#But I have only come to accept that my spark has just gone elsewhere
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Hi,
The TL;DR of this post is this will no longer be a Mario blog, and I won't be participating in any kind of fandom here anymore.
This is for anyone who keeps tabs on me for any reason, but specifically my fanfiction I guess. I'm a writer so this will be a little long winded lol, but feel free to read what you want.
First I want to thank everyone who kept up with and read my story I'll Never Let You Go. At the time of writing, it was my best work and existed quietly in my drafts for seven or eight years as I built and built it up. It's the longest story I have ever completed, the eclipse of my skills and experiences at a time when all I wanted was to carry across a story about star-crossed lovers while I myself longed for such a fairytale love. While publishing, I invited artists to participate in a small challenge, which resulted in these lovely posts (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8), and set the stage beautifully for me to reveal the major twist of the story. I thank everyone who participated in making that moment so special for me. I'm very proud of the story and how it turned out after all this time. But I'm ready to move onto greater things.
And to anyone who has read any of my other works, thank you. My muse is an impulsive creature and I followed it toward many stories which sometimes had strange methods behind them but ultimately turned into projects I could be proud of. It means the world that my random explorations met any kind of audience with such positive reception.
Fandom has become a problem for me. What used to feel relaxed and creatively exciting now feels like a source of pressure. I caved into it once or twice and posted stories or art or whatever in the past specifically designed to heighten attention or exposure to my work. It never worked quite like I thought and always made me feel a little gross afterward. I may erase these works once I track them down. But now the pressure isn't even creative, it's become more or less of a social performance for me which I am not willing to participate in anymore.
So from now on, I'm going to blog what I want to and write whatever comes to me. Mario or not, fanwork or not. There are still some Mario stories mostly done that I want to share and I may do that in my own time, but it will not be with any intention except to please myself.
I think I'm moving towards more original ideas. There are fan concepts I want to finish out, and if I do it will take time.
Anyway. If any of this doesn't resonate with you, that's fine. Most of my stories will remain up and I'm happy to interact regarding those, but otherwise I would appreciate to not be included in the fandom community on Tumblr anymore. I'll hopefully occasionally find the will to browse for fanfic myself, though lately I haven't been much in the mood to read it. Feel free to unfollow or block or whatever you need to do. I wish you luck. I'm looking forward to being more active on my terms.
Thank you đ
#Not tagging anyone just to avoid tying any of them to this#I had hoped sharing INLYG would bring my spark back#But I have only come to accept that my spark has just gone elsewhere#It has very little to do with anyone in the fandom#Really it has more to do with communities in my irl than anything here#The pressure is just too similar to something I've had too much experience with and I need to not expose myself to it anymore#I shall be the master of my own experience đ„ž#So anyway#You're welcome to follow along as this blog begins to reflect who I am#Or you're welcome not to#For the first time in my life I don't care#Not in a mean way just in a peaceful way#I don't care as a neutral declaration#âšI don't care đđ#So yea#Do or don't keep up with me#Diary of Drones
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I donât know if I will ever do anything with thisâŠor if I do, when it would ever be finished, but here, have a random conversation between Hailan and Ruyi if Xiao Yan Zi landed in Ruyi!verse instead. Also, I guess this is meant to be read as a sequel to The Space Between the Finish and the Start. @renewedmotionforjudgment this might be in your areas of interest đ
âJiejie, do you think Fu Er Tai might be a good match for Xiao Yan Zi? Now that Ming Zhu Ge Ge is to marry Fu Er Kang, and they being as close as sisters, surely Xiao Yan Zi would welcome such a match.â
âIs there a reason you suddenly are concerned with Xiao Yan Ziâs prospects? Do you truly want to match Xiao Yan Zi with Fu Er Tai for her happiness, or do you simply want to remove what you see as a threat elsewhere?â
âJiejie knows me too well. I do not wish to hide my feelings from you in this matter. Yong Qi would never do anything to wrong Fu Er Tai. If Xiao Yan Zi is married to him, Yong Qi will have to close the door on any possibilities as well.â
âAnd you would break Yong Qiâs heart, for what purpose - ?â
âSurely you see the dangers of such a loose end, Jiejie!âÂ
âI see that no matter how things have seemed to improve between Yong Qi and his consorts, he is still nevertheless lonely. And this lossâŠat least imposed on him thus instead of, for example, due to Xiao Yan Ziâs own wishes, would hurt him profoundly.â
âHe will get over it. Men always do.â
âI do not think this is such a simple affair to Yong Qi this time, Hai Lan.â
âAnd what of it? It would be folly if we do not learn from the past, Jiejie! I do not understand why Huang Shang seems to like this Xiao Yan Zi so, without any trace of any other motives to make her his own - at this point, I might even welcome the fact. I only know that we do not know anything of her, even now. We do not know where she comes from, who she truly is, what her past consists of. Do you really not see how there is danger of history repeating itself?â
âOf course I see the similarities, Hai Lan. I understand your wariness, but having been burnt in the past does not mean we douse water on every spark, especially if that spark may grow into something that may provide warmth.â
âJiejieâŠafter all this time, you still put such weight to these feelings.â
âAfter all this time, having known these feelings to be rare, I feel they are ever more precious and worthy of preserving where we can.â
âAnd you think it is really such, between Yong Qi and Xiao Yan Zi?â Hai Lan asked in a tone that made it clear she certainly saw nothing of the kind.Â
âDo you truly doubt that Yong Qi could feel so deeply? When there is evidence in the past that he has felt it before?â
âI doubt that men could feel so deeply, with what privilege always at their disposal to move from old to new. EvenâŠbefore, Yong Qi got over it soon enough.â
âDo you think it was soon enough, or did he just have us think so?â
âEither way, he got over it. And he will get over it again.â
âYou are either selling Yong Qi short, or project onto him what he does not possess, Hai Lan. He is your son. Do you not feel, given what he has already gone through, given what is still in his future, that he deserves a little source of comfort?âÂ
âYou desired to be that source of comfort once to Huang Shang, Jiejie. How has that turned out, in the end?â
âAgain, I think you are projecting.â
âPerhaps. But I cannot help it.â
They had never spoken of it, but it would be impossible for Ru Yi to not understand. Yong Qi had always looked so much like his father, and this has always been a source of pain to Hai Lan. Ru Yi did not doubt that Hai Lan did love Yong Qi, in her own way, but that love could never be free from the fact that Yong Qi only ever existed because Hai Lan had had to force herself to accept the touch of a man who had once destroyed her so viscerally in order to save Ru Yi. That every time Hai Lan looked at him, she could not prevent herself from also seeing someone else instead.
Ru Yi had stopped making excuses for him with Hai Lan a long time ago. When it had happened, Qing Ying had been desperate to excuse him by blaming the alcohol, and soothing her own guilt by doing what she could for Hai Lan. But she understood now that he had never changedâŠthe man he was today had always been there, she just refused all evidence pointing in that direction until she could no longer avoid them.Â
But Yong Qi was not his father. This Ru Yi knew. After all, she could not have had so little impact on Yong Qi after having him by her side for so much of his childhood. But she also knew why Hai Lan found it hard to look beyond the exterior, but perhaps because Ru Yi had always felt she owed Yong Qi her freedom, she had always seen him as hers first and foremost. Because the truth was, Yong Qi had been born for her.Â
#èżç æ Œæ Œ#huan zhu ge ge#hzgg#legend of ruyi#ruyi's royal love in the palace#ćŠæżäŒ #cdrama#my fanfic#also maybe y'all should be asking xiao yan zi what she thinks of this#but i haven't gotten that far yet#fanfic
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It would be an understatement to say that DĂĄinsleif is genuinely surprised at the cheers from knights he believed to be more angered with him for having had it better than them âa valid motive to rise anger he must say, for he still doesn't know in full what they have gone through up to this momentâ. Shivering astral pupils look left and right to the people that step closer and give him their trust to guide them in a moment where they, just as him, are lost. But no more.
Amidst cheering knights crystalline blues make contact with moonlight irises and a small smile that warms his heart wholeâ that strengthens him even though his intention to come to this camp was far from becoming a figure of leadership to these people. Perhaps it is necessary for him to do so, his last service as the Twilight Sword at his people's demand. Even if it is to even the terrain and give them the certainty that they will be accepted in a land where to establish their new home... and for those who may still come after.
But there will always be those with doubt in their hearts such as this knight who was wary of him from the very start. Not that he would blame him, perhaps even he would have his own reservations. Twilight listens nevertheless and for the first time, he catches a glimpse of the so-called tragedy that caused great impact among the Schwanenritter numbers. Ultimately, he is left with an answer to give, decisive in winning the trust of those who distrust him the most.
âNone.â However, his answer is just as swift, denoting clearly that he didn't have to think twice based on the circumstances... what he saw with his very eyes. âThough I still lack information of what happened, I beg to disagree with those that chose to use the Abyss as a source of energy... and send all of you far from home as guinea pigs. It is not that they were blanketed in the unknown when it comes to this obsession of some, but just a new form of seizing control over it.â Fair brows knit in a frown as a flashback replays on his eyes, the sight of wickedness made itself manifest in a lopsided smile of some Khaenri'ahns that summoned themselves those dark wolves.
âSome of them concealed secrets in their hearts that shone during Khaenri'ah's fall. People... our people controlled some of those monsters that destroyed our home, and I wouldn't doubt that they would do the same here.â The knight that opposed him the most is stricken with shock, as if he just hit the nail on the headâ though for now, DĂĄinsleif ignores what it is that makes him change his stance. Only that he must be on the right track, and that is none other than the truth of his heart. âSo to reiterate my answer: I would not have sent you here to begin with.â
âI am aware that it must've been hard to return to Khaenri'ah empty-handed or try to make a living in these lands or elsewhere out of fear that the regent wouldn't accept you back. For that, I am deeply sorry. The only thing I can do now... is help you reclaim your right to live here, or wherever you wish to live from now on. To clear the name of the few of us who had nothing to do with the beckoning of monsters from beyond or the craze of great part of our machines.â
Silence ensues his words, and so that knight lowers his head deep in thought, seemingly afflicted judging by the frown in his eye. The leader of them gets closer and rests his hand over DĂĄinsleif's shoulder, prompting him to look at him. âLike the starburst depicted in every insignia of our home, your light shines true, DĂĄinsleif. You being here has sparked a light of hope in our hearts.â The man closes his eyes, a smile evident on his lips. âYes... hope. Hope that even in a dark place close to the Abyss and bereft of the gods' protection light exists, where us humans can stand high still. This is why I chose you as our leader...â His eyes open to look at the expectant soldiers before them. âAnd that's why the rest of us Schwanenritter did, too. Khaenri'ah is not a product of the darkness of this world, but a light in the darkness that shines against all odds. It is futile to deny the evident.â
One of the men nods, gaze blurry with tears as he rises his fist high. âLong live the Twilight Sword!â A chorus follows after his words, proud yet quivering shouts filled with emotion at the notion that new hope has come. Amidst the tumult, the teary-eyed knight comes closer, and so he performs the military salute out of respectâ lips pressed shut to contain the streaming tears down his face. DĂĄinsleif nods his head in appreciation and walks to him to place a hand on his shoulder before advancing farther to face the quieting crowd. âListen closely: no matter how tempting their whispers may be, or how much easier it would be to let goâ do not fall for darkness' tricks. No matter if it is in disguise of monsters as their people, they have chosen their path.â As we did ours. âSo for those of us who want to find a new home, for those who still need saving... and the Sumerian people too, who now must face the darkness unleashed of a kingdom's fall. We will fight to protect this land! We'll show to the world that there are those of us Khaenri'ahns, Dahri or however they chose to name us that seek not destruction, but peaceful coexistence.â Thus he rises a gloved fist to rest over his breast, in memory to an army that soon will be no more.
âMay glory be with us.â
It's hard to come to terms with the fact that those who were supposed to give DĂĄinsleif answers he's unavailable to find on his own are just as lost as he isâ if not worse. Were Blade in his position, he would feel frustration at the very least, who knows if not more that would make him lose his sanity. In a situation like this in which none of them have a home nor a definite purpose, in a world that seems to be ending lest something miraculous happens... he understands why some have issues controlling their temper against someone who isn't at fault of their woes.
RĂšn turns his gaze to the hand the blond rests on his shoulder, as if to tell him to not escalate this to violence and he nods his head, much to the gladness of the terrified knight that regained some vigor to step away from a cage that only existed in his mind as soon as he pinned him with his gaze. He watches him walk farther, from behind where he stays. How will he deal with this situation, when he isn't any better than the rest are? When tears streamed down his face uncontrollably while he told him what happened and more that he wouldn't conjure with words?
He listens to him talk, and it is as if everything that was shrouded with darkness is illuminated with a little source of light. No matter how much despair he must've had in his heart, how lost and broken he was just a few moments ago (and still is, he's sure)... For a moment, DĂĄinsleif has become into a star that lights everyone else's world in the same manner as the eight-pointed stars that adorn the machines situated in different places of the camp and within its vicinities. Always the brave one he is, even if the odds are all against him, giving strength to others when he needs it too.
Is it... is it possible that you felt the same way when faced with my demons, DĂĄinsleif...?
One of the knights steps ahead and, in a moment of bravery, rubs his eyes with the back of his hand before opening his eyes confidently to look at DĂĄinsleif. "If Leader acknowledges you as our captain, so do I." A round of murmurs follows the man's words before numerous other voices raise. "So do I!" "Even if Khaenri'ah has fallen, you are still our Twilight Sword!" Blade turns to look with interest around him at the increasing voices of soldiers acknowledging DĂĄinsleif as their leader. A sense of pride for the blond bubbles within his chest as his gaze returns to him, the corners of his lips lifting in a small smile.
See? It isn't all lost, even if they were as lost as you.
"Hold on one second!" The soldier that expressed his distaste towards DĂĄinsleif talks again and walks his way past other knights to come to the front and meet the blond. "Who is to say that you wouldn't let us rot as the Knight Marshal did before he left?" Everyone silences down, and so RĂšn blinks with interest. Right. They mentioned some tragedy that happened a while ago that they didn't talk further about... until now. "A great part of our men died for partaking in an energetic investigation for Khaenri'ah, just so the consequences wouldn't affect the kingdom if they were to happen."
The man points at DĂĄinsleif. "Many of the knights may accept you as their captain, our leader included. But I will not until you answer one question: If you were in charge of us, what would you have done? Keep us in the dark and have us do the dirty work or let us know of the consequences?"
#seraphicus#âàŒșâ§àŒ»â immortality won't last forever to gods nor humansâyĂŹng xÄ«ng â seraphicus.â#âàŒșâŠàŒ»â tears of life; chasers of withering deathâdĂĄinsleif Ă yĂŹng xÄ«ng.â#âàŒșâŠàŒ»â ÏÏÎŒÎżÏ ÎŽ: ΚΏÏÎœÎżÎœÏÎ±Ï Ïη ÏαΌÎΜη ÎŒÎżÎŻÏαâto the journeyâs end.â#âàŒșâŠàŒ»â solarescent lycoris. âaria of the swordsâ#âàŒșâ§àŒ»â lament of a fallen seraph âthread.â#âàŒșâ§àŒ»â sapphire flames in their wake âic.â#âàŒșâ§àŒ»â tears of life; chasers of withering deathâdĂĄinsleif Ă yĂŹng xÄ«ng.â
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part 9 of the incubus!doppio au aka we'll make it work
its been a long while since the last update so super brief recap: reader found a frog transformed gio in the forest and is currently on their way to one of his relatives to reverse it!
AO3 Link
List of parts
tag list: @wasabi-mommy @mistabrainr0t @the-average-mastermind @risottosplug @ohohimhere @ppribcess-br1 @greatpostunknown @cremaopinios
------
You gather your few belongings while Doppio readies himself in the bathroom. Once he was finished all of you would be heading straight for the train station. Abbaccchio watches you from the bed like cats tend to. However, the end of his tail twitches back and forth signaling that heâs agitated about something.
You zip up your bag and smirk. âYouâre already annoyed and the day just started.â
âHmph, Iâm not exactly looking forward to hiding in your bag again,â he says.
âOh please. You can get out as soon as we're outside and then it's 5 minutes tops when we get to the station. Youâll be okay.â
You move your backpack next to the dresser where Giorno still sits content in his container of water. You'd clean that up right before leaving so he could get as much moisture as possible.
âAbout last night--â Abbacchio starts.
Giorno opens an eye at that, but you barely react because of course he knows. You and Doppio weren't exactly being very quiet. You had just thought the cat wasn't interested in bringing it up (and you preferred it that way), but would he really be Abbacchio if he didnât?
âDoppio has it under control so can we not argue about the same thing again?â You ask without looking back at him, though it was more of a plea than a question.
Before the feline can dissent, Doppio exits the bathroom. His hair is done up, though a few strands stick out from his braid.
You quickly switch your focus over to him. âReady to head out?â
He moves a piece of hair out of his face. âUh huh.â
âOkay, let me just get Giorno.â
After you move the frog out of his container and into your jacket pocket, you quickly clean up his makeshift âpondâ and herd everyone out of the room. The walk from the hotel to the station doesn't take too long though you're very hungry by the time you arrive. You didn't have time to eat a full meal beforehand, but fortunately you packed snacks.
You chew on a granola bar on the train. You try to be careful but stray crumbs litter your lap. âYou sure you don't want any?â you ask Doppio. He sits next to you, staring outside the train window at the passing landscape.
Your friend shakes his head. âI'm not hungry.â
You continue snacking on the sugary bar before speaking again. "Do you even need to eat food? You said you don't need sex and Iâve obviously seen you eat, but how does it exactly work?
Doppio leans back in his seat and places his hands in his lap. âBoth sex and food give me energy, but the energy from food doesn't last long. I could overfill myself and be hungry 2 hours later. And food doesn't help with sleepiness either so I need to actually go to bed. Sex cures both and lasts longer.â
The explanation was clear and concise. He must have explained it many times before. You purse your lips still confused though. You had sometimes seen Doppio go most of the day without food so things werenât adding up...Unless he was still having sex sometimes?
â...But the last time you ate was yesterday?â
"Yea but recently I've had energy that seems to come out of nowhere. I even feel fully rested though I wasn't able to get back to sleep last night.â
âThatâs strange. Do you remember when you got these boosts of energy?â
He thinks for a moment. â...They were a while ago, so other than yesterday and right now, not really.â
âYesterday?â
âAfter we got off the train and were walking to that fast food place. I still felt exhausted but it was definitely way better than before."
He did seem more awake and less irritable after you had finished eating, but other than the food you didn't know what had helped.
"Well try to keep it in mind. There's most likely a connection,â you say.
You finish up your bar and put the wrapper in one of your backpack's pockets, jostling Abbacchio in the process. You ignore his displeased grumbles and continue speaking to Doppio. âYou know you're very different from what Iâve read about incubi. Like with how all this energy stuff works...Is this how it is for all incubi and succubi?â
âMost likely not.â He pauses and starts to jiggle his leg. ââEr...Iâm actually only part incubus.â
Your brows raise. âWait really?â
âI'm half human, half incubus. It's just easier to say I'm an incubus though with how I was raised.â
That has you reconsidering many things, especially about Diavolo. He wasn't a demon possessing a demon, he was a demon possessing a half human! You need to tell Bruno this as soon as you get back.
------
Early afternoon your group reaches its destination. You and Doppio walk outside of the station into the fresh air. The sun shines down directly on you but luckily it isn't unbearably hot. A distance from where you both stand is a gravely road cutting through the unruly grass.
Once you get far enough away from the small group of people leaving the station, you let Abbacchio out of your bag and move Giorno out of your pocket and onto your shoulder. You then pull out your phone and open your GPS to get directions to the farm.
Itâs an hour and half of walking along the road and taking breaks under the shade of the sparse trees before a small house in the midst of a field comes into view. Thereâs also a barn not too far away.
You plan to go up to the house and knock on the door, but part way there a man calls out a greeting to your group from a fenced area filled with chickens. His size is almost intimidating but his face is kind. He seems to be in his mid to late 50s but looks very fit. He jogs up to your group before glancing at Abbacchio who is sitting a small distance behind you. He then raises a brow at you most likely due to the amphibian on your shoulder.
"I donât believe Iâve seen you lot before, but what can I do for you today?" the man asks. You notice his light English accent.
"Are you Jonathan Joestar?â you ask.
âYes, that's me.â
You glance at Giorno and move the shoulder he sits on forward. "Okay thisâll sound crazy, but this is your nephew and he was turned into a frog."
Giorno readjusts his position and looks up at Jonathan. "Uncle it's me Giorno. I ran away from home."
The man's brow furrows and he steps back involuntarily. "Giorno? What happened to you?â
âI'll explain later. I need you to change me back first.â
He collects himself (as best as he can) and nods. "How do I do that exactly?"
âHe needs a kiss from royalty,â you say. âLike the story but it doesn't have to be a princess or prince.â
Jonathan rubs the back of his neck. âBut I'm no longer royalty.â
âThat's fine, the person just had to be at some point. I don't know how it works but Bru--the witch told us it would still count,â you say.
âWell if itâll help Giogio then thereâs no point asking any more questions.â
You let Giorno climb onto your palm and pass him over to Jonathan. The farmer lifts Giorno up with both hands and places a kiss on his small froggy head.
Before you can really take in the silly scene, Giorno begins to glow. A glow that increases in intensity to the point that it feels like looking at the sun. He jumps off Jonathanâs hand just as his body starts to take a different form and size. For a moment thereâs a lull and then suddenly a firework of sparks shoots off him. Everyone around him shuts their eyes.
When you open your own, the sparkles are gone and their place is a well dressed young man with immaculate styled blond hair flowing part way down his back. He looked laughably high class next to the rest of you.
Youâre still taken aback by the display of magic you had just bared witness to and end up wordlessly gaping for several seconds before you can properly speak again.
âI-I did not expect you to look like that!â
Giorno looks at you, unbothered by your inappropriate outburst. âWhat did you think I'd look like?â
âUm I don't know, but the blonde hair wasn't there...â
Unlike you, Doppio and Jonathan look mostly unaffected by Giornoâs transformation.
Jonathan gives the blonde a relieved smile. âErina is going to be so happy to see you, Giogio. Itâs been so long since your last visit.â
âI would visit more often but you know how Father is.â
Jonathan's smile becomes forlorn. âYes, unfortunately.â He turns towards you and Doppio. âThank you for bringing Giorno here.â
Unsure of how else to respond, you smile and accept the thanks.
Doppio doesn't verbally reply but also smiles.
âCan I get your names?â
âI'm _____ and this is my friend Doppio.â You point over your shoulder. âAnd Abbacchio is the cat that's following us. Heâs the witchâs...pet.â
Doppio gives his own greeting and Abbacchio continues to stare silently.
âWhat an interesting group,â Jonathan says most likely in reaction to Abbacchio.
â_____ found me in the forest and convinced the witch to reveal how to reverse it. Then they made a 2 day trip to get here.â Giorno looks at you, his smile kind and genuine. âThank you.â
âOh you're welcome. It's no problem really...â Your statement feels unfinished as you had started it but didnât know where it was going.
âIt means a lot to me though. Who knows where Iâd be right now if you hadn't found me in the forest.â
You can feel yourself grinning way too hard. So much praise could be overwhelming at times. In an attempt to try to force it down you look elsewhere and end up locking eyes with Doppio. He looks like he wants to say something but he just turns away instead.
âWell now that that is taken care of, why don't we all head inside,â Jonathan suggests. âIâm sure you're all tired from traveling here so you can stay as long as you need.â
âJust the night is fine. I have work on Monday so we need to head back early in the morning.â You hadn't really thought about work the whole way here, but now that you did, it has you wanting to stay longer.
âThatâs too bad. The least I can do is ask a friend to drive you to the train station in the morning so you don't have to walk back.â
âThat would be great, thank you!â
-----
As typical for you, you lay wide awake.
When you first hit the bed the dregs of your energy seeped out of you and you were out cold. Unfortunately you had woken up randomly a few hours later and couldn't get back to sleep. Abbacchio had even run off when you wouldnât stop moving around to get comfortable again.
You get out of bed to leave the guest room and make your way quietly to the living room.
Doppio lays asleep on the sofa. You tiptoe towards him and gently poke his freckled nose. It immediately twitches before he rolls on his side to face the back of the couch. You hold back a giggle and instead gently shake him awake. He grumbles before laying on his back again.
His eyes open a sliver, but it takes a moment for him to process your presence. â....____? Whatâs wrong?â
âI can't sleep. Soooo I was thinking: Why not invite Doppio?â
The incubus doesn't get flustered like you expect. âHuh--Invite where?â
âDo you want to share the bed again?â you ask more clearly.
His stutters bring a pleased look to your face, but eventually he manages to answer.
âUm okay.â
He gets up with his blanket and pillow and follows you to the guest room. The lamp light in the room reveals Doppio's flushed face. You then both get into bed, Doppio a bit awkwardly but itâs a much bigger improvement from the hotel. Once he lays next to you, you tell him to turn around. He nods and lays on his side, his back facing you. You throw your arm over him before settling up close behind him. The hair that sticks out of his messy bun tickles your face.
âWoah, your hair smells really nice!â
Doppio smiles to himself. âIâm trying this new shampooâŠâ
Even though you still werenât sure what to do about your feelings, you did know that you wouldn't mind being able to do stuff like this more often.
------
You hadn't had breakfast yet since Erina insisted on feeding all of you. She let you know that the food was usually ready around the time Jonathan finished his morning chores. So you decide to wait outside while Doppio gets ready. It was going to take awhile for him to finish styling his hair in that complicated braid he usually wore.
You gently sway back and forth on the porch swing while watching Giorno help his uncle tend to some of the cows. Theyâre too far away for you to hear their conversation but they seem to be enjoying their time together. Abbacchio lays curled up next to you sleeping. You wonder what cat things he had gotten up to last night since he didn't return to your room.
Half an hour later, youâre all inside eating. Doppio didn't want to, but Erina wasnât having any of it so the incubus tries to eat enough that it looks convincing. The incubus appears well rested so you assume he must have gotten good sleep, but maybe the surge of energy was happening again. Youâll have to ask him about it later.
After a delicious fry-up and nice conversation that you and Doppio mostly listen in on, you start preparing for the trip back home.
âGiogio you have everything?â Erina asks.
âYes aunty,â Giorno replies.
âAh I still canât believe how much you've grown since I've last seen you. I'm sorry we couldn't be around more often and I really wish you could stay.â Thereâs an underlying sadness in her voice.
âIt's not your fault...â
You and Doppio sit together in the living room waiting patiently for your ride. The walls are thin so the two of you are unintentional auditors of the conversation taking place in the dining room. Either way you thought it was nice how Giornoâs aunt and uncle were so caring of him.
Before the family can join you and Doppio, ringing sounds from the kitchen. You hear the phone being answered and a moment later everyone walks into the living room.
âSpeedwagon's outside,â Jonathan informs you.
Giorno picks up the bag full of items his family had packed for him--food, a phone, and hygiene items along with some clothing that was quickly bought yesterday--before walking outside. Doppio follows out next with his own stuff.
Youâre about to yell out for Abbacchio since he hadnât been waiting with you and Doppio but you see him brushing against Erinaâs dress. She bends down and pets him on the head. You almost roll your eyes at the sight knowing the type of cattitude you had to put up with from him. Even before you found out he could talk! Guess he was more fond of older folk.
While loading everything into Speedwagon's truck you ask Giorno a question. âAre you sure you don't want to stay here with your uncle and aunt?â
You had talked with the man the day before about living arrangements. For now he would be staying at your home, but you felt he would be more comfortable staying with family.
âI'm sure. If my father finds out that I'm staying here--which he would eventually--heâll cause a commotion.â
You pause what youâre doing. âDoes he really dislike Mr. Joestar that much?â
âYes and heâs unreasonably petty. It would be better if I reside somewhere else until I can get on my own feet. Or until heâs properly dealt with.â
Jonathan really didn't seem like the abrasive type at all so it sounded like a one sided sibling rivalry to you. But it wasn't really your business so you don't pry anymore.
Your group says one last goodbye to Jonatahn and Erina before getting on the truck and departing. Giorno and Doppio insisted on you sitting in the only passenger seat. And Abbacchio joined you, but you can tell he hates being in this loud and shaky truck. It was better than being in the cargo bed though. Speedwagon opened the back window so you all could still talk.
"My home is pretty small. I hope that it isn't too uncomfortable," you say. Along with Doppio sometimes staying for days at a time. It would definitely feel crowded.
âI feel slightly ashamed to say this, but I might be somewhat sheltered so itâll take me some time to adjust,â Giorno replies.
âWell if you're anything like your uncle im sure youll get used to it Giorno,â Speedwagon chimes in.
The more you learned about Giorno, the more curious you became about his life.
âWell I have to work a decent amount of the time so you'll at least get some space, if Doppio isn't there. But thereâs a guest room that youâll have all to yourself.â
Doppio frowns. He spent more time in your house than you knew, and it wouldn't be as relaxing with someone who wasn't you there. Unaware of your friendâs disapproval, you stretch your arms in front of you, careful not to disturb the overstimulated cat on your lap. This not so small adventure was a nice change in your usual surroundings and schedule, but you were ready to get back to your own home.
#doppio x reader#vinegar doppio x reader#jjba#jjba x reader#incubus!doppio#reader insert#if this fic doesnt actually post in the tag đ€ŠđŸââïž#idk i dont have the patience to deal with tumblrs tagging system anymore
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Hi! I just found your blog and I love it! I was wondering if I could request something with Shinsou, Kaminari, Kirishima, Todoroki, and maybe Bakugou (sorry if thatâs a lot) to where their shy crush (with a flower quirk) confesses to them and gives them a bouquet of flowers? Thank you either way (i understand wholeheartedly if not)!!! đ
Warnings: None!
Pairings: Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader, Kaminari Denki x Reader, Todoroki Shoto x Reader, Kirishima Ejirou x Reader, Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
a/n: omg youâre a sweetheart, thank you so much! i went ahead and did these as headcanons, hopefully that's alright - enjoy! đ
p.s. through writing this, i discovered that i donât know shit about flowers
Shinsou Hitoshi
The moment the words âI have feelings for youâ fall from your lips, Shinsouâs stunned into silence
Unexpected is an understatement, but heâs not complaining in the slightest
Of course he has a crush on you. How could he not?
Youâre the gorgeous, yet reserved and soft spoken badass of class 1a. To him, anyone who doesnât recognize that is an idiot
He never intended to make a move on you, though. Youâre too perfect to have feelings for a guy like him, or so he thought
He canât help but stare wide-eyed as you present a beautifully wrapped bundle of purple flowers to him with shaky fingers.Â
âI like lilacs a lot⊠t-they remind me of you, so- um- I grew some for you with my quirk.â A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you look away, anxiously nibbling on your bottom lip
He watches as you timidly fidget with the flowersâ stems
He desperately wishes your were holding his hand rather than the bouquet
Shinsou doesnât realize how badly he wants to kiss you until the feeling becomes overwhelming, and he can no longer help himself
His body moves before his mind has time to catch up
A strong hand cups your jaw, calling your attention back to him and gently tilting your chin upward
It takes all of Shinsouâs self control not to press his lips to yours
He instead opts to kiss you on the forehead, deciding to save the real thing for when the time is right
You deserve a truly special first kiss, after all
He feels warmth creep up his neck to his cheeks, his face beginning to flushÂ
âThese are beautiful, but sadly I donât have anything to put them in.â
When you begin to stutter out an apology, he presses a finger to your lips
His other hand grabs the flowers from you, his lingering touch electric on your skin
A cool smile cracks his characteristically stern expression.
âItâs still pretty early in the evening. How about I take you to dinner, and afterwards we can try to find a vase worthy of them?â
Kaminari Denki
Denki tries to play it cool, really he does
He also fails, horribly
His mouth goes dry as he takes the bundle of flowers from you, âThese are so cool! Did you grow them yourself?â
This boy has been so damned in love with you for so longÂ
Since he met you, truthfully
Normally, heâd just ask you out casually and brush it off if you rejected him
Thatâs what he does with every other girl, at least
But youâre not every other girl. He actually cares about you, and wants you to care for him too
Heâd been waiting for the perfect moment to finally tell you about his feelings for you
Heâs typically an impatient guy, but youâre special. Youâre worth the wait
And now you were giving him flowers?!
For months heâd been planning the best way to confess how he feels for you, and now youâre the one telling him how he makes your heart flutter and knees weak
The moment you nervously glance away to gather your thoughts, heâs pinching himself just to make sure heâs not dreaming
He can hear his heart pounding in his chest as you talk
Heâs sure you can hear it too
One hand is gripping the bouquet so tightly his palm has gone numb
The other nervously thumbs the petals of a chrysanthemum - yellow, to match his hair
When your words trail off, and you nervously look up, awaiting his response, he finds himself tongue tied
All he do is timidly pat your head and smile, âYouâre so cute itâs unfair. How could I not like you back?â
Todoroki Shoto
This feeling was entirely new to Shoto
When he first met you, he just thought you were pretty
Later, he discovered that you had a wonderful personality as well, and by then he found himself unable to take his eyes off you - be it during in-the-field lessons or in the classroom
Youâre the reason he scored lower than Midoriya on the last practical exam and had to endure an earful from Endeavor the following day
Watching you use your quirk so elegantly and tactfully during a mock battle, though, was entirely worth it
Something about you is alluring. You spark feelings in him that he didnât even know existed
Do you have a second quirk? To him, there was no other explanation
He tried to ask Midoriya about it, hoping to find an answer as to why his mouth goes dry when youâre around, why his palms get sweaty when you talk to him, and his body grows hot at every lingering touch
Apparently, his friend wasnât in the mood to answer questions, because he only turned red and backed away, telling Shoto to just talk to you himself.
He asks you to take a walk with him so that he can confront you directly, to which you agree, stating you have something to talk to him about as well
At some point, you stop to sit in a grassy area and rest
As he watches red and white roses grow under your fingertips, he finds his breath taken away once again
You pluck the freshly grown flowers, tying them together with a ribbon that had previously been wrapped around your wrist
Then, you confess your feelings for him
Hearing you put into words exactly how heâd felt about you for so long makes him entirely confused yet so elated he can hardly keep still
âSo, you feel that way when youâre around me⊠because you like me? Thatâs what that feeling is?â
You nod, and a small smile upturns the corners of his mouth.Â
âOh. Well, then I like you too.â He says so casually that it leaves you speechless. âDoes this mean I get to date you now?â
Kirishima Ejirou
When you ask to speak to Kirishima alone, he gets so excited he can hardly contain himself
He doesnât even know what you want to discuss, but getting to talk to you one-on-one always does that to him
And when you tell him you have something to give him? Oh boy, heâs like a puppy whoâs owner just said âtreatâ
Flowers arenât exactly the manliest gift, especially when theyâre from you, the girl Kirishima been trying to impress since his first day at UA
Making you smile makes him feel very manly, though, so he gladly accepts the scarlet bouquet when you offer it to him
He doesnât quite know what to do with the flowers, so he takes a sniff
They smell like you, sweet and earthy
The overjoyed look on your face when he calls the flowers pretty only delights him more
In that moment, he decides he loves flowers, bouquets, and you everything else that interests you.
If it makes you happy, it makes Ejirou ecstaticÂ
Heâs so lost in thought that he almost doesnât hear you timidly clear your throat and begin telling him the reason youâd wanted to be alone
He listens with a wide, sharp-toothed smile as you explain your feelings
If you stumble on your words, heâs quick to rub your back with his free hand until youâre calm enough to continue talking
Once your done, he wraps you in a tight hug
He rests his chin on your head as you bury your face in his chestÂ
âDonât worry, (Y/n), I feel the same way about you!â
He plants a loving kiss atop your head before pulling away
âIâd love to be your guy if youâll let me.â He smiles at you once again, feigning calm when inside his heartâs about to explode
He looks back down at the bouquet, a look of mild concern replacing his joyous expression.Â
âThe only problem is, uh, Iâve never taken care of flowers before. I donât really know what to do with these, but I want to make you proud⊠can you teach me?â
Bakugou Katsuki
Oh FUCK this tsundre gremlin isnât gonna make confessing easy on you. Nuh uh. Good luck, heâs a little shit
You knock on his bedroom door a little while after heâd loudly declared to you and your peers that he was going to bed
Youâd slipped away moments after his announcement as the rest of class A played some card game in the common room
When he opens the door, heâs expecting to see Kaminari or Kirishima with a big dumb smile, standing there ready to bug him as was typical at this time of night
Instead, heâs greeted by you, holding a bouquet of orange flowers and nervously toeing the ground
If you hadnât been looking elsewhere, youâd have caught a brief smirk flash across his lips before it was forced away, replaced by his iconic scowl
âWhatdya want and what the hell is that.â
When you ask to come in so that you can talk in private, it takes everything in him not to respond with an eager âyesâ
He continues his forced frown as he steps aside, folding his arms across his chest as you enter the dimly lit room
He kicks the door closed behind you with a huff. ââKay, what is it? Iâve gotta sleep, ya know.â
You nervously stutter out your confession as his angry gaze warms your skin and slicks your palms with sweat
When you finish, he silently takes the bouquet from your hand, eyeing it skeptically
Heâs convinced this is a dirty prank, some ploy thought up by the idiots that hang out with him
Heâs got no clue how they knew he had a thing for you, but heâs getting more pissed by the second as he tells himself thereâs no way this is real
There was no way that you, the girl heâd been quietly admiring for what seemed like forever, had a crush on him
Youâre too sweet to want someone so bitter. Even he knows that
As he looks up from the vibrantly colored bundle of flowers and back to your worried expression, though, he realizes thereâs no way this is fakeÂ
His angry demeanor softens as he watches the anxious fidget of your fingers, the way your hands shake and shoulders cave in uncertainty
âYouâre serious?â
âYe- um, well, I-â You stutter out, trying to prepare for a brutal rejection, tears threatening to well up in your eyes
âSpit it out. Yes or no?â
âYes. Iâm seriousâ
He sets the bouquet down on his desk with more care and grace than youâd thought possible for the blond brute, before folding his arms across his chest yet again
âIâll keep the flowers, but if you tell anyone, youâre dead. I mean it.â
You nod in understanding, still bracing yourself for him to raise his voice or insult you
â... And Iâll be your boyfriend or whatever, but that means youâre mine and only mine, got it? If anyone other than me lays a finger on you, tell me so I can kill âem.â
#shinsou x reader#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou#hitoshi shinsou#kaminari#kirishima x reader#bakugou x reader#todoroki x reader#bakugou fluff#shinsou fluff#kaminari fluff#todoroki fluff#kirishima fluff#kiri writes#asks#kaminari x reader#kaminari denki#todoroki shoto#kirishima ejirou#bakugou katsuki
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Thinking about...
How Ron started working for George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
My theory, or headcanon (however you'd like to look at it), is that Molly proposed the idea...and George absolutely hated that suggestion.
But not because it's Ron.
He hated it because never in his life would George have imagined himself doing what he does without his Twin, and the thought of 'replacing him' causes bile to rise in his throat.
It would take many days of denial, small arguments and George finally reaching his breaking point to consider the idea that: perhaps Ron wouldn't be such a bad addition to the team...
I imagine it's sometime after the War and George has finally brought himself to reopen the store. Maybe it's only been back in business a couple weeks or for a few months now, but he's struggling a little bit. Because he doesn't want to admit he needs another worker around to take some of the load off his shoulders. And a little more than that: he just doesn't want to do it with anyone other than Fred.
Meanwhile, Ron is struggling to find work or get placement in Auror training. Because let's face it: even though he is Harry Potter's right hand man and helped win a War; his grades were...unideal.
I see Ron venting to Molly one day in the kitchen, perhaps after receiving another rejection letter, and she's running a loving hand in comforting circles over his shoulders while he's slumped over a hot chocolate. She's telling him to hang in there and that these things take time, offering that perhaps he should look into a part-time role with his Father within the Ministry. Or reminding him that Percy offered him an internship in his office.
But Ron hates both those ideas.
At this point George walks through the door looking exhausted. Greets the pair casually as he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of a chair. He places a quick kiss to Molly's cheek and ruffles Ronniekin's hair as he moves to make himself a hot drink to wind down after a busy day.
"Hello Dear, busy day?" Molly smiles somewhat sadly, taking in her son's tired figure.
"Extremely." George huffs as he sits down across from the pair with slumped posture. "What's wrong with you, Ronnie?"
"Another rejection letter." Ron replies sadly as he annoyedly flicks the cause of his dejection to the centre of the table and drops himself against the backrest of his chair, taking up a similar slouched position to his older brother.
That's when Molly's struck by the idea. As she looks between her two boys and wishes she had a solution for them...the answer so simply presents itself. But she doesn't say anything.
Not yet.
She doesn't want to get Ron's hopes up if that's something he'd be interested in, and she knows he would be given how much he loves the Twins Shop. But more than that, she doesn't want to just spring the thought onto George because she knows how touchy the topic is going to be.
And it was.
A few days after this thought comes to her she gets her opportunity to run the idea past George. The two of them are alone doing a mindless task together, like washing the dishes. George scrubbing as Molly dries.
They've worked in comfortable silence thus far, but that's because Molly's too busy running a million different ways she can bring this up to George, through her mind, and which is the least likely way to upset him. George meanwhile is just enjoying the time with his Mother and the familiarity the task at hand brings. A strange sort of nostalgia washing over him, one which he'd never consider to be as therapeutic as it was.
But there's something nagging at the back of George's mind. And it has everything to do with the fact his Mother has been dutifully drying the same glass for 5 minutes now.
"Mum..." his voice snaps Molly out of her daze, drawing a surprised hum of acknowledgement from her throat. "I'd say that glass is dry by now." George joked with a crooked smile. "Oh, yes, I suppose you're right."
Molly's slightly flustered and places the cup down. But her expression remains rather vacant, mildly discontent. This finally prompts George to ask what's on her mind. Molly decides to simply go for it. There's no easy way to bring this up around George and she's really just stalling to forgo an uncomfortable conversation.
"George, I've been thinking..."
"Not good."
"I'm serious right now."
"So am I. You thinking never means anything good for me and-...for me."
"It's about Ron and finding him a suitable job, until he's accepted into training..."
And that's how it begins. She cushions the conversation considerably before asking the question she's been stewing over for days. She talks about how disheartened Ron has been in his misfortune, how desperately he wants to be apart of the work force. She talks about how tired George has been the last few months trying to run the shop by himself and how she just wants to be able to help the two of them get on their feet.
When she finally does ask the question: "What if, Ron came and worked for you?" It doesn't go down well.
She watches how swiftly his body language changes. From his casual 'I'm listening' demeanour to instantly putting his walls up. She watches as the words cause him to freeze. Every muscle in his body turning ridged and defensive.
His response is near immediate: 'No'. And he returns to the task at hand, however, he's no longer so comfortable within the grown silence.
He holds zero care in the way he handles the dishes as he cleans them, though it's notable how hard he's trying to not take any of his frustration out on them.
The conversation doesn't stay civil for very long.
Molly falls immediately into a sort of plead as she questions why George won't even take the time to consider the idea. She points out every reason why it is the best possible solution to both his and Rons current situations.
George shuts down not really answering any of Mollys questions as she rambles. The words seemingly falling from her mouth faster than she can process them; working herself into a right fluster.
George warns her quite a few times to drop the subject, but she continues, and he finally snaps. Tossing whatever dish is in his hands down into the water and yelling for her to stop talking. To drop the conversation because it's not going to happen before storming off elsewhere to cool down.
They spent a couple days without speaking after that.
More weeks pass and Weasleys Wizard Wheezes only gets busier. George feels like he's drowning in paperwork and just can't seem to get ahead. He goes to work an hour early and comes home hours late. He's tired and just about had enough. He can't even begin to imagine how he and Fred ever found so much joy in the work as they had.
"It's not work if you love to do it." Is what Fred always used to say when people would ask how he could possibly be so happy while on the clock.
George couldn't do this much longer. Not without his brother.
After one particularly difficult day George arrives home after all other occupants of the Burrow had gone to bed...or so he thought.
Walking in through the back door to all the houses lights out, save for a single lamp in the sitting room which Arthur and Molly leave on for him, he collapses into one of the Armchairs, too tired to attempt the walk up stairs right now.
His palms dig into the sockets of his eyes, harshly rubbing at each lid, to try rid the sandy feeling in them brought on from lack of sleep, then his fingers draw down on his cheeks; pulling at the skin in frustration.
He doesn't know it but Ron is, at this point, looking at him from the staircase landing. He'd meant to come down for a cup of water but instead found himself faced with his Brother.
Or rather, the shell of his brother.
Ron's never seen him look so...hollow and lifeless. It's like a horrible flashback to those months following the loss of Fred and it makes his stomach turn.
Ron comes over and sits on the sofa opposite George, a look of sympathy and concern on his face. George tries to joke and make light of his current situation but the humour and light doesn't come close to reaching his eyes and the smile he paints on looks painful.
After a little while of trying to get George to open up, and receiving quite the snap of attitude Ron concedes. He very well would have left for bed if the hanging silence hadn't made George feel enough guilt to attempt a change in conversation.
Soon though, after the initial awkwardness subsided, they get lost in talk.
It had started as a question of how Ron's job search were going but somehow ended with the pair laughing over silly childhood memories. Something George hadn't been able to do in a while.
Something changed between both brothers that night. They'd bonded in a new way and were much closer than they likely ever had been before. Ron had even managed to spark some product inspiration in George, and over the next couple days as he tries to perfect the concept they spend more time together.
From then on, George can feel a shift in the way he views Ron and in the possibility of him working at WWW. The idea of hiring him doesn't bring that bile feeling to his throat as it does with any other name or applicant who is suggested to him.
So, when George believes he's finally perfected the new product and takes it home to show Ron, that's the day he asks Oh, Dear Ronniekin's to work for him at the shop.
Which he of course agrees to.
#i. got. carried. away. AGAIN!#george weasley#harry potter#fred weasley#hp imagine#molly weasley#ron weasley#ron weasley hc#George weasley hc#thinking about...#mine#headcanon
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Female tiefling guard x human princess (nsfw)
Edit which Iâm including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.
This has been up on Patreon for a week, and now itâs time to share it here!
Contents: a short, fiesty, gives-no-fucks female tiefling guard, some anti-tiefling sentiments from the other guards, a soft but 'don't mess with me' princess, an army of attacking demons, a minotaur best friend, and an nsfw scene to finish. Wordcount: 6756
A dull rumbling startled Salanei from her bed and set her reaching for the deep well of magic inside her in a heartbeat. The castle was shaking.
âImpossible,â she hissed, but other guards were tumbling out of their bunks all around her, some scrambling to draw weapons, others calling sparkling magic to their hands, though there were admittedly fewer of those. The castle was built on a promontory of black rock, harsh and stark against the chill morning light, but it was as old as the land itself and nothing should have been able to make the foundations shudder like that.
UnlessâŠ
Tilting her head to one side, letting her thick, messy, black braid slide down over one shoulder, Salanei opened her core of magic a little to the surroundings. At first all she found were the life-sparks of the other guards, but then, like a murmuration of birds on the horizon, she felt something far more sinister. âWeâre under attack,â she yelled, stuffing her boots on and sprinting for the door. âDemons.â
The tiefling ignored the way the others dismissed her or scoffed at her - whether through deep-rooted prejudice or uneasy disbelief at her cry of âdemonsâ - and she bolted through the palace like a rabbit through its home warren. She didnât think, she didnât stop, she didnât pause; she raced up back stairs and along half-forgotten passageways, and emerged, gasping, in what had once been an upper, open-air walkway that connected the main part of the castle to the residential wing. Her boots skidded on the rough stonework, grit and dust slipping beneath her soles, and she barely stopped before the gaping abyss into the courtyard below swallowed her.
Where a thick buttress of stone had arched across the space for centuries, now a smoking, singed stump of the bridge remained and the walkway was completely gone. âShit.â Across it, she could see more of the royal guard backing into the part of the castle that would lead to the residential quarters of the princess after only a few staircases and passages. From the looks of it, theyâd only just escaped back along the parapet in time.
Looking out at the landscape around the castle, she froze, horror icing over her veins.
Demons swarmed down the hillside and pooled around the outer walls of the castle to form a seething, foetid moat, their shapes as varied as the horrific noises they made; some with wings, some with horns, some with lashing tails and glinting claws. One or two of them breathed gouts of flame into the dawning sky, and from somewhere deep below at the curtain wall of the castle courtyard, the bellow of a bull in a blooded rage made her ears ring. A second later, the whole castle trembled again and a rain of fine particles and chunks of stone clattered down around her.
They were going to breech the wall.
âFuck.â
The span across the gulf of empty air wasnât so big that she couldnât use a little magic to propel herself over it, and so, summoning a gust of air to spring her forwards, she leapt lightly off the stonework behind her and let the updraft catapult her onto the far tower. She landed hard but rolled through it and came to stand smoothly on her feet, finding herself face to chest with an enormous, familiar guard.
âBrandon, itâsâŠâ
âBloody chaos,â he said, falling into step beside her as they moved through the shrapnel-scarred archway and into the tower beyond.
The huge minotaur was about as broad across at the shoulders as Salanei was tall, and his huge war axe was cradled gently in his massive hands; ready. He was the only person who had ever treated her with any genuine respect at the castle, and the two were somewhat unlikely sparring partners more often than not.
âWhoâs behind it?â she asked as they trotted down the stairs and a pounding, dolorous bell began to sound from the heart of the castle.
He shook his shaggy, black head, the patch of white at the front of his forelock dancing in the low light. âNot sure. Reports suggest they came from the west.â
âDorhul?â she asked, steady pace stalling in time with her horrified, faltering heartbeat.
Brandon shrugged. âSeems likely. Heâs always wanted to add the kingdom to his collection. With Riaâs father so illâŠâ
Salaneiâs black eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to ram her hard horns against a wall with the wave of bitter spite that washed up inside her. The minotaur, clearly seeing the echo of a familiar urge bubbling up in the tiefling, laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so big, it engulfed the joint completely, and the weight of it steadied her. âEasy. Weâll get through this.â
âWhere is the princess now?â
âThe Elite Guard took her down to the undercroft.â
Salaneiâs heart lurched and she stopped. âTheyâre taking her out by boat? Bran, that escape passage only leads to one place⊠if sheâs caught out on the open waterâŠâ
âDawnâs not far off. The sun rises over the lake,â he explained, but she could tell he was as unhappy with the plan as she was. âIf the demons can even bear to look at the sunlight as it hits the water, they wonât see her. The glare will be too much. I think they expected to have broken through by now, but this castleâs a hard nut to crack, even with those numbers. It should buy her time to escape.â
He had a point. It was a flimsy hope and a prayer, but it was all they had.
They made it two floors down before the ring of steel and the snarl of demons reached their ears, and Salanei swore again, drawing deep on her reserves of magic so that it lapped like a vast lake a the very forefront of her mind; ready.
She flung a conjured talisman at the nearest demonâs head and the creature exploded into a mist of gore and black ichor. Not pausing to get splattered, she ducked low and aimed another spell - a lancing spike of ice this time - at a twin-headed monstrosity, one half of which was occupied with the head of a guard in its maw, the other half of which had just spotted her. The spike went through both skulls and pinned them to the wall before Salanei had even finished dancing lightly around them.
Quick and light as a mouse in a hay barn, she dodged and struck, until finally she was at the far end of the corridor. From behind her, she heard Brandon bellow a warning at her, asking her to wait, but she was gone like a weasel. Protect the princess. That had been what the old king had demanded of her in return for the shelter and comfort he had offered, and she had gladly accepted the trade.
Shouldering the door at the end of the corridor with a little extra magic behind the gesture, she burst through in a barrage of splintered wood and iron studs as the ramming spell cloaked around her shoulders made short work of it. Instantly, she found three spear tips at her throat, and she froze.
âStop!â came familiar voice, and were it not for the glinting blades hovering so close to her pulse that she could see her blackberry-purple skin reflected in them, she might have gone slack with relief. âLet her go.â
âHighness,â Salanei said, bowing gratefully from the waist. âTheyâve breached the castle from above, and theyâre trying to get in from below. Theyâre only a floor above you now.â
She watched the princessâ freckled cheeks blanch, and she swayed ever so slightly before rallying her courage and pushing back her shoulders. âI have been advised that the undercroft is the safest route out of here, all things considered. Do you disagree?â
Before Salanei could reply, a guard stepped directly in front of her, his deep, maroon livery blocking her view of the princess. âHighness, we must leave. Now. Let the gutter rat fight the demons, but we have to get you to safety.â
Salaneiâs lip curled back off her sharp canines and she snarled a warning at the soldier who ignored her completely.
It was a miracle that she even heard the soft tread of slippered feet on the stone floor above the clangour outside, but when the guardâs spine straightened and he shifted awkwardly back to where heâd been standing, Salanei almost snorted with laughter.
The princessâ face seemed carved from marble; all softness had shattered into hard lines, her eyes blazed green, her strawberry blonde hair falling behind her like a shield made of silk. âRepeat that,â she demanded in a voice low and deadly. When the guard stuttered himself into silence, she blinked. âRepeat that.â
âHighness,â he grunted. âPlease, we cannot waste any more time! We must leave.â
âRepeat. That.â
âSheâs a gutter rat, Highness. Everyone knows it.â
Stepping so quickly that no one saw her move, the princess darted forwards and backhanded the guard across the cheek. âI will not have someone spoken of like that, either in my presence or elsewhere in the castle. Do you understand me?â
âYes, Highness,â he nodded.
âSalanei, come here,â she said, turning away. Before Ria had gone two steps, a demonic portal began to open in front of her. The flickering purple and red edges were ragged as an old scrap of fabric, and a vile, sulfurous gas billowed out of it.
âShit! Get back!â The tiefling dodged in front of the princess and brought her hands together, calling a binding incantation to mind and willing the strands of the spell to stitch the portal together again, preventing it from opening. The wielder on the other side was strong, their will like iron, but Salaneiâs was stronger. Years of being whittled down until she was nothing but muscle and magic and sheer force of will had made her almost unbreakable now, and she knew it. Knowing it was half the struggle with magic.
I am stronger than you, she chanted in her head. This portal will not open.
âI knew having a magic wielder in my guard would be a good thing,â the princess muttered in her ear. âIâm just sorry my mother was so against it.â
Salanei could only grunt with the effort of closing the infernal portal. Behind it, straining against the glowing strands of her spell, a rabid demon snapped its jaws, trying to slice through the counter spell. The mage on the other side didnât have a spare ounce of concentration to tell the beast to get back. Where was the High Mage when you needed her? Probably bolstering the wards on the castle walls, trusting that the Elite Guard would protect the princess for now.
âGet out of here,â Salanei finally rasped, sweating with the effort. The portal was almost closed.
A hand landed gently between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide, palm pressing securely against her skin through the fabric of her dirty shirt, and Salanei gasped as a rush of fresh magic and strength washed into her. With a snap, the portal sealed shut and she whipped around to find the princess smiling softly. âCome with me,â was all she purred.
Salanei nodded, winded and mute, and still dizzy from the surge of golden life that had poured into her from the princess and mixed so easily with her own magic. When had she learned to do that?
The path out of the princessâ chambers was littered with demons. Salanei used every trick and spell she knew, darting here, warping there, slicing, slashing, stabbing, to clear the path while the guard huddled close around their princess and picked off any stragglers who got through. The guards encircled the princess as though she were a jewel and they the setting. Nothing was going to touch her.
Out on another vulnerable, spun-sugar walkway that would lead them directly to the tower that sat atop the cavernous undercroft of the castle, a cloud of tiny, winged demons - which Salanei recognised with horror as having once been harmless forest pixies - swarmed towards them out of the lightening sky.
âShields!â she screamed back over her shoulder, preparing another spell. Her vision swam from the speed at which she was hemorrhaging magic in the princessâ defence, but she blinked the daze away and focused on creating a wall of fire. Momentum sent the first half of the swarm ploughing straight through it, incinerating their fragile bodies to cinders, but the rest of the flock doubled back and regrouped. With a second flurry of flaming hands, Salanei danced through them until nothing remained but broken, blackened wings at her feet like campfire ashes.
One floundered uselessly at her boots, and while the princess was herded towards the safety of that final tower door by her retinue, Salanei scooped the wounded creature up in one hand and heard its infernal language as little more than a hoarse whisper, like wind through the grasslands. Tapping two fingers to her temple, she directed her magic at the creature, and connected a blue thread with its own yellow spirit thread, and demanded of it, âWho made you?â
A flash of images swirled through the connection, but she had seen enough. âDorhul,â she spat when she saw the tall, slender figure of the most hated man in the four kingdoms. The connection sputtered, and the creature that had once been a pixie fell limp in her hand. Dropping it, she spun and trailed after the princess, blinking black spots from her vision.
Down staircase after staircase they plummeted, until finally they burst out into the echoing undercroft. Groin vaults stretched away into the darkness like the canopy of an endless stone forest, and Salanei shuddered. It reminded her of the dank dinginess of the slums so viscerally that she almost heaved. Â
âDonât stop now,â Princess Ria whispered, pausing to find Salanei staring off into the darkness with wide, black eyes. âWe have to keep moving.â
Nodding silently, the tiefling fell into step beside her, scanning the shadows for the faintest hint of movement, but it was still as a sepulchre down there.
The lap of water eventually reached her keen, tapered ears, and she looked up to see three small rowing boats bobbing in the shallow, underground dock up ahead. A narrow canal of water led out towards the lake, and as they all climbed into the boats, Salanei took a moment to admire the calm presence of the princess. It was a miracle that Dorhul hadnât known about this entrance to the castle.
Ria, still clad in an incongruously soft, pastel pink gown that was spattered here and there with the evidence of their desperate escape, somehow looked as regal as she had sitting in the great hall in her fatherâs stead these last two years.
She had remained a steady, reassuring presence in the kingdom even as the kingâs health faded away despite the High Mageâs efforts to heal him. In his absence, Ria had taken over the rule of the kingdom with the grace and justice that her father had instilled in her from a young age. The queen had died only a few weeks after her fatherâs sickness had presented, and Ria had mourned her for the appropriate weeks before getting on with the governance of the kingdom. Beautiful, refined, and achingly gentle, it was no wonder that the kingdom was in love with her.
Salanei swallowed thickly. Half the kingdom, and⊠her too.
Now, although there was the air of a frightened child about her delicate shoulders, she sat in the centre of the small boat as her guards rowed her away, her green eyes fixed on the retreating castle as they skimmed across the lake. Just as Brandon had said, the morning sun glanced off the surface, glinting like a cut gem as the castle burned behind them.
Salanei uttered a quick prayer under her breath for the minotaur who was presumably still inside the castle.
Halfway across the lake, the guardsâ oars faltered with a splash. A vast wave of power pulsed from the heart of the castle and spilled out across the land in all directions, sweeping demons off the walls and parapets, scattering them to ash on the wind. The sheer, raw magic made Salaneiâs ears ring and her chest tighten, but when sheâd mastered herself again, she found Ria staring wide-eyed at the castle with a look of unbridled horror on her beautiful face.
âHighness?â Salanei croaked, barely resiting the urge to grab her shoulder and shake her gently. âHighness?â
âFatherâŠâ she choked. âMy father is deadâŠâ
Three thoughts raced through Salaneiâs mind before it went perfectly blank again: âthat means youâre the queenâ, âif the king is dead it means he used a purging spell so powerful that it obliterated himself as wellâ, and âthe castle is free of demons nowâ. âShould⊠Should we go back?â she finally croaked.
Ria just sat there in the little boat, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.
âHighness?â
Nothing.
âRia?â she asked, reluctant to use her familiar name. She leaned forward to touch her arm, but one of the guards - a huge, leonine rakshasa - growled at her. Salanei bared her own canines at him and hissed like a cobra.
The sound of her bickering guards drew the princess out of herself, and Ria turned to them. âPlease,â she whispered. âNot now. For the goddessâ sake, not now. Let me think.â
Chastened, they fell silent, though Salaneiâs black eyes never left her princessâ face.
âWe go back,â she finally said.
The leonine rakshasaâs ears pricked up and he growled softly as he said, âHighness, we only just got you out of thereâŠâ
âLook,â she said, her voice eerily calm as she pointed a trembling finger towards the castle.
A cloud of sparkling, fluttering sparks had risen like butterflies above the remnants of the highest tower, and Salanei recognised Maevaâs magical signature immediately. âThe High Mage,â she whispered. âYou think itâs a trap?â
Ria shook her head. âNo. We have a code in case such a signal is ever used. Green with gold is a trap. Pink and pale green is all clear. We return. Now.â
The rowers turned the small craft around, and Ria sat with her jaw set and her fists clenched in the fabric of her dress, eyes intense, mind working. No one spoke or grumbled, despite how the guardsâ shoulders must have been burning from the effort.
The princess ground her teeth, and muttered, âThis is taking too long. Itâs not your fault,â she added as a guardâs expression flickered momentarily. âYouâve all been wonderful.â Snapping her head up suddenly, the princess said, âSalanei?â
âHighness?â
âCan your tiefling magic teleport me from here?â
Salanei tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she examined her reserves of magic. âIf I do, I wonât have much left in the tank when we get there,â she said. âIâd rather notâŠâ
âDo it,â Ria said. âThatâs not a request. Get me to my fatherâs chamber, and Maeva can take care of the magic from there if needs be.â
Jartyn, a gnoll with half his ear missing and a huge burn scar on his face, interjected, âI really must object, Highness -â
Riaâs eyes flashed and he sat back, teeth clacking as he shut his mouth quickly.
However, she got control of her frustration and spoke in a gentle, if tense, voice. âI appreciate your concern, and I owe you all my life,â she said, gathering them all into the praise with a sweep of her emerald green eyes. âBut my father just sacrificed his life to cleanse that castle, and now I must return to protect his legacy. If I donât, thereâs still a window of opportunity for Dorhul to step in and claim the crown and the kingdom amid the chaos. Do you understand?â
They did, and they all bowed as one.
âYou will follow in the boat and attend me back at the castle.â Ria turned her gaze to the tiefling, and held out her hand. âNow, Salanei.â
Taking the princessâ hand in hers, Salanei concentrated every drop of will and magic on the kingâs chambers. Teleportation was not something many could do, and it wasnât something Salanei particularly relished. The familiar sensation of blurring at the edges announced that they were ready, and a heartbeat later, it felt like two magical grappling hooks had yanked them by the spine and guts and had torn them away to somewhere else.
The princess landed awkwardly beside her with a cry, collapsing against Salanei as they arrived in the bedchamber of the king, and the tiefling caught her. âIâm going to be sick,â Ria hissed a moment before it happened.
Salanei supported her and held her beautiful, long hair back, and then magicked all the mess away with an easy flick of her hand.
Clearly grateful, Ria straightened and turned to her. Her eyes were pink and her cheeks were pale, but she still looked so regal that Salaneiâs heart twisted in her chest.
Then Riaâs eyes slid from Salaneiâs face to the bed in the middle of the ruined room. The glass in the windows had been obliterated, blasted out into the courtyard below. The twisted remnants of the lead work hung like the gnarled roots of a ripped up tree from the casements, and the rest of the room was reduced to splinters and tatters.
On the bed, there was no sign of the old king at all, but where his head would have rested on the pillow lay the golden crown, and where his heart would have been was a glimmering opal. Salanei gasped when she saw it, following at a respectful distance, a pace behind Ria.
âThatâsâŠâ
âThe heart of the Lunar Forge,â Ria whispered. âYes. Imagine what hell a necromancer like Dorhul could raise with a focus like this⊠That must have been how he was able to wield so much magic just now tooâŠâ
Salanei shuddered, not wanting to think about what could have happened. The Lunar Forge sat at the heart of the castle, and beneath the light of a full moon, any weapons quenched in the pool of spring water had the power to destroy demons utterly. The focus of the power was that opal. It was the size of Salanei's fist and it thrummed with power. That power did not have to be used to focus the powers of the Lunar Forge though; it could be used at the heart of any ritual, to add unfathomable power, and if the necromage had got his hands on it, who knows what he could have brought into this world.
Ria picked up the stone and the crown and then sank onto the bed. When she looked up at the tiefling, another pang went through Salaneiâs chest. Tears flowed silently down Riaâs face and the urge to embrace her surged inside Salanei. âHighness,â she whispered, her heart going out to the young woman.
Her face twisted, and sobs wracked the princess then, and her guard didnât hesitate. She stepped in close and the princess folded forwards, throwing her arms around her wiry torso and burying her face in the filthy fabric of her shirt. Her tears dampened it until the flow finally stemmed as Salanei stroked the coppery hair and just stood there, taking her grief and fears in her stride.
âI canât do it,â Ria whispered, still plastered to her chest.
âYou will. Youâre not alone. I know heâs gone, but youâre not alone. You have Maeva, and your guard, and⊠for what itâs worth, you have me.â
It took another few minutes before Ria leaned back to regard Salanei and drew in a deep, unsteady breath.
Taking a chance, Salanei reached out and thumbed the remaining tears from the princessâ blotchy cheeks. âYou have me,â she repeated as her golden eyelashes fluttered softly. A moment later, the tiefling let go and spun, adopting a defensive stance as footsteps rang on the floor outside and someone burst in.
She relaxed instantly, adrenalin dissipating when the familiar red robes of the High Mage swirled to a halt and the older woman appeared to go through a similar gamut of relieved reactions upon seeing the tiefling. âThank the goddess,â she breathed, leaning heavily on a long, slender staff. âRia, child, are you alright?â
Mutely, the princess nodded and stood. She touched Salanei briefly on the arm as she passed, and sent a tiny rush of her innate magic into the tiefling. The tenderness of the affection made her sway on the spot where she stood and she smiled at the princess, bowing her head.
The Queen, she corrected, forcing herself to make the mental adjustment. Thatâs the queen standing there now, you dolt!
The severe figure of the High Mage was made all the more stark by the harsh daylight now flooding in through the empty windows. The wind at this altitude whipped right through the room, tugging at tatters of cloth and blowing papers around like dry, rattling leaves. Maeva drew the queen to one side and the two proceeded to talk in hushed voices, leaving Salanei with nothing to do except keep watch.
She crossed to the door at the sound of â she tilted her head and strained â hooves. Demon or friendâŠ? Brandonâs telltale white forelock and black pelt drew into view as he trotted up the staircase and she relaxed.
âYouâre alright,â he smiled, tugging her into a quick hug before stepping back. âThank the goddess. When you disappeared like that â And⊠the princess?â
âQueen now,â Salanei murmured. âSheâs fine.â
âGoddess shelter his soul, and long live the queen,â Brandon said under his breath.
âWhatâs the rest of the castle like?â she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and adding, âItâs a fucking mess in there.â
âSame,â he said, leaning on the door frame and suddenly looking extremely tired. âItâll take weeks to clear the demons and the rubble, but whatever that was, it purged them all in one go. Damned powerful magic.â
âIt was the king,â she said. âHe sacrificed himself to save the castle.â
âNot just the castle then,â Brandon said darkly. âSaved the whole bloody kingdom with it.â
It in fact took just over a week to get the last of the ichor and demons out of the castle, but it did take much longer to clear the rubble.
Ria insisted on being crowned in the goddessâ temple at the castle, despite the fact that half the roof was missing. Maeva and anyone with even a scrap of magic had been drafted in to weave invisible supports over the roof timbers and pillars to stop it all from tumbling in and crushing the congregation.
Salanei stood at the head of the guard of honour, her blade raised as the queen passed beneath, and she winked at one of the kitchen girlsâ daughters whom Ria had selected to be one of the four train-barers. The tiny child could hardly lift the heavy material of the excessively long gown, but she valiantly did her best, along with the other children who had been chosen from the families of the castle staff. It was a lovely touch, and it had only endeared the young queen more to her people.
As the queen drew level with Salanei, she didnât stop or break her step, but she shot her a fleeting look in passing, and the tieflingâs heart leapt. Over the past few weeks, the queen had shown her a remarkable degree of affection. Sheâd raised Salanei to the prestigious position of the Queenâs Blade - her personal bodyguard. But where the two had hardly interacted before the attack on the castle, now Salanei found herself often being admitted inside her private study to discuss security and plans to bolster the castleâs and kingdomâs defences with magic and boots on the ground. On such evenings, it was not uncommon for their hands to brush or their gaze to meet, but whatever swirling emotions Salanei felt, she kept her thoughts to herself. This was the queen after all.
The coronation service went on and on, but finally the oaths were taken, and the queen, now formally crowned, processed out into the courtyard beyond to thunderous cheering and applause. Maeva sent a rain of enchanted petals down around her, and she addressed her people as their new leader. All the while she spoke, Salanei scanned the crowd, but to her relief, she found nothing but adoring faces and cheering people. She met Brandonâs eye from the front row of guards keeping the crowd back, and he nodded at her.
It wasnât until Ria was back in her chambers, again with Salanei at her side, that she showed the faintest sign of her exhaustion.
She was silent while her maids undressed her, their nimble hands undoing the regiments of buttons. Finally, they removed removed the ridiculous gown from the room and found something more comfortable. In her humble, ignorant opinion, Salanei thought that the queen looked much better in plain dresses anyway.
Ria had decided, upon Maevaâs advice, to take the rest of the day to herself, and just as Salanei was preparing to stand guard outside her door, the queen took her wrist in her gentle, firm grip, and halted her.
âNo, Salanei,â she said in a hoarse, tired voice. âStay. Please.â
âOf course. What do you need?â
âI⊠I donât know,â she said with heartbreaking honesty. âI donât know what to do with myself.â
Feeling her body go slack as her heart went out to the young woman, Salanei said, âShall I run you a bath, Majesty?â
On the point of replying, the queen paused and changed her mind. âCall me Ria,â she said. âPlease. When itâs just us two in these rooms, please⊠call me by my name. Iâm⊠Iâm afraid that Iâll forget the sound of it now that Iâm queen and thereâs no one left to call me thatâŠâ
Bowing her head under the weight of that gift, Salanei nodded. âAs you wish⊠Ria.â
With a smile, the queen reached for Salanei's other hand and squeezed her fingers in her own. âYouâre so strong, Salanei,â she said, running her thumbs over the rough, scuffed knuckles and feeling the calluses from weapons training on her palms and fingers. âYou⊠Youâre so beautifulâŠâ
The breath left Salanei in a rush as if sheâd been punched in the solar plexus. âMajesty,â she protested, embarrassed and trying to pull away, but the queen held firm.
âI mean it,â she said with a fierce light in her eyes. And then she went soft with a sigh and said, âBut yes, a bath does sound nice.â
âIâll run you one,â Salanei offered, glad for an excuse to leave the room. Her heart was thudding and her skin felt hot all over.
âYouâre not my servant,â Ria barked as the tiefling made to stride away across the room towards the chambers. âYou donât have to do that.â
âIâd like to,â she said. âPlease.â
With a nod, Ria accepted, and ten minutes later, a steaming hot bath stood ready for her in the adjacent bathroom, the scent of jasmine heady in the air. When Salanei emerged, she found the queen undressing again, and struggling with a button right in the middle of her back.
âHelp me?â asked the queen in a surprisingly shy voice.
Silently, Salanei crossed to her and freed the tiny pearl button from the back of the dress, revealing the smooth, warm skin of her back as the fabric parted and fall away. She had three freckles just to the right of her spine. The urge to brush her fingers down the length of the queenâs back from the nape of her neck to the waist of her dress was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to step back. âAnything else?â she asked in a croak.
With a knowing, almost playful smile, the queen looked over her shoulder and said, âFetch me a robe?â
Licking her lips, Salanei swallowed. Had Riaâs eyes always been so bright? Her hair so golden? Her lips soâŠ
âSalanei?â
âOf course,â she chirped and turned abruptly to fetch a robe from the back of the bathroom door and bring it. When she found the queen standing completely naked in the middle of the room with her dress pooled around her ankles, she nearly cursed. Her feet stopped and she stood there, slack-jawed and staring.
âAre you going to pass it to me or not?â Ria giggled.
Flushing hot, Salanei handed it to her and looked away as she extended her arm.
âDonât,â Ria breathed. âUnless you want to, of course.â
She had no answer for that.
âSalaneiâŠ?â the queen asked, sounding suddenly unsure. âWhat is it you want? Answer me honestly.â
You.
âI canât,â she hissed, turning completely away.
Oh gods, I want you so much, she thought. I want to make you forget everything. I want to kneel between your legs and taste you. I want to sink my fingers into your heat and feel you let go. I want to give you what no other can give you.
The queenâs voice was steady as she asked, âIf you could speak freely, what would you say to me?â
âTell me Iâm not out of line,â Salanei breathed. âTell me ââ she couldnât finish it. It felt⊠blasphemous even to begin to voice her desires. This was the queen. And she was a gutter-rat tiefling from nowhere, with no family and nothing but her magic and her fighting skills.
âI want you, Salanei,â the queen said unflinchingly. âI want you, but I donât want you afraid.â
Her lips parted when she heard those words, and she turned to face her queen properly. Ria still hadnât done up the bath robe, leaving a column of perfect skin exposed between her covered breasts, and a soft nest of golden hair between her legs. Salaneiâs fingertip ached to touch her just there and see if her knees would buckle at the contact.
Without a word, the queen turned and walked slowly towards the bathroom, leaving the door open. An invitation? Salanei stood there for a long time, listening to the slosh of the water in the huge copper bath as the queen got in and then lay back. Steam billowed out of the room, coiling along the floor like crooked fingers calling.
Swallowing, her heart thudding, Salanei padded into the bathroom and came to an uncertain halt. The bath stood in the centre of the small chamber, and the queen had her back to the door where she reclined in the steaming water. âCome here,â she said gently.
âWould you like me to stay?â
âIâd like you to do more than that, if you feel comfortableâŠâ she purred, and as Salanei drew level with the bath, she looked up at her, features sharpening. âDonât do anything you donât want to, alright? Iâm well aware of what I am, and what your station is. If⊠If you feel as though youâre⊠obliged in any way to⊠toâŠâ tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them spill, and in a rush Salanei knelt on the cold marble beside the bath and put her left hand on the rim of the tub.
âNo,â she said fiercely. âI want this. Trust me, I want thisâŠâ
âYou can touch me,â the queen said in a low voice, tilting her head back. The bubbles just skimmed the surface of the water, but as she moved, fragrant waves lapped at her chest and Salanei glimpsed the roundness of her breasts beneath the water and the dusky pink of her hard nipples too. âPleaseâŠâ
Salanei slid her right hand into the water, her plum-purple skin in sharp contrast to the warmth of the queenâs own, and she found the inside of the queenâs thigh, letting her palm play up and down it for a moment. Ria let out a long, broken moan and arched her back a little, and it suddenly occurred to Salanei that she probably hadnât ever been touched like this. Aside from being dressed by her maids, she was always apart, always unreachable, always kept safely at armâs length.
âIâŠâ Ria faltered, her eyes still closed. âI never thanked you. I never found a minute, but⊠I should have made time. Youâve given everything to me, and you helped to save my life.â
âI made your father a promise,â she said, still just cupping the curve of her thigh in her hand, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. âAnd I grew to love you years ago. Your goodness, your grace, your kindness⊠You won me heart and soul, Ria. Iâm yours. Always.â
A tear slid from Riaâs eye and disappeared into the dampness on her skin at her neck. âTouch me,â she whispered, voice intense, and Salanei complied.
She moved her hand further up her smooth thighs, feeling her tail coiling around her own ankle as her body heated up and she began to get wet from the sheer anticipation of touching the queen like this at last. How many nights had she touched herself with thoughts of the queenâs pleasure ringing in her imagination?
At the smooth glide of fingertips over her folds, the queenâs legs fell apart and she bucked weakly, sloshing water almost over the rim of the bath. Another moan escaped her and she let her head loll as Salanei repeated the gesture on the other side before circling her swelling clit and then nudging just beneath it.
A shudder ran through the queen and she gripped the edges of the bath as Salanei brushed against her, teasing and testing, finding out how she liked to be touched, where was too sensitive and what garnered her the most vocal reactions. Slow and firm seemed to drive her closer to towards her peak, while tentative and teasing made her buck and gasp, shivering and grunting with satisfaction delayed. Naturally, she drew out the process for as long as she could, and oscillated between the two.
âPlease!â Ria finally gasped, curling forwards, knuckles white on the rim of the copper bath as Salanei ran one callused fingertip back and forth just between her clit and her entrance. It was far too slow and far too teasing. âOh goddess⊠oh goddessâŠâ she chanted, her whole body winding tighter and tighter. The water could not disguise the slickness that eased Salanei's attentions either.
In a single motion, Salanei slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, pressing against her walls while circling her clit with her thumb, and the queen shattered. Salanei was fairly certain sheâd soaked through her own underwear, but nothing could distract her from the tight, clenching heat as pleasure ripped through the other woman and swept her away with it. She gave herself completely to it and convulsed, water slopping over the edge of the bath and onto the floor and drenching Salanei's loose trousers too.
âYouâre so beautiful,â Salanei crooned as the queen continued to come. âGoddess, but youâre so beautifulâŠâ She kept the pressure inside the queenâs body with her fingertips, easing her through it until finally Ria slumped back against the bath, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, and the softest, sweetest look of joy on her face.
When sheâd caught her breath, she opened her eyes with a flutter of golden lashes and whispered, âI want to do that to you.â
âIâm yours,â Salanei replied with a wry smile, withdrawing her fingers and tracing a fond touch across her sensitive inner thigh without removing her hand from the water.
âGive me a moment to feel my legs again,â Ria said, âAnd then help me out of here, and Iâll return the favour. I do feel bad that you were on the floor though,â she said, a tiny frown pinching her eyebrows together.
Salanei laughed hoarsely and said, âIf you knew how wet I was, you wouldnât have said that.â
The queen went still, a surprised smile on her face. âThat got you wet? Doing that to me?â
âYou have no idea.â
With that, Ria stood somewhat shakily, water cascading down her perfect body, and, with her eyes practically glowing, said, âShow me.â
___
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DNI IF UNDER 18
WC: 1745
True to his word, Prince Viorel spent most of the next three days in the infirmary with Fiora. He had left her side a handful of times, but was never gone long. He even slept nearby until she was discharged.
âI want to see the others,â she told Viorel as they left the infirmary together.
âIâve already made arrangements and am taking you to see them now.â
She couldnât keep the smile off her face. âThank you, Prince.â
âI promised you I would, and I always keep my promises.â
Fiora could hear the murmurs of courtiers and servants that they passed. She drew herself up under the frightened gazes that fell upon her mottled visage. She refused to look apologetic or embarrassed in the face of their twittering. Her defiance was in every line of her face. The scabs and swelling and bruises were all a reminder to herself and others, When faced with capture, I chose death. Having been stopped from going through with it was something entirely different from backing down on her own.
âBefore we part,â Viorel said, âI was wondering if you might like to have rooms made up near mine, or if youâd prefer elsewhere?â
Fiora looked at him. âIt depends on what my purpose here is.â
âI could not tell you what Dracen had in mind, but you would be part of the court in one form or another.â
Fiora heard the words he didnât speak aloud. If you choose me, your life will be better. She chewed her tongue for a moment. âI know which youâd rather I pick.â
Viorel ducked his head. âI will admit that I have hope. I would not have made the suggestion otherwise.â
âDo I need to make my decision now?â
âYou may see your friends first, if you wish, but the sooner your decision is made, the sooner I can have your rooms ready. You still need rest.â
âIâd like to wait.â
They came to a stop in front of a door gilded with gold. âOf course,â he said. âOnce youâve made up your mind, simply send Lettie or another of the maids to inform me.â
Beyond the golden door, the room was filled with sunlight. She didnât have a chance to notice much more, because the moment they saw her all of the Oleran women surged to their feet as one. A wave of concerned voices. Viorel shut the door quietly behind her.
âFiora,â they shouted, âare you alright?â Their questions overlapped with shrieks at her appearance.
âIâm alright, Iâm alright,â she assured them. She let them pull her deeper into the room and settle her on a couch.
âWhat happened?â
âWeâve been so worried about you!â
âThey said youâd been hurt. Was it one of the soldiers?â
Fiora held up her hands to slow the onslaught of questions. âI hurt myself. Thatâs why I wasnât here sooner, Iâve been held in the infirmary for three days.â
âWhy would you do something like this to yourself,â Anjali, one of the oldest women among them, asked. She leaned forward, letting her black hair fall like a curtain. âYou can tell us if someone did this to you.â
Fiora squeezed her arm. âI promise, I did this. I thought death would be the better option.â
Maria, one of the youngest of their group, began to weep. Jasmine and Beatrice, two sisters whoâd run the mill after their father, moved to console her.
âYouâre so strong,â another said. âI could never be as strong as you. Even if life here might be terrible, I just donât think I could fight as hard as you have.â
A spark of annoyance shot through Fiora as a chorus of agreements rose around her. âThey took us from our lives! Burned our homes to the ground! How could you not want to fight?â
Camry, a girl standing at the edge of the group, gave Fiora a small smile. âFi, weâre not fighters. We never have been. And even if we were, what could we even do now? You said so yourself, our home is gone. We donât have anything to go back to.â
Fiora bit her tongue and shook her head. âIt doesnât mean we have to give in to them.â She could taste the bitterness of the hypocrisy her words left behind. How dare she lecture them on giving in when she had spent nearly all her time here in the company of a prince?
âFighting now would only make our lives more miserable. So far theyâve done nothing to hurt us. The only one of us hurt is you.â
âAnd the rest of you agree with this?â
The women gathered around Fiora looked away, mumbling noncommittal answers. She knew they were right, but to accept it felt like a betrayal of everything she believed. And yet, Viorel's offer hung like a glimmering crystal before her. It would be so easy to accept. She could give up and give in. It would mean having a better life than she could have ever dreamed of in Olera. There, she was just another poor person living on the edge of the kingdom, so far from the capital that help was hard to come by and any wealth got lost long before it came anywhere near Millen.
Fiora stood and pushed her way through them. âI canât believe you. I canât believe any of you.â she shook her head, âTurning your backs on Olera so easily.â
Camry stepped forward and laid a hand on Fioraâs arm. âFi, you donât have to keep fighting. No one will think less of you for doing what needs to be done. You think we donât want to fight? Our lives and our families were destroyed, Fi. Of course we want to fight! But fighting isnât going to bring them back. Nothing will. Weâre just trying to be realistic, and so long as we have each other, as long as weâre alive, weâll be Olerans. Nothing can change that or take that away from us. Itâs just, thereâs no reason to make ourselves more miserable than we already are.â
Fiora yanked her arm out of Camryâs grasp. She shook her head, the corners of her eyes burning. âI donât,â her mouth opened and closed several times. Camry was right, these women were all she had left of her home. There was no way back to how their lives were before. âHow do I stop,â she whispered. Tears slid down her swollen cheeks.
Camry wrapped her arms around Fiora. âHey, itâs okay,â she soothed, âweâre all here for you. For all of us.â
Anjali rose and joined her. âI wish we had an answer, but I think thatâs something we each have to find within ourselves. And even then we may never know.â She rubbed broad circles along Fioraâs back.
âHow are you not scared?â
âWe are,â Anjali whispered.
âHattie hasnât been eating,â Jasmine spoke up from where she cradled Maria to her chest, âand Juniper wonât get out of bed.â
A murmur of agreement went through the cluster of women. Fiora let herself be drawn back into their embrace. Giving their fears voice diminished their power little by little. It made them smaller and the bond between the women stronger. They cried together for all that they had lost. Time was immaterial as they clung to each other. When the door opened they all jumped. More than one of them let out a little scream, but it was only the maids.
âLadies,â an older woman in Breschen colors spoke. âWeâve been sent to prepare you for your presentations to the royal family.â
Several of the Oleran women began to sob again as the maids filed in and drew their charges out of the room. One by one their numbers dwindled. Maria clung first to Jasmine and then to Beatrice, refusing to leave until their guards entered the room to prize them apart.
Fiora was one of the last women to leave. âWhereâs Lettie,â she demanded when Milo came to fetch her.
âSheâs finishing setting up your rooms.â
âMy rooms?â
âPrince Viorel is having you something made up near his quarters.â
Fiora shook her head. âI didnâtâ he said I could decide.â
Milo shrugged. âYouâll not be questioning the princeâs orders.â He took her by the arm and led her out of the room.
âHe canât do this! He said it was my decision,â she spat.
âThe prince can do as he pleases.â
âI demand to see him!â
âDemand all you want, itâs not going to make a difference. Neither Vioral, nor any of the royal family will ever jump at your demands. Youâll see him when he wishes, and not a moment before.â
Fiora growled and swore all the way to her new room. Milo deposited her inside with Lettie and snapped the door shut behind her.
âHow did your visit with your friends go,â Lettie asked. âMy apologies for not being there, but as you can seeâŠâ she let the words trail off as she gestured around them.
The room was done up in greens and golds. Iron lattice adorned the exterior of the windows and cast intricate shadows on the plush rugs that covered the gleaming wood floors. The bed was larger and more beautiful than Fiora had ever seen. The footboard was carved into a masterpiece of forestry so detailed that she could hardly follow it. A glance at the headboard told her it was much the same. Each of the four posts were topped with carvings of an owl. This room wasnât meant for someone who was considered a prisoner. Not even someone who would be a maid. Fioraâs heart lurched at the same moment her stomach twisted when she realized the implications.
Fiora dragged her gaze back to Lettie, âI canât believe he did this.â
âItâs quite beautiful, isnât it?â Lettie ushered her deeper into the room. âNow, I know that this isnât as close to Prince Viorel as you might have hoped, but even he has rules that must be followed. But donât worry, heâs not far. In the meantime, why donât I get you washed and ready for your presentation to the family, hm?â
Her shoulders slumped forward. âIf you must.â
âWe wonât be able to cover up all of the bruising, but I promise to do my best.â
âIâm not worried,â she sighed.
Lettie laughed. âI appreciate your confidence in me. The bathing room is this way.â
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The Dragon Knightâs New Clothes
The speed with which Davion left Hauptstadt left him no time to pick up clothes, so now he's back to square one and very much missing enough layers to cover up his... secrets. When he and his companions stumble on a farmstead his prayers seem answered, but there's also the other matter, the reason why he had to flee Hauptstadt in the first place, and the fear that it will happen again. Set between Episodes 2 & 3.Â
Hints of Davion x Mirana
--
Read on AO3
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Normally, Davion is perfectly fine with silence in his travelling companions. The life of a dragon knight requires long hours on the road, not all of which can be filled with talk, even on the days where thereâs no hunt to keep the quiet. But normality seems to have taken its butterfly wings elsewhere for him lately, and the current silence is getting awkward. Itâs just him and Mirana. Marci took Sagan scouting shortly after sunrise and left them alone together, and while she seems content with their current situation, sheâs also the only one between them wearing clothes. She doesnât have to worry about the strength of errant breezes finding their way to places, and she has the weight of a weapon at her side as insurance against any trouble they might run into. Her feet arenât slipping around sockless and blistered in too-large boots taken off a dead man.
A man he tore to pieces.
He swallows, glances to his companion to take his mind off the remembered taste of blood in his mouth. Her shoulders are loose, her gaze soft and hair flowing where the wind lifts it back from her face, the unassuming brown sparking copper in the dappled sunlight. He swallows again.
âSooooooâŠâ
âIs there a problem?â she asks, slowing a little. A quizzical knot appears between her brows and he raises his hands in surrender.
âNo problem!â he says. âItâs just⊠youâre quiet.â
âI was enjoying the peace.â If thereâs a note of annoyance for his interruption it flashes too quickly for him to catch it.
âYou must not get much chance to just stop and smell the flowers,â he supposes, after a moment. âBeing a princess and everything.â
âThere are always little things, if you let yourself look for them â but youâre right that my duties rarely allowed for anything more.â
Allowed. Past tense.
âYou never snuck away to try something more fun?â He grins, and when she only quirks a brow at him he clears his throat. âNo, never mind, I think I know the answer to that⊠Iâm sure Marci will be back soon.â
She throws him a smirk. âAre you worried about her?â
âActually,â he says, letting his thoughts tease out, âIâve been wondering about you two.â
âWhat about us?â The smirk draws in, a warning that seems to dim the sunlight itself.
He shrugs. âShe takes your orders, but you donât exactly treat her like a servant or a squire, and you have that ââ he waggles his fingers experimentally â âhand language. You must have known her a long time.â
She turns away from him, her eyes going to a bird cleaning its beak on the branches above them as her arms fold in a loose cross over her chest.
âWe came to the Nightsilver Woods together, if thatâs what youâre asking,â she says. âWe were already companions before then.â
âJust the two of you?â
Something in the memory pains her. âThere was no one else left.â
âWhat about Sagan?â he asks.
âA gift from my goddess, so that I might do Her work.â The smile comes back, and heâs glad for it. âHe was adorable as a cub â so fluffy. He used to chase the reflections from my arrowheads.â
âI never had a pet,â he confesses, without quite meaning to. A memory of a mongrel begging at the back door for scraps threatens to pull him in, but it was a long time ago and his mind canât conjure the dogâs appearance. It probably ended up like the rest of his village, anyway.
Miranaâs eyes find his face, too perceptive, too understanding. Before he can think of a new subject to distract her, he notices the birds have all gone silent. The undergrowth rustles nearby, concealing something huge. He darts forward, fists ready in place of a weapon, but an instant later he catches a flash of white and relaxes in recognition at the wide, blunt head that pushes out from among the trees.
âSagan!â Mirana ducks forward, arms outstretched, and the tiger butts her in the shoulder, purring like an avalanche as Marci slides down his back.
A brief conversation follows in the silent language the two women use between themselves, the signs made by their hands too fast for Davion to follow. He waits patiently, even dares to give Sagan a scratch under the chin, his fingers inches from the mouth full of sabre teeth the length of his hand.
Finally, Mirana turns to him. âThereâs a farmstead about five miles west of here. If weâre welcomed it would be a good place to get some rest.â She throws a casual look over him and he resists the urge to tug the too-small cloak further around his body. âPerhaps we might also find you some better clothes.â
âIâd like that.â What he likes less is her singular ability to make him aware of his body â and not in the fun way.
She starts to lead off down the path but stops, sighs, her fingers going to pinch between her brows in an attitude of long-suffering patience.
âRide Sagan,â she says. Orders, really. âItâll save your feet.â
He canât help but lean closer, grinning. âThatâs surprisingly nice of you, princess.â
âAnd itâll stop you slowing us down.â
He chuckles at that. Even in the few days theyâve spent travelling together heâs learned the difference between her wry mock threats and the times she truly intends to bite. As he winces over to tiger and vaults into the saddle, he almost misses the look exchanged between his two companions.
âHow do I, uh, steer?â he asks. The neck in front of him is too short, the shoulders much broader than those of a horse, and there arenât any reins.
Mirana smirks at him. âYou donât.â
--
They reach the farmstead as the sun is on its last descent towards the distant hills. Barley stalks sway gently under the wind as they climb the path to the house, and when a young teen tending vegetables by the back door spots them, Davion can hardly blame them for dropping their rake and running inside. The three of them donât exactly make for an ordinary bunch of travellers, especially not with Sagan padding along behind them. Thereâs a stag slung over the saddle, intended as a sort of offering by Mirana, who took it down with one of her arrows before he even knew it was there. While most would follow the custom of hospitality without such a gift, they have only a few coins from the bandits he killed, and they need more than just shelter for the night. Â
âBetter let me do the talking,â he mutters as they pass into the yard. Itâs not the first time heâs had to explain to some poor local that heâs not a marauding thug, and that was without the daunting presence of the war tiger at his back.
For a moment, Mirana considers, but nods and hangs back, passing a hand over her holstered bow as if to reassure herself itâs still there. With another self-conscious tug on his attire to make sure his decency is covered, he advances towards the farmhouseâs front door and as he passes a soft fragrance of thyme and lavender rises from pots placed beneath the windows, though itâs too early in the year for the buzzing of bees. A memory tickles at the back of his mind but he pushes it away before the herby scent can be tainted with ash, and in the instant it takes to centre himself the door swings open to a tall, broad woman with steel-grey hair and an iron brow who steps out just far enough to not appear suspicious.
âYouâre an uncommon bunch, right enough,â she comments, her face half shadowed by the overhanging thatch. âWhat business have you?â
Davion offers her his most winning smile. âWeâre travelling from Hauptstadt. If you have enough spare for a hot meal and room in your barn for the night, weâd appreciate it.â He gestures to his companions. âMy friend here managed to take down a deer, and weâll happily share it with you.â
âHalf of it,â Mirana corrects, with a hand on her tigerâs shoulder. âAnd the hide. Sagan needs to eat too.â
The farmer passes a calculating look over them, lingering longest on Davion and the scars so clearly visible across his shoulders, but in the end he guesses their fearsome appearance works in their favour. Their would-be host shrugs. If such travellers wanted to pillage and burn, theyâd have no need for subterfuge first.
âWeâre always happy to have well-mannered guests, especially ones with news of the road,â she says. âAt this time of year the stock is out so your cat will be fine in the barn. Just keep him away from the back field, Iâve ewes ready to drop and they donât a need a fright to help them along.â
Mirana nods. âThank you. Is there somewhere we can put the deer?â
If the farmer is surprised by Marciâs strength as she hauls the carcass off Saganâs back, she doesnât show it, only points to the gate set into the far wall to show the way to the outbuildings. âAnd you always dress like that, do you?â she asks a moment later, still eyeing Davion.
He glances down at himself as if itâs going to suddenly change the nature of his attire, but the princess answers before he can open his mouth.
âThere was trouble with bandits.â
âOnly for your friend here?â The farmerâs eyes narrow.
âWe met on the road,â she says smoothly. âIf you have some spare clothes, my companion would appreciate the return of her cloak.â
The farmer accepts the half-truth with a solemn shake of her head. âSome of my late husbandâs things should fit you, though he never kept quite so trim as you seem to be.â
She beckons them into the house. Davion follows, ducking under the lintel to avoid knocking his head, but pauses when he realises Mirana isnât behind him.
âIâm going to bed Sagan down,â she tells him. âIâll join you shortly.â
He smiles, nodding, and resists the urge to reach for her as she turns away. Inside, the whitewashed walls split the house into two, a kitchen with a large, scrubbed table in the back, and a parlour of sorts with a gathering of chairs around a large fireplace that overlooks the garden. An old woman snores in the armchair closest to the window, but she doesnât stir at the prospect of visitors, even though the stairs leading off this main room creak under Davionâs weight, the wood worn to a polish by generations of use.
âTayran,â his host calls out as a young woman appears from one of the upper rooms, âgo help your brother with the veggies, will you? Weâve three more mouth to feed tonight.â
Tayran, a few years younger than Davion and sporting the same square jaw and brown eyes as her mother, nods and ducks along the hallway, but not before sheâs let her gaze rake along the expanse of his muscles not covered by Marciâs cloak. The smile he offers in return is friendly enough, but not encouraging. He needs the clothes more than he needs someone to take them off again.
Seemingly oblivious to the exchange, his host has gone on ahead to the main bedroom and has taken a key to a heavily locked chest in the corner by the washstand. She digs through it, muttering, though he notices she never quite fully turns her back to him, and after a moment she stands again, with a shirt, breeches, and quilted jerkin draped over her arm. After a pause where she casts a critical eye at his boots, she stumps over to a dresser and pulls a rolled pair of wool socks from one of the drawers as well.
âThese are the best I can do,â she says, handing the ensemble to him. âAfraid weâve no salve for those badly fitting boots of yours, though.â
âItâs no problem,â he replies. âI really canât thank you enough.â
She huffs. âYou can pay it forward. Thatâs what decent folk do. Iâd best go see if yon slip of a girl has managed to get any meat off that stag yet â thereâs plenty of room to change in the barn,â she adds, as she chivvies him from the room.
--
Dinner a few hours later is a crowded affair, the familyâs meagre supply of chairs not enough to accommodate their guests, which means Davionâs legs are folded awkwardly around the tree stump serving him as a stool, his knees already bruised from all their accidental knocks to the underside of the table. The dim light for their meal comes from the fire and from a storm lantern hanging in the rafters in the centre of the room, and in the darkness beyond this the house groans and creaks as it settles for the night. After the disdain Mirana showed for the inn in Hauptstadt he wondered how she would react to such simple surroundings, but she nods graciously as their host ladles her a portion of stew and doesnât complain that itâs being served with a wooden spoon. Marci is already tucking into hers as if she hasnât eaten for days.
He smiles down at his bowl. The stew itself tastes good, the venison paired well with bacon and fresh vegetables, and itâs so thick the slice of bread heâs been given can be planted into it like a battle standard. Their host seems satisfied with their enthusiasm for her food, too. She has yet to sit down, her own portion left off as she pours a clear liquid into a motley collection of cups.
âDonât knock this back,â she warns as she passes the drinks around. âItâll beat you round the head like a club and go through your pockets for loose change.â
Davion canât resist. He makes a great show of tasting the liquor. âA fine vintage, maâam. Comparable to an Icewrack white, Iâd say.â
Opposite him, Mirana narrows her eyes, like she wants to kick him under the table.
âMy, youâve expensive tastes,â their host rumbles. âYou wonât find anything half so fancy in these parts.â
âOh? Shame.â
âWhere have you been that serves Icewrack white?â the elder asks from the head of the table. Itâs the first Davionâs heard her speak, and her voice is cracked with age and suspicion.
âOh, a few places,â he answers, careful. âIâve spent most of my life travelling.â
âYou must have many stories,â says Tayran, leaning forward on her elbows while her younger brother rolls his eyes next to her.
âSome, I suppose.â Davion shrugs. âMy â uh, I had a friend who was much better than telling them.â He canât mention having a squire; it would invite too many questions.
The elder seems content with him, but then her eye swivels towards Mirana. âWhat about you?â
âMama,â their host chides. âWe donât interrogate our guests.â
Mirana sets down her wooden spoon. âItâs alright. We came from further west, on business.â
âWrong time oâ year to be travelling the high passes.â
âMy business could not wait,â she replies. Not for the first time, he wonders what calamity must have drawn her from her woods, put the grit in her voice as she speaks of it.
âAnd what about you?â Tayran asks him. Her eyelashes flutter. âIf youâre looking for work youâd be far more likely to find it back in Hauptstadt, or on one of the farms in the valley.â
He disarms her with a grin. âAnd leave my companions without a defender? My honour wouldnât allow it.â He shrugs elaborately. âIâve got some friends near Levinthal who should be able to help me after I go that way.â
âMore people who owe you favours?â Mirana asks, casually enough, though itâs clear she hasnât forgiven him for the cockroaches that came included with the last one.
âItâs likely just as well you travel together,â their host interrupts. âThereâs rumours of some sort of monster roving about these hills. Someone found bodies ripped apart not a weekâs journey from here, and whatever it was killed a dragon knight anâ all. Dangerous times, these.â
The chill that grips Davionâs spine doesnât go away, nor the knot in his stomach that feels like another gang leaderâs ring just waiting to be hocked up onto the table. Mirana and Marci both have stilled to watch him, but he doesnât meet their gazes. Instead, he draws in a breath and stretches his best tavern-pleasing smile across his revulsion.
âThanks for the warning,â he says. âWeâll be extra careful.â
The conversation moves on after that, well into the night. On isolated farms like this one, travellers may bring the only news of the outside world for weeks, and new stories of far off places are always welcome. Finally, drowsing under the effect of the wine and the full meal and with the supply of fire logs running low, Mirana rises to make their excuses for the night. They have an early start in the morning, and donât want to trespass any further, she says. Davion follows.
In the doorway, however, an unexpected hand reaches out in a caress across his chest that stops him before he can make it out into the cold. His breath fogs as he turns, finding Tayran in the shadowed alcove where the family keeps their coats, the smile on her face one heâs seen on more than one young woman on his travels.
âItâll be cold tonight, you know,â she purrs.
From the corner of his eye he sees Mirana pause at the sound of the voice, but when he turns fully sheâs already resumed her pace, perfectly measured, her shoulders straight, and he wonders if he imagined it. Tayranâs hand moves up to cup his cheek, to bring his attention back to her.
âIf you want a better offer than a draughty old barn, Iâd be happy to oblige. If youâre not already spoken for, that is?â
âYou mean with â?â He coughs. âNo, Iâm not. Weâre not, ah â like that.â
She steps closer. âGood. Would you like to hear more about my offer?â
--
When he lets himself into the barn a little time later, bright moonlight spills around him, though his eyes take less time to adjust to the unlit interior than he expects. An oil lamp glows in the far corner.
âYour âbetter offerâ fell through then?â a voice chimes through the darkness, low with disdain.
He finds Mirana with Saganâs head in her lap, running a soft brush over the tigerâs fur, her scowl and the sour curl of her mouth revealing the nature of whatever else she wants to say. She doesnât look at him. His own anger rises in response.
âI didnât take the offer,â he snaps, quiet enough not to disturb Marci. âNot that you have any reason to care.â
âI didnât want to waste time looking for you in the morning.â
But the gaze fixed on him now flickers with calculation, the same astuteness she turned on him after he let the elf go, as if heâs a puzzle box with no clear solution.
âShe was a pretty enough thing,â she comments as he unfolds a horse rug over the straw as a makeshift bedsheet. âMany men would have gone after her.â
âYeah, well â Iâve said it before.â He throws his head down on his folded arm. âIâm not most men.â
Now more than ever, he thinks ruefully as silence descends again. If he were the sort of person who believed the gods cared at all heâd wonder if they turned him into⊠whatever he is⊠as a punishment for hubris. For a little harmless flirting. He yanks the blanket up to his chin and rolls over â heâs slept in less comfortable places, but that doesnât make the cold, prickly ground any less frustrating. A bed would have been much better. A bed with a bit of fun thrown in, for the both of them, and yet he chose to leave, and heâs going to go mad trying to work out why.
âYouâre afraid,â Mirana says into the quiet. âWorried that what happened at Hauptstadt â what you became â that itâll happen again.â
After a long moment, he unclenches his hand and sighs. âYeah. Maybe.â
âFor what good it will do, I can watch over you, if you like.â
He shifts. The offer feels unfamiliar. A dragon knight is sworn to protect others, and though the rational part of him knows if he does turn sheâll be dead before she realises it, thereâs a warm glow of comfort from the assurance in her voice. She asks nothing of him, only honesty.
âIf the transformation happensâŠâ
âIâll shoot you.â He hears the smirk.
âThank you.â He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the images his mind conjures, her blood on his hands, and prays to whichever gods are listening that if the worst comes her draw will be fast enough.
#dota dragon's blood#dota: dragon's blood#dota: db#dota 2#mirana#princess mirana#davion#davion the dragon knight#davion x mirana#mirana x davion#miravion#dragon's blood
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Part 8
Characters: Commander Fox/Reader
Summary: things are getting interesting
Warnings: mentions of past smut but nothing really steamy.
A/N: this needs to be done as Iâm tired of staring at it. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.
Padme Amidala was a dream to work with; polite, considerate, appreciative. Truly one of the few people in the Galactic Senate that Fox truly enjoyed. Her ability to rally those around her to her cause and spark loyalty in her followers was something he couldnât help but admire and though her strong willed personality had put them at odds at times (when keeping her safe out weighed her desire to throw herself headlong into danger) he would always consider himself a fan.
Which made it all the more irritating that he was on detail for Raxallian Thrug, the sniveling chakaar from Cantonica. Every vile cliche Fox had ever heard about politicians was on display in Thrug. Deceitful, underhanded, slimy- the list went on and on.
Fox stands at attention behind his current charge as he leans to the aide at his side and whispers what amounted to filth into his ear as Senator Amidala gave an impassioned plea for aide to the outer rim, heavily under siege from seppie forces.
Did Thrug not realize Fox could hear every disgusting comment he made about Amidala or did he simply not care what a clone may or may not hear. Clenching his hands into fists, Fox wasnât sure what option bothered him more.
Trying to block the senator out he looks past him, scanning the crowd for any anomalies, anything that stood out or could indicate an issue.
Ruleâs voice crackles through his helmet comms. âSheâs really worked up over thisâ.
Aside from the HUD and the various other bells and whistles the buckets were equipped with, the ability for private comms was one of the biggest perks in Foxâs eyes. No one ever needed to know they were talking.
âSeems to be, yeahâ he hums in agreement.
âShe said to say âhiâ earlier. You think sheâs got a crush too?â Rule teases.
Fox rolls his eyes behind his visor. He doesnât justify that with a response. PadmĂ© Amidala was not interested in the likes of him, she merely cared about those around her. Even if she did, his interest lay elsewhere.
Interest wasnât the right word though was it? Not after what heâd done. Not after what heâd said. Heâd said those words, those words, to not one other soul in his life. He honestly had never even thought about the phrase before he was quieting her with it. They had just been one of the many things he- and many other troopers- absorbed over time about their progenitorâs culture. Mandoâa spread like wildfire when spoken in barracks and war zones across the galaxy. They were just men without history, without a background or roots, looking for meaning and belonging outside of someone elseâs war.
Heâd been supremely thankful (and also a little miffed) when she hadnât questioned him any further on his amorous declaration. Hadnât she even been curious? Obviously she didnât feel the same. How could she?
Heâd taken her in a way heâd only dreamt about, done something he had relegated to his most private fantasies. But sheâd encouraged it. Sheâd asked for more. For more explanation, for more of everything. Even now the memory of spilling inside her, of the way sheâd sobbed out her release and quaked in his arms sent a thrill through Fox. He was a man nursing a borderline obsession and it was going to end badly for the both of them if he wasnât careful.
âCommander?â Rules voice breaks hesitantly into his thoughts.
âI hear you, Rule. Whatcha got?â
âIâm not sure sir. I just got a flash of something in quadrant three, northwest corner. HUD picked up a wonky looking heat signature.â
Foxâs eyes scan to the coordinates that pop up on his display, a balcony two levels above where he stood guard behind Thrug. It should have been unoccupied. That was the game plan, no guests above Guard eyesight.
âRyk?â Foxâs voice is brisk as his mind starts working through the possibilities, adrenaline slowly seeping into his system. âCome stand with the good senator while I look into this.â
âYes Commander?â
Fox has approximately three minutes to think of all the horrible possibilities. Snipers, Bombs, Seppie Sympathizers. Each one offers a new and more complicated amount of paperwork. And more headaches.
Always the headaches. They were getting worse each week. More frequent. More intense. More of a pain in his ass.
Mouse had noticed. Mouse always noticed. This morning sheâd crawled over him, still only in his shirt, and gone digging through the âfresher cabinet til sheâd found a bottle of pain pills. Sheâd come back with the bottle, water, and a cool cloth for his head. He would have fallen to his knees and worshipped her if his head hadnât caused such a revolt. Sheâd laid with him, legs straddling his hips and body sprawled over his, before the sun came up and done her weird little miracle massage along his forehead even though he knew she was exhausted. It had helped but hadnât cured him. Even now the dull ache followed him.
Ryk slips into Thrugs box and if the politician registers one clone has traded places with the other, Fox will be surprised.
He takes the steps up to the supposedly empty balcony dragging his deece from the holster as he gets to the door, eyes drop to the weapon to check settings. The door is slightly ajar and he can see a quick flash of movement through the crack.
He counts silently to three before his boot connects with the door control, slamming it open. Itâs a tense moment as he finds himself face to face with the singing blue plasma blade of a lightsaber and a pair of blasters, identical to his, pointed dead center mass at his being.
âCommander Foxâ Anakin Skywalkerâs voice is cool as it greets him. The curse that escapes from Captain Rex at his side is less than formal.
âFierfek, FoxâŠâ he grumbles lowly, something Fox vaguely hears as something about shooting his shebs off.
General Skywalker retracts his blade and both clones lower their blasters, pausing for a tense moment before holstering the weapons.
âGeneral. Captain. This area is off limits. If I may ask, why are you up here?â He aims for stern military Commander but he canât help the cringe under his bucket as Skywalker raises a brow in his direction. âWith all do respect Generalâ he adds as on afterthought.
Rex must sense the brewing tension between the pair as he steps into speak for his general. âWe were just trying to get a good spot to listen to Senator Amidala speak. Weâre both fans.â A look passes between the pair that Fox canât decipher. Skywalker rolls his eyes at his captain before turning back to Fox.
There was no love lost between the general and the Commander. Too much had happened that set their paths intersecting- and not for the better- for them to meet with anything but anxiety (from Fox) and thinly veiled contempt (from the Jedi).
The Jedi waves his hand dismissively turning his back to the clones. It raises the small hairs on the back of Foxâs neck. He should be used to this by now, the brush off, the outright disdain that he and his men had been forced to become accustomed too. In the name of obedience and loyalty he has to handle the generalâs brush off with an acceptance that he doesnât feel.
He turns stiffly as the roar of the crowd rises up to them. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Skywalker staring down at the young Senator with a look in his eyes that felt, at once, both foreign and all too familiar to Fox.
âFox?â Rexâs voice rises over the sounds below. âI was wondering if I could talk to you? I was going to just stop at your office but since your here now-â
Foxâs bucket cocks to the side. anything Rex has to say to him wouldnât be in front of the Jedi. âmy office is fine. Iâll be there all afternoonâ
Rex looks as if heâs about to argue but he stops and gives him a nod of affirmation. There was history between them and if something had to come of it then it would be on Foxâs terms. In private.
âCommander? You ok?â Rykâs voice crackles through his helmet comms.
âYeah, Ryk, nothing worth seeing here.â
âââ-
Your body throbs dully, the pleasant soreness from last night sending a shiver down your spine each time you think back on it. Everytime you think of Fox your body reacts, a warm flush of color to your cheeks or a full feeling in your chest that can only be one thing. Kriff. You were in deep and you couldnât help the smile that played on your lips when you thought about him.
You move through the cafeteria line, slowly gathering a few things for a light lunch. You werenât particularly hungry but you grab a sandwich and a bag of protato chips along with a small cup of fruit. And the largest mug of caf available because you were exhausted. Fox had not let you be done after your initial romp. Your cheeks flame hot as you remember waking in the middle of the night to his tongue lapping are your cunt and the soft groans he made between praising you for taking him so well and telling you how much he wanted to have you again and again.
You wonder if anyone can tell the filthy thoughts you're having, how you were remembering Fox cleaning up his release that had leaked from your overly full core.
You needed a cold shower. Or your Commander.
âMouse!â Sargent Wren elbows through a trio of troopers to get to you. He smiles brightly as he places his own food on your tray and takes it from you. âIâll carry that.â
You give it up, knowing that there was no use in arguing. Wren falls in at your side as he grabs a pair of ration bars and adds it to the tray.
âFor laterâ he explains. Youâd never in your life seen people that could put away so much food. Hound had once explained it was due to a higher than normal metabolism and, while theyâd been engineered to run on the dense ration bars alone, if given the option, each clone could put away seemingly half his weight in food at each meal. Nearly every one youâd met had a viscous sweet tooth on top of it. Youâd learned the hard way after the candy stash youâd kept in your desk drawer had been discovered and raided but a group of âunknown perpetratorsâ.
Ryk and Rule had promised to look into it, Rule with bits of chocolate still clinging to his lip.
âAll by yourself today?â Wren asks conversationally as the pair of you find an unoccupied table. You know what heâs asking. Youâll have to inform Fox that the pair of you were the worst kept secret in the Guard.
âSenator Amidala had a speech today. Heâs pulling protection detail.â
âWith Amidala?â Wren has shoved a large bite of sandwich in his mouth and struggles to swallow as he asks the question. You push a canteen of water to him.
âNo. Thrug I believe.â The Sargent makes a sound of understanding as he gulps down a drink. He coughs once as the food goes down.
âThat sounds about right. Since The incident with Skywalkerâs Padawan he hasnât been pulling detail with the senator. Word is General Skywalker is a bit protective over her. Unfortunately the Commander is a two time loser in the generals eyes.â
The fruit in your cup is a bit too ripe, but you eat it regardless, chewing thoughtfully. Wren is right. You hadnât noticed the change but now that it was pointed out you wonder how youâd missed it. Maybe Fox wasnât the only one carrying on an unheard of affair, not that you could blame the Jedi. Youâd only met once (and for a second at that) but youâd found PadmĂ© Amidala to be courteous and warm, much more like senators Chuchi and Organa than the loud blustering career politicians from other worlds.
You keep your mouth shut. If you'd learned one thing it was best to stay out of matters involving Jedi. Public opinion on the war and the order itself had been wavering as of late. Your concern was with Fox and the men of the Coruscant Guard and while what happened with the Senate and the war would affect them on a grand scale youâd come to terms with the fact that you couldnât control that. You could, however, control things in their daily lives. Make things easier in little ways. It was a small consolation but it was what you could offer.
It was more than some, who claimed to be for clone rights, did. A glance around the cafeteria shows the self segregation, clones and civilian contractors at separate tables not mixing or interacting. A group of troopers to your right argues good naturedly in Mandoâa. Wren smothers a smile as he listens in.
âWhatâs so funny?â
Wren looks up at you, confusion then clarity lights his face, âjust a jokeâ he gestures toward the other clones. âItâs stupidâ he dismisses.
You huff a breath. Maybe you wanted to hear a stupid joke. Not for the first time you wished you knew the language the troopers bantered in.
âReally Mouse itâs not even that funny. Like, âyour motherâ jokes? We donât even have mothers.â Wren rapidly tries to explain and hold up your hand for him to stop.
âItâs fine. I get it. Youâd think Iâd have picked up some Mandoâa by this point anyway.â
Wren shrugs as if agreeing with you. âI could teach you a few words if you want?â He offers. He waits while you think. âCome onâ he presses.
You shrug, âok, cyarâikaâ you throw back at him.
His flashes a toothy grin, âeasy- and I can guess where youâve been hearing that one- beloved, darling. Itâs a term of endearment but Iâm sure youâve learned that by now.â
You fight back a blush, hiding behind a big gulp of caf. âSomething like that.â
He goes on unprompted with simple words for child, mother/father, outsiders, Jedi. You try to burn each into your memory.
âAlâverde Foxâ he offers and you shrug.
âLeader Fox?â
âClose! Very close Mousâikaâ Wren is an enthusiastic teacher. He makes an encouraging gesture with his hands, âtry againâ.
You think carefully before your next attempt, âCommander Fox?â
Wren slaps his hand against the table with a laugh. You jump slightly at the loud noise. âYes! Good job! Nowâ he offers, âyou tell me something and Iâll translate itâ
The words donât even pause at your lips before they slip out. Your accent is atrocious and you're not sure if it comes out correct. âNi karâtayl gar darasuumâ.
The phrase catches Wren mid-drink and he seems to choke before heâs able to swallow down the liquid on his mouth. âWow.â
âWow?â
âYes, wowâ he sobers âwanna tell me where you heard that doozy? Or should I guess?â
âWell are you going to tell me what it means or what?â
âNi karâtayl gar darasuumâ he repeats, the words flowing off his tongue easily and without the stilted tone youâd used âI know you foreverâ he says softly.
Itâs a pretty phrase and you say as much.
âPretty is an understatement. Itâs the Mando equivalent to a declaration of love.â
âââ
Fox paces his office floor as he flips through screen after screen of requisitions. This was the part of his job he hated most. The supply clerk was in charge of getting all orders together, but as Commander, he had to give final authorization for every order going through. It was mind numbing, monotonous.
A soft knock comes mid step and he gives a sharp bark to enter. Between dealing with Thrug, his unexpected run in with Skywalker and the Captain of the 501st, and the new stress inducing realization of the depth of his emotions for his little Mouse,Fox feels off-kilter. He doesnât like it.
Mouse enters bearing a ration bar, a mug, and a smile that makes him forget his raw nerves.
âCaf?â He asks enthusiastically. She shakes her head and gives him a skeptical smile.
âTea. A little less stimulating this late in the afternoon.â She sets both on his desk before leaning against the duraplast and taking him in.
âWhat?â
Something soft tugs at the corner of her mouth. She shrugs, âjust wondering why you're trying to wear a tread through the floor. Thatâs all.â
The eye roll he gives is big and dramatic and she chuckles quietly. He moves to the desk, tossing the datapad down. It doesnât take much to work her bottom back onto the surface and step between her legs. She looks hesitant, staring up at him, her lip between her teeth in that telling way of hers.
âSomething wrong, Cyarâika?â Gently, his gloved hand cups her cheek and she tips softly into it. He places a soft kiss on the crown of her head before her eyes flutter shut. Sheâs so kriffing soft. He scarcely believes heâs allowed to handle anything so delicate and fragile. Foxâs fingers slip to her chin and angle her mouth up to him.
âWas your day really that bad?â She probes. Fox can feel her feet hooking behind his knees and pulling in til he was flush with her body.
âSâmuch better nowâ heâs being purposefully evasive. Mouse didnât need to worry about the things that had been weighing heavily on him, nor did he want her to realize that she was one of them. He slides his mouth over hers, sharing his breath and taking in hers in return in a soft reverent meditation masquerading as a kiss. Being wrapped up in his precious girl does seem to make everything better, the tension pressing in on his chest eases. The soft sigh that slips past her lips as his teeth nip at her is the best thing heâs heard all day.
One hand splays across his chest while the other grips behind his neck. She mewls sweetly as his tongue tastes her. Sweet girl tastes like caf-
âCommander Fox-â Fox has missed the tell-tale slide of the door and curses mentally.
Mouse makes a distressed noise as the deep voice cuts through the room. She pushes ineffectively against Foxâs chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. Fox doesnât move as Mouse scoots back enough to slip her legs from around him and rise to her feet. She looks up wide-eyed and accusing, as if heâd orchestrated the whole thing. Her cheeks are a vivid shade of pink. Her look is one of absolute embarrassment.
He wants to lean in and kiss her swollen lips again, tell her thereâs nothing to fear or worry about because he had her. Of course, he canât do that but it doesnât stop him from wanting to. He watches as she smooths her skirt and mutters something about getting back to work.
Fox can feel eyes burning into his back. He knew the voice as well as he knew his own. Some believed that clones were interchangeable but any person whoâd spent any amount of time should be able to tell him or Rex from their other vode. Little things like accents theyâd picked, how they worded their thoughts. How they carried themselves.
âCaptain Rex. Itâs customary to knock before entering.â Fox spins to see his visitor turning away from his furiously blushing secretary as she scurries past him and out the door.
âMy deepest apologiesâ What Rex says and his tone donât exactly match up. Fox has a feeling heâs given the Captain free entertainment and a serious bit of gossip to bring back to the front. âI was unaware you were preoccupied with- such an important engagement.â
Fox smiles, a thing full of teeth and thinly veiled menace. âI can understand how you wouldnât understand such things, ner vod.â
Rexâs helmet shakes and Fox can hear the quick huff of dark laughter that filters through his vocoder before heâs reaching up to remove his helmet. âI'm really sorry about that. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.â
âI wasâ Fox agrees, moving to sit at his desk and motioning for Rex to sit across from him. He hesitates a moment and Fox wonders if heâs ever been offered a seat in any meeting. Is he relegated to standing over the shoulder of Skywalker like a well healed akk dog? He doesnât ask. âWhat can I do for you today?â
Rex sits straight, his face a composed mask. This wasnât a social call though that was no different from any interactions theyâd had before.
âI need to apologize for the incident with my shinies.â The stiff pseudo apology catches Fox off guard. He sits quietly for a moment. The two clones staring at one another.
âOk.â
âOk? Thatâs it?â Rexâs voice is wary.
âAm I supposed to throw a fit? Yell and scream that I want their buckets on a platter? What would you have me say Captain?â Fox pinches the bridge of his nose, âlook I get it. Trust me. Since-â he angles away from the other clone. âI get Iâm not ever going to win a popularity contest and yeah, it was not kriffing fun. Actually, it was about the least amount of fun Iâve had in a while but what am I supposed to demand? Demotion? Reconditioning?â
Rex flinches at the last word.
âExactlyâ Fox feels as if heâs made his point. âSo if thatâs all you wantedâŠâ he lets the words hang in the air between them. Rex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
âThatâs not it.â
Fox can feel whatâs coming next, always knew it would come.
âI need to know about that day. I need to know why you killed Fives.â
The Captainâs stare is unyielding and Fox feels like heâs under a microscope, rigid and without escape while the clone across from him dissects each move and every word heâs about to say. Heâs never backed down for a fight in his life but right now, right here? He wants to do nothing more than get away.
âHe had a gun.â Fox draws a steadying breath but his voice comes out shaky and he's disgusted at his own weakness washes over him. âI told him to stand down. I told him to get on his knees. Even after he grabbed the kriffing thing I told him not to do it. I-â
âWhy didnât you just stun himâ Rexâs voice rises above his, anger bleeding into every word as he leans forward, planting his hands on the desk as he rises to his feet.
The invasion of space throws Fox off. He rolls his shoulders briefly trying to ease the tension that was growing there. The spot behind his eyes throbs. âThe settings were wrong. I- I donât know how but the kriffing setting was wrong.â
âAnd Iâm supposed to believe thatâ
Something in the arch of the captainâs brow, the accusatory nature of what he was in insinuating sparks white hot rage in Foxâs chest. The photos on the wall rattle as he rises to his feet, his fist meeting the wall behind him.
âWhat are you saying?!âhe asks turning on the blonde clone. âAre you inferring that I had it out for him? A vod Iâd never met? That I went looking to kill a brother?â
Rex flinches back. Foxâs knuckles throb. He focuses on the growing ache, uses it to stay grounded. His voice is low, a pained snarl.
âHis death will never leave me. I pulled the trigger that ended his life. Do you know- can you understand what that feels like?â
âHe said this was bigger than usâ Rex pushes on, seemingly paying no mind to what Fox had said.
âAnd that means I was in on a conspiracy?â
âDamn it, Foxâ Rex growls, âyou said you donât know how your blaster ended up throwing bolts!â
Something about that catches Fox right in the gut, steals air from his lungs. As quickly as his rage had swollen it subsides and heâs left to sink back down to his desk, forehead cradled in his head.
âBigger than usâ he repeats Rexâs words- Fives words- quietly.
âHe mentioned a conspiracy to Kixâ the blonde clone doesnât sit but heâs posture loosens.
âConspiracy?â
âSomething that went all the way to the top. Said the clones and the Jedi were in great danger.â
âTell me more.â
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   This is for @b0nechewers as part of the Revalink exchange (@revalinkexchange ), I used a mix of the prompts they gave me.
Words: 2106
   Warnings: Implied and referenced abuse, homophobia (Brief)   If I missed anything please let me know!
   Relationship(s): Revali/Link, Background/implied Saki/Teba
   Summary: After a less than ideal ending to not only their dance partnership but their dating each other, Link and Revali find themselves back together, but will there still be sparks?
Revali had always known he had messed up, leaving Link after a several year-long relationships and an even longer friendship, maybe they had their fights, and they certainly started off in a bad place, but seeing Link dance with someone else hurt more than Revali would care to admit.
   Link had become Ravliâs own dance rival again, he dances with a childhood friend of his, Mipha, Revali dances with his friend Teba, but there was a time that Link had been Revaliâs dance partner. Revaliâs partner in every way that mattered.
   The way things had ended left him colder than before, less trusting, less hopeful, and more egotistical, and missing Link with everything he was. Itâs one thing for a relationship to end on its own, but Link and Revaliâs hadnât ended of its own accord.
   But Link hadnât been ready to leave his father behind, his very homophobic, father and violent mother had made it clear that it was them and their support and money, or Revali and nothing.
   He doesnât blame Link, it sucks that Link chose them, after everything, but itâs likely better for the man.
   But itâs when he was assigned the same hotel suite (A completely different disaster due to them technically going to the same dance place) that he truly realized how much he still mourns the loss of Link, and how- he loathes to admit this even in his own mind- he pines for and love the man still.
   Teba had claimed a separate room for himself and his family, so this suite was Mipha, Link, and Revali. And then came the who sleeps where and no you arenât sleeping on the couch, well you arenât either discussion.
   Revali simply claimed one room while Mipha and Link tried to out friend the other, each insisting they take the couch and the other the bed.
   He sighs, walking into the room, âOr someone could share a room, now will you stop bickering?â
   Link pauses, looking to his phone for a time check, nine in the evening, Revaliâs meditation, his eyes twinkle as he smiles softly, âSure.â
   Mipha hums, âWell, I mean, Link and I could share a bed, you and Link could too, your both boys.â
   Revali rolls his eyes, âAnd I should share with him because?â
   âI have been known to be a restless sleeper?â Mipha says, âIâm sure he would be better elsewhere.â
   âFine, he can take my bed with me, or the couch, it hardly matters to me. Now could you please keep it down?â
   The other two agree, and Revali goes to the hotel room, settling on the bed to begin meditation. His breathing slows and he focuses his mind on where his weight is distributed, letting his mind clear.
   Link looks nice with the jeans and blue sweater today- not going there. Clear mind.
   He sighs softly, trying again, it works better for a little while, but then heâs thinking about Linkâs smile, and how the man might share a bed with him tonight.
   Revali thought he was over this, better than this, better than hopelessly pining over someone who chose something else over him.
   Just great, Revali supposes, finishing his meditation slower than is typical of himself, exiting his room to find Mipha on her laptop, video calling Zelda.
   Link is Hylia knows where, and Zelda spots him, âHello Revali!â
   He sighs, âHello, Zelda.â
   âHow have you been? It has been- a long time. Iâm sorry about-â
   Revali walks away, grabbing his wallet and exiting the room to go and see Teba and his wife and child, deciding to brave that more than to see Zelda.
   As if Hylia herself planned it (Sheâs a bitch thank you), Link trips over something, and tackles Revali to the floor, both sprawling on the ground of the hotel, neither as a breath yet in their lungs.Â
   Link squeaks, pulling his face off of Revaliâs chest, âI am so sorry.â
   âYou should watch where you are going.â Revali sniffs, and the disdain is there, but heâs forgotten, Link knows him better than likely anyone else, the chastesation would chill most people.
   But Link? He just smiles softly, âThanks, Revali.â Pushing to his feet, he holds a hand out to help the man he knocked over up, just to have it smacked away as Revali stands on his own.
   âI donât need your help.â
   Link just smirks softly up at Revali, âOkay.â
   âWhat? Do I have something on my face?â
   âNo.â
   âWell then, what is it?â
   âYou-â Link hesitates, and oh, there is that sweetly awkward boy Revali first met, âYou look good. Youâve done well in your career I hear, and your dancing is as perfect as ever.â
   âOf course it is, of course, I am, do you take me for a second-place king of man?â
   âNo, you never were.â Link says softly then, âIâm sure youâll win, you always have.â
   âIt will hardly change now.â
   âNo, it wonât,â Link says then he sighs eyes flicking to the ceiling then back to Revaliâs own, âRevali, I- âm glad youâre okay.â
   âWhy wouldnât I be?â
   Revali watches Link hesitate, good, he should hesitate. The way things ended was awful, but what Linkâs mother did was worse, it was Link who saved him, but it was also Link to leave his life.
   âI know Carolina was awful to you that last night and I- well- Iâm sorry. But- Iâd also like to say thank you.â
   âExcuse me?â
   âThank you, thank you for everything you said while I was still with you. I shouldnât have chosen them, I was scared and young and stupid, and maybe we wouldnât have worked out, but Iâd have been happier if Iâd cut them out sooner.â
   âYou cut them out?â
   Link nods, shifting, âZelda and Uncle Roahm did too, I donât know, itâs just- what you said kept rattling in my head, it stuck.â
   Revali almost preens outwardly at that, Link has always been stubborn, reckless, and fairly carefree if a little overly protective of his loved ones, to get him to listen is a feat and a privilege few have.
   Revali suspects he knows what was ârattling; about Linkâs head too, the exact phrasing.Â
âThey are bad people, Link, awful, vile creatures who berate you, withhold food, lock you in a small room without food, water, or a bathroom for up to two days giving you a trash can instead of a toilet then. Your father is neglecting at best and your mother physically beats you why you would choose them is beyond not just me.â
Quite the phrase, Revali supposes, but Link has always needed reality checks, not sugar-coated bullshit.
âHm, well, Iâm glad you finally made a decent choice about them.â
   Link laughs and Revali finds that even though he wanted to hurt Link (The way Link hurt him just a little, maybe revenge will help him heal) that the laugh he receives instead is sweeter and welcome.
   âWell, Revali, I had to eventually, statistically at least.â
   Revali snorts at that, he regrets it and doesnât at the same time, letting lInk see him anything but annoyed at his presence is dangerous, but the way his eyes light up at the tallerâs mistake is enough to soften the blow, even if his pride is bruised.
   âI suppose so.â
   âI was just coming back from my run to see if you wanted dinner, Mipha and I were thinking Subway.â
   âI do enjoy Subway,â Revali says noncommittally.
   âWant to come with me to get it?â
   âI suppose that would ensure my order is relayed properly, yes.â Revali nods, letting Link lead him through the halls, into and then out of an elevator, and down a street once they exit the hotel.
   They walk in silence, not awkward but not quite comfortable. Heavy, perhaps, but neither expected different, honestly they expected worse. The men walk along, in step, and each graceful after years of dance.
   The ordering and retrieving and even paying off their walk-in uneventful, though it is raining when they leave the place, Link seems pleased though it is a nice light rain on a hot night it does present the issue of memories.
   (âCâmon, Rev, not even one kiss?â It had been raining then, and they had just been reunited after a road trip.)
   He firmly shuts the memories off, he is better off this way, pining and hurting but free on a relationship that ended poorly. Heâs better off not letting himself get wrapped up in Link and what that boy does to him.
   ---
   So, that was easier thought than done. The night before the competitionâs final Tebaâs son got injured and they have to spend at least two days in the hospital, and Teba wonât leave his wife or child, so heâs out of the competition. Mipha sprained her ankle the day before.
   Link grains, looking to Revali, âI talked to the competition judges; they said we can either partner up together or accept that weâre out.â
   âWhy?â
   âThey said because weâre from the same initial program and emergency issues came up we arenât cut off. We can find a replacement, ie, team up ourselves, or, we can go home.â
   âI have never gone home empty-handed.â
   âI know.â
   âYou are willing to be my dance partner?â
   âOf course I am,â Link says, that glint in his eyes that Revali has missed dearly.
   The night is spent in a choreographing and routine learning frenzy, and they know itâs sloppier than their usual standards, but they also still have the connection they used to. They sleep some, not as much as they should but not as little as no sleep. All in all, not too bad.
   The day of said competition is a mess of coffee, last-minute practicing, and pining from our resident useless gay dance team. And it isnât until they end the dance, the crowd cheering that the two realize just how badly they messed up, doing this together, being kind.
   Revali drags Link off the stage, glowering at the blonde, âWhat are you playing at? You were too fast! I had to match your pace, my heart is moving entirely too fast.â
   âI wasnât.â
   âExcuse me?â
   âI wasnât.â
   Revali scoffs, but Link is right, he wasnât.
   âMy heartâs fast too,â Link tries.
   âGood.â
   Link shifts then, âI thought I was over this, you.â
   âOh?â
   âI worried for you, but I figured that was to be expected when I found you bloody and almost dead on the ground of my kitchen with my mother over you.â
   Revali scoffs, âI hardly was on the brink of death.â
   âIt felt like it, in the moment.â
   âWell, I suppose so, you always were overly emotional.â
   âStill am.â
   Revali sighs, âWell, surprisingly, I am not over you either.â
   âWhat?â
   âYou heard me.â
   âI did- I just- Not what I was expecting.â
   âNor I.â
   Link hums, âI donât suppose youâre free tonight?â
   Revali cuffs the back of the blondeâs head when he smirks knowingly up at the taller, âI am.â
   âAnd I donât suppose youâd want to give us another chance?â
   Revali hums, low, soft, unintentional, thinking. Link did choose his parents (His awful, abusive, toxic parents) Over Revali, but heâs moved on, he apologized, he was scared. And heâs here now, no less enchanting and no less Link.
   âOne more chance, but if this does not work out, I am not giving you so much as a glance.â
   âUnderstandable.â
   Revali sighs, pulling Link into an embrace, startling the younger though the blonde hugs back tightly.
   âJust-â Revali sighs, kissing the top of Linkâs head, âDonât make a choice between me and someone like them that ends in the bad one.â
   âNever.â
   âOkay.â
   âYou do know Iâm not letting you go again.â
   âSap.â
   Link snorts and Revali knows very well what that means, yes, Link is a sap, his sap. Link is his sap, oh Hylia, Link is his.
   (Maybe Hylia isnât such a bitch. After all, these two certainly have a wonderful future ahead of them, and even if it is a spoiler for these two, they manage to make the relationship work this time, going so far as to get married and adopt a daughter they name Naru.)
   Link smiles softly, âI donât think we won.â
   âI think we did, just not the competition.â
   Link snorts, shaking his head. And the world seems brighter, neither had realized how dark it had been. And if they end up curled up in the bed at the hotel that night, third place overall, watching old reruns of some show or other lost in each other, well, thatâs their business. Isnât it?
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Unspoken Feelings (3/8)
The heavy throbbing of her head makes the bedroom whirl around her. Is the world spinning? Beca sits up, quickly bringing her left hand to her forehead, pressing down on it as if it will release the tension. The intense dizziness is causing her stomach to churn which increases her urge to vomit.
Her eyes snap shut instantly, in attempt to decrease her hangover symptoms.
Beca inhales quickly, holding the breath, then exhaling. She repeats the breathing strategies a few more times until she no longer thinks she's going to vomit all over the floor. She doesn't want to recreate Aubrey's puking mess.
When her eyes flutter open again, it takes a minute for her to realise that she isn't in her own room, she's so naturally comfortable in the warm bed that she isn't even alarmed. The surroundings aren't unfamiliar, so she doesn't feel the need to get up and run away shamefully.
But then she looks to her right as she suddenly realises, she isn't alone in the bed.
The sight of her best friend lying next to her, with her left hand underneath her cheek and her gorgeous red hair sprawled out over her pillow, is absolutely breath-taking.
Her other hand is connected to the wrist that is resting on Beca's stomach. Beca didn't realise she was wrapped in Chloe's grip until now, and she has the urge to snuggle closer, loving the feeling of being so close to her best friend. But that isn't a thought someone should have about their best friend, so she hesitantly nudges Chloe's arm away.
After she sits up against the headboard, Beca reaches out to tuck a strand of Chloe's hair behind her ear.
She wants to appreciate the sight, because Chloe Beale really is her favourite thing to look at â to admire. Beca can deny it time and time again but she'll always come back to the same conclusion.
Chloe is her weakness.
Beca has never allowed herself to be vulnerable around others but the realisation that Chloe could literally break down every single one of her walls scares the absolute shit out of her.
She allows her gaze to drift around the room. Even though she shares the attic room with Amy, their room isn't much different to the other girls' bedrooms. She's spent a fair amount of time in Chloe's bedroom anyway, which is why she's almost surprised it took her so long to acknowledge that she woke up in her room.
In this moment it suddenly strikes her â why is she in Chloe's room?
What the fuck happened last night?
She tugs her hair down from the messy bun â she doesn't remember putting her hair up last night so Chloe must have done it for her, which is another example of why Chloe is literally the best person in the entire universe. Beca rakes her hand through her hair and takes note of the faint scent of alcohol. She's also pretty sure that she has sick in the front few strands, but she doesn't want to get into that right now.
Guilt runs through her accompanied by shame as she remembers the way she danced with Jesse last night in attempt to rid her feelings â if they even were feelings at all â for Chloe.
The events from the night before flood back to her and she's overwhelmed with...rage.
Beca isn't angry at Jesse for dancing with her because she was the one that asked, or at Chloe for messing with her head and confusing her, because Chloe isn't to blame.
She's mad at herself. She's so fucking angry at herself that she's allowing herself to feel this way about her best friend â her best friend who is beautiful, sexy, smart as hell and literally the most caring person on the planet.
Chloe Beale is way too good for her, so even if she was into girls there's no way she'll ever love her the way Beca longs for her to. The way Beca has loved Chloe since her freshman year.
She hates herself for the way she treats Chloe â hot one minute, cold the next. She only distances herself and runs from Chloe because it's all she's ever known. Leaving is the only thing she's good at.
There's no need for the walk of shame, but it's not like they had sex anyway. However, that doesn't mean she wants anyone seeing her leave Chloe's room early in the morning. Beca knows what her fellow Bellas are like â they love to make assumptions â especially about 'Bhloe'. It's bad enough that Stacie and Amy occasionally tease them by giving them a ship name and asking things like "When's the wedding?" and "Can I be the god mother of your child?" so there is no way Beca is going to let anyone see her leave Chloe's bedroom, it will only fuel their theories. They'll never let her live that down.
So instead of lying back down and falling to sleep like a part of her wishes she would do, she clambers out of the bed and moves across the room, careful not to knock into any of Chloe's things and cause a ruckus.
When she emerges from the attic stairs, she's met with an empty room, which half surprises her, but Amy not coming home is typical, especially after a treble's party.
Beca is tired, exhausted in fact, but there is no way she's going to be able to get back to sleep so she reaches for her precious laptop and headphones. She sets them on the edge of her bed as she fumbles through her clothes until she pulls out a pair of sweatpants, which she quickly changes into.
Her laptop and headphones are back in her grip as she trudges down the stairs towards the kitchen of the Bellas house. She slips the headphones around her neck and places the laptop on the counter.
As she's making herself some coffee, she acknowledges that it's only five in the morning, which is extremely early for someone who usually rises around midday.
Beca picks up her mug â one Chloe brought her last year â and carries it along with her laptop out the front door and on to the porch. Instead of sitting on the chair swing, Beca sits down on the steps, half leaning against the railing.
She lifts her headphones up and slides them on over her head, connecting the wire to her laptop and pressing play on the queued playlist. The music instantly relaxes her, she won't ever admit it but ever since Chloe requested a Taylor Swift song for the set, Beca has been pretty obsessed with her music.
But not even music can distract her from her thoughts, or more specifically, thoughts about Chloe.
She can't feel that way about her because she's her best friend. She loves her so much, but she can't be in love with her because if it ends badly â which Beca believes all her relationships will â then she'll lose her best friend.
At least with Jesse she's never cared for him the way she cares for Chloe, so if they fight or he gets mad at her, he can't hurt her the way Chloe can.
She doesn't know how much time has gone by since she came out here, but the playlist has ended, and her coffee is now stone cold. Beca has just been staring at a tree whilst she completely zones out.
She hears movement behind her which startles her out of her trance. Her head snaps to the side and she is met with Fat Amy holding a hot mug. She offers it to Beca, and she is quick to accept it considering how the one she made is now undrinkable.
"Are you working on a mix?" Amy asks, as she flops herself down on the porch swing.
"Uh, yeah?" Beca's already finished the mixes and set for the Bellas, and she isn't making anything new for her internship.
Recently her mixes have been kind of shitty, so she hasn't been able to add anything to her collection of mashups that she keeps for potential future use to show someone in the music industry if the opportunity comes up.
Normally Beca uses music as an escape, something to take over her thoughts if it gets too much for her, but right now her mind is elsewhere. Not even music can distract her from her own thoughts.
"Well, no...I'm just trying to figure some shit out." She says, trying not to admit too much about why she is really out here so early in the morning.
"Anything I can help with?" The blonde questions, whilst repositioning her arms behind her head so she's now leaning against them.
"No."
Beca's lack of hesitation sparks a hint of confusion in Amy's thoughts. "You sure? I'm your best friend, you can talk to me about anything." She says, completing it with a grin.
The brunette scoffs lightly, "Well, actually-"
"Mitchell, I know you love ginger more than me, but you don't need to say it out loud and break my heart," Amy jokes.
She almost wants to deny it, because lately the way she feels about Chloe is weird. Beca doesn't understand it, but instead of unpacking it slowly and acknowledging her feelings, she forces her thoughts about Chloe to the back of her mind. But no matter what, Chloe is her best friend, that will always come first.
Beca forces herself to chuckle, "It's just some stuff at the studio."
. . .
When Chloe finally stirs, a few hours after Beca's departure, she reaches her hand out for her best friend, but instead she's met with an empty, cold bed.
She instantly misses Beca's warmth even though she doesn't know how long she's been gone. She can also faintly smell Beca's perfume. Chloe sometimes thinks she's sprayed it around the house just to taunt her. In a way it's like Beca is still always around even when she's being distant or hanging out with Jesse.
Beca is always there and Chloe can't seem to escape her â but she isn't sure that she'd want to even if she could. For Chloe, Beca is her literal will to live. Seeing the smile on her best friend's face is what keeps Chloe going, so without her, life would be pretty damn pointless.
But waking up to an empty bed, knowing that Beca has left her once again, sends a punch to her gut.
Chloe knows she should just take that as a sign, that Beca doesn't want her, not when they're both sober anyway. When the small brunette's feisty attitude is combined with alcohol, she becomes needy â and very touchy. Chloe doesn't mind it, in fact, she kind of really likes it. Beca initiates the hugs and reaches for Chloe's hand to hold. Beca is a lot less clingy when she's sober so Chloe takes advantage of the moments where Beca wants to touch Chloe. She knows she should feel even the slightest pang of guilt for enjoying these moments, but it's not like she's forcing the alcohol down the younger woman's throat.
However, Chloe's thoughts can't help themselves, she assesses the situation once more. Beca had chosen her bed to sleep in last night, to cuddle with her and to wake up next to her. She could have gone to her own bed or any of the other Bellas. But she wanted Chloe. That has to mean something, right?
Chloe is most definitely a morning person, yet this morning she has to fight the overwhelming urge to stay in bed, wrapped up in her blankets all day.
Once she's out of the shower, and dressed in suitable clothing for Bellas rehearsals, she heads downstairs.
When the kitchen comes into view and she hasn't spotted Beca yet, she feels somewhat relieved, she knows Beca will pretend like last night never happened, but Chloe just can't let it go that easily.
She must jinx herself because not even five seconds later, Beca's voice runs through the bottom floor of the house.
"I swear to god, you can't even have anything to yourself in this house."
Chloe acknowledges the anger in Beca's tone and instantly wants to help her or calm her down â something only Chloe can do â so she rushes towards the kitchen. Beca is pacing around the room with her hands flying about frantically.
"What's up, Becs?" Chloe quizzes, attempting to keep her tone calm which is surprisingly hard as she watches Beca get worked up over something. Beca is her friend and she doesn't like seeing her upset.
"Someone ate my fucking ice cream." Beca mumbles, but the look in her eyes tells Chloe that this isn't just about ice cream. There is something much bigger bothering her.
"Um...Bec." Chloe looks at Beca with her most precious puppy dog eyes and a small smile, almost begging Beca to forgive her for something she hasn't even apologised for yet. In her defence, she was mad at Beca for disappearing when she needed her best friend.
Beca can't deny that Chloe's adorable expression got to her â it always does. "Yeah, Chlo?"
"I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for?" Beca quizzes, still not understanding what exactly Chloe was apologising for.
Chloe sighs, and drops her gaze to the floor, ready for whatever Beca was about to throw at her â metaphorically and physically. "It was me. I was the one that ate your ice cream."
"Girl fight!" Cynthia Rose comments as she makes her way into the kitchen towards Fat Amy.
The brunette chuckles softly which causes Chloe to lift her head. "Dude, you should have told me, now I look like an idiot." Beca sits down at the table and lifts her mug to her lips.
"Wait...so you aren't mad?" Chloe asks.
Beca meets Chloe's gaze so both pairs of blue eyes are staring into each other's.
Although the shades of blue are quite different, they fit together so well, just like the ocean and the sky. Beca and Chloe are compatible; the light and dark shades of blues in their eyes harmonise together in the most perfect way.
Beca's expression softens into a smile, just for Chloe. "Course not. It's just ice cream." She shrugs.
"What?" Fat Amy yells, which earns three glares. Her volume is way too loud for this time in the morning, considering how a majority of the Bellas are still asleep. Although Amy's probably woken them all up with her shouting.
Beca tosses her head to the side and gives Amy a pointed glare. "Why are you being weird?"
"You were just about to rip my head off and it wasn't even me, but when Chloe comes forward and says she ate it all you have to say is 'it's just ice cream.' Beca, what-"
"She wasn't feeling well. Ice cream helps with the flu. She's better now so it must have done the trick." Beca smirks but dials it down a notch when she sees Amy raise her eyebrows.
Chloe's heart skips a beat at the thought of Beca taking care of her. Beca has always taken care of her in her own way â she buys Chloe her favourite food when she's on her period, she offered her shoulder to cry on when Chloe had Tom trouble back in Beca's freshman year and Beca makes numerous mixes for Chloe whenever she's feeling down.
There have been so many times where Beca has cared for Chloe, but Chloe wishes that Beca could really take care of her, that they could take care of each other.
She wishes they could cuddle in one of their beds, or on the couch when watching a movie with the other Bellas.
She wishes Beca would trust her enough, so she doesn't have to lie to her anymore.
And finally, she wishes they could care for each other's sexual needs, because the Bellas were probably getting tired of hearing Titanium blast from Chloe's room.
Titanium is kind of their song, Beca might not know this but whenever Chloe listens to it, Beca takes over her mind. It's the thought of Beca that drives her towards her climax.
The brunette twists, focusing her entire attention on Chloe, ignoring the questioning glances between Amy and Cynthia Rose. "You are okay now, right?" She asks the older girl. Her expression softening as she waits for Chloe to confirm that she is okay â that they are okay.
Chloe's face lights up at Beca's obvious concern. Now she knows that Beca was actually worried about her. The past few days she spent in her room she had been assuming that Beca didn't want to be around her because she didn't care that Chloe was supposedly sick. But if Beca knew, then why wasn't she here? Just seeing the younger girl would have made her feel better instantly.
She nods quickly, and watches as Beca's shoulders drop slightly, relaxing them as she lets out a breath. Beca smiles at her and the expression is mirrored by the redhead.
The sudden need to be close to Beca, fuels through the older girl so she takes a couple of steps forwards until she's standing directly in front of her.
"Where'd you go?" Chloe mumbles, "I thought you would still be asleep."
"I was just working on some of my mixes." Beca says after taking a bite of toast, then returning the half-eaten slice to the plate.
Chloe reaches for the plate and lifts the toast up to her mouth, taking a bite then offering it back to Beca. She accepts the toast and takes another bite, smaller this time.
"You know I can make you your own toast if you're hungry?"
"No, I'm good." Chloe replies with a smirk, "I'd rather share yours."
Beca eats one more bite of the toast before holding it out for Chloe. The older girl gives Beca a playful smile then opens her mouth, wanting Beca to feed her instead. The brunette grins and rests the toast against Chloe's bottom lip, looking up at her with a wide smile.
"Get a room, you two." Fat Amy yells, which startles both girls, pulling them from their own little world where only the two of them exists.
Chloe reaches her hand up and takes the toast from Beca. The pink tinge on her cheeks suggest she's just been caught in the middle of a sexual act, not sharing toast with her best friend.
Once she's finished the toast she spins on her heels and reaches into the fridge for a bottled water and instantly unscrews the lid. The cool water is refreshing, and it manages to calm her down, she just hopes that the blush on her cheeks has faded.
"Can I hear them? Your mixes." Chloe asks eagerly once she's turned back to Beca.
The brunette hasn't looked away from Chloe since she entered in the kitchen, but when Chloe meets her gaze, she knows she's been caught staring, so she averts her eyes.
"Later?"
"Okay." Chloe nods, along with a squeal of excitement. Usually when Beca produces a new mix, Chloe is the first person to listen to it, unless it's about her â Beca doesn't show those to anyone, she just transfers them to a USB and adds them to her collections. She has too many mixes dedicated to her co-captain than she'd like to admit. "After rehearsal?"
Beca goes to accept, but then remembers that Chloe hasn't been feeling well recently and she doesn't want her to strain her vocal cords, her nodes damaged them enough. "Are you feeling up to it?"
Once again Chloe's heart swells at Beca's caring tone. "I could ask you the same thing. You drank quite a lot." She giggles at Beca's frown.
"I'm okay if you're okay."
Chloe smiles at Beca's choice of words. Beca is saying she'll only be okay if Chloe's okay, so if Chloe wasn't then would Beca not be either? The brunette's words are not helping, in fact they're just making her feelings towards her more prominent. "I'm okay." Chloe says, and she has the desire to ask, 'Are we okay?' but she pushes it down, too afraid of the answer.
Chloe nears the counter, selecting two mugs from the cabinet and filling up the kettle. She twists to face Beca once more. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Yes please," Beca answers, a smile growing on her face at the offer of coffee. She's already had two cups this morning but definitely won't say no to one more, especially to Chloe.
"Okay, you go shower, I'll bring it up to you." Chloe says, before turning back to work on the drinks.
Beca jumps up from her seat at the table and takes her plate over to the dishwasher. "Alright, thank you. Just don't barge into my shower." She teases, with a growing smirk on her face.
"Beca Mitchell!" Chloe squeaks as she spins around, blushing just like she was a few minutes ago.
"Sorry Beale, I'll try not to sing titanium too loudly." Beca jokes, letting out a laugh at the effect her words had on the older girl. It's as if Beca could hear Chloe's earlier thoughts.
"You better not, we might be late for rehearsals if you do." Chloe fires back, fighting the urge to invite herself into another one of Beca's showers.
Beca smirks at Chloe's response, deep down wishing that she'd take her up on the offer to join her in the shower, but before Beca can dwell on it, she pushes it to the back of her mind and hurries up the stairs.
Chloe can't resist the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips, curling upwards and breaking out on her face.
"Tonerrrrr." Fat Amy sings, with a growing grin.
"Shut up." Chloe says, but doesn't deny it which doesn't go unnoticed by the two other Bellas in the room, "I'll make you do extra cardio."
"No thanks, Boss. I'm good. Sorry Boss."
. . .
Throughout rehearsals, the co-captains were back to being Beca and Chloe.
Beca carried Chloe's bag into the auditorium even though she had her laptop bag and gym bag as well. Chloe encouraged Beca to join in the cardio, which she normally skips with the excuse of needing to set up the speakers.
As Beca leant over her laptop, Chloe found herself staring at her more than once, admiring her in her element. Beca was the same, she'd watch Chloe run through the routines with the other girls, staring at her ass and her biceps every now and then.
The two were synchronised once again.
Everyone seemed so much more relaxed now the tension had drifted.
But then Beca danced with Chloe.
The lingering contact and the passionate dance moves were just too much for her.
It was overwhelming Beca, and she began to panic. The thoughts running through her head weren't right and definitely not PG, she felt hot all over, and her head throbbed. She just needed a second to breathe.
Thank fuck Chloe decided to call the end of rehearsals.
Beca isn't listening to the multiple conversations between the other girls, she's completely zoned out, focusing on not fainting. Her heartbeat has quickened, and her hands are clamming up.
Her breathing still isn't back to its normal rate, but she's not just out of breath from the choreography. Beca's breathing is unsteady and it's starting to panic her. She begins to feel like the walls of the auditorium are closing in on her as she rocks to herself in one of the chairs.
She clenches her eyes shut tight, and grips onto her legs with both hands, squeezing hard so she can focus on the pressure. But it's still not enough because her breathing doesn't differentiate.
The volume of the auditorium does shift, however, and Beca realises that the Bellas must have left, but she doesn't dare open her eyes. The noise must have been a pretty big factor to Beca's panic attack because she's slowly starting to breathe at a steadier pace. Although, she is still far from calm.
The brunette acknowledges Chloe's presence instantly, she can smell her â Beca doesn't have time to analyse how stalkerish that sounds because a sob rakes from her chest, which takes her completely by surprise.
The chair beside her squeaks slightly, and a hand falls onto her knee before it moves up and rests on top of one of her own hands. "Hey Bec," Chloe's soothing voice reaches her ears. After a few seconds she releases the grip on her legs.
"Take my hand." She says, and Beca instantly grips onto the hand offered to her. "You're okay, Becs. I've got you."
Beca finds comfort in the words and she latches on to Chloe's hand for dear life, too afraid of what might come if she lets go.
The two girls sit together in silence as Chloe guides Beca through her panic attack, helping her breathing pattern get back to normal then working on her senses.
It takes Beca ten more minutes to calm down and finally open her eyes. When she does, she's met with the beautiful ocean blue eyes, they are slightly glistening with unshed tears, almost mirroring her own.
Chloe's smile isn't as bright as usual, but it's still enough to reassure Beca that everything will be fine. Beca genuinely believes that everything will be fine as long as Chloe Beale is here.
"Are you okay?" Beca nods and takes the water bottle that Chloe offers her, gulping down at least a third of the water before reapplying the cap.
"Sorry." She whispers, as she stares at the ground.
Chloe's face saddens. Beca did nothing wrong yet she still feels the need to apologise, which makes the older girl acknowledge just how frightened Beca is to let her guard down around people. She is terrified of people judging her for things that are beyond her control.
"Hey, don't be sorry." Chloe says, as she intertwines their fingers, "I'm just glad you're okay. You scared me a little back there."
"Uh, yeah. I get them sometimes." She explains, "Thanks for helping me through it."
"I'll be here whenever you need me, Becs. If you have a panic attack again, please call me and I'll come straight to you."
Beca doesn't like to rely on people, she never really has, because everyone leaves at some point. Even the people you believe will stay in your life forever walk out of it and never return. But there's something about Chloe that makes Beca trust her entirely. Chloe is the first person in Beca's life that she trusts will never leave her, but that scares her more than anything, because if one day she does leave, that will hurt her more than she can imagine, it will leave her broken and shattered to pieces, the pain will be worse than anything she's ever felt before and she never wants to let that happen to her.
So that's why Beca distances herself from Chloe, so she can be the one to leave if times get tough.
Before Beca can process what's happening, Chloe's arms are wrapping around her waist, bringing her close into a hug. Beca scoots closer to Chloe and puts her own hands on Chloe's back.
Chloe is always so caring, and Beca feels like she always throws it all back in her face.
"The girls are back at the house setting up for the movie night." Chloe mentions after they've collectively packed up Beca's equipment. The Bellas left around half an hour ago so they're probably wondering where their captains are. Beca always has something to say about the Bellas movie nights so when she doesn't respond, Chloe knows she still isn't okay. "Are you coming?"
Everyone that knows Beca, knows she doesn't like to be smothered, but it's hard for Chloe not to be overprotective and worry about her when she's just witnessed Beca look so scared.
"No can do, I have a shift at the radio station." Beca mumbles quietly, as she secures the strap of her laptop bag over her shoulder.
"I thought you stopped working there when you got your internship?"
"I did," Beca confirms, "but Luke asked me to be in charge for a few days and I kind of owe him a favour."
Chloe knows Beca is lying, but if she calls her out on her bullshit it might cause an argument and she really doesn't want to argue with her best friend. She knows Beca must be feeling emotionally drained after her panic attack and that she needs some time alone to recover from being so vulnerable with another person. Chloe understands, but she wishes that Beca didn't have to feel that way, she just wants Beca to relax in her arms and feel comfortable enough with her to let out her emotions.
But Chloe knows that's just not who Beca is. Not even with her.
. . .
As soon as Beca walks out of the auditorium she knows exactly what her night has in store for her. She needs to get drunk â so fucking drunk that her mind shuts up for one second. She needs not to feel because it's too overwhelming. And she needs to stop thinking, just for one fucking night.
She sits down in a bar stool rather abruptly, which catches the attention of one of the bartenders.
"What can I get you?" He asks, as he approaches her.
"Whiskey. Neat." Beca says, already digging into her back pocket for some cash.
She downs the drink as soon as the bartender hands it over, then asks for another, which he raises an eyebrow at but pours it anyway. Beca does the same for that one then pushes the glass over to him, with only the ice remaining.
"Can I get a beer?"
"Sure." He nods and reaches for one of the bottles under the bar, cracking it open before passing it to her. She hands over enough cash to cover the three drinks and then settles back in her chair.
She doesn't stop at three, but after five she stops counting.
Beca is a very big lightweight so it doesn't take her long to get absolutely wasted.
The very reasoning for getting drunk in the first place is actually the reason she leaves the bar. Chloe is still all she can think about, the redhead is possessing her mind and she can't stop her thoughts.
"I'm so fucking stupid!" Beca mutters to herself as she drags her feet towards the Barden University campus. She still has her laptop bag fitted on her shoulder, which she guarded possessively at the bar, not letting it out of her sight in case someone spilt a drink on it or attempted to steal it.
All Beca can think about right now is how she wishes she was back at the Bellas house, in Chloe's arms.
Most people have that one person they think about when they're drunk, and for Beca, that person is Chloe. But it's not just when she's drunk, Chloe is in her sober mind constantly. She wishes she could fixate on something else for once but all Beca seems to think about â to care about â is Chloe.
She needs Chloe right now â not even really in a sexual way â she just wants Chloe to hold her and kiss her and run her hand through her hair. It isn't badass at all but Beca doesn't give a shit about her badass reputation anymore. Chloe saw through it right from the beginning.
Her thoughts are still drilling through her mind when she walks up the steps of the Bellas house. She's been so distracted that she hadn't even realised she got here; she can't even remember walking across campus.
Luckily, the door is still unlocked so she slips inside but it slams rather loudly when she closes it.
It's definitely the alcohol talking when she whispers to the door to 'shut up,' because it's 'going to wake everyone up.' Beca manages to stumble across the kitchen until she barges into the table, knocking over a chair which slams to the floor. She jumps backwards, kicking the table leg in the process.
"Fucking motherfucking shit." Beca hisses as she lifts up her foot and hobbles around the room whilst cradling her foot in her hands.
"Um...Beca? Are you okay?" The voice startles her so her body jolts upright. She snaps her head behind her and meets Stacie's gaze. She's standing in her very revealing pyjamas with her phone in her hand.
"Just peachy." Beca says, with a chuckle.
Stacie steps forwards and glances down at the chair lying on the kitchen floor. "Are you drunk?" She questions as she stands the chair back up.
"No. I am Beca."
That is all the confirmation Stacie needs, "Where have you been? This isn't like you at all."
"Who the hell even am I, dude? Who even am I when I'm not with her? Or who am I when I'm with her? Am I me with her or is she me with her...no, wait? I am me with her, but I don't know if I like that. It scares me how real I am with her, that is the real Beca Mitchell."
Stacie's eyebrows knot in confusion, "Beca, what are you talking about? I didn't understand anything you just said."
"I think I love her." Beca blurts out.
"Oh shit." Stacie chuckles, but stops when she acknowledges the pain on the small brunette's face. "This is all because of a girl?"
Beca lets out a loaded sigh, then nods, "Yeah. She's a girl. But I'm not gay...or maybe I am. Who knows?"
Stacie opens her arms, "Come here," she says, whilst holding back a laugh at Beca's expression. She's frowning and her face is all creased up.
"Why?" Beca groans.
"You could do with a hug." Stacie shrugs, "And you're pretty drunk, I don't want you to knock over anything else."
The smaller girl crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't want a hug. I want a hug from...but I keep on fucking up."
"No, you don't." Stacie says, which doesn't seem to reassure Beca at all. The taller girl follows her over to the couch and they take a seat at either end.
"She's beautiful, she's a beautiful panda and I...god, what am I doing?" She rakes her left hand through her hair whilst letting out a shaky breath.
This is a side of Beca that Stacie has never witnessed before, and it's kind of making her nervous. Whenever Beca is stressed or freaking out about something â it doesn't happen that often because Beca is pretty chill â Chloe is always the one to comfort her, so Stacie has no idea what to do.
She decides that sleeping it off is probably the best option. "Beca?"
"Hm?"
"Maybe you should get some sleep, think this over in the morning. Your beautiful panda will still be here in the morning." Stacie's attempt doesn't completely fail but mentioning Beca's 'beautiful panda' is probably not the best thing to say.
"She is really beautiful." Beca mumbles, her tone so soft as she talks about Chloe.
"So you've said." Stacie nods, with a smile. She's always known Beca's badass exterior was just for show and now she finally has a reason to believe that Beca is a big softie. She's falling in love.
Beca stands up rather suddenly, "I think I'm going to tell her."
Stacie groans at Beca, standing up too, just in case she has to be prepared to chase after the small brunette. "Have you just ignored everything I just said to you?"
"No." Beca grunts in response.
"Go to bed, Beca." She demands. Her tone is rather authoritative â she learnt a lot from Aubrey in her freshman year, including how to sound like a bitch in charge. "You can talk to her in the morning when you're not drunk."
Stacie helps Beca up the remaining stairs leading to the attic room. Luckily, she's as light as a feather because Beca was practically leaning her whole weight on Stacie so she was basically carrying her up the flight of stairs.
Fat Amy is already in her bed asleep, which is a surprise because most nights she disappears until the morning, claiming she was on a night time hike, which nobody believes because Amy is not one for exercise â she only vertical runs when she is escaping cardio, which is pretty ironic.
The small brunette flops onto her bed, making no attempt to change out of her jeans into something more comfortable.
Stacie places her hand on Beca's lower back and the other on her hip and tries to roll her over but Beca groans and kicks her legs about frantically. "Get your hands off, dude. I'm not the mega bitch."
"Mitchell, shut up!" Stacie whisper-yells, then pauses when she acknowledges what Beca has just said. "Wait, how did you know about-"
"Posen isn't exactly quiet."
A smirk appears on Stacie's face, "I know."
"Dude. Ew!"
"Where are your sweatpants?" The leggy brunette questions as she kneels down next to Beca's dresser, pulling out her first and second drawers but still not finding the clothing she's looking for.
"Second to bottom drawer." Beca mumbles, as she watches Stacie search through her clothes until she pulls out a pair of sweatpants that used to belong to Chloe before Beca borrowed them and never returned them to her.
Stacie launches the sweatpants across the room, and they land close to Beca's head. She grunts out a "Thanks," as she slips out of her jeans, too drunk and too tired to care that Stacie is still in the room. She slides into the sweatpants and strips her bra, then nestles under the blankets, ready for the sleep to overtake her thoughts.
Beca is known to disobey orders, especially from those giving her demands, so Stacie stands at the top of the stairs until Beca is consumed by sleep.
"You're in quite the shit my friend." Stacie whispers before disappearing down the attic stairs, heading towards hers and Emily's room.
- - - -
also on wattpad: @writteninbechloeÂ
#bechloe#bechloe au#bechloe fic#bechloe fanfic#beca and chloe#beca mitchell#chloe beale#Pitch Perfect#pitch perfect fanfiction#unspoken feelings#wattpad#fanfiction#Anna Kendrick#brittany snow
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Merry & Bright {28}: Too Early in the Game
Previous: Glitter on the Floor
youtube
Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing!Â
Summary: Namjoon wants to know if youâre free New Years Eve.Â
      Namjoon twirled his phone in his hand, unsure what his move should be. He knows the obvious answer, but in his mind the obvious answer isnât obvious. Itâs layered with subtext and context, decisions and moves heâs not sure heâs ready to make. Which seems ridiculous, youâd been in his arms after your dinner date, youâd texted him throughout his MMA and MAMA performances⊠and yet, Namjoon couldnât bring himself to just fucking talk to you. Â
      âJust call her,â Yoongi says, eyes staying locked on his computer screen.Â
      âI donât know what to say,â Namjoon replies, setting his phone on the table.
      âI hope that goes away by the time youâre in the booth,â Yoongi mutters, separating their vocals into individual lines.
      âText her and ask,â Ho-Seok suggests, sitting down on the couch next to him, notebook bookmarked with his index finger. Â
      âShe has a million offers, she wonât accept mine,â Namjoon tells them, attempting to find any way out of this.
      âOh, she does? Then wouldnât she have made it clear she wasnât interested the last time you saw her? Or was she too busy making out with you to decline?â Yoongi asks. He pushes the bill of his hat further up his forehead before adjusting his posture.
      âI donât know,â Namjoon shakes his head again.
      âYouâve been dating for a few weeks, itâll be fine,â Ho-Seok reminds him.
      âBut, what if she-
      âJust call her! Youâre hypothesizing based on nothing. Sheâs clearly into you, youâve gone on many dates, just fucking ask her,â Yoongi snaps, eyes moving from Namjoonâs back to his computer where he had been busying himself with trying to amplify his vocal line while simultaneously not diminishing Namjoonâs under him, while creating a fade of Ho-Seokâs in and out at the appropriate syllables.
      âI just,â Namjoon sighs.
      âShe already likes you,â Ho-Seok reminds him, eyes drifting from the notebook heâs been jotting lyrics in to Namjoon. âShe wants to be more than friends, what are you so afraid of?â
      Joon doesât have an answer, because heâs not really sure what heâs afraid of. Itâs not that youâll say no, and turn him down completely, but maybe itâs that youâll say yes, and this thing between you will become something real and solid, something heâll have to make time for, will want to make time for⊠Someone other than his six brothers to fill his time. Itâs all he wants, but itâs uncharted territory for him, and heâs truly terrified.
      âIâll be right back,â Namjoon decides as he turns towards the door and walks out of Yoongiâs studio. He loves being in Yoongiâs studio, itâs stripped back, simple, modern, so very Yoongi. Namjoonâs is cluttered, plants, photos, ARMY memorabilia sprawled around the room. Itâs refreshing getting out of his space and spending time elsewhere, even if itâs only a few meters away. But now, in search of a quiet place, Namjoon is typing his code into his studio door and walking in, lights automatically turning on.
      He finds your contact in his phone easily, like he hasnât spent copious amounts of time staring at it, and presses CALL. It rings once. Then twice. On the third time, as his confidence is immediately shattered by your voice.
      âHey Joonie B Jones,â You say laughing, a lighthearted trill that sparks a flame in him.
      âHi Y/N,â He says, voice soft in your ear.
      âWhat are you up to? I thought you were going to be in the studio all day?â You ask, reaching for your TV remote to turn the volume down, your favorite Christmas movie playing in the background.
      âWhat are you watching?â He asks, trying to ascertain the film from the snippet.
      âWhile You Were Sleeping,â You tell him.
      âYouâve mentioned that one before,â
      âItâs my favorite,â You inform him.
      âMm, we should watch it together,â He offers.
      âA movie date?â You ask.
      âYeah, something like that,â He exhales, this didnât have to be so complicated.
      âItâs a date,â You respond.
      Namjoon swears to Yoongi and Ho-Seok that heâll ask you that night, during your movie night, that heâll muster up the courage. And he will. He swears.
      But in the three hours heâs been at your place, arm draped loosely around your shoulders as you watch your favorite Christmas film, Namjoon continues to be nagged by the feeling that heâs going to let the entire night pass without asking.
      âThis is one of my favorite parts,â You say, pulling him out of his reverie. âPay attention!â
      Namjoonâs eyes refocus on the screen as Bill Pullman begins his epic monologue on the difference between hugging and leaning. Namjoonâs trying to focus, but out of the corner of his eye he sees you, lips moving as you say the words in time with Bill, eyes wide, body leaning out of his grasp to get as close to the screen as possible.
      âIsnât it so romantic?â You ask, eyes turning to him. He smiles, dimples and all.
      âYes, it is,â He responds before heâs leaning towards you, hand cupping your cheek, lips gently hovering over yours. âItâs about wanting, and receiving,â
      You nod your head, eyes closed in anticipation, willing to receive him in any way. Itâs excruciating, waiting, though its no more than three seconds, youâre already feeling needy and far more turned on than seems necessary for such a small gesture. Nevertheless, youâre hungrily reaching for him, closing the space between you. Itâs his hands in your hair and his teeth tugging your bottom lip that begins to unravel you.
      Admittedly, you canât get enough of him, of his mind, of his hands, of his thoughtfulness, of those mother fucking dimples. Youâre constantly hoping for any form of contact from him, a text, a call, a date, anything that allows you time in his presence, a gift he canât always give. If you were honest with yourself, youâd tell yourself to get a damn grip. Youâd remind yourself that you were falling down a slippery slope⊠and by falling you really meant alpine skiing down it, no sign of stopping. All you wanted was more. More of this, more of his hands, more of his time, more than a casual date here and there.
      Pulling away from him, you blush, swollen bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes try to read Joonâs expression.
      âApril, May, Joon, what are you thinking about?â You ask, your playful names eliciting a toothy grin from him.
      âI know that this is, maybe too early in the game, but I just thought Iâd ask you, um,â Namjoon shakes his head, lust has filled it and heâs trying to get a hold of himself.
      âJoon-Bug, just ask,â You say, hoping he canât hear your heartbeat increasing rapidly, nerves over what heâs going to say beginning to flood your mind. Does he want to stop seeing you? Does he want you to be his girlfriend? Does he want to fuck you over the end credits to your favorite movie? Are you moving to fast? Though how could he constitute the handful of dates youâve been on after years of friendship moving too fast? Couldnât he just fucking say it?
      âHey, come back,â He whispers, eyes gleaning the stress in yours.
      âSorry, you just, youâve got me worried,â You say, eyes cast down on your hands, which are still tight in his.
      âNothing to be worried about,â He says, hand leaving yours to nudge your chin up, eyes level with his. If youâre not mistaking, heâs still leaning ever so slightly over you.
      Namjoon exhales, locking himself into this decision and speaks, âI was just going to ask, what are you doing New Yearâs Eve?â
Next: Till the Morning Light
#kim namjoon#Kim Namjoon / You#Kim Namjoon/OFC#kim namjoon / rm#BTS#bts fanfic#BTS fan fic#BTS fan fiction#RM drabbles#Namjoon drabbles#rm / reader#RM / You#merryandbright2020#merry and bright#25 days of christmas#New Years eve#new years#thebtswritersclub#btsgoldnet#ficswithluv#bangtanarmynet
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Stable
It had started as a punishment.
Loki no longer remembered just what it was he had done to earn it. It had been many millennia since, of course, but in truth, it was likely the sheer scope of his little mischiefs that made identifying a specific bit of discipline for a specific bit of fun near impossible.
Perhaps it had been for turning Thor into a frog. He recalled Odin saying something along the lines of âIf you have such an interest in animals, you can study them closer up.â
That was how he came to be ankle-deep in horse manure.
It was dirty work - a lot of mucking out stables, treating infected hooves, plucking off ticks and scrubbing and oiling the tack. Yet Loki could not wholly resent the tasks, as it did allow him time closer up with the animals. Heâd always liked beasts - often preferred their company to that of the court. They did not expect much of you, and there was no sense in putting on airs. You could be honest with a horse in ways you could not be honest with yourself.
His favourite part was grooming. Sleipnir would press his nose against his chest and snort, and Loki would stroke his cheek with one hand while the other, clad in the brush, heâd pull down the horseâs neck. It brought him a great deal of peace to do this.
Which is why he didnât at all appreciate it when he was interrupted by a boy his own age telling him âYouâre doing that wrong."
âThis is how Sleipnir likes it,â Loki had said, stubbornly. âI think I know my fatherâs horse better than some random stablehand.â
The boy had sidled in to stand beside Loki, and to the young princeâs irritation Sleipnir didnât at all seem to mind.
Looking sideways at him, the youth said with a smirk âWhat nobles know to do on horses is the same thing they know about everything else, because it's all they ever do.â
âAnd what might that be?â Loki played along.
âSitting.â
That had actually made him laugh. âDid you work that one out a while ago and were just waiting for the right opportunity?â
âWell, to be honest, Iâve used it before; never had the chance to tell a nob themselves, though.â
Heâd frowned, it suddenly occurred to him that there had to be a reason this servant thought he could get away speaking thus to the son of a king. âAnd you figured I was in such a powerless position that you could risk it?â
âYes. Any complaint you could make about a rude stableboy at this point would likely be seen as you trying to get out of your punishment, or cause further trouble. And it is hardly an offence worth hanging me for; I am the best stableboy youâve got, and thatâs not nothing.â
He reached out a dusky hand and took Sleipnirâs nose from Loki, blowing into it gently. Sleipnir puffed his own breath back in his face with a friendly snort. âI am one of the only people around here the kingâs horse likes. And the king probably has a better opinion of his horseâs opinion right now than yours.â
âFor a moment, I almost liked you there. Thank you for curing that in such short order,â The prince sniffed.
The stableboy brushed that aside. âItâs impressive how much this horse likes you, despite how badly you brush him.â
âI am not doing it wrong -â
But the youth then materialized a series of different brushes from his belt and spent the next hour lecturing Loki on the use of each one, the order he was meant to go with, and how to untangle the mane and safely comb the tail.
Loki hated being told what to do, but he hated not knowing how to do something even more. So he had listened. At one point, the boy had slipped his hand on top of Lokiâs inside the brush to show him the correct amount of force to apply to the brushing. It wasnât as simple as following the hair. It was about flicking the dust loose, sweeping and much as stroking.
That had been the first time heâd felt it. The smallest flutter, in some gangly, unformed part of himself. A spark that would soon light a shameful flame in the lowest parts of his guts.
But, at the start, there had been no shame.
âMy name is Sialfi,â the boy had said.
Loki met him two weeks into a three-month punishment. Oftentimes he wished theyâd met sooner, that theyâd had that time as well.
But at least theyâd had time at all. So much wasted on his part - halting, nervous. Unsure of himself or his feelings. It was near the end that he had at last kissed Sialfi.
Allowed to go riding after a day of hard labour, theyâd taken a lonely path long past the boundaries they were meant to stay within. When theyâd finally reached a vantage point where they could see the edge of the very planet, they were gasping and sweaty, as were their horses. Manure was still stuck to their boots, a few stray pieces of hay in their hair, and a particularly dogged fly ignored their every attempt to shoo it off.
It only made the kiss all the sweeter.
Sialfi. He could remember the name; he could remember his deadpan sense of humour, often mocking and aloof. He could remember the way the sun used to hit his hair, absorbed by the center but always diffused around the edges, creating a halo about his head.
But he could no longer truly remember his face, or what he had tasted like.
After his discipline was over, Loki found every excuse he could to go to the stables. He went riding often, or would claim to be going elsewhere and slip away. Like this, he managed to have a few more weeks with Sialfi. A few more clandestine kisses. A few more moments where they pressed against each other as they groomed their horses together, hands joined in the brush.
Then had come the day he came to the stable and found Sialfi missing. Sleipnir had been agitated; no-one was soothing him. There was no point in searching the place - Sialfi would never have allowed Sleipnir to be in distress. Heâd spoken immediately to the stablemaster. All he would say was that Sialfi was a lucky boy, so very lucky, to have been promoted like that. How unexpected. He was lucky to have met you, the Kingâs son, and gotten a chance to so impress. Odin himself had asked after him, and next thing you know, along came a chance to squire for the Lord Dagur himself. Of course, Lord Dagur was such an itinerant - never in one place for long, always travelling the Nine and beyond, never in one place for long. Off to Vanaheim already, and likely not to stay there for more than a day after that. He never rested, that Dagur.
But how had Sialfi, a boy from such a low family, managed to catch the eye of Dagur?
He wanted to run to his fatherâs study right then and there, bang on the door, accuse him - accuse him of what? What could he have said that wouldnât have admittedâŠdid that mean he knew? Or merely suspected?
What if it were purely chance? Dagur had one of the most magnificent mares in all of creation. Skinfaxi, with her mane of light, twice as many hands as the tallest horse - that would surely have caught Sialfiâs attention. Perhaps heâd taken good care of the beast, as he always did, his affection and talent plain for Dagur to see. And on a whim, the Lord had requested him, and who would Sialfi be to refuse such an honour?
After all, it wasnât like he and Loki would ever be able to continue as they were. Why would he sacrifice his future for a few more moments with the stringy second prince, risking his life for the simple pleasure of besmirching royalty? Why even risk telling Loki, who might be expected to sabotage everything out of spite?
Perhaps it was as simple as that.
So he had waited. In a few more months, he had brought it up at the end of a family meal when it happened to be just him and father left at the table. Asked casually after that stable boy heâd gone riding with a few times. What had ever happened to him?
âAh,â Odin had said. âI heard that you were close with that boy. I should have said something sooner. Lord Dagur dropped by quite unexpectedly one day, you know how he is. He needed someone to help with his horse; his last squire got himself kicked in the head, and then fell in love with his nurse. No-one quite wants to volunteer their highborn children to a traveller like Dagur, and few of those are any good with horses. But I recalled you once mentioned your friend and spoke highly of his compassion for Sleipnir, which the stablemaster confirmed. I knew that if he were a friend of yours, Loki, he would be of good temperament and sound mind, nevermind his low birth. Such individuals deserve the chance to rise above their station. When Dagur asked for such a companion during that brief stay of his here - I wonder if you even had a chance to notice, he didnât even stay for the evening feast - I recommended the lad, though I never did hear if heâd accepted.â
âOh,â Loki had said.
He had lain awake that night wracking his brain for a memory of having ever mentioned Sialfi to Odin, even off-handedly. Yet he was sure heâd only ever said he wished to go riding and take a companion servant along. Sure heâd kept Sialfiâs name obfuscated.
But perhaps all Odin had to do was ask the stablemaster.
And perhaps Lord Dagur would return soon.
He did. Eventually. Many decades later, when Loki had nearly forgotten what that should mean.
Heâd stayed for the feast that time, and when he saw Loki heâd clapped his back and told him what had become of his old friend. âNatural with horses, youâd think he had a centaur for a grandfather! Iâve never had a better squire. That is, until he and my sisterâs squire ran off with Skinfaxi and Hrimfaxi's foal. But knowing your growing reputation, my boy, I shouldâve assumed any friend of yours would be a wily one! I almost admire his gumption. Iâm glad Odin asked me to take him on, in the end; a foal is a small price to pay after his years of excellent service. Though heâll truly need her if he ever shows his face around here. Canât be letting the small folk get away with such behaviour, or weâll hardly have a single horseshoe between all of us in a century.â
Dagur had wandered off after that, leaving Loki to wonder about what he meant by âglad Odin asked me to take him onâ.
He never confronted his father about it. Perhaps Dagur had simply meant to imply that Odin had mentioned Sialfi, perhaps asked Dagur to give a lowborn boy a chance he would not otherwise have. Perhaps that was all it meant.
Or perhapsâŠperhaps his father had known. And sought to protect Loki from himself.
Loki was old enough to hear how people talked of such things now. Old enough to know to bank that hideous flame and quell half his desires. It wasnât like all of him was bent like this; there were avenues yet that were perfectly acceptable.
Really, he should thank his father.
He should be grateful.
He should.
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You Do, a Sam-centric, Dean/Castiel coda for 15x06Â âGolden Timeâ, 4.9k
Sam feels like he's the only one that cares about defeating Chuck. Dean, while physically present, cannot bother to lend a hand. And Cas is willing to help, but would rather do it on his own.
After Cas lets slip that the reason for his voluntary exile begins with the letter 'D' and rhymes with Mean, Sam puts Chuck on the back burner to deal with the more pressing issue of reuniting Dean and his best friend. Only with how stubborn Dean is avoiding research, it'll be ten times worse to make him talk to Cas.
Luckily Sam has a few new tricks up his sleeve now that he embraces an aspect of himself he never allowed himself to try. Will he help his brother do what needs to be done? Or will his plan bring forth an entirely unexpected outcome?
Sam waits until Dean leaves to sag against his seat. He scrubs a hand down his face, hoping he can wipe away the pent-up frustration caused by Deanâs visit. Unfortunately its roots sunk deep and cannot be torn so easily.
The worst part was Dean barely did anything to warrant such powerful irritation.
Dean strolled in for all of five minutes, robe sweeping behind him, asking where his slippers were. Sam glanced away from the page of his book to find his brother barefooted. Toes wiggling underneath the wide curtain of his cowboy print pajamas. A welcome change from the hot dogs glued to Deanâs legs, except Sam canât stare at the pants for too long without blushing. Always stumbling across one cowboy or another that looked inappropriate.
âI donât know, Dean,â Sam said, âWhy donât you check the last place you wore them and start from there?â
He thought that would drive Dean elsewhere. Instead Dean took his suggestion as an invitation, lounging across the table from him with a bag of chips on his lap. Forcing Sam to listen while he checked off every memory with his slippers present in them. Chomped on his snack with crumbs spewing every couple of words, a few shooting so far ahead they land on his book.
A blood vessel in Samâs forehead twinged with the need to burst. âDean,â Sam cut him off, interrupting his retelling of when he used one of his slippers to kill a spider in the dungeons. âIf you hadnât noticed, Iâm kind of busyâŠâ
âYou are?â
âYeah,â he said, wagging the book, âResearch⊠to take down Chuck?â
A dark shadow crossed his expression, surfacing briefly only to disappear in the next moment. âRightâŠâ
Sam arched a brow. âYâknow, you could forget about the slippers and join -â
âI think I just remembered where they are,â he said, standing. âThanks for the help, Sammy.â Dean shuffled towards the exit, a cowboy riding a stallion with back arched in pleasure the last thing he saw.
He marks the page he was on, shutting the book. Too bothered to continue researching. Pointless even trying since thereâs a more pressing problem that persists, an obstacle better dealt with before facing Chuck. Because if thereâs any chance of beating God, Sam needs his brother and not the sad, soft shell wearing his clothes and eating his food.
Eating all their food. They donât have the money to support Deanâs void-like stomach. Sam almost purchased an array of healthy snacks during the last grocery trip. Only rejecting the idea when he imagined how bad of a fit Dean would pitch if Sam returned with peapods and gluten-free wafers. Or, worse, his brother accepting the food with indifference.
Deanâs spiral spun so far down Sam wouldnât put it past him. It frightens Sam to see his brother like this, especially since he figured it was over after their milk-run to Rowenaâs. After Sam broke past Deanâs walls with his plaintive speech and offered a hand to help him out of his darkness. Like he did for him when Chuckâs betrayal and Rowenaâs death were still fresh wounds.
But where Sam let Dean pull him to safety, it seems Dean left Sam hanging.
âI donât know what to do,â Sam confesses, his soft voice echoing in the cavernous library. He taps his fingers on the book, gnawing on his lip.
There were only so many options to choose from, and Sam exhausted most of them. Space only gave Deanâs depression room to grow. Confronting it hadnât worked either. Giving Dean a target to focus his anger, confusion, and sadness failed for the first time in a long while. And Samâs Hail Mary never answered his messages.
Still⊠Sam looks to his phone, wondering. The next call could be the one. That spark of hope pushes him to grabbing his phone and redialing Casâs number.
Unlike every other time he tried, Cas picks up on the third ring.
âHello?â
âCas!â Sam sighs, an ounce of relief pouring into him. âCas, man, itâs so good to hear you.â
âItâs⊠nice to hear from you as well.â
âWhere have you been?â he asks, âItâs not like you to go so long without at least checking up. We were worried about you.â
âI⊠Iâm sure you were worried, Sam,â Cas says, tone immediately curdling the relief in Samâs stomach. âI was away. After everything with Chuck and Jack and De⊠and it all, I needed some time to myself.â
Sam nods, frown marring his face. âUnderstandable. Wish you could have told us -â
âI expressed my intentions clearly to Dean,â Cas says, âHas he not told you?â
âNow that you askâŠâ Fear plucks a frightful chord across Samâs heart. âDean hadnât mentioned it at all.â Thinking back, Dean doesnât talk about Cas anymore unless prompted. Gone were the hours he would spend telling Sam pointless stories of times he and Cas were together. Mentioning the angel when something reminded Dean of him. Staring at his phone with a tiny smile on his face, in deep conversation with Cas.
âOf course.â
Thereâs an empty space Cas tiptoes around, an event not mentioned. âWhat -â
âSo,â Cas interrupts, âChuck is picking up where he left off?â
âYeah,â Sam says, âBut -â
âBut we will do our best to stop him,â he finishes for him, âIâm already on my way towards Heaven, to see if there might be anything there that he forgot. That might detail a weakness of some kind.â
âThatâs a good idea,â Sam shrugs, âbut I could really use you hereâŠâ
A harsh breath blows through the speaker. âI⊠Iâm already halfway to Heavenâs gate, Sam. Turning around now would be⊠it would be a waste of my usability.â
âThat doesnât matter Cas,â Sam tells him, âRight now Heaven can wait. Youâre more important. What with you leaving so suddenly after the hellmouth, we never got the chance to check in.â
Silence. Sam waits for Casâs response, checking every now and then to make sure the angel didnât hang up on him. âSorry,â he says after a while, âI⊠I was distracted. You want to know how Iâm feeling?â
âYeah.â
âIâm⊠fine .â
âReally?â Sam arches his brows so high they fly off to Missouri. â Fine ?â
âWhy is that so hard to believe?â
âBecause none of us are fine,â Sam scoffs, âI wasnât for awhile and Dean, heâŠâ He pauses, expecting Cas to jump in and demand he continue. Only it never comes. âDean, he,â Sam fumbles awkwardly, âHeâs kind of let the whole thing get to him and⊠itâs bad over here.â
Cas hums over the line. âI see⊠this call wasnât about Chuck. Itâs about Dean.â
âCas -â
âIf Dean truly has need of me ,â he says, voice wet and thick, hoarse from keeping something at bay, âthan Dean should be able to call and express this himself. But per my last conversation with him, Sam, I highly doubt Iâm the solution you seek. Iâd probably just⊠make everything worse .â
âWhat? No - Cas -â
âI have to go, Sam,â Cas sighs, âthere are patrol cars lined up along the highway, and Iâd rather not be pulled over for talking on the phone. Goodbye.â Â He hangs up despite Samâs protest, a flat beep ringing in his ears.
Sam taps the end button, mulling over the conversation. Uses the few minutes spent with Cas to shed light on weeks observing his brother. Rethinks his earlier judgments about the root of his problems. Whenever life slights Dean he focuses all his anger and fury on it. It helped them countless times during hunts or facing powerful enemies. Except if Deanâs target is himself, all that destruction turns inward.
Which explains absolutely everything about Deanâs behavior.
âDammit, DeanâŠâ Sam tugs at his hair, annoyance flaring up at his brotherâs actions. Whatever they were sent fissures into the foundation of his and Casâs relationship. The shockwaves wrecking everything else around them. Worse, Sam only realizing too late.
Now Dean haunts the Bunkerâs hall, the only ghost left, and their friend keeps his spirit tethered with his anger.
âThereâs got to be a way to fix itâŠâ
Sam knows what has to happen, and how unlikely it will come to pass. Dean would rather spend twenty hours surrounded by books than take steps towards repairing his mistakes. Even with the years of growth under his belt. Because when it comes to Cas, Dean is too short. And Cas followed his lead.
Meaning neither have ever finished a fight, preferring to drop it and sweep a rug over what happened. Neglect the necessary fixes until, apparently, the wood under their feet rotted through and sent them crashing into the shit they buried.
âNot this time,â Sam says, standing, âThis time they canât ignore it.â
His passion wanes when he thinks about forcing two of the most stubborn people to do things they arenât ready for. While he may have wounded God, Sam lacks the necessary power to switch up the script.
âOr,â he thinks, glancing at a nearby box, âmaybe I donât?â
Itâs not any of the stuff they carried in from Rowenaâs study. Instead one of the two they scrounged from the truck where the coven they ganked hid. Sam digs through the hex bags and books to find what he needs. A needle. String. Buttons, hay, herbs, and lots of tarp.
Thereâs one ingredient missing though. Sam sneaks over to Deanâs room, hoping his brother hadnât nested there yet. Luck shines on him. Itâs empty save the empty cartons, bags, and bottles scattered around the room. He quickly sifts through all of it for a single hair on Deanâs pillow. Then Sam races back to the library to set to work.
Unfortunately with all the technical knowledge, Sam isnât the craftiest witch. His thread zig-zags unevenly in the overstuffed dollâs body, and the button eyes are placed crookedly on the âfaceâ. One of its arms are longer than the other, and the legs disproportionately half the size of the body.
âThatâs not important,â he says, scanning his handiwork, âitâs a vessel for the spell. Nothing more.â Clutching the doll tightly to his chest, Sam moves onto the next stage in his hastily thrown together plan. Find Dean.
If not in his room, Sam knows the only other place he will be.
Peeking into the kitchen, hidden by the shadows, Sam sees his brother chomping on a massive sandwich. Headphones affixed to his ears, another break that lessens the difficulty of Samâs work.
Sam brings the doll to his lips, almost an inch of space between it and the head. âDean,â he says, âeating isnât going to fix anything. Youâre being a stubborn idiot, hurting Cas and yourself in the process.â
Dean stiffens, cheeks puffed out with food. Swallowing, he looks at the sandwich in his hands. Then places it on the dish in disgust.
Smirking, Sam continues. âYou canât do this anymore, pretend that youâre okay. Because youâre not. Thereâs only one thing that can fix this - Cas . Donât be afraid, anymore, Dean. You know what to do⊠now give it to him.â
A slight rustle in the kitchen forces Sam to press himself against the hallway, doll smothered in his stomach. With the limited vision he has, Sam watches Dean shuffle towards an exit. His .
âThe other way,â Sam suggests to the doll, âgo the other way!â
Dean pauses, brows scrunching for a moment until they disappear with a turn. His brother retreats the other way, Sam breathing a sigh of relief.
With the kitchen abandoned, Sam claims the space for himself. Wraps Deanâs grotesque creation to preserve it if he wants and grabs a beer for himself. Takes Deanâs place and drinks in victory.
When the bottle hits the table Sam feels an unnerving stare tickling his chin.
The voodoo doll stares at him from its resting place, reminding him of the steps taken to achieve success. Without annoyance or excitement distorting his thoughts, Sam reviews what he did with a clear mind. How he used magic to influence his brotherâs actions. His brother who confessed how much he struggles with identifying which were his own choices and which were those of a higher power.
His beer tastes flat. âWhat did I doâŠâ he sighs, leaning on the table. Sam cannot stop Dean, probably on the phone with Cas. Helped across the final obstacle with Samâs magic.
âItâs all for the best,â he reminds himself, âit was a one-time thing.â
Unable to take the judgmental glare from the expressionless doll, Sam snatches it and heads to his room. Hides it in his nightstand drawer and leaves for the library again.
Hoping his âhelpâ didnât drive the wedge deeper.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
All day, Sam stalked Deanâs every movement. From breakfast in the morning to cautiously snooping around the corner when he went to the bathroom. Curious to see if his suggestion from yesterday carried over. However nothing seemed too bizarre.
Actually Dean fell into normalcy, yesterdayâs magical shove exactly what he needed to climb from the hole he wallowed in. Dean changed into actual clothes and set about doing chores. Cleaning floors, folding laundry - while it wasnât research Sam took the signs as symbols of recovery. Dean moves at his own pace, and will research when he feels ready. Given the unburdened state of his shoulders, it could be any day.
By the time night rolls around, Sam lulled into easy comfort.
Suddenly the Bunker door slams open with the force of a hurricane, echoing throughout the cavernous building. Sam, on his way to the kitchen, spins on his heel. Drops his book to reach for his gun. Freezing only when he notices the recognizable figure gazing down at them. Chest heaving with words he stutters to speak.
âCas?â Dean asks, hold on his gun limp, âCas⊠what are you?â
âDid you mean it?â
Dean stiffens in his seat, cold metal of his weapon clattering to the floor. Sam, thankful it was on safety, finds his nerves fraying further after noticing the tense way Dean holds himself. âWhat?â he asks, breaking his and Casâs stare.
âDid⊠you⊠mean it?â Each step carries a blow more powerful than any amount of Heavenly wrath. Dean flinches with each point of contact between the stairs and Cas. Retreats into his shell the closer Cas flies.
Sam rushes between them before Cas lays a hand on Dean. His mind races with an apology, heart sinking at how his plan soured. âCas, itâs -â
âQuiet,â he tells him, âThis doesnât concern you.â
âBut -â âDean,â Cas says, softer now. Like theyâre in the eye of his storm. âDean, you left me a message. Did you mean it?â
His brother drags the answer out. Rubs his neck, then his shoulder, and finally squeezes his cheeks and releases a puff of air. âLook,â he starts, âif youâre reacting this bad -â
âThatâs not what I asked.â Casâs lip trembles when he asks again, âDid you mean it ?â A shine catches Samâs eye, and at first he thinks itâs his friendâs blade. Only, on closer inspection, he realizes itâs Casâs phone. âDean, please -â
âYes, I did.â Dean keeps his lids closed shut, wrinkles layered over each other on his face while he braces for impact. âI⊠I always did, Cas,â he admits. A whisper Sam strains to hear.
âDeanâŠâ Cas pushes past Sam and lunges for Dean. Sam shouts, lost in the clatter of the chair and the otherâs yelps. He strides over to pry Cas off his brother, and nearly trips over his own feet when Sam sees Deanâs arms wind tight around Casâs midsection. Hears the familiar sounds of an almost-not fight that makes his ears burst into flames. Peeking at their faces, Sam confirms his suspicions.
Theyâre kissing. Through tears, smiles, and laughter, they kiss. Cas pulls back, gasping for breath. Forehead against Deanâs, he asks, âAll this time?â
âOf course,â Dean says, âI might not have known it but⊠looking back, itâs the only thing that makes sense.â
Aware of how their lips drift toward each other again, Sam clears his throat. Dean tears his gaze away and remembers Samâs presence. He sits up, Cas in his lap, and smiles with too much innocence. âHey SamâŠâ
âHey,â he says, looking between them, âsoâŠâ âSoâŠâ Dean shrugs, âso this is a thing?â
âApparentlyâŠâ âMy apologies Sam,â Cas says, standing. Offers a hand to Dean and when he rises to full height does not let go. âI was a little⊠focused on my mission.â
âYour⊠your mission,â Sam frowns, ache surfacing from the depths of his consciousness to nudge at his temple. âYou mean to Heaven -â
Cas flushes a worrisome crimson. âI⊠I almost forgotâŠâ
âForgot what?â
âI had parked outside Heavenâs gate when I noticed my phone,â he turns to Dean, âafter listening I forgot all about Chuck, about -â
Dean shushes him, gently running his thumb across Casâs cheek. âItâs okay. You can go to Heaven some other time. Right now itâs more important youâre here and we canâŠâ His gaze briefly flits over to Sam. âWe can discuss what was said⊠in private?â
âPrivate?â
âMy room,â Dean clarifies. The words hissed under breath as if speed could muddle their intention. Sam and Cas understood regardless.
âOf course,â Cas beams. Twitches while he tries to measure the amount of joy he shows on his face but unable to fight the curl of his lips. âMuch more important things to talk about.â He follows Dean out of the room, Sam left behind with an upturned chair, Deanâs gun, confusion, and a phone.
Casâs phone.
Sam snatches it without hesitation. Righting the fallen chair, he opens the phone with no hesitation. Concern for his friendâs privacy very low on his radar, overpowered by the burning curiosity to figure out what Dean said to inspire an action like Casâs embrace. And why he returned it.
Since Cas doesnât have a password protecting his phone, it takes a few seconds to find the evidence he needs.
Sam hovers over the play button, conscious finally kicking in. Wonders if he truly needs to hear an obviously intimate conversation that, in the grand scheme of their life, does not involve him. But then he thinks about the voodoo doll he has sitting in his dresser, and begins the voicemail. Knowing that none of this would be possible without his interference.
He listens, and sees the whole picture for what it is.
âHey Cas, itâs⊠itâs me, Dean. Iâm - uh⊠Iâm calling because I, well, because I thought about praying and then I thought about how Chuck could listen in on that like some pervâŠâ Some shame oozes into Sam. âBut this, it feels like a prayer. Youâre probably feeling a little twinge, right now, arenât you? Probably not now, because you didnât answer the phone. But whatever youâre doing you might⊠and prayer or no prayer, Chuck seems to know what goes on in our lives anyway so⊠I guess I got to get over it. Itâs not like this is a dirty secret. Even though Iâve kind of⊠kind of felt like it was. For a long time. Too long. When I⊠when I should have been not doing that.â
âCas, I⊠I love you.â The bombshell explodes without prompt, Sam nearly losing the rest of Deanâs voicemail in the whistling fallout. âI donât really say it and when I do, I⊠it comes out all wrong. Because you look sad afterwards like I donât mean it the way you think I do. But I do. I love you in the purest sense of the word, man. For so long Iâve been afraid of you knowing that and of⊠of loving you, but I shouldnât be. If Iâd said all this sooner I⊠maybe you wouldnât have left. Or it would have hurt more when you did. Donât know how it can hurt more than it is now⊠I already feel like thereâs a crater in my chest because when you moved on you took my heart with you. Even though I tried to not let that happen. Thought that us, everything that happened was because of Chuck because youâre his kid and⊠you have to admit, itâs a hell of a storyâŠâ A wet chuckle rasps over the line, followed by a labored breath. âSâwhy I kept you an armâs length away during the ghost-pocalypse. Why Iâve been struggling since then I⊠I donât know whatâs real and whatâs your Dad. Figured I could sort my life out but Chuck putting himself back on the board sent my already shaky sense of self into a tailspin.â
âBut him being back also⊠I think Iâve gotten a sense of how he writes us. On what he forced on us. Everything he ever wrote has been about bringing the maximum amount of pain. All geared towards driving our family apart. Every cruel act and lie and whisper into my head to do the wrong thing were him. And of that list, Cas⊠youâre none of those things. You make us whole - make me whole. That⊠Chuck doesnât want that. The fact we keep finding each other after all weâve been through, what tries to keep us apart, from demons to God, thatâs all the proof I need that weâre it for each other. We⊠weâre real. â
âAnd I let Chuck feed me a crock of shit and I spiraled. Been spiraling since mom died and Jack⊠I, I canât blame Chuck for all of it, though Iâd loved to. He threw all of that at me and I swung exactly like he planned. Iâm sorry, Cas, for not treating you the way you deserve. Showing you exactly what you mean to me. I canât change the past but I want to fix the future, so youâll be in it. It might be too little too late⊠and for once we canât make all the pieces fit like they used to. Knowing that, I donât regret telling you I love you. Because if weâre gonna be able to beat Chuck, we need all of us together. Working as a unit. A family. I wonât be much help to anyone if I canât be in the same room with you, choking on all these feelings. After heâs gone, if you still want to move on⊠I wonât blame you. All weâve been through, you deserve happiness the same as us. If itâs with someone else⊠then theyâre a right lucky bastard or bitch, whoever they are. So⊠yeah, thatâs it. Iâm gonna, Iâm gonna hang up? Yeah, bye -â
It cuts off, the answering machineâs voice speaking over Deanâs about how thereâs no more room left on Casâs phone for the rest of his message. Not that it matters since everything that was supposed to be said found its way out of Deanâs mouth.
Sam wipes at his eyes, smiling at the phone. Chest filled with happiness for two of the most important people in his life. That they were able to wade through the never-ending flood and reunite again. Cards laid fully on the table, nothing in their hands.
With a little help. The voodooâs vacant stare flashes in Samâs mind, reminding him of how he whispered into it to bring about this confession. His stomach churns at the thought. The guild he swallowed down returning with a vengeance. But then it all settles as he considers his exact command.
Worded with no intention of romance, Sam wanted Dean to grow up and realize Cas held no fault in what went down with Chuck. But his brother went the extra measure, shoveling part of his repressed, forty-year old bullshit into the furnace as a grand gesture to show his angel that there was more than one endgame to be had.
Laughing, Sam places the phone down and stands. âDean and CasâŠâ he says, years of memories coloring themselves anew given the necessary context. âHow could Iâve been so blindâŠâ He squints, lips thinning. âChuck⊠thatâs why.â
He flattens his palm against his wound, the skin dully flaring giving Sam the impression that his nightmares will be extra bloody tonight. âAt least one of us will have sweet dreams,â he sighs, shuffling to his room.
Sleep is far from his mind, especially given what awaits him when his head hits the pillow, but Sam walks with purpose. To tie up the last loose end of this misadventure.
The voodoo doll hadnât moved since he used it last. Resting against a well-worn spell book, awake. Sam picks it up and pinches the thread tying it together.
âNothingâs ever going to control our lives again, Chuck⊠you hear me?â
The string stays where it was, the doll still whole. Sam rubs it between his thumb and finger, wickedness striking in the final hour before the dollâs demise. An impish grin unfurls across his face. âAfter this,â he amends, âAfter tonight⊠I already helped Dean make one healthy choice, whoâs to say I canât suggest a few others.â
Sam replaces the doll in his hand with the spell book, reclining on his bed to wait. Reads until the clock ticks closer to midnight and then beyond. When his eyes can barely hold themselves open any longer and the neon green numbers glow in single digits, Sam grabs the voodoo doll of his brother once more. Whispers the prank in a scratchy voice, mirth poking through. Finished, he sets both items down and readies for bed.
Looking forward to sleep and what awaits him in the morning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sam stretches on his path to the Bunkerâs exit, readying for another late morning jog. A road block appears, however, in the form of his brother in similar dress. Yellow hoodie snug over his chest and a pair of sweatpants with dried stains by the pockets. Sneakers Sam wasnât sure Dean owned tied tight over his feet. âDean?â he starts, âyou going out?â
âHey,â Dean says, eyes brightening, âIâm glad I caught you.â
âYou are?â
âYeahâŠâ His brother rubs at his neck awkwardly, a ketchup-colored blush staining his cheeks, complimenting his mustard hoodie. âYeah, I⊠I wanted to see if youâd let me come jogging with you?â
âYou⊠want to go jogging?â A question not really framed like one. Sam already knowing the answer.
Dean nods, âYeah, I⊠I donât know. Last night, Cas and I had this talk about unhealthy habits and what I could do to stop them. When I woke up I⊠I guess it bled into other aspects of my life, because I couldnât get the idea of jogging out of my head!â He chuckles, dipping up to gaze at Sam for a brief moment. âWeird, right?â
Sam finds it the exact opposite. Because after giving his brother and angel a few hours of privacy, he snatched the Dean voodoo doll from his nightstand and whispered a few things to it. Incepted the idea of wanting to jog with him into his mind. Still he agrees, since Sam didnât expect there to be a logical narrative supporting his prank. âYouâre always welcome to jog with me, Dean,â he says.
âPerfect.â They continue their trek, Dean mirroring Samâs stretches with a few second-delay.
At the foot of the stairs, Sam stops them again. âWait, did Cas want to join us?â
Dean shakes his head, giving Sam hope his other message wormed its way in. âSent him out on a grocery run. Had the strangest craving for, uh⊠veggie bacon.â
âVeggie bacon?â Sam gasps, âIn the Meat Manâs kitchen?â
âShut up.â Dean shoves him, stomping up the steps, âThat was so dumb⊠regret ever telling you that.â
Sam follows with a doggish grin, âAt least you realize it now!â Dean flips him off, exiting the Bunker. He watches the door slip close, trailing behind at his own pace.
His brotherâs voodoo doll sits in his hoodie pocket, weighing him down. While Samâs actions were only to Deanâs benefit or boyish pranks, thinking about what he did still makes his skin crawl. His gunshot tingles with a whirlpool of energy. A reminder that he acted somewhat like the very being they want to take down.
âBut that was it,â Sam promises, âAfter breakfast Iâll explain to Dean what I did.â An argument might occur, and he will accept whatever words Dean will throw his way. It wonât be a huge blow up, Sam thinks, since Cas is there. Cas is there and itâs because of Dean. Sam prompted his brother but in no way did he imagine the voicemail Dean would leave. The feelings that he poured into his message. That was all him. Like theyâve done their whole lives, theyâve taken what they were given and fit the rules around them. No matter who tries to break their team apart the three of them come back together stronger.
âSammy!â Dean calls for him, âYou tired? We havenât even started, man!â
He chuckles, leaving the Bunker. âSays the man who is jogging for the first time today.â
âIt canât be that hard.â
Sam smirks at him, âJust be lucky itâs cold out.â
âWhy?â
âBecause when the weatherâs warm I like to jog barefoot.â
The implicit threat goes over Deanâs head, stranding him in his confusion. â... Why ?â
âYâknow,â Sam claps Dean on the shoulder, âIf you decide you want to stick with this after today⊠I can show you.â
Dean huffs with a familiar grumpy expression, although a twinkle of curiosity glistens in his stare. âMaybe,â he says, âLetâs see how this first jog goes.â
âYour call, man. Your call.â They run, Sam leading ahead of Dean. Not going too fast so he can stay with Dean. Out of breath, bouncing, and at points - between light-hearted jabs shared between brothers - soaring .
#Supernatural#Spn#Spn15#15x06#Golden Time#Coda#Supernatural fanfiction#Supernatural coda#spn fanfic#Sam Winchester#Witch!Sam Winchester#Dean Winchester#Castiel#Destiel#deancas#destiel fanfiction#deancas fanfic
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Stable
It had started as a punishment.
Loki no longer remembered just what it was he had done to earn it. It had been many millennia since, of course, but in truth, it was likely the sheer scope of his little mischiefs that made identifying a specific bit of discipline for a specific bit of fun near impossible.
Perhaps it had been for turning Thor into a frog. He recalled Odin saying something along the lines of âIf you have such an interest in animals, you can study them closer up.â
That was how he came to be ankle-deep in horse manure.
It was dirty work - a lot of mucking out stables, treating infected hooves, plucking off ticks and scrubbing and oiling the tack. Yet Loki could not wholly resent the tasks, as it did allow him time closer up with the animals. Heâd always liked beasts - often preferred their company to that of the court. They did not expect much of you, and there was no sense in putting on airs. You could be honest with a horse in ways you could not be honest with yourself.
His favourite part was grooming. Sleipnir would press his nose against his chest and snort, and Loki would stroke his cheek with one hand while the other, clad in the brush, heâd pull down the horseâs neck. It brought him a great deal of peace to do this.
Which is why he didnât at all appreciate it when he was interrupted by a boy his own age telling him âYouâre doing that wrong.â
âThis is how Sleipnir likes it,â Loki had said, stubbornly. âI think I know my fatherâs horse better than some random stablehand.â
The boy had sidled in to stand beside Loki, and to the young princeâs irritation Sleipnir didnât at all seem to mind.
Looking sideways at him, the youth said with a smirk âWhat nobles know to do on horses is the same thing they know about everything else, because itâs all they ever do.â
âAnd what might that be?â Loki played along.
âSitting.â
That had actually made him laugh. âDid you work that one out a while ago and were just waiting for the right opportunity?â
âWell, to be honest, Iâve used it before; never had the chance to tell a nob themselves, though.â
Heâd frowned, it suddenly occurred to him that there had to be a reason this servant thought he could get away speaking thus to the son of a king. âAnd you figured I was in such a powerless position that you could risk it?â
âYes. Any complaint you could make about a rude stableboy at this point would likely be seen as you trying to get out of your punishment, or cause further trouble. And it is hardly an offence worth hanging me for; I am the best stableboy youâve got, and thatâs not nothing.â
He reached out a dusky hand and took Sleipnirâs nose from Loki, blowing into it gently. Sleipnir puffed his own breath back in his face with a friendly snort. âI am one of the only people around here the kingâs horse likes. And the king probably has a better opinion of his horseâs opinion right now than yours.â
âFor a moment, I almost liked you there. Thank you for curing that in such short order,â The prince sniffed.
The stableboy brushed that aside. âItâs impressive how much this horse likes you, despite how badly you brush him.â
âI am not doing it wrong -â
But the youth then materialized a series of different brushes from his belt and spent the next hour lecturing Loki on the use of each one, the order he was meant to go with, and how to untangle the mane and safely comb the tail.
Loki hated being told what to do, but he hated not knowing how to do something even more. So he had listened. At one point, the boy had slipped his hand on top of Lokiâs inside the brush to show him the correct amount of force to apply to the brushing. It wasnât as simple as following the hair. It was about flicking the dust loose, sweeping and much as stroking.
That had been the first time heâd felt it. The smallest flutter, in some gangly, unformed part of himself. A spark that would soon light a shameful flame in the lowest parts of his guts.
But, at the start, there had been no shame.
âMy name is Sialfi,â the boy had said.
Loki met him two weeks into a three-month punishment. Oftentimes he wished theyâd met sooner, that theyâd had that time as well.
But at least theyâd had time at all. So much wasted on his part - halting, nervous. Unsure of himself or his feelings. It was near the end that he had at last kissed Sialfi.
Allowed to go riding after a day of hard labour, theyâd taken a lonely path long past the boundaries they were meant to stay within. When theyâd finally reached a vantage point where they could see the edge of the very planet, they were gasping and sweaty, as were their horses. Manure was still stuck to their boots, a few stray pieces of hay in their hair, and a particularly dogged fly ignored their every attempt to shoo it off.
It only made the kiss all the sweeter.
Sialfi. He could remember the name; he could remember his deadpan sense of humour, often mocking and aloof. He could remember the way the sun used to hit his hair, absorbed by the center but always diffused around the edges, creating a halo about his head.
But he could no longer truly remember his face, or what he had tasted like.
After his discipline was over, Loki found every excuse he could to go to the stables. He went riding often, or would claim to be going elsewhere and slip away. Like this, he managed to have a few more weeks with Sialfi. A few more clandestine kisses. A few more moments where they pressed against each other as they groomed their horses together, hands joined in the brush.
Then had come the day he came to the stable and found Sialfi missing. Sleipnir had been agitated; no-one was soothing him. There was no point in searching the place - Sialfi would never have allowed Sleipnir to be in distress. Heâd spoken immediately to the stablemaster. All he would say was that Sialfi was a lucky boy, so very lucky, to have been promoted like that. How unexpected. He was lucky to have met you, the Kingâs son, and gotten a chance to so impress. Odin himself had asked after him, and next thing you know, along came a chance to squire for the Lord Dagur himself. Of course, Lord Dagur was such an itinerant - never in one place for long, always travelling the Nine and beyond, never in one place for long. Off to Vanaheim already, and likely not to stay there for more than a day after that. He never rested, that Dagur.
But how had Sialfi, a boy from such a low family, managed to catch the eye of Dagur?
He wanted to run to his fatherâs study right then and there, bang on the door, accuse him - accuse him of what? What could he have said that wouldnât have admittedâŠdid that mean he knew? Or merely suspected?
What if it were purely chance? Dagur had one of the most magnificent mares in all of creation. Skinfaxi, with her mane of light, twice as many hands as the tallest horse - that would surely have caught Sialfiâs attention. Perhaps heâd taken good care of the beast, as he always did, his affection and talent plain for Dagur to see. And on a whim, the Lord had requested him, and who would Sialfi be to refuse such an honour?
After all, it wasnât like he and Loki would ever be able to continue as they were. Why would he sacrifice his future for a few more moments with the stringy second prince, risking his life for the simple pleasure of besmirching royalty? Why even risk telling Loki, who might be expected to sabotage everything out of spite?
Perhaps it was as simple as that.
So he had waited. In a few more months, he had brought it up at the end of a family meal when it happened to be just him and father left at the table. Asked casually after that stable boy heâd gone riding with a few times. What had ever happened to him?
âAh,â Odin had said. âI heard that you were close with that boy. I should have said something sooner. Lord Dagur dropped by quite unexpectedly one day, you know how he is. He needed someone to help with his horse; his last squire got himself kicked in the head, and then fell in love with his nurse. No-one quite wants to volunteer their highborn children to a traveller like Dagur, and few of those are any good with horses. But I recalled you once mentioned your friend and spoke highly of his compassion for Sleipnir, which the stablemaster confirmed. I knew that if he were a friend of yours, Loki, he would be of good temperament and sound mind, nevermind his low birth. Such individuals deserve the chance to rise above their station. When Dagur asked for such a companion during that brief stay of his here - I wonder if you even had a chance to notice, he didnât even stay for the evening feast - I recommended the lad, though I never did hear if heâd accepted.â
âOh,â Loki had said.
He had lain awake that night wracking his brain for a memory of having ever mentioned Sialfi to Odin, even off-handedly. Yet he was sure heâd only ever said he wished to go riding and take a companion servant along. Sure heâd kept Sialfiâs name obfuscated.
But perhaps all Odin had to do was ask the stablemaster.
And perhaps Lord Dagur would return soon.
He did. Eventually. Many decades later, when Loki had nearly forgotten what that should mean.
Heâd stayed for the feast that time, and when he saw Loki heâd clapped his back and told him what had become of his old friend. âNatural with horses, youâd think he had a centaur for a grandfather! Iâve never had a better squire. That is, until he and my sisterâs squire ran off with Skinfaxi and Hrimfaxiâs foal. But knowing your growing reputation, my boy, I shouldâve assumed any friend of yours would be a wily one! I almost admire his gumption. Iâm glad Odin asked me to take him on, in the end; a foal is a small price to pay after his years of excellent service. Though heâll truly need her if he ever shows his face around here. Canât be letting the small folk get away with such behaviour, or weâll hardly have a single horseshoe between all of us in a century.â
Dagur had wandered off after that, leaving Loki to wonder about what he meant by âglad Odin asked me to take him onâ.
He never confronted his father about it. Perhaps Dagur had simply meant to imply that Odin had mentioned Sialfi, perhaps asked Dagur to give a lowborn boy a chance he would not otherwise have. Perhaps that was all it meant.
Or perhapsâŠperhaps his father had known. And sought to protect Loki from himself.
Loki was old enough to hear how people talked of such things now. Old enough to know to bank that hideous flame and quell half his desires. It wasnât like all of him was bent like this; there were avenues yet that were perfectly acceptable.
Really, he should thank his father.
He should be grateful.
He should.
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