you here.’.

Hannah agreed with that sentiment. 'Does it look like I want to be?' She sighed internally, preparing her mind for the onslaught of either words or actions about to befall her.

Calmly, she responded. "Grandfather called for me."

"What?!" Harold marched forward, brows furrowed deeply, gaze burning hot. “He did not! I heard nothing of the sort!”

Hannah barely flinched. She needed to keep up her facade, afraid as she was. She could not show weakness nor fear. No. Not in front of this man.

Not in front of the man she once called Father.

“I suppose he did not feel the obligation to inform you, sire.” She replied, voice level.

“And why would he not? I am rightfully the next in line! I must know these things!”

‘Do you now?’

“How should I know? If you don’t know, your majesty, what makes you think a lowly servant such as I would?”

A flash of indignance crossed the man’s face as his hand quickly raised, ready to come down on Hannah, swift and solid.

She cursed her body, frozen with a familiar fear, cultivated since long ago. It was coming.

It was coming.

Her eyes were the only ones to react, shut tight just as she was about to receive the hit.

The strike never came.

Opening her eyes, Hannah was surprised to see Jared. His arm stretched out in front of her, as if to shield her from that man.

In front of them both was her bodyguard who had caught Harold’s hand in a tight grip.

“How dare you interrupt me-”

“I am simply carrying out the work assigned to me. To protect the first princess, Hannah Windsor, until the end of the selection.” The bespectacled man stated firmly, releasing Harold’s hand.

Turning to his charge, he directed her to the door, remaining close to the current heir apparent should he plan something else.

“It’s time for your audience with His Majesty, the King, Miss Hannah.” He said, far more gently than his cold voice from earlier.

“...y-yes. Yes, thank you. Sir Mark. I... I shall go.”

She left the room quickly, unable to bear the atmosphere any longer. Once out the door, she had found herself accompanied by two guardians, leading her to the room she knew was her grandfather’s.

She could only hope things would not get worse.

//

“Why am I here.”

“Why must everyone ask the same boring questions.” The old man replied, stroking his chin. “Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Your Majesty-”

“Hannah.”

“G-Grandfather.” She heard a pleased hum. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“Well, I thought so too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Hannah slammed her fist into the bedpost, feeling her held back fury escaping. “I told you I wanted to be a witch!”

“And I’ve told you that witches are not to be part of the royal family.” He replied calmly.

“Exactly! So why?!” Hannah interrogated, clearly exasperated at these events. “You told me I could not be. But if I truly wanted you to let me go, I would manage Cielton for three years, raise their industry economic value, earn it publicity and recognition on the map, and I did all of that!” Her voice raised higher.

She should be frightened, screaming at the monarch of their country; but when it was just the two of them, no guards, no other people around, there was only Hannah and her grandfather. Two members of a family.

“We had a deal.” She said, voice breaking.

“I’m sorry.”

“I wanted no part in this.” She angrily wiped the tears away on her sleeve, huffing away her crying. “Didn’t you already announce that I’ve stepped down from the selection years ago?”

“...”

“Grandfather!”

The man remained silent. This only fueled Hannah’s pain and feelings of betrayal. Her grandfather was the only family she had left that she believed she could actually trust, yet he wasn’t even listening!

“The moment the time limit you gave was up, I would leave for my life as a witch. I would turn my back to the family. Just like you and father told me to. That was the deal. You would take care of the announcements, the excuses. All of it. You said so because if it was found out that I was leaving to be a witch, the backlash would be too strong.”

Hannah sighed, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, burying her face in her hands.

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain!”

“Neither did you.”

“What!?”

“I know of you commuting to Luna Nova during those three years. You didn’t enter two years ago. You’ve been there for five.” He revealed. “I also know the Young Cavendish head is your friend.”

Hannah suddenly stood up, realizing she’d been found out. “Grandfather, I-”

“Thus, you didn’t hold up your end completely either. You went behind my back.”

“That was!”

“And so, our deal is invalid. I did not announce your backing off from succession either. So consider things fair.”

All her statements died in her mouth as Hannah slumped back into the chair.

“...Why does it have to be me?”

“Why not?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too.” The old King chuckled mirthlessly. “Hannah, dear. You were thirteen. And your father was sneaking out in town creating one too many scandals for me to keep up with.”

“I have two older brothers.”

“And none of them did as well as you did. One doesn’t want the throne-”

“I don’t either!”

“-for good reasons.”

“...”

“I do not trust Devon with this land, Hannah. The way he looks at the crown, drinking in the sight of its power as though it were intoxicating wine... He will destroy this country, Hannah.”

“Jared-”

“Is incompetent. We both know this.”

Hannah couldn’t reply to that.

Time ticked by in uncomfortable silence. Only emotional breaths, and the rustles of sheets were heard.

Hannah felt the stinging of restrained tears at the back of her throat. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she considered all of this.

It wasn’t fair. It truly wasn’t.

“...does it have to be me?”

“There’s no one else.” The King said sadly. “It has to be.”

[whengreenmeetsbrown]

Sirius

Eleven year old Sirius Black gets his Hogwarts letter and he is ecstatic, skating around Grimmauld Place, showing it to his brother (who looks gloomy), earning a few glares and swear words from his mother. She is the reason he’s so happy to go, to escape from this horrible, pathetic place. But he’s sad to leave his dear brother behind. Don’t worry, he says to him as the train leaves, you’ll be back next year, and I’ll be waiting as your older brother, and hugs him. On the train, he meets a hyper, fidgety boy with glasses, messy hair and a crooked smile. That boy is James Potter, the boy who would become his reason to live after some time. The Sorting Hat is on his head, not Slytherin, not Slytherin, the boy wishes and so he is listened to. Gryffindor! The hat screams as the Hall looks in disbelief, a Black in Gryffindor? At the boy’s dormitories, he comes to know Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tough guy who is strong and kind at the same time, Peter Pettigrew, the boy with mousy hair, sarcasm and shyness, and Remus Lupin. Sirius just cannot seem to get his eyes off him as he takes in his light brown hair which falls to his eyes which look too tired for an eleven year old. A second year Sirius skives off classes, carefree and cocky already. James, Remus and Peter are his best mates and he likes them a lot although James is the closest, the only one to whom Sirius shares his secrets, his dark family with their dumb beliefs and the abuse he and his brother go through. The boy gasped as he heard this, fists clenching and teeth baring. How can they do this to their own sons? James asks angrily and a small laugh escapes Sirius. Oh how little you know James Potter, he thinks sadly. And then he just can’t seem to get why and where Remus goes once a month. He says his mother his ill but Sirius knows it’s a lie. A complete, utter lie. At the end of the year, the sandy haired boy finally opens up, telling them he is a werewolf, shakily and Sirius knows he is about to cry. So he hugs his friend, telling him they won’t care if he is a secret giant or something as long as he’s a Marauder. James and Peter do the same, and Remus almost cries, not able to believe that they’ve accepted him as a werewolf and friend. A thirteen year old Sirius Black gets in a fight with his mother over his choice of friends. A blood traitor, a wimp and a half blood, she scoffs, doesn’t he have any real friends? He gave them enough disgrace being sorted into Gryffindor, wasn’t that enough? To add on that, Regulas acting indifferent towards Sirius, ignoring and not talking to him. The boy expected this, Sirius in Gryffindor and Regulas in Slytherin. But Sirius doesn’t bother, thinking he’ll come around soon, but he doesn’t. Third year Marauders, thinking about Remus’ furry problem and how to help them. Animagus, James suddenly announces looking triumphant. Remus disagrees, saying that they’ll get in trouble but Sirius thinks it’s a great idea. Let’s do this, he says to James and Peter. So they search for books, ask teachers, doing absolutely anything to become one. It will take time, but they will do it, no matter what. Sirius in third year becomes a hot topic as the whole castle recognizes how handsome he is, hollow cheekbones, graceful hair, pink lips and an incredible sense of fashion. This sent the girls after him. His first kiss is awkward with Demi Goaling as they fumble around, pressing some small kisses and Sirius vows to become a good kisser. He goes out with multiple girls, practicing and doing, kissing and something else, but his heart hasn’t landed on anyone. Yet. A fourteen year old Sirius Black smoking with Peter and James with him, thinking about the war even though it isn’t that serious yet, as he declares to his friends. So pranking became their new hobby (along with snogging of course), and the Marauders were infamous all over Hogwarts. Four minds brew together and made the Marauders Map, a whole design of Hogwarts and what not. Along with James’ Invisibility Cloak, they’re a whole mood and even Dumbledore enjoys it, smiling at them slightly. Though the Evans girl isn’t impressed, Sirius can tell who his best mate likes. A lot. She’s so beautiful, James says as Sirius smirks. Sirius notices Remus looking at him strangely and wonders what it is about. And so he can’t help noticing his eyes and how they crinkle when he laughs, mouth pressed in a thin line as he concentrates on studying, whipping his hair whenever they come in front of his eyes. This is weird, I shouldn’t be thinking these things, Sirius says, slapping himself mentally. They are still trying for an Animagus and he passes the classes with flying colors. Fifth year turns out to be a wonderful year as they finally turn Animagus, James a stag, Peter a rat and Sirius a big, black dog. So they finally run around with Remus at night, controlling him, and the werewolf is most comforted by the dog. Minnie, Professor McGonagall is his best one yet, helping them and being warm. He once accidently called her ‘Mum’ in class but she didn’t mind, replying all the same. Girls still run after him but he isn’t interested. His eyes and mind wanders off to a certain Remus Lupin, and the way he is considerate and kind, and the way he stares at Sirius is intense. What is this unresolved tension? Sirius thinks as he catches Remus staring at him. He blushes as Remus sees Sirius and turns away, talking to James hurriedly. Sixth year is here. Sirius is finally aware of the war. And his abusive family. He has had enough of their attitude with them. So when he and his ‘mother’ have a fight, she uses the Cruciatus on him which causes him to run away, without a proper goodbye to Regulas. Sirius doesn’t care. He reaches out to the Potters who help him, support him and Euphemia Potter calls him her ‘own son’ which flatters the boy. He forgets about his own ‘family’. Hogwarts is a mess. Sirius realizes he’s not into girls, no no, he is definitely into boys. Maybe a certain boy named Remus Lupin who causes butterflies in his stomach when he so much as glances at him. I like him, he thinks, a happy sensation appearing. But he isn’t sure if his crush likes him back. So he gets closer to him, causing small physical actions between them. And one day, on Sirius birthday, he kisses the werewolf. He kisses Remus freaking Lupin. And he kisses him back all the same, moving his lips, and intervening their hands. Sirius loves it, and when they break apart, breathlessly, flustered and red, Remus asks him out. They both come out of the closet. It’s his last year at Hogwarts, his last year at his true home. They’ll be fighting in a war soon and Sirius knows. He gets closer to Lily Evans as she and Prongs have started dating. Remus is as sweet as ever and Sirius loves him. But he isn’t going to say that soon because he’s afraid, afraid Remus won’t love him back. He notices Peter acting weird, James all serious, and lovestruck. It’s his last day at Hogwarts and he wants to cry but he doesn’t; he remains strong and happy. It’s his last hour at Hogwarts and so Sirius confesses his love to Remus. Remus stares at him for a moment, before locking him in a heated kiss, saying he loves him back, of course he does. So Sirius doesn’t cry, he laughs, as the camera clicks, taking a picture where his best mate, boyfriend and other best friend stand, arms around each other, living their last moment as innocent teenagers.  

[leahxx129]

His Name (demon!Dean Winchester x Reader)

This is a submission for the immensely talented @fvckingavengers​ ‘ quarantine writing challenge. Also, I’d like to credit @angelkurenai​ since her soulmate AU imagines provided the main idea for this fic. 

My prompt for inspiration was:

You’re all I need when I’m holding you tight / If you walk away I will suffer tonightI found a man I can trust / And boy, I believe in us / I am terrified to love for the first time / Can’t you see that I’m bound in chains? / I finally found my way / I am bound to you - Bound to You by Christina Aguilera

Summary: Nobody knew why or how, but on their thirteenth birthday every person on planet Earth would start feeling this burning sensation on their left lower arm, which intensifies as the day carries on. By the time the sun goes down, the burning sensation would leave a scar, forming a name. It’s believed to be the name of the person one belongs with. The letters on your skin spell out Dean Winchester.

Warnings: angst, mild swearing

Word count: 3.275-ish

Sam Winchester is staring intensely on the map in the War room as if he watched it closely enough, it would show where his brother went from the last place he’d been spotted at. Sam is tired beyond words – he has spent every waking hour searching for Dean, even though he is not sure that the demon curing ritual would work on a Knight of Hell.

„You know we’re gonna find him, right?” Cas speaks up, making Sam jump a little.

„Cas... didn’t see you there... Uhm, sure, I know. It’s just harder than I thought.” his words don’t really comply with his facial expression.

„Well, I do not know if this is helpful, but Crowley sent me a photo a few minutes ago with a text saying ’Show this to Moose’. It depicts a woman I have never seen before.” he hands Sam the phone.

„Oh my God!” Sam’s eyes light up with excitement. „Why haven’t I thought of that?!”

„Thought of what? I think I’m in the dark here, Sam.”

But Sam is too busy looking for something in his pockets to answer. A couple of seconds later a familiar rattle indicates he found his car keys and he claps Cas on the shoulder.

„We have a long drive ahead of us, buddy.”

It‘s 2. a.m. on a Thursday night, you are wiping the bar counter with a cloth. Nothing out of the ordinary happened all evening. You started your shift around 6 p.m. at the local bar, only the regulars came in. The air was heavy with the scent of liquor and cigarette smoke. Even the old jukebox in the corner and the clatter of billiard balls sounded pretty much the same as every night.

Just as you’ve finished wiping and start washing the glasses, the main door opens then closes slowly with a squeak.

„I’m sorry but were closed! Try tomorrow, pal.” you say without looking at the newly arrived guest. It’s not a rare phenomenon that someone wants to stick around for a couple more drinks after closing time, so you don’t suspect anything. Not until the person begins talking, anyway.

’Really? I thought you’d make an exception for an old friend...”

Hearing Sam Winchester’s voice makes your blood run cold, numbing you to an extent that the glass you are holding slips out of your grasp and shatters to a dozen pieces on the floor.

„Sam...” despite your best efforts you can’t muster anything other than his name.

„I mean, I was hoping you’d be excited to see me, Y/N, but breaking glasses is not necessary. Or safe.” he chuckles, sitting down on a bar stool.

„Shut up, smartass!” you intend to look serious, but a smile creeps on your face, nevertheless.

There’s a long moment of silence. Neither of you want to spoil the joy of reunion so you just look at one another, taking in how the other has changed over the years. You pour two scotches and finally Sam clears his throat.

„I see you’re still covering up his name.” he states, referring to your bracelets that hide most of your left lower arm.

Oh, right. His name. Frankly, you tend to forget about those words burnt in your skin quite easily.

Nobody knew why or how, but on their thirteenth birthday every person on planet Earth would start feeling this burning sensation on their left lower arm, which intensifies as the day carries on. By the time the sun goes down, the burning sensation would leave a scar, forming a name. It’s believed to be the name of the person one belongs with. The letters on your skin spell out Dean Winchester.

You can still picture the day you got it crystal clearly.

It was around 10 p.m. when it finished burning and you were able to read it. Your father’s face turned to an ashy color and he drove you to Bobby Singer’s house where the Winchesters were staying at the time. Hearing an engine die, Bobby and John came out to see who the unexpected visitors were.

“Stay in the car!” your father ordered through gritted teeth as he got out and you obeyed.

John smiled when he recognized him, but his smile soon turned to a painful grimace – courtesy of your father’s amazing left hook.

“What the hell, man?!” he shouted in disbelief, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand. Bobby was visibly indecisive whether to stop the fight or let it play out.

“I could ask you the very same question, Winchester!” your father bellowed in response.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“I’m talking about the name that formed on my little girl’s arm, John! You have some dark connections, you must’ve got something to do with it!”

“It’s Dean, isn’t it?” you could see the epiphany on his face even in the poor light that filtered through Bobby’s kitchen window. “Look, pal... you and I both know damn well that this cannot be controlled.”

A long silence ensued. Only the crickets could be heard.

“Ever since my girl’s name showed up on your boy’s arm, I prayed every single night for it to be a mistake. For her to get a different name when the time comes, and you know I don’t believe in God, John!” your father’s voice cracked. “I prayed for her to get the name of a lawyer, a doctor or a dentist… somebody that’ll provide for her. And she got a hunter. Out of seven billion people, she got a hunter… I don’t want her to end up like Mary, or her Mom.”

John took a step closer and squeezed your father’s shoulder.

“Dean will take good care of her, I promise.”

You banish the memory as quickly as you can. The only thing you’re thankful for is the fact that none of your dads lived long enough to see how much of a lie John’s promise would prove to be.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cover it up.” you answer Sam coldly and he shoots you an apologetic look.

“What about yours? Have you found your, uhm... what’s her face… Eileen Leahy?” your pronunciation earns a genuine smile from him.

“No, not yet. I’m starting to think she’s a myth.”

“Well then, she’s the luckiest myth in this whole damn world, I can tell you that much.”

You down your drink in one gulp and decide to ask what’s been bothering you ever since he set foot in the bar.

“Alright, Sam, honest talk. Why are you here? What’s up? I gave you this address for emergencies and the fact that we’re having a face-to-face conversation right here, right now is a bad sign in my book.”

He looks like he’s contemplating the way to present the situation to you, but you’re having none of it.

“No need for sugarcoating, hot stuff, just spill it.”

“Dean’s a demon.”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard it right or the scotch you’ve just drunk was spiked.

“Excuse me?”

“Dean’s a demon. He died with the Mark of Cain on his arm and he turned into a Knight of Hell. Gone rogue. I want to fix him, but you know Dean... it’s damn hard to find him when he doesn’t wanna be found.” he flashes you a smile but when you don’t replicate it, he continues “I’m here because he’s here, Y/N. Based on my intel, he’s been visiting this bar to see you. Will you help me cure him?”

With a blank stare you pour yourself another drink, now wishing for it to be spiked.

The next day after closing you don’t get into your car immediately; you decide to light a cigarette first. Sam’s words are still echoing in your ears. A demon? And he’s been visiting the bar to see you? Why the hell would he do that? You’re about to stub the remainder of your cigarette when you hear his voice from behind you.

“I always thought you looked incredibly sexy when you smoked, darlin’. Turned me on so much.”

You spin around on your heels just to bump straight into Dean’s chest. He grabs hold of your arms to steady you. His touch gives you goosebumps, but you compose yourself swiftly. You cannot allow him to see the effect he still has on you, even after everything that happened.

“I know, Dean, you made it clear quite a few times with your actions… what I don’t know, however, is the reason behind your little visit... so, a fucking explanation would be nice. But first, let go of me!”

“That’s such an ugly word from such a pretty mouth… and to be honest, I think you know damn well what I’m doing here. A birdy tells me Sammy paid you a visit and I doubt that he didn’t share a few things about me, Y/N. As for letting you go… sorry, no can do.” he smirks.

“What do you mean ‘no can do’, Winchester?!” you ask sharply, panic rising withing you.

“Well, more precisely, I don’t want to. I’ve missed you.” he leans in closer to your face “And frankly, I don’t want you to put those engraved demon cuffs on me that peek from your back pocket, sweetie.” he whispers against your lips.

“Okay. How ‘bout the ones Sam is about to put on you?” you whisper back, causing him to furrow his brows in confusion and lean away. This gives you enough space to headbutt him and he automatically stumbles a step backwards, allowing Sam to cuff him from behind.

With united forces you manage to hustle Dean into the trunk of your car.

“You know, demon or not, it’s nice to know some things never change. You’ve always let your dick do the thinking instead of your brain.” you tell him condescendingly before closing the trunk.

When Dean wakes up in the Men of Letters’ dungeon restrained, at first, he’s perplexed. Then as realization slowly hits him, his face becomes distorted with fury and he starts wriggling in an attempt to break free, but he doesn’t succeed. A frustrated, unhuman-like growl leaves his throat. You watch this with undeniable pleasure.

„Mornin’, sunshine!” you greet him jovially.

There’s a short silence as he watches you prepare some syringes on the nearby iron table.

„So, you’re the one who’s gonna do it, huh? Or at least try...” he says arrogantly.

„Yup!”

„Now that’s funny ’cause you see I thought you hated needl-„ but you don’t let him complete his sentence as you pierce your skin faster than he could finish it. Your blood fills up the syringe in no time.

You walk over to him and sit on his lap in a straddling position.

„I do hate needles, Dean.” You admit „Kudos for remembering. But I’m pretty sure that you’ll hate what comes next even more than I hate them and that makes it worth it.”

Before he could react, you stab him in the neck with the syringe, completely emptying its content into his artery. The unhuman growl breaks out once again, but this time it turns into manic laughter.

„Wow, that was exciting!” he exclaims as his eyes turn black „Almost as exciting as Jo holding me at gunpoint when we first met. But just almost... You know, there were times I wished it was her name on my arm instead of yours.”

 „Interesting. Because there were times I wished it was your brother’s name on mine, but I guess we can’t always get what we want, now can we?” you shrug and walk back to the table, not minding Dean’s pitch-black stare. He thought he could hurt you since Jo was your best friend, but you manage to hit closer to home.

You sit down on a chair, place your legs on the table and put your headphones on.

„What are doing?” Dean asks, clearly upset.

„You didn’t seriously think I was gonna listen to your annoying blabber until the next shot, did you?” he opens his mouth to reply but you turn on the music on your phone and start lip-syncing to ’Dream on’ by Aerosmith.

In the following four hours you administer the next four shots, each at every clock turn. Dean says something insulting each time and you try to ignore him each time - with more or less success.

“Alright, hot stuff, time for the sixth shot!” examining your arm you realize it starts resembling to a needle pillow, but you draw another fix for him all the same.

This time he appears calmer. He’s not trying to pull his head away or even bite you like at some previous occasions. No shouting or growls either. You can see he started sweating, the small drops glisten on his skin like illuminated diamonds. Could the ritual actually be working?

You’re halfway back to the table when he calls you by the nickname he gave you, forcing you to turn back.

“I just want you to know I admire you. I really do, Y/N. Seeing you put this much effort into this makes me wish I put more in our relationship.” he shoots you a sad, crooked smile.

“Careful, Dean. If you don’t stop attempting to manipulate my emotions, I’m gonna punch you in the face. Again. But this time harder.” you warn him.

“I’m not toying with you. I honestly wish.”

“Well it’s kind of too late for that, isn’t it?” you take a step closer to him and pull up the bracelets on your arm. “See these words? They are the sole reason I’m here and doing this. Okay?”

“Who are you trying to fool, sweet thing? Me or yourself?”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Your hands tremble when you get back to the table and put the headphones on. You feared this moment would come and here it is. He’s trying to get under your skin. And it’s working.

Later on when you approach him with the seventh shot, he tilts his head to the side, offering his neck.

“Go on.” he encourages you and you take the opportunity. The ferocious, invincible being Sam chained down is nowhere to be seen – a broken man with beautiful green eyes looks longingly at you instead.

“There’s one more to go and you’ll be your annoying self again, hot stuff.” you tell him softly, relenting a little.

“And you?”

“I’ll be on my way to the farthest place from here.” you decide to tell him the truth, which seems to render him speechless for a minute.

“Why do you hate me so much, Y/N?” I mean, I know I’ve never been the high definition of an awesome boyfriend, trust me, but the amount of resentment I sense baffles me.” he asks, sounding genuinely intrigued.

The ball of uneasiness in your stomach grows two sizes in the span of a minute.

“You’ve lost your right to ask such personal questions four years ago, Winchester. You’ve lost it when you left that letter on the kitchen counter, and you walked out on us!” you say in a strained voice.

Suddenly, all the memories you‘ve worked so hard to suppress flood back in.

When Sam jumped in the pit, Dean was lost. His self-destructive behavior foreshadowed a gruesome end and you just couldn’t let him spiral down like that. You made arrangements and got out of the life. Rented a house in the countryside and started living like a normal couple. Beforehand, your relationship was stormy to say the least, but settling down steadied it a lot. Everything was picture perfect for about a year - then you found that damn letter when you arrived home from work. Dean explained in it that Sam was alive, and he needed some time to figure stuff out. You didn’t even get the chance to tell him what you learned that day… and this was the last straw. You never contacted Dean Winchester again, nor did you speak to him directly. Your liaison was Sam up until that night in the bar’s parking lot.

Dean’s voice brings you back to reality.

“My brother came back from the dead… I was confused, Y/N. Just like I wrote, I needed time! After a while I was trying to reach out to you, but you refused to even-“he stops mid-sentence “Wait a minute… walked out on you… as in… plural?”

You nod mechanically and his eyes widen.

“Wha-what happened?” he chokes out eventually.

“I was pregnant. Then miscarried. Don’t worry about it.”

Is that really a teardrop running down his cheek, or are you imagining things?

“Don’t worry about it?” he raises his voice in disbelief. “That’s all you’re gonna say about it?!”

“I don’t want to say anything else, Dean. Because if I pull on that thread again, my mind will go to a dark, lonely place and I think I deserve better than that.”

“Goddamnit…” he exhales loudly, then continues “When all of this is over, I want you to stay.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I want you to stay with me. Here. I want a clean slate, a-a new beginning.”

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. One minute you were curing your ex-boyfriend from demonism, and the other he wants to start things over despite your history together. 

Instead of replying, you fill up the last syringe and administer the eighth shot quickly, then deliver the required incantation. Just as you finish, Sam enters the dungeon and you run past him straight to your car. You open the door but before you could sit in somebody closes it from behind. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is, but you do it anyway. Dean takes your left arm and reveals his own name.

“I remember the night you got this thing. I was in the house when you and your dad arrived at Bobby’s and I witnessed the whole ordeal. I know that ‘til now I did a crappy job keeping the promise my dad made to yours but give me one last chance to do it right, okay?”

You look away, trying to blink back a few tears that want to escape your eyes deperately.

“I don’t know, Dean…”

He gently grasps your chin to make you face him.

“You know, when Sam gave me your message saying you don’t need me anymore, I thought – fine. If you don’t need me, I don’t need you, simple as that. But it was a lie. I only realized how big when I became a Knight of Hell… I enjoyed killing, Y/N. I enjoyed killing so much that it scared the crap out of me. But all this darkness and anger brought on by the mark alleviated one night when I accidentally stopped at that bar and saw you…”

“Damn, Winchester, are we having a chick-flick moment here?” you ask, trying to take the edge off the situation while wiping your eyes.

“Yeah…I guess we are. But don’t tell anyone ‘cause it would ruin my reputation.” he whispers the last part.

You scoff loudly.

“What reputation are you talking about, exactly? I think you lost every bit of it back in the parking lot when I kicked your demon ass.”

“Oh, well, I guess you’re right, sweet thing.” he admits with a breathy laughter.

“As for a second chance… fine.  But fail to keep that promise once more and I’ll be gone for good. Understood?”

At first a look of genuine surprise spreads on his face but it soon gets switched up by gratitude. He places a feather light kiss on your lips as confirmation.

Truth be told, you could never leave him just as he could never leave you – at least not permanently. No matter the pain and the misery, you belong with each other. Your souls are bound by an invisible lace that nothing can tear apart.

[captainkingsley]

Logan finds himself lying awake. It's not an uncommon occurrence for him — since his time in Aurora, he's lost more nights of sleep than he would like to recount. Most of the time, he finds ways to occupy himself: redividing his troops, thinking up new training regimens for them, checking in on the funds he'd gathered, waking his assistants and advisors in the night to talk things over with him. 

But some nights. 

Some nights he finds nothing that can soothe his mind. So he lies awake, staring up at the canopy of his bed while trying to trace where things had gone so wrong. 

Was it when he'd gone to Aurora in the first place? Perhaps the Darkness would have left his people alone if he'd never tried to help Kalin. Perhaps it was when he went through that godforsaken temple and his men had been picked off one by one, his force of elite guards reduced to one survivor. 

He shuts his eyes, covering his face with his arm. In his head, the voice of the Crawler whispers to him the things that he knows to be true: he's not strong enough, his people will never believe him, they must be forced into safety. 

Would it not be better for them to die in the comfort of their homeland than in the clutches of something so horrific as the Crawler, as the Darkness incarnate? 

"Why can't this be easy," he breathes, speaking to none but himself, "I am a failure of a king."

His mind trails to his father. 

He'd know how to handle this, Logan thinks, he'd know what to do. 

If only he could go back, back to before he'd led his men into danger. Before he'd allowed his mind to be sullied by the Darkness. 

Logan heaves a sigh and rolls onto his side. Eyes slipping shut, he lets himself drift into a light sleep that slowly deepens until his mind is free of the Crawler's voice scratching at his thoughts. 

--

He wakes to the rocking of the sea, and for a moment Logan believes himself to be dreaming. But then the sharp tang of seawater hits his senses, the smell filling his nose and bringing him into reality. He touches the sheets, feeling rough linen under his fingertips. 

Sitting up, the rocking of the boat assures him that he is not, in fact, dreaming. 

Were the last few years a dream? 

He stands.  

Logan waits a beat, and then another, feeling his heart skip as he realises that the whisper of the Darkness has gone from his mind and for the first time in ages he's no longer plagued by doubt and fear. Something of a laugh crawls up his throat and before he can stop himself he's laughing for the first time in years, laughing until his eyes water and he's doubled over, holding his abdomen. 

His breath catches. Logan heaves a gulp of air down, his throat still throbbing with the effort of laughter. 

What is wrong with me, he thinks, and his mind provides him with the fact that he's been unable to feel anything but fear, and emotions are new and raw all over again. Standing straight once again, Logan wipes at his face, ridding himself of the tears that had rolled down his cheeks during his fit of laughter. He clears his throat, squares his shoulders, and prepares to leave the cabin just as a knock sounds on the door.

“Come in,” he says without thinking, as though he’s already been through these steps before. 

The door swings open and he’s greeted with the face of the captain of the ship, a tall, tanned man with long brown hair. 

“We’re almost near the land,” the man says, “But we’re hitting some rough water. Should we give the trip another few days and go ‘round?” 

Logan opens his mouth to speak, almost ready to tell the man to ignore the storm and go straight ahead, but pauses.

That’s how they wound up at the temple.

He feels his heart in his throat as he tells the captain to take the longer way, and heads up with him to look over the map. 

They avoid the temple this time. The long way around proves to be more difficult to navigate, but Logan counts it as a blessing as they avoid the place so many of his men had died the first time. A second chance, he realises, to get things right. To avoid the way he’d messed up before.

“Sir,” the captain says as they’re pulling into the docks to the city of Aurora — the real city, not the edges or the outskirts. A few Aurorans have gathered to see the commotion, but in the distance, the captain points out a cloud.

Slowly crawling its way over the city from where the temple lies, deep in the desert, the cloud grows as the sun sets.

Logan swears under his breath, grabbing his sword and urging his men to form up. The Aurorans are shouting warnings at them. Logan assures them he knows what he’s doing as he steps off the ship, but each person looks more worried than the last. Most are fleeing back into the safety of their homes. A few stand outside, watching the sky, knowing what’s to come.

Darkness crawls over the city. Logan draws his sword, ready to act.

But it happens much the same as the last time.

His men fall.

Logan watches as they beg the Darkness to get out of their heads until they stop speaking altogether.

Cornered once again by the Crawler itself, Logan feels fear crawl up his spine as it studies him. It knows — knows that he’s done this once before. It laughs at him, grabbing his chin with its sickeningly long claws. Its thumb draws a deep gash down his mouth, just as before, making him taste his own blood as he swims in his own fear.

--

Logan finds himself lying awake.

He tastes blood in the back of his mouth.

Had it been real? 

He shivers and pulls his blankets over himself, huddling into himself. It felt real. It had taken days to get to Aurora, days on that ship, there was no way it was all a dream if it felt so intensely real that he could remember the feeling of the saltwater on his face and the cries of his men.

Logan puts his hand over his mouth, feeling nauseated. 

Go back.

The phrase hits him in the stomach.

Go back.

Go back.

He feels his eyes slip closed once again.

Back.

Just how far back, he wonders.

He wakes with a start in his bed in Albion. Logan looks down and pats his chest, then the bedsheets, and then he stands. A strange dream, he tells himself, a strange dream that has simply left him doubting and anxious. The clock on the wall tick, tick, ticks, over and over. 

He dresses. Nobody comes to disturb him as he prepares for his day. 

Just as he’d told them early on in his reign, and just as it has been for some time.

Logan goes to the mirror in the adjoining room, pulling a shirt on, buttoning it slowly from the bottom, his hands still shaking. Fumbling, he misses the buttonhole three times before grumbling, breathing one deep, heavy breath, and finally the button cooperates. 

He leans in to adjust his hair.

And then he notices that he’s missing something.

His fingers hesitantly touch his face.

His scar.

Logan pales, rubbing at his face, his skin turning red with the force of the friction. It leaves his skin tingling similar to when a hand or limb falls asleep. 

Turning on his heel, Logan goes to where he keeps his itinerary, his log of events, and realises—

He’s supposed to leave for Aurora in a week.

He curses, wringing his hands. Still half-dressed, Logan goes to the door and waves to a maid, who he tells to fetch Walter, please, right now, thank you.

Finishing dressing, Logan adjusts himself until he’s mostly presentable — save the exhausted look on his face and his obviously-shaken demeanor — and Walter steps into the room.

“You needed me?” He says, curious. Logan can tell he’s on edge.

“Cancel the voyage to Aurora.” Logan says. Walter’s mouth stays shut for a long moment, his mustache twitching.

“We’ve spent ages making sure our supplies are ready, our men are trained and ready, and you—” Walter starts, and Logan fixes him with a stare that can only be described as distraught. Walter pauses, his voice lowering. “Has something happened?”

Logan hesitates. He clenches his jaw. 

He could tell Walter.

He’s supposed to be able to trust Walter.

But he'd betrayed Walter before. 

It doesn't feel right to try to be honest now.

“It’s—” He starts. Logan feels something like dread in his stomach. “Complicated.”

“Can’t be too complicated to explain to me.” Walter says, urging him on. 

“A gut feeling.” Logan says. “Aurora isn’t safe.”

“A gut feeling.” Walter repeats. Logan nods.

Walter doesn’t argue with him. Logan watches as he leaves, saying something about how he’ll inform the men and cancel the trip.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief and falls against the wall, sliding down it until he’s sitting upon the floor and cradling his head in his hands. 

-

The next few years pass slowly. Agonizingly slowly. Logan has a pinch of fear in the back of his mind as he watches Albion grow, watches the people learn to function with the slowly furthering technology of industry. Slower than before, than when he’d handed control over to Reaver, but better. The people are happier.

Maybe this is what was meant to happen, he thinks, looking out at the sea from the castle’s highest tower. Maybe he was meant to ignore Aurora’s problems so the Darkness would never sense their presence.

-

Oh, how wrong he was.

-

He wakes again, the taste of blood in his mouth from where he’d been slashed across his lips. Logan feels his face and finds no scarring and sighs, knowing he’s back once again to just before the trip to Aurora. 

With a frustrated huff, he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Walter pounds on his door later in the morning. Logan tells him to go away.

-

Back.

Further back, he reasons.

Another attempt. 

And then another.

He loses track of how many years pass in his attempts — they blur together as he fails over and over. Some attempts get him barely past leaving for Aurora. Others, he sees his younger brother overthrow him. 

Cedric is always a kind ruler, but he tries to make everyone happy. Can't he see that he can't uphold all of his promises? To make one group happy, he must disappoint someone else. Logan tells him as such the first few times. 

In one, he appoints Logan as an advisor. The people turn on him, throwing his slow-earned trust out the window. 

In another, his brother has him executed. It's very unlike him, Logan finds himself thinking as he's led onto the platform.

-

He wakes up. 

He always wakes up with blood in his mouth.

Sometimes he simply gives up and tries the most outlandish things: at one point he hands control of Albion over to Reaver. Why he thought that would make any sort of difference, he'll never understand. 

He winds up getting his scar from one of Reaver's machines, that time around. He also meets his end on the same machine, a year later, saving a child far too young to be near such things. 

It’s amazing how much compassion one gets after seeing so many disasters.

He wakes up.

-

This time he’s in a different room in another wing of the castle. Logan stares up at the ceiling, noting the pattern of the delicate carvings of lion’s heads and cherubs, and realises just how far back he’s been thrown.

He stands, heads for his wardrobe, and dresses.

With energy he hasn’t had in years, Logan bolts from his bedroom.

If he’s gone this far back, he realises, then that means —

He turns the corner and sees his father, Sparrow, his long hair braided down the back of his neck. Sparrow has to stop before Logan runs headfirst into him, turning in a dramatic sweep to avoid his son.

“Dad!” Logan shouts, and he ignores the shock on Sparrow’s face as he throws himself at him. Clinging to Sparrow, he tucks his face against his father’s shoulder. He has him back, if only for this chance, and he’s not going to waste a second of it.

“Logan,” Sparrow says as his son lets go, “Are you alright?”

It goes without saying that Logan hasn’t shown such enthusiasm toward hugging his parents — either of them — since he was a young child. To Sparrow, it’s a strange and out of character occurrence for Logan to show such affection. 

To Logan, however, it’s seeing his father for the first time in so, so many years.

He almost blurts out that he missed him, but catches himself.

“I’m fine,” Logan says, wiping his face with a sleeve. Damn it, he thinks, he can’t cry in front of his father. Not now.

“You don’t look fine.” Sparrow says, and ushers Logan to follow him. 

The tension in the air would have been overwhelming if not for Logan’s entire focus being on the fact that his father is alive and walking with him through the castle. His hair is almost entirely grey, the crown sits on his head as nobly as Logan remembers it, and he walks with power that Logan remembers imitating when he was first coronated. 

Strange that he has these memories, he thinks. He’s barely eighteen but with the experience of an entire history’s worth of failed kingship behind him. 

Sparrow waits until they’re in a quieter place to encourage Logan to speak. 

And suddenly — unlike with Walter — Logan finds himself explaining the entire situation.

He expects his father to be confused, or brush away his experiences.

But he doesn’t.

Sparrow sits and listens, taking in every word. He’s patient and seems to believe everything from the start. Likely he’s heard other strange stories, Logan thinks, knowing that his situation is no stranger than some of the other things Sparrow has been through.

Logan finishes his story with minimal distress, though not for a lack of emotion on his part. He’d had to stop a few times to pause and collect himself — mostly after the times witnessing his own death. Silence falls over the two of them as Sparrow processes what he’s explained, and then he rubs his beard and frowns.

“When did you say this darkness first attacked Aurora?” Sparrow asks. Logan swallows harshly.

“I —  I’m not sure. It’s always already been present… I think I heard whispers of the Spire, and I know you had your time there, but I can't be sure—” He says, and Sparrow nods along. He goes quiet for a few long moments, his brows furrowing as he thinks things through. Logan notes the way his face is set with deep lines.

Had his father always looked so old?

“I think I may have to plan a trip to Aurora.” Sparrow says.

Logan feels his heart drop.

“No, no, what if—” he starts, but Sparrow cuts him off with a raised hand.

“Then you’ll do it again. I know you’re capable, Logan. If what you’ve told me is true, and I believe it to be, then I know you’ll find a way to get this right.” 

-

The first attempt with his father doesn’t go as planned. 

Logan doesn’t tell him about that the next time he wakes up in the castle.

This time before they leave, he’s sure to see his younger brother, Cedric, stooping down to his level to assure him that he’ll be back. Cedric grabs his hand and nods, staring at him with dark, intense eyes that make Logan think that maybe he knows.

He keeps that look in his mind as he and Sparrow set sail for Aurora. 

His little brother deserves better than all of the failed experiences Logan has had to deal with. 

-

The second time, they avoid the temple and head straight for the capitol. There, the land is only partially ravaged by the Darkness — only a few cities in the distant desert have fallen, and the city of Aurora is thriving. It’s fascinating to Logan to see the city cast in bright sunshine and with all varieties of people and things he’s never seen in full. They meet Kalin’s father, a tall, withered man with a thin body and dark hair. Logan stares at Kalin, and Kalin stares at him with something in her eyes — something that makes him think that she knows.

He gets the feeling that Cedric knows more than an eight year old should due to his Heroic blood, but Kalin, he wonders. What does she know?

Sparrow makes plans with Kalin’s father. 

They stay in Aurora for some time, bringing Albion’s troops over in small groups, stationing them around the cities of Aurora in preparation.

When the Darkness crawls over Aurora, they’re ready.

-

He watches as his father brings down a too-large hammer onto a shadow, dispelling it with a surprising crunch. He'd fought them before, yes, but Logan always forgets how solid they are before they crumble into nothingness. His father swings again and again, but as Logan watches, more swarm him. Humanoid figures are joined by larger monsters, snarling as they attempt to wrestle the hammer from Sparrow. 

Logan moves without thinking. 

Unlike the last time, he wants to make a difference. He wants to ensure that his father is safe.

He hears his father yell to him, telling him to stay back, but before he can even register his own body moving, Logan throws himself into the midst of the fight, stabbing his sword through a humanoid made of darkness. 

The next thing that happens leaves Logan and Sparrow both stunned for several moments.

Logan throws his free hand out as though to reach for his father, and his hand sparks.

A shadow screeches as it’s impaled by a silvery light, and Logan feels a rush of something through his arm.

Sparrow’s eyes go wide, and before Logan can vocalize his confusion, he’s back to swinging his hammer, this time with renewed vigor. 

“What just—” Logan shouts over the slamming, the sound of gunshots around them. Sparrow finds his way closer, standing by Logan’s side as he readies a spell to defend Logan and himself.

“Will,” Sparrow says, “And a good spell, at that!”

“But I don’t know how to use—” he starts, and he hears Sparrow laugh.

“You’re my son!” Sparrow shouts, and Logan feels his hand pat his shoulder. “You’ve got Heroic blood, Logan, you don’t need to learn to use it, you need to learn to control it!”

It’s a rush, using Will, Logan realises. He watches as Sparrow uses his own, watches the way he moves his hands and arms to direct the flow. Logan copies him, looking all the more like a mimicry of his father as they work beside each other. Will is easier than the sword, Logan finds, and as he flings another spectral blade he realises enjoys it.

He hits a Shadow directly between where its eyes should be. He shouts, delighted, and his father spares him a proud grin.

Perhaps he enjoys it a bit too much.

-

"I know what you're doing," is the chilling phrase that hits Logan's mind. Backing up, he moves until his back is against a wall, giving him cover on one side. Eyes frantic, he looks around through the haze of nighttime, searching for the source.

And then it hits him. 

Quite literally. A clawed hand pins his shoulder to the wall and causes him to shout in pain, the impact sure to bruise.

"I know you're trying to use your Will to change the world into your ideal one."

He’s cornered by the Crawler again. Its claw drags down his face, scratching open his lip, and Logan is overwhelmed to a point where even his newfound magic is out of reach. Breathing heavy, nearly hyperventilating, Logan panics, thinking again that he’ll be thrown back, thrown back, back to the beginning where he’ll have to start all over once more — 

"You're weak, little king, having to call on your parents to fight your monsters for you."

— But then a bolt of ice slams into the Crawler’s eye, forcing it back. Logan looks up to see Sparrow drawing his hammer from its place on his back, his teeth bared in a snarl unlike anything Logan has ever seen from his father.

“Get the hell off of my son,” Sparrow says, swinging his hammer as the Crawler slides backward. Its many faces turn, not expecting the sheer determination radiating from Sparrow as he follows it. 

The whispers from the Darkness begin finding their way into Logan’s head. He slumps against the wall as he covers his ears, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he watches his father drop his hammer in favor of using his hands to grab the Crawler’s limbs and tear.

Why his nickname is still Sparrow, Logan figures he will never know, as he looks more reminiscent of a bear or a lion in battle.

Despite covering his ears, the screeching coming from the Crawler as his father tears into it is like nothing he’s heard before. Logan feels tears welling up in his eyes as he tastes the blood dripping from his lips and he shuts his eyes as the din of battle overwhelms him.

Later, Sparrow lifts him from the ground and pulls him against his chest. Logan tries to ignore the ichor and the blood spattered against his armor.

“It might come back,” Sparrow says, “But not for a long time.”

Logan nods, leaning against his father.

“Something like that, it speaks of its children,” Sparrow continues, helping Logan out of the chaos and the mess that’s been strewn around them, “But it doesn’t realise just how far I’d go for my kids.”

Logan chooses to look away from the fact that his father’s hands are stained black and red. 

-

They return to Albion with hope. Hesitant hope, but hope nonetheless. The queen, Logan’s mother, sees his new scar and fusses over him, something she’d never had a chance to do in previous times. He should be upset about it, he thinks, being a young man with the world ahead of him, but he doesn’t push her away. He lets her prod at his scar, tutting at him that he should have cleaned it better, should have helped it heal so it wasn’t so deep. He shrugs the suggestion off, saying something about how he thinks it makes him look more daring.

“Daring?” His mother laughs, “What, are you trying to impress someone?”

Logan pushes his mother’s hand away, trying his best to hide the grin that’s slowly drawing across his lips. He can’t help it — he has his mother back, and she’s still the same as he remembers. 

“No, no,” he says, “Nobody in particular.”

“Not trying to find a wife, Logan?” 

“No!” is the immediate, stuttering reply. His mother eyes him.

“A husband?”

“Mother,” he says, his heart jumping to his throat. 

“So long as you’re happy,” she says, reaching to push his hair into place. 

It hits him, then, that he had never told his mother the first time around. He's sure she knew — why wouldn't she? Cedric had him found out the first time around by the time he was thirteen, poking fun at how he hoped Logan found a good husband before he became king. 

He never did. Of course not. He didn't have the time for that.

But now? 

Maybe. 

Maybe, if things continue on without the hiccup of starting over. 

-

He hopes this time he’s doing things right. 

It feels like he is: the people are happy, Cedric is growing up and he's doing his best to be closer to him this time. Their parents take note, finding time to include both of them in lessons. However, the toll of fighting so hard at his older age is evident in Sparrow, who has to halt their Will lessons on more than one occasion to rest his body. 

There's an instance where Logan is learning how to direct an intended spell after it's flung where Sparrow has to stop and lean against the fence in the garden. When he takes Logan and Cedric inside once more, Logan props himself up against his father to keep him steady. 

The next day, Sparrow begins walking with a cane. 

Logan feels guilt well up inside his chest as he watches his father walk. 

He'd be healthier if Logan hadn't been so selfish, hadn't wished to reset his chances and have his father there to help him. 

But, he reasons, his father is a Hero in every sense of the word. He's stronger than he lets on. 

-

He gets another seven years with his father. It's the longest one of these younger starts has gone on. 

Logan hopes it's the final one. 

His mother takes over as queen for a little under a year, giving Logan time to talk to Cedric about his plan.

“I think you deserve the throne.” Logan says, and Cedric stops, halfway through putting his sword up from their sparring match. He’s still full of energy, his hair out of place. Cedric attempts to push his hair from his face as he comprehends what Logan has just said. 

“Excuse me?” Cedric says, his eyes wide, “Logan, you can’t be serious.”

Logan raises a brow.

“Is it that difficult to believe I’d just hand it over?” He says, and Cedric seems unable to form a proper response for a few moments, his throat tensing and untensing as he tries to find the words to use.

“Why?” Is all that he can manage.

“Because,” Logan says, stepping closer to his brother so they’re able to see eye-to-eye, “I know you. I know you’ll be a good king and that I am not cut out for it. You can be the king Albion needs.”

Cedric stares at him, dumbfounded. Logan continues, his voice soft.

“You have a good heart and you know the people well. You will do so much better than I could ever hope to.”

“This isn’t something I can simply accept, you know.” Cedric says, “We’d have to talk it over with Mother, and…”

Logan clicks his tongue.

“I’ve already brought it up to her. She wanted me to talk to you before she made any sort of decision for us.”

-

The year passes. Cedric eventually accepts, though not without hesitation. Their mother is laid to rest beside Sparrow, the crypt below the gardens once again opened and shut. Logan almost wishes to turn back time again, just to get some more time with her, but —

He doesn’t will it too strongly. She deserves the rest after all of this. 

Cedric is coronated, much to the surprise of the people, and Logan watches as the crown is placed on his head. Rumor spreads as to why Logan refused the throne — some say he’s not mature enough, others say that it’s because he can’t give an heir. He pays them no mind, knowing the truth: that he’s not meant for it. He’s never been good at being king, even before the Crawler first took his mind. Kind, yes, benevolent to the extent that Sparrow was, sure — but the planning, the money management, the constant socialization and ability to keep track of who’s doing what and where…

Cedric is better at those things. He’s able to juggle multiple conversations at once, he’s good with money, and he knows when to put his foot down to the demands of people like Reaver. 

He’s proud of his younger brother for being the king he can’t be.

The first year of Cedric’s rule is hectic, for sure, but he manages to befriend many of the same people Logan remembers from the previous times he’s seen his brother at work. Page winds up coming to the castle with a request for additional school funding, and Cedric befriends her faster than Logan can say her name. And then Benjamin Finn, plucky soldier that he is, shows up with a report from the Swift brigade and Logan sees the connection between Cedric and Ben before either of them have a realisation of their own.

He knows, of course, that long ago, in ages past that are no longer ‘real’, that Page and Ben and Walter were part of a resistance against himself. That he’d hurt each of them in turn, they’d lost their families, their trust — everything. They’d lost everything because of Logan.

But now?

Now he hears Page talk about her family with excitement as he walks the halls of the castle with her, he hears Ben tell stories about his family’s business and his brothers’ antics. 

He even gets a nudge from Ben about the fact that one of his older brothers is looking for a man. Logan shrugs it off, telling Ben as politely as possible that he’s not interested, sorry, but did you know Cedric is? 

“You’re about his age, aren’t you?” Logan says, and Benjamin sputters.

“He’s the king, and I’m just a soldier, and — you’re ridiculous.” 

Logan tries to hide his grin. 

And then, Logan meets Thomas.

At first, it’s a meeting in passing. Thomas, a bookkeeper hired by Cedric’s new team of advisors, works long days and far into the evening in the castle’s library. He’s not someone that Logan plans to meet with very often. His work is quiet, and he prefers the solitude of the library to meeting with people. Something that Logan understands and agrees with wholeheartedly — while he’s been taught from a young age how to interact with nobles and commoners alike, Logan prefers to have time to himself.

But … 

But, sometimes time alone is just as fine when that ‘alone’ is with one other person.

He wonders, as he sits in the library with the gentle glow of a lantern on the pages he’s scouring, where Thomas wound up in all the times he’d failed as king. Was he, perhaps, in the Brightwall academy? Or at home, stricken with some illness or injury from working long hours of physical labor that his delicate hands couldn’t handle? 

Was he alive at all when Logan had the throne?

Lost in his thoughts, eyes unfocused, he doesn’t notice Thomas sidling up to the table he’s sitting at until his hand taps the page of the book Logan as open in front of him. 

“You’ve been on that page for half an hour, now, my lord.” Thomas says, amusement in his voice that breaks Logan’s trance. “Do you need it read aloud to you, or are you simply tired?”

Logan blinks at him.

His ears feel warm.

“No, no, I…” Logan starts, clearing his throat. “I am… distracted, is all.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest and resume your…” Thomas glances at the book, a smile creeping across his lips, “Study on Auroran perfume industry tomorrow.”

That’s the book he pulled off the shelf?

Logan rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Thomas’s gaze as the man chuckles at him. 

-

He goes back to the library. Thomas apologizes for teasing him, but Logan shrugs it off, content to forgive and forget. An hour is spent, then, as Logan helps Thomas sort books and find duplicates, making a log of how many of what is currently in the castle. For the most part, it’s quiet save for when one of them makes a quip about a book they’ve got in their hands, or a note on just how many of one they have.

“Really, I don’t see why the castle has thirteen copies of What Your Choice of Dog Says About You,” Thomas says, “I know your father liked dogs, but really?”

“Funny thing is, his old mutt was a stray he found.” Logan says, “My father didn’t know Phoenix’s breed any better than he knew the difference between a daisy and an aster.”

“Really?” Thomas replies, his eyes wide. “The way people talk about that dog, I’d have thought he was bred by the gods themselves.”

“Might as well have been,” Logan laughs, “My father claims he saved his life multiple times.”

“Now that I will believe,” Thomas says, leaning against the bookshelf he and Logan are sorting through. “All the stories I’ve heard…”

Silence passes over them. Logan puts another book up, making sure its spine is lined up with the ones beside it. He presses a finger against the textured cover, the gold leafing on the lettering glittering in the dim light.

“Do you think,” Thomas says, tapping his chin, “That your father would like to have a book written about him? About his adventures?”

Logan turns to look at him. He studies the way Thomas is staring at him, like he’s hiding some eagerness behind his eyes.

“I think he’d like that.” Logan says, and Thomas beams.

-

Somewhere in-between his getting to know Thomas, Cedric winds up married. To Benjamin Finn, just as Logan expected. He tries to keep the wedding small, but word gets out through Bowerstone and the entire city is lit up in bright lights and dancing, and Logan finds his hands itching as he catches a glimpse of Thomas in the gardens.

-

He watches Thomas's face in the lantern light, his copper hair turned fiery red in the gentle glow. There's something he can't read behind his eyes, something sly and curious that is tempting Logan to ask him what he's thinking. But he doesn't want to be intrusive — he'll wait until Thomas is comfortable speaking, himself. Minutes pass in a strangely comfortable silence, Thomas's pen scratching across paper and Logan focusing on his breathing, conscious of how loud it is in comparison to the sound of writing. 

Finally, Thomas looks up again, a lock of his hair falling in front of his face. 

"Alright," he says, a gentle, almost melodic lilt to his voice, "I think my hand needs a rest. You've been quiet — is something on your mind?"

You, Logan almost blurts out, but holds himself fast.

"I'm simply curious about how your work is going," he says instead. 

Thomas smiles at him. Logan feels something in his chest go tight.

“Slow, but steady. I’ve been trying to revise some of the latest chapters, but … I think I need a rest, the words are starting to make less sense than your father’s choice of fashion in his younger years.”

Logan laughs, casting his eyes down to Thomas's hand. It's stained with ink from his pen where he's forgotten to lift his wrist enough, dragging his left hand through the ink. Smudges on the paper are small, the text still legible. "So you’re close to being done?"

"Oh, not quite." Thomas hums, his pen now left abandoned on the table. He runs his ink-stained hand over his hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Though Walter has been very kind to tell me of Sparrow’s adventures. And he pointed out where your father left all his journals in the library…”

Logan smiles. 

-

He kisses Thomas sometime later that week. It blurs together, really.

-

Cedric tells Logan that he and Benjamin have added another to their relationship. 

It’s not something that Logan ever saw coming, nor had it happened in any of the previous lives he’d lived. They introduce her to Logan and he decides that she’s good for them, excitable and confident in herself. 

-

He becomes an uncle.

Cedric’s kid is so much like him, energetic and bright. Logan decides that his priority is going to be to help her have the life she deserves. 

Thomas asks if he wants to have children. He shakes his head and assures him that having his brother’s family is more than enough — thankfully, Thomas seems to have the same opinion. He’s grateful that they can agree on the the important steps in their lives, and after some discussion and agreement on the venue, Thomas agrees to marry him.

With it being Logan’s turn, Cedric goes out of his way to make the party as bright and delightful as his own. It’s embarrassing, being the center of attention, but Logan winds up not minding it as he sees the way Thomas smiles at him, the way Cedric and his partners look so happy for the two of them.

-

“Hey, hey, slow down, you!” Logan shouts, watching as his niece runs down the hallway, her tiny feet taking her faster than he realised she was capable of. Thankfully, Walter is there to stop her from going too far too fast, lifting her off the ground in one sweep of his arms. Logan catches up to the two of them as Walter hefts Myra onto his side. She grabs at the collar of his overcoat, and Logan goes to voice his concern.

“It’s fine, Logan, she’s just happy to see me!” Walter says, “With a grip like that, I think she’ll wind up being a better fighter than you or her dad.”

Myra does, in fact, wind up being a good fighter. Her first lessons are given by Walter, but as he gets too old to fight — even fake fighting against pretend enemies — Logan takes over. And with it, he begins to instruct her on proper rifle usage and Will.

She struggles with the latter skill, but her brother, Alistair, grows up alongside her and winds up showing promise with Will. So Logan makes sure that he gets proper education on how the skills work, on how to control it despite the fact that sometimes Logan worries that he’s going to reset all that he’s come to have simply by thinking about it too hard.

But, then again, the powers are called Will, and Willing something into existence means wanting it.

The Crawler’s words drift into his mind, late one evening, as he’s contemplating usage of Will.

"I know you're trying to use your Will to change the world into your ideal one."

Is this his ideal world, he wonders, watching Myra and Alistair as Myra swings her sword down against Alistair’s, the sound of scraping metal filling the room. He thinks for a few long moments, thinks about Cedric and his spouses, about Page and her school, about Thomas and the way his hair is slowly beginning to show signs of greying, just as his own is.

Of course it is, he decides. Why would he ever want anything more than this?

-

He wakes up in the dead of night. Logan stares up at the canopy of his bed, his mind flickering from memory to memory as though reviewing a dream just before it's forgotten. 

Was it all a dream? 

The thought makes his throat go tight. His niece and nephew, his husband, Albion’s thriving population and culture, Aurora...

Maybe it was all a dream, maybe he's still trapped as king with the Darkness soon to encompass Albion —

He feels the bedsheets shift. Logan looks to his left and sees a mess of red hair peeking from the edge of the blanket. 

His lips turn upward into a smile. 

The memories fade — what was he just worried about? 

A bad dream, he supposes, and tucks himself against his husband. Thomas's arm tightens around his middle. 

Albion moves in the night, guardsmen make their rounds, and the stars shift overhead. 

Things are alright. 

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Treasure- Part 1

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,565

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: For her entire life, Y/N has always been at the disposal of the men who treat her like she’s less than human. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother is unable to support the two of them after his death. Years later, Y/N feels stuck and there’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in your own home. However, after being kidnapped by a gang of ruthless pirates, Y/N finally gets her first chance of freedom and she very much likes the way it tastes even if that means playing with the heart of the notorious pirate captain whose affections become more and more obvious every day.

When I was younger, my mother told me stories about the ocean goddess Amphitrite whose husband, Poseideon, commanded the endless tides and waves. She was a jealous lover, envious of the women Posideon would often bed, resulting in demigod children which he treasured and kept safely hidden away from his wife’s thirst for vengeance. But children can only be controlled for as long as their curiosity remains sated, choosing the comfort of land instead of that deep-spirited desire to return to the water. Eventually, his demigod children could no longer resist the call and that’s when Amphitrite would rise from the deepest trenches, commanding the ocean to overhaul boats of brave sailors, thunderous power splitting the ships in half while the demigod children lose themselves to their father’s perilous domain.

But Posideon grew angry with Amphitrite’s actions, demanding that she leave his children alone or else she would be banished to the Underworld where his ruthless brother Hades prevailed. Bitter and disappointed, Amphitrite sought a new solution to the problem of her husband’s illicit affairs. Amphitrite decided to try her luck on land and she lived amongst the humans for many years. One day, while she was wandering a distant shore, Amphitrite fell in love with a gorgeous sailor whose long, silky hair and endless sea-green eyes commanded her deepest affections. The sailor, who never realized her true identity, also fell for the mysterious way he felt drawn to the woman who climbed aboard his ship. He promised that he would do anything to please Amphitrite and the clever goddess requested that the sailor track and kill the children of her unsuspecting husband. So, with a crew at hand, the love-struck sailor spent years at sea burning the ships of Poseidon’s demigod children, earning him the nickname of “Pirate” for his bloodthirsty crimes at the behest of Amphitrite....

“I think that’s enough for one night,” my mother would say, noticing the way my eyes grew wider despite the fact that I was meant to be sleeping.

“Are there pirates here?” I would often ask my mother once she was finished.

“They’re only stories, my dearest,” my mother would reply, holding me close at night while my gaze wandered the darkness, searching out the window with a mixture of fear and trepidation, wondering if a pirate would sneak through the window with blood dripping from his blade.

But that was my childhood and, as the years slowly passed away, those stories grew as distant as my memories, lost to the powerful effects of time. I grew as tall as my mother, discovering her features whenever I would look into a mirror. I also inherited her passion for storytelling and would often sit on the hills overlooking the brilliant sea imagining myself exploring the distant lands that the maps at school promised would hold all sorts of possibilities.

Sadly, my dreams of leaving the island became less and less of a possibility as the realities of life replaced the fantastical wanderings of my imagination. When my father eventually died and left me alone to deal with my despondent mother who could no longer take care of herself. She would usually sit in the living room throughout the day, looking out the window at nothing in particular. It was a miracle to hear her speak, and I knew that my mother had become nothing more than a shell of her former self. To take care of us, I was forced to leave school which only dampened my curiosity in the study of Astronomy and the brilliant stars that always inspired me when I was younger. 

I would always miss my youth because now, at the tender age of 21, I had nothing left of the Spirit that once fueled my every hope and desire. I walked through each day dreading the possibility of another, watching everyone else around me move through their lives like the waves washing up on the beach, there at one instant and then gone the next. Leaving for a distant land in the small ships that frequently visited our small island. But nobody liked to stay forever because the human instinct to explore and conquer was present in every man and woman. Sadly, I’d never get the chance to satisfy mine.

Trapped here, like the fish brought in at high tide, to suffer through an endless cycle, wishing to escape to the stars because only then could I be truly free.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the heavy-set man groaned at my ear, thick hips pounding against mine with bruising power.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” I responded robotically, gazing at the ceiling and creating constellations out of the boards.

It was the same every night, depending on what sort of customers were drawn into the hostel. The owner, an older gentleman with greasy, balding hair, would accept payment for our services, setting aside a gold token or two if he was feeling generous towards his whores which only ever happened when the place was full. Our best customers were merchant ships full of drunk and horny sailors looking to forget about their unfortunate circumstances and stick their uncut cocks into whatever comfortable hole they could find. 

“It’s good business,” the owner would croon, gathering us girls together around him. “My sluts make me good money.”

I would always hold my tongue at the term because, despite the fact that it was true, the connotation still struck a nerve, especially considering how my father had treated my mother. He would often come home at night completely wasted, slapping my mother like she meant absolutely nothing to him. Yelling obscenities while requesting that his slut get him something else to drink.

My father had passed away years ago, but my mother took his loss a lot more than I was expecting considering his treatment towards her. Her eyes lost the light I had cherished as a child, spending her days gazing out the window in my father’s old armchair while I was forced to find work. And those young girls like me who were unable to stay in school on the island could always find work at a whorehouse, selling her body for enough money to buy food and pay rent. That’s all that mattered to me for survival, but it still didn’t satisfy my wildest imaginations, dreaming of escaping to a place far away from this horrible island.

My client for the evening let out a deep-throated moan, cumming inside and I winced when I felt him lean down to kiss my forehead, the gesture far too intimate for my comfort. “I’d buy you again a heartbeat,” he told me sincerely while I impatiently waited for my shift to finally end.

I was usually a lot stricter about the type of contact I allowed. However, these days, I usually endured far more than I used to back when I was still new to the services required of me. Skittish around the older men touching my body or afraid to even ask the other girls for advice. I’m sure some of those clients took advantage of my innocence, but that had since worn off and I was nothing if not completely stoic when it came time to satisfy another customer.

I was still often ignored by the other girls, especially since men usually preferred me because of my younger age. There was only so much that makeup could hide before the body itself bore its secrets in the wrinkles creasing one’s forehead or the bulging veins in a girl’s thighs and arms. My body was still soft, enjoying the effects of youth before those looks would inevitably become lost to a steady decline.

But then again, most men didn’t care since they were usually drunk and reeking of desperation when they entered the hostel. “Sell me your best,” they would often request of my boss to which he would simply signal whichever girl happened to be closest at the time. It was always unfortunate when it was someone simply looking to negotiate their pay so that they could feed their family.

I walked down the stairs from my room with heavy steps while trying to ignore the new ache between my thighs. Carefully, I avoided the lingering patrons while taking a seat at the bar. Someone had discarded a glass from earlier, but I didn’t care about whose lips might have touched the rim, downing the rest of the nasty-smelling liquid without care. “Don’t look so down, kid, you’re too young for wrinkles.”

I offered Wendy, the kind hostel bartender, a small smile. “Any news on how many ships are coming into port tonight?”

“Heard a lot of rumors today,” she said, toweling off another glass. “It might be a pretty busy night. You know that makes the boss happy.”

“But it also means a long shift for me,” I said. “I can only handle a few old bastards a night before I feel completely numb in my legs.”

“Try stretching,” she suggested. “Good business means you might get paid more.”

“Still won’t be enough,” I said, barely acknowledging one of the other hostel workers who had suddenly joined us at the bar.

“Sounds like someone should have stayed at home if she ain’t on her best game,” her nasal voice informed me.

“I don’t do much of the work.”

A snort of laughter. “That’s true. You might be the best of us at spreading those pretty thighs.”

I gritted my teeth together as I signaled for Wendy to refill my glass. “This coming from someone who’s always chosen last by the clientele.”

Barbara paused next to me, spine rigid. “Watch your mouth, little girl. We don’t talk that way to anyone, got it?”

“Whatever,” I muttered darkly, eyes narrowing as more men started to walk into the hostel, eyes shiny with evidence of their desires which I would have the obligation of fulfilling.

“Work hard,” Barbara snapped at me before wandering out onto the main floor sporting her best smile.

I glowered in her direction, surveying the crowd with disinterest. “There’s a big group,” Wendy remarked, nodding at the door.

I spun around in my chair, holding tightly to my glass as I discovered the boisterous crowd of relatively young sailors who had just entered the hostel.  It was a large group of men, clothed in ragged attire barely held together by worn stitching, black-toed boots scuffing the floors. They were loud and obnoxious, clearly oblivious to decorum. They wore matching black masks and hats, overcoats thick as they carried themselves with an air of superiority. “They don’t look like regular sailors,” I remarked loosely to Wendy, unaware of the consequences of my words until a few moments later when the leader of the group suddenly confronted my boss who had been talking with a few regulars.

“How many do you have here?” the masked man demanded, flaming red hair contrasting with his pale skin.

“H-how many of what?” my boss asked, cowering back as he took in the sight of the gangly crew.

“Whores,” the red-head said, surveying the hostel with interest, eyes pausing on me for longer than I would have liked.

“Tonight?” my boss spluttered. “I got six working the floor.”

“We’ll take all of them,” the red-head said. 

“I don’t know if I have enough rooms to accommodate that many pairings! If you could just-”

“Not here,” the red-head sighed impatiently, turning to look at one of his partners. “Am I not speaking English, San?”

“It sounds like it to me,” the one named San pondered, gaze thoughtful as he considered my boss. “Did you not hear him, old man? Give us all of your whores.”

“W-where would you take them?”

“Onboard, obviously,” the red-head snapped. “The crew needs some new entertainment.”

“They got bored of the last ones,” a deeper voice joined the fray belonging to someone whose eyes crinkled at the sides with mischief. He was undoubtedly smiling beneath that unusual disguise.

“Hurry up, Mingi, Captain’s not gonna wait all night!”

“Those girls aren’t leaving this hostel,” my boss said, standing straighter even as his shoulders fell against the heavy gaze of Mingi, tall form looming in a dominant fashion.

In a split second, Mingi pulled a gun from the belt around his waist, aiming directly at my boss’ head. The entire hostel grew silent, all eyes watching the impending situation with fear evident in their dilated irises. “What did you say?”

“Alright, alright,” my boss said, waving his hands like a lunatic. “You can use them for one night.”

BANG!

I heard a distant squeal when his body finally hit the floor, but I was too caught up in my unexpected self-satisfaction at seeing my slimy boss bleeding out against the wood I had spent hours cleaning last night. “He said six,” Mingi growled, glancing back at his men. “Take whichever six you want, including her,” he said, pointing in my direction. “We can save her for the captain.”

His words were the catalyst for the sudden action of the other men, swords drawn from their scabbards as they ran at the crowd with excited cheers as if the prospect of attacking innocent civilians was too much to anticipate. Screams filled the hostel, men and women alike running in opposite directions in their desperation to escape. “Pirates!” someone shouted and the word sent a shiver down my spine as I met the gaze of the man who had murdered my boss in cold blood.

“The Captain will like you a lot, girl,” Mingi said, nodding appreciatively as he openly appraised me like I was particularly worthy of his attention. Around us, the other girls were sobbing and pleading, struggling in the grasps of the pirates who had since taken them hostage, pulling them towards the door of the hostel which I once associated with long nights struggling to sell my body to the highest bidder. “Are you gonna give me a hard time like your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends,” I retorted coldly, surprising the pirate standing before me.

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“I understand,” I said calmly, gazing out across the now mostly vacant hostel, a few bodies littering the floors covered in blood. “I’ll go with you.”

Mingi smirked, gripping tightly to my upper arm even though it wasn’t necessary, leading me out into the chaotic streets like I was nothing more than a common dog for him to command. The island itself was a complete mess, townspeople running through the streets cursing and yelling, trash loitering the sidewalks, children mindlessly glancing around with wide, confused eyes. And through it all I managed to keep myself together, vaguely wondering what my mother might be doing at that moment. But it never crossed my mind to beg this pirate to allow me one last chance to see her. It didn’t matter that my mother depended on me to take care of her because, for a fleeting second, I could only think about how unfair it was that I was stuck with a mother like her who could no longer protect me from harm

The dock was glowing in the distance, lanterns lighting the worn pathways leading to different ships anchored at port. I had only been to the docks a few times in my life, mostly to help my former boss whenever the hostel received a large delivery. Nevertheless, it still managed to fill me with a sick feeling of hope that maybe one day I could find myself a ship willing to take me far away from the island. Somewhere warm and inviting where I could study Astronomy and remember all the delicate patterns I had once memorized when I was still a young and impressionable child. 

Of course, being kidnapped against my will was certainly not the way I envisioned leaving the island, especially when it involved pirates. I studied Mingi from the corner of my eyes. How many people has he killed? Would I be just another body to add to his list?

Such questions were useless to consider because fear was the last emotion I needed to feed into right now, paralyzed with the wide-eyed desire to run or fight and protect myself. I would stand no chance with these pirates, especially Mingi who was taller and strong, leading me to a ship that stood in contrast to the others anchored down. The ship in question, with the name “Precious” painted onto the side of the hull, was larger than any boat I had ever seen docked at the bay. It was actually quite beautiful, dark sails trembling in the breeze while the forlorn flag at the highest point indicated that it belonged to the pirate order. But that was just the ironic contradiction of the ship because despite its outward appearance, the men who commanded her wheel were nothing short of barbaric. A nasty breed of man who plundered the seas and killed without remorse.

I stumbled up the narrow plank, glaring at Mingi from the corner of my eye as he continued to push me onboard. The other girls were already kneeling, hands tied behind their backs as they suffered from various states of undress. I glanced down at my disheveled skirts, grateful that they at least covered my legs. “This one is for the Captain.”

“But she’s the youngest!” another voice complained, glaring almost enviously at the other girls.

“For. The. Captain,” Mingi repeated, jerking me to the right. “You can do whatever you want to the rest of them.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing when I saw one of the pirates dig his fingers tightly into Barbara’s dark hair. “You should be grateful,” Mingi growled at me. “The Captain doesn’t like to share.”

“I don’t feel grateful,” I hissed back at him, completely unprepared for the accompanying slap as my head twisted to the side.

“You won’t talk to me that way,” Mingi said, shoving me against the wall, fingers tightening around my throat. My lungs were screaming for air, toes hovering above the deck, hands scratching against his impossible hold. I was gasping, desperate for air while my mind screamed at me to fight back, but I was powerless against his predominant strength.

“Is this one mine?”

My feet landed on the floor and I dropped to my knees, breathing in the air like it was the last time I might be able to do so. “It might not be worth it, Captain,” Mingi spat. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Is that so?”

I was slowly recovering from my temporary brush with death, lifting my gaze to locate the mysterious Captain I was now meant to serve. He wasn’t as tall as Mingi, but he was somehow far more intimidating, wearing all black from the mask hiding his face to the boots echoing against the deck. His hair was a strawberry color, delicately framing an angular face that might be handsome if it didn’t belong to such a despicable person. “Tell me your name, whore,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard against the raw ache in my throat. “Y/N.”

The Captain nodded. “Mingi, you can leave the two of us now. Go enjoy the other girls.”

Mingi obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he trained those suspicious eyes on my recovering form. “Aye, sir.”

I watched him as he walked away, fingers massaging my still-tender throat. “Does it hurt?”

I carefully considered the Captain. “He tried to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t mouth off,” the Captain said, nodding towards a door. “Come inside.” I bit my tongue, withholding a sharp retort as I did as he directed, brushing off my skirts. “My private quarters,” he said, shrugging off his thick overcoat while I examined the dozens of candles lining the mantlepiece. 

“Will the others be hurt?”

He paused at my question. “Does it matter? You can’t do anything to help them.”

“I just want to help myself,” I told him honestly, brushing my fingers across a rather ancient looking bookcase.

“Then this should be easy,” the Captain said, tearing off his mask. “You can be good for me while I fuck you.”

I took a moment to admire the Captain’s features, far more delicate than I was anticipating with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’ve been doing that my whole life, Captain.”

He smirked. “Then this should be second-nature to you.”

I bristled at the insinuation. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a whore.”

“Why else do you think you were brought onto this ship?” the Captain asked, tone growing hostile.

“I was forced to come aboard,” I said. “By that bumbling idiot who tried to kill me.”

“And I could do the same,” the Captain said, drawing a gun from the holster hanging off his belt. “Get on the bed.”

“I’d rather die,” I told him honestly, staring down the silver weapon to meet the Captain’s narrowed eyes. “Kill me instead.”

A chuckle escaped from between his lips. “So that’s what you want? I could always force you.”

“I’d fight back.”

“But I’m quite strong, love,” he said with a barely distinguishable accent. 

“It wouldn’t be easy for you,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone easy?”

The Captain was quiet for a long time before he re-holstered his gun, crossing his arms in a closed-off manner. “Then perhaps a few nights in the brig will change your mind.”

[honeyctzen]

scarred leash (prologue) - m.l

IMPORTANT: This is the prologue for my newest fanfiction and is an introductory to the main character and the themes of this story. It involves sex, bdsm, self harm and themes relating to that matter. It will also not just be sex, but have an actual story and characters falling in love. If any of this is not for you, my other works are much lighter and less “plotty”. I really hope this excites you for the rest of the story, I am very much proud of it. Thank you! - Maisie ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I was sixteen when I chose to leave home without even whispering a word to anyone. Sixteen when I decided I had to go out alone into the world, to make my own way with the little experience I had gathered so far. It took a long time to map out my plan, endless days that turned into sleepless nights. I spent most of my last teenage years memorising a singular night, a night that would lead me into the next stage of my life.

My dusty countryside town was a few hours from the monumental London. I thought about the city all hours of the day, the faraway land that was London. The idea of even stepping foot in it was weird and foreign and still, it was the only place I ever wanted to go. I’d lived in one place for my entire life and rarely ever left the town, in fact I’d only left it a few times. All because of hospital trips. The idea of living away from that place was terrifying and yet, completely exhilarating. Given that back then, I’d been pretty naive to how the world works as I’d never been told of it. I wanted a nice house, nice job, maybe I would meet a nice person and we would have a nice relationship. I had come to learn as my research into London and life in general continued that it wouldn’t be that simple. Everything was complicated. If you wanted a place to live, there was several thousand procedures you had to endure. If you wanted a job, you had to have a thousand different qualifications. I thought after realising all this that my hopes of leaving were over, that was when I had begun thoroughly planning.

Through school and college I was able to obtain the qualifications I needed to move away and work in business. I knew I would have to work for a few years before I gained any sort of fulfilling job, but I had endured years of education, I understood patience. Through research I had found a small flat that I would be able to pay for with money I’d saved over the years and earnings from a job I would later procure. Life would still be difficult, I knew this. I was a young, inexperienced girl moving out to a tumultuous city, it would be dangerous. Though I had concluded long ago that dying in this new fantastical place was far better than peddling on back home, where I would die unknown, just another body in the wet dirt underneath the town church.

I knew by leaving that I was inflicting an unimaginable amount of pain upon my mother, who was as neurotic as she was suffocating. Though I understood she didn’t mean to be, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sympathy for her. My father ran, as did my older brother, leaving me and my ailing grandmother the only people she had left. I wasn’t old enough to understand why my father had just abandoned us but once I grew enough to comprehend love, pain, divorce, I got it. This town was the entire world for my mother but as I got older, she realised it wouldn’t be for me. Instead it would be a restraint.

The first time I recall my mother knowing I would be difficult is when I was eleven. I developed much quicker than most children my own age, breasts already sprouting on my chest, hair spreading over my body. There was a huge wave of name calling, little jabs at my appearance, and while I tried to ignore it, eventually it burrowed beneath my skin. That was the same year I cut myself for the first time. My fingers coiled around a pair of scissors, pressing the metal over the flesh of my arm until a litter of red scratches appeared over the pale skin. Back then, it was just a punishment, a way of controlling myself from completely losing my mind. I stopped it for a while. In natures due course, the other girls grew into their bodies and I was planted back into an unremarkable place among my peers. There was no bullying and so, I forgot about cutting myself for a couple years.

While I had physically matured much quicker than others my age, mentally, it seemed I had been halted somewhere. There appeared no reason for it but the things that my schoolmates were interested in disgusted me. When a friend first showed me porn, I remember feeling vomit rise up in my throat. A woman, bundled up with rope, a muscled, balding man arched over her. The blood curling shrieks that filled the room felt torturous. I couldn’t understand how people liked this, how they liked it enough to pleasure themselves to it. I suppose that was when my fascination with sex begun. Initially, it was hatred, a complete abhorrence for the thing, a vexation that appeared randomly and intensely. If a classmate would mention it, or describe any sort of sexual act, I felt ill. My stomach twisting uncomfortably as the boys all called out derogatory names for the women they had seen in the films and then once again, I grew to hate my body.

I was fifteen the next time I cut myself. It was much more deliberate, much more intense. I had swapped out the dull scissors, for a pocket knife a friend had gifted me. It was able to bury itself much deeper than before and immediately, with the first slice, a tsunami of relief rolled over me. Though, it was a different kind of relief than it had been those years before. I found myself thinking back to the woman I had seen in the porn, the intricate ropes that clasped themselves over her limbs, the pained screams that passed her lips. The man leaning over her figure, how his fingers gripped the flesh of her waist, how he bevelled his teeth down onto her neck until it bled. I found myself recalling each detail of the images I had seen so long ago, and I found myself cutting down into the flesh as the memories scurried across my brain.

I felt guilty afterward, an awful guilt that followed me around for weeks. But then, a boy would mention shapes they had seen in porn and suddenly, I would feel the urge to damage myself again. It spiralled quickly. So quickly that I, myself, was shocked. Instead of recalling images I had seen, I created my own imaginations. Blurred, colourless visions of violence, and sex dulling into one, all as I pulled a knife against my own skin. It continued for months, months of fantasies and cutting and by the time my sixteenth birthday hurdled toward me, I had a plethora of thick scars covering my arms and legs. Though that didn’t faze me when finally, three years after all my friends, my mother bought me a cell phone.  

She would scour over the phone from time to time, checking my messages, calls, emails, and all other forms of communication. Yet, of all the applications on the phone, my mother was the most ignorant to the internet. She didn’t understand the concept of it, let alone know it was built into the mobile and so, I was able to roam free for the first time. And I roamed. My inexperience meant I didn’t know what sites to go to, nor did I know which keywords to search. The titles of the videos that came up almost seemed to be in a foreign language but after a couple of trips to the websites, I gathered the premise of each category. After locking myself in the bathroom, I would go to the sites and type in words such as bondage, submissive, sadism, pain and the things I liked would appear. Though I now understood how people looked at porn, I still didn’t understand why they touched themselves to it. Merely pushing a blade into my leg as I watched seemed to be enough. I wasn’t sure if it was sexual for me, or if it was a punishment thing as it had been when I was younger.

My understanding of my own sexuality went little further than this and my adventures on the websites dwindled until they stopped. It had grown to stop making me feel any better, and so I began inflicting more serious physical harm upon myself. The hospital visits followed soon after, as did my mother’s rantings about how unhealthy that stuff all was for me. For once, she paid attention to me. It almost felt nice, deserved. But I couldn’t hold it for long, as quite abruptly, my grandmothers health began to decline. She died a while after growing sick, and the absence of her in the house made my mother somehow more insufferable. And though we lived in the same house, it was almost as if we were separated by an unseen barrier.

I didn’t completely mind, it gave me enough solitude to go about my planning. Endless research into where I could live in London, what jobs I could obtain with the qualifications I would acquire after leaving sixth form. It took a while to find what would suit me right but after I finally latched onto it, my future suddenly felt full, meaningful almost. I now had something to look forward to, something to work toward. So, I studied harder, concentrated on the daydreams of my new life away from the idle cottage town. My grandmother had left some money to both me and my mother, more to me. I insisted I was able to tend to my own finances and after long bouts of pleading, my mother agreed. I had money, two months left at sixth form and then I could leave.

Time blurs together, memories jumbling, I can barely remember the last few months back home. But what I do recall vividly, is the night I left. I had booked train tickets the week prior and planned to stay in a hotel while I found somewhere to live. I needed to be close to the central city, I knew that much, though, not much else. I’d found a job interview for admin staff at a stockbroking company. My business a level came in handy, and my odd passion for calculations and numbers did too. If I could just get this job, if I could get that flat, I could make it.

I chose to leave during the night, climbing from my bedroom window, scuttling across the streets like a fragile hedgehog. I’d never even snuck from my house once before and the first time I was, I was doing so knowing that I would never come back. With every step I took I thought I would be caught and hauled back home by my hair. Each step further from the slanted bungalow made my heart beat a little faster until, gradually my pulse slowed, and the gentle pitter of my feet grew to calm myself. Though I didn’t feel completely secure until I passed the welcome sign to the town. But once I did, I felt a weight pulled from my stomach. A sudden notion that I had done it, I had gotten away like my father and brother did years ago, like my grandmother had in death. I was now free to do everything I had lost the chance to do through my mother’s coddling. I could drink, do drugs, have sex with an endless stream of people, work. I found myself grinning as I wandered further from town, the dishevelled map directing me toward the train station. The smile pulling at my lips until I worried they would rip. And it only widened when I spotted the station, when I saw my train, when I boarded, when the train began to drift from the docile place I had called home.

I knew that now, I was reborn, I was my own person. It had taken three years to map everything, to prepare myself for life away from the secure blanket I had been smothered with all my life. But now, it had all come to fruit. I dreamt of London on the train, my head pressed against the window, my scarred legs trembling with the thought of all the things that I could do. My chest thick, and heavy with excitement.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

London was everything I had imagined and so much more. It was larger than anything I had ever seen back home, with each building bigger than the next and thousands of vehicles filling the roads. As the train eventually rolled into the city, my eyes clasped over each detail that began to emerge. The differences of the people that wandered the streets, the warmth in the chatter that clambered through the train windows. Everything was so different, so good. I found myself smiling away as I watched from my place in the tube container, my toothy grin shining back at me in the reflection. I was finally there, finally apart of everything I had read about.

Walking the streets was even better, even more real. My feet paced the same tempo as everyone else, my body dipping between the mounds of crowd as I ambled through the roads, glancing down at the map I had printed back in my murky home. The directions were confusing, each street twisting awkwardly to the next and what should have been a five-minute walk turned into two hours of working out where I was. Though eventually, after consulting several locals, I found my way to the flat I had seen in the ad weeks ago. It was in what my mother would have called a ‘ghetto area’ but it was still much larger and greater than the street I had lived on all my life. It looked a normal house though split into three different flats, with a garden leading up to the two doors and ivy climbing up the sides of the home. I’d felt nervous to knock, I wasn’t particularly sure why. Perhaps because the person to answer could have been my future roommate but now, thinking back, I shouldn’t have been.

The person that had answered was taller than me, her gangling arms hanging low, one raised to her mouth as she nursed a cigarette. She was beautiful in an odd way, striking, her nose large and hooked, hair shorted and burnt from styling. She smiled widely when she spotted my obviously anxious face, her voice pouring out in its deepness.

‘The tenant?’ She mumbled through puffs of the intensely clouded cigarette.

‘Um, yeah.’

‘Cool, cool, yeah, sorry, come in.’ Her accent was prominent, thick and harsh but calming all at once. I smiled as I stepped into the flat, the stairs immediate at the entry. I stood beside my single suitcase, my backpack still on my shoulders, her gaze dancing across them before she turned away. She climbed them ahead of me, her feet clattering against the wooden steps and I trailed behind, eyes clinging to each detail of the walls. I wanted to take in as much as I possibly could, I wanted this to be my home, my sanctuary.

Once we stood in the depth of the flat, the girl began to speak again, pulling the cigarette from her mouth for a moment. Throwing her body onto the dusty sofa and awaiting me to sit beside her. I allowed the bag to drop to the floor, my feet pushing it further from me. My lanky limbs folded in on themselves as I perched on the seat, features impossibly too bright for the dullness of the flat.

‘You’re eighteen?’

‘Nineteen.’ I corrected abruptly.

‘Okay, you just have to be eighteen to rent, but that’s fine then,’ she said, inhaling from the stick before releasing the dense cloud into the room, ‘so, um, this is it.’

‘Um, what’s your name?’ I ask quietly.

‘Oh, shit, sorry, I’m Rose, and you?’

‘Ellie.’ I mumbled.

‘Are you the owner?’

She snickered, ‘Uh, no, my uncle is so I get a discount, barely, but, it helps. Um, he doesn’t really care who moves in but I, I do, I live here, so.’

‘Yeah,’

‘You’re not from here?’ She asked, finally pushing the cigarette into the ash tray that sat near her. The smell still strong but dissipating enough for me to open my mouth to speak.

‘No, I um, actually moved here today.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah, um, so, I’m new to this.’

‘Where you from?’

‘A little town just outside Sheffield, I, um, hated it, figured it was time to get away.’ I explained as briefly as I could, my fingers instinctively pulling on my sleeves whilst I spoke of home.

‘For a bit or are you staying here long term?’ She questioned, eyes flitting once more over the lack of things I had brought with me. It hadn’t been that I had forgot much, I hadn’t owned many things back home, not things that warranted bringing anyway.

‘Long term.’ I answered immediately.

‘And you’re gonna work here?’

‘Hopefully,’ I chuckled, ‘I have a job interview tomorrow, so, I um, I’d find work anyway, so I could pay, but,’

‘Cool, so, you want to move in then?’ She proposed, her voice soft, speaking the question as though it held no merit. My stomach churned, lips parting in another goofy smile, head nodding vigorously.

[avengerscompound]

A Little Convincing

A Little Convincing:  A Loki Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Loki x F!Reader

Word Count:  2151

Warnings:  Smut (M|F, outdoor sex, vaginal sex, roughish sex), Superpowered Reader

Synopsis:  With the ability to set any living creature at ease, you are charged with keeping an eye on Loki when he and Thor move into the Avengers Compound.  You find a way to convince him that doesn’t involve your powers at all.

Special thanks to my muse @fanficwriter013

A Little Convincing

The large wolf nudged your shoulder and you looked behind you and rubbed his muzzle.  He moved his head down lower and you scratched higher on his head between his eyes.  It was odd.  You’d never come in contact with an alien animal before.  It was nice to see your abilities crossed planets.

The wolf’s owner glared at you and whistled, and the wolf pulled away and carefully stepped around the group that had gathered together, moving to his master’s side and earning a look of loathing from Clint Barton.

“This situation isn’t ideal,”  Steve said.  “I don’t think Loki likes it any more than we do, but Thor is Thor and if it will make him happy…”

“He mind-controlled me to murder my friends.  He tried to commit genocide… twice.”  Clint seethed.

“Yes, and who here doesn’t have blood on their hands, Clint?”  Steve asked.  “Thor said he’s changed.  We give him a chance and we keep an eye on him.”

“Oh good.  This will be fun.”  Loki said sarcastically.

“We’re really all okay with that just wandering around the compound?”  Natasha said pointing up at the large wolf.

“His name is Fenrir,”  Loki snarled.

“And he’s why I’m here right?”  You asked.

“That’s right.  We need to know he’s gonna stay on the grounds and not hurt anyone.”  Steve said, earning an eye roll from Loki.  Steve came over to you and spoke quietly.  “You think you can do it?”

“Mm-hmm…”  You hummed.  “Need a little bit of time, but he’ll agree.”

Steve pulled out a tablet.  “This is where Loki will be staying until his home is built.”  He said gesturing to a map on the screen, he moved his hand from the visitor’s accommodations to a spot near the tree line.  “We’re going to build out here so he has his own space.  You think you can show him around while you get to know the wolf?”

You nodded.  “Sure thing.”

“Alright, the rest of you with me.  Loki, behave yourself.”  Steve said and he and the other Avengers started to head off as Loki mock saluted.

Clint hesitated and looked at you.  “You gonna be okay?”

You nodded.  “Course I will.  I’m never alone.”

He nodded and followed after the others and you smiled at Loki.  “Okay, let me show you around.”

Fenrir jumped up and pounced forward wagging his giant tail and looking like a giant puppy.  Loki looked at him with his brow furrowed and then at you.  “He likes you.”

“He’s a good boy.”  You replied and start walking.  Loki followed after you while Fenrir bounced around beside you.

“Why?”   Loki asked.

“Why is he a good boy?”  You asked, confused.

“No.  Why does he like you?”  Loki asked.  “What did you do to him?”

“I win people over with the power of friendship.”  You joked.  “Relax and you can be my friend too.”

“I’m sure you think you’re very funny don’t you?”  Loki said.  “Tell me what you are doing to Fenrir.”

“Nothing.  I just have an affinity with animals.  I can communicate with them if they share a space with me long enough.”  You say.  “He just feels that.”

Loki didn’t say anything, so you just kept walking.  Fenrir calmed a little and began to nudge you a little.  You stroked his fur and then began to walk with your hand on his flank, sharing him the knowledge of the extent of the compound and how far into the forest he was allowed and making sure he knew that he wasn’t to attack people.

You reached the building that held the visiting dignitaries if any came to negotiate things with the Avengers.  “This is where you’ll be staying for a while until your home is built.”  You said.

Loki looked up at the building.  “And where does my brother stay.”

“He has a room in the Avengers’ ... uhhh for want of a better word - house.”  You said pointing over to the building that sat a little closer to the water nearest to the offices.  “I don’t know if that’s officially what it’s called.  But like… it’s the building that the Avengers live in.”

“The once king who had the run of a palace now has a room,”  Loki said.  You weren’t sure if he sounded pleased or angry about it.  “I suppose they do not want me with them.”

“I think that that is accurate.”  You said.  “These are nice though.  It’s like a bit like a hotel.  But a really nice one.  There’s a butler and room service.  The president stayed here once.”

“That is like your king?”  Loki said.

“Kinda, yeah.”  You agreed.

“I suppose it will suffice then.”  He said sounding bored.  “Where is it you stay?  With the Avengers?”

You snorted.  “Me?  Hardly.  I’m in the dorms.”

“Dorms?”  Loki asked.

“Yeah, I have a tiny room and I share a bathroom with a whole floor of people.”  You said.

Loki laughed.  “What could you have possibly done to deserve that?”

“Hopefully nothing.  I’m just new.  Gotta do the hard work and prove myself.”  You said.  “Did you want to take a look at your suite or go take a look at where they will be building?”

“Let us continue walking,”  Loki said.

You lead him away from the building toward the forest and Fenrir bounded ahead of you.  “They would really build me a house just to keep me apart from them?”

You shrugged.  “Clint I guess.  He didn’t seem happy.”

Loki scowled.  “Yes, well… that is understandable.  Being mind controlled is not something easily forgiven.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow.  “Are you under the impression we are friends?”

You chuckled.  “Right.  Of course not.  You do you.”

“I shall,”  He said, though there was a slight playfulness to his tone.

You stopped at a clearing where some construction barriers were starting to be erected.  “So this is where they plan to build.  You are free to choose anywhere in this rough area if you have a preference.  Steve said if you had special requests to let me know and I’ll pass them along.”

“I need a way for Fenrir to get in and out.”  He said.  “A fountain with running water.  A library.”

“Okay.  I’ll pass it along.”

He turned and looked at you.  “Why do they make my lodgings like this?  Why not put me in the dorms with your kind?”

You laughed at his choice of words and he scowled at you.  “I don’t know, Loki.  I guess they want you to feel comfortable so you don’t cause trouble.  Or maybe they just like your brother so much they figure if you’re happy, he’s happy.”

Loki tapped his fingers on his leg and looked over the plot of land.  “Would that I were anywhere but here.”

“They’d put you in the raft if you weren’t here.”  You said.

He laughed.  “They are welcome to try.  But I meant the planet.”  He whistled and Fenrir bounded over.  He lay down at Loki’s feet and Loki climbed up onto his back.  He offered you his hand.  “Care to take a ride?”

You looked back at the main part of the compound.  You had followed Steve’s instructions and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to babysit Loki now or just return to him.  The lure of riding the giant wolf was a little too much though and you gave Fenrir a pat before climbing up behind Loki.

“Hold on tight, dear,”  Loki said as Fenrir stood.  You wrapped your arms around his waist and held on as the wolf bounded into the forest with the two of you on board.

You squealed with delight as he practically flew through the trees, sending other animals running and birds flying up into the air.  He stopped a small clearing where a clear pool sat, a small river that had branched off the Hudson passing through it.  Loki slipped off Fenrir’s back and offered you his hands, helping you to the ground.

The wolf began drinking the water in the pool and then rolled around in the dirt.  “He’s like a big puppy isn’t he?”

“I have never heard him described as such.”

You laughed and went over to Fenrir and rubbed his chest, playfully pushing on his as he rolled around with his tongue lolling out.

“This gift of yours is very strong,”  Loki said.  “Tell me, if you are to be an Avenger are you a goody-goody like them?”

You turned and looked at him, watching as he looked you up and down.  “If you mean am I a goody-goody like the playboy, the guy who committed several felonies, and the ex assassins,”  You tilted your hand back and forth. “I’m probably slightly less chaotic.  But you know, I’ll get up to trouble.”

“Mm,”  He hummed coming closer to you.  “Best to leave the chaos to the experts.”

You looked up at him and smiled.  “You would know about that I suppose.”

He chuckled and ran his fingers down your arm.  “I guess I would.”  He teased.  “So you’d say you might be up for some fun?”

“Loki?  Are you propositioning me?”  You teased back.  “You don’t even know me.”

“Not as dim as you look.”  Loki taunted.

You laughed and grabbed him pulling him down towards you, his lips crashed into yours and he kissed you hungrily.  You were vaguely aware that maybe this was a bad idea.  Not that you hadn’t had random hookups before.  Your powers worked in weird ways and sometimes people were drawn to you and sometimes the draw of something a little unknown and exciting was a lot.   This was Loki though.  It was most assuredly a mistake. But it was a mistake you were willing to make.  Because it was Loki, and how could you pass this up?

Loki pushed you back against a tree and grabbed your thigh, pulling you tight and grinding into you.  You gripped the bark of the tree and moaned into his lips as you felt him stiffen in his leather pants.  The bulge rubbed against your clothed cunt, making you wet with arousal as it sent a warm tingle out through you.

He turned you suddenly and pulled you against him, grinding his cock against your ass.  You leaned back against him and he kissed your neck, humming softly.  “Rogers did me a favor getting you to show me around.”  He growled softly as he pushed his hand into your pants.  He long spidery fingers began to run in tight circles over your clit.

“Steve’s a smart man.”  You gasped grinding back against his cock.

He chuckled darkly and bit your throat before shoving you forward.  You braced your hands on the trunk as he yanked your pants down and pulled his cock out.  “You want this bad, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Loki,”  You moaned.  “Give it to me.”

He thrust deep into you, shoving you forward.  You grappled for purchase on the tree trunk and he began to fuck you.  He was large.  His cock stretched and filled you more completely than anyone had before.  He didn’t allow you time to adjust, he just grabbed the back of your neck and began to pound into you.  His other hand wrapped around your waist and he rubbed your clit hard and fast, matching the snap of his hips.  It was all you could do to hold on for the ride.  Your body shuddered as heat coiled through you.  You didn’t know what it was exactly.  The situation.  Him.  Whether being out in the open added to the pleasure you were feeling or he was just really good at what he did.  It was good though.  You came apart around him, your legs trembly and your muscles clenching.  With a sudden cry, you came, shuddering on his cock.  He didn’t ease up though.  In fact, it seemed to spur him on.  He fucked you harder, pushing you against the tree as he pounded into you.  You gripped at the bark and for a second time you came, biting into your fist to smother the cry.

Loki grunted and pulled out and jerked his cock quickly, holding you in place as he came over your ass in hot ribbons.

You moaned and relaxed, panting for a moment, trying to steady yourself in your post-orgasmic haze.  Loki pulled a piece of cloth from the air and cleaned you up.  “There you go.”  He soothed helping you to redress.

“Damn.”  You sighed, as you fastened your pants.

“Mmm… that was quite fun.  I wasn’t expecting that.”  He said.  “Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all.”

“So you’ll stay?”  You asked touching his chest.

He nodded.  “I will.  Perhaps we can do that again at some point.”

You smirked.  “We’ll see.”

You went back over to Fenrir and rubbed his head as he snuffled at you as Loki looked you over.  Alien wolves and ice giants. Your powers seemed to work on all kinds.

[milomeepit]

Kiss Me- Moxiety (Highschool AU)

Word Count: 2.3k

Ships: Logince, Moxiety, Decani

Content Warnings: Minor blood/injury, violence mention, sex jokes, homophobic classmates

AN: Should I be working on my Big Bang? Yes. Should I be doing homework? Also yes. But I had the idea and it refused to wait 😂 Also, I'm on mobile so 1) no taglist but I'll reblog it later if I remember, and 2) I think I did the read more correctly but if it didn't I'd like to make a formal apology to everyone who gets this spaghetti mess of a oneshot on their dash

Virgil was somewhat used to the feeling that he couldn't breathe. Be it from panic, anger, or other overwhelming emotions, it was a familiar sensation; his lungs squeezed so tight it felt as if his chest would collapse in on itself. But nothing caused such a sweet ache as Patton.

(Kiss me out of the bearded barley

Nightly, beside the green, green grass

Swing, swing, swing the spinning step

You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress)

It had been Roman's idea, to begin with. The asshole. He'd teased Virgil endlessly about his flushed cheeks and soft smiles, directed entirely at Roman's best friend. Virgil had vehemently denied all accusations of love, of course.

"Come on, Danger Drone, you can't lie to me!" Roman teased Virgil from his position sprawled across his bed. "You've got it baaad."

Virgil shot a glare at his brother before returning his attention to his laptop. "No way," He scoffed, shifting on his own bed, tucking a small stuffed cat beside the pillow so it wouldn't be squished by his squirming.

Roman rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out before starting to sing, "Who ya think you're kiddin'? He's the earth and he-" He was cut off by a pillow smacking into his face.

Virgil snapped his laptop lid shut and hopped off of his bed, stalking over to Roman and crossing his arms. "I. Do not. Have a thing. For your dorky friend." He hissed.

"You know, you could really take some acting tips from Dad and me," Roman flashed him a toothy grin as he sat up, sitting nose to nose with Virgil.

Virgil scowled. "You're seriously cruising for a bruising, you know that, right?"

"As if. Logan would kick your ass," Roman winked. "He may be your best friend, but he's my boyfriend."

"As if. He'd be too busy lecturing you on provoking violence. And then you two disasters would probably start bickering and end up making out on the kitchen table again."

"Hey, that was one time!"

[[MORE]]

(Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me)

As much as Virgil hated to admit it, Roman was right. He was head over heels for Patton. Who wouldn't be? 

He had such a pleasant way of speaking. Sweet, warm, but not superficial. He was always trying to look after other people, be it upset little kids from the elementary school next door, students freaking out over exams and friendships, teachers carrying things to their car, or lost and distressed animals.

He knew that Patton wasn't always the super sweet, happy, helpful person he seemed. Nobody could be, they wouldn't be human. But Virgil found himself wondering what it would be like to comfort Patton, help him with the little things he was always helping others with. The bubbly boy was always so busy with everyone else, Virgil sometimes worried that he didn't look after himself.

On the plus side, he thought as he trudged to school one morning, Roman was good with that kind of thing. He would nag Virgil to eat, to have his meds, to go to bed if it was too late. It was annoying at times, but he appreciated it. Roman was protective of those he cared about.

Which meant he really should have seen this sort of thing coming.

(Kiss me down by the broken tree house

Swing me, upon its hanging tire

Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat

We'll take the trail marked on your father's map)

"What the fuck happened?!" Virgil gaped at the blood smeared across Logan's face, leaking from beneath the crimson-stained tissues he held to his nose.

"Oh, you know. Charming small town high schoolers," Logan sighed, his voice muffled and nasal, as he gestured to the pencil skirt he was wearing. 

He was in Roman's lap on the cot in the nurses office. Patton was already with them, sitting in a chair he had dragged from across the room, his hands fluttering anxiously as he cleaned up blood from Logan's shirt.

Roman was quiet, his arms wrapped around Logan's waist. "I'm going to beat them into the dirt," He muttered, his eyes glowing with anger.

"That's not necessary, Roman, honestly. I'll just stop wearing feminine clothing to school, it's obvious that was the catalyst here." Logan shook his head.

Virgil perched on the cot next to them. "You shouldn't have to, though. It's hardly your fault that they're a bunch of close-minded assholes."

"Close-minded assholes who should know better than to bully my beloved," Roman growled. 

Virgil glanced at him, noticing his tense shoulders and clenched fists. "Ro, you can't fight everybody who hurts us," He cautioned. "Jock or not, you've got limits like everyone else."

"Well, it isn't like they're going to stop." Logan twisted to face Virgil. "Let's face facts; they'll get in trouble, detention or suspension at worst, and then they'll go right back to it."

Patton pouted. "I wish there was something we could do, though."

The four were silent for a few seconds before Roman lifted his head. "You know," He said slowly, his eyes lighting up, "I might just have an idea of what we could do."

(Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me)

Virgil fiddled with his seatbelt nervously in the backseat of the car. "Are you sure about this?" He asked Roman.

Roman didn't respond for a moment, squinting into a compact mirror as streetlights flashed past, illuminating the interior of the car with yellow light. He snapped it shut, apparently satisfied, and turned to Virgil. "Of course! I'd love to see them try to come after us after tonight."

"You two look great," Pops chirped from the front seat, turning to look at them. His glasses obscured his face in the dim car, but Virgil could make out his wide grin. "You're really gonna knock 'em dead tonight!"

"And if by chance any of these bullies don't make it through the night, I have bleach and a shovel in the garage," Dad added with a smirk, throwing a glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the road.

Pops smacked his arm lightly. "Dee! You can't fight fire with fire like that!" He chided. "Don't encourage them to murder people."

Dad laughed and winked at Pops. "Oh, lighten up, Em. I'm just kidding."

Pops let out an unconvinced hum before turning back to the boys. "Do you guys have everything you need? Phones, water bottles, snacks?"

"Condoms?" Dad added, earning him another smack. "Hey!" He complained jokingly. "I'm just making sure they stay safe."

"The school is catering for the dance, it's fine, Pops," Virgil laughed. "And we're probably gonna grab dinner on the way home, anyway."

"Alright, alright," Pops smiled, turning back around in his seat. "Make sure you guys stay safe tonight, okay? And if anything happens, call us."

"Yes, Pops," They responded in unison, sharing a fond eyeroll.

(Kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me)

Virgil wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when they walked into the dance. Roman was obviously going to get a lot of attention in the long, hip-hugging, vibrant red dress he had picked out. The lacy bottom of the skirt swirled around him as he casually strutted into the room, white heels clicking against the wooden floor. He wondered suddenly if he should have worn heels.

"Roman! Virgil!" He turned to see Patton and Logan, already posted up by the snacks table, Patton waving wildly at them. As they approached, Logan handed them each a cup of soda with a nod.

"You guys look amazing!" Patton gushed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked back and forth between the two brothers. "You look really nice in purple, Virge, you should wear it more!"

Virgil felt a blush creeping up his neck as he took a swig of soda. "Uh, thanks," He responded. He hadn't been sure about the floaty violet skirt and silver, off the shoulder bodice when Roman had thrust it at him in the store, but he had to admit it was growing on him. Especially if Patton liked it.

He took a moment to look Patton up and down. Something about the shimmering, wide blue skirt and butterflies dotted across the neckline seemed familiar, but it was hard to focus on when Patton was smiling sweetly up at him, his sparkling blue eyes framed with delicate eyeliner and his cheeks dusted with shimmery highlighter.

"Your dad's really outdone himself with this one!" Roman exclaimed. "Cinderella, right? It looks gorgeous!"

Patton giggled and did a little twirl, the skirt swishing around him as he moved. "Yeah! He's been working on it for a while to sell as a costume piece, but when I told him about the dance, he said I could have it!"

Virgil grinned. Patton's dad was an odd one- a chaotic cryptid with all the self control of a hyperactive monkey- but he certainly knew how to hit an aesthetic. 

Logan reached out to Roman, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You guys really didn't have to do this, you know," He smiled gently.

"What? And have the world miss out on this view?" Roman spun, the flared base of his skirt brushing against Virgil's ankles, and struck a pose, his hand on his hip.

Logan chuckled. "I suppose you're right. It would be a shame."

"Nothing compared to the potential tragedy of not being able to see you all dressed up," Roman winked, tipping up Logan's chin and pecking him on the lips.

Logan blushed faintly, his hands moving to smooth out his dark blue skirt, the star-like silver dots speckled down the fabric catching the light as he moved. "Thank you."

"Shall we?" Roman offered his arm. 

"This is a dance, after all," Logan slipped his hand into the crook of Roman's arm, and the pair disappeared into the crowd.

(So kiss me)

Virgil leaned back against the wall, swirling his soda idly as he watched couples twirl past, dresses and suits and jewelry shining in the coloured lights.

Parties were... so not his scene, but he supposed it was worth it, between the surprised looks from the brats who'd beaten up Logan, Roman and Logan clearly enjoying themselves on the dance floor, and-

"Heya!" He jumped, turning to see Patton appear next to him. "Oh, sorry! Didn't mean to spook ya," He giggled, and Virgil's heart thudded in his chest.

"It's all good," Virgil responded. "So, uh... I kinda figured you'd be off dancing with your friends. Harley and Brian and all that."

Patton shrugged. "They all paired off for the dance," He explained. "It's okay, though! That means I can hang out with you!"

"Oh," Virgil said dumbly. "Uh, do you... do you wanna dance with me?"

Patton looked up at him with a wide smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

(So kiss me)

He was dreaming. There was no other explanation for this. Patton's arms looped around his neck, chatting happily to Virgil as a slow dance played over the speakers. Dreaming or dead, he repeated as he shifted his hands on Patton's waist.

Roman caught his eye from across the room and winked. Virgil fought the urge to flip him off as Logan laughed.

So what if he liked Patton? It wasn't like this meant anything. They were just dancing together as friends, and that was fine. Virgil would enjoy it while it lasted, and that would be that.

".. rgil? Virgil, are you okay?" He blinked and looked back down to Patton to see a concerned frown on the other boy's face. "You look like you're a million miles away, buddy."

"Oh, uh... just thinking. Don't worry," Virgil blushed. "I'm okay."

"I'd hope so. If I upset you, Roman might revoke his approval," Patton giggled.

"Wait. Approval?" Virgil paused, staring down at Patton in surprise.

Patton blinked, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "Well, ah, I thought you- and he said he... is this not a double date?"

Virgil shot a glare at Roman, who flashed him a sweet smile and twirled away gracefully, vanishing into the crowd with Logan once more. "First I've heard of it," He told Patton.

Patton recoiled and took a step back, his face red. "Oh! Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Virge, I- you don't have to-"

Virgil pulled him close again, his own face blazing hot. "I don't- I don't mind," He stammered. "Dancing with you. Or the, the date part."

Patton reached up and, after a moment's hesitation, put his arm around Virgil's neck again. "So... this is okay?"

"Y-yeah," Virgil confirmed. "More than okay."

Their faces were inched apart like this, and Virgil felt his breath catch in his throat as Patton bit his lip, his eyes darting down to his mouth. "Can... can I-"

Virgil didn't wait for him to finish the question before he leaned forward, connecting their lips in a soft kiss. It tasted like caramel lipgloss and cheap soda and cheese puffs and Virgil swore he was fucking floating.

When they broke apart again, Patton's eyes were shining in the pink-yellow-blue-green lights swinging over the dance floor. "Wow," He said, sounding almost as breathless as Virgil felt, and rested his head against Virgil's shoulder.

As they spun across the dance floor, the tulle of Patton's skirt flaring around them, Virgil decided maybe parties weren't so bad after all, as long as he got to bring Patton with him.

... Roman was still dead meat when they got home, though.

(So kiss me)

[dreamwritesimagines]

Faint of Heart 22- Disenchanted [Ivar x Reader]

A.N.: I love your feedback so much, it makes my day ❤️ Please keep it coming, kisses! ❤️

Summary: Then, bliss ends.

Characters: Ivar x Reader, Ubbe x Torvi, Hvitserk, Bjorn

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of violence and blood, mentions of sex and arranged marriage, please read with care. Also, friendly reminder that  I don’t condone any of the messed up stuff happening on the show or in here.

Word Count: 4027

Due to the linking issue, previous chapters are in my masterlist!  ❤️

Gif’s not mine!

You giggled as Eitr flew above the bed, circling over your stomach, following your hands while Ivar rested his head on the pillows, reading the rune sticks but constantly getting distracted by your laughs. He looked up at Eitr, then at you before he rolled over to see you better.

“Was it because you didn’t want to, or-“

“It’s because you made that up, Ivar,” You hissed, feeling your cheeks burn, making him scoff.

“I swear to you I did not.”

“Well I do not believe you!” You averted your glances up to Eitr, still circling above your head, “I would’ve heard.”

“You-“ Ivar repressed a laugh, “You would have heard?”

“Yes.”

“Your people consummate their marriage in their clothes, Y/N, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have heard.”

“It still- I’m sure that’s very frowned upon.”

“It’s not.”

“Even if it were a thing, which it is not-“ You said, earning an impatient groan from Ivar, “I don’t believe any lady would let- let that-“ you stammered, “Let that happen.”

Ivar heaved a sigh, and looked up at the falcon.

“Send her back.”

You smiled softly, and pointed at Eitr’s usual spot, which she flew to and landed before Ivar got on top of you, making you giggle.

“I thought you liked me kissing you.”

You looked up at him, “I do, but-“

“So why does it matter where?”

“But it does matter!” You protested, “And I’m still very certain that you made it up just now. There’s no way something such- such as what you implied exists.”

Ivar shot you a look before he pressed a kiss on your neck, making you fidget under him,

“How are you certain?”

“Well I- I was taught me many things, before- um.. Before- so that I’d have an idea about how a marriage consummation goes.”

To that, Ivar pulled back slightly, a smirk pulling at his lips,

“Like what?”

“Like it- it doesn’t matter-“

“Oh it definitely does matter,”

“I’m beginning to think you’re asking me these on purpose,” You mumbled, abashed and Ivar smiled softly, placing a kiss on your lips.

“Who taught you?”

“Bree.”

Ivar frowned slightly, “And Bree is...?”

“My best friend, Ivar! She’s here now-“

“Yes yes, your brother’s mistress, the redhead-“

“There’s no way you forgot about her, you’re doing it on purpose too.”

Ivar shrugged slightly, “On purpose?”

“No one can possibly forget her name, she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world.”  

Ivar made a noise of disagreement, “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.”

“I guess, if you’re that foolish to be interested in all…” he waved a hand, “All that.”

“All that?”

“Pretentious seductress,” Ivar rolled his eyes and you tilted your head.

“That’s not pretending though. She can seduce everyone-“

“Not me.”

You pulled back slightly, “You’re telling me, had you seen her before me-“

“I have seen her next to you.” Ivar shrugged, “When I first saw you, she was standing next to you.”

“What?”

“I still do not see the whole allure.”

You blinked dumbly, “That’s when you froze? Even if Bree was next to me?”

Ivar averted his eyes for a moment as if he was embarrassed, then shrugged again,

“Men of your culture are really strange if they think she’s anywhere near you.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you and you smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Everyone is wrong.”

“About what?”

“Me, enchanting you. I think it’s the other way around.”

Ivar smiled down at you, brushing your hair off your face and leaned in slightly, as if he was about to kiss you and you closed your eyes.

“What did she teach you?”

You opened your eyes, “Ivar!”

“What? She taught you things for marriage, and we’re married-“

“Can you please just forget-“ you were cut off when someone knocked on the door.

“Y/N, where is Gala and why am I being subjected to this torment again?” Ubbe’s voice carried inside, making Ivar pull back, then he grabbed his leg braces,

“I gave her some time off- you can come in by the way.”

The door opened and Ubbe stepped inside,

“I told her she should rest her mind, in the light of recent events,” You stated, making Ubbe nod,

“How is she?”

“She will be alright, I hope.”

“I’m telling you, we should’ve just killed him.” Ivar shrugged while busy with his leg braces “Not that I didn’t enjoy Eitr attacking him-“

“Oh there are many rumors on the streets concerning Eitr and you.”

You looked up, “Like what?”

“Like you have powers beyond this world, to control falcons,” Ubbe grinned, “That Freyja talks to you at nights.”

You gawked at him while Ivar chuckled,

“What?”

“Freyja does not talk to her at nights, Ubbe. I would know.”

“Ivar!” You scolded him, your cheeks burning, “But that’s not true.”

“It does look a lot like you’re controlling her,”

“Because I trained her!” You exclaimed, “Not because it happened naturally- and Freyja does not talk to me at nights!”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I do not believe any other queen has made this much of an impact on people, perhaps not even our mother.” Ubbe said, “People love you.”

Ivar looked over his shoulder to shoot you a proud look, making you smile at him.

“They are a bit intimidated though.” Ubbe added and you frowned,

“Intimidated?”

“That’s a good thing,”

“No it’s not- I do not want people to fear me, not like that.”

“Sending your falcon to attack your enemies might not be the best way for that,” Ubbe stated, and you sank back to the pillows, biting down at your lip.

“Are you meeting Edgard today?”

“If I have time,” Ivar shrugged, “We still need to talk about the ships with my brothers.”

“Hvitserk is already there.” Ubbe said, “I can’t seem to find Bjorn though, have you seen him?”

Your head shot up, “Have you seen Bree?”

“Your friend? No, she wasn’t in the hall.”

A smile pulled at your lips, and of course Ivar caught it.

“You’re not serious.”

“Would it not be amazing?”

“You’re- by the Gods, you’re serious.”

Ubbe looked between you two, “What?”

“Y/N is trying to play the matchmaker.”

“Between?”

“Our brother and her best friend.”

Ubbe raised his brows, “Has nobody told you Bjorn is quite popular-“

“Everyone told me, and it does not matter. They would make a great couple.”

Ivar looked up, shaking his head slightly.

“I mean Bjorn’s taste in women-“

“Careful,” Ubbe said slowly, and you looked between them, pushing your hair behind your ear while Ivar only smirked at Ubbe.

“If you’re not meeting Edgard today, I’d like to go by the docks,” you said before either of them could say anything “And I will find Bree and maybe walk her around Kattegat, there are still many places she hasn’t seen.”

Ubbe nodded slowly, “I’m going back to the map room, are you coming?”

“In a moment.” Ivar said as Ubbe walked away, and you looked up at him.

“Ivar, you cannot imply such things-“

“What is it that you hope for?” Ivar asked you and you raised your brows.

“What I hope for?”

“If they do like each other.”

“They will like each other, everyone likes Bree.”

“Maybe, but what is your aim?”

You licked your lips, “Bree deserves to be with someone who is nice to her. My brother does not have it in him.”

“And Bjorn?”

“I think they could be really happy together.” You shrugged, “And if that happened, maybe she would…”

“Stay here.” Ivar finished it for you and you heaved a deep sigh.

“That would be lovely.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, little shark,” Ivar kissed you curtly, “Bjorn has a history with women, Hvitserk took after him.”

“And you took after Ubbe?” You smiled at him brightly and he rolled his eyes, then stood up from the bed, making you whine and stand up on your knees in bed, still grabbing at his shirt.

“What would happen if I did not let you go?” you asked, looking up at him and he smirked.

“Trust me my love,” he said, your heart melting at the term of endearment, “If I had the chance, I would not pick my brothers to spend the day with.”

You pouted, heaving a deep sigh, “But Ivar, I miss you during the day.”

“So do I.”

“But do you?”

“May Eitr pick out my eyes if I’m lying.” Ivar smiled slightly, then his thumb stroked your cheekbone before he leaned in to kiss you, and you let out a small noise of discontent as soon as he pulled back.

“I will see you when you come back from docks,” he said as he walked to the door, “Dress warmly, it’s cold today.”

You nodded while he closed the door behind him and you fell back to bed, still smiling as Eitr started flying again.

“Do you want to go out?” You whispered to her as she landed on the covers, “Let’s get ready then.”

                                               *

“So where were you today?” You asked Bree as you walked over the docks, after talking to some of the farmer women and fishermen with the help of one of Ivar’s warriors. While some people looked slightly intimidated, -considering Eitr kept flying above you- overall, everyone was very friendly and some even wanted to touch Eitr. A lot of people talked about Freyja and how she favoured you, while Bree stood beside you, watching you with a proud look on her face.

“I was…discovering Kattegat.”

You raised your brows, “By yourself?”

“Hm?”

“Were you by yourself?”

Bree averted her eyes only for a moment, “I had a guide, thankfully. Otherwise it would prove to be troublesome.”

“A guide?”

“Yes.”

“Bjorn?”

Bree tried to repress a smile, “He is very helpful to…make my stay in Kattegat better.”

You giggled, “Bree!”

“Don’t,” she shook her head fervently, “Do not hope for anything impossible-“

“Bree, you would always be welcomed in Kattegat, in my court.” You insisted, “With or without Bjorn. You could- you could stay if you wished.”

Bree looked deep in thought, as if the idea had never crossed her mind before, “And your husband? He hates Edgard.”

“Ivar loves me, he wishes to see me happy. Having you here would make me happy.”

Bree opened her mouth, but when a sight caught your eye over her shoulder, you groaned.

“What?”

“On your right,” you said silently, taking a step so that Bree would have to turn around to face you and her eyes went over your shoulder.

“The girl with the blue dress?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s that?”

“Arna.” You gritted your teeth, “Her father is an Earl, and apparently very close to Ivar.”

“And…?”

“And she said she loves Ivar and that he could love her too. And that they could get married, because apparently Ivar’s father used to be married to Bjorn’s mother before they separated and then he married Ivar’s mother.”

Bree’s eyes sharpened, “I’m sorry, say that again?”

“I know,” you muttered as Eitr kept flying over you, “I don’t-“

“She said that to you?”

You nodded, and Bree scoffed, as if she still couldn’t believe it,

“You’re her queen and she dared to tell you-“ she let out a breath, “Take it from the actual mistress of a king, that is the worst thing you could ever say to a queen and- where do they raise these people?”

“Their culture is very different than ours,” you shrugged slightly, “They do not tend to hide anything.”

“Why isn’t she still sent away?”

“Haven’t you been listening, Bree?” You asked, “Her father-“

“Yes, is an Earl- what’s that, like a lord?”

“Close.”

“Why don’t you send her away with her father then?” Bree insisted and you pulled back slightly.

“What?”

“Funny thing about lords, they’re very replaceable. And if she dares to disrespect you like that-“

“It’s alright,” You shook your head, “Ivar loves me.”

“It’s not a matter of love, Y/N.”

“Even if I wanted to send them away, Ivar would say no.”

Bree rolled her eyes, “Introduce me to her.”

“To Arna? Why?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Bree said, still glaring at Arna over your shoulder, “If you will not put her in her place, I will- oh look at that, she’s coming here.”

“Bree- Bree don’t say anything-“ You whispered hastily before you heard Arna’s voice.

“My Queen. What a lovely surprise to see you here.”

“Arna. Hello.”

“I was under the impression that you liked inside better than outside,”

You smiled politely, “I know, I’m also under the same impression, since I keep seeing you in my court.”

She bowed slightly, then turned to Bree, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh we haven’t. Bree.”

“Arna,” she introduced herself “You must be one of the company that’s visiting Kattegat. Do you like it here?”

A calm smile pulled at Bree’s lips, “Quite so. Though I do not know how everyone in here sleeps at night.”

“Bree…” You muttered but she ignored you, and of course, Arna walked right into it.

“How come?”

“It looks like a strict place where no disrespect goes unharmed,” Bree stated, “Bu I believe everyone is used to it. Certain rules and such.”

Arna arched a brow, eyeing Bree up and down, “Well, the rules aren’t the same for everybody,” she smiled, “Some of us are more…fortunate.”

Bree nodded, “Oh where I come from, one’s fortune can easily turn into misfortune,” she commented calmly, “And people do need to be careful, poison cannot tell fortunate from unfortunate.”

You tried your hardest not to smile, and bit inside your cheek, “Did you want to say something, Arna?”

“Just to greet you, my queen.”

“Oh? Well thank you, you’re dismissed.”

She looked at you with narrowed eyes before she bowed and walked away. Bree scoffed while you shook your head.

“What?”

“Some things never change.” You mumbled, and linked your arm through hers, “Let’s go back, I’m freezing here.”

                                         *

When you reached the court, it was almost dark outside but much to your displeasure, Edgard was outside, talking to some of his men. He turned his head as soon as he saw you and Bree, eyeing you up and down as Eitr flew inside.

“My love,”

“Your majesty,” Bree greeted him back and Edgard turned to you,

“Sister,”

“Brother.” You said “Is it not too cold for you out here?”

“Oh I can stand it if you can,” he said, “I just visited poor Tredan in his room, he’s in great agony.”

“Good. That was my intention after all.”

Edgard gritted his teeth, “I always knew you belonged with the savages, Y/N.”

You curled your lips, “I do not think Ivar would take that statement kindly.”

“Oh would he not?”

“No. Nor do I. Nor would my falcon.”

“Do not threaten me, Y/N.”

“Do not call my people savages, Edgard.”

“…Bree, go wait for me inside.” Edgard said after a pause and Bree looked between you,

“I’ll see you inside.” She squeezed your hand, before walking away from you. Edgard licked his lips,

“I wonder what mother will think of you when she hears this,” he stated, “Attacking a lord over a servant-“

“She’s my friend,” you cut him off, “And nobody will touch anyone without their permission, not under my rule.”

“Your rule?” Edgard let out a laugh, “Oh you think you rule this place?”

“Why don’t you ask people of Kattegat?” You shrugged, “They’d give you a better answer than me, I feel like.”

“The only reason why you rule here, Y/N, is because their barbarian king likes your face. Now people around here may be foolish enough to believe you have these- these powers, but…”

Your head shot up and you dragged your lip over your bottom lip, “Oh. You have talked to people of Kattegat after all.”

“Just because you have a pet falcon, does not mean their false gods favour you.”

“Goddess. Not false.”

Edgard scoffed, “Too bad that goddess has not blessed you with a child yet.”

You felt your heart skip a beat and your stomach flipped “As you’ve said. Yet.”

“You have been married for months now,” Edgard sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I’m sure he wants children, does he not? Aren’t you worried?”

“We will be blessed with children when the time comes,” you tried to keep your voice calm, “Besides, it’s not as if we have been married for ten years, like you and your queen.”

A sour look crossed Edgard’s eyes, “Your tongue is getting too sharp for my liking.”

You tilted your head, “I’d like to see what you think you can do about that.”

Edgard let out a dark chuckle, looking around.

“Aren’t you worried his interest may waver, Y/N? And what would become of you then?”

“I’d still be the Queen of Kattegat.” You answered, but before Edgard could say anything, someone stormed out, gathering both your and Edgard’s attention. You pulled your brows together when you saw Hvitserk made his way through the crowd, looking too angry to pay attention to anything and Ubbe rushed after him, but he turned around and shoved him back slightly before spatting something in their language.

“What…”

“Y/N,” Bjorn grabbed your arm and pulled you away from your brother, “Good evening, let’s have a walk.”

You let him steer you away from the crowd and walked beside him slowly, your heart beat getting faster,

“What happened?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, just… don’t walk inside for some time, until Ivar calms down.”

“What?” You could feel the panic filling your system, “What happened, who died?”

“Everyone is alright, it’s just-“ Bjorn licked his lips, “There is a misunderstanding, but we will fix it tonight.”

“What misunderstanding?”

“Y/N-“

“What misunderstanding?” You insisted and Bjorn looked almost annoyed for a moment,

“Hvitserk said something, and he misinterpreted it, you know how he gets.”

You frowned slightly, “Alright, I will talk to him-“

“Y/N, it’s better if you didn’t, until Ubbe or I talk some sense into him.”

“Bjorn, I do not mean any offense but Ivar listens to me better-“

“It’s about you.”

You rolled your eyes, “What about me?”

“Y/N…”

“Bjorn, I will find out anyway. What is it?”

Bjorn took a deep breath, “Hvitserk’s love for you.”

You felt as if someone had pushed you off a cliff and all you could do was to stare up at him, before a laugh of disbelief escaped your lips.

“But- Bjorn, you- surely you’re wrong. He’s in love with a servant girl, he- I saw-“

“You saw him with a girl, doesn’t mean he loves her. He- he made a foolish comment and Ivar- don’t panic,” Bjorn added as you covered your mouth, “You know how Ivar gets when he gets angry, he does not listen to logic at all, if you-“

You felt as if you would actually faint from the feeling,

“Where is he now?”

“Y/N, there’s no way I’m letting you walk in there- Y/N!” Bjorn grabbed your arm but you yanked your arm back, then rushed into the hall and looked around before you were stopped by Torvi.

“Y/N, no.”

“Where is he?”

“You haven’t seen him furious, I think it’s better-“

“Torvi, where?”

She heaved a sigh, “In your bedchambers, but-“ she was cut off when you darted for your bedchambers, then stopped at the door.

Hvitserk-?

No, of course Hvitserk couldn’t love you.

Surely there was a misunderstanding. Bjorn had to be wrong and Ivar would of course listen to you, and when Hvitserk came back it would clear out.

You didn’t even dare to think about the other possibility before you swallowed thickly, and pushed open the door, and stepped inside. Ivar was sitting by the table, his dagger stuck on the table and his whole body tensed up when his furious gaze met yours.

This was what everyone had meant. This was Ivar being angry, really angry, so much that even his gaze pinned you to your spot before you licked your lips, and tried to smile.

“Ivar?”

“Aren’t you very brave, coming here now?”

Okay.

Alright, maybe this would not be so easy.

“I have committed no fault, why would I not come here?” you asked softly, taking a step towards him but he raised a hand, stopping you before you could approach him any closer.

“I believe you and Hvitserk had a good laugh then?” his glare was full of fury, and that was exactly when you understood why everyone else –including your brother- was so afraid of Ivar. If this was the way he looked at his enemies…

But it had never been you.

“Ivar, you misunderstood it-“

“I’m not interested in your lies anymore,” his voice cracked only for a moment and you could swear your heart broke into pieces.

“I swear to you it’s not a lie, I would never-“

“I said,” he snapped, his voice laced with anger as it rose, “I’m not interested in your lies!”

“Ivar, I’m not lying,” You tried your hardest to keep your voice from shaking, “I swear on-“

“What?” Ivar asked you, “You will swear on what, hm? What will the former Christian girl swear on? Because in my gods’ eyes, your promises are worthless just like you.”

Everything you had planned to tell him, every single thought and explanation vanished as you stared at him, then swallowed thickly,

“You’re upset, but-”

“I’m not, but you will be. Your and your lover.”

“I do not have a lover!”

“And I am to take your word for it?””

“Yes you are to take my word for it!” You insisted, “You cannot possibly think I would betray you like that-”

“Why would you not betray me, Y/N? Your brother could have traded you to Hvitserk, I just happened to be the king. I do not see how any of it would matter to you, is that not your culture?”

“…Traded me?” You asked silently as your eyes started to burn, “If you insist on being cruel in your remarks, I will-“

“Cruel?” he repeated “This is not cruel, Y/N. You’re nothing to me from now on, why would I bother being cruel to you?”

You tried to blink back the tears, “You-you don’t mean that.”

“Your brother was right about you,” he narrowed his eyes as your jaw dropped, “Who knows? Maybe you did feign everything.”

“Ivar-“

“Maybe it was Hvitserk all along,” he continued, as if he enjoyed seeing you in pain, “Go tell him that your lack of skills in bed were boring though, he does not have a good taste when it comes to women. I’m glad it’s over, now I do not have to feign being interested just for the sake of heirs.”

All you could do was stare at him before you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, but he did not look affected at all.

“Either way, this raid came just in time. From now on, the less I see you, the better,” he grabbed his crutches before walking past you, but then you felt his breath in your hair,

“I would have killed him in front of you, just to make you feel what you’ve put me through,” his voice was like a cold hiss, “How fortunate of him that I do not care about either of you anymore, hm?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you covered your mouth to silence yourself before Ivar slammed the door behind him, and you fell on your knees, tears falling from your eyes freely. You doubled up as your stomach flipped for what it felt like the hundredth time that day and you rushed to the small bowl Gala always kept on the table, bile burning your throat before you vomited, coughing as you wiped at your nose. You felt as if the whole room was spinning as the smell reached your nose, making you gag again and you stepped away from the bowl, almost losing your balance before you sat down on the floor.

Then you started sobbing.

  Special thanks to: @nympha-door-a @theskytraveler @iblogabout-stuff @mamaraptor @vikrone @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @asongofmarvelanddc @not–even-a-real–fan @alicedopey @thorohdamnson @captstefanbrandt @flowers-in-your-hayr @marauderskeeper @badbitsh13 @superwolfchild-fan @mblaqgi @thescarsweleave @marvelsvalhalla @natalielbeauty @pandalandalopalis @alyssiamarierenee @bloodyivar  , @eleanorsparkz    @illumminated @itsjoshebelbitch @vikingalexthedane @hangirl93 @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @skadithegoddess   @geekandbooknerd @katalina-from-hellbound @too-stressed-to-live@supercarricat @sky-daybreak @athroatfullofglass @blushingskywalker @little-froggy @girlwhoisfearless @aikeji @part-time-patronus @actuallyazriel   and lovely anons! You are amazing! <3

[theperksofbeingbarbie]

The Empath (Pt 3/6)

Summary: Finding Allison’s body leaves the Umbrella Acadamy reeling. The clock is running out on the apocalypse and Harold Jenkins and Vanya are in the wind. 

Set during Changes

WARNING: Description of blood and Allison’s wound; Mentions of sexual harassment; Mentions of drug use; Language.

Word Count: 1,362

Pairing: Diego x Reader; Platonic!klaus x Reader

Pt. 1  Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6

A/N: I hope you guys like this! I’m honestly really enjoying writing this and am so happy it’s getting a good response! I’ve had this kind of idea since the moment I watched the show and just had to write it. Might be a few days before the next update. I work in a call center so I write between calls. I have the next couple of days off and have some things to get done around the house! 

 .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The car was barely at a full stop before Luther was out, running up to the house. The group followed behind as quick as they could, your breath getting stuck in your throat when you heard Luther shout Allison’s name. By the time you crossed the threshold, the heartbreak was crushing. You recoiled when another lamp Vanya hadn’t broken popped, your powers growing a bit out of control with all the emotion. 

“You can wait outside,” Diego whispered, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You shook your head, trying to focus on the bit of anger that was starting to well up in Luther. He was mad at Harold Jenkins, and you were sure you can use that. Rubbing your hands together you crouched down beside the pair. “Allison, this is going to hurt,” you warned despite the woman not being completely present, placing a burning hot hand on the open wound with a grimace as the skin and blood bubbled under your hand. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” you groaned, pulling your shirt over your nose to filter the smell of burning flesh. You quickly grabbed a blanket on a nearby chair, using the left over heat in your skin to break the threads, wrapping the strip of fabric around her neck to help with any remaining bleeding. “Allison needs to get to help. I’ll drive the car she took.” You found the keys in her pocket, watching Luther carry her back out to Diego’s car. 

“I’ll ride with [Y/N],” Klaus decided, following you back outside. 

You followed Diego’s car, both speeding through the night. Klaus’ knee never stopped bouncing, chewing on his nail the whole ride. Diego took a few turns onto back roads, clearly using his knowledge of the cops to bypass any speed traps.

———————————-

“I don’t think she’s breathing!” Luther called once they were in front of the mansion.

Five disappeared once he was out of the car to find Grace, warning her that Allison needed help.

You stood behind Pogo as the brothers started to volunteer their blood. You were willing to volunteer your arm, but kept quiet knowing you would be denied for the same reason as Klaus. “De!” you shouted when Diego collapsed, cheeks turning deep red when you earned a look from Klaus.

You finally looked at the blood that dried on your hands and excused yourself to clean up, deciding there were more than enough people to help Allison. All the pain and sadness was devastating, causing you to shake as you watched the red water swirl down the drain. You felt Klaus walk by, his emotions all over the map. You decided to give him some space, hoping he just needed some air like you did.

You went back into the medical room to check on Diego, nodding as Grace assured you he was going to be okay. “Five? Luther? Need anything?” Five shook his head silently, Luther didn’t seem to hear you as he watched Allison’s chest just barely rise and fall. You nodded, going back through the house to find Klaus.

Hearing your friend shout, persumably at Ben, you waited in the hall. That was, until he shouted, “Sike!” “Klaus!” You jumped when someone appeared for just a moment, punching Klaus in the face, the pills going flying.

“You just Patrick Swayze-ed me! How did you do that?”

“Was that Ben?!” you shouted, causing both Klaus and Ben to look at you.

“You- He-”

“I saw Ben,” you confirmed, walking into the bedroom. You reached to the space where Ben just was, your hand passing through him. “How the hell…?”

“I think you did it,” Ben guessed, looking at the only person who could see him.

“Klaus,” you said softly, gently placing your hand on his elbow to bring his attention back to the world. “C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

———————————

Klaus stayed silent for the first time you had ever seen. You could feel that he was confused, surprised. He ate the food you put in front of him without even looking at his plate.

You sighed, going into the other room to check on Diego with a sandwich. He was up now, nursing a bottle of water. “Hey you,” you greeted, placing the plate down beside him.

“You saw that, didn’t you?” 

“The badass knife throwing Batman wannabe fainting at the sight of a little needle? Yeah, I did.” You laughed, sitting down across from him.

“You think I’m badass?” Diego asked with a flirty smirk, watching you get settled by him. “Thanks for the sandwich,” he mumbled as he took a bite, letting out a small hum of approval.

“When did we meet?” you asked after a few quiet moments, shifting in the chair to get comfortable. “I don’t remember.”

“I always check on Klaus when I’m out on patrol,” Diego admitted. “Just stop by his usual hangouts, make sure he’s still breathing. I don’t usually talk to him, but will if I think he’s in trouble. One night, you two were nodding off behind an abadoned store, a group of guys started giving you shit. One grabbed your ass, one tried shaking Klaus down.”

You nodded, vaugely remembering that night. It wasn’t completely uncommon for junkies to land in that situation. Some of your fellow addicts weren’t always as nice as Klaus and you, but people tended to leave you two alone, calling you freaks. The more that you focused on that night, the more you remembered someone pulling the guy off you and making sure you were alright. “Thank you. For helping,” you said softly, looking back up at Diego with a gentle smile.

“How have you been?” Diego didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he was curious. 

“Clean two years. Hoping to help Klaus now that we’re back together.” You smiled fondly, pulling the cardigan tighter around yourself.

“That’s great. You look a lot better. Your eyes look… Brighter. They’re gorgeous.” 

You blushed at the compliment, smiling a bit. “Thank you. I feel better. For the most part, anyway. Sometimes I’d rather just be numb, you know? Especially the last few days. Seeing Allison…” You shook your head, not trying not to get overwhelmed again. “But I know it’ll be okay if I can help stop the apocalypse.”

“Yeah, about that.” Diego finished his sandwich and marched out to the sitting room, shouting for Five. You followed behind, tapping Klaus’ shoulder to get him to follow.

———————————-

You sat beside Klaus who still seemed to be in his thoughts about what happened with Ben and his sobriety. 

“That bastard that nearly killed our sister is still out there. With Vanya,” Diego said as he paced around the coffee table. “We need to go after her.” 

“Vanya’s not important,” Five snapped. 

“Hey, that’s your sister. A little heartless even for you, Five.” 

You looked over to Klaus to see him chewing on his nails, not paying attention to the battling brothers at all. 

“I’m not saying I don’t care about her, but if the apocalypse happens today, she dies along with the other seven billion of us,” Five barked back, looking up at his brother. “Harold Jenkins is our first priority.” 

“He has a point,” you agreed quietly. 

“I agree. Let’s go.”  Diego motioned for you to follow him. 

“You guys count me out,” Klaus said, waving his hand. “I mean, you know, no offense or whatever. I just… kind of feel like this is a lot of pressure for newly-sober me so….” He bowed his head, a tight lipped smile on his face. 

“You’re coming,” Diego demanded. 

“No, no, no. I think we can all agree my power’s… I mean, it’s pretty much useless. I’d just be holding you guys back.” 

“Klaus,” you tried to reason, voice gentle and encouraging. 

“Get up,” Five said much more firmly than you. 

“You can’t make me,” Klaus shot back, sneering like a child. 

Without hesitation, Diego threw a knife between Klaus’ legs, causing you to yelp in surprise. 

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, sighing deeply. “Then again, a little exercise couldn’t hurt,” he mumbled with a faux cheerful tone as he got up to find his shoes. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Tag List: @misspygmypie @mischiefnevermanaged94 @stars-cant-be-broken

Message me to be added to the tag list! 

Requests are open! 

[bamby0304]

The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Twenty-Four: Sacrifice?

Warnings: Angst. Violence.

Bamby

DPOV

I sat on one of the desk in the office looking at a map of the building, my shirt pulled up and to the side as Liz stitched me up. Sam was moving around the building, painting Devil's traps. Nancy was sitting close by, unsure what to do and scared. While Henriksen and Phil- officer Amici- were gathering guns.

I watched them set the weapons on another desk. "Well, that's nice. It's not gonna do much good."

Phil looked confused. "We got an arsenal here."

"You don't poke a bear with BB gun. That's just gonna make them mad," I told him.

"What do you need?" he asked.

Liz didn't look away from stitching me up as she answered, "Salt. Lots of salt."

He continued to look confused. "Salt?"

I rolled my eyes. "What, is there an echo in here?"

"There's road salt in the storeroom," Nancy spoke up.

"Perfect." I nodded. "Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door."

Henriksen, Phil and Nancy all left to go get the salt, leaving Liz and I alone.

Watching her work, I stayed silent. It was nice, having her clean me up like this. It wasn't the first and I was hoping it wouldn't be the last time either. But still, every time I tried to enjoy it a little.

In our line of work, you gotta enjoy the little things while you can. This, the small touches, the way she took care of me, her focus on the task, the proximity without the usual heat. It was simple but still perfect.

Once she was finished she pulled my shirt back into place as her eyes made their way to meet mine. There was determination in her gaze, but I could see a little uncertainty as well.

She sighed as her hand came to rest on my good shoulder. "You know I'm gonna have to use-"

I cut her off, "I know. But not yet. Not until you really have to."

I understood that her ability was part of her, and I accepted it- I really did. But if she used it too much, if she's weak, tired or injured when she uses it, sometimes things get so bad she nearly dies. It's happened more than once. So yeah, I knew she'd have to use it eventually, but I rather she waited until we had no other options.

Phil came back in then, carrying bags of salt.

Pulling away from Liz, I turned to him. "Hey, where's my car?"

"Impound lot out back," he answered, moving to go get more salt.

"Okay." I nodded getting up and ready to head out to my Baby, knowing Liz would be right beside me.

Phil paused and turned to us. "Wait. You're not going out there?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk."

EPOV

As we neared the impound gate I watched it carefully and unlocked it with my mind, ignoring the look Dean gave me after that. We didn't have time to stop and argue so we just kept going. Reaching Baby, he pulled the trunk open and grabbed a bag before he started shoving things into it.

I reached out a hand. He handed me a gun with rock salt shells in it. Keeping watch, I held the gun, ready to shoot anything that might move towards us.

The lights of the impound began to flicker.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, I know." He quickly grabbed a few more things to shove in the bag.

Up ahead I watched as a storm of black smoke headed out way. "Dean!"

He slammed the trunk shut and grabbed my arm with his free hand, pulling me along as we rushed back to the station.

"They're coming!" Dean yelled as we closed the doors of the station, now inside. "Hurry!"

Black smoke started surrounding the building as we hurried to the main office where Henriksen was waiting. Sam, Nancy and Phil weren't too far behind us. Dean tossed his brother a gun which Sam caught effortlessly.

The lights began to flicker like they had before, before shutting off completely. Dust fell from the ceiling as the building shook.

Then the smoke seemed to disappear, leaving us in the dark still, but now also in silence.

"Everybody okay?" Sam asked, looking around.

"Define 'okay'," Henriksen told him.

"All right, everybody needs to put these on." Dean reached into his bag and pulled out some charms which he handed out to the civilians. "They'll keep you from being possessed. There you go."

Nancy took the last one, looking down at it and then to the brothers and myself. "What about you, Sam and Elizabeth?"

Dean and Sam moved at the same time, shifting their shirts to show the matching protect symbol tattoos that sat on their chests. I turned and lifted my hair, showing my tattoo that sat on the base of my neck.

"Smart." Henriksen nodded. "How long you had those?"

"Not long enough," Sam answered.

...

I stood with Dean as he leaned on a desk. He'd been staying close as we kept an eye out and waited. Right now, we were watching Henriksen as he lifted the sheriffs name plate off one of the desks.

I felt for the guy. I myself hadn't killed a human being. I'd killed plenty of other things, but I hadn't killed a human. Dean had. Sam had. Henriksen might have had some blood on his hands before as well. But this was different. This wasn't in his control. He'd been possessed and the victim had been an innocent.

"Hey, that's Jenna Rubner," Nancy spoke up from where she was standing by the window, looking out at the parking lot.

Sam moved over to join her. "That's not Jenna anymore."

I could see over his shoulder. The parking lot was beginning to crowd with a number of people. Or, well... demons in people suits.

Nancy looked up at him. "That's where all that black demon smoke went?"

Sam nodded. "Looks like."

DPOV

Liz and I sat in the main office, filling guns up with salt filled shells.

Henriksen came over to watch us. "Shotgun shells full of salt."

"Whatever works." I shrugged.

"Fighting off monsters with condiments." He laughed lightly, taking off his tie. "So. Turns out demons are real." He grabbed one of the guns and got to work as well.

I paused and looked to him. "FYI, ghosts are real too."

"So are werewolves," Liz added.

"Vampires."

"Changelings."

"Evil clowns that eat people," I finished.

Liz turned to me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yep.

Henriksen shook his head. "Okay, then."

"If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot's a hoax." I smiled at him.

"It doesn't," he noted. "How many demons?"

"Total?" I shrugged, getting back to work. "No clue. A lot."

"You know what my job is?"

Cocking my gun, I got to my feet and moved towards him. "You mean besides locking up the good guys?" I asked, earning a chuckle from Liz. "I have no idea."

"My job is boring, it's frustrating," Henriksen started. "You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save... a few people. Maybe. That's the payoff. I've been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there's something off in the corner so big. So yeah... sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life."

"How were you supposed to know?" Liz had a good point.

"Well, now I do." He looked to both of us. "What's out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?"

I thought about it for a moment before answering. "Honestly? I think the world's gonna end bloody. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin'." I grinned.

"Me too," Liz agreed from behind me.

Henriksen gave a short nod. "Plus, you got nothing to go home to but your brother and each other."

"Yeah." I nodded. "What about you? You rockin' the white picket fence?"

"Mm-mm." He shook his head. "Empty apartment, string of angry ex-wives. I'm right where you are." He chuckled.

I grinned again. "Imagine that."

There was a crash from somewhere in the building. The three of us rushed out, taking the lead as the other followed us to where the sound came from.

We ended up in a different, smaller room where a devil's trap was painted on the ground. In the middle of that trap stood a demon. But not just any demon. Ruby.

Henriksen aimed his gun at her. "How do we kill her?"

"We don't." Sam pushed Henriksen's gun down.

"She's a demon," Henriksen noted.

"She's here to help us," Sam assured him.

"Are you kidding?" Phil exclaimed.

Ruby watched Sam expectantly. "Are you gonna let me out?"

I sighed as Sam stepped forward, pulling out his knife and kneeling down before he scratched at the trap, freeing her.

"And they say chivalry's dead." Ruby stepped out of the circle, moving to the main office. "Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here."

Liz, Henriksen and I followed her closely, still ready to shoot just in case. I didn't care how many times Ruby saved us, I didn't trust her.

"How many are out there?" I asked, needing details.

"Thirty at least. That's so far."

"Oh, good. Thirty. Thirty hit men all gunning for us." I shook my head, getting pissed. "Who sent them?"

She looked over at Sam as he walked into the room. "You didn't tell them?" When Liz and I looked over at Sam confused, Ruby smirked. "Oh, I'm surprised."

"Tell us what?" Liz asked.

Ruby turned back to us. "There's a big new up and corner. Real pied piper."

"Who is he?"

Liz looked to me, a little offended and defensive. "Why does it have to be a he?"

"She's right." Ruby leaned against a desk. "It's a she. Her name is Lilith. And she really, really wants Sam's intestines on a stick. 'Cause she sees him as competition."

I turned to Sam, now really pissed. "You knew about this?" He didn't answer. "Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else I should know?!"

"How about the two of you talk about this later? We'll need the Colt." Ruby looked to Sam who looked away. She then looked to me, waiting. "Where's the Colt?"

"It got stolen," Sam told her.

"I'm sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands," she snapped, pushing off the desk and walking away, keeping her back to us as she came to a stop. "Fantastic. This is just peachy."

"Ruby..."

She raised a hand to stop him. "Shut up." She thought for a moment before turning to us again. "Fine. Since I don't see that there's no other option. There's one other way I know how to get you out of here alive."

I sat on a desk, waiting for her to go on. "What's that?"

"I know a spell. It'll vaporise every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included!" She glared at Sam, Liz and myself. "So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So next time, be more careful. How's that for a dying wish?"

"Okay." Liz nodded, ready. "What do we need to do?"

"Aww..." Ruby smiled at her. "You can't do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue."

I nodded. "I got virtue."

Ruby chuckled. "Nice try. You're not a virgin."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Nobody's a virgin." But as the words left my mouth Ruby slowly looked over at someone else. I followed her gaze to Nancy, who turned away shyly. "No. No way. You're kidding me. You're..."

Nancy shrugged, embarrassed. "What? It's a choice, okay?"

"So, y-you've never... not even once? I mean not even-" The look she gave me was answer enough. "Wow."

She turned to Ruby. "So, this spell. What can I do?" She smiled.

Ruby stepped closer to her slowly. "You can hold still... while I cut your heart out of your chest."

Nancy's eyes went wide. "What?"

I stepped between her and Ruby. "What? Are you crazy?"

"I'm offering a solution." Ruby shrugged as if this were no big deal to her. Though she's a demon, so it probably wasn't.

Liz shook her head. "Killing someone isn't a solution."

Ruby turned to look at her. "What do you think's gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?"

"We're gonna protect her. That's what," Henriksen assured her.

"Very noble." Ruby rolled her eyes. "You're all gonna die. Look. This is the only way."

I shook my head. "Yeah, yeah. There's no way that you're gonna-"

"Would everybody please shut up?!" Nancy yelled over us, causing us all to fall silent and look to her. "All the people out there... will it save them?" She asked Ruby.

"It'll blow the demons out of their bodies. So if their bodies are okay... yeah."

There was a long pause before Nancy nodded. "I'll do it."

"Hell no," Henriksen spoke up.

I stood my ground. "No, no."

"Not happening," Liz added.

I looked to Nancy. "You don't need to do this."

"All my friends are out there."

"We don't sacrifice people," Henriksen spoke up again. "We do that, we're no better than them."

"We don't have a choice," Ruby argued.

"Yeah, well, your choice is not a choice," I told her.

She looked over to my brother. "Sam, you know I'm right."

When Liz, Ruby and I looked to Sam, waiting for a response, I couldn't believe it. He said and did nothing.

"Sam?" I asked expectantly, but still got nothing. "What the hell is going on? Sam, tell her."

Nancy stood up. "It's my decision."

Ruby grinned. "Damn straight, cherry pie."

"Stop!" I snapped. "Stop! Nobody kill any virgins." I looked to my brother again. "Sam, I need to talk to you." As I began to walk away I turned to Liz. "You watch her." I gestured to Ruby. Once Liz nodded, I walked off with Sam right behind me. We stopped in the next room. "Please tell me you're not actually considering this. We're talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her heart."

"And we're also talking about thirty people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here," he noted.

But that meant nothing, not in our line of work. We saved everyone. "It doesn't mean that we throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans. I'm not gonna let that demon kill some nice, sweet, innocent girl, who hasn't even been laid. I mean, look, if that's how you win wars, then I don't want to win."

"Then what? What do we do, Dean?"

I turned away from a moment, thinking it over. An idea came to me, a bad one, but it was still better than Ruby's. "I got a plan. I'm not saying it's a good one. I'm not even saying that it'll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin."

"Okay, so, what's the plan?"

"Open the doors, let them all in and we fight."

EPOV

I stood with Dean, the two of us keeping an eye on Ruby. She looked annoyed, sitting on one of the desks with her legs crossed in front of her. But I didn't care how she felt. Suggesting we kill someone to save everyone else was a bad choice. I was surprised she even thought we'd go for it.

Dean stepped closer to me, sighing. "I don't want you doing this."

I looked up at him, offering a small smile. "Best way to assure none of them get out."

"You know what can happen to you."

Reaching up, I played with the leather string necklace around his neck that a pendant hung from. "Dean, I'd rather it be me than anyone else."

"Or you could-"

I shut Ruby up with a single glare.

A door closed as Sam walked into the room.

"Get the equipment to work?" Dean asked, not moving away from me.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He clearly didn't look happy.

Dean shrugged. "So?"

"So, this is insane."

"You win 'understatement of the year'," Ruby muttered.

Dean turned to her, just as annoyed with her as she was with us. "Look, I get it, you think-"

She cut him off. "I don't think... I know. It's not gonna work." She pushed herself off the desk and moved to leave. "So long."

"So, you're just gonna leave?" Sam called after her.

"Hey." She spun around to look at him. I was gonna kill myself to help you win. I'm not gonna stand here and watch you lose." Walking closer to Sam, she shook her head lightly. "And I'm disappointed because I tried. I really did, but clearly I bet on the wrong horse." She looked to each of us. "Do you mind letting me out?

DPOV

I pushed the doors open as I stood by one of the exits. Henriksen, Liz and Sam were at three others, armed and hopefully ready.

"All set?" I called.

"Set!"

"Yeah!"

"Ready!"

With that, I moved closer to my door way. "Let's do this."

I broke the salt line and leaned down to scratch at the devil's trap with my knife before I pulled back quickly, my gun raised. At first, nothing happened... but when it started, it started fast.

Demons came running around the corner, rushing into the building. I shot at them as best as I could, knowing some would pass me with the rate they were going. But I didn't have time to worry about that. I had to focus.

Shooting at the demons, I took down as many as I could, backing up as I did. I could hear other shots ringing through the building, knowing Sam, Henriksen and Liz could handle themselves.

I bumped into someone and only had a moment to look at Henriksen before we were shooting again.

Where there was a pause of demons, I nodded. "Go! Go! Go!"

We went in the opposite directions as he headed for the communications room and I moved to the main office.

I fought demons as I moved, pushing them out of my way, shooting them, doing whatever it took until I was in the main office. Sam and Liz were already there, standing back to back as they flung holy water at the demons surrounding them.

I fought my way through with salt, holy water and brute force. Once I was with my brother and Liz, I moved so the three of us were back to back now, still keeping the demons at bay as best as we could.

A female demon climbed onto a desk and moved towards us. She stretched out an arm, throwing the three of us against the wall, pinning us there.

I gasped in pain before yelling out, "Henriksen, now!"

There was a moment before a recording of Sam's voice could be heard over the speakers through the building.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

The demons raised their hands, covering their ears as they began to yell out in pain.

"Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare."

Rushing to the exits, the demons tried to escape but couldn't. As they'd been rushing in and fighting us, Nancy and Phil had salted the exits.

"Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis."

The female demon lowered her hand, letting us go as she struggled against the exorcism.

"Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt."

Now free, Liz landed on her feet and watched the demons before she raised her own hands. The force radiating off her was so strong it even winded Sam and me. But what it did to the demons was worse.

She pushed them all to the walls and floors, holding them there as the exorcism continued.

"Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

Screams, cries of pains and Latin words filled my ears. But none of it distracted Liz. She kept the demons in their place as the exorcism came close to its end.

Blood dripped from her nose as her hands, arms, everything shook. She was weakening by the second. She wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But still, she focused on holding the demons, ignoring the obvious pain she was in.

"Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te."

All the demons opened their mouths as the black smoke inside them was forced out.

"Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos."

With nowhere to go the smoke circled in the air like a dark storm cloud before the pressure and energy built up so much that it all exploded in a bright light above us.

The moment it was over I had to rush to help Liz as she began to collapse.

"Whoa!" I grabbed her arm and held her to me to keep her from falling.

She was out of breath, blood dripping out of her nose as she found it hard the keep her eyes open. Yet she still managed a small smile. "How 'bout that, Ruby."

EPOV

I leaned against Dean, his arm around me. If I was being honest, the only reason I was still on my feet was because of him. My legs were like jelly, my head spinning as if I were on a roller coaster, and I was weak, shaking. I did not feel good.

"I better call in." Henriksen walked up to us. "Hell of a story I won't be telling."

Sam had been packing our things up but paused to look at him. "So, what are you gonna tell them?"

"The least ridiculous lie I can come up with in the next five minutes."

Dean grinned. "Good luck with that. Not to pressure you or anything, but what are you planning to do about us?"

"I'm gonna kill you," Henriksen answered simply. When we all looked shocked, he elaborated, "Sam and Dean Winchester, and Elizabeth Hart were in the chopper when it caught on fire. Nothing left. Can't even identify them with dental records. Rest in peace, guys."

Sam reached forward and shook his hand before Dean did the same.

As I reached for Henriksen, he paused, watching me carefully. "You never did say what happened-"

I cut him off, knowing where he was going, "You really don't wanna know."

"You're probably right." He smiled, finally shaking my hand. "Now get out of here." He said, walking off towards a phone.

Dean looked down at me. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Yes please." I leaned against him more, letting him practically carry me as we followed Sam out the exit.

DPOV

I was sitting on Sam's bed, watching Liz as she slept on mine. She'd been out for hours. Once we got in the car and laid her out on the back seat she'd fallen asleep and hadn't woken up. I had to carry her into the room.

Sam was lying on the couch, looking up at the ceiling blankly, deep in thought. Those thoughts were cut short at the sound of a knock on the door. He got up and moved to open it, stepping aside to let Ruby in.

She sighed, walking into the room without a word.

"You came to apologise?" I asked smugly.

She glared at me. "No." Pulling out a few small hex bags from her pockets, she threw two to me and one to Sam.

I looked down at the bags. "What's in these?"

"Something that'll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail… for the time being, at least."

"Thanks," Sam mumbled.

She turned her glare to him. "Don't thank me. You may have saved everyone but Lilith is still after you. And now your biggest asset is damaged goods." She gestured to Liz. "You think she's gonna bounce back from this one like it was nothing? She almost died in there." She looked between Sam and me. "Next time, we go with my plan," she snapped before storming out of the room.

Both Sam and I turned to Liz then, wondering how much damage she might have done...

Bamby

[unquietwordssettledthoughts]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Uchiha Izuna/Uchiha Madara Summary:

Izuna did not sign up for this shit, but the universe hardly cares what he thinks.

Click the link or continue below the line to read.

Fate, it seemed, was out to get him.

Logic made it all too clear that there could be no such thing as a coincidence. The world was much too intelligently designed for that nonsense, events fitting too perfectly together, creating the exact image of his hellish doom. His leg a bloody mess propped up on his pack, the freezing wind howling as it beat against the old cabin, the bed dipping as his brother crawled in next to him and his mind racing to figure out how, exactly, he’d managed to get in this mess in the first place.

For starters, he never should have even been on the mission. His role as Head Director at the academy near guaranteed his imprisonment in the village, the endless stacks of paperwork shackling him to his desk until even the crickets had settled off to bed. But Hikaku had, for the first time in Izuna’s stellar memory, fallen ill - so ill, in fact, that he was completely out of commission, not so much as able to look at a bowl of rice porridge without doubling over to dry-heave.

One shinobi out for the count was hardly enough to drag Izuna back into active duty, of course. There were several qualified shinobi in Konoha’s ranks that could’ve handled the more delicate espionage portion of the mission. And even having to work alongside Madara - notoriously irascible, intractable Madara - wasn’t enough to push all of them away.

Except, apparently, fat was just as stubborn as his elder brother, and twice as cruel. Because at least a dozen different shinobi had passed on the mission, including the over-professional prick of a Senju who had personally cited Madara as his reason (in quite colorful terms, colorful enough to leave Madara fuming for a full three days, ready to blow a gasket at the slightest mention of any Senju).

All of that just to get him on the damned mission. But the universe hadn’t stopped there, because being forced to spend alone time in the field, one-on-one, often in close quarters with his brother hadn’t been cruel enough for whoever pulled on fate’s strings.

His second point of evidence the kami were out to get him? How utterly useless the massive amounts of intel they’d had to pour over had been. Using the map had been worse than trying to find the hideout blindfolded, some landmarks misplaced and others flat-out missing. And he could’ve gone on a days long rant about the hideout itself.

Deserted. Coated in dust and not a speck of it disturbed for what must have been months before they had snuck their way in. Not even the rats had stuck around, leaving the both of them standing dumbstruck and irate in the underground maze of bare walls and empty rooms.

Mostly empty, anyway. Because Izuna and bad luck were becoming life partners despite his best efforts. All it took was a single second of distraction brought on by the arch of his brother’s back, on display in all of its erotic glory, and a thin strip of ninja wire in a doorway, and suddenly his leg was being shredded to pieces.

If it hadn’t been for the metal shrapnel buried in his calf, his brother could’ve simply sealed the wound for him and they could’ve been along their merry way. Instead, he had to lean full bodily onto him while they went off in search of somewhere clean enough to act as a make-shift infirmary, the whole while getting his ear chewed off by the very person who had oh so rudely distracted him in the first place.

The weather was the final piece that made him want to throw himself to the ground, to surrender to the whims of whatever had decided to ruin him. It had been a mild winter at worst up until that point, hardly more than a dusting having frosted the trees that gave Konoha its name. But that had been back when he was at home, with little more than a ten minute walk to anywhere he’d need to go in a hurry.

Now, when they were a several day’s journey away from the safety of their village gates, of course it would decide to full on sleet all over them. Even his excellent chakra control couldn’t keep his temperature regulated, and despite the living bonfire pressed to his side his teeth were soon chattering hard enough he was certain they would shatter.

By the time they had made any sort of progress towards the nearest settlement (or what the useless scrap of paper passing for a map had said was a town), the icy snow mix had already started to coat them, the road disappearing in a blur of white. On the bright side, his calf being so cold had slowed down the blood loss to a trickle, so theoretically they had more time to find a suitable place to treat his wound.

On the downside, he could no longer feel his anything.

Madara must have spotted or sensed something, because he had stopped for a moment, but Izuna couldn’t even hear his own thoughts passed the wind roaring in his ears. He did feel the sharp sting when his brother turned to face him, all of that mane whipping and assaulting his face and no doubt leaving red angry marks all across it. Luckily, his brother tugged him along only a few moments later, changing course to head towards the treeline.

Exactly how his brother had known there would be shelter there, Izuna was too scared to ask. The door had been frozen shut, though one would have to be a fool to think that would stop his brother from barreling in anyway, tossing Izuna onto the nearest surface and ignoring the yelp it tore out of him.

At least once Madara got a fire going, the worst of the cold was kept at bay. It did little to help stave off the pain as his brother dug the metal out of his shin, and his complaining only earned in a sharp look and an even longer winded lecture than before.

“Sit still, brat!” His thigh was swatted as he began to squirm once more, the words hissed despite how delicately Madara was working the needle to stitch up his wound. “Exactly how long have you been a shinobi? A single year? One month?”

“Shut up, it hurts! How would you like something pinching into your wound?”

“I’ve had stitches before, idiot. They’re not that bad.” Even if his words were harsh, Izuna could feel his grip soften, and knew without looking his brother was doing his best to lessen the pain. All he could do at the moment was stare up at the roof and count the spiders, wrinkling his nose at the thought of having them as roommates for the night.

“That should do it.” Just as Izuna was about to sigh in relief, liquid fire ran over his wound, making him hit the bed beneath him with a fist. He sat up as soon as he could feel his leg again, doing his best to slaughter his brother with a single look. It only earned him a raised eyebrow, Madara busying himself putting away the med supplies and burning the bloodied bandages. “Try not to trip over air again anytime soon, will you?”

“I wasn’t tripping over- oh, fuck you.” He flopped himself down on the pillow, grinding his teeth and averting his gaze while Madara stripped in front of him. At least he had the decency to put something back on, though he left his chest bare, no doubt to torture him even more with what he wasn’t allowed to run his hands and tongue all over.

But when the bed dipped down next to him, he knew full well he wouldn’t survive the night. All he could do was stare in horror as Madara crawled into the small bed with him, tugging his face right into that chest he wanted to get his mouth on.

Whatever noise tore out of his throat then at least caused his brother to pause, the look on his face split between confusion and ‘what the hell is wrong with you this time’?

Izuna, ever the master at recovery, managed to choke out a “shut up” before his brain could catch up with what was happening. He shook his head and refused to look up, bringing his voice back to a more acceptable octave as he continued. “I’m not twelve anymore, aniki. Shouldn’t we be sleeping not together?” He had to sent a quick order to not go there to the growing bulge in his pants at his own wording, doing his best to roll over enough to hide his shame.

“Where else is there to sleep? On the floor?” With little regard to Izuna’s inner dilemma, Madara wrapped him up tighter in his arms, taking a deep breath before settling right in to sleep.

By the next morning, the wind had died down to a whisper, the blessed heat of the sun returning to melt the worst of the snow. Madara slept in til near noon and woke up surprisingly refreshed, a pleasant and quiet smile on his lips as he moved about the dusty old cabin. Izuna had slept nary a wink and growled the whole day, narrowed and bleary eyes glaring at the culprit of both his lack of sleep and aching problem. At least the last few days of their journey home gave him plenty of time to plot his revenge, and he most certainly planned to make his brother pay. Once he gathered up the courage to pounce him, there would be nothing in the world that would make Izuna go easy on him.