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eightstarr · 1 year ago

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what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember.

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut

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evertidings · 2 months ago

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Hello~ I have a question about the writing/development process, if that‘s alright? What method do you use to keep track of choices/branches? I‘ve been debating on writing an IF, but the choice/branch thing seems almost more daunting than the coding 😭

I’ve answered this before but I love talking about this haha so I’ll explain it again.

I should start off by saying I’m not very Type B, so I don’t really need a rigid outline before I start writing. A lot of my best scenes are happy coincidences, and I come up with a lot of ideas on the spot. That said, having a vague idea of what you’re doing is always nice, especially since an IF is not a linear thing.

— FLOW CHARTS

When it comes to planning out various branches, I think the easiest way is to see it visually. I have a dedicated notebook for WTS, so when I start a chapter, I whip it out and conjure something like this (the flowchart above). Mine don’t go into detail about every choice that I want included in the chapter, but at the very least, I get a rough idea of how I want the chapter to begin and end, as well as how I am getting to that final checkpoint.

I also tend to write jot notes on the side of various topics I want to cover and scenes where that can happen. Again, I’m very flexible with my writing so having the freedom is useful to me, but it may not be for you.

— CHOICES & IF STATEMENTS.

Then, the writing. I start all my chapters in Word, which to most people will look crazy, but once you get used to it, you’ll find it’s actually quite organized. I’ve attached my layout above. The “Choice Placeholder” is, as you can guess, where I’d put the text for the choice players would choose. Everything in the bullet point would be text that only that route sees, and anything after it is common text that all the routes merge into.

I also included an example of how I set up my ‘if statements’, aka flavour text, in my Word document. While I usually write it in code, but for the sake of simplicity, I left it out. These aren’t reallyyyy necessary when you’re first figuring things out, but having flavour text can be nice for customization reasons. Like having your MC bump their head if they’re too tall for a doorframe, for example. I write these in a slightly different shade from my choices and on a different bullet point line just to make it easier on my brain and eyes.

Word (I’m not sure about Google Docs) allows you to create headers and collapse them, so if this looks a little too crazy for you, that’s always an option.

— CHARTS

If you need a little more structure and can’t just, like, freestyle your choices in a document, you can also make a chart. I do this to keep track of my variables. This one, for example, is from Chapter 8. I obviously crossed some things out, but you get the gist of it. While I’m not sure this would be the best method for organizing branches, it definitely helps in other areas.

Either way, I find that having a spreadsheet like this is the best way to keep everything in one place. If you have a lot of flavour text like me, it’s also good for when you want to reference something from a previous chapter. Because of that, I only really include variables I think will be useful for the future; if I put every variable I’ve ever created in a chart, I think I’d explode.

— OVERALL

I don’t think branches should be something that intimidates you. It’s very different from the traditional, linear way of writing, for sure, but I think as long as you keep it simple, it’s not that difficult. First chapters tend to have a lot of choices on customization and there is little space for flavour text since you have no previous text to reference, so you can always use that as a ‘trial run’ before getting into more complicated things.

If you decide to go through with it, good luck!! Let me know if you have any more questions too (and hopefully this answered your initial one).

#ask #advice

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moon-ayyye · 5 months ago

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OMG i am so happy to see your response and I just finally got down to sitting again I cant believe I forgot my other headcanons or elaborations I'd like to touch up on so forgive my word vomit again

Jason is so "I don't know why the Hive (all-caste) chose me but it did. and I think it always had. It's song (the blades) is very loud and beautiful I am so very afraid." coded to me I don't know what to say.

1.) In my own universe, I like to merge both Lost Days and RHATO backstories together to explain him having all the the skills he does. I have to mention two things for context for this headcanon:

a.) Jason spends lots of time away and alone, being tutored by other people around the world, all sponsored by Talia. She does not want him to be the curse that Ra's warned him to be, and she wants him to be the bright boy she knows he can be instead of having lost everything in his ressurection. She takes the hands off approach, opting to let him figure things out himself and not getting involved with stuff unless he personally asks or if its too big to handle alone (she has her own helpers deployed here and there to keep an eye to make sure he's alive, but otherwise contact is minimal. It's for his own sake, and she figures he does not want to be put under the spotlight and tracked down the way Bruce does for all his loved ones). For the most part, calls are not common unless between training and that's okay for the both of them.

b.) The All Caste exists somewhere like a pocket dimension of sorts that does not exist on earth itself. As a result, time does not move the same way in their own world as it does for earth. What could be a century in that dimension could be an hour on earth. There is no proper estimate, as everything flunctuates, but generally it can be said that time runs much slower on earth than in that other dimension

Aka my headcanon is that at some point between tutors, Jason, somehow, someway, slips through the cracks of dimensions and finds himself with the All-Caste. I believe its canon that he said that the training was so brutal he wishes he had died, or something to that effect. I do not think for a moment the training he received was something that could be achieved within months or a few years. He was there for what genuinely felt like an eternity, and perhaps he was. It took more than a few measly years or so to forge that boy's soul into a weapon, to teach him how to summon the blades but also how to effectively use it, how to not be overcome by it, and how to hide it away so the blades, and by extension, Jason would not be exploited. Jason probably, nearly go insane at the prospect of never being able to go back home, to not just put his revenge into motion but to be able to see Bruce and reach gotham at all (and he missed talia too, and wondered if she is looking. he does not give himself hope).

And when everything was over, and he had been at the end of his training, he wakes up in a forest, the same spot in the same forest he was in before he slipped through the cracks of space and time. He finds a missed call from talia, 3 days ago. He swipes it and calls her back, and she is relieved, yet peeved of his lack of response. He gets coordinates to the nearest airport, and a plane ticket. everything immediately disappears into exasperation and mild anxiety, knowing he's going to get chewed out by talia for worrying her. and its he's been fed a sedative to numb everything and cut out the source of suffering.

(The All-Caste made sure if they wanted him to succeed, they had to be wary of his mortal constraints. They've seen the results of not acknowledging such short life spans and how it would wither away at any promising protege. So they had to, for lack of better word, tinker a little at his brain, here and there. Nothing that would fuck with him too much, at least not his mortal body and brain, really (but his soul is a different story), but if they want a weapon to live long, they have to take care of the sheath too. he also. compartmentalized everything really hard to not think about everything. So whereas he does have the memory of his training, its not kept in his brain, its detached and its more a part of his soul, and the all blades more than anything, and as a result he can look at it all detachedly without his brain melting down)

2.) YOU MENTIONING HIM HAVING NON HUMAN FEATURES/BEHAVIOURS MY BELOVED!!! I like to think that when Jason uses the power of the the all blades or the all caste, whereas Essence's eyes are entirely black, no whites to be seen, I like to think that Jason's pupils expand until all the pretty teal in his eyes are swallowed up by black. In the same way that pupils expanding have a purpose (letting in sunlight) i think this too should also have a purpose: mainly to be able to better perceive magical things that he usually tries his best to hide away from. I think over time, or after his mortal death, he'll have eyes that are much more like essence's, but for now its a terrifying black hole amidst a white background. i just think it would be neat, for someone to look him in the eye and understand what it means to see something that is, for once, NOT the Jason Todd they know.

(something something i want to elaborate on how The boy that died and the boy that came back are not seen as the same person even when they are. Jason is still the same boy, just experienced circumstances that have changed him radically. He did not suddenly come back wrong or is different from the boy that everybody knew and like to, in their head's, keep separate. They say he's not the same but when you take in the sight of All Blade's wielder, the last few living mortals of the All-Caste, you realize that *this* is what is means to come back different. Robin II and Red Hood are the same person. Jason Todd and the one who's soul has been permanently altered to be a weapon in the grand scheme of things, are not. And the Bats realize that when they stare at a black hole and it stares back at them)

3.) Talking again about weird body modifications in general, I think Jason, despite the contrary, runs cold. He's a corpse, he's come back *wrong*, and I think despite there being multiple dead bats and birds, the fundamental difference between all of them is that nobody has ever reached the final stage of decomposition and come back from that. Coming back from decomposition does a lot of fucked up things to you and that involved you being more corpse-like. He's cold, and he's very pale, and when its particularly cold his lips are a haunting(ly pretty) shade of maroon, almost verging on a bluish purple if you look hard enough or you are close enough for you to get punched in the throat. He constantly has warm clothes on, like his leather jacket and heavy duty armor under his kevlar zip up even in the summer and he's just fine with it for a reason. He enjoys warmth, and his body seeks it out badly, to the point where the palms of his hands have slight burns on them from how he's put his hands directly into the fire to feel warm (he did it, once, in front of Dick's fireplace, forgetting about the other's presence until dick had to pull him back with thinly veiled horror, and then it was dead silent as Dick patched up Jason's hands and quietly mentioned he'd have to take a few days off physical labor for the injury to heal. They don't talk about it ever again, but Dick starts to keep his room a bit warmer when he knows Jason will visit.)

(Also, it makes everybody who knew Jason before he died a little bit squeamish to look at Jason for too long. Jaybin was pale but grew a soft, healthier tan that made him look so full of life. It makes the change so much more worse to look at)

4.) cursed Gotham is canon and real idc, especially lady Gotham. I think shes jaded and toxic and is representative of Gotham's despairing nature. I think she looks down at Jason (or up, ion think she going to heaven if that's even possible) and she looks at all he is, and she, in the most affectionate way she can muster, is like "I'm going to put that Beast into Situations". he eventually deals with more and more magical bullshit shenanigans and has nearly died a few times again and that's her doing. She does not let him die though, the last time he came back, he left her clutches and got stained with magic that is not hers. So she would rather have him to herself as long as she can, which is contingent on him being alive.

5.) Jason can see and hear spirits. He's learned to "block out" (read: dissociate until it doesn't feel real) his ability to see them for the most part, but when he concentrates, he sees and hears phantoms. It's helpful that him being alive means they're translucent and barely visible to him and he goes on with his life. Except sometimes something cursed happens and the magical part of him doesn't let him ignore it, and he is forced to see them clearly, like people and not smoke. Sometimes they're in a death echo. Sometimes they're weeping or screaming at nothing in particular. Sometimes they stare at him and try to process his presence the same way he tries to process theirs. Very rarely, there is something' is tugging on his sleeve and wailing him to look back or get his attention. he tries not to look. Not much scares him but this truly unnerves him, especially when he has to act normal because he's in the company of someone else.

6.) i think he should have a cool visual effect like ghostrider in which when he holds the blades, and the blade his held up near his face, the flames create a visual in which the person looking at Jay sees his skull.

wow this was so fucking long i got lost in the sauce and lost the plot. this was the true word vomit more than anything else, but I'd like to hear your thoughts and you own headcanons too omg!!!

Honestly rn I don't think I have anything else to add. You genuinely might be my favourite anon. Consider writing fics or posting this shit on your own blog, this is gold

#jason todd #all caste #all caste jason todd

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vyoleya · 2 months ago

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hey!!!! guess its time for more complicated time travel au !!! offically called the 'walking moons au' !!! heres a few doodles

here are all other parts 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 annd heres a huge ramble under the cut!!

OKAY. it's time to address what happened post-time skip, and why my au is called walking moons!! sora, using the reversal blade, ended up in the first year of the merge. she was able to make a secret hideout in the crossroads. and she tried her best to not intervene with anything, believing that as long as she interrupted the blood moon ritual / stopped arin from ever turning to ras, then lloyd would survive. and, worst case scenario (if arin rejoined ras) then she'd have to kill arin herself. it wasn't a great plan, but it was the best thing she could come up with. but despite trying to stay undercover, she still needed to survive, and so, using her mask, she'd go out at night to get food, water, supplies, and materials to work on inventions (mostly to keep herself occupied. she ended up remaking the photac in order to have a version of jordana with her, since they were dating before sora had to leave her behind in order to time travel back, hence the drawing) she ran into a handful of fights and scraps during her time in the crossroads, and thus she was turned into a crossroads myth called 'the walking moon' because of her mask + powers! so the legend went smth along the lines of; "be careful when out at night, because in the hidden alleys of the crossroads, the walking moon is out stalking, with powers from the moons to control the buildings themselves.. if you see a figure with a hooded cloak and a masked face in the corner of your eye, only to disappear upon second glance, be wary, for you may have seen the walking moon, waiting to rejoin the stars in the sky." (yes i made most of that up just now. dont worry abt it) this is really fun for mulitple reasons, and also where it gets very confusing. because past arin and sora (who i'll call p!arin and p!sora) grew up hearing those myths in the crossroads, and 'swore they saw the walking moon once' (though, eventually it just became a running joke in the crossroads. like, "got lost? maybe the walking moon changed the path to the grocery store overnight!") (sora tried her best to not get involved or mess up the timeline, but she has pulled several pranks on kreel when especially bored)

MEANWHILE. Z had to witness the end of the world in that alternate timeline. he watched all the stars in the sky abruptly vanish, and was stuck in the nothing space for an.. undisclosed amount of time (because did time really even exist there) forced to survive thanks to Life, before Life was able to Kickstart A New Universe thanks to the source dragon energy + oni and dragon blood. Z watched the universe be recreated before him, and then was forced straight into the bloodmoon. still struggling with guilt and all that nonsense, Z tried his best to do everything to prevent lloyd's death without having to confront lloyd himself. this... did not work. eventually he started just straight up running into wolf warrior camps in an attempt to thwart ras's plans, also to no success. until finally, he gave up and went to talk to past lloyd. lloyd, has been Freaking Out. not only is kai gone, but with him, his visions have abruptly left too. and in this timeline, his visions were getting more and more violent, showing him the end of the world, his students getting injured, these two mysterious people with moon masks---and then, poof! no more visions! no more conduit energy!! gone!! and thats Totally Not Worrying At All! (though, he still keeps an uncanny vibe of whenever important things are happening. kind of like spidey sense) so when Z shows up, lloyd's alarms instantly start going off. Z uses a voice filter to disguise himself, and tries his best to Not seem like a traumatized 16yo, but it doesnt help much. Z's vibes are REALLY weird, because not only is he shattered, but also carrying a ton of elemental AND source dragon energy (and the elemental powers are of LLOYDS OWN ELEMENT). but he just talks like a LOSER??? lloyd, internally; oh my fsm. i dont know who this guy is, but ive seen him in my visions, and i can feel the energy off of him. i dont know if he's another conduit, or a being sent from the source dragons themselves, but he's somehow related to the end of the world. this guy is someone more powerful than me, someone who has, no doubt, seen more things than i ever will---and i need him on my side, otherwise we'll be facing a villain with powers so incomprehensible that we stand no chance. Z: hey yo my guy haha. i hope you dont mind but uh. um. i want to . um. stop the world from. uh. ending. and. um. all that jazz. i think i need your help. if thats okay. of course if its not, then thats fine too. i just, um... sorry ill just go actually this was a terrible idea lloyd, interally; oh god he's a traumatized teenager fuckkk

but of course lloyd also feels a since of familiarity with Z, considering the whole.. other timeline version of arin stuff. . . its.. really hard for Z to tell lloyd anything, and so he continues going by "Z" and hiding all parts of his identity, including the fact that he's immortal. he ends up eventually getting introduced to all the past ninja, and tries his best to pretend that he doesn't know that they're all gonna die if he fails. he keeps putting off telling the ninja anything, by continuing to say "it will all make sense in time!!" "sorry but its dangerous for me to say anything right now" "its REALLY important that you dont know anything. obliviousness is key!!!" this, of course, makes the other ninja suspicious, but because of his general pathetic vibes, the ninja take pity on him and are mostly concerned. Z has a habit of disappearing for days on end, showing up randomly, and just being generally weird, so the ninja get used to his vague answers + nature very quickly. (they also dont say anything if he avoids p!arin, p!sora, and lloyd at all costs.) (p!arin + p!sora joke about Z actually being the walking moon---because, how hilarious would that be!!!! if the walking moon was an actual guy and not just a crossroads myth!!! wouldnt that be so funny!!!) but word eventually gets around that, hey, theres a new guy running around with the ninjas who wears a weird moon mask. word gets around to sora, who... isn't very happy by that news. because why, out of all people that could've survived with her, did it have to be him? thats all for today, because DRS3 is running around in my brain and i kinda wanna write about it... but.. yeah!!! hope you enjoy this fun update thingy

#they're so silly #dragons rising #lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago arin #ninjago fanart #ninjago au #ninjago walking moons #yayyayya i have a tag now #ninjago art #my art

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the-fandom-crossroads · 1 year ago

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Just finished rewatching Advent Children with bro and wow that explained a lot more than I thought it would. Bro had never seen it and I remembered the white void showing up there and that the 3 villains were sephiroth clones. I completely forgot the other hints towards Remake.

But Spoilers for Remake and Rebirth I guess?

I now understand why everyone insists Remake Sephiroth is Advent Children Sephiroth. Like the exact same monologue about going to space with cloud. And Advent Children was him revealing this new bigger plan to cloud. If Remake Sephiroth was the original VII sephiroth he should still just want to use meteor because it's "mother's" will.

But like all that is old news for folks who remembered Advent Children when playing through Remake 4 years ago.

I think the things Rebirth builds on about the lifestream is more interesting. The pond that forms in Aerith's church in AC is a natural mako spring like the countless ones we find in rebirth. Flowers are able to grow there long after Aerith's death because of this spring just below the surface.

When Cloud "dies" in Advent Children he meets Aerith and Zack in the white void before they decide to put him back. He's released from the lifestream in the natural mako spring now in Aerith's church just like how Tifa is tossed back out when she enters with the whale.

Again for anyone who's recently watched AC it's obvious the white void is meant to represent the lifestream. But that means Rebirth is confirming the Lifestream is a bridge between the different universes. Zack enters the Lifestream and runs into Remake cloud who's also been pulled in. AC is all about how Sephiroth is still in the lifestream and that's how Kadaj is able to be possessed by him once he has enough Jenova cells. Cloud kills Sephiroth putting him back in the Lifestream. The Lifestream that connects all vii worlds.

AC Sephiroth then uses the lifestream to start appearing before a Cloud that has only just reached Midgar. His Meddling summons the whispers which fight back to keep things to the "cannon" timeline. Sephiroth of course tricks team Avalanche into destroying the head Whisper allowing him to take control of them. Again old news for anyone that knew Sephiroth wanted them to break the bonds of Fate.

But if Sephiroth is using the lifestream to mess with other worlds. it shouldn't be a surprise one of the Aerith's also already in the lifestream got involved too. As other's have pointed out the Aerith that gives cloud the not empty White materia isn't remake Aerith. But another Aerith that pulled him into that universe to give him a functioning white materia. But somehow Remake Aerith knew the hand over happened? Because in the white forest she asks cloud for the materia and they swap so she has a functioning white materia. That part confuses me a little. How did our Aerith know the handoff happened?

Also Rufus and Kadaj have a conversation about how everything's a cycle. That Jenova "Mother" will always try to destroy the planet and the lifestream/humanity will always fight back. Made me realize AC Sephiroth wasn't going back on his timeline to make a new one but hopping into the next timeloop. OG VII and Advent Children's cannon is locked in. Remake is truely that a remaking of the timeline made possible by Cloud and Co defeating the whispers that enforce the timeloops. So now instead of one spiral after another and infinite number of spirals are forming while the remake loop is still happening.

That's why Sephiroth waited until the *spoilers* cannon event to appear in Rebirth. It's an all the stars a line situation. All timeloops have that moment, regardless of how it's different in different versions.

But Rebirth's cannon event was just a test run. Sephiroth wanted to see how much power he could gain just from multiple timelines merging at one point.

Sephiroth already told us what he really wants. The Black materia but not the one from the remake universe no the ultimate black materia forged from all the black materia. And what's the next big plot point that could be a cannon event? Cloud's breakdown at the northern crater after handing the Black Materia over to Sephiroth. If there's any point where the timelines would over lap it would be there. We already saw the power boost Sephiroth got. If that power boost happens to the black Materia yeah that's a multiverse destroying meteor right there.

Wow was that a long wall of text about stuff everyone else probably already knows. But I just had to put all the clarity Advent Children gave me about Remake and Rebirth somewhere. Expect a spiral timeline graphic in the future. Cause I feel like i'm forgetting to explain some of it right.

#final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy vii rebirth #ffvii #ffvii rebirth #ffvii remake #final fantasy vii advent children #ffvii advent children #rebirth spoilers #cloud strife #sephiroth #douglitheories

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daydreamgoddess14 · 5 months ago

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this love left a permanent mark - Chapter 4

I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying this - honestly, I'm having the best time writing it!

But are you ready for a day trip to Verona? More importantly... are you ready for a romantic day trip to Verona?

Word count: another 8.5k-ish (yikes!)

Full Masterlist

River Cartwright x Sid Baker Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Taglist: @a-sunflower-in-bloom @sad-quality @linkpk88 @dreamer-98

This time, Sid woke alone.

Jolted awake by the coil of heat in her belly.

The cool space beside her suggested that River had been up for a while.

She sighed with relief.

The balcony was still closed up, and the bathroom was silent.

She sat up on her elbows, the room key was missing from the table by the door. Flopping back down against the pillows, she reached onto the nightstand for her phone.

A handful of texts from Lamb, and the time. 9.37am.

She'd slept fitfully, well rested, but with threads of vivid dreams lingering in the back of her mind.

The memory of River's kiss had thoroughly haunted her.

Her subconscious had filled in the missing pieces, the imagined memories of his hands exploring her body, the heat of his kiss claiming her as his own.

The false images danced behind her eyelids, leaving her breathless and wanting, making her yearn for something that was, in reality, just a figment of her imagination.

She had a vague recollection of the time for the trip to Verona being 11am.

Her stomach rumbled, encouraging her out of the bed.

Her mind ran through everything she thought she knew. With only twenty four hours left, time was running out. She knew Lamb, and Taverner, were reluctant to let the mission keep going.

They needed answers, fast.

She took the opportunity while she thought to clear up the room.

Their belongings merged together. Her watch next to his cufflinks, their swimwear neatly lined up alongside each other on the balcony, her book on his nightstand.

Another day, another sundress, she unpacked her case and repacked it with the things she no longer needed. Last night’s gown draped over the chair with River’s suit jacket on top. She hung them both up.

With a quiet click, the door opened.

“You’re up,” he said simply, holding two cups of coffee.

“I am. Just clearing this place up a bit.” She looked down at the bed, unable to look him in the eye.

“You didn’t need to -”

“I know. It helped, I’ve been trying to work out what I know so far. Organising the room, organising my mind… y’know.”

“Got you this,” he handed her the coffee. “And room service is on the way up with some breakfast.”

“Oh. Thank you,” on cue, her stomach rumbled again. Hearing a swift knock, River opened the door to let the waiter in with a large tray of pastry, fruit, champagne and coffee.

“On the balcony, please.” He asked. The waiter obliged and backed out of the room without a word.

Sid followed River out to the balcony. Below them, a handful of couples were dotted around the pool. “I haven’t seen everyone yet this morning, most of them had breakfast delivered to their room.”

“You could have, too. Could have slept in?”

“I’m fine. You?”

She nodded. “Better now I’ve slept.”

“Good.”

They fell into silence.

Sid sipped her coffee thoughtfully, trying to work out how comfortable a silence it was.

Another lingering memory from her dream crept into her consciousness, determined not to be compartmentalised.

She felt at war with her own mind, grateful to him for restarting the conversation.

“So, what did your organising tell you?” He asked, handing her an empty plate.

“That I’m still completely in the dark,” she shrugged, pushing away her embarrassment. “You said last night that Warwick knows something is going on?”

“One of his government guests let slip a few things that apparently aren’t common knowledge. He's assuming that one of his beloved team must have told them. The argument with Jonty at lunch yesterday, like Kasim said, was because Jonty doesn’t think Warwick should leave. As of yesterday lunchtime, Warwick was ready to move on. Sounds like his guest made him rethink. He and Jonty made up last night, Warwick told him clearly that he’s not going anywhere, hence the speech about loyalty last night and why Jonty was in his pocket all night.”

“That fits with what Dilly was saying. Jonty and Diego appear to be best mates but it’s all for show. They had a row before we finished work last week, Diego doesn’t think Warwick is up for it anymore and thinks Jonty is carrying him. And that’s why Diego was being a dick at dinner.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Lost?” Sid suggested, biting a strawberry in half. “Did Warwick give you any ideas about who it might be?”

“He didn't seem to want to tell me much at all, he's more interested in making sure that whoever it is doesn't take the company down with them.”

“Understandable that he won't talk about it. I assume he's ruled me out because whatever his guest shared dates back further than when I started?”

“Pretty much, I think you’re the only one he can rule out. Maybe he’ll open up to you a bit today? Thinking about Diego, though, Kasim reckons he isn’t sticking around anyway, he’s off to a government role?”

“Yeah, imagine how useful this information and these contacts would be then? Surely that makes him a more obvious choice, not less?” She ripped open a croissant.

“Maybe. Let's park Diego for now. Kasim has had enough of the backstabbing, I say we rule him out?”

“Agreed. Angela?”

“I don’t see it,” River shook his head.

“She might have big aspirations, and she might want to get one over on Dilly, but she doesn’t strike me as the mole. Like Kasim, I think she’d rather just leave quietly.” Sid pointed out.

“Ok, not Angela then.”

“What about the big man himself?”

River frowned, “Warwick? Really?”

“Could be,” Sid shrugged. “He knows everything about that place, and, telling you that he thinks there’s a mole… It would be a great way to cover his own tracks?”

“But why does he know everything?”

“Because Lilly tells -” Sid stopped, another strawberry halfway to her mouth, “no!”

“Why not? You said it yourself, Lilly is his right hand woman.”

“She’s got zero ambition to do anything more than she does now,” she reasoned.

“That’s what she told you. But what she does know is valuable, right?”

Sid frowned into her breakfast, mulling over River’s suggestion.

“Lilly is still on the table,” he said quietly. Sid nodded.

“What about Jonty?” She asked, pouring them both more coffee and avoiding the champagne.

“He could be pulling for Warwick because life is easier with him around?”

“They’re really close. He could be using Warwick just like Lilly could be.”

They paused, Sid reached for another warm croissant. “This is nice,” she added softly. “Being able to just… talk and figure it out.” The distraction of the mission had settled her whirling thoughts a little, and it was nice to use her brain on something productive.

“We make a good team,” he said, looking out towards the rows of olive trees.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t expect this to mess with my head so much,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m lying to everyone. I feel like I have no idea what’s real anymore.” He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head to indicate that he was listening. “This stupid mission… It's scary to think it gives me everything I want. Friends, a decent job, a love life… nothing I actually have in real life.” She swallowed, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “I don’t think I want to give it up, is that stupid?”

“Course not,” he reached across the table and took her hand, “you said it yourself, they’re not a bad group. Well, one of them is, but… they’re friendly, welcoming. You’re bound to miss that side of things when it’s all over.”

He didn’t mention the job, or the love life, and she didn’t prompt him in case her overactive subconscious took over again.

She cleared her throat, squeezing his hand lightly before taking hers back.

“So, Angela and Kasim are a no, Lilly and Jonty are still possible. If we park Diego and Warwick, that still leaves Dilly, Hassan and Pete.”

“Pete’s got his little angry man thing going on, these kids keep coming in and getting promoted over him, they do a better job than him…”

“I think that’s as far as it goes, though?” She added.

“Same. I don’t think he’s got the drive for it.”

“Hassan and Dilly? Lilly told me something interesting last night, Hassan’s parents sold their business, sold basically everything, to send him to Uni, and Dilly doesn’t come from a family with loads of money. She said that the others are all just rich kids.” Sid explained, leaning forward in her seat.

“We ruled out money as being a driver for this -”

“No, but it does mean they’ve had to work harder to get where they are?”

“So they’re both still a possibility? So much for narrowing it down, Sid.” He smiled for the first time that morning.

“So convince me otherwise,” she teased. “You’re the observant one?”

“It’s not Hassan. He’s a good bloke, Priya would kill him. He just wants to make her proud.”

“They are cute, and very much in love. Leaves Dilly though?” Sid sighed. Part of her hoped it was Dilly, that way at least they’d both have been lying to each other.

“She’s… very flighty?”

“That’s how Issy described her. She’s impatient, she knows what she wants but I’m not sure she knows how to get there.”

“Maybe this is a shortcut for her? A means to an end.”

Sid hummed, resigned.

“Dilly stays on the list then.”

“Just leaves Diego and Warwick.”

“Diego yes, Warwick no.” Sid declared.

“No justification?”

“No, just a gut feeling I think?”

“Fair enough. So we need to keep an eye on the main four today - Dilly, Diego, Lilly and Jonty?”

“Verona, here we come.”

She checked the time and helped herself to more fruit.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked, popping a piece of pineapple into her mouth. He stopped with his hand hovering over the pastries.

“Go on?”

“What did you tell Amber and the others yesterday to make them think you're so wonderful?”

“Other than actually being wonderful?” He smirked.

“Other than being your usual insufferable self, yes.”

“I spun some story about our honeymoon,” he put half of his croissant on her plate, “whatever they wanted to hear.”

“And are you going to share? I got away with it yesterday, but if they bring it up again…”

“You want to hear about our honeymoon?”

Sid rolled her eyes.

“Please, River, enlighten me.”

“As you wish,” he grinned. “I told them that I took you to Mexico, because you've always wanted to go. I organised a surprise sunrise hot air balloon ride, above the jungles, the ruins and cenotes… we watched the sunrise together, surrounded by endless blue skies. Then another evening, we had a meal on a secluded beach, by candlelight at sunset. We walked along the beach, millions of stars, just, everywhere. I told you that I used to dream of a love like this,” he paused, leaving Sid on the edge of her seat, “A love that felt like home. And then I met you, and you gave it to me.”

Sid stared.

“That's…”

“Pretty good, right, considering I thought it up on the spot.” He said proudly.

“It's great,” she replied hoarsely, standing quickly.

Her eyes swam unexpectedly with tears.

As she stood, she knocked her coffee cup to the floor, the porcelain smashing at her feet.

Dark coffee pooled around her toes.

“Fuck, shit,” she went to take a step but he reached out to stop her.

“Wait, don't. You'll cut yourself. I'll call room service.”

Before he did, he came around the table to her and stepped into the puddle of coffee.

He put an arm around her waist and hooked the other behind her knees, effortlessly lifting her out of the spill. He set her back down inside the room. “Don't slip,” he warned as she went to go to the bathroom.

He picked up the room phone and called room service.

In the bathroom, Sid held the showerhead over her feet, washing the coffee away.

River walked into the bathroom, still holding the phone to his ear. “Room service is on its way to clean up,” his eyes softened as he watched her, “do you need any help? You didn't cut yourself?” He asked, leaving the phone on the edge of the sink.

Sid glanced up at him, appreciating his concern. She shook her head

“No, no, I'm fine. No cuts, just a little coffee mess to clean up.” She turned off the shower, trying to dismiss how moved she'd been by his honeymoon story.

“If you're sure? It's time to go, anyway. Everyone was waiting in the courtyard by the pool when I was on the phone.” He handed her a soft, white towel which she lay on the floor and stepped onto.

With dry feet safely in wedged heel sandals, she quickly threw suncream, lip balm and her phone into a small bag and met him by the door.

He held it open, his eyes following her every move. “Ready to go?” he asked, a hint of anticipation in his voice. She nodded firmly, outwardly confident despite her internal nerves.

“Here we go again.”

“Last day. Twenty four hours to go,” he reminded her.

She wasn't sure if she imagined the resignation in his tone.

~~~~~

A cheer went up in the lobby when they joined the group.

“Late night, was it?” Stella said with a lascivious grin. “I thought you two looked in a hurry to leave last night!”

“Stella!” Sid blushed, hiding her face behind her hand. The other woman dropped her voice as Sid drew closer.

“Just playing babe, you'd be hard pushed to get me to leave the room!” She giggled.

“Stella's right,” Dilly interjected as River stood next to Tom while Sid was enveloped into the small group of Dilly, Stella and Priya. “When we went to Athens, we missed the whole trip to the Parthenon,” she grimaced.

“I thought she was going to lose her job,” Tom muttered under his breath to River who laughed.

“But I didn't, did I, Thomas?” She asked, well aware of his comment to River, however discreet. “And we're not missing the field trip today. Wonder how many steps Amber is going to have us walking around fair Verona.”

Priya groaned, pointing at her heels.

“Not that many I hope! I've been dying to wear these shoes!”

“I'm sure we can sneak off for a cheeky Limoncello, rest your feet,” Sid grinned.

Warwick ushered them onto the small coach, Sid found herself sitting next to Dilly, with River and Tom across the aisle.

At the front of the coach, Diego and Jonty appeared to have made up, talking and laughing together while in the seats behind, Stella and Sam fawned over her copy of Vogue.

Lilly and Dave were no longer giving each other the cold shoulder. They'd paired up once again with Angela and Lucy.

Behind Sid, Kasim and Hassan compared fantasy football teams with Tom. Across the aisle, Issy and Priya leaned across to talk to Sid and Dilly.

Sid could see River with one ear on the conversations towards the front of the bus, watching Jonty and Diego particularly intently.

The journey to Verona took little over an hour, skirting around towns and cities. The group chattered happily with Dilly gently ribbing Tom about the romanticism of the city.

“Dil, I’m not going to propose to you on a work trip. I’ll know when it’s the right time.” He assured her.

“I’ll take a proposal in the middle aisle of Aldi, babe, I’m just -”

“Impatient?”

“Fed up of waiting,” she sighed. She turned her attention to River. “How did you know that Sid was the one for you? It didn’t take you six years?” She pouted at Tom.

“It hasn’t taken me six years, I know you’re the one. I just haven’t done anything about it yet.”

“Feels like you’re not helping, Tom,” Sid grinned.

“She’s everything I wish I could be,” River shrugged as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “Funny, kind, smart. She makes me want to be better at everything.”

“Blergh! God, how did I know he was just going to give the most perfect answer?” Dilly groaned.

River hadn’t taken his eyes off Sid, but he smiled at Dilly’s outburst all the same.

“Priya, what about you and Has? How’d you meet?”

“My mum knew his mum from their book club. Pains me that when she told me she’d set me up with a lovely Iranian boy she wasn’t wrong.”

“And she’s taking all of the credit,” Hassan insisted. “She thinks she’s the Cilla Black of the book club.”

“As if he didn’t win me over all by himself,” Priya kissed his cheek.

“It’ll happen when it happens,” Issy reassured Dilly kindly. “It took me and Kas five years to decide together -”

“See,” Tom interjected, “no proposal!”

“... and then once we’d decided, Kasim surprised me with a weekend away where he asked me officially,” she finished serenely. Tom scowled.

“I’m only winding you up,” Dilly reached across the aisle to take his hand. “I love our life.”

The coach came to a halt on the outskirts of the city and they all piled off.

“Welcome to fair Verona, where we lay our scene,” Amber giggled. She pointed down the street, “city is that way, no itinerary, just go and enjoy yourselves. I’ve got tickets here to Juliet’s house,” she handed them around and Sid tucked them into her bag. “Bus leaves here at about 4pm so you’ve got plenty of time.”

It didn’t take long for the group to splinter. Sid inwardly groaned watching Jonty and Lilly disappear from view with their partners, along with Angela and Lucy, Pete and Deb. Separately, she could see Dilly, Issy and Priya pouring over the map to decide on their first port of call.

River brushed a kiss over her cheek.

“We’ll go where Diego goes?” He suggested quietly. “We can spend time figuring out Jonty and Lilly later, and Dilly loves spending time with you so she’s easy to catch.”

“Good shout,” she turned to face him under the pretense of pushing his hair from his eyes. “Looks like he and Stella are going wherever Warwick and Amber go.”

“Where do you recommend, Amber?” River asked, turning on the charm.

“We’re going to the tomba di Giulietta,” she read from the map, stumbling over the pronunciation. “Come with us, Sid, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you!”

“Are you guys coming?” Priya called as Hassan pulled her by the hand to join Dilly and Tom, Kasim and Issy.

“We’ll catch you later, we’re going with this lot,” River explained.

“Not too many miles I hope!” Priya sang, pointing at her own high heels. She spun on her toes to join Issy and Dilly while Kasim folded their map badly and shoved it into his pocket.

River took Sid’s hand, lacing his fingers with hers. They ambled along, catching up to Diego, Stella, Warwick, and Amber.

“It's nice to be in a smaller group for a change, don't you think?” Amber asked aloud.

Stella nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, absolutely! It was lovely last night, sitting and enjoying a quiet drink while I waited for Sid.”

“I suppose it can get a bit rowdy at times,” Warwick said apologetically.

“Ahh, I think work events always get a bit like that,” River smiled.

The conversation fell into a more comfortable silence. Amber's heels echoed loudly on the paving as the group passed under an arch. Ahe ancient city unfolded before them, she indicated the path towards the museum.

“The museum is down this way,” she explained. “And then we can come back past the Arena on our way to the Piazza for lunch, and finally head over to Juliet’s house?”

“Sounds absolutely perfect,” Sid smiled.

Their route followed the red bricked city wall.

Sid lifted the hand River was holding and brought their joined hands up and over her head to place his arm around her, walking instep with him.

With the warm sun and clear skies, Sid found herself less caught up in her worries.

Feeling lighter, she subtly nudged River with her hip, slowing their step to lag behind Warwick and Diego.

She strained her ears to catch snippets of their conversation but the noise of the city, tourists and cars pushed their conversion further out of earshot.

She relaxed instead, enjoying the atmosphere of the city.

The discussion on the balcony with River had helped more than she'd realised. Despite not going as far as admitting how her feelings for him were changing and growing, she felt calmer.

As they approached the museum, a group of newly arrived tourists crowded outside. Stella pointed out a shaded bistro.

“Why don't we grab a seat instead? Looks busy and I'm ready for a tipple.”

“Yes babe! I'm ready for a beer, how about you, Warwick?” Diego asked, grabbing a table and signaling the waiter. “River, beer, mate?”

“Thanks Diego,” River agreed, pulling out a chair for Sid. “Drink?” He asked as she sat down.

She read the menu quickly.

“Aperol spritz, please.”

“You know what? Make it three of those as well.” Amber joined in.

Sid sank back into the chair, the coolness of the metal sending goosebumps down her arms. “Sometimes you know, I'm happier sitting in a cafe and people watching than I am wandering around dusty museums,” Amber declared.

“Not me,” Sid disagreed. “I love the history behind it all. Just think about everything that has happened in all these years that the artwork has existed. It blows my mind.”

“I'm the only relic Amber cares for,” Warwick joked. “Isn't that right, darling?”

“Of course, my love,” she smiled.

Sid twisted in her seat, her knee gently touching River's leg as she turned to speak to Stella.

“So, do you have another jaw-dropping outfit planned for tonight?”

Stella beamed, her eyes sparkling with excitement “Me? Absolutely! I’ve got a lovely little party dress from Zara. And what about you?”

“I'm sure I've got one more dress stashed away,” Sid grinned. “What's the plan for this evening, Warwick?”

“Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. We'll have a nice dinner back at the hotel, after which, I suspect Diego is keen on finding some bars in town," he offered with a knowing grin.

“It'd be rude not to sample the local nightlife, Ricky,” Diego winked. “I plan to be very hungover on the flight home tomorrow.”

“How's your first trip with us been, Sid?” Amber asked, stirring the ice around her glass with a striped straw.

“I've had a lovely time, you've really looked after us,” Sid told her sincerely.

“And I can't thank you enough for letting me tag along,” River added, raising his beer bottle to Warwick.

“Nonsense, it's been our pleasure to host you both. You're a wonderful couple, and Sid, a magnificent addition to our team. I hope you'll stick with us, I predict big things for your future.”

Sid blushed.

“Thank you both,” she smiled. She crossed one leg over the other, tucking her foot behind River's calf. His warm hand landed on her knee, and he threw her a reassuring smile.

Next to them, Stella peered to look at the queue for the museum.

“Looks like it's easing off, shall we drink up and go in?”

“Yes, let's get out of this heat,” Sid agreed.

River's gentle touch lingered on her knee, his thumb rubbing over a small, raised scar there as they continued their conversation.

The group finished their drinks and walked the short distance to the museum.

Sid glanced over at Diego, noticing him perched on a bench, occupied with his phone.

River gently grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him.

“Later,” he mouthed, nodding discreetly in Diego's direction, signaling that they should continue on.

She frowned, but followed River into the main entrance of the museum, her trust in him overriding any uncertainty.

The contrast from the heat outside to the cool air-conditioning made Sid shiver. She took a step closer to River, encasing his hand in both of hers.

He guided Sid through the spacious halls, his hand holding hers as they navigated through the vast collection of frescoes. He turned to her with a soft smile.

“Where do you want to go first?” He asked.

Sid attempted to keep her excitement at bay, but River was perceptive enough to notice the joy that flickered in her eyes. He saw right through her attempt to play it cool, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“The hall of the muses” she replied without hesitation.

He looked at the sign behind her offering directions and led the way.

As they entered the custom-built room, Sid's jaw dropped in awe.

Her eyes widened with wonder as she looked around, captivated.

She released River's hand and began following the perimeter of the room, her gaze fixed on the breathtaking frescoes surrounding them.

River trailed behind her, his steps slow and measured.

He watched her intently, his gaze fixed on her, observing the way the soft flicker of the museum lights danced across her face as she took in the intricate frescoes.

Sid felt the tension slowly melt away, replaced by a sense of peace. With a bright smile, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Aren't they just incredible?”

“Beautiful," he smiled at Sid, the genuine admiration in his eyes aimed solely at her, oblivious to the masterpieces painted on the walls around them.

“Nearly five hundred years old,” she murmured to herself, eyes drawn to images of Venus and Eros.

They ventured further through the halls, Sid's attention was wholly devoted to admiring each piece of artwork, while River's gaze remained completely captivated by her.

They occasionally crossed paths with Warwick and Amber and Stella, who had convinced Diego to join her.

They all convened at the exit of the tiny Chapel which held Juliet’s tomb.

“What a little treasure this place is,” Stella beamed.

“Beautiful," Warwick agreed. “Now, who's for some lunch?”

“Can we pass by the Arena?” Diego asked.

“Yep, it's older than the Colosseum, you can't miss it – it's enormous. We can go that way to the piazza.” Amber explained.

As they walked, Diego passed his phone to Stella, who looked at it with a frown before promptly thrusting it back in his direction.

Sid caught their brief exchange and gently squeezed River's hand, drawing his attention to their spat. Warwick cleared his throat loudly and Diego hastily pushed the phone back into his pocket with a guilty look.

They explored the outside of the arena and found themselves on a narrow, marble street, lined with shops and boutiques.

The street was bustling with activity, the press of tourists around them jostled Sid, bumping her into River.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him and dropping a gentle kiss onto the top of her head.

The gesture made her heart soar more than she cared to admit. The knowledge that it was all for show gnawed at her, but she couldn't help the intoxicating sensation of leaning into the pretence.

As soon as she leaned into him, River responded by lightly squeezing her hip, guiding her into step alongside him.

The synchronisation was seamless, their movements two halves of a whole.

The end of the long, narrow street came into view, and Amber led the group to the left. They found themselves on the outskirts of the busy Piazza Erbe. “Pizza, anyone? And more aperol and beers?” Amber asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she spotted the first available table at the nearest pizzeria and promptly claimed it.

The mention of authentic Italian pizza made Sid smile.

Filled with excitement, she eagerly scooted her chair closer to River's so she could share the menu with him.

River gently brushed her hair back from her shoulder, his lips grazing against her cheek in an affectionate kiss.

The intimacy of it sent a shiver down her spine, and she smiled, her cheeks flushing.

She held River's gaze, scrutinising his face for any sign of deception, she found nothing.

No smirk, no hint of insincerity.

Only an intensity in his eyes that she couldn't quite place.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the air heavy with unspoken tension.

For a moment, the world faded away, and all she saw was him, the reality of their situation momentarily forgotten.

The waiter arrived with their drinks, interrupting the connection.

Sid broke first, raising her drink to her lips and taking a long, deep gulp.

She averted her eyes, her eyes flitting around the bustling piazza, watching the crowds pass by.

River's gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he finally looked away as well.

She chanced a quick glance in his direction, only to find him sneaking his own look at her.

A laugh escaped her lips before she could even attempt to stifle it.

River laughed, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Busted,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah well, so are you,” she countered.

Sid held her breath, her heart racing, as she noticed his eyes drop to her mouth.

A wave of anticipation washed over her, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if he was daring enough to close the distance and kiss her.

She found herself frozen, anxiously waiting to see what he would do next.

“D'ya know what you're having?” Stella asked, poking Sid in the ribs.

Sid took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

“Not yet,” she mumbled, her voice shaky.

She looked down at the menu, attempting to focus on the words, but it was difficult to concentrate with River's breath warm against her shoulder.

She handed him the menu.

“Whatever you want is fine.”

“Who said I'm sharing?” He asked mischievously.

She sighed, relaxing into the familiar push and pull between them.

His hand settled on her knee again while she and Stella methodically read through the menu together.

While Warwick ordered an extensive lunch for the entire group, Sid noticed how River's touch seemed to soothe her agitated mind and her heart slowly settled back into its normal rhythm.

Her head popped up as the sound of Dilly's voice carried across the tables, and she caught sight of her friend waving from the next restaurant along. She laughed at Dilly's excited greeting, waiting for her to navigate her way through the tables.

“Sid! We just ate next door. Oh my god, I'm sooo full! What're you guys having?”

“Warwick just ordered loads for everyone, I'm starving,” Sid grinned.

“We shared a bunch of different pastas and salads, amazing. Where are you going next? We've done Juliet’s house.”

“No proposal on the balcony?” Stella nudged her.

“Don't be daft, Stel, I'm not that lucky!” Dilly sighed dramatically.

“Well we're going there next. Did you rub the statue for luck? Maybe you should have gotten Tom to rub it?”

“Very funny,” Dilly rolled her eyes. “Although some luck would be nice. Anyway, we're going to do the Arena tour. The boys want to pretend to be Gladiators. Apparently it's more fun than writing love letters.” She kissed Sid and Stella on the cheek and waved across the table at Warwick, Amber and Diego. “Enjoy your afternoon, see you on the bus!” She ran to join the others who all waved enthusiastically before setting off down the same street Sid's group had just come from.

~~~~~

Full from a generous lunch, Sid slowly approached Juliet's house.

She was equal parts excited and nervous.

She was fully aware that the house was purely a tourist trap, a captivating but false story designed to separate visitors from their money.

Even so, she couldn't help but feel drawn in by the romance that seemed to infuse the city, painting pictures of love and connection around every corner.

Despite the numerous crowds of tourists gathered in the courtyard around the famous bronze statue of Juliet, and underneath the legendary balcony, the atmosphere was electric. It was as if the love-soaked air of Verona itself was alive with expectation, the very essence of romance was tangible in the air.

They passed the gate, filled with thousands of padlocks with a myriad of names and declarations of love engraved on them.

“Are you leaving a lock?” Stella asked with a grin, pen in hand and bright red plastic padlock already personalized with hers and Diego's names.

“Oh. No, I don't have one,” Sid shrugged regretfully.

Next to her, River reached into his pocket and spun a small gold padlock on his index finger.

“I do,” he smiled.

Sid's eyes widened in disbelief as she watched River accept the sharpie from Stella and diligently write their names on the small, golden padlock.

She couldn't believe that he had come prepared with a lock, let alone that he was so comfortable etching their names on it together.

With each slow, deliberate stroke of the pen, Sid's heart thumped violently in her chest.

Diego fastened his and Stella's lock to the gate and kissed her.

“Forever, babe,” he muttered. They moved on through the courtyard, giving Sid and River some time alone.

River was about to step closer to the gate to find a spot for the padlock when Sid halted him with a touch on his arm.

“Wait,” she whispered urgently. “I'm not sure we should. Can I ask you something?”

His head tilted, curious at her hesitation.

“What's wrong?”

Sid sighed, unsure of how to express her fear without sounding foolish.

“Please don't laugh, but what if this jinxes me?”

River looked at her blankly, clearly not understanding her concern.

“How?” he asked, his voice gentle and curious. “How could a padlock jinx you?”

Sid's voice was hushed and quick as she shared her worry with River, her words coming out in a rushed and embarrassed jumble.

“Well, it's not real, right? I mean, what if this… what if it somehow jinxes my love life, or something? It's stupid, I know, but…”

Sid looked at him, her eyes searching his face for mockery or judgment. He laughed, but not unkindly, and then spoke gently, his voice steady and soothing.

“I get it,” he reassured her. “I don't think this is going to curse you, Sid. it's just a harmless tradition.”

She stepped back, letting go of River's arm and watching as he moved closer to the gate. She couldn't help but notice how his t-shirt rose slightly as he lifted his arms, revealing a glimpse of his bare stomach. A blush crept up her cheeks, her eyes fixed on the exposed skin.

River stepped back down from the step, his arms swiftly encasing Sid in an enveloping embrace.

For a moment, she was rigid, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

But then, with deliberate restraint, she looped her arms around his waist, her touch tentative.

“Relax,” she heard him say.

She buried her face against River's chest, her voice slightly muffled as she teased him.

“If I never find love, I'm holding you personally responsible,” she muttered, the words partially lost in the fabric of his shirt.

River laughed, a low and rumbling sound that vibrated against Sid's ear.

“Oh, really?” He asked, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “And why is that?”

A small shiver ran through Sid at his touch, her heart stuttering momentarily. She lifted her head from his chest and laughed.

“You encouraged this stupid superstition,” she protested.

“Don't worry, I'll come down here and cut that bloody lock off if I have to,” he told her.

“I'll hold you to that.” she declared. “If things go south in the romance department, you better be ready to come back here and fix it. No excuses.”

“Anything you want, just give the word,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. “I will happily cut that lock off if it means making you happy.”

“I'm sure it's fine,” she grinned, her arms still anchored around him. “Just a harmless tradition, right?”

“Completely harmless,” he told her, loosening his grip. “Maybe you should rub the statue, confuse the curse.”

He laughed. Sid reached up to swat him.

“Don't be daft,” she scolded him with a smile. “Maybe you should rub the statue, your love life has got to be more dire than mine.”

“I didn't know this was a race to the bottom? You're fighting a losing battle there,” he warned. He dropped his head to talk into her ear. “I am the shittest agent, working in the shittest department. The only thing that's brought me any luck at all… is you.”

“That's not -”

“No, no,” he said cockily, “no stealing my thunder. I am the shittest.”

He pulled away, shrugging apologetically. She smiled, letting him take her hand and lead her through the crowded courtyard, their path weaving between the mass of tourists.

She stayed close to him, her free hand on his back. He stopped by the entrance to the house and glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

“Do you want to go inside and take a look?” He asked, gesturing towards the house.

Sid took a moment to scan the surroundings for any sign of Diego or Warwick. Realising they had gotten sidetracked, she turned back to River.

“We should do some work,” she reminded him, her voice filled with resignation. “We've been distracted enough.”

“Have we?” He asked, “I think we're doing alright so far.”

“Alright is not good enough, River,” she sighed. "This can't go on forever, we need answers. You said it yourself, we're the shittest department. We have to work twice as hard to get this done.”

“I know, you're right," he sighed. “We'll get the answers we need. We’re not going back tomorrow as total fuck ups.”

“Hmm, I’ll hold you to that as well,” Sid muttered unsurely.

He cast a quick glance around the courtyard and spotted Diego disappearing into the house.

“Looks like Diego has gone inside,” he noted. “Maybe we can follow him and see if we can overhear anything useful.”

Sid nodded, appreciating the suggestion.

“Yeah, even if we don't get any information on who it is, we might be able to narrow down who it isn't,” she offered optimistically.

River wrapped an arm around Sid's shoulders and guided her towards the queue to enter the house.

As they waited in line, they hung back, remaining within earshot of Diego and Stella.

River's hand casually rested on Sid's hip.

The switch of focus from talking to listening allowed Sid’s thoughts far too much dead air to settle into and make themselves comfortable.

She was not a particularly superstitious person, but the act of writing their names on a padlock - a very real symbol of unbreakable love and commitment - felt ominous.

Everything in the courtyard was a testament to love, longing, and hope, so she was either sullying that testament with a lie, or cursing her own opportunity to find love.

Yet River had been so cavalier to offer up their names.

To lock them on the gate - eternally linked.

No hesitation.

The tactility of their relationship wasn’t helping.

Clearly, aside from the occasional punch-up, neither of them had had a hand to hold for a very long time.

She’d expected to feel disorientated by having another body so close for so long.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t love at first sight, but it was close.

It was comfort at first conversation and familiarity at first touch.

It was realising you had spent your whole life missing something you didn’t know you needed.

It felt so real. So tangible. So true.

It was terrifying, frankly.

Even more so that within twenty four hours, it would be gone.

A distant memory, relegated to the past.

Only remembered drunkenly at work Christmas parties.

Oh my god, do you remember when we had to pretend to be married?!

How funny.

How weird.

How hollow it would all sound.

Sid looked closely at River, trying to read his mind.

His eyes held an intense focus, but his face otherwise offered few clues.

The only thing truly clear was the unwavering certainty of his touch, which sent a warm flutter through her belly.

One thing she had gauged over their weekend was how good he actually was at his job.

At home he was impulsive and hot-headed, always ready for a fight, an argument. Using sarcasm as a crutch.

Here, he seemed surer in his own abilities, more confident and capable.

They continued their tour through the house, Sid and River tried to pay attention to the guide's information, all the while keeping a careful ear open for any words from Stella or Diego.

“Five days, that’s nuts,” River muttered next to her. Sid looked up, confused. “Romeo and Juliet. Met on Sunday, married on Monday, both dead by Thursday.”

“They only spent three days together,” she realised. “Most of their story was spent apart.”

Her chest constricted at the parallels. She and River had only spent three days together.

Not that she was planning on offing herself at the end of the weekend.

“I think you need to tell Jonty to sort his shit out,” Sid looked up at Stella’s sharp tone and parked her conversation with River. She could feel him eagerly waiting for Diego’s response.

“... Not that easy, babe…" they strained to hear, Diego’s voice not as clear as Stella’s.

“Make it that easy. Stop letting him order you around.” Stella hissed, walking away from him in anger.

She wasn’t speaking particularly loudly, but River had managed to position them closely enough that the acoustics of the room carried her voice right to them.

Sid watched Diego shove his phone into his pocket and trail after Stella.

“Well that was… something?” Sid arched an eyebrow.

“Hopefully. C’mon, let’s go,” he tapped her hip, encouraging her towards the stairs and back out into the still crowded courtyard.

Unable to see through the stream of people, Sid waited for River to decide on a direction.

Quickly, he took her hand and pulled her behind him towards the exit.

Through the graffiti-filled alleyway littered with love notes and lipstick kisses, they emerged on the street with the Piazza only a few meters away, and Diego and Stella disappearing into the crowd.

“Fuck,” River grimaced.

They followed anyway, but were only able to glimpse Diego and Stella in the distance.

They seemed to be walking against the tide of people and Sid once again found herself being pushed and knocked so much, her hand slipped from River’s grasp and he too, disappeared from view in the sea of faces.

“Shit,” she muttered, coming to a halt.

A group of school kids on a trip filled her path, not wanting to walk any less than six abreast and not conceding any space for her to get through.

She took refuge in a doorway as they hurried towards Juliet’s house.

Once a full three coaches of kids had gone on their way, she stepped back out into the street.

She watched them go with a heavy sigh and her hands on her hips, before turning around and making her way towards the Arena.

“Lost something?” River asked from a few meters up ahead.

“What about -”

“We’re staying at the same hotel,” he grinned. “We’re on the same bus home?”

“So are we?”

“Yeah, well… don’t want to lose you, do I?” He shrugged and held out his hand. “You are my wife after all.”

Side tried to hide the smile that tugged at her lips, but it was impossible.

She rolled her eyes.

“Idiot,” she said affectionately, falling into step beside him as they continued on together.

~~~~~

The journey back to the hotel was far quieter.

Dilly lay her head on Tom’s shoulder and closed her eyes, Diego and Stella didn’t appear to be talking, and everyone else kept to themselves.

Sid leaned against the cool glass of the coach and watched the city fade from view.

Her mind swirled, crowded with thoughts of River, the argument they’d seen between Diego and Stella, the reality of going back to the real world… She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, pushing everything away until her mind was clear of all of the noise.

When the coach swept up the driveway of the hotel, a chorus of tired groans erupted.

“Drinks by the pool, anyone? We’re not dressing for dinner tonight, but I know some of you younger ones are off out later,” Warwick said from the front with a wry smile.

“I’m going to prop up the bar,” Diego declared, earning a glare from Stella. “If anyone wants to join me?”

“I’ll have a drink with you, mate.” River stood up in the aisle, stretching his arms above his head.

Sid poured all of her effort into keeping her eyes forward. “That ok, babe?” He asked Sid.

“Course, I think I might swim again.”

“Yep, I’m swimming too,” Dilly appeared, yawning. “Need to wake up if we’re going out later.”

“Well if the boys are all drinking, then hopefully I can swim without someone trying to drown me this time,” Lilly smiled.

They all filtered off the bus, going their separate ways.

River lingered, waiting for Sid to get off the coach.

“We’ll catch up before we go out later? I’m guessing we’re going?”

“I think we need to, there’s still so much to figure out.”

“Ok, look, I’ve got these idiots,” he nodded to where Jonty and Diego were making their way to the bar. “You see what you can do with Lilly if she's up for talking.”

“Sounds good. Be careful,” she warned. He kissed her lightly, missing her cheek and catching the corner of her mouth.

“You too,” he said quietly before following the others to the bar.

“Come on girlie, let’s swim!” Dilly giggled, dragging Sid through the lobby to get their swimsuits.

After one length, they gave up and joined the others lounging on sunbeds and drinking cocktails.

“Watch out for poor River,” Lilly warned.

“Why?” Sid frowned.

“Ugh, yeah, she's right,” Dilly added.

“Jonty and Diego, the gruesome twosome. They like to get the plus ones pissed and then treat them like shit,” Lilly scowled.

“They did it to Tom.” Dilly sighed.

“Oh.” Sid glanced at the open doors leading to the bar where loud laughter could be heard.

“I'm sure he'll be fine, love. He's a nice boy.” Lilly poured Sid another drink from the pitcher.

“What's with them anyway?” Sid asked.

“They're dickheads?” Dilly supplied.

“Dil,” Lilly chuckled. It was the first time Sid could recall the older woman being remotely nice to Dilly.

“They are, though! We all know what's going on. Warwick was ready to move on, he wanted Diego to take over.”

“Then Diego ruined Warwick’s big plan by deciding he was going to move out of the company, so Jonty thought he was a shoo in.” Lilly added, glancing towards the doors where Stella was talking with the waiter.

“She's talking, we're fine,” Dilly assured her.

“Right, but Jonty is not ready. He's an idiot, Warwick knows it but he's got a soft spot for him. So he's tasked Diego with helping Jonty out a bit.”

“So neither Diego or Warwick are moving on at the moment, no one else is getting a shot at Warwick's job,” Dilly continued breathlessly.

“And everyone hates Jonty?” Sid finished.

“You've got it.” Lilly concurred just as Stella made her way towards them.

“Be careful ladies, Diego's got them doing shots,” she rolled her eyes.

Dilly took a long drink, avoiding Stella's eye.

“Bloody foolish,” Lilly muttered.

“Are you and Diego OK?” Sid asked, “we saw you leaving the courtyard at Juliet's house earlier, tried to catch you up.”

“Sorry babe, Diego wanted to go back to the amphitheatre on the way back to get a little model for our nephew.”

“Looked like you were in a rush,” Sid smiled, handing her a drink.

“Couldn't miss the bus! Amber would have gone mad!” Stella laughed, but it didn't reach her eyes.

“Uh oh, here comes trouble,” Dilly called out as Tom and River approached them.

“I promise I only had a couple of shots,” Tom winced.

“Oh shit,” River stopped dead in front of Sid's sunbed.

“What's up? Did they get you drunk?” She asked warily.

“No, no,” he said unconvincingly. “You need to cover up… cos of the sun.”

“The sun's nearly down, River?”

“For my sanity then,” he turned away, looking out to the pool.

Sid laughed.

“River, I'm your wife, you're allowed to look at me.”

He spun back around, instantly regretting the motion.

“Oh yeah,” he grinned, his eyes glazed, “perks of the job.”

Sid froze for a moment and then laughed off his comment.

“You're funny,” she cupped his cheek, “being married isn't a job, you daft sod.”

“Told you,” Lilly shook her head. “Diego supplying the booze, was he, River?”

River nodded without looking away from Sid.

“Yeah we had a few, didn't we Tom?”

Tom lay back on Dilly's sunbed with her sun hat covering his eyes.

“He's out for the count, nothing a quick power nap won't sort.” Dilly smiled.

“Could be a good idea,” Sid sighed. “Come on, babe, let's go to bed for an hour?”

She got up from the sunbed and pulled on a robe before pulling River to his feet.

She led him through the main lobby rather than back through the bar.

The noise from that direction suggested that Diego and Jonty were still enjoying the local drinks.

In their room, she nudged his shoulders to get him to sit on the bed.

“It's not Jonty,” he mumbled.

“I'm not so sure,” she closed the blinds and he lay back against the pillows.

“It's not,” he insisted, “I know what's going on with him,” his voice faded, muffled by the pillows.

Sid set an alarm on her phone and lay next to him.

“Sshh, it's OK. Tell me later,” she brushed the hair from his face as his eyes fluttered shut.

The sun had brought out freckles across his nose and tinted his cheeks pink.

He sighed heavily in his sleep, his arm raising up and coming to rest across Sid's waist, dragging her closer to him.

She rolled her eyes and tried to move, but his arm anchored her in place.

His steady breathing, the busy day, and the darkness of the room soon had her sleeping beside him.

CHAPTER 5

#river cartwright #slow horses #jack lowden #river cartwright fanfic #river x sid #river cartwright x sid baker #sid baker #sidonie baker #sid in italy #this love left a permanent mark

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faustianfascination · 9 months ago

Text

carnal need

Kinktober Day 1 Day 1. Bondage | Role Reversal

Words: 2021 Pairing: Faust x OC (Ikemen Vampire) Tags: NSFW! MDNI! AU Modern Setting, AU demonFaust, bondage, shadow magic, demon, tentacles, mating press, rough sex, possessive

Faust moved quietly through the apartment, the furniture and belongings twisted and morphed by the neon lights and stark shadows of the city outside. It made the already small space feel even more tight, his unfurled wings nearly spanning the whole room, certainly more than the width of the bed he'd come to a stop at the foot of. The strips of light falling over her sheets accentuated the curves of her body, his eyes travelled over the legs splayed across the sheets. He enjoyed how she had gone to sleep in nothing but a crop tee and lacy thong that did very little to conceal the sensual place between her legs that he was so excited to explore. He'd been watching for days, his desire for this cute little human growing to the point of having to do something about it. Faust with a subtle flick of his hand called upon his shadows, vine like tendrils slithered from him and lightly began weaving themselves around the legs of the sleeping woman, his Persephone. Their ticklish light touches making her body subtly tremble and pulling her from the depths of sleep.

It was the sensation of her cheek being caressed by something so warm that caused her to finally wake. The sensations of warm and smooth things twisting around her caused her to sit bolt upright, only to be confronted with an unearthly sight at the foot of her bed. She was too shocked to scream, frozen in place as her eyes roamed the figure before her. Sinew and muscle that looked carved from marble, his erection prominent enough to cast its own shadow, the imposing height exaggerated by the great black wings outstretched; if she was in more of a humorous mood she would have noted that her tiny home was barely big enough to accommodate his wingspan. Her darting eyes finally fell on his face, blazing hazel eyes struck a chord of recognition, only now his head was crowned not just by blue hair but completed with twisted horns. It took a moment for the incongruity of the image of this demon at the foot of her bed to merge with the sardonic priest she had kept running into recently. But it was the hazel eyes and arrogant grin that confirmed his identiy. Strangely, this form suited him far more she thought, it seemed more authentic to his prickly and arrogant personality. It also made her feel less ashamed of the less than pure thoughts she'd been harbouring for him. The very thoughts that she'd used to relax just earlier this evening…

"Father Faust" left her lips as a breathy whisper as he moved from the foot of her bed to come closer to her, grasping her jaw and gently pulling her face up to look at him. Without his glasses for once, his eyes almost glowing in the dark space making his chuckle feel more sinister than usual

"Like my true form little one" he said, his usually velvety voice even more hypnotising that usual, the little light in the room seeming to illuminate his face. The arrogant grin, and what looked to be a pair of fangs peaking out from his lips "because you have made keeping up the priestly getup excruciatingly difficult and frankly it's time I claimed what is mine. After your little show earlier I know that your desires are not so pure so perhaps you need to repent before you find yourself trapped" her embarrassment and rebuttal didn't have a chance to make it past her lips as his lunged to kiss her. Forceful, dominating and utterly enthralling, the feeling of him sucking on her bottom lip soon replaced as his tongue invaded her mouth and wound around hers similar to how his wings circled around them. She knew she should be scared, terrified of this beast that had crept into her home, but desire burned through her instead. The damned man had been haunting Persephone's thoughts for weeks now, driving her half insane. The feeling of his lips, the shadowy tendrils caressing her body making her lose all sense of rationality. Replaced only by want, by carnal need.

She rose on her knees and pulled him even closer, pressing her sensitive body against the hot solid muscle of his form, feeling every flex, his arousal pressing into her stomach as their lips and tongues danced together. Her fingers touching every bit of hot skin she could grasp, from his back, to his neck, tangling into his soft hair and coming across the bony smooth feeling of the horns protruding from his scalp. A thick base, curling over in loose spirals, the moment she began touching them Faust groaned deeper, rutted against her.

Faust was somewhat impressed she was brave enough to embrace him so readily, lust would truly lead her to her ruin because he would never let such an adorable little guinea pig go now. However, with her fiddling with his horns she'd managed to find a weak spot that was making go mad and he had no desire to give her the reigns right now.

He broke the kiss, pushing her back down onto the bed. It was adorable watching her shock at her tiny amount of clothing burn away without hurting her, leaving her there in all her natural glory. What a divine body she had, he was looking forward to leaving his marks all over it.

First, she needed to keep those hands to herself, otherwise Faust was going to loose what little composure he had. His shadows that had been dancing threads across her skin began the job of restraining those wandering hands. Pulling her down to the bed, wrapping around her wrists, pulling them over her head to secure them to the headboard, the other vines pulling her legs open with surprising force, her body was moved and positioned like a doll but instead of fear it just made her wetter and wanting. The shadows bent her legs, held them there and allowed the demon to enjoy the sight of her petals open and waiting for him. The shadow like ropes slithered over her skin, holding her, binding her, wrapping around her hardening nipples and exerting a light pressure around her throat. The sensation was almost overwhelming in itself, but seeing Faust framed by her open legs, his look of unashamed lust as he looked at her cunt and the rest of her naked body made her breath hitch.

"You're so wet little one, makes me want to fuck you right now" he said while rubbing his own cock "but you still need some more preparation before I take you. I want to see you and that pretty little hole begging" and with that she felt the tendrils trapping her begin to play with her clit, while slowly creeping into her. The intrusion welcomed as the shadows, so ethereal yet solid playing with her most sensitive spots made her restrained body write, her hips bucking and shaking at the sensations. Her moans bounced off the walls, as she began to move and fuck herself against the vines inside her. He could see how much she wanted him, watched her using what little mobility she had to try and take them deeper, her pretty hole overflowing as she began screaming his name, it was testing his patience and making his cock and his fangs throb with hunger. The tears of pleasure falling from her eyes were the last straw. Faust pulled out the shadows inside her, he wanted her to come on his cock, but first she needed to beg.

At the loss of fullness she whined his name, so he moved closer. Caging her bound body beneath him, and started rubbing the head of his cock up and down her folds, pressing it into her clit so hard she arched her back, her pretty face contorting and twisting in pleasure.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered seductively into her ear, her sensitised body trembling from the feeling of him so close. His wings and large body filling her vision totally, trapping her further.

"Please…" she practically wept in his arms while he continued using his engorged cock to tease her

"Please what" he commanded, the feeling of his dominance somehow making her more turned on. She was his plaything now and it was ripping apart the last of her sanity.

"Please…inside" the words were a struggle, her body was so on edge she could barely think let alone articulate what she needed, what she knew he knew she wanted. Persephone thought he'd been a bit of a bully before, she really had no idea.

"Please, inside? You'll need to be clearer than that versúchskaninchen" his voice was gratingly smug, if she could she would have considered hitting him.

"Damnnit Faust, you know what I want. FUCK ME YOU SMUG BASTARD" she practically yelled while glaring at him. Even bound and begging she still managed to be rebellious and spirited and it crumbled the last of his restraint so he finally began sinking into her depths, straight to the hilt. They moaned in unison, the stretch boarded on painful but not quite crossing the threshold. She was overflowing with wetness, it felt so good. The pressure around him, squeezing, fluttering, almost pulling him in further made his head spin. Again they kissed more, his lips exploring every bit of skin they could find, he drew his fangs over her bare skin before finding the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her blood smelt even better when she was lost in lust, the taste would be exquisite he thought as he finally sunk his fangs in. The pain was brief, overtaken by flame exploding through her, driving her to climax instantly making her head roll back as she screamed his name. Faust practically roared at the feeling of her orgasming around him, her bound body, spread legs allowing him deep into her. He gripped her hips and began thrusting hard, pressing her legs closer to her shoulders, almost folding her in half with his ferocity, it was primal, beastly and made her moan louder, her body shake with each powerful movement.

Each thrust was accompanied by calls of his name, the squelching sound of her come pouring out of her making him glide quicker into her cunt as he pounded, he could also feel her pulling at the shadowy restraints the rougher he got. Until his own climax began to build, the tension building from his hips to his wings. One more thrust deep into her and he finally hit his limit, pulling out so he could cover her in his seed. He watched the thick spurts fall over her stomach, chest and even splash a little on her cheek. The satisfaction of seeing her painted in him was overwhelming, between his shadows, his fangs and his come he'd marked her thoroughly as his. Her quivering form, dripping hole and blissed out expression were rather endearing he thought as he leaned over here again, looking down at her still bound body. Seeing his seed over her cheek, he slowly dipped his finger in it to anoint her forehead in a perverted mockery of his priestly guise. With that he released his shadow bindings and watched her exhausted body go limp on the bed; all except one, an elegant tendril wrapped around her ankle, a smoke like shackle that now bound her to him. Although his stamina was inhuman, she wasn't so as an act of mercy he'd allow her some rest. He gathered her into his arms and lay them both down on the bed, resting her body over his.

She pulled herself close, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his neck, enjoying his warmth and hands tracing small circles over her back and hips. It would have been cold if not for his searing body heat, and his wings wrapping around them both; encasing themselves in their own private world.

He would not let go of this fascinating human any time soon.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp faust #ikevamp oc #ikevamp smut #faust x persephone #persephone grey #kinktober 2024 #kinktober prompts

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thatone-galaxi3 · 3 months ago

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Someone really should take my au toys away from me, I have far too many.

07/18 2024

07/19 2024

I also decided to have some more ThoughtsTm about this so massive ramble warning under the cut

3Way Stop&Shop ;

So this whole idea started out with a love for Jazz and Dani, and my massive Ghostlights hyper fixation at the time. The original idea for the story was gonna be the three kids each having their own story merging into one big one. I feel the basics for Jazz and Dani can be sused out pretty easily by their designs but I had a lot of haphazard ideas I still kinda wanna get into.

Let's start with Danny cuz poor boi didn't get a design here.

Danny Fenton / Phantom / White Rabbit

Danny is sent to his 'Aunty Anna' place (Zatanna) while his parents un-ghost proof the hose to make it actually livable for Danny. In this au Zatanna is a close cousin of Jacks and after learning about Danny's most recent life (or unlife) events she gets the Fenton Parents to see a different side of ghosts and fully accept Danny as he is.

While Danny is living with Zatanna he learns some astrology type magic thing bc of a star/space core idk and helps her on missions. To avoid drama with necromancers he goes by the name White Rabbit and tries to stay out of his ghost form as much as possible.

So, originally this was gonna be a Ghostlights story,, and still might be if I ever make it because I them so much <3 But Duke and Danny's part of the story was going to be some type of horror romance plot where Duke is desperate to get the job done while Danny is mostly dicking around in the bg giving tips that range from wildly unhelpful to surprisingly useful.

There was gonna be a whole plot line of Danny working with Catwoman for a bit to get some cursed artifact and Signal would show up every time to stop him, a sort of cat and mouse chase to mirror Batman and Catwoman.

Tho in this Selina was gonna pull a 180 and start fucking Zatanna soooooo

Danny was in Gotham to help Zatanna with something about Xanthe Zhou and run away spirits, but I was always conflicted because I just didn't know if I understood Xan well enough to do them justice.

Danielle Fenton-Allen / Eldridge / Argo

Dani gets adopted by the Speedsters! YAYYY!!

She has a wondering / lighting core which makes her seem a lot like one of the Speedsters. This, of course, is enough for her to be adopted almost instantly. She lives with Wally West and Linda Park as a sort of trial kid before they end up fully committing to having Jai and Irey.

As a Speedster she was going to take the mantle of Argo, not yet feeling fully confident in taking the name Kid Flash, still too used to being burned by other families.

Her ghost // 'villain' name was Eldridge, and she was going to be the "'arch-nemesis"' to Damian and Jon... This was going to be a DanixDamixJon au. I'm not so sold on the idea anymore, like it's a cute ship, Dani just already got a lot going on for her and if Danny is already in Gotham their stories would cross too soon. I feel I can keep her as friends to Damian and Jon as Argo to keep her closer to the found family idea I was going for. Honestly now that I'm thinking about it it could be very cute and a step closer to their own Holy Trio that each generation seems to have lol. Maybe even age up Lizzie (? I think is her name, I probs should double check that it's been a minute) and give them their own Core Four.

Anyways, I thought the name Eldridge was cute and very her own, and while I think I could make it work it's also very sweet to still have her sharing Danny's title (+ it can be used for spirit summoning shenanigans if need be ;})

I think I had the strongest idea about what I wanted to do with Dani, it was just a bit too much, a bit too everywhere. I already like the idea of Jon, Dami, and Dani just being mission friends more, and it makes more sense then trying to find a buncha excuses as to why Damian or Jon are always in each other's cities.

Jasmine 'Jazz' Fenton / Dazzle

Jazz, the design, the wild card, the ✨Vibes✨

Jazz is the one who came to me the easiest,,, which was the problem. I had so many ideas for her I was just throwing shit at the wall to see what stuck.

I had characters that were just hero friends (Kyle Rayner & K'tten), just college friends (Jules Jourdain -at least until The Reveal- & Raquel Ervin), and a bunch of rando villains (Essence, Rendll, Marque). As much fun as a storyline with each of these guys can be,, maybe all at once isn't the best idea.

The main concept for Jazz was her trying to handle the stress of work/school and coming to terms with the fact that she can't plan out her whole entire existence in highschool expecting it to work out perfectly. I would still love to keep that, having her switch quickly from neurosurgeon, to therapy, to finally letting go and choosing someone like childhood development maybe as she realizes she has to make compromises to truly help people.

That's also the reason I made her a Star Sapphire. I feel a lot of people lump every Sapphire together (which tbf a lotta DC writers do that to) but they aren't all driven by romantic/sexual love. There are many types of love out there. For Jazz it was her love for her family and need to help people. She saw how much her family was putting themselves at risk, how her siblings have already died or never even got the chance to fully live, and she wanted to do something about that. This was that something.

I think instead of giving Jazz all these people to lean back on, she'd kinda isolate herself and for a long while it's just Kyle as a Green Lantern helping her out with Earth. He's a big support, but he's also just one guy so for a long time Jazz is determined to figure everything out one her own. It definitely makes things easier on me, I was reaching for some of those guys lol.

Also whoever came up with the ring as a hairtie idea fucks severely and I desperately wish I had written who it was down somewhere. Anyways, who ever you are you're a real one✊

Those were the basics of the au, very rough, very much just a bunch of notes lol. I think this could actually be a pretty good idea once brushed up quite a bit but it does have some good foundations. I just need to figure out which ones are unnecessary.

Like most of the other fics I think of this was going to be written, but I'm working on a comic for another DC crossover and I'm quite liking the process. I think a lot can be improved by cutting the scale of this whole thing and one good way to do that is to make it a comic lol.

I'll let this keep turning in my mind to see if anything comes of it. People are more than welcome to use any of these ideas if they so please,, it was already a Frankenstein of ideas I don't really have a claim on anyways lmao.

#dpxdc #dpxdc fanart #dpdc doodl3 #galaxi3doodl3 #||#I wrote down most of this at like midnight so dont come at me #im kinda thinking of doing a second pass on these desgins #like i like em #im just not in love with them. especially now that im looking back on them #that requires a lot of thought and effort tho #and makes me actually wanna do something with the story when ive already got fifty others swimming in my head #and yes jazzs' eyes are blank on purpers its meant to be the white out eyes #i just saw a few artist doing outlines of the eyes in lanterns' and i wanted to try #.. i dont think im gonna try again lol

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rotworld · 2 years ago

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The Oldest Dance

you knew a werewolf when you were younger. your lives went in different directions, but you find yourself suddenly reunited under the worst possible circumstances.

->explicit. contains kidnapping, drugging, power imbalance, mentions of noncon and conditioning, biting, feral behavior, mild gore.

You’ve never seen so many stars before.

The thought strikes you only after the sharp burn of adrenaline dies to a simmer. Fear curdles into exhaustion. Time gets fuzzy. Between the hairpin turns of the road and the lush sea of furs and bedding all around you, there’s no way to get your footing or your bearings. You test the rope around your wrists again and there’s no give, no weakness, just an unpleasant, stinging friction where they’ve been chafing your skin. You hear the rumble of the engine, the scrape of tires over dirt, branches dragging like nails across the windows. You can barely see a thing, and it’s not just your blurry, swimming vision, the exhaustion clinging stubbornly to your eyes. It’s dark here and dark outside, the whole world just a mass of merging shadows.

And the stars…you must not be in town anymore. Not even close to it.

There’s nowhere to go but you still fight to sit up, to get to your knees at least. It’s not a dip in the road or a sudden turn that throws you off balance this time. Someone grabs the back of your neck and shoves you down again. That large, callused hand could almost wrap all the way around your throat if it wanted, but it settles on your nape, squeezing with the gentle but firm chiding of an animal scruffing its young.

“First one’s awake,” you hear.

There’s a sharp, amused exhale from the front seats, driver’s side. “The one who barely touched their drink, I’m guessing. You got a grip on them?”

“Yeah. It’s fine, they’re still groggy.”

You run your hands through the blankets, hoping you look confused instead of searching, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Wool. Flannel. A zipper? Someone curled up on their side, breathing softly. Your elbow bumps into a warm body beside you, a bony shoulder exposed by a sagging, oversized sweater. They mutter in their sleep. The hand on the back of your neck eases when you settle and don’t try to get up again, but it stays, thumb gently stroking. It takes everything you have to keep your breathing calm and even.

Three of you back here, you count. Captives. The other two still out cold. And four of them. Two in the front and two in the back, keeping watch.

“Should only be a half hour or so for the rest, as long as you didn’t give them too much.” You recognize the voice from the passenger seat. He was at the club. Smaller guy, not huge like the one kneeling next to you. Dark hair. Dazzling smile. And touchy, always trying to get in your space, talking a little too close for comfort. It all starts coming back in a slow trickle. Right. The club. And that guy, Corbin, you’ve seen him a few times before, thought he was a little weird but he always seemed to know when to back off. So how…why…?

“Wish we could’ve taken the fourth one, too,” the guy holding you down says wistfully. His hand rubs up and down your back in a soothing, absentminded motion. “Such pretty eyes, and a sweet scent.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from the other guy in the back, a hulking figure sitting against the wall further from you. “Bigger hunts are always more fun,” he murmurs.

“Aww, I know,” Corbin coos. “But trust me, they weren’t a good match. These three, on the other hand? They’re perfect.” There’s a glimmer of light in the front seat—the glare of a cell phone illuminating part of Corbin’s jaw. It’s nearly blinding after your eyes have adjusted to the dark, and it suddenly occurs to you why you can’t see anything. Not the men, not much more than lumpy silhouettes, not any trees distinct from the moving shadows beyond the windows; nothing but stars.

They’re not using headlights. These are wolves.

You surge up in a panic, scrabbling blindly for the doors. It’s probably not a good idea—even if they’re miraculously unlocked, you won’t accomplish much more than tumbling out in the middle of fucking nowhere, maybe skin yourself on the road in the process—but your terror is louder than your rational thinking. You fight the hands that grab you, screaming, clawing, biting like an animal, thrashing with all your strength. It takes both of them to pin you back down and you savor that even through the humiliating briefness of your rebellion, wrestled onto your stomach with a hand shoving your head down into the blankets.

You don’t expect him to bite you and that drags a shrill but short noise out of you. You’re not ready for what it feels like, the weight of him across your back and the crunch of his teeth sinking in, a hot gush of blood dribbling past his snarling lips. It hurts like hell and it doesn’t stop. Every time you squirm, every panicked jerk and attempted wriggling movement, makes him growl against your skin. He holds your hands down with his much larger, much stronger ones, fingers pinning yours on either side of your head, and that’s when you finally give in. You aren’t punished for the last nervous shiver that travels down your spine, or the whimper that slips out when he loosens his jaw and pulls away, strings of saliva and sticky blood slicking your neck.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good human. Stay down.” The gentleness of his fingers stroking your scalp makes a sob build in your throat.

“You got it?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got it. Tried to keep the bite light, but they wouldn’t submit. Might leave a mark.” He traces his thumb over the throbbing wound he left behind, ragged and still bleeding.

Corbin chuckles. “It’s fine, I’ll vouch for you if anyone asks.” You can’t see him clearly but you can tell he’s turned around, leaning slightly around his seat to peer into the back. You can feel his gaze burning into you. “I won’t tell you not to fight. I hope you do,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. Talking to you rather than about you, you realize. “I chose you because I knew you would. It’s a good thing. Good for the pack. Eventually, you’ll learn how to pick your battles.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by how shaky and hoarse you sound.

You can’t see what kind of expression he has, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll thank me someday.”

It doesn’t take long for the other two to wake after all the commotion. One just stares in silent shock and disbelief. The other starts to cry. The other wolf in the back pulls them into his lap and nuzzles his face against their cheek and neck, as though they want anything to do with him. He grunts unhappily when they cry harder and shove him away. You can just make out a chorus of howls over the sound of the engine. The wolf who bit you starts stroking your back again, a melodic hum rumbling in his chest.

“The heartland joining us tonight?” the driver asks.

Corbin hums softly. “They’re abstaining. A few might come to watch.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I hoped one of these might be a good fit.”

“Linden needs an absolutely perfect match. It’s my next project.”

You don’t catch what else they say because those quiet, miserable sobs turn to heartwrenching wailing. The other person in the back starts to plead for their life. The wolf closest to them strokes their cheek. “You’re not going to die,” he murmurs. “Hush. It’ll all make sense soon.”

The van slows, relief and terror warring in your heart. You can run—and go where? You don’t know where you are, don’t know the way back to town. Outrunning a werewolf is a tall order under the best circumstances. You’re on their turf, in the dark; you don’t stand a chance. Doesn’t matter. You have to try. The road gets rougher, the foliage thicker like grasping hands. The van rolls to a slow, grinding stop and the engine dies. You’re surprised nobody tries to restrain you before the locks disengage and the back doors are thrown open, but it doesn’t take long to see why.

You’re deep in the woods. The full moon drapes a thin, silver gleam over the silhouettes of shifting figures, animal eyes shining in the dark. There must be dozens of them—thirty, maybe forty wolves, all sniffing the air, growling and pacing impatiently. More are still coming, slipping through the trees in the shape of both humans and beasts. You’re completely surrounded. They form a wide circle around the van, all eyes trained on you and the other two petrified people huddled at your back. You can hear them talking to each other, their voices half-feral with barks and growls.

“Three? Just three?”

“Three’s a lot for the off-season.”

“All awake, too. Afraid and alert. Gonna be a good hunt.”

“And look at that one in front, bristling like that. Think they’ll bite back?”

Laughter. Your stomach churns. One of the wolves gets out of the van while the other leans in close at your side, the two of them gradually easing you out and onto your feet. A door slams. The wolf who was driving gets out, stretches his legs. You see him kick off his shoes and shed his shirt, tossing his clothes into the driver’s seat before he suddenly falls down on all fours and shifts into a wolf. The change is nearly instant, a chorus of unpleasant, bone-cracking sounds, his skin engulfed in dark fur. Corbin wanders into view, glancing at the three of you with an expression of infuriating tranquility.

Golden light flickers in the corner of your vision. The crowd parts and the man who steps forward makes the wolves you’ve seen so far seem small and delicate in comparison. Massive and towering over all the rest, his chest bare and broad, muscled shoulders adorned with tattoos, he comes forward with a lantern in his hand and a sharp grin on his face. The others all have that intimidating air about them but this one truly looks like a werewolf, overwhelming and wild. His sharp gaze flicks to each of you. Your heart leaps into your throat as, one by one, he looks you in the eyes and speaks your names.

“Welcome, chosen,” he says. “My name is Vanagandr, and this is Hoarfrost Falls. The pack is eager to meet you. Are you well?”

It takes you a moment to understand this is a serious, genuine question. He waits patiently for an answer, studying each of you in turn. “Are we well?” you repeat in disbelief. “Are you for real?”

To your dismay, he finds your anger harmless and amusing, a soft chuff of laughter escaping his lips. “Let me rephrase. Do you feel sick or hungover? Any injuries, particularly to the legs or feet? Be honest. We have a medic.”

The two cowering behind you don’t say a word, too afraid to even lift their gazes. One of them is shaking, clinging to your shoulder. Still, Vanagandr waits, and the uncomfortable silence stretches on. Eventually, one of them shakes their head. The other mutters a quiet, “I’m fine.” The wolves around you stare and point openly, muttering to one another about which one of you smells the best, which one looks the softest, the most defiant, the most fun to train.

“I was bitten,” you mutter.

He doesn’t wait for you to show him, grabbing you by the shoulder and turning you in place. His hand is large, his nails sharp like claws. He traces the teeth marks in your neck and growls softly. The wolf who bit you stiffens and turns his head. Baring his throat, you realize.

It’s then that you see Corbin slink closer, pressing himself against the enormous wolf’s side. “It wasn’t his fault,” he says in a soft, demure tone, his head bowed so he looks up at Vanagandr through his thick lashes. “He couldn’t let up because they wouldn’t submit. It took a little while.”

“I figured as much,” Vaganadr chuckles. He rubs his face against Corbin’s neck and jaw, a gesture that strikes you as odd, affectionate, and a touch possessive. “Go on. Your alpha’s looking for you.” At that, Corbin’s eyes light up and he slips away with one last lingering touch to Vanagandr’s shoulder, but he doesn’t rush to leave. He meanders through the crowd of wolves and the others greet him with the same eager affection, grabbing him, passing him amongst themselves like a toy to sniff and touch and grope shamelessly. The display unsettles you and in your haste to find somewhere else to look, you see something that makes your heart skip a beat.

A small group has just arrived. These wolves are younger, noticeably nervous and fidgeting. They’re led by a wolf who looks like he got stuck in the middle of shifting, limbs long and furred, hands and feet tipped with claws, a bushy tail swishing behind him. He’s talking to them in a low, gravelly voice, something about herding and not rushing, but that doesn’t matter. None of it matters except for one wolf who stands out from the rest. Not because he does anything unusual. Not because he’s particularly big or intimidating looking—he always was bigger than you but here, he’s average. Right at home.

You know that wolf. You recognize the scars slashed from his hairline to his jaw, long, jagged lines clawed across the left side of his face. You remember that nervous little twitch of the nose whenever he ran into something new, some situation that made him nervous. He’s grown his hair out longer, let it spill over his shoulders and down his back in thick, black waves, but you know it’s him. The fearful expression on his face transforms into full-blown panic when your eyes meet.

“Flint?” All you can manage is a strangled whisper but you know he hears you. An unhappy, dog-like whine rises in his throat. “Flint? What—why are you here?” You aren’t thinking when you push your way towards him. No one is stopping you but you barely notice, don’t even hesitate to wonder why. You shoulder through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, the uneasy glances, Vanagandr gone completely still and silent behind you.

Flint lowers his gaze, staring at the grass by your feet. You’re further from the lantern and the shadows are thick, his face half-hidden in flickering, lurching darkness, but you can hear him panting the way he always would when he felt overwhelmed. Your name comes out in a needy whine, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No…no, no, no, not yet…” He has trouble getting the words out, and even more trouble trying to look you in the eye. His voice is exactly the way you remember, low and rough and painfully quiet, like he’s afraid to speak any louder than a rumbling whisper. “I’m not—I’m not ready, I can’t…”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they kidnap you, too?” you ask, your voice raising with anger the more you speak. You know next to nothing about wild wolves, but you know Flint is meek and easy to boss around, the kind of person who got picked on by other wolves when you were younger. The tall werewolf, the one who looks caught between human and animal, steps closer as though he means to separate you. “Don’t touch him!” you snap. He looks down at you, an expression of muted surprise smoothing into understanding.

“Corbin,” he says quietly. The smaller man rushes over, now carrying the lantern Vanagandr held earlier. “You two. Follow.” He doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you. He just starts walking. You’re startled that Flint obeys without question, keeping his head down. Corbin grabs your forearm and drags you along, frowning at your attempts to squirm free and pry his fingers off.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “Remember what I said before about picking your battles?” he asks. You’re suddenly aware of just how quiet the clearing has become, all eyes on you. Vanagandr watches you very carefully, his gaze hardened and threatening. You glance ahead where the tall werewolf has stopped moving, looking back over his shoulder.

Flint is hunched next to him, head down, whimpering. The wolf has a hand on his forearm, gripping hard enough to leave marks. You take a deep breath. Fine. You can play along for now. You’ll do anything for Flint’s sake.

Wolves have their own gods.

Flint knew that when he was little, of course, but it was a vague sort of awareness. Hearsay, rather than knowledge. Wolves, he was surely told at some point, have many faiths and traditions depending on where they live or where they come from. But these things are distant for city wolves, even shameful at times. Why stick out any more than you already, unavoidably do? His family had distanced themselves from any sort of archaic, wild customs long before even his parents were born. When he followed the family tree as far back as it went, tracing those ancient scribbles on the old, yellowed parchment kept hidden in his father’s lockbox, he found strange symbols and names he wasn’t sure how to pronounce. The word ulfhednar was written in thick, black ink.

When he repeated the word to his parents, they looked at him like he’d dragged a human corpse through the front door and dropped it at their feet. “It’s an old, awful thing that you shouldn’t tell anyone,” his mother warned. And that was that. For years, he went on thinking there was something wrong with him, some secret shame he’d unknowingly inherited. It isn’t until much later—until Hoarfrost Falls—that he finds out the truth. Ulfhednar is not a dirty word, but it is something city wolves don’t talk about.

That, and gods. They don’t talk about those either. Not the old ones like the Poised Fang, god of the perfect strike. Some have forgotten and some no longer understand. Sawyer taught him all about that. Sawyer, who leads the three of them now—him and the hrefn and you, he can hardly believe it, you where he least expects to see you, exactly the wrong place and exactly the wrong time. He hadn’t even planned on being there. He was still too new to take part in the claiming chase, still too uncomfortable with the realities of acquiring pack humans to even watch.

Sawyer had insisted. He was kind about it. He had waited until the evening lessons were over to pull Flint aside, dusk simmering like dying embers along the horizon. Flint’s peers had all come from loose, disorganized city packs. Like him, they had dulled senses and smothered instincts. Their shifts were slow and uncomfortable because they’d all learned to do it quietly, stifling the popping of their joints and the rearranging of their bones in a way that left them winded when it was over.

There was comfort and camaraderie in being new and terrible at everything together, but Flint knew he was falling behind. The others were just as clueless but twice as eager, embracing each new facet of wild pack life while Flint was still reeling. He didn’t think they were judging him for it—he desperately hoped not—but he wasn’t sure. He was used to being an outcast. His whole life, he’d been the obvious werewolf in a room full of humans. He was tall, strongly built, his limbs thick with muscle, his nails constantly needing to be filed down as they grew quicker and sharper than he could keep up with. He’d tried joining packs before. Things always started well and soured quickly. City wolves would look at him and assume he was something wild, and as soon as they realized he wasn’t, he’d start getting pushed around and singled out. He didn’t like making a fuss so he just did what he was told and kept his head down.

But you—you would fight for him. You always did. You’d find out, no matter how hard he tried to keep these things quiet, and you’d tell him you were going to his next pack meeting. You’d be the smallest one in the room between all those werewolves, and you’d still march right up to whatever loudmouth was calling themselves alpha and tear them a new one. You’d demand all of his stuff back if anything had been taken and placed in communal storage—family heirlooms, usually, fur-lined coats and old quilts. Sometimes you’d manage to get a few of his membership fees reimbursed by citing breaches of contract, listing all the ways his pack had failed to behave like his pack.

You’d gotten hurt doing that, just once. It was the last pack he’d tried joining, the last desperate attempt to find belonging. The alpha had claimed his car as a pack asset and taken his keys, and you’d marched in there and refused to leave until they were put in your hand. Yelling had turned to shoving and someone had bitten you. Flint is ashamed to admit that he can’t fully remember everything that happened, only that he woke up in wolfskin, lying on the tile floor of his shower. You were kneeling next to him beneath the spray of warm water and running your fingers through his fur, wet, partially shredded clothes hanging off your body. Blood swirled down the drain.

“Not mine,” you assured him. “Not all yours, either, but don’t move around too much.”

He thinks about that all the time. He dreams about it. Curled up with his head in your lap and your hands running up and down his body, your touch soothing and affectionate. That’s what he was thinking of earlier tonight when Sawyer stopped him as the others ran off to gossip excitedly with their elders about the new pack humans coming up the mountain. Sawyer led him down a trail that wandered away from the commune’s structures, deeper into the woods.

Flint smelled it before he saw it; perspiration. Excitement. Arousal. A human and a werewolf. The end of a chase. They were up ahead, tucked away in a grove of crooked, towering oak trees. The human was making soft, scared sounds as she was forced down to her knees and made to present herself in proper submission, but she smelled eager and Flint saw a smile before her head was shoved down into the leaves. The wolf growled playfully when he mounted her, nuzzling against the nape of her neck. He whispered something in Old Wolven Norse; a term of endearment, Flint guessed, from the tone.

It felt wrong to stand there and watch. They’d come here to be alone, hadn’t they? But Sawyer looked at him sharply when Flint glanced back the way they’d come. They were going to talk here? In earshot of another wolf and his human as they joined in bliss, rutting on the forest floor? Sawyer did nothing without a reason. There was something Flint was meant to see here, something he was supposed to learn.

“You don’t want to watch tonight’s claiming,” Sawyer said quietly. “I think you should.”

Flint said nothing. He couldn’t gather his thoughts. He was too focused on the human’s alluring scent, their needy whimpers and squirming as the wolf took them. Would…would you look like that, under him? Would you be so open, so sweet? So much had gone unsaid between the two of you before. You weren’t together. You’d never broached the subject, even though he could smell your interest in him. He hadn’t wanted to push, terrified of scaring you away.

“Flint.” Sawyer was studying his face in the subtle way wolves did, a sidelong glance whenever he let his guard down. “Something’s on your mind.”

Flint swallowed. He could feel himself reacting to the couple in front of him, the tender flesh at the base of his cock where his knot swells up pulsing gently, and he was ashamed. “I’m thinking about studying a different trade,” he admitted.

Sawyer said nothing. Flint found himself looking desperately at his face, searching for signs of anger or disappointment, and found him completely unreadable. Sawyer was stone-faced and taciturn most of the time. Flint had to take a deep breath, relax himself, and remember to look elsewhere for answers. Sawyer’s scent was…calm. His tail was still, slightly raised in curiosity but there was no evidence of aggression or displeasure in his posture. He tilted his head slightly and avoided direct eye contact, looking in Flint’s general direction rather than right at him, trying not to make him feel threatened.

Emboldened, Flint continued. “It’s not your fault, it’s all me. You’ve done so much for me since I got here. You’re always patient with me no matter what I screw up. I know I can tell you things and you’ll listen. It’s just…I don’t think I can do this. I wouldn’t be a good shepherd.”

Sawyer grunted. It was more of a wolf sound than a human one, a chiding growl and a resigned huff all in one. “You’re the only one who decides your path. But if you want my opinion, I disagree. You’d make an exceptional shepherd.”

Flint shook his head. “I could never hurt them. I can’t wrap my head around it. The whole claiming thing, the biting, the…”

“Fucking?” Sawyer said it so easily.

“We’re forcing them, aren’t we? They don’t want it.”

“They do. They just don’t know it yet.” Sawyer had barely taken his eyes off the wolf and the human since they’d arrived, something nostalgic and bittersweet in his gaze. He nodded to the two of them, the human writhing in mindless pleasure and the wolf pounding her breathless, groaning into the flesh of her shoulder. “They’re no different from us. Strip the wild out of them and they become caged, miserable animals. Here, they learn to heed their instincts again.”

Flint knew that. He’d been taught all of this before. Alpha Druian told him that most humans lived in societies of suffering, and Flint knew he was right because he’d seen it himself, had lived in it for most of his life. Taking pack humans, teaching them everything they’d forgotten after centuries of isolating themselves from wolves—it was all natural and beautiful. It was the steps in between that he had trouble rationalizing; the claiming and the training. The fear and the pain, how new humans shivered at the sight of him and whimpered when he came too close. He was told that this, too, was perfectly normal, a necessary and expected part of the process.

He heard a quiet chuckle. A smile tugged at the corner of Sawyer’s lips. “This is why you’d be so good at it,” he said. “I stopped shepherding a long time ago, but those instincts never go away. I know what to look for. All that thinking and worrying, that’s what we’re best at. The pack’s most tenderhearted are the ones who should be closest to our humans. Confidence is important. Being able to make difficult choices and administer discipline, that’s also important. But you have to care, more than anything. You have to want what’s best for them.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he hadn’t said anything. Sawyer had simply stood beside him as the shadows grew and the sky darkened, night draping across the mountain. They watched the wolf bring the human to climax once, twice, a third time shuddering and wailing as her toes curled, the wolf’s hands roaming her sensitive body. When he finally spilled inside her, he sank his teeth into her neck. The spot was already marked and the precise way he angled his head, tonguing at the indentations before biting down, told Flint that was his mark. His human. A bond, renewed and made even stronger. He thought of you again and realized he was fully hard.

And now—here you are. He’s not ready. He can’t meet your worried gaze. Sawyer leads the way to the guest house, a large cabin where friends and allies stay while visiting the territory. Neutral, scentless ground. You’re wary, probably because you can’t see very well. Corbin sets the lantern down on a table but the light is dim, unable to crawl into all the cozy nooks and crannies in the spacious common area. Flint is happy that you go to him, sticking close to his side, but he doesn’t like how stiff and standoffish you are. He risks inching closer, pressing himself against you—and he smells another wolf on you. Saliva. Blood. A bite? Without thinking, he tugs at the neckline of your shirt, nostrils flaring at the sight of the wound.

“I’m sorry, Flint. I had no idea,” Corbin says softly. “The bite happened on the way here. It was intended to force submission.” He reaches out, trying to offer comfort. You slap his hand away. Flint’s hand twitches at his side, instincts warring within him. He wants to soothe you. Wants to scold you. Wants to protect you. Wants to protect Corbin. Paralyzed by indecision, he does nothing. Corbin’s attention shifts from Flint to you, his expression thoughtful. Part of Flint lurches in fear at the thought of Corbin getting his hands on you. Training you, the way he helps Druian train all the new arrivals. He sees that eager look in Corbin’s eyes, the way his gaze roams. He’s sizing you up. Finding weaknesses. Memorizing all of your movements, conscious and unconscious, how you carry yourself, how long you can look him in the eye.

Another part of him, deeply buried, considers it with alarming calmness. Before Hoarfrost Falls, he’d blame those thoughts on his “inner wolf,” but Sawyer has cautioned him against that kind of mental partitioning. “Don’t cut yourself into pieces,” he’d say. He is a wolf and a man and the melding of those things, all together, all at once. He is the clear-headed human understanding that you have every right and reason to be terrified right now, and he is also the feverish need to wrap around you in wolfskin as though his closeness can take all of your worries away.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Corbin says. An absurd statement, intended to be disarming. You make a sound that’s not quite a laugh, sharp and guarded, not taking the bait. Flint is proud—excited—for reasons he is afraid to identify. “I’m serious. There’s been a big misunderstanding. I know how it looks from your perspective, but—”

“You slipped something in my drink,” you say, accusing. “You kidnapped me, and two other people.”

“‘Kidnapped’ is a really loaded word.”

“Sit.” Sawyer’s voice comes from the far end of the room, by the windows. He’s got the long, draping curtains pulled shut to hide your view of the woods, just in case the chase comes this way. Corbin drops where he’s standing, immediately settling onto the soft rug. Flint seats himself on the couch, dismayed when you don’t follow his lead. You’re still standing, looking Sawyer in the eye and glaring hatefully. Flint understands suddenly what’s happening here, why you’re not just uneasy but furious.

“It’s not like that,” he tries to tell you, tugging at your hand. “This pack, they’re not like the others.”

“That’s what you always say. And then they boss you around and take advantage of you,” you mutter. And that’s true. He would always say that everything’s fine. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of his problems, and he didn’t want you getting hurt trying to defend him. It was all backwards. He was supposed to protect you. The ulfhednar didn’t just have pack humans, they had human allies, human trade partners, human settlements within their territory they defended from harm.

And yet, here you are with another wolf’s bite on your neck. Here he is, failing you again.

“Sit down, human,” Sawyer repeats. “You want an explanation. I’ll give it to you.”

“Are you the alpha?” you ask.

“Beta. Sit, please.”

Flint lets out a shaky, relieved breath when you finally obey, sinking onto the cushion beside him. Sawyer makes his approach slow and indirect, pacing, pretending to fuss over the decor. He straightens out a blanket draped over the back of an armchair and returns a book left on the table to its proper shelf. It works. You don’t relax completely but you follow his movements with your eyes, curiosity rounding the edges of your annoyance. You try to hide it when Sawyer finishes his minor adjustments and comes to stand in front of you, towering over Corbin beside him, but your sweetening scent gives you away.

Flint knows he should let the pack beta speak, but the guilt is eating him alive. “This is my fault,” he blurts out. You look at him the same, soft way you always have.

“That’s not true,” Corbin insists. “It’s mine. I should’ve been more thorough—”

Sawyer growls quietly. “It’s nobody’s fault.” He mutters in Old Wolven Norse, “It’s fate. Keep your fangs poised.”

Flint’s heart skips a beat. He can’t. He can’t do this. He’s not ready. He feels a whine building in his throat and bites it back, embarrassed by how readily his feelings show. He’s always been bad at keeping growls and barks out of his speech, especially when he’s particularly nervous or excited, overwhelmed by emotion. Sawyer glances at him, holds eye contact for a meaningful moment, before he returns his attention to you.

“This is Hoarfrost Falls. We’re what you would call a ‘wild pack,’ although we welcome wolves of other backgrounds if they’re willing to make the lifestyle adjustment. My name is Sawyer. You’ve met Corbin, our hrefn—”

“Your what?” you say.

Sawyer visibly bristles at the interruption but doesn’t comment on it. He runs his hand through Corbin’s hair and Corbin melts under the attention, nuzzling his face into the dark, thick fur on Sawyer’s thigh. “It’s his rank,” Sawyer says, pausing to consider his word choice. “He’s a pack human with authority over our other pack humans.”

“Pack humans? That’s a real thing?” You sound horrified. You’re looking at Corbin like he’s something wounded on the side of the road.

“It’s real. It’s why you were brought here. Normally, you’d be enjoying your initiation right now, but I pulled you out for the pack’s safety.”

“The pack’s safety?” you echo, disbelieving. “How are you the ones in danger?”

Sawyer says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He just looks at Flint, and Flint looks anywhere else, and you know. You remember. He’s territorial. Obsessed, people used to say, as if they’d never yearned for a human before. City wolves like to pretend they don’t have instincts. He tried to pretend, too. But any little thing could happen—you could scrape your knee on the pavement, or someone could raise their voice a little too loud while talking to you—and he’d feel himself growling, bristling, ready to fight and die for you.

When he saw you earlier tonight, knowing what would happen, imagining you stumbling afraid through the woods with some other wolf lunging and pinning you and leaving marks, he felt that reckless urge rise up like an inferno beneath his skin. He’d nearly thrown himself at Alpha Vanagandr—would’ve, if Sawyer and the others hadn’t talked him down.

“It’s clear to me that you’re Flint’s. His…friend,” Sawyer amends, seeing your expression pinch in confusion. “I don’t know much about you. He doesn’t like talking about his old life and I don’t like to dredge it up more than necessary.”

Flint bows his head, feeling guilty again. “I left someone behind.” That’s all he could bring himself to say when the subject came up. It wasn’t entirely true; you’d both gone your separate ways. But he’d left first—decided to try his luck with distant family in another city, relatives his parents rarely spoke to. You’d tried to keep in touch but things had fizzled out. You were both busy with your own lives and your talks became less frequent. You left messages for each other on occasion; pictures from you, embarrassingly long and heartfelt texts that felt more like letters from him. He wanted you to know he was okay. He was strong and capable, and you didn’t have to worry.

“So can we go?” you ask.

The corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitches, the movement very quick and very slight but unmistakably a suppressed snarl. “We?” he repeats stiffly.

“I’m not leaving without Flint.”

Flint feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin, terrified by your open defiance and how you won’t drop your gaze, even more afraid that he’ll lose control himself at any moment. He trusts his mentor but Sawyer has a reputation. He forgets to go easy on pack humans sometimes. He can be harsh, less forgiving of trespasses, dangerously aggressive in the heat of the moment. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Sawyer comes any closer. Flint knows there’s an old, awful story behind all his scars carving through the thick wolf fur he can’t fully retract. It’s not always easy to tell what’ll set him off.

It’s just as hard to predict what he’ll laugh off and deem unthreatening. Flint sags in relief when Sawyer lets out an amused huff, his posture loosening somewhat. Whatever he was looking for, whatever it is that reminds him of his scars, he doesn’t find it in you. If anything, he looks a little fond of you. “You’d better stay put,” Sawyer says. “The claiming hunt isn’t over. Won’t be for a little while. No one would purposefully antagonize Flint, but nobody is thinking clearly during a chase, either. Do you want something to eat or drink?” You glare at him. “Suit yourself. I have to speak with the alpha about this. Corbin, you’re dismissed. Let’s give them some space.”

Corbin never takes his eyes off you as he gets to his feet, returning your scowl with a sweet smile. “It was so nice to meet you,” he purrs.

Your frown deepens. “Feeling’s not mutual.”

“Mm. Give it time.” He winks before Sawyer herds him out the door with a playful growl.

Sawyer pauses on the porch, looking back at you with a sharp gaze. “Stay,” he rumbles. He smirks. You think he’s making fun of you, but his gaze shifts to Flint just briefly. Flint’s heart skips a beat.

Because Sawyer does nothing without a reason. All of that, every little thing, had a purpose. Getting you accustomed to hearing commands. Keeping his distance to put you at ease. Bringing Corbin along showed you that the pack keeps humans, that they’re fed, cared for, permitted some mischief from time to time. Giving you an order he knows you won’t follow wasn’t for you, though. That was for Flint. Because Flint is a shepherd, and when you disobey, it’s his responsibility to do something about it.

Your shoulders sag, a long sigh slipping out when the guest house door slams shut. The silence that follows is deafening. It’s just the two of you now. You and Flint. His hands shake. He tries to take deep breaths to calm himself but every inhale is full of your scent, the sharpness of your sweat and worry. He’s not ready. He’s petrified. What is he supposed to do now? What is he supposed to say? He wants to tell you so many things but the words won’t come. They never do. You’ve always understood what he tries to say, even when he can’t say it, but you don’t understand the situation you’re in now.

“Come on,” you say. “He’s probably bringing the alpha back with him. We have to hurry.” You rub your face on a few blankets and pillows—decoys. He recognizes this trick. You’ll take those with you when you run, toss them around to hide your trail. Then you rush to the kitchen and he follows nervously, reminded of a dozen other messes you’ve gotten him out of before. You turn on the sink and lather up the strongest-smelling soap you can find in the cupboards, scrubbing your face, your neck, your wrists, any exposed skin. Your natural scent isn’t gone but it’s smothered in earthy musk because all of the pack’s homemade soaps smell like the woods. Clever. Worryingly so.

“They didn’t…kidnap me,” he admits. “I chose to come here.”

You pause to look at him, your stony focus softening with sympathy. “Yeah? I bet it wasn’t what you thought it’d be,” you say.

You’re right. Just not the way you think you are. “This isn’t like before. They’re different. The alpha is good. I know it seems strange. They’re not like the packs we’re used to. But—”

“Flint.” You look up at him and his voice catches in his throat. “Come here. Your turn.”

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t encourage this any further. He has to be honest with you, has to make you understand. “It’s not safe out there,” he says weakly. “Sawyer wasn’t lying about the chase. It gets…intense. If anybody catches your scent—”

“They won’t,” you insist. You take one of his hands in his and his resolve crumbles bit by bit, eroded by the tender smoothing motions of your fingers over his palm and knuckles and joints. He’s thinking about that shower you took together years ago. The warmth. The safety. The certainty that he was home at last, pack or no pack, that he had everything he wanted. Hoarfrost Falls is where he belongs, but something has been missing all this time, something important. He can’t help it. When you tug on his arm, he kneels, letting you smooth your hands over his face and neck, shutting his eyes and savoring your touch.

He’s not ready. But Sawyer told him he doesn’t have to be. Now and then, when the other lessons are done, they sit under the moon and talk about gods. “The Poised Fang is old. Very, very old,” Sawyer told him. “In his time, wolves had no names. Humans were prey. Smart, vicious prey, worthy of respect. The hunt is the oldest dance, and he is the best dancer. There are others who came after—gods of hearth-keeping and shepherding. But when you see a human—your human—you call on the Poised Fang first. That’s why we have that saying in Old Wolven. ‘Keep your fangs poised.’ It’s an invocation. Do you know the key to hunting humans?”

Flint hadn’t known. The topic made him squeamish. But Sawyer reassured him they meant it differently now. That the Poised Fang, timeless and eternal, was pleased that the hunt continued, even if its end had changed.

“The key is patience. It’s not strength. Not readiness. Patience. You’ll see this firsthand someday. You don’t have to be ready. You just have to wait. The moment will come.”

Flint opens his eyes and you’re staring at him, your palms framing his face. He nuzzles against your touch and you blink, startled, pulling away. It makes him want to growl but he holds it in. “We should get going,” you tell him. You’re embarrassed. He can smell it. You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He wishes the two of you had talked about it before—all of it. Your feelings. His instincts. The desire to hold you close and leave you drenched in his scent. The throbbing need to sink his teeth into your neck.

“It’s a long way to the nearest town,” he tells you, his voice low but steady. “Hours. Too far on foot, for you.”

“Shit. They didn’t take your keys, did they? Guess we could steal theirs.” You laugh. Flint smiles. He’s not ready. He’s a storm inside, hope and fear and revulsion all crashing against one another. Some part of him has always known he would come back for you, but he wanted more time. More certainty. Then again, hasn’t he already had all the time he needs? Nobody knows you better. You peer through the front windows, then the back.

“Is there a river nearby?” you wonder aloud. “It rained the other day. Should be able to cover our scent with mud, if we have to.”

Flint inches closer. Afraid. Excited. He’s panting. He can’t help it. The truth is that he’s going to have to hurt you. Just a little. Just enough. You’re going to scream and cry and it’s going to feel like a knife in the heart, but he knows you’ll feel even worse. And that’s okay, he tells himself. That’s normal. Natural. Part of the process. Like when you were children, and he got a splinter stuck in his paw, and you sat him down with a pair of tweezers and scratched under his chin while he whined. He didn’t want you to touch it but you insisted. It had to come out. It would hurt just a tiny bit one last time, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore. It’s just like that.

“Look!” you’d said, pointing up at a tree. “Squirrel!”

He knew, logically, that you were just trying to distract him. But he’d perked up anyway, took his eyes off of you, and then it was done. Over in a blink. It’s just like that, he tells himself. He whispers a prayer in Old Wolven Norse to the Poised Fang, begging to know if prey can ever forgive the predator for the sharpness of his teeth.

“I love you,” he says.

You freeze. Your palm hovers over the door handle. Looking up at him with wide eyes and mouth parted in shock, a question starts forming on your lips. And like the oldest of his gods stalking a primeval forest, Flint does not waste the moment.

#rotpeach writes #meanwolves #inspired by an ask i got a while ago about what happens if a new pack human recognizes a wolf as someone they knew before #im extra behind on asks gonna try and get to some of those tonight or tomorrow #this time of year is always pretty busy for me and this year is no exception #corbin #sawyer #flint

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