#I did over-render her hair atrociously

[demadraws]

Dragon Age Big Bang Round I

For my first trick, I got to paint a scene from The Wolf’s Flower, by MissJLH. Her absolutely gorgeous Lavellan, Iris, meets with Solas in this field of flowers in the Fade, just a bit too ideal to be real. JLH loves the post-impressionists, so I wanted to emulate that style a bit and channel my inner Odilon Redon, and pull in some (very famous, recognizable) Irises by Van Gogh to play with.

I especially enjoyed painting the detail of Iris’ conjured magical spirit-arm, and I love that she doesn’t rely on this magic all the time and that it has a cost!

And she’s just such a babe. I think we can all agree.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Just friends

Pairing: Sky x reader

==============================

After an entire night of sipping beer and looking for someone to connect with, Y/N finally found a guy that truly stood out. Tall, broad shoulders, dirty blonde hair that reminded her of a certain Specialist she wanted to forget and those eyes….Phew, those emerald green eyes that drew her in with their promise of a good time she’s been looking for truly captured her attention.

Standing a little too close to him in order to keep up a conversation with music blaring, Y/N allowed herself to lean into his lean body, his hand resting on the small of her back. His lips called out to her, or the beer in her system made it seem so. Whatever the case may be, she didn’t really care. 

Y/N wanted someone to feel close to and he looked like someone appropriate; similar to the very cause of the aching heart she’s trying to ignore. The way he looked at her showed he’s just as interested as she is, but his eyes kept glancing at something or someone behind them.

Irritated with his loss of focus, with her index finger on his chin, Y/N demanded his attention unapologetically.

“Ignore a fairy and she leaves.“ Y/N said with a light tone, but she hoped her pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes were a warning he’d read.

Chuckling, the guy, Porter, nodded, licking his lips. Following his gaze, Y/N turns. Tossing her hair over her shoulder to make sure nothing obscured her vision, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip.

On the far end of the room stood a handsome guy taller than Porter. He’s leaned against a wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest, hair floppy with blond bangs that fell on his forehead. He held a pensive look on his face, lips pressed together and dark blue eyes sending daggers Y/N’s way. 

Sky.

“Who is he?“ Porter breaks up the little staring contest with a question. Turning to him, Y/N gives him an innocent smile, shrugging.

“No one important.“ She informs him, placing a hand on his chest. Trailing it upwards, she holds onto his shoulder and looks into his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, Porter glances at the guy and at Y/N once more, tilting his head. “Not a jealous boyfriend or anything?“ He questions, unconvinced by her previous answer.

Y/N sighs, faking a smile that never really failed to trick those around her; especially not him. She could never fool him, even when she tried. Somehow, he always knew better.

“Nope.“ She says, popping the P for effect. Feeling her heartbeat quicken its pace, she keeps that smile frozen on her face as if she had used her ice powers on herself, knowing it’s rehearsed to perfection.

“Does he know that?“ Porter asks, smirking. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him go, moving out of his embrace. 

It took her a moment to stop herself from blowing up on the guy, annoyed by his constant questioning. She figured he’s a senior in Specialist training looking for a way to blow off steam that wouldn’t ask too many questions, but Porter proved to be anything but.

“Be right back.“ She taps his arm, turning around and walking towards the door.

Leaving the basement, she sits on the steps. They’re cold but she’s used to cold - she’s the ice queen anyway. She knew she’d have to be waiting patiently only for a short time. Moments later, the door opens again, the man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her coming outside.

“Took you long enough.“ She huffs, focusing her eyes on the ground in front of her instead of him. She didn’t have to look at him to know who it is. She knew by the sound of his footsteps, the left one always releasing a slight creak on the floorboards as he stepped with his entire foot while he only stepped with his heel on the right one.

Taking a seat next to her, Sky doesn’t look at her either.

“He’s not good enough for you.“ With those words, Y/N feels his piercing gaze on her. The emotion in Sky’s eyes is fathoms deep, yet they carry the warmth and life of the sunlit surface. They have a thousand hues of blue and a small touch of hazel radiating in softly swooping arcs and they leave Y/N breathless, as they always do.

Blood rushes to her face, turning up the temperature in her head to a dangerous level and it wasn’t from his eyes on her…it was that statement. His sentence had pissed her off enough for ice to swallow the steps they sit on; enough to lose control.

“You don’t get to say that.“ Y/N spits, standing up. Body rigid from anger, hands clenched so tight she felt her knuckles turning a pale color with a disruption in blood circulation. “Or anything to me. Ever.“ She turns to him with narrowed eyes.

Sky didn’t look away, no matter how cold her glare got. She hated how he could withstand it as it tore her apart.

“I only have your best interests in mind.“ Sky dares to say, fixing his tender gaze upon her as if his words were meant to calm the storm inside. His fingers twitch, like he can’t decide if he should reach out or keep physical contact to a minimum in fear of making the situation a lot worse.

Looking up in disbelief, Y/N releases something between a choked sob and a chuckle. Biting her lower lip to keep herself from shouting, her eyes fall back on the man before her.

“Don’t. Just…don’t.“ Placing a hand on her hip, she uses the other one to point her index finger at him.

“You said we were friends and then you kissed me! And then you told me we would never happen!” Shaking her head, Y/N sighs. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t stare down every guy I talk to or tell me they’re not good enough or...” Pausing, she stops before she breaks her own heart. 

She thought, ���Friends don’t look at friends the way you’re looking at me now’, but what’s the point? He’s determined it means nothing. That she means nothing.

Standing, she points her finger at him again, “Stop. Alright? I’m tired of waiting, I’m tired of arguing! Just leave me alone.” 

Standing as well, Sky seems to have made up his mind and went for it. He grabs her finger, wrapping his hand around her entire fist with ease, pulling her closer to him. Flush against his firm chest, Y/N dares not look up, feeling his raging heartbeat through the palm pressed over his sternum.

“I never meant to hurt you. Do you know that?“ He whispers. His warm breath reaches her forehead, fanning away a couple of loose strands of her hair.

"Sky, I can’t do this right now.“ She feels her head spinning. Being so close to him was too much too fast. Especially after he broke her heart.

“You’re my best friend.“ Sky’s voice breaks, his chin resting atop her head. 

She could feel him pulling her closer, pressing his body against hers in a mock embrace, but she’s just a frozen statue in his arms. There is no way for her to relax. If she did, she’d break and she never wanted to break in front of him. Not again.

Placing both palms against his chest, ignoring the way his heart rushed with the contact, she pushes with all her might. Moving away as Sky stumbles backwards, Y/N turns her back on him. Feeling her chin tremble as his warmth leaving her body renders her as cold as the ice in her veins, her eyes close She never found the cold bothersome, not until she felt the warmth of Sky’s embrace and tender kisses.

“Yeah, well…things changed. You know very well how that came to be.“ Y/N’s response is surprisingly calm, but she’s certain Sky could read her emotions even without looking at her properly. After all, he knew her for so long…In a way, they grew up together.

“Why am I to blame for that, huh? I can’t help how I feel.“ Sky defends, lips parted as Y/N scoffs, turning back to face him.

She shakes her head slightly. It feels surreal that she has to have this conversation with him again.

“You left me standing there without a word. I poured my heart out and you had nothing to say! You couldn’t be with me? You’re not good enough? You can’t give me the answer I want? Well, guess what? I can’t give you the answer you want either.“ Y/N’s voice trembles as she speaks, feeling every muscle in her face clench under the pressure of keeping a straight face. Her entire body shakes, but she’s determined to keep herself centered.

Going to a dance with her best friend was meant to be fun and an experience she’ll never forget. However, the entire night she was stuck with Riven while the guy she wanted to dance with was away flirting with Stella, Bloom, everyone but her. She didn’t mind Riven, he’s definitely someone she considers to be very close to her heart, but she was in love with his roommate.

The guys took her home, Sky walked her to the door to make sure she got in safely. It gave her butterflies, but it was just who Sky is. He always made sure she was taken care of and protected. Always.

However, that night, Y/N was unsheltered, vulnerable in every way possible. She couldn’t keep her secret any longer.

Turning back, she looks at him, shaking. Averting her gaze to the right, only to focus it back on him, she wraps her arms around herself for reassurance.

“Everything okay?“ Sky steps closer, tilting his head.

Shaking her head as an answer, Y/N musters up some courage fueled by years of jealousy and heartache.

“Do you love me?“ She blurts out, slightly bouncing on her feet though the heels she wore made her feet hurt.

Sky smiles widely, rolling his eyes at her playfully before answering. “You know I do.“

Shaking her head furiously, feeling her heart beating so fast her head is pounding and her knees are weak, she explains.

“No, I mean. Do you LOVE me?“ she emphasizes, leaning on her right leg more for balance. She watches the look of realization cross his face, confusion taking place. He didn’t say a damn thing, just looked at her like she had uttered the most atrocious insult.

Blinking fast, she bites her lip so hard, feeling a metallic taste of blood in her mouth as a result.

“Sky, do you?“ Her voice cracks, the last part coming out almost as a whisper.

Sky stares at her, searching for an appropriate answer in her eyes in hopes of escaping this entire conversation, but he’s dead silent.

“Say something!“ She whisper shouts, desperate for a reply. She had opened up to him, completely vulnerable and at his mercy and all he gave in return was a lost stare and fast, shallow breathing by the way his chest moved.

Until he moved toward her, pushing her against the locked door. Before she has a chance to say anything, his lips capture hers and her eyes widen in shock. Arms wrapping around her waist gave her courage to entangle her hands in his hair, drawing him closer to her.

Breathless, she couldn’t think, she didn’t want to. Being in the moment, drowning in his tender, yet passionate touch was more than enough.

But as unexpected as the kiss was, so was the moment Sky broke it. He steps back, lips swollen and smudged from hers, even more kissable than before. He opens his mouth and Y/N’s ready to hear him say it back, to promise her they would try, but when Sky speaks, her heart breaks.

“I…I can’t give you the answer you want.“ Sky spoke slowly, continuing. “You’re…you’ve always been out of my league.“ Taking a step closer, he keeps talking as she grimaces at the unwanted closeness. Moments ago, Y/N wanted him closer, but it made her queasy now.

“You’re just so…perfect!“ He exclaims, outstretching his arms in her direction.

She tries to step back, tensing up as she realizes she’s backed against the door already. She has nowhere to run.

“I’m not good enough for you. I will NEVER be good enough to be with you.“ Sky’s arms return to his side, understanding she’s not interested in any sort of touching.

She nods in disbelief, not believing his logic nor the words he spoke. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse. Especially when it’s not true. But if this is the way you want to handle things….Then this is goodbye.“ 

Barely holding back tears, she watched Sky turn around, leaving her broken and alone with her heart bleeding on the ground after he so carelessly tossed it from his hands.

What hurts is that he didn’t even try to fight for her to at least remain a friend. He didn’t even try to stay. He simply stole her peace of mind and stomped on her heart and left.

In the end, the night was definitely one she wouldn’t forget, simply not for the good memories.

“I just want you back.“ Sky’s eyes brim with tears he hadn’t shed in years, leaving her speechless, but firm as he continues. “I’m not me without you.”  

Y/N couldn’t give in. Sometimes you have to take care of oneself and this is one of those times. She gave him every chance and when it came down to it, he didn’t take them. 

“I wanted many things and I didn’t get any of them. I don’t blame you for not loving me back, Sky. I don’t. I just wish you would understand how it feels for me.“ She says softly, feeling a crack in the tall, icy wall specifically meant to keep him out of her heart.

“I never said I don’t love you back”, Sky breathes out as the door opened again, Porter stepping out. 

Porter’s eyes immediately find hers, showing his concern and caution. “Everything okay here?“ Porter asks.

Folding her arms across her chest, she releases a shaky sigh. Did Sky really just admit he loves her too? Was it serious or just a way to keep her close?

She can’t make that into something it’s not. Not again.

“We’re okay. No biggie.“ She plasters a smile that Sky could read as a fake one a mile away, but Porter seems to be clueless.

“Want me to take you to your room?“ Porter returns her smile, standing in front of her. She notices he keeps glancing back at Sky, unsure of what went down moments before he arrived.

“Unless someone has something against it?“ She looks at her former best friend, hoping he’d give her a reason to stay. One word would be enough, to say that he really does love her again. She saw him saying it in her mind a thousand times, but in reality, his lips parted without a single word leaving his mouth. 

He didn’t care that much after all. If he did, it wasn’t enough. It’s just not enough.

Taking Porter’s hand, she smiles genuinely now, pulling him along without looking back.

“Let’s go.“

And all Sky can think of as he watches them leave is that it might take his whole life to make it right, but he truly felt he did the right thing for her; for them. He never dreamed it would have broken their friendship. 

Perhaps he’s guilty for the kiss he’d have died if he didn’t feel against his lips that night, because letting her go without ever tasting her would haunt him forever. 

Joke’s on him - the kiss, she, would haunt him regardless. It was the first time he felt connected to anything, but he isn’t good for her. Not now when his father is back and adamant on ruining his life.

He must protect her from Andreas and he will. Even if it costs him everything.

PART 2

[jafndaegur]

☕️ cafe date ☕️

Nothing says Fall as much as meeting the person you love at a cafe for good discussion and cozy ambiance! You are meeting Jumin at a local cafe: what do you both order and what do you talk about??

Leaaaaa! It's been so long, I'm so sorry😭 I save every one of your prompts, I absolutely adore them. I just...haven't been in a good place for writing lately. This one made me sooooo happy tho cause I play autumn cafe jazz o f t e n >w< this one got away from me""""""

My thumb rubs along the rim of my coffee mug, my foot tapping anxiously against the ground. I've talked to Jumin quite often over the period of my stay in Seoul, but this is my first time meeting him in person. I fix the pleats on my jumper and check my watch for the ump-teenth time. Thirty minutes early.

Right. May have jumped the gun on this one.

But my exchange program for school finishes in just a week, and this is my last chance to visit with him. He started off as a friend that I found on a marketing forum, someone who offered sound advice when it came to crowdsourcing and advertising—at the time he'd said his secretary normally handled such online affairs, but he'd stepped in for her for the week. After several days of chatter, slowly changing from work to less-work, we'd exchanged numbers.

Part of me wonders if he would be disappointed when we met. It didn't take long for me to realize that the Jumin I spoke to was more than likely C&R's own darling heir, Jumin Han. I mean, how many Jumins had secretaries?

It is just a hunch, but one I dread seeing the outcome to.

A waitress comes by my table, and I stumble past asking for a refill. She takes my mug and I presume she'll bring it back. Hopefully. Aghhh of course she will, that's why she asked. I bury my face in my hands and try not to release the sigh building. The anxiety is just too much. Maybe I should leave...

I happen to look outside for just a moment. My heart warms.

It's partly cloudy, a light mist grazing through the atmosphere. Colorful leaves dance through the air and sweep across the floor. The trees in this district are lovely, a vibrant array of crimson medallions wavering from the trees.

It'd be nice to share this view.

Sucking in my breath, I force myself to hold it together. I want to meet him.

My phone chimes.

Jumin (Han???): Let me know when you arrive.

I laugh anxiously.

Me: I'm already at a table! Must've had the time wrong, ahaha"""

It doesn't take long for the reply to come back quickly with a cheerful ping.

Jumin (Han???): I see. It is my assumption that your phone ringtone is on?

Me: Yes?

A light tap on my table scares me.

"Jaf?"

And there he is. His eyes are brilliant but his face is placid save for the gentle glint in his glance. I look from the gloved hand on my table up to the raven-haired man in a suit. He waves his phone, our text conversation on the screen.

"Jumin." I don't have to even ask.

He gives a light smile, and I decide then and there that my heart needs a limited exposure to him. I don't think I'd be able to handle it otherwise.

"P-please! Sit!" I manage to strangle out, patting the empty spot in front of me.

He chuckles then, it is a warm tenor to which he follows with an equally warm phrase of English. "Is this easier for you? You mentioned early on you're a transfer student from America."

I wave at him. "No no! I promise my Korean isn't normally this atrocious. Just...nervous."

He gives me an appraising glance, and his face grows just a bit colder. "I did not realize my presence may give you such unease."

"It's nothing like that!" I jump in quickly. "I'm just...horrible at meeting people. I'm awkward, and talk too quickly, and I have a funny accent—even in English—and just say too much all at once..."

Only then does the guarded glance slip away to something more bemused. His brow relaxes. "Apologies. I'm used to a more..."

"Special treatment?" I blurt out, before wincing.

He laughs this time. "Something along those lines."

The waitress stops by again, giving me a crazed look before giving me an even more bewildered lookover. I fidget in my seat before she moves on.

"I don't know how to start." I tell Jumin once I've settled a bit.

He takes his coffee cup and nods. "Then perhaps I could help. This cafe is particularly known for their hot coffees with little to no mixed or frozen beverages. It felt appropriate with the autumn weather."

"I noticed!" I get excited quickly. "I ordered a café au lait, with just the smallest bit of honey. It's very good."

"A good pick. I myself chose just a plain latte."

"Their coffee is so rich and robust! That sounds like an amazing choice."

"You enjoy strong coffee then after all." He seemed to sigh in relief. "I thought I had recalled from an earlier conversation but was prepared for the possibility I'd misunderstood."

"I love coffee, it's warm and comforting. And depending on the roast, there's so many different flavors." I giggle, finally feeling confident enough to meet his gaze. "Plus, being a writing major, I need all the help for all-nighters. My deadlines are no joke!"

Jumin rests his cheek against his palm. "A writing major? Now I understand your sources of research on the marketing forum. You are looking to advertise yourself and your work—correct?"

"Mm, it's a lot to do if you don't have an agent from the start. You gotta make yourself appealing to an audience," I lean back in my chair. "I joined the marketing forum based off a referral. I heard that it's a good place where businesses join together to share information. But that does leave me curious. Why would the director of C&R or even his secretary be on such a site? Surely not for advice?"

"Well-spoke advice is well-spoken advice, no matter where it comes from." He takes a sip of his drink. "However it is the interns for our company that use the site. My secretary oversees their research and helps guide them. She was on leave, hence my involvement."

"You'd step in?"

"I've been told that aiding her at work more would help raise office space morale."

I laugh. "Well that's very practical of you!"

"It's the practical solutions that often render the most fruitful of results."

I find that for some reason, my face warms up. "And was it? Fruitful, I mean."

"I believe so." Jumin smiles.

[svnflowervol666]

I was wondering if you could write something where Harry’s wife tells him she doesn’t want him in the delivery room when she gives birth. She figures having maybe Gemma or Anne with her. She comes from a family of women, so she just doesn’t think she needs him. Harry’s left torn between agreeing with her because it’s her choice and absolutely broken up over it, because he wants to witness his first child come into the world. In the end she chooses to have him by her side. 🌻��🌻

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for this dad!Harry request!! It is quite apparent that I can ramble about dad!Harry for ages, so if anyone has anything dad!Harry they’d like to discuss, my inbox is open and I will give it my all! Enjoy! Take care and tpwk.

Harry found her by the pool, her already glowing body veiled by a thin layer of sweat. Her sun-kissed legs were crossed one another, body completely bare sans the skimpy swimsuit that she only wore at home due to her current situation. She was nearly 7 months pregnant with hers and Harry’s first child, having gotten to the point where even the thought of leaving the house exhausted her. Knowing this, it made sense to Harry as to why he found her in such an unusual place when he came home from his workout at the gym. She’d always claimed that the hated the oversized pool that took up room for a potential garden in the backyard of their home, so she was rarely seen dipping her toes in the cool, blue water. Harry supposed her cabin fever had gotten the best of her and she’d had to find new ways to entertain herself whilst they both waited anxiously for their baby to arrive.

He could see her through the large, glass windows that faced the backyard, her cell phone perched in one hand while she rubbed absent-minded circles around her swollen bump with the other. Sounds of her sweet, cherubic laugh trailed in through the cracks of the french doors, immediately warming Harry’s chest and causing him to smile in a way that showed off his cavernous dimples. This pregnancy had brought a lot of emotional turmoil in terms of the way her hormones would render her depressed and misanthropic for weeks at a time in some cases, then bouncy and cheery the next as if nothing had been wrong. Harry supposed today had been one of those good days.

It came as second nature to him to make a double batch of the smoothie he routinely drank after he exercised. He’d found out early on in her pregnancy that she’d always try to sneak sips of the sweet, fruity blend due to her new cravings, so he’d eventually just started making two drinks each time to satisfy them both. As he juggled the two glasses in his large, ringed hands, he slid open the door with the full intention of joining her in her sunbathing escapades to cool down after his intensive workout. Maybe he’d even convince her to stick her feet over the edge while he swam a few laps around her. That was until he’d caught the tail-end of the sentence that she’d muttered to whoever was on the other end of her phone line.

“…I was just thinking maybe you or Anne in the room during the delivery, and then Harry can come in and see the baby right after.”

Harry felt his heart sink into his arse at what he’d overheard, almost in disbelief at what he’d just heard her say. Surely, he’d missed a key part of this conversation and the tidbit he’d just stumbled upon was not her saying that she didn’t want Harry by her side when she gave birth to their first child. They’d never discussed it, but he’d always been under the assumption that he’d be right there next to her, holding her hand as their son or daughter made their appearance into the world. However, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling like that was exactly what she had just said.

“Yeah, totally. And then- Oh! Hi, Harry!” She stopped mid-sentence and perked up upon realizing her husband was home.

Harry smiles cheesily back at her, though there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. She was too entranced in her conversation to notice.

“Brought ye’ a smoothie,” Harry raised the glass towards his face to show off the perspiring glass of blended fruit and protein powder.

She wiggles her toes in excitement, the shiny lilac polish gleaming in the sunlight. Harry had painted them for her last week, her having been too far along in her pregnancy to reach her own toes. He always did little things like this for her so she could feel beautiful no matter how atrocious she was convinced she looked in her state. If it were up to Harry, he’d keep her like this for as long as possible; he had fallen in love with her ten times over since she’d been pregnant. 

“Thank you, lovie. Gemma’s on the line. She says hi. And also that she’s still your mum’s favorite,” she said to Harry as she pulled the phone slightly away from her ear.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at his older sister’s immature banter as he sat the smoothie down next to his wife and leaned down to press a kiss to her damp hair.

He spoke clearly into the speaker so that Gemma was certain to hear him, “Just wait until the baby gets here. Then mum won’t give a shit about either of us.”

Harry didn’t hear Gemma’s snarky response, but he did hear her laugh loudly on the other end mixed with his wife’s own sweet giggles. He gave her bump a few pats with his hand that was cold from holding the glass and silently gestured to her that he was headed back inside. What he had overheard on the phone had killed his desire to lounge in the pool with his wife. He needed to be alone, whether it was to come up with a way to convince her otherwise or simply sulk about in his misery. His wife blew him a kiss which he subsequently pretended to catch and stuff in his hoddie pocket before ducking back into the house.

Whilst Harry was washing off in the shower, his mind was racing. Did she really not want him in the delivery room with her? It was his child, for christ’s sake! Of course he wanted to be there, more than anything, to be there when their baby took their first breaths, when they came out covered in goo and kicking and screaming. All Harry had ever wanted was a family to call his own, and now that it was within arm’s reach, he wanted to experience it all. 

Of course, she was going to be the one quite literally pushing a life force out of her body, therefore Harry had no say in the matter. At the end of the day, even if his future efforts to convince her otherwise were unsuccessful, it was her choice and Harry would have to respect that. It just struck him right through his core to think that his own wife didn’t want him there beside her as she gave birth. 

Amidst his racing thoughts, he’d lost track of time. The water had since run lukewarm, but he didn’t realize this until he heard the creak of the steamy shower door open and saw his pregnant wife step inside, still dressed in the skimpy swimsuit that she wore when she didn’t want any tan lines.

“Stealing all of the hot water now, aren’t you?” she teased as she stripped herself of the sopping wet material, then tossed it halfhazardly into the corner of the large, stand-in shower.

Harry mumbled a quiet, “Sorry,” before stepping out of the way of the faucet to let her rinse off.

“‘S alright. I’m still pretty warm from being outside,” she reassured him as she worked shampoo through her dripping locks, “Everything alright?” 

“Ye’, why wouldn’t it be?” Harry answered his wife’s question, though he knew that wasn’t the truth and he couldn’t hold eye contact with her so he opted to watch as the soap suds ran from her scalp and down around her belly.

“Just seem kinda off is all,” she dismissed her quandaries and reached for the conditioner.

“‘M fine,” Harry lied again, “Wha’ were ye’ talkin’ to Gem about?”

“Oh, just baby stuff. She wanted to know if we’d decided on a theme for the nursery yet so she could start buying us gifts and then we just ended up talking for a while.”

Harry nodded silently as he worked a foaming cleanser into his skin, waiting until she was done rinsing her hair to take his turn back under the running water. He could say something, he really could. He knew that he should, because communication was key and he needed to be prepared for the heartbreak he’d experience when she told him that she didn’t want him in the delivery room with her. But he was nervous, scared almost. It was as if he actually didn’t want to know how she felt and would rather just forget the whole thing happened. However, now was not the time to be cowardly. This was his child and if he wasn’t willing to talk openly with his wife about how they’d approach the situation, maybe he wasn’t really ready to be a father after all.

“Did I overhear you tellin’ Gemma you don’t want me in the delivery room with ye’?”

She stopped running the silky soap through the ends of her hair to look at Harry directly.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you say somethin’ about mum bein’ in the delivery room with ye’ and then me comin’ in right after. Do ye’ not want me in there?”

Harry’s voice sounded trembled as if he didn’t want to hear her answer his question. She finally picked up on his trepidation, and the look on her face was one of confusion.

“Harry I…I didn’t say that,” she was merely at a loss for words.

“Ye’ kinda did. Heard ye’ say it,” Harry snided. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you in the room, Harry. My family’s always had only the girls in the delivery room. I just figured I’d do the same. Plus, I didn’t know you even wanted to be there.”

“Of course I want to be there,” Harry stressed, “‘s my baby for cryin’ out loud.”

Right then, she felt an intense flutter in her abdomen that caused her to cup her bump with her arm. This baby sure did love the sound of their father’s voice. Nothing was said between them, only awkward, unbearable silence. The water suddenly felt ice cold, raising chillbumps all up and down her arms and legs. Was Harry mad at her? She didn’t know. There was no malice with her intentions to give birth to their child without Harry in the delivery room, she genuinely hadn’t thought twice about it; it’s how she had been raised to believe how a woman should give birth, with strong women by their side. He was looking at her with glassy eyes like she had utterly broken him and caused irrepairable damage and it made her heart feel heavier than the weight of her baby bump that killed her lower back.

“I didn’t know, Harry,” she whispered, barely audible over the hissing of the faucet.

“Kinda common sense, now, innit? ‘S fine. ‘S your body.”

Harry quickly rid himself of any soap residue and left his wife alone in the ice cold shower before she could say another word. He left her the fluffier, more comfortable towel that he’d chosen for himself, because that’s just who he is.

//

He avoided her for the rest of the evening. He shut himself in his office for the better part of nearly three hours, hoping to turn his feelings into art and potentionally crank out a verse or two. The thoughts buzzing in his head were far too loud to concentrate on any chord or key, so he turned to answering emails, still not coming out of the room to resolve the argument he’d had with his wife in the shower. He wasn’t even sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all.

She’d done the same, cooping herself up in their bedroom and taking a nap instead of finding Harry and demanding that they squash this immediately. She was so startled over the entire thing, having been bombarded with more information than she could handle. It hurt her to know that she’d hurt Harry, but at the same time she believed she hadn’t done anything wrong. This was clearly miscommunication on the most basic level, though it didn’t make her feel any better having realized that. Uneasiness settled deep into her bones as she drifted off into a light, relaxing slumber.

//

Harry tossed the garlic around in the pan with a wooden spoon blindly, only cooking to fill his stomach and not to enjoy it. It was her favorite meal, so he’d figured she’d enjoy the leftovers, at least. His mind kept drifting off to two months down the road, when his baby would be arriving in the sterile, chilly delivery room whilst he, on the other hand, wouldn’t be there to see it.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a protruding bump poke him in the small of his back.

“‘M sorry,” her voice sounded muffled from where she was talking into his shirt.

Harry reduced the heat on the stove and turned around in her grasp to face her. He took her head in both of his hands, forcing her to look at him when she spoke. 

“‘S okay. It’s your choice. I didn’t mean t’ upset ye’.”

“No, H. It’s not okay,” she couldn’t stop the hormonal tears from pooling in her eyes and running down her cheeks that were still warm from the nap she’d taken, “I should have asked you what you wanted. It’s your baby too. I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t you to be mad at me.”

Harry wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, hating to see her cry like this.

“I’m not mad at ye’, love. Just caught me off guard. I’m fine now. I’ll wait outside the delivery room if that’s what ye’ want.”

He really hoped that wasn’t what she wanted, but he knew it was the right thing to do. After a long pause of her collecting her breath and nuzzling into Harry’s soothing touch, she found her words once more.

“It’s not what I want. I want you there. Beside me. Holding my hand when our baby gets here.”

This time it was Harry that started to cry, though he didn’t let her see the salty tears fall becaues he burried his head into the crook of her neck and held her in the dimly lit kitchen they stood in. All she could hear were his sniffles and his rapidly beating heart through is chest.

“I love you,” Harry mumbled into her neck, tickling her sensitive skin.

“I love you, too. So fucking much, Harry,” she gave his abdomen a tight embrace before pulling back. 

“But promise me you’ll still want me after you see the baby come out of me. I’ve seen it before and it is not pretty.”

Harry choked on his remaining tears as a laugh roared through his chest. He wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“’M only gonna want ye’ more after that. Promise,” Harry then raised his left pinky towards her in sincerity, the wedding band on his ring glimmering in the stovetop light.

[issamhysa]

Énouement

Pairing: Will Graham x Reader

Summary: After the fall, Will believed he would never recover. Time proves him wrong.

Warnings: Rowdy girls, fluffy situations, dad Will Graham, and obviously, SPOILERS!

A/N: Ah, hyperfixation.

Five years. It had been five years since Will left his old life behind. The FBI, Jack Crawford, and Hannibal Lecter were now but fleeting memories he no longer acknowledged. Memories he swore he would never allow to hurt him again.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. And you.

He knew you trusted him enough to believe him. You had known Will when he found himself at his lowest point. Back when he was in therapy with Hannibal Lecter, coming to you at three in the morning after a nightmare and forcing himself to strain his empathic abilities for the sake of Jack Crawford. You knew about the atrocious acts Hannibal coerced Will into doing. You knew about Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Randall Tier, and Francis Dolarhyde. You knew about what had happened between him and Alana, and you knew about Margot and Mason. He had told you everything.

And despite it all, the nurses and doctors told him you refused to leave his side when they found him after the fall.

The two of you had only been going out casually back at the time, although, later into the relationship, you confessed you weren’t sure if Will loved you as you did him. It took months of recovery with you by his side for him to finally come around and admit how he truly felt about you. 

You and Will decided to leave Wolf Trap. He left everything, took the dogs and moved as far away from his haunted past as he could. Months later, he married you in Switzerland.

It wasn't a big wedding, it didn’t need to be. Your wedding consisted of a few of your closest family members, Alana Bloom, Margot Verger, and their son, Morgan. They were the only people Will allowed back into his life after everything had happened, and so they became part of your little family.

You and Will had never planned on having children. Of course, you talked about it and you both agreed that it could be something you would both want eventually. But after seeing how Will interacted with Alana's son Morgan, you did find yourself wanting to see Will interact with a child of his own. A couple of years later, you had two beautiful girls.

Now, Will found himself sitting outside in the backyard on an embroidered quilt with your head on his lap and your feet flat against the soft green grass. The sun shone brightly upon the both of you, and Will inhaled the fresh air before exhaling in a contented sigh. His toes dug into the dirt under his feet, and his hands worked on slowly feeding you wild strawberries he and the girls had picked in the morning. Will watched you turn your head away from the kalimba between your hands and towards the woods. Upon seeing the smile on your face, his eyes turned to gaze at the sight before him. The smile that spread through his lips was a prideful one.

The oldest of your daughters, Thora, was chasing the little one, Cashmere, all over the edge of the woods, a toad held between her delicate little hands. Their favorite sundresses were stained with mud at the bottom, as were their bare feet. Wildflowers, twigs, and green leaves decorated their wild curly hair, courtesy of Will’s own genes. Their eyes were bright as they ran around, screaming and giggling in pure joy. Will's dogs chased after them, tails wagging faster than Will had ever seen them wag. They barked at the running girls, who paused to pet them with muddied hands. Ever so loyal, Winston sat by Will, watching over the girls as they ran around and played. Will scratched behind his ear gently, causing Winston’s paw to thump almost rhythmically against the dirt.

Never in a million years did Will Graham imagine this is how his life would turn out.

Will couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the thought before turning to look down at you. He found you smiling up at him, and for a second, Will was awestruck. Your smile was one of the things he loved most about you. Something that never failed to make him stop and wonder how the hell he got so lucky to have you. 

He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. As usual, your lips tasted of the sweetness he became addicted to from the moment you shared your first kiss on that stormy night in Wolf Trap. Reluctantly, he pulled away, his thumb gently brushing a fleck of dirt off your cheek. 

The girls returned to the two of you, panting and grinning and holding something behind their backs. They shared a look and brought their hands forward, holding two daisy chains. 

“What’s this?” You asked, setting your kalimba down and sitting up straight to look at the girls, who giggled with glee and plopped a daisy chain on his head and yours.

“Flower crowns! One for mommy, and one for daddy! Now, you can be the king and the queen of our kingdom! Right, Mere?” 

“Uh-huh! King and queen!” The little one nodded her head wildly, her little cheeks flushed from exertion.

You smiled, “Thank you, little loves. These are beautiful crowns, aren’t they, Will?” You looked at him, the flower crown sitting at an angle on your head.

Will’s smile softened as he cupped his daughters' cheeks, leaving soft kisses on their foreheads. “Fit for a king and a queen. Thank you, my little princesses,” he answered, gently tucking a strand of hair away from Cashmere's little face.

“Now,” you spoke up. “Go wash up, it’s almost time for dinner, and we’re making your favorite tonight, Thora.” 

The girls lit up, bouncing on their heels, and clapping their hands together. Cashmere even started spinning around, which rendered her a little dizzy, as she stumbled for a second. Will had to reach out and grab her to keep her from falling.

“It’s spaghetti night!” Thora cheered, her blue eyes wide. “Wait, can we have dessert tonight, too?”

“Dessert! Dessert!” Cashmere squealed, hearing her sister’s question and looking at you expectantly.

“Hmm, well, I do have a black forest cake sitting in the kitchen! You best wash up before Winston finds it and gobbles it up!”

While Winston tilted his head in confusion at the mention of his name, the girls squealed with delight, and after taking Cashmere’s little hand in her own, Thora bolted towards the shore to wash the mud off her hands and feet.

He was lucky, oh so lucky to have ended up with you and his gorgeous girls. They had your curiosity, your stubbornness, but they had his wit and cleverness. They were perfect, and Will had you to thank for that.

Will wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and connecting his lips to yours. He almost shivered when your arms wrapped themselves around his neck to deepen the kiss. After the two of you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his and nudged his nose with yours, making him chuckle.

“I love you, Y/N. Thank you for giving me my life back,” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose.

You smiled in return, brushing a curl away from his eyes and holding a hand under his chin. “You did that yourself, Will. But I love you, too, and I’m glad I was here to help.”

As the two of you pulled apart, Thora and Cashmere bounded back towards the both of you. You grabbed Cashmere and tugged her onto your lap, and Will wrapped his arms tight around Thora, tickling her and reveling in the sound of her sweet laughter. Next to him, you were peppering Cashmere’s face with kisses, causing her to squeal and laugh as well.

At that moment, Will suddenly wished he could go back in time. He wished he could look down on his old self and tell him that everything he’d go through, all the pain he’d be forced to endure would lead him to the woman of his dreams, to two beautiful girls that made him feel as though the world was brighter than it had ever been. 

To the life he had never expected he would have, but would never let go of.

[afreakingdork]

Review: Hannibal

This show has been a rollercoaster and not in a good way. I’ll come right out and say it: I hate this show. I came into it totally fresh; I had heard people liked it and knew absolutely zero about it. I haven’t even seen Silence of the Lambs. I’m fresh off Death Stranding so I was getting really curious about Mads Mikkelsen and I can totally see the influence. Some of the scenes where Mads is slicked up with inky black liquid look straight out of the game. The story however is a total mess. Now, whether this is because Bryan Fuller’s intentions were dashed (the whole 5 seasons thing) or if there was something else at play. I can’t be sure, but what I do know is that even if you can’t fulfil your vision, that doesn’t mean you just do whatever and throw caution to the wind. You’re still telling a narrative and if you go rogue then everyone will know it. 

So let’s start back with season 1. Probably the most classic of the show. I started by, of course, watching the pilot. Instead of reshooting the first episode, Hannibal decides to go straight from it’s pilot to the show. Which in and of itself isn’t a problem, except there are quite a few inconsistencies that just aren’t addressed. Will’s classroom and the design of Hannbal’s office are notable examples. Also, they flat out say Will has Asperger's which the show ultimately sweeps under the rug for whatever reason. The story plays out pretty cleanly in season 1. Now, I wanted to quit watching after the first few episodes because it was too high art.  The imagery didn’t make much sense and this wasn’t really my type of show. Seeing Will fall for Hannibal’s tricks and getting placed in jail in season 2 really started to peak my interest and I proclaimed that it finally had my attention. Unfortunately, half way through season 2, Will is released from jail and the show completely spins wildly out of control from that point on. After Will works with another serial killer to get Hannibal killed while in jail, he is suddenly befriending Hannibal once he gets out. We learn that he has a big plan to try to ensnare Hannibal, but it all feels empty and even as a viewer, I simply know that it is just a shit plan. All reason goes out the window as the show tries to tell me that careful Hannibal who tortured Will and put him in jail through season 1 and most of 2 is now just spilling his guts to his protégé. Also, the show wants me to believe that Will is considering running away with big H because he is just as enamored, as if I didn’t see this man struggle with every fiber of his tortured soul to not become Garrett Jacob Hobbs. 

All of this leads up to the blood match of the century at Hannibal’s house where the plan, duh, goes awry. This is where the worst season of all, season 3, certified fresh 98% on Rotten Tomatoes comes in like a flaming pile of garbage on a train. We whisk away to Europe and don’t give a fuck about following up on all our bloodied main characters we’ve grown to care about in two seasons. Suddenly the few ‘smart’ characters who speak in riddles multiplies to the point where not a single character isn’t speaking in code when talking to one another. Alana even gets this fucking insane line where she says bone marrow got in her blood stream so now she thinks differently. It’s insane. The only saving grace is Jack and that’s only because he’s the only consistent character throughout the show. He has a clean narrative and understandable motives. He’s the only character the script didn’t treat like an amorphous blob that changes on it’s whim as if it were Zeus having a bad hair day. After Hannibal is captured, the show dips down to a slow descent to it’s ending. It once again tries to make me question Will’s loyalty while simultaneously giving me no plot to support any major changes and just telling me that he’s changed right before he does. It’s totally asinine. I had pretty much shut completely down by the last 3 episodes. I think it’s borderline hilarious that the show honestly wants me to think that baiting the Dragon with Hannibal is the ONLY viable option to catch him. They don’t even consider any other possibilities. It’s just lazy. Let the whole show go over the cliff for all I care.

And all of this isn’t even getting in to how atrociously this show treats women. Alana Bloom starts as being the only person in Will’s corner who they force to be his love interest in one of the most un-sexually charged scenarios I’ve ever seen. They then, completely against character, make her Hannibal’s love interest for what I thought was an alibi, but I guess was genuine and again, not set up in the slightest. As previously mentioned, she does a 180 due to some bone marrow and is then a lesbian for another grotesque sex sequence that they just seem to love making her star in for pseudo prime time pornography. I mean, I guess I’m happy she ends up married with a kid? Beverly Katz is separated and pinned up like a museum display because she just happened to be smart. Every character hates Freddie Lounds and the show obviously wants you to hate her too, but when you think about it, why? What has she done other than be a strong independent woman who is chasing a career in the gruesome and trying to tell what she believes is the truth when other’s sweep the severity under the rug. The show hates her so much that if you start to break it down and remove her character from the show, the plot literally doesn’t change. She exists to be a punching bag. The only saving grace about Bella is the fact that her passing doesn’t push Jack’s story along at all, but her choice of passing was not only taken away by a man, it was then decided on a date not of her choosing by another. She has not a single bit of autonomy, even while being presented as a strong woman. Abigail Hobbs seems interesting enough, but in reality she’s nothing more than a way for Will and Hannibal to process their emotions and surrogate dad feelings onto. She is then “killed” off and, surprise, brought back only to be killed off again, only to BE BROUGHT BACK to find out she was a dead figment of Will’s fucked up imagination. Margot Verger is one of the most appalling examples of how this show treats women in the fact that she is not only sexually and physically abused, but she is also sterilized. Then, in season 2, when you think she finally can exact her revenge on her brother since he is rendered invalid, you find in season 3 that she did none of that, continued to let him torture her until someone else come’s down like a savior angel, Hannibal, and gives her the way she absolutely could have done herself to give her an out. The show literally wants me to believe that both Margot and Alana could not have considered the path to freedom without Hannibal’s help. They want you to believe these are not capable women because the show doesn’t believe women are. Unless it’s plot necessary, but only for that long. Du Maurier was smart enough to leave before Hannibal went to kill her in season 2, but for some reason in season 3 she comes back willingly to let him take her and torture her. Then she, I GUESS, cooks her leg up for him to visit as one of the final scenes of the show!?!!? Chiyoh was locked up for 20 years, supposedly, because she couldn’t leave behind the man who killed Hannibal’s sister, and when she is finally free, her whole character revolves around her being a good shot and wanting to help Hannibal because ??????? It makes absolutely no sense. Then, season 3 went ahead and went we need a woman who is blind to the fact that her partner is a serial killer, might as well make her blind for real. It’s repulsive, disgusting, and I don’t know why anyone enjoys this drivel. 

Verdict: 

P.S. my favorite character is Chilton. He’s one of the two consistent characters (hey, Jack!) and the fact that he just keeps getting brutally mutilated,  but can’t stay away from serial killers is downright pathological. He also shined so brightly in the scene just before he gets shot through the mouth in the interrogation room. I never would have guessed I’d be rooting for him. I was actually worried when the Dragon caught him, but there’s no squashing that cockroach of a man! 

[hecohansen31]

What The Queen Wants, The Queen Gets (Prologue)

Ivar The Boneless+Roman Godfrey+Axel Cluney+Mickey+Reader (Reverse Harem! AU).

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

So not to kinkshame somebody but me and @walkxthexmoon literally went like ‘threesome are too mainstream, we are just going to go on with an orgy’, but like a ‘classy orgy’ about a theme i have always been curious about which is reverse harem.

I honestly hope that this won’t seem disrespectful to anybody, but if it is just shoot me a DM or ask and I’ll say what I can do.

Also, as always, if you are interested to see more let me know, alongside which character(s) you want to see interact in the next chapters, in fact I will choose thank to yours comments, so let me know which character(s) you want to see and if you like this concept!

WARNINGS; Mention of Sex, Death, Blood, Fighting, War, Poly-Relationship, Reverse Harem.

You had never wanted the fighting, the conquering and the blood on your hands.

You had been a small girl, raised by an ambitious mother, under the shadow of a bastard brother, who you had loved with all your heart till at your sixteenth birthday your father’s death had completely destroyed your relationship

You remembered the guards’ faces when they had killed your mother in front of you, as her head had rolled at your feet and your blasphemous brother had taken the scepter for himself, ordering the sacred priest to put the crown on his head, as you choked on your tears.

Five years of civil war later, your kingdom was again yours, but the inner tumult had rendered it weak to the countries that stood in the confines of your reign, enough that when you had thought you could put down the sword stained with your brother’s blood, you had picked it up again, your hold on it strong and determined as you raised you chin high and fought.

Till your hands bleed and your conscience forgot the reason behind such a horrid act, hurting yourself the same way you did when you perceived your enemies’ breastplates, on the battlefield.

Peace is what you had always aimed to, conquering new countries had been a side effect of it.

You were now twenty-six and reigning over various country with no knowledge of what being a normal girl meant.

Finally, peaceful, if you excluded the continuous rebellions from the poorer and the way nobles rejected your position any chance they got.

That’s why you had instituted that for each kingdom you had conquered you would have somebody who you could trust, reigning it, somebody inside the country itself, bound to you by the most primal of things.

Sex.

If there ever was something that your bastard brother had taught you was that sex was wanted, among men and women alike, in different measures surely, but they were like drunk men under it: rebellious and yet, submissive once they gained what they wanted.

And it was a perfect idea for you to enjoy yourself, washing away the blood on your hands and the heaviness of a kingdom on your shoulder, as you let your many lovers take care of you.

Somebody might call you greedy or a whore.

You know that your advisors did, but when your enemies serviced you with their tongues and pricks you didn’t care in the slightest.

Your first man had been Roman of Hemlock Grove, a small cursed land more a hassle than a gain, but your first lover certainly had made it worthy.

He had come to you, in your tent, as the deals among your countries were being signed, seduced you to give him your virginity and he had taught you the reason behind the pleasurable arts of having a man inside you, as he brought you to your knees over and over again, and then proceeded to fix your crown the following day.

Smirking at you as he shared your secret.

Axel Cluney was a warrior on the battlefield and you had imagined immediately the way he would feel on you as he panted in your ear the dirtiest curses, before spilling himself in you.

He had been disappointed to discover that he wasn’t your first.

��You just looked so positively innocent’.

‘Innocent? I was drenched in the blood of your soldiers, when you first saw me’

‘You know what I mean, little girl, but let me show you as a true man should fuck you’.

And he had kept his word, pushing himself into you in a slow rhythm, much different from Roman’s savage one, making you enjoy the atrocious torture of having him inside of you.

But what you enjoyed with Axel was the way he would be soft with you, listening to your blabber with no sharp words or teasing smirks, letting you lay down your many ideas as you spoke with him.

He didn’t understand many things, but he still caressed your hair and made you feel like the only woman that belonged in the world, in a romantic atmosphere that made you feel almost loved.

Hadn’t you known that Axel would gladly stick a knife in your chest, had you ever let him in.

Mickey would, instead, never ever dare to hurt you, you could literally put a knife in his hands and he would cry.

The smallest son of the reigning family of the country you had conquered had been strangely pliant to you from the start, which was nice, because he was completely at your orders, following them to extremes.

When you did nothing but follow the orders of hungry men to keep your country sated, it was nice to come home to somebody who would love nothing more than to spend his entire day between your thighs, soothing your worry with his soft cries and his needy whimpers, constantly asking for attention as a child.

And then there was the latest addiction: Ivar.

Ivar The Boneless had come to you, asking for help in defeating his brother and you couldn’t deny that you loved one man that took the initiative, and one that looked at you like him, with hate and shyness on his face.

You had always been distant and cold with him, since he had always seemed uneasy about your feminine features, you had tried your best to appear as more of a queen than a woman to him, but he hadn’t dismissed his barriers.

And you hadn’t felt less interested in the man.

But you were still painfully aware of the limit of your body.

But had done one last try, undressing in front of him as he came to you one night to sign the papers of your allegiance; you faked getting ready for bed as you moved into a sheer nightgown as you set yourself in front of him, his gaze having followed you, the entire time.

‘What is your plan?’ he asked as you set up on the table ‘… you already have my country, what more do you want?’.

‘The honor of laying with you’ you spoke slowly, pushing yourself closer to him, till your lips met his across the table ‘… I am simply smitten with you’.

‘I am a fucking cripple, queen’ he had shot back, but hadn’t backed off, as you had come around the table and sat on his lap.

‘I have never fucked a cripple, is it different?’ you had teased him, pushing him close to you as he had refused to look at you in the eyes, but his manhood spoke a different story ‘… because if there is one thing that I am curious about, it is fucking’.

He had pushed you onto the table and let you ride him till your nightgown was in shreds down your body and you were almost too sore, as you handed him the papers to sign his freedom over.

When he signed them that hateful glare in his blue eyes dimmed, but you knew the truth.

A cripple wasn’t different from any other man.

And he certainly didn’t feel different from any man who served you and fell in love with you.

Maybe everything in your life hadn’t been of your choice, but you certainly didn’t regret the men you had met on your journey.

[tiaragqueen]

Could I get a yandere Sebastian Michaelis trying to comfort the reader after something sad happened, please?

Reason Why

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,2k

✂ Trigger Warnings: Mention of kidnapping, killing, possessive behavior, yandere theme.

[Edited]

***

I was planning this to be a fluff, but I thought something darker would fit the whole yandere Sebastian theme more.

If you like mywriting, please support me on ko-fi!

“Oh, my love. Please, don’t cry. I’ll wash my bloody hands and we’ll start a new life.” - My Bloody Valentine [Good Charlotte]

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

The question left your dry mouth in a hoarse whisper; the effect of crying for who knows how long. It was certainly weaker and more rhetorical than you’d expected – less than what you’d thought would be a yelling match between the two of you. Though, you figured even if you were to ask it in a stronger and harsher tone, it didn’t necessarily need a reply. His silence was an answer in itself. And besides, he was definitely calmer than you. You were already aware of the result, the outcome, the consequence whom she had no idea what and why it existed in the first place.

Because all she knew was saving you, and you didn’t blame her. How could you? She was your sister, after all. And as annoying as she could be sometimes, she still cared about your wellbeing and – most of all – your whereabouts.

But he didn’t care. Despite his efforts, you weren’t and could never be convinced of his so-called ‘sincere affection’. Because if he truly loved you, and sincerely cared about you, he would’ve released you a long time ago. He wouldn’t have kidnapped you to some cabin in the middle of God knows where and left you during the day to do whatever job he had.

How he had one was beyond your knowledge. Yet it wasn’t as if you were concerned with his life, either. To inquire meant that you cared about him in some way – enough to start showing a tinge of curiosity – and you refused to hear a single teasing left that damned mouth of his.

“What made you think that, honey?” he asked, strolling towards you with his hands clasped behind him. A mysterious smile was etched on to his pale features like it always had. You might not be able to deduce what he was thinking, but you were certain that he felt amused by your question. It wasn’t a foolish assumption – you had every right to be cautious of him – yet his expression alone was enough to spark that self-disparaging voice inside your head. The one that told you how stupid you were for asking that in the first place when you already found the answer.

Still, you braved yourself to look at him in the eye. “I just knew it.”

It was certainly a feat – or perhaps an entertainment? You could never guess  – because seconds later, he smirked whilst cocking his head a little. “Oh?” Heavy sarcasm laced his deep voice. “I’m afraid that wasn’t a plausible response, dear.”

“Just answer me already!” you snapped, slamming your fists against the dirty mattress in an attempt to intimidate him into responding through impatient gesture.

Of course, it didn’t have the result you were hoping for.

Who were you kidding? He was a demon. It was no secret that he must have encountered and dealt with people scarier and smarter than you. Your action probably looked like a child throwing tantrums. Because that was what you were; a grown woman, being held captive by a strange man, throwing tantrums for her inability to change the predicament. To change her fate. And the helplessness morphed into anger because that was the only thing you knew. The only thing you could think of. The only thing you could do.

It wasn’t as though you could challenge him on a one-on-one, either. You didn’t need an ability to predict the future to know that you would lose against him.

“How cute.” he cooed after chuckling heartily. There was nothing you wished for at the moment than to tape his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to mock you. Possibly even slashing his throat in the process. That would be nice, indeed. Living with him had increased the violent thoughts in your brain somehow. Maybe this had something to do with him being a demon? “Are you angry, my dear?”

“Sebastian.” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well,” he simpered, flicking strands of ebony hair that blocked his vision. “I suppose you already know the answer, no? I’m sure you’re not entirely clueless, [Name].”

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the bedsheet. “Why did you do that?” You didn’t know why you kept asking these pointless inquiries. Maybe it was denial speaking. Maybe you were searching for a reason, an excuse, that you had already discerned. Maybe you wanted him to laugh and say that it was all just one cruel joke. You didn’t know.

Crimson eyes raked over your shivering body as he stood on the threshold of your shared room silently. Maybe it was time to bring some new dresses and coats to keep you warm. Wearing the same dress for the past three days could potentially irritate your beautiful skin. Or, perhaps, he could give you something better instead. “She wanted to take you away from me.”

“Then, let her be!” you lashed out and threw yourself to him, punching his chest relentlessly. “I was so close to freedom and I would've–”

Before you could utter another word, Sebastian pushed you to the ground. His palm prevented you from taking the brunt of the abrupt fall, yet it wasn’t enough to stop the breath from leaving your lungs. He propped his hands beside your head, staring down at your flushing face keenly.

“Don’t speak nonsense,” he said. Though, there was a hint of warning in his naturally seductive voice. The coldness of his tone prickled your skin and froze your bone, rendering you immobile temporarily. “I thought I have made it clear that you belong to me and me only. Everyone who tries to separate us shall suffer the consequences, regardless of their statuses. In short, it was her fault for being intrusive with our lives.”

“It was understandable!” Despite the fear and grief that shook your voice, there was still a sliver of courage within you. “She was my sister! She deserved to know where am I! Why can’t you understand that I don’t want to be with you?!”

“That’s quite alright,” he replied, caressing your temple affectionately with a gloved hand. He chose to ignore your protest over his atrocious decision, much to your dismay. “You might not love me now, but soon, you will have no option but to rely on me.”

“You wish!” You squirmed, desperate to avoid his disgusting touch. “I will never rely on a bastard like you!”

“Is that so?” Sebastian chuckled before withdrawing from the uncomfortably intimate position. “It seems I should escort you to your manor now, huh? Maybe then, you would learn how difficult it is to live alone.”

You ceased struggling, brows furrowed in confusion. You should’ve been happy with the opportunity – hell, you should’ve been smiling like crazy now – but you couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

“What do you mean…?” You rose from the ground and shook his shoulders, tears gathering below your pupils. “Sebastian, what are you talking about? Did something happen to them? Answer me!”

“You mentioned that you wanted to meet your family, right?” He closed his eyes and beamed. “Well, I assume you have no problem visiting their resting place, right?”

You gaped, hands slowly slid down his lean arms and landed flat on the ground.

Sebastian stood and walked past you, observing the smoke that floated in the distance through the window. His smile was disarmingly content, almost peaceful. “Frankly, I’ve been meaning to do this. I only needed a reason to do it. An incentive, you could say. And now, I’ve finally found it.” He peered over his shoulder, the smile widened slightly. More menacing. More cryptic. And ultimately, darker. “Does that make you feel better, dear? I figure a reunion is what you need to alleviate your pain. You’ll like it, no?”

[aion-rsa]

The Watch Episode 4 Review: Twilight Canyons

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This The Watch review contains spoilers.

The Watch Episode 4

“Twilight Canyons” embraces The Watch’s theme of being “inspired by,” but not adapting, Pratchett’s Discworld novels through its blink-or-you’ll-miss-it references to several of the books less closely related to the adventures of Vimes and company. In that, it progresses its own plot much further, and only delves into the over-the-top silliness of the previous episode briefly, making it feel as though this series may come into its own in the next few episodes.

At the end of the last episode, Carcer, his union-forming goblin entourage, and female wizard companion Wonce, had realized that the key to controlling the dragon was a sword in the hands of a former member of the Assassins’ Guild. Vimes and company, having not yet connected the dots, are a step behind. Lady Sybil, used to vigilante work, has gone on her own to track down Wonce and managed to snag some of the woman’s hair, but not much else. Knowing Angua’s keen sense of smell could lead them to Wonce, Sybil joins up again with the Watch, who follow the lead. Unfortunately for them, Wonce has laid a trap, and several “drag goblins” (which seems to be a reference to the makeup worn on top of the underfunded prosthetics donned by the actors) nearly do them in. They’re only rescued by a smaller goblin to whom Cheery was kind earlier in the episode.

Meanwhile, Carcer and Wonce have traveled to Twilight Canyons—a place of grave danger and rage, according to Wonce’s contact. But when they enter, Carcer and Wonce are surprised to find that it’s a retirement home, full of elderly people with various states of memory loss. They find Jocasta Wiggs, the former-assassin who stole the dragon-controlling sword from the Assassins’ Guild. Now aged, her memory faded, she can tell them nothing—but they discover a mural the woman once painted on her wall, telling the story of how she and another woman stole the sword and traveled the world with it, finally reaching the very edge. 

“What magic is so powerful that it can drive two women to the edge of the world?” Wonce asks. She and Carcer interpret from the mural that Jocasta was betrayed and the other woman took the sword for herself. When Jocasta says a single word—Perpetua—the villains realize that it’s the name of the woman, who was buried above Jocasta’s empty tomb in the cemetery for traitorous assassins. They retrieve the blade and head to the area where children are “thrown away” to a life on the streets, intending to summon the dragon—but nothing happens. The sword’s hilt has been swapped out.

The Watch are out of leads, until retired Sergeant Swires (no relation to the novel watchman of the same name), sends them a lead from Twilight Canyons, where he now lives. Through Carrot’s continued use of real detective work (mainly looking at actual files for information), he realizes that Perpetua is the one who put Jocasta in Twilight Canyons, leaving her with a cane. When the Watch interprets the mural, they see it differently: they see two women traveling the world, seeing all its wonders, even as they run from the assassins pursuing them. The missing hilt, they realize, is the handle of Jocasta’s cane, which she entrusted to Swires once she stopped walking. Sure that Carcer and Wonce will realize their mistake, Vimes makes a plan to trap the two, battling over the sword. When Swires begins to raise an objection, Vimes interrupts, standing his ground, insisting that the others follow HIS plan for once instead of going off on their own.

But of course, things don’t go as planned. When Vimes and Carcer begin to battle (at the same time that Wonce and Sybil face off), the magical security system traps the two pairs of combatants, locking them in a dance number (to the disconcerting accompaniment of Wham’s “Wake Me up Before You Go-Go”) the ends with Carcer being teleported elsewhere and Wonce losing the sword to Sybil and retreating. With the sword and hilt now in the possession of the Watch, Vimes has Jocasta place her hands on the hilt as they put it back together, only for the sword—Wayne, stage name Gawain—to inform them that it doesn’t remember how to control the dragon. It does, however, reveal that only lovers can hear its voice (to the resounding protests of all the Watch members who aren’t Cheery, who seems to view herself as a lover).

The Watch brings Jocasta to Unseen University in an attempt to restore her memory of the sword’s abilities. Meanwhile, Carcer is in the interdimensional space of the auditors, a group of seemingly omniscient and extremely powerful beings who support order and science—and none of that dream or hope nonsense—who view Carcer’s dimension’s Watch, who are beginning to believe in themselves, as a cosmic threat. They send him back, saying it’s his last chance—and he and Wonce enlist the disgraced head of the Thieves’ Guild to steal the sword.

Read more

TV

The Watch: Why Did the Discworld Adaptation Do THAT to a Major Character?

By Juliette Harrisson

TV

The Watch Controversy Explained: How Different is the Show From Discworld?

By Juliette Harrisson

The episode features a number of nuggets for Pratchett fans. Early on, Vimes, irritated that Sybil has taken matters into her own hands instead of letting him do his job, gives her a rousing rendition of the “Captain Sam Vimes Boots Theory on Socioeconomic Unfairness,” including this gem:

VIMES: Eyes closed, I know just where I am in this city just by the feel of the stone beneath my toes.

This direct reference to the novels is one of the few in this episode, though there are smaller nods throughout. Cheery admits that when all the Watch lost their eyebrows, it wasn’t the “little blue men” at fault (a reference to the Nac Mac Feegle introduced in the “Tiffany Aching” books). The villainous (though not imaginative enough to be evil) Auditors of Reality play a role in several Discworld novels. The loudspeaker in Twilight Canyons mentions the name of resident Cohen the Barbarian, Discworld’s greatest warrior hero. And the name “Twilight Canyons” is a reference to an unfinished Pratchett project, in which the aging community of a retirement home, many in states of memory loss (a subject close to Pratchett’s heart; Pratchett had early onset Alzheimers and was vocal in raising community awareness). 

The episode also nicely refers to “The Wat,” featuring Vimes playing guitar to Good Boy, Sybil’s small dragon, during the episode’s opening. Should the musical skill of the members of the Watch continue to be relevant in future episodes, some of my previous complaints about “The Wat” may diminish.

While “Twilight Canyons” does a lot to move forward the season plot, with Vimes in possession of an artifact, a reveal about other artifacts that Vetinari wants under her control, and with the big reveal about the powers behind Carcer’s reappearance, the episode also has a strong internal theme about love. Opening with Carrot trying to ask Angua if she’d be interested in doing something social (and abjectly failing), the episode moves to Vimes almost recalling to Cheery his vision from “The Wat,” in which he was married to and happy with Sybil. Gawain—Wayne—the talking sword can only be heard by lovers. 

The secret behind unlocking Jocasta’s memories is in helping her remember the love she shared with Perpeuta. And Cheery, revealed as fully a romantic, encourages Carrot’s feelings for Angua, referencing her own lost love as a reason not to delay. (Jo Eaton-Kent’s Cheery is really the star of this episode all together; their fantastic comedic delivery throughout reduces the overburdened earnestness of the previous episode and allows some of the humor to come from the characters themselves, not rely on the world’s delve into sheer absurdity.) Even Death is revealed to be someone lonely who’d love a friend to have drinks with—much to Carrot’s surprise when the offer is made.

While the silliness of the dance number in “Twilight Canyons” works less well than it was clearly intended, the interplay between the characters and the forward momentum of the story raises this one above its predecessor. The makeup work remains atrocious (possibly even worse than in previous episodes), and despite references to Koom Valley reenactors, we’ve still seen none of Pratchett’s numerous dwarf-sized dwarves in Ankh-Morpork. (The Librarian curiously looks slightly more like an orangutan in this episode.) Though the characters remain departures from their book forms, the clear reference to other versions of the Watch by the very strange and ominous auditors pulling Carcer’s strings seems to be a justification for this very different version of Discworld.

If it can find its stride in the next couple of episodes, the series will be worth bingeing once it’s complete. But the key word here is still “if.”

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[storm-driver]

A drabble for an idea i’ve had for over a year now

While the waves lapping at the beaches on the shoreline would provide their own chilling massage, the cold could not compare to that of the snowed peaks. While barren grassland may lay here in years past, white blankets of frost now coated the ground, killing off any hope of gardens and pastures. The stone buildings ran cold and the paths in the snow only revealed as people walked through its harsh grip, paving the way for those who walk after.

“Damn it...” The young whelp hissed. Metal coating his finger tips was beginning to frost and the leather protecting his skin turning cold. Even the compass in his hand hardly survived the blizzard, the glass fogging immediately and resisting his every effort to thaw. “Stupid dreadwyrm...”

The heel on his greaves tapped on the side of his chocobo, spurring its tired legs to continue walking across the tundra. Where his armor could not cover his skin, he shivered and regretted every leaving behind the city which he called home. Where there was a warm fire waiting in the Forgotten Knight, and stories to be heard about heretics and wyrms and mad priests and all the sort. It wasn’t always happy, but at least it was lively.

The chocobo squawked and reared up, flapped its black-feathered wings and nearly throwing the boy off. He almost bit his tongue grabbing the reins, but clung to his mount like a child to their favourite toy.

“Oi, what’s wrong now?!” He barked. Using the muscles on his face felt soothing as the ice worked across his skin. Moving his jaw and wrinkling his nose as the bird disobeyed him, breaking the frost barrier that he’d hardly noticed forming. If he hadn’t the visor’d helm over his head, his eyes might have frozen by now.

His chocobo squawked again and refused to advance forward. He tugged on the reins and gave another kick with his heel, and the bird still fought his every command.

He sighed and hung his head on his neck. “I didn’t think they’d raised a chicken in place of a decent mount...” His grumbling was almost lost in the harsh winds of the blizzard. Head snapped back up and he took in one deep breath. Then began to slide off the saddle.

His black-metal boots landed in the snow, the armor over his body clanking as he moved. The lance clinging to his back bounced in its holster before settling again, ensuring that he hadn’t lost his weapon. He held one hand on his chocobo’s wing. Then slowly let it slip as he walked forwards.

There was no strangeness to finding dead animals out in Coerthas. The wasteland of snow was not fit for anything but the cold-blooded and the hibernating to live in. Often times, animals that crossed the border looking for food or adventure could be found dead in mere hours, corpse buried in the snow after succumbing to frostbite, blood tainting the blanket where other animals dug out its internal workings and marrow.

The dark lump in front of him didn’t seem much different. There was a trail of blood fading fast, leading right up to the corpse. It might have tried to limp away in an effort to save itself, but never found the help it needed. It was pitiful, but it was all it could do to survive. A valiant effort and one to be remembered till the day’s end.

He stared a moment more, eyes straining past the falling snow to glimpse the corpse. To check if there were marks on it to alert him if there were nearby animals ready to pounce. Or if the King Behemoth had left its den at last. It wasn’t safe to touch dead animal bodies, but knowing what may lie ahead would be a good means of safety, as well.

He neared the corpse and kept glimpsing over what he could only assume were its legs. It was terribly mangled, the poor thing. He hoped it wasn’t suffering in its final moment. It must’ve had something with it, as well. Someone reflective, for he could see the shards shining off the sun hidden in the clouds.

He froze. Shining? Something was actually shining in there. Why would an animal have something of that kind of value? What was it-

The boy threw himself forward as the dread creeped into his limbs. He nearly fell right into the snow, but landed on his knees, hands flying forward to grab the corpse. What he thought was a leg was a horribly disfigured arm, and he grabbed and pulled. The body rolled over and the arm nearly tore right off, staining his gauntlets with the red ink of life. Dark fabrics revealed to be heavily stained, white blots of the falling snow beginning to sink into the hole in the body’s chest. Their face a frozen memory of horror and pain.

Their pale skin and wide eyes, mouth hanging open and face covered in blood splatters. Their black hair an atrocious mess and limbs bent at every wrong angle. The black robe pierced in the center by what he could only guess was a man’s attempt at murder.

The cold from the blizzard could not override the utter fear driving through his veins. He’d seen dead bodies before, but here? In Coerthas? Without so much as a mention from the knights? What happened? Who did this?

What did this?

His shaking eyes shifted back to the broken glass in the snow. Some pieces more put together than others, curved in places to give hints as to its original shape. A bottle of some sort. Probably with something important inside.

He grimaced and narrowed his eyes, mouth straightening and head turning down, trying not to sight every grotesque detail. A horrible sight that one at such a young age shouldn’t have born witness to. Yet despite this, he must’ve seen so much worse, to be donning the drachen armor as he did. A young prodigy who clearly still had much to see in the world.

“Mine apologies...” He muttered, voice raspy. “For what has befallen you.” He stood up one leg at a time, arms hanging at his sides and head still low. “May the Fury guide you through her halls, my friend...” He lifted up his right hand and grabbed at helmet covering his face. In one swift motion, he pulled it off from the back and felt the cold winds blow across his face. The short blond hair, spiking in certain spots, his bangs almost covering his eyes with no visor to hold them back. The brisk feeling nearly sent him into shock, if not for his steady vigil at the man’s corpse.

“What’s become of this land...?” He mumbled. He blinked a few more times and swore he could feel himself tearing up like the child he was five years ago. When the damned wyrm wrought its chaos and took away those that he loved. “What have we achieved that this is how man lives...”

As the Azure Dragoon, it will be your purpose to protect Ishgard from the Dravanian onslaught. Should you render yourself unable to do your duties, we will find a new champion. But for now, we entrust the power of the Eye to you... Roxas.

In a sickening voice, he snorted and nearly laughed. “What a bad choice...” Roxas turned around and smiled. “Ran off at the first mention of my brother... What kind of Dragoon am I.”

He paced back to his chocobo and looked up at the feathered friend. It squawked once, though much more calmly than before. Its wings fluttered and it settled, letting Roxas get a hold of the saddle.

He threw one leg over and sat back in the saddle, one hand still gripping his helmet. He almost wanted to put it back on, to shield his face from the winds. His eyes from the sights. His mind from the tragedies. Roxas stared at his helm and pondered. Was this really him wanting to go to find his brother? Or was it... did the Eye have something to do with this?

Roxas’ blue eyes narrowed and he shook his head. With the helmet still in his grip, he reached forward and grabbed the reins.

“Damn it...” He clenched his jaw and eyes shut. “We’ve got a hell of a journey ahead...” His expression softened and brows furrowed. Eyes turned back up to the path he was following through the mountains. “Right, Sora?”

One kick to his chocobo’s side. It squealed, but there was no more resistance. No more hesitation in its steps. No second guesses about his choice. For if he had messed up, at least he was doing it for the right reasons. His chocobo ran across the snow and the stone bridge. Ahead, he could see the clouds parting. He could see the distant spires of the flats’ ruins. And he could feel in his heart... his brother was out there. And their reunion was long-overdue.

[overwatchladieslover]

Chapter 4: Of Lovers And Monsters

Everything that could have gone wrong with the beginning of your first mission did. The flight across the ocean was peaceful, but as soon as the aircraft entered the surrounding vicinity of the desert, the instruments started going crazy.

You remember Lena screaming for Athena to respond, as she frantically tried to stabilise the plane, Hana and Lùcio shoving you into a seat, helping you buckle up. The aircraft shook terribly, bottles crashed, and soon enough, so did the plane.

You woke up with a startle in the sand, still dressed in your normal clothes, the crew having decided on laying low while they gathered information. Coughing up some sand mixed with dried blood, you tried to sit up. But to no avail, as you discovered to your utmost shock a piece of metal buried within your torso.

Whining slightly, you grabbed it firmly, slowly pulling it out, trying to ignore the atrocious pain. You prayed that your regenerating powers were enough to keep you stable. Using the remains of your shirt, you tied a makeshift bandage around your torso.

You tried to calm down. You didn’t remember much of the accident, but you had to remain calm. You sucked in a few hallowed breaths, trying not to disturb your injury. You looked at what was surrounding you. And there wasn’t much. A piece of what once should’ve been one of the emergency exit pods, and a few ripped open crates. You crawled over to the latter.

“What do we have here?” You said to yourself, realising how feeble and coarse your voice sounded. There was an old metal gourd, accompanied by a simple survival kit. A sewing kit, a flare, some water purifying tabs and a knife.

You tore what was left of your shirt, making a small satchel to carry your belongings. You looked in another beaten down crate, finding some emergency EMR.

That wasn’t much, but it had to do. Looking up to the sun, you determined that it wasn’t high noon yet. You had some troubles remembering when the plane went down, but given the fact that night had settled, your guess would be approximately 11 PM. Which meant that you had been out for several hours.

“Should find some high ground.” You muttered to yourself, climbing on the hill the escape pod was leaning on.

All around you, naught but sand, rocks, cacti and dried up branches. Didn’t look promising. You decided to set your priorities: finding some water, dehydration was deadlier than hunger, getting some help for your wounds, and most importantly, finding somewhere to try and get some info on your companions’ whereabouts.

You decided to follow the sun’s direction, if it rose to the East, meant it had to go down to the West, right? You gathered your meagre belongings, and got started.

The sun was scorching, and you had a slight limp, whilst the wound on your torso felt like it was boiling. Your head was getting dizzy, but you decided to cover as much ground as possible.

You wondered if perhaps, by luck, you’d spot some road, but there was nothing around. You cursed, this was not exactly the best start.

You quickly depleted your physical resources, but decided against eating the EMR, you knew that the human body could go for days without food. But the utmost urgency was finding water. The gourd was empty, and your tongue started to feel terribly thick in your mouth. You massaged your salivary glands, trying desperately to wash away the taste of sand.

All this sand, rock, dust and cacti almost made you wish for a nuclear winter in the Mojave. Wait a second. Cacti?

If you could’ve rushed to the nearest cactus, you would’ve, but alas, even walking was barely manageable, so you settled for a fast walk. You used your knife to stab the plant, holding the gourd under the knife, as some liquid lazily rolled alongside the blade.

“Thank God I binge-watched Bear Grill’s stupid show.” Chuckling to yourself, you drank a bit. It tasted odd, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

By the time high noon finally arrived, you thought you’d boil alive.

“Should take a nap, and wait for the heat to calm the fuck down.” You looked around, no side of shade anywhere.

You kept going for a good kilometre and a half, until you finally found a rock big enough to provide some cover.

The ground was so hot you could feel it through your shoes, as if the soles were sizzling under the blasted heat. The shade was a tad cooler, enough for you to lay down. You checked on your wound. You were by no means a medical expert, but you knew enough to know that this was not a good sign, all around the wound were sickly yellowish marks, and there seemed to be some pus seething from the injury.

“Just what I needed…”

You put your arms under your neck, closing your eyes. You were in pain, but exhaustion was stronger. You slipped in and out of consciousness, yet you were able to get some rest.

When you came to, the sun seemed to indicate that it was between 4 PM to 6PM. The heat was a tad more bearable. It was time to move.

You got back on the trail, not feeling confident, but the panicked that had seized your mind and body earlier was long gone. You figured you could handle this.

You were able to go on for several more hours, until the sun started to set. Hunger was starting to cloud your mind, but you knew that you had to overcome the frivolous need, it was not yet an emergency to eat.

When the stars came out, the chill started to settle in. Desert was hell. Scorching hot during the day, freezing cold in the night.

However, it couldn’t alter your determination, you came too far to back down now. When your legs could not carry you anymore, you collapsed under a small boulder. You bared your blade, letting it rest on the stone.

It took much longer to fall asleep that time though. Your thoughts drifted to your companions, how were they faring? Were they still alive? Was HQ aware of the crash? Would they send reinforcements?

Would you eventually find your way out?

Feeling the slight prick of tears on the corner of your eyes, you gulped loudly, swallowing was tough. You took a tentative sip out of the gourd, but what remained there was naught more than gunk from the previous cactus juice.

Sleep eventually took you when you least expected it. It was far from blissful rest, you tossed and turned, and as time went on, you seemed to be losing more and more energy.

Giving up and just lying there had started to become tempting. But you just could not abandon. You had come this far, had you not? Plus, you could simply not leave your companions to their fate.

You started to dream. You were back in the aircraft, chatting mindlessly with Lùcio about the music, you blinked, and suddenly the Orca went dark, safe for the constant blinking of the various nodes on the aircraft’s piloting board.

“Lena? Hana? Lù?” You called out, receiving naught but silence. You got up from the escape pod you were sat in, even though you could not remember getting there. You looked out the window, it was dark out, almost impossible to see beyond the thick window.

Your voice was almost nothing but a sheer whisper covered by the intense vrooming in your ears, rendering your thoughts incoherent.

You struggled to reach the dashboard, as you desperately tried to avoid crashing the aircraft. You erratically pressed a few buttons here and there. A bright light illuminated your fingers, you turned around swiftly, trying to find out where that was coming from.

Suddenly, you were falling, you felt the rush of the wind against your skin, as your breath was straight up knocked out of your lungs.  

Trying to hold on to whatever was available, you still found your arms and legs flailing, as you woke up, drenched in sweat.

“Fuck, what in the hell was that?” You panted, your heart still hammering against your ribcage.

You cracked your knuckles. Getting up painfully, as the sun started to rise, like a threat.

In this land of cacti, rock and sand, you almost wished you could’ve crashed on an island. Stranded on an island seemed slightly less tough then being in a desert.

You chewed on your EMR, your jaw ached for not having eaten in a while. You had started to lose track of days, when you first saw it.

It was barely visible, yet, after seeing naught but rocks and sand for days, it stood out remarkably.

It looked like a church, you rushed to it, mouth agape like an animal, your eyes prickling because of the wind and sand.

It finally came into view, it was a small town, but to you, it was like an oasis, and given the current context, the analogy couldn’t have been any more accurate.

Falling to your knees, you didn’t hear people rushing to your aid, you simply felt yourself hit the ground, as everything went dark, once again.

 Your dream was similar to the previous one, yet, instead of the light appearing behind you, it appeared in front of you. A simplistic sign, a trademark which you recognise instantly.

When the light came behind your back, you already knew who it was.

A sugar skull.

A familiar silhouette, bathed in purple light.

“Sombra.”

 “Well, hello too.” Greeted a foreign voice, belonging to a woman.

“Sorry. Can I-” You didn’t even have to finish your sentence, a glass of water was brought to your lips.

Drinking some actual water relieved your throat in ways you didn’t even know were possible, it was bliss.

You uttered a quick a ‘thanks’, as you took in your surroundings. It seemed you were in the church, laying on a mattress on the ground, a few bandages bared your torso. You wiggled your toes tentatively, you felt much better.

It seemed that you weren’t the only ones stuck in a peculiar predicament. Many people were on the mattresses, some looking pretty rough. The church was quite dusty, enough to make you cough. The pain in your ribs made you wince, you clutched your wounded side hurriedly.

“Tough landing, eh?” You turned to your saviour. A pair of washed jeans, legs crossed on a foldable chair, an old tee-shirt, blonde hair tied in a messy bun, a cigarette tucked on top of her ear.

“You could say that,” You groaned, slowly getting up, resting your hands on your bruised knees.

“How long have I been out?” You asked, cracking your knuckles, enjoying the way they popped.

“Three days, doc said the exhaustion and the malnutrition should’ve kept you down for a week at least. Given how you look, I wouldn’t have bet a peanut on your ass. No offense.” She got up, extending her hand.

“None taken.” You grabbed her hand, she pulled you up with ease.

“You mentioned a tough landing earlier. D’you know how I got here?” You noticed something you hadn’t noticed earlier: a revolver hanging on her hip.

“We saw an aircraft coming down about a week ago. The Mojave is unforgiving, you’re lucky you made it out.” She started making her way out of the church; you followed her.

“Have you seen anybody else?” You felt your guts wrenching. This was your first mission, and everything that could have gone wrong, went spectacularly wrong.

“Not that I know of. Though there was some ruckus in Slab City, a newcomer, seemingly a foreigner, just like yourself. Might want to give it a look, after you pay off your debt.” She seemed almost apologetic at the last part.

“Shit,” You looked at your feet. You felt powerless, your friends were in danger, yet, you were stuck in a shithole of a town in the Mojave Desert, stranded, most likely left for dead, and now you had a debt to a bunch of hillbillies. Well, desert hillbillies.

“Well, I guess I ought to pay you back, right… What must I do?” You looked around, a few compounds which served as housing, though far from decent, and, given the neon sign in the distance, there was a bar.

How surprising.

You tried to tone down your frustration, they helped you, and perhaps you’d be able to gain some information about the rest of your friends’ whereabouts.

“Let’s get to the bar, we got a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

The walk to the bar was mainly spent in silence, as you contemplated how in Heaven’s name did you get into this mess.

You pushed the door, this place was a walking cliché, you were half expecting a tumbleweed to roll in and choke you to death any second.

“Hey sweetheart, lookin’ good.” Drawled a man, half standing, half slouched on the bar, a cigarette hanging loosely from his chapped lips.

Your new friend made her way around the bar, unimpressed by the drunkard’s incivility.

You went to sit on the stool, when the man landed a sharp slap on your ass.

In a second, you whipped around, grabbing his wrist, throwing him on a nearby table.

A whistle came from behind you, the blonde seemed to be thoroughly surprised.

“Like the attitude, I was going to ask you to hit a few moles or snakes on the head with a shovel, but seems you’re cut out for more… subtle work.” She grinned appreciatively.

“Subtlety? After I sent a dude flying on one of your tables? Where did you even learn about diplomacy and subtlety?” She scoffed at the, slapping you on the shoulder, not giving a damn about the fact that you visibly winced.

“Well, welcome to Hill’s Fall, and to the wild, wild west.” She winked suggestively.

A few drinks later, you were well acquainted with your new friend. Her name was Mary Henderson, she had been tending to this bar ever since her brother passed away. She told you quite a bit about your surroundings. Few towns, a bunker down north, occupied by the Outcasts, former Slab City citizens. There was an outpost belonging to the Outlaws somewhere in the desert, Mary told you about how many of her friends, on supply runs, winded up dead or missing.

She also finally informed you of your mission. It was far from simple. You had to infiltrate the outpost, and free the citizens they had taken.

Mary was rambling about the mission, and the people they had taken, and did not notice that you had fallen asleep, face first on the counter. Given how inconsistent her speech had been, she must have followed suit.  

You slept soundly, you might have been snoring, but given the sound you woke up to, Mary was a fair competitor, sounded like a lawnmower on the pavement.

Drinking some alcohol might have soothed some of your worries, when the effect washed away you were not only feeling terrible, but also had all of your previous anxieties back tenfold.

You groggily got up from the chair on which you had passed out. Your head was throbbing painfully, as you took in your surroundings. The bar had probably seen better days, it was in quite a decrepit state, the floor was creaking audibly under your bare feet. You noticed Mary sprawled across the counter, drool dripping from her chin.

Mary woke up with a startle, sending a few glasses to shatter on the floor.

“M’therfucker…” She groaned, rubbing at her temple vigorously. She got up from the counter, sliding without an ounce of grace onto the floor, carefully avoiding the broken glass.

She cursed under her breath, slowly getting back up, before picking up the shards. You assisted her as you could, your own head throbbing painfully.

Mary fished a remedy for hangovers from behind the counter, and you were glad to see your headache gone. The woman provided you with some fresher clothes, yours were stained with blood, and the rest… Well, let’s say that a night of drinking seldom left vestments immaculate. But from the stench of it, you could easily guess a mix of alcohol, and some vomit.

The clothes were simple: a jerkin, ample but should help with the heat, trousers which required you to use to belt to refrain them from falling upon your ankles, and a blood-stained holster with a revolver.

You wished McCree would’ve come along, for this could’ve been heaven for the cowboy wannabe.

Mary offered a simple meal, resources were precious, and, while the two of you chewed on the dried meat and the hard bread, she filled you on what you were supposed to do.

 “A cart of our people went missin’, when they were scouting the region. That ain’t the first time it happened, mind you, bastards took my Pa’ months ago.” She blurted out, as she ate with her mouth open, but none of you minded this indelicacy.

 “We gonna head there, find out what happened. Dunno why they used a cart out of all things. I know the way, d’you know how to ride a horse?”

 You knew the basics, but felt the need to refresh your muscle memory before heading out.

 After an hour spent in the coral trying to figure it out, you were finally ready to follow Mary.

 The blonde was much chattier after a meal, and talked your ear off about the region, and the bastards who were making life hard for everyone. She even spent about thirty minutes blabbering about your horse, Sooty, and her upbringing. You skilfully managed to tune her out, while keeping an ear out of the important parts.

 But, chatty as she was, she still knew her way around the desert.

 From afar, you could see a trail of smoke, up in the air. Mary didn’t warn you, as her horse broke into a gallop. You followed suite, squinting heavily as the sun reflected on the sand made it hard to see.

 You arrived at the destination, dismounting promptly. A broken wheel was keeping a fire going, for one body seemed to have been impaled upon it, and produced a wretched stench.

  Mary was gagging, but you kept your cool, and tried to breathe in through your nose.

 Another body, curled up on itself, against a rock, seemed to have suffer an equally violent death. You kneeled next to it, for the burned body surely no longer contained any exploitable information, and examined it.

 You were no expert at forensics, but Angela had taught you a thing or two, though it displeased her immensely.

 The hands were torn and bruised, it seemed that the victim tried to protect their faces. You adjusted the body’s position, though the stiffness of it indicated that the death had not been recent. Once the arms were out of the way, a face with feminine feature appeared. Her hair had been pulled off in handfuls, a few lesions were observable on the sides of her head. You opened her mouth, while ignoring Mary’s orders of letting the body alone.

 The tongue was swollen and of a greenish tint, which confirmed that the victim had been dead for well over 24 hours.

 There were signs of resistances, her nails were mostly torn off, with dried blood on the fingertips, a few of them had been broken, somebody had probably stepped on it. You got up, and spoke to Mary.

 “Something’s wrong.” You stated, looking on the ground for footprints, though you suspected that the wind shifted the sand enough to cover most of their tracks.

 “Yeah, fucking around with corpses is wrong!” Mary seemed shock of your actions.

 “Not what I meant. The body has been dead for over a day, at least, but the fire is recent, it wouldn’t have lasted through the night, let alone two. Which means that either another convoy or someone else was passing through here, and got attacked, or that whoever did this came back, and left this. As a warning, perhaps. Or a threat.” You reported, thinking that Gabe would congratulate you on your analysis.

 “The bastards. First, they kill our people, then they flaunt their atrocities? What kind of sick fuck does this?” She kicked a rock out of the way, which landed on the body you had examined earlier.

 “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry…I…” While Mary apologised profusely to the corpse, you kneeled next to it, before grabbing the victim’s head and letting it fall back, giving you a better look at her mouth. You reluctantly grabbed the swollen tongue, before putting it back, revealing a piece of paper, hidden under her sand-covered tongue.

 “Interesting.” You felt like vomiting, but you knew better than to let go of such precious information. You carefully unfolded the paper, and tried to decipher it.

 “Oil, gas, fire the way.” It had been hastily written. Mary stared at you inquisitively.

 “I wonder what’s your job, you seem used to it.”

 “I’ve had good teachers, but that’s my first time on the ground, I suppose,” You sighed. “Any idea?” You asked, flaunting the paper.

 “I’m guessin’ that the convoy was bearing oil and gas, I know the good pastor was trying to trade these for water and food. Given where we are, it was probably headed towards Slab City.”

 You nodded. It was a good opportunity to find out if the foreigner whom landed in Slab City was one of your friends.

 “We might want to check that out, then.”

 “I don’t think the Slabbers would attack us, though, they suffer just the same way we do, they lost a shitton of good people as well.”

 “Still, perhaps they know something about it, if it was headed their way.”

 “You just want to see if one of your friends is there, don’t you? Planning on bailing out, so soon.” She eyed you suspiciously.

 “I wouldn’t dream of it, but we’ve got to follow the trail, and this is the only lead we’ve got.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m keepin’ you in my sight, though. You still owe us.” She kicked another rock, which threw over the pyre, landing in a mess of fire and sparks.

 “Mary what the ever loving fu-” You were interrupted by parts of the sandy dirt road catching fire, a trail set ablaze.

 You looked at Mary, then back at the fire, and before you knew it, you were following the spreading fire.

 “You know what, Mary? Feel free to throw rocks!” You smirked, as she barked out a laugh.

The trail stopped near a cluster of rocks. You hopped off your horse, investigating the hole between the stones.

 A few balls of paper had seemingly been thrown there. You handed half of them to your companion, before smoothing one out for yourself to read.

 The handwriting was different than the woman’s, and seemed to detail his capture by slavers, then, later on, his escape with his companions.

 “We tried to signal to a convoy, passing near the road to my town, but they attacked us. Ornella and Simon held them back while we ran away with the cart. I ain’t proud of what we did, but they attacked first. When we came back to find out what happened of our friends, Orn’ was dead, and I’ve no idea what happened to Simon. Tell my mom her little Thomas will send ‘em fuckers straight to hell.”

 So it seemed that the slavers didn’t, in fact, attack the convoy, but that they attacked runaway slaves looking for help. Perhaps their garments made the escort doubt whether they were friend or foe. A tragedy, really. You thought, as you rode the other letter, thought it was barren of interesting information, simply a goodbye letter.

 “I’ve got something!” Exclaimed Mary, waving her letter.

 You nodded, awaiting her report eagerly.

 “Looks like they were going to take that convoy straight to the place they call The Forge, to blow it all up. Seems like it leaked though, hence the trail of fire. The dirt road ends here, there’s no way we can keep up with that trail.” Devised Mary, grabbing handfuls of sand to watch it trickle.

 “We might want to ask around in Slab City, then.” Asking the townsfolk about The Forge was a decent lead, after all.

 Mary hummed in agreement, dishing out her water canteen, offering some to you after having drank a few hearty gulps of water. You accepted gratefully, before following your guide to Slab City.

 When you arrived, the sun had started to go down, offering a splendid view of the city. It was mostly made of junk, recycled bottles, cardboard, some of them had disparate brick walls, and the houses, though qualifying these as houses would be quite a compliment, were made of composite materials. Still, it was much bigger than the town you had woke up in, had a few trailers.

 Fairy lights were hung across streets for better visibility, as the night chill was beginning to creep in, and bonfires were starting to be lit by equally original inhabitants.

 “It’s a dump o’ junk, but it’s as safe as it gets, nowadays.” Commented Mary, as you slowly made your way down the sandy hill. It was refreshing to ride across something else than sand and rock. You pat the side of your horse’s neck, hoping to get Sooty something to drink, for it had been a long day, and your water gourd could only help so much.

 “If you want information, the Saloon’s the place to go!” Merrily cheered the blonde, as she forced her horse into a trot through the streets, nodding to some Slabers, which were looking at the two of you with as much curiosity as distrust and worry.

 A man stopped her in her tracks, seemingly knowing her. Your companion turned to you, suddenly serious.

“Head over to the bar, I’ll take care of your horse. Feel free to ask for your friend, but don’t you try and skip town, I’ll know it, got it?” She pointed to the Saloon, which was lit in an obnoxious way, the entanglement of fairy lights forming a penis.

 You nodded, handing over the reins, before heading to the Saloon, thinking that Jesse would’ve fallen head over heels for this place.

 As you soon as you entered the saloon, you were hit by the stench of strong moonshine meddled with sweat. You closed your eyes for a second, and when you reopened them, you saw a good portion of the saloon glaring at you.

 “Are you another one o’ them Forged fucks?” Asked the bartender, who had reached behind the counter, grabbing his shotgun.

 You put your hand on your revolver, looking around. There was no way you could make it out if they decided to attack you. You decided to play it cool, trying to mimic what Sombra had taught you to de-escalate a situation. Instead of seeming tough, you let your hand slide to your buckle, letting it rest there comfortably, as you tried to keep your breathing slow and steady.

 “I’m not one of them. I’m here to end them.” You tried to drawl out casually, walking slowly to the bar, as they broke into boisterous fits of laughter. You knew better than to be offended, but they needed to respect you, and to understand that you weren’t messing around. Faking a small laugh, you reached for a bottle of moonshine on the counter, and poured yourself a shot, gulping it down with assurance, and if you looked calm on the outside, it was pretty tough to keep the tears out of your eyes, the alcohol stung your throat unpleasantly.

 You slammed the glass on the counter, earning everyone’s attention once more.

 Well aware that all eyes were on you, you poured yourself another shot, before raising your glass for everyone to see.

“This one is to Thomas, Ornella, Simon, Adrian and Sam!” You declared, downing it with much more ease than the first one.

 “How do you know these names?” Asked the bartender, his hand upon yours, firmly trapping it against the glass.

 With your other hand, you got out three letters from your shirt.

 “I found them while I was tracking down a convoy headed your way. I need to know all you know about the Forge, so I can take care of it.” He withdrew his hand, as he yanked the letters out of your hand.

 “My sweet Ornella,” Crooned the man, clutching the letters. “Was my niece’s death peaceful?” His eyes were suddenly full of sorrow, but you knew that sparing this poor man the painful truth would only bring more trouble.

 “Heroic. She stayed behind to hold off the attackers. Seems like she teamed up with some folks from Hill’s Fall.” You lied, knowing fully well that revealing that if they heard that their neighbours shot first, it could start a war, even if it was an accident.

 The man nodded solemnly, before pouring himself a shot, into the glass you had previously used.

 “Bottoms up, everyone!” He ordered. Everyone in the saloon had raised their glass, their eyes closed, as they downed their glass, before resuming their activities. You guessed that such announcements were common enough, for they did not seem shocked.

“What’d you wanna know?” Asked the bartender, washing his glass with a rag which seemed dirtier than the glass itself;

 “Firstly, I must ask if you have seen any outsiders recently.” He furrowed his brows, so you added some more details.

 “A small brit, dressed oddly, a young Asian girl, and a Brazilian man, with dreadlocks.” He seemed to perk up at the mention of the DJ.

 “Oh, you mean Lùcio, he’s here, alright, he plays music for us. I must’ve known you were one of his friends, though you don’t exactly fit the description.”

You failed to control the smile which lit up your whole face, earning a chuckle from the bartender.

 Just as you were about to ask for him, you heard a few loud strums on a guitar, before your friend came sliding down the ramp leading to the first floor.

 The bar came alive, greeting the musician with praise for his latest songs, and a few demands.

His hair was falling over his shoulder in a most glorious mane, his bright eyes complementing the simple suit he wore, brown jacket with slacks, a mostly unbuttoned white shirt, and a cowboy hat.

 You couldn’t help but giggle, he seemed to have gotten into the town’s spirit, and seeing him well brought you endless joy. He welcomed your hug with fierceness, kissing the top of your head.

 “Man, it’s good to see a familiar face!” Lùcio was beaming, holstering his guitar on his back. “C’mon, we got a lot of catching up to do!” He added, already racing up the stairs.

 His room was messy, a cardboard with different handwritten notes showing that he had been working hard at finding the others. A map was spread on his bed, which seemed to have been the fruit of rigorous manual work.

 He pulled two stools from under his bed, and the two of you sat in front of each other, reporting your findings.

 “The Forge, huh? According to the old man who lives near the museum, it’s a place where they enslave people, the Forged are brainwashed slaves, and the Forgers their masters.” Said Lùcio, pointing to one of his notes.

 “How does he know that?”

 “He made it out, but his mind was broken, he soils himself, has nightmares and flashbacks… Took me some time to get things right.” He seemed pained.

“No news about the others?” You asked, though a part of you knew that if he had any kind of information about the Hana and Lena’s whereabouts, he’d have told you right away.

 “No news. I hope they didn’t get caught, or hurt in the crash. There’s no internet here, no signal… These people don’t even know who I am!”

 You raised your eyebrows, Lùcio was a popstar, pretty much everybody knew about the rebellious Brazilian DJ.

 “Any lead about the Forge? We need to shut that place down.” You thought back on all the people who were suffering at their hands. It had to stop.

 “Can’t agree more, but the only person who’s got any idea on how to stop it would be Old Man Jenkins, and he ain’t right in his mind.” He got up and paced nervously, while you laid back in your chair.

 “The way I see it, we’ve got two options: we try to get out of the Desert, and find a way to contact Overwatch, and ask for reinforcements, but that would mean putting Hana and Lena’s lives on the lines. Or, we try and shake some information out of Jenkins, head to the Forge with the Slabers, and take it forcefully. It’s been too long since our last report, Overwatch is certainly already looking for us, which means that they might lend us a hand during the preparations.” You grabbed Lùcio’s map, and studied the region.

 Your friend stopped his pacing, resting a shoulder against the wall, considering your approach.

 “But what if we don’t know the location? We don’t even know how many people are in the Forge, we need to have numbers, and given how many people have gone missing the last few years, even uniting the region wouldn’t be enough.” He was scratching his slowly growing beard, which appeared more like a shadow.

 “We don’t need to barge in through the main doors, we can do it stealthily, get in, free the slaves, find an escape route, and blow up the Forge. Numbers matters when we are talking about a face-to-face. If we use ruse and intelligence, we won’t need too many men, a few squads should suffice.” You thought back on your lessons with Gabriel, Blackwatch had many strategies to infiltrate and destroy an enemy base, though the situation was unprecedented. There were too many variables. The Forged, were they loyal to their masters? Would it mean more enemies to fight? Would the Slabers be willing to kill their own?

 You sighed, knowing that leaving the region to join the Gibraltar team could have a potentially fatal outcome to your friends.

You suddenly shot up, the frustration boiling your veins, as you clenched your deformed hand, feeling it oozing.

You saw stars and stumbled, thankfully, Lùcio caught you in his arms.

 “Woah, y/n, when’s the last time you rested?” Concerned, he forced you to lay on the bed, ordering you to stay still while he pilfered from the kitchen.

 You had no choice but to lay there, looking at the ceiling. He came back with a meagre meal, though it was better than nothing, bread, some beef jerky, and a tasteless soup.

 After having engulfed the food, you simply remembered your friend tucking you in, before leaving the room.

“I wish I had time to explain, but we’ve got no time! Talon’s behind this.” Sombra grabbed your arm, her claws digging into your arm, as she threw you into an emergency exit pod.

“We’ll come and find you just don’t-”

You woke up with a startle, to find Lùcio studying the board. He turned on his heels, a charming smile upon his face.

“Slept well, I hope?” He sat down on the bed, offering you a piece of flat bread, which tasted quite sugary.

Nodding your agreement as you got up and read the newest additions to Lùcio’s work, you remembered about Mary.

“Lù, how long have I slept ?!” You were pretty sure she was going to murder you.

“Through the night, I don’t think my snoring disturbed you. If you’re wondering about Mary, Frank payed off your debt, as a thank you for bringing back the letters.” Explained Lùcio, amused by your panic.

You sat down on the stool with a sigh of relief, as the door opened, revealing none other than a certain blonde with an affection for throwing stones at everything.

“Look alive, sunshine!” Grinned the blonde woman, even warmer now that she had been paid.

Lùcio and Mary had worked hard while you rested, they managed to pin Jenkins down and to bring him to the Saloon’s basement.

“How come there’s a basement?” You asked, as you descended down the stairs, after having wolfed down your breakfast.

“The Saloon was already there when the first Slabers arrived, in the 1970s, it was one of the first buildings they established.” Explained Lùcio.

“Of course it’d be a saloon.” You sighed, while Mary squinted at you menacingly.

“Are you callin’ us drunks?” She said, pretending to be offended.

“Plain truth, I’m afraid.” You smirked, it couldn’t be later than 9 in the morning, and you had already seen a man knocked out in his fresh puddle of piss;

Lùcio nodded absentmindedly, as you entered the basement to find an old man, with an odd haircut, smoking a cigarette by the end of it.

“It’s supposed to be the other way around, Jenkins.” Sighed Mary, taking a seat on one of the dusty tables.

The man groaned a vague acknowledgment, but kept smoking. His hands were battered, he was missing his pinky, and sported a burn scar which went from his right ear to his chin. His clothes were in terrible condition, even by Slaber standards, with more holes than cloth.

“Brought you a little something!” Sing-sang Lùcio, throwing some bread his way. He caught it with surprising dexterity, before devouring it without uttering a word of thanks.

“So, now that you’ve finished your meal, why don’t you tell us a little something about Forge?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

 He suddenly spun around, eyes wide as saucers.

“Won’t. Can’t.” His eyes faced the ground, as he mumbled a few words.

“What was that?” Asked Mary, getting some dirt out of her nails with her knife.

“NO!” He yelled, before curling up on himself, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Bad place, very, very bad people. Took Ellie. Killed kiddo. Bad people.” He whispered, his voice breaking.

You crouched in front of him.

“Yes, they’re bad people. We are going to kill them, so they don’t hurt anyone else, okay?” You tried to make your voice as smooth and comforting as possible.

“Too late, too late. Spreads like illness, turned us into animals.” His hands were shaking badly, as he tried to grasp yours.

“Nothin’ you can do. Leave.” His eyes seemed almost pleading.

“We’re not leaving until we take care of this, we are here to help.” Reassured Lùcio, laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

“The Eagleborn. The Eagleborn. That’s where they are.” He started crying, before crawling underneath a table.

“The Eagleborn?” Repeated Lùcio, getting up. “I heard that name before. We need to ask Delilah, in the museum, one of the new pieces in the art gallery has the same name.” He held out his hand to help you up, ever the gentleman.

 “Sure, leave me to take care of the batshit crazy dude, thanks guys.” Muttered Mary, though there was no trace of frustration or anger in her voice, only a tint of sadness.

“When we’re done, there will never be another batshit crazy dude, I promise.” You spoke over your shoulder, as you left the basement, following Lùcio.

The Museum was only a few minutes away on horseback, during the ride, Lùcio filled you in about the City’s history, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You needed to find out what happened, and wondered if bringing up your dreams could be of any help.

Just when you were about to interrupt him, the Museum came into view, and you couldn’t help but stop dead in your tracks at how impressive it was. The entrance was big, and brightly coloured. Pillars which were akin to those of Antic Greece, covered in ink and splendid drawings.

The entrance itself was made of coloured composite glass, casting intricate patterns.

“I know, breath-taking. I wrote a song about it.” Smiled Lùcio, taking your horse’s reins, as you got down to see this wonder of creation closer.

Inside were murals drawn upon the glass, like the stained glass of cathedrals. The light which was pouring in was colouring the hall in multiple colours, adding intensity to the black sand which acted as floor.

“Satya would’ve either hated this or loved this.” You mused.

“She’d have hated it, if it’s not pristine, it’s not to her taste.” Mumbled a sour Lùcio, after all, he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with the Architect.

You shrugged, making your way to a woman, seated in a room in the corner, drawing something on a piece of cardboard. A small plaque with her name, Vida, on it bore elegant flowers and elephants.

“Hi, may I ask where Delilah is?” You asked politely.

She gestured to a door leading outside, where you could see the faint hint of a car carcass.

Your eyes hadn’t deceived you, as you entered a place where cars were half buried in the sand, and decorated with various materials, ranging from string and clothes, to wood and what seemed to be furs.

The sight was oddly soothing, perhaps the light tinting sound enhanced this effect, seeing humanity’s most prominent works of technology buried by nature, which was, ultimately, our only ruler.

“She’s probably in the garden.” Commented Lùcio, striding for a place you had not noticed, on your right.

It was a gazebo, shielded from the sun by strings of glass tinting in the wind. Its roof consisted of large shards of glass covered by cloth pointing towards the sky. Your friend confidently entered the gazebo, and you followed him while trying not to trip, as you were entranced by this extraordinary setting.

Delilah was a woman of an unusually white skin, almost transparent blue eyes, framed by frizzly blonde hair, falling all over her face, despite the messy bun which tried to keep them all together.  

Henna covered her arms up to her shoulders, and descended to her ribs, coming together before descending the expanse of her toned stomach. You stopped yourself from staring any more than you already had. While you were busy admiring her beauty, Lùcio seemed to have explained the reason of your visit.

You extended your hand, expecting to formally introduce yourself, but as you told her your name, she took your hand and kissed it.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N, I am Delilah, I take care of the sculptures, and record our history, as my mother and her mother before her did.” She got up with ethereal grace, while Lùcio was busy laughing at your speechlessness.

She reached down for a umbrella, revealing that her henna went back up her back in intricate designs, up to her neck, which resembled a collar. You guessed that the good view you had upon her behind was no fortuity, but you decided not to eye it, however tempting that was.

You turned to see that Lùcio was almost choking on his silent laughter. You smacked his shoulder, making him laugh even more.

“Something wrong, Lùcio?” Asked Delilah, eyebrows raised.

“He just choked on his spit.” You lied, glaring at him.

Delilah handed Lùcio some water, before grabbing your arm, leading you outside.

 Even though the situation was not prone to these kind of thoughts, you couldn’t help but smile nervously, as you tried to distract yourself from your gayness.

“We do have a sculpture named Eagleborn. I shall lead you to it, there always is a small plaque giving more information about the sculpture.” Explained Delilah, seemingly unaware of the inner turmoil she had caused within you.

The art piece represented a smaller version of a plane, made out of scrap metal and clothes, its beak stuck in the sand, the cockpit filled with red sand.

“According to the plaque, it’s inspired by an actual plane, from the Omnic War, the real carcass is somewhere near the mountains.” Read Delilah, while you and Lùcio were circling the aircraft, searching for answers.

“Lù’, there were instruments to pinpoint your location on these aircrafts. We need to take the red sand out.” Lena had told you about these kinds of planes, her father flew one in the Army, during the War.

“What’s the point? We already know where we are, we need to know where the Eagleborn is.” Lùcio was leaning against the plane.

“But perhaps the artist indicated where the actual Eagleborn is. How recent is this one? Is the artist a resident?” You asked Delilah, as she opened the door for Lùcio to get the sand out.

“It was made less than a week ago, by someone named…” She paused to check the plaque. “Simornella.”

Your head wiped around.

“Simornella? Simon and Ornella…” These names were mentioned in the letters, but if Ornella’s body had already been found, how could Simon go to Slab City, create this, and go back to the road, where the burning body had been found.

You murmured to yourself, pacing while Lùcio was shovelling the sand out of the cockpit.

“So, if Ornella and Simon stayed behind to hold them back, how come this was made by someone with a mix of their names? Perhaps one of their friends?”

 “Found something!” Called out Lùcio, uncrumpling a ball of paper.

He read it out loud.

“Ornella, I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I ran away. You fought, like you always did back when we were kids. I hid. That fucker you wounded, I’m going to chase him down, and destroy him, that’s the least I can do. To anyone reading this, please give my friends, my family, a proper end to their story. I’ve put the Forge’s body dump coordinates. I have no courage left, do what I could not, and fight back. Signed, Simon.”

“Have you seen him?” You asked, rereading the letter.

“No, it was submitted anonymously, Maiwen handled most of it, but I reckon she won’t be of much help.” Mused Delilah.

“We’ve got the coordinates, we can simply wait until they dump the bodies, and trail them. Do you know anyone who would be willing to join us into this fight?” You asked Delilah, who was absentmindedly caressing the carcass.

“I’d personally love to follow you, but my fighter days are long gone, plus, us Albinos are not exactly fond of the sun, staying under it for hours would mean my death. But, go and ask the Professor, he acts as the Mayor of Slab City, he knows best,” Advised Delilah, making her way back to her gazebo, before sparing one last look over her shoulder. “I wish you the best of luck. Thank you for doing this, this has been going for so long, people don’t feel like they can even fight back.”

 You both nodded solemnly.

“I hope we won’t find our girls in the body dump…” Muttered Lùcio, looking off the horizon. “Go and find Mary, tell her to rally her town, I’ll speak to the Mayor, we know each other.” He added, as you made your way out of the museum.

You untied your horse from the hitching post, before making your way to the Saloon, just as you were about to part ways, Lùcio put his hand upon yours.

“Don’t do anything dangerous, alright? At least wait until I’m with you to start getting into trouble.” Though his tone was light and joking, you could see that the smile he plastered on his face did not reach his eyes.

 “Don’t worry Lù’, I’ll be alright, I’ve already come back from death once.” You grinned, while you parted ways.

 You met Mary at the Saloon, while she was chatting up the bartender.

 “Hey, Frank, this is Y/N, my new partner!” She seemed even more cheerful than usual, and as you saw her reddening nose, you understood the reason.

 “We’ve already met, Mary.” He sighed, smiling apologetically. He was of an imposing build, wild black hair and bushy, yet trimmed beard, and was pretty good looking. Given the way Mary was staring at him, she seemed to think the exact same thing.

 You shook your head, grinning.

 “We’ve got some coordinates, The Forge’s body dump. We are planning an intervention. Know anyone willing to join the fight? We’ll need stealthy people, but who also know how to handle a weapon.” You reported, while their mood switched drastically. Frank nodded gravely, while Mary seemed to be deep in thoughts.

“I’ll go back to the Church, and gather our best, do you want to meet here?” She got up, almost ready to leave.

“Sure, when will you be back?”

“Two days, I’ll gather our weapons, and bring our fighters to the Saloon. We have some pretty talented scouts.” Mary grinned fiercely.

You nodded, while the blonde ran up to her room to gather her luggage.

“She’s got an endless reserve of energy.” You sighed, while Frank poured you a glass of water.

“She used to be one of their scouts, when she was a kid, before she married that John fella.” Explained Frank, finishing his own drink.

“She never mentioned a John.”

“They took him. He was leading a garrison, back when their town was more widespread, but that was a long time ‘go.”

You grimaced, poor Mary. You decided to change the subject.

“So, about the Slabers who might be willing to join us?”

“I know quite a lot of ‘em, I’ll go and let them know. It’ll take me all day to go door-to-door though, mind taking care of the Saloon while I handle it?” Asked Frank, already grabbing his coat and hat.

“Not at all.” You got behind the bar, there were prices indicated below it, and Frank’s shotgun.

“I’ll see ya ‘round then. Don’t hesitate to use Jessie. That’s the gun.” He added, at your confused stare.

A few minutes after Frank left, Mary came running back down the stairs, fingergunning your way, as she left the Saloon.

You sighed, it was going to be a pretty uneventful day.

Though this job couldn’t exactly qualify as boring, it gave you some time to think about your life, how much things had changed. You never thought you’d have such fire in you, so much will to conquer, to change things, to better yourself. To help others.

Perhaps this is what it meant to be part of Overwatch. You never thought that such places might exist, that such situations could still ruin so many lives, and yet, no one knew about it.

 You wished you could call Amélie or Olivia, ask them for advice on how to handle this situation, but your communicator had been lost in the crash.

But now that you thought about it, how did the message sent to Overwatch about Outlaws presence in the Mojave was sent? There was no signal, and no one had phones…

Just as you were pouring a beer, Lùcio made his way into the Saloon, a slight pep to his walk.

“Hi Lù! How’d it go?” You waved over to him, as you sent the glass flying across the counter, straight into the woman’s hands.

 He chuckled at the sight.

 “You’re getting the hang of it, we’ll have our own bartender in no time!” He grinned, taking a seat on the stool, before summarising his meeting with the Professor.

 “He’s willing to lend us some carts, and has granted us full access to the Slab City’s armoury. It’s all going according to plan!” He reached for something in his jacket’s inner pocket. “I found this in the armoury, I know a communicator is useless, especially when there’s no signal around, but perhaps they have some signal near the Forge, it might come in handy, right?” He handed over the battered piece of technology to you.

 You pocketed with a smile, before pouring your friend some drinks, telling him of your dreams about Sombra, sharing theories about the crash, and soon enough, the Saloon was filled with laughter as you drunkenly sung with the DJ, on one of the tables.

 Frank entered the bar, followed by a team of mismatched warriors, who bore scars as if they were honorifical ornaments, and missing limbs replaced with prosthesis which looked like they’d been made by salvaged components, which was surely the case.

 Frank’s eyes widened as he saw you and Lùcio, frozen on the table in laughable positions. He barked out a laugh which had more in common with a bear’s roar than an actual laugh, but his companions joined in the festivities with ferocious enthusiasm.

 The night was merry, full of drinking, dancing, and glee at the prospect of a future where people wouldn’t have to worry about their relatives or vital resources being snatched away. The room was full of smoke and the air heavy with sweat and loud noises.

 You left it to take some fresh hair outside, Frank silently joining you. He stood against the wall for a few minutes, before speaking.

“You know, we thought of fighting back, before the Professor showed up to help us put the town back together after one nasty raid. We had a leader, Fier, he was called. But he was taken… One of our scouts found his arm by the roadside. But that was well b’fore my time.” He recalled, lighting a cigarette.

“And you haven’t tried to fight back since?” You asked, sitting on a crate.

 “We tried, for a while, but to no avail. When fear is passed down from generation to another, even the idea of fighting back seems impossible. Unthinkable. My old man would be pissed outta his mind if he learned about what we’re doing. Hell, even Fier’s son lived in terror, like the rest of us.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, lost in thoughts.

 “But that’s going to change, now. We needed a new perspective. Lùcio’s songs and speeches about freedom made us realise that we were livin’ like cattle. When ya showed up, ready to tear the fuckers apart… Well, let’s say we’re inspired, and ready to end this shit.” He looked at you, with a grin that held respect and appreciation.

 “I’ll try my best… Though this isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” You scratched the back of your neck, not used to such situations and so much hope placed in you. It wasn’t about an exam, or studies, it was a life and death situation, to see that you had such an influence was frightening and invigorating.

 “Ya kiddin’? You’ve been handling stuff pretty well.”

 You weren’t sure if it was a sudden burst under pressure, or the alcohol in your veins speaking, but you couldn’t handle it anymore and blurted out what was on your mind.

“It’s a miracle, really, I used to be a lab assistant, but a spiral of mess and shit got me here. It��s my first real mission, and it is not exactly going well.” You confessed, shaking your head.

 Frank went slack-jawed, which made his cigarette fall onto his pants. He quickly grabbed it back and pat his trousers, alarmed.

“So, you’re a rookie, so what? You’re rookie who managed what we couldn’t for generations: hoping for change, fighting for it. When you’ll have some more experience in you, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with, trust me.” He slapped your back with a huge grin, before urging you to go back inside, to toast to your first mission.

Hell, it wasn’t even finished yet.

The moonshine went to your head pretty quickly, and soon enough, you were back with Lùcio and Frank, this time, on the counter, dancing and singing even though you couldn’t exactly make out the lyrics anymore, when you had an idea, which you thought was brilliant at the time.

But when you’re pissed drunk, any idea’s a good idea.

You grabbed the communicator from your pocket, and opened its camera.

“Hey, everyone, say cheese!” You yelled, more or less incoherently. You took a picture of you and the whole bar, with Lùcio and Frank’s faces on your shoulders, the DJ with his tongue out, and Frank winking obnoxiously. You messily typed ‘Slaber Life’ as a description.

You couldn’t make out what was written, since everything was blurry, and simply pressed on random buttons. From what you recalled as you were starting to pass out in the stairway to Lùcio’s room, it was probably the local channel. Your drunken self had thought that this way, everyone could get the picture, forgetting in your fogged mind that no one had signal, nor did they have communicators lying around for the taking.

 When you woke up, at the crack of dawn, due to the uncomfortable position, the thought made you laugh. After asking the cook to prepare Mary’s cure for hangovers in large quantities for everyone, and waking Lùcio up, you went to the bathroom.

 Instinctively pulling out the communicator, as it brought a strange sense of normalcy to be checking out an electronical device while using the loo, before smiling at your silliness. You could see how many people had seen the picture. You were going to turn off the device, when you saw that one person had seen it.

The comm slipped from your hand in your surprise, as you stood there, on the toilets, hand on your forehead, insulting your drunken self with every single insult you had ever heard in your entire life.

[livin-in-my-head]

Rating: PG-13

When Wade Wilson finds himself down on his luck, he moves in with Peter Parker. What could go wrong?

Wade Wilson was tall, a few inches over six feet, with blonde hair and blue eyes - unfairly handsome, all in all. He was known as being a loner, never really one to socialize, and his grades were atrocious. It was a widely agreed-upon opinion throughout his high school that the only way he would ever amount to anything was through the military.

Even knowing all of this, Peter Parker was surprised to find Wade sleeping in an alleyway.

There was no mistaking that Wade was a full-time resident of this particular alley. After all, he had a bed of blankets set up and next to him…was that a gun? Peter’s eyes widened as he slowed to take in the sight. He had been walking to the library for some new books, but was now completely distracted.

Wade was fast asleep on top of the blankets, head turned towards his chest, his face obscured in shadow. No matter how much Peter wanted to help him, Wade intimidated him - even after that damned spider bite. Peter hurried onward, strictly library-bound.

Wade Wilson was muscular, with an impish smile he could turn charming in a second and a pair of dimples to match. He always managed to look innocent even when everyone knew he was anything but. Peter had spent months ignoring the flutter in his stomach whenever he saw Wade, mostly because Wade wasn’t just the school’s resident “bad boy” - he seemed legitimately dangerous. There were even rumors that he had killed people, and frankly, Peter didn’t doubt some of them.

So Peter hadn’t stopped in the alley, because he and Wade Wilson weren’t friends, however much a small part of Peter wanted to be.

*

The next day, on Peter’s way to the grocery store, Wade was still there. Today, he was awake and staring pensively at the wall across the alley. He didn’t look dangerous; just thoughtful. Peter swallowed his nervousness and called out shakily, “Wade?”

So much for good first impressions.

Wade raised his head, looking over at him. “Peter?” he asked, confused.

He knows my name!

Dear lord, I’m pathetic.

“Welcome to my palace,” Wade said, spreading his arms to show the alleyway in all its concrete glory. His expression was so sincere that Peter almost wondered if he was being serious.

“Um…do you live here?” he asked stupidly.

“Yeah. My mom and her boyfriend kinda-sorta got arrested for drug cultivation and I made a break for it before they could get something on me, too.” Wade smiled a dangerous, wolfish grin and Peter knew with utter certainty that he meant every word.

So there was something Wade had done, then. Something to make him avoid police.

“Do you need anything?” Peter asked nervously, half hoping the answer was yes despite his apprehension at the thought of helping someone like Wade. What would a boy like that want, anyway? Alcohol? Drugs? Peter was fairly sure he would have no way of getting any of that.

“There is something, actually,” Wade said leisurely, standing and stretching. His shirt hitched up slightly to reveal a strip of pale, smooth flesh and Peter tried his best to focus. “A place to crash, a job, and some food. Mexican food, preferably.”

Peter blinked, taken aback at these rapid-fire requests. He was about to make up some excuse for why he couldn’t help Wade, why he had to get going right now -

Wade met his gaze and smiled, that damn smile that made him look like an angel.

“Come with me,” Peter heard himself saying.

*

A half hour later, Peter was on the phone with Aunt May outside of a Taco Bell. She was currently ranting so loud he was sure the people driving by could hear.

“How could you just invite a random boy to come live with us? I’ve never even heard of him! And his parents were arrested? Doesn’t that seem a bit dangerous to you?”

“Aunt May,” Peter finally managed to squeeze in.

“What?” she snapped, thankfully quieting before she rendered him completely deaf.

“He’s a friend.” A lie, but whatever. He had lied to his aunt in the past and apparently, he was willing to do it again. “He’s just going to sleep on our couch until he can get back on his feet. Then he’ll be gone, I promise.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the call before Aunt May sighed dramatically. “Fine,” she muttered. “My kindness will be the death of me.” She hung up before Peter could thank her.

He turned back and saw Wade cheerily waving at him through the large glass window of the Taco Bell, mouth full of Mexican food as per his request.

Peter sighed and slipped his phone back into his sweatshirt pocket as he re-entered the fast food restaurant.

“Listen,” he said sternly as he slid into the booth across from Wade. “You are going to be insanely polite. Like, politer than you’ve ever been to anyone. Otherwise, my aunt will kick you out in a heartbeat. Also, I saw your handgun out in the alley. No weapons in the apartment or, again, my aunt will call the police. You’ll be sleeping on our couch, and your goal is to leave as fast as possible. Got it?”

Wade grinned cockily. “Dominant. I like it.”

Peter felt blood rushing to his cheeks. Was Wade seriously /flirting/ with him? He sighed standing and doing his best to seem composed. It meant nothing. Wade was like this constantly, to everyone. Oh, Aunt May’s gonna have a fit... “Come on.”

Wade stood and suddenly gripped Peter in a hug, causing the smaller boy to flinch backwards. Shocked, Peter instinctively moved to push away, but Wade was too strong.

“Thanks,” Wade whispered. “You rock, man.” He released Peter just as quickly as he had grabbed him. Peter staggered backwards, staring at Wade with wide eyes. Not only had the hug been entirely unexpected, but since being bitten by that spider, he had never met someone who was stronger than he was. He should have easily been able to push away from that hug. It was a strange feeling. He had forgotten what it was like, to be weak.

Peter strode ahead of Wade for the rest of the return trip home, hands shoved in his pockets. What was he doing? This was stupid, so stupid. But seeing Wade sleeping in that alley…completely unprotected…

Peter remembered about a year ago, when Wade had been diagnosed with cancer. The crazy thing was, the guy had kept coming to school. Peter had actually once worked up the courage to ask him why he persisted like that.

Wade had grinned shakily - at that point, he did everything shakily - and replied simply, “They feed me here.”

Peter couldn’t even imagine a home life so terrible that a kid with cancer preferred school. To the best of Peter’s knowledge, Wade hadn’t even received any treatment during that school year.

That is, until the summer before high school. Wade had somehow made a full recovery and was back, even better than before. It was the strangest thing…

“You walk pensively,” Wade called, and Peter stiffened even further. He tried to relax, but now was acutely aware of how he must look - his hands shoved into his pockets, head hunched low…

“It’s cute,” Wade assured him, a teasing tone entering his voice. Peter squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out the words.

Why had he done this?

To read the rest of it, click the link above! This was just the first chapter :)

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 21 – Assaults

“Phew... Phew... Phew......”

“Is there anything that concerns you, my lord?”

Lunark finally opened her mouth, unable to endure Muzaka’s endless sighs.

“It’s nothing. It’s just that...”

Muzaka dropped his head in the middle of his monologue, staging grave sorrow.

“We had such a smart, talented, competent researcher to help us to great extent. But I’ve done nothing for him. And guess what? I call myself a lord.”

Lunark wanted to assure him that he has done more than enough by not making himself an unwanted guest in the lab, but she decided not to and tuned him out.

For the past 2 days, Yuhyung had been working jointly with Adne on the QuadraNet project in the werewolf realm, without any time to catch his breath, as if his life depended on it.

And today is the day he must return to Lukedonia.

“Once you escort him to the nobles, they will take him back to Korea. Is that right?”

“You are correct. But before that comes a more important step.”

“Aye. As soon as he reaches back to Lukedonia, we can finally warm up the engines for the QuadraNet.”

Both Muzaka’s and Lunark’s faces lit up with faint anticipation as he mentioned the initiation of the network they all had been waiting for.

“Boy, nobles are surely busy. And you are surely busier.”

Lunark merely bowed her head to a pregnant comment Muzaka offered.

“So lemme ask you one more time. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“I am simply doing my best as the warrior of wolfkind.”

“But there’s really no need for you to escort him back to nobles, is there? I mean, you’re not the only warrior we have.”

“My greatest appreciations, but I am fine, my lord.”

Muzaka’s face was marred with a mixture of gratitude and ruefulness, until it was painted with a mischievous smile.

“Or do I smell something fishy here? Why are you so eager for this project?”

“...Beg your pardon?!”

“Is there a reason why you need to excel for this project? Like, is there someone you expect to marvel at you? Hmm?”

Muzaka stared at Lunark, sweating and violently shaking her head, like a niece playing pretend at her uncle’s prank.

“T-that is nonsense, my lord.”

Lunark felt her heart sink – no, drown to the abyss of nether region upon Muzaka’s teasing. She feared for a moment that Frankenstein’s name might be brought up.

She thus determined she must and will hide her feelings more meticulously, thoroughly.

It was for more than the fear of getting teased by her fellow werewolves upon having a crush on the blonde human. She knew none of the werewolves should know about this, due to a phenomenon she witnessed two days ago when Yuhyung made it to the werewolf lab.

As soon as Yuhyung made himself available on their land, werewolves buzzed in full interest in him.

So that’s him...?

My, that is the WEAKEST-looking organism I’ve ever seen.

It’d take less than a breath to wind him up on the other side of the planet. Hehe.

In the end, Garda and Lunark, having sensed Yuhyung’s nervous apprehension of the crowd, had to intervene and make them scatter away. Nonetheless, Lunark could see and hear werewolves gossiping and chatting about the very first human to be officially invited to their domain in werewolf history.

By the way, is it just me, or is he kind of cute? He keeps jumping whenever there’s someone around.

I second that.

I would have tried hitting on him, if only he weren’t human.

And then Lunark was held captive to the chatters from young werewolf girls.

Okay, so he’s human. What about it?

I’d thought we’ve aborted anti-human propaganda by now. Remember? We even got help from a human named... Frankenstein, was it? So what about him being human?

Don’t tell me you already forgot how our lord...

Right afterwards, every mouth was sealed tight, the atmosphere rendered frigid at once. They all knew what the last speaker was about to bring up – Muzaka fell in love with a human and gave birth to a half-blood, only to meet tragic end that can by no means be defined as a mere devastation. And now every werewolf alive has come to know of such heritage the returned lord harbors.

As a result, a new, invisible, yet undeniably-there taboo rose among werewolves: love with a human.

Not that anyone dared to acknowledge such taboo, with the throne reclaimed by Muzaka.

And they had another legitimate reason to keep this new taboo legitimate.

Besides, our lord officiated it himself. Getting drunk is fine, and getting broke is fine. But getting laid with a human is not okay.

He said we should rather break a pen that belongs to a certain Mr. Bad Boy and fling it in his face.

I wonder what that means, by the way.

Since love with a human is not strictly illegal, nobody would banish Lunark for her feelings. Nonetheless, she could not even imagine what everyone would be like once it is known that her heart has been stolen by a human.

‘There’s no way I want them to find out,’ Lunark thought.

However, at the same time, she wished she could make it official. She wished she could walk hand-in-hand with her knight, under everyone’s blessing.

‘What are you thinking, Lunark? You don’t even know whether he’ll reciprocate.’

Lunark had to wrestle with her inner voice, until the time has come to take Yuhyung away.

“Thank you for everything. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“I-it’s nothing, really! I... I was honored to provide help.”

“Sure. Once the QuadraNet is alive, and once you make it back home, please send my regards to my pal.”

After sharing his good-bye with Muzaka, Adne, and the rest of the werewolf doctors and researchers, Yuhyung tagged Lunark towards the boundaries of werewolf realm. He had thought this trip would be peaceful, albeit brief.

How wrong he was, for this time he found himself two companions, excluding Lunark.

“I see no reason for you guys to escort us.”

“Escort my rear end.”

“We’re taking a walk before going on a patrol, that’s all.”

Kentas and Dorant very nonchalantly replied.

Lunark glanced at Yuhyung, for she feared the puny human would be suffering from pressure of being shepherded by two werewolf warriors. Her fear was proven authentic, his face about to blow up.

Pushing down a sigh, she looked around at her fellow warriors.

“We’ll take off from here. It can’t hurt to hurry, can it?”

She was addressing all three men, and they agreed with a nod.

Once Lunark and Yuhyung were gone, Kentas and Dorant began their usual patrol. It took less than 10 minutes for them to meet up where they first split up.

“All clear.”

“Same here.”

“Now let’s go back.”

“Contrary to my fear, our land can’t be quieter. And that’s a good thing.”

“You can say that again. I couldn’t ask for more if things are kept this wa...?”

Dorant flinched in the middle of his sentence. He heard something he should not possibly and cannot possibly hear at the moment – a whirring alarm that signals intruders at the boundaries of their land.

He realized he was not imagining things the moment he and Kenta leapt from where they stood, when with a bam the ground was shattered.

In midst of a hazy pillar of particles of dirt and earth that soared from where they were a second ago, Kentas and Dorant sharpened their eyes to locate the cause of this.

“What the...?”

Kentas moaned in dismay, while Dorant fastened his lips and glared at their target – or targets.

Before them were slender silhouettes of identical colors, details, and designs, as if they were born from the same mold. It was so very obvious they were a walking epitome of human biotechnology.

Had Lunark left a tad later, and had she beheld these four figures, she would have demonstrated a backflip with her eyes and immediately identified them as weapons created specially against heads of noble clans – the ones handcrafted by the 9th Elder and Ignes Kravei.

*****

Meanwhile, a rocky island near Lukedonia

He knew he should have visited sooner. Although he had been busy ever since his return to Lukedonia, he knew it was an excuse. Moreover, he could not find courage to pay a visit.

He could feel guilt sweeping over him as he stood, partially because he could not make his appearance before this one, and partially because the reason why he visited was not exactly for the sake of paying his proper respect.

“Razark... What am I supposed to do?”

His tone, voice, eyes – they were all plastered with despair.

His hair was still donned in the fashion reminiscent of Razark, just like he did for the night when Deneb Illiness invited Seira.

“I want to be like you... I’m trying to be like you. But I can’t.”

Rael shut his eyes tight as he lamented.

“The patriarchs found me today, and they... They told me... (Rael sighed as deeply as he could.) They told me to ask for Seira’s hand in marriage.”

Rael’s mind swung back to what had happened before he made his way to the rendezvous to pick up Yuhyung.

We hear that a handful of nobles are approaching Seira for her affection.

Deneb Illiness in particular is the most ardent pursuer.

And I see no reason why Kertia should fall behind.

Rael almost jumped out of his skin as he denied joining the pursuers.

He could still remember what he had yelled in Seira’s presence the last time they had met. More importantly, he had no intention of taking Seira’s side this way.

Why, you should be glad, sir.

You will finally get to make the girl yours.

He almost lost it when the patriarchs reprimanded him, but he could not bring himself to actually lose it. He was reminded of the days when he claimed Seira will be his.

Rather than accusing the patriarchs of bringing up such an atrocious idea, he was made immobile in order to curse his past self. By the time he broke free from his resentful reverie, patriarchs were already gone, demanding him to write a marital letter to Seira.

“I know the idea is hideous, not meant to be realized. But you know what...? The idea came up that if I do as they say, they might come to respect me a little.”

Rael minced his lips with his teeth, to the point of almost ripping them apart.

“I know. I’m such a despicable excuse of a noblekind.”

I don’t deserve to be your brother.

I don’t deserve the name of Kertia.

I never deserved to be the head of a clan.

However, Rael was not given the time to spill his self-derision, when he turned rigid as he conceived a murderous presence.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three objects landed within his identifiable range, with a sound effect that no ordinary life form can dispense.

His instinct screaming at him that it is time for a battle, Rael wiped off in a flash the anguish that was rooted to the core of his facial muscles. He slipped his mask on before he turned his eyes to see how thick is the skin of intruders that dared to challenge him where his brother fell asleep. And his eyes bulked up to twice as their normal sizes.

“How can this be...?”

The colors were different, but the designs were unmistakable. He remembered them; they were the weapons created specially against heads of noble clans.

Ones that Ignes brought with her upon her first visit to Korea. Ones that he had fought himself.

(next chapter)

Yep - it’s time for some fights and dangers. After all, this is a Noblesse fic lol. However, the battle in next chapter will come with a tiny surprise unforeseen in the original webtoon. Find out what it’s like next week!

And one more thing - it’s revealed that Muzaka has come to harbor a very negative stance regarding relationship with human (in fact, he even said it himself that they should rather break Frankie’s pen and fling its pieces in his face lol). This will work as another influence on Lunark’s future relationship with Frankenstein, and I can’t wait to write about it!

[williammarshal-blog]

Close Quarters

Prompt: Lexa and Clarke (unbeknownst to each other's feelings) somehow stranded in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm and just that cheesy trope of taking care of each other, maybe needing to retain heat *ahem*

NB: Not quite a cabin!

"It appears," Lexa said, far too calmly for someone who'd just spotted snow falling like thick pellets as the ground crunched beneath them, "that winter is coming."

Clarke scrunched her nose. "Bit dramatic much?"

"Winter is coming," Indra defended her Commander with an unpleasant curl of the lips. She bristled past Clarke and approached Lexa. "We must make camp, Heda. It's unsafe to stay on the road. Bandits are a nuisance; the frost will be death."

"I know." Lexa sighed, and as she exhaled, the breath spilled from her mouth as a cloud of fog.  Between them, they had enough furs to keep warm. Lexa had anticipated the turn of weather, though she hadn't prepared for it to happen so suddenly, and for them to be stranded in the middle of the forest.

Clarke blamed the dead body riding behind them on the cart. This was fucking awkward. They'd been on their way to Arkadia to present Nia's dead body as a sign of truce, but clearly, the snowfall was a sign of Nia's bitch spirit giving one last middle finger. What a cow, Clarke thought bitterly, and that was simply because she genuinely believed her nose was going to fall off.

"Can we just..." Clarke faffed about with her hands, "Make a fire? Set up camp?"

"It's too cold," Indra said.

"Well, if we make a fire, we'll warm ourselves up."

"It's too cold," Indra said again.

"A bonfire?"

"It's. Too. Cold."

"I don't mean any disrespect," Clarke said loudly, annoyed that Indra was obviously ignoring her and Lexa looked like she was going to laugh. It was always pleasant seeing Lexa smile, carefree and beautiful, but not when Nia's dead dickwad of a spirit was clearly haunting them. "But how else do you propose we get warm without starting a fire? I'll start a fucking fire right now. You watch me. You—" It occurred to her then that Indra was still ignoring her, and Lexa was still trying to suppress a laugh—by grinning broadly. "I'm starting this fire."

Aware she was being watched by two idiots, Clarke stormed off to find some wood. Most of it was wet and sodden, but underneath piles of logs there were dry ones, and there was tinder. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't be a big fire, but it was something. It was better than standing stock-still like Lexa and Indra were doing. Though Clarke couldn't help but wonder if they were conspiring. Lexa was still smirking, and when Clarke tossed the logs onto the ground and set to work, a quick glance up caught Indra smirking back at her Commander.

She didn't like this.

She could see Indra, standing perfectly still, apparently unaffected by the atrocious cold. Clarke wasn't sure if it was a sign of defiance or if she was simply mocking her, because Lexa wasn't hiding anything. Underneath her furs she was shivering, and proceeded to gently bopping on the spot in a vain attempt to keep herself warm. Yet neither of them moved to help her.

"Indra, you'll guard Nia's body," Lexa said quietly. "Perhaps the cold will preserve her. We shall not present the Skaikru with a rotting, unidentifiable corpse. Maybe it is actually best you stay out."

"I can handle myself, Heda," Indra said. Clarke believed her. "But you need to find shelter."

"I know the trees, Indra. Do you not remember?" Lexa smiled at her. "I am of Trikru."

Indra, to Clarke's disbelief, smiled back. "You always were and always will be."

"Clarke," Lexa called, after about fifteen minutes. Clarke cursed silently. "How goes your fire?"

The trio stood in sullen silence for a while—well, Lexa and Indra seemed amused, but Clarke was not. The snow had dampened in her hair, and she looked like a sad dog. Her fire was non-existent; rather, it was a pile of miserable twigs and soggy logs. "See for yourself," she snapped, when Lexa decided to laugh outright. "Why don't you come here and make it, then?"

"I admire your effort. Indra will find a safe-spot to build a fire and guard Nia's body. I had another idea."

"Making a fire?"

"In the open? Did months of being Wanheda teach you nothing?" Lexa was teasing her, and Clarke didn't appreciate it. She didn't appreciate the way she enjoyed the sight of Lexa smiling at her, and for a few moments, in a very long while, she did not see Lexa's startled eyes gazing back at her as Clarke pressed the cold blade of Roan's dagger to her throat. She did not see the guilt, and she did not feel her chest crush. "We will find a shelter. Indra, do not stray."

"I won't."

"A shelter?" Clarke repeated, dumbfounded. "Where the hell are you going to find a shelter?"

Lexa was smiling too much today. It was that, or she just hadn't seen Lexa smile in a while. Too much time had been spent fighting, arguing, peace-brokering...Lexa's brow often seemed permanently fixed into a frown, and whilst nothing could make Lexa look bad (and she totally knew it), killing Nia must have been a weight lifted off her chest. Thinking back, it was reckless, violent and completely paradoxical. It went against everything Lexa's coalition stood for, yet jus drein jus daun had been the result. Clarke didn't know if Lexa had betrayed her coalition in her act of vengeance, or dispensed Grounder justice.

"I'm of the trees," Lexa said again. "I know of shelters."

"You knew of one? Has it occurred to you I'm freezing my tits off?"

Lexa tried not to look down at her breasts, and Clarke rolled her eyes. Really? Still not over them? "It was amusing," she offered mildly, and Indra nodded in eager support. Clarke glowered at them. "You were defeated by wood."

"Whatever. Look, if we're going to get Nia's body to Arkadia, we should—"

"—Rest up," said Lexa. "It is pointless to ride when we are so tired. Tiredness renders us defenceless. We will reach Arkadia soon. But for now, it is more important for you—for us—to keep warm. Safe."

Clarke tried to pretend she hadn't caught Lexa's slip-up in words. She could already see Lexa's blush creeping up her neck and it wasn't because she was cold; the furs had ensured that well enough. Still, she made no comment. She has no right. Yet she couldn't help but feel her stomach clench painfully at the thought. She blinked, too slowly, and saw Lexa's earnest eyes looking up at her as she bowed, swearing fealty. She thought back to the elegance and integrity of her vow, and she thought back to how her heart had stopped when Roan kicked her down in the fighting pit. She thought of how her heart throbbed wantonly as Lexa slipped into her room in nothing but her night-gown to thank her.

I should have kissed her. Clarke snapped back to reality as soon as the thought hit her mind, and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing in the snow. Quick as an arrow, Lexa darted out and held out a hand. Clarke didn't take it, and Lexa withdrew awkwardly. "Are you alright? Do you need some water?"

"I'm fine." Clarke shook her head. "Let's find this shelter."

"Which idiot built this out of stone?"

"You're angry. Freezing temperatures can affect our mood."

"No, I'm not angry," Clarke said defensively. "It's fucking freezing!"

"It isn't as cold as Indra out there," Lexa said. "I'm sorry I asked you to give your furs up, but Indra needs them. She must guard the body."

"I'm not angry about that. I know she needs them."

"It's only for one night," Lexa said softly. Clarke tried not to focus too much on their surroundings. The stone walls were bare and the floor was too cold to go barefoot. It wasn't particularly spacious but there was a hard bed in the corner of the shelter, and someone had obviously been here recently. There was stale bread and mouldy cheese which they threw out. All three of them had been too cold to hunt, relying solely on their dried meat and berries in their provision packs, but their bellies rumbled. And it was really, really cold.

"We probably shouldn't have given the bed furs to Indra," Clarke lamented, looking at their bare, stone bed. It reminded her of the programmes she used to watch on the Ark with Wells. God, that had been so long ago. And she was still eighteen. Clarke self-consciously rubbed her neck. She'd aged about forty years in the space of two minutes. I've killed about six hundred people in about two minutes...

"She needs those furs. The temperature outside is deathly."

"The temperature inside here is deathly."

"I have my cloak," Lexa offered awkwardly. They weren't really good at this small-talk situation. Only days ago, the invitation Lexa had accepted from Clarke to talk to her, alone in a room, had been met with a blade to her throat. It wasn't exactly conversational material. Wordlessly, Lexa shuck the coat off. Underneath her furs and cloak she was wearing nothing but a simple tunic tucked into her breeches, and though Clarke knew Lexa was slim, not skinny, she looked far too underdressed.

Clarke shook her head. "Absolutely not. I'm not carrying two dead powerful idiots back to Arkadia."

"Three. Indra would likely kill you," Lexa said, smiling at her.

For some reason, Clarke smiled back.

"Be logical about this," Lexa pled. "We'll share my cloak tonight. It is only for tonight. We needn't speak of it—ever," she added, when she saw the hesitant look on Clarke's face. "You have my word. I know what you think of me, Clarke, but I just want you to be warm."

Sometimes, it was dangerously easy to forget that Lexa had left her, cold and bitter by the Mountain. It was easy to forget that this was the Commander who'd let a village burn just to keep an inside man safe. It was easy to forget that Lexa had used Clarke for her reputation as Wanheda in Polis. She'd never made it to Polis because Lexa wanted to see her out of sentimentality.

And it was easy to forget that everything Lexa had ever done had been justified.

It was easy to forget reasoning when Clarke so desperately wanted a scapegoat. It was easy to forget when Clarke pushed blame away from herself, from her people—and the next closest thing, always present, always there—had been Lexa.

Always.

"No inappropriate touching," Clarke joked, trying to lighten up the sudden tension in the room. She did not feel very cold anymore. "My mum will cut your hand off."

"Of course." Lexa inclined her head respectfully, her cheeks flustered. It was enough to make Clarke's heart twinge, but infinitely funnier that Lexa had taken it seriously. She didn't quite have the heart to tell Lexa she was mocking her.

They fell into a rhythm, though. After Lexa advised Clarke to keep some of their food rations for tomorrow, seeing the way Clarke had devoured the majority of her pack, they'd placed Lexa's cloak (and later blanket) onto the floor and sat down and...talked. Lexa had already, to Clarke's insistence, swapped food bags with her, after not quite overcoming the sheer lack of food in Clarke's. But then they really did converse, and Clarke would never admit it, but it felt good. She'd missed talking to Lexa—properly. So much of the time they'd spent together they'd discussed war tactics, their loyalties to their people—and it was an endless cycle. Tonight, they spoke about horses, the different clans, the length of winter, the Polisian festivals ("You must come to the full-moon feast—Kendall of the Sun Clan imports the best sweetcakes, and you will enjoy them. I know you will."), Lexa's horror at Clarke's inability to swim, and chess, which Clarke spent a solid hour trying to explain the rules. Lexa concluded that it sounded "ridiculous" and could not fathom why there were kings, queens yet no Commanders.

"That isn't a valid representation of our hierarchy," Lexa had said sternly. "What about the clan leaders? And must there only be two of each, except the pawns? There are thirteen clans in our coalition."

Clarke gave up.

Upon hearing Indra's loud snores (overly loud—as if she was trying to send a message), they prepared for bed. Lexa had the decency of letting Clarke choose which side of their stony bed to lie in, and draped her cloak over Clarke's body before clambering in tentatively beside her. They stayed silent. Lexa's back was ramrod straight, and her arms were frigidly still by her side. She looked like a corpse, and Clarke bit down on her tongue to refrain from making a joke about Nia.

Darkness settled when Indra's fire dwindled down, but Clarke was very aware of the fact that she was still awake, and so was Lexa. Lexa, impressively, had not actually moved—not an inch—but Clarke's eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and she could see the erratic movement of Lexa's chest heaving up and down.

"Lexa," Clarke muttered, a little sleepily. "Relax. And take some of your cloak. It's big enough to share."

"It's warmer if you wrap it around yourself twice," Lexa advised. She still lay in that ridiculous position.

"Yes, it is, but you'll be colder than Nia's body if you don't get under," Clarke said impatiently, and shifted, despite Lexa's protests. Clumsily, she threw one half of the cloak over Lexa's shuddering body, and sighed. "Better?"

"Much better. Thank you."

"And you don't need to sleep like you're dead, either. Granted, I let you talk about death all the time, but you don't need to actually behave like a corpse."

"I would assume you—I don't know if I may move in my sleep."

"That's fine. Sorry in advance if I kick you. I do that a lot."

"Do you sleep beside many people a lot?"

Clarke turned to stare at her, though she could not make out the outline of Lexa's face. She frowned. "That's not what I meant," she said hastily.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"You know, you're right."

"I know. What am I right about?"

Clarke nearly hit her, but she was too cold to move and Lexa was still looking ridiculous with her corpse imitation. "It's really cold even sharing a cloak," she said, shaking her head. "We should probably try to just...freeze so our body systems shut down and we can sleep?"

"That sounds both unsafe and stupid," Lexa said flatly. "Come here. Get under the covers."

"Excuse me?"

"And take your top off," Lexa said, shucking off her tunic. Clarke was quite sure Lexa could see her gaping like a fish, even in the darkness. Okay—this was not an invitation for sex. She wasn't sure what Lexa was thinking, or if she'd found some shrooms and taken them without telling Clarke, but this was not cool. She didn't budge, and Lexa prodded her as if to prompt her. It came from bizarrely nowhere, and Lexa shifted so she rested on her side. Clarke averted her gaze from Lexa's naked body. "What?"

"You're naked," Clarke said dully.

"You are not impressed?"

Clarke, a little aghast that Lexa had the indecency to joke now when she'd been so courteous all day, really did smack her this time, on the arm. "You know, when I was talking about freezing to death, I didn't mean sleep with me."

"This isn't a romantic gesture," Lexa explained. "It's about body warmth. Sometimes it is a necessity. During the pre-coalition wars, I had many a bed-partner during our march north. It helps."

Okay. Clarke shook the thought of many bed-partners from her mind and tried to stomach Lexa's suggestion. Lexa, who was still very much naked and expectant, lying beside her. This was ridiculous, but it made sense. Biologically. Between them, it was awkward as fuck. Still, she supposed it was less awkward than having to share body warmth with Indra. Clarke swallowed, her eyes inadvertently trailing down from Lexa's eyes to her exposed neck. Naively, she hoped in the darkness that Lexa would not see her, but Clarke's eyes would not avert themselves from Lexa's small but shapely breasts, the muscled flatness of her stomach, and the scars and scratches on her tattooed, otherwise smooth skin.

Another twinge. It wasn't in her chest this time.

Clarke groaned overdramatically, and ripped off her tunic. "We're not talking about this. Ever."

"You have my word." Lexa shuffled and held her arms open for Clarke to sink into. Clarke stared at her stupidly for a moment. "I harbour no indecent intent, Clarke. I'm cold. You're cold. We're both adults, and we're both logical."

"Right. And we're not talking about this."

"You said that."

"I know, but I want to clarify—"

"You have my word," Lexa repeated, firmly. Clarke sunk into Lexa's embrace, and hated how easily she became overwhelmed, almost instantly. The faint woody smell against Lexa's neck felt like home. The way her shorter frame slotted perfectly against Lexa, and the way she was just tall enough to rest her head on the crook of Lexa's neck was too much; it made Clarke want to tug Lexa closer, and she did. Her hands immediately wrapped around Lexa's waist, and she inhaled her scent deeply, tugging her closer. I don't want this. I don't want her. It sounded so unconvincing. Lexa was polite enough to keep it completely platonic.

Clarke didn't want to remember the safety net that were Lexa's arms, smothering her body with warmth. She knew Lexa still cared for her. Lexa prided herself on being unpredictable, but a battlefield was different to a relationship. Her eyes carried her soul, especially in front of Clarke, and she'd spent every waking moment in Polis reeling from the way her insults hurt Lexa's gaze. She spent every breakfast feeling Lexa's eyes on her, seeing them soften at the very mention of her name. Lexa still cared for her, and Clarke didn't know what to do. And then she'd tried to kill her.

This was fucked-up, and they both knew it. Still, Clarke buried her face closer against Lexa's neck, not wanting to catch that look in Lexa's eyes. Not tonight. She could feel the heat of Lexa's lithe body, still as anything, pressed up against her. And truthfully, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself to remain platonic in this as Lexa could. Even if it wasn't affection or love or whatever the fuck it was—it didn't stop Clarke's mind telling her body that Lexa was here. Lexa was beautiful. Lexa wanted her. Badly. Lexa would kiss her back. Lexa would touch her so reverently, so gently. All it would take was just a tiny peck, a slip of the tongue. All it would take was one night.

Clarke had tried to kill Lexa anyway. Using her for sex for one night was not as brutal as leaving her by the Mountain.

"Are you warm?" Lexa asked quietly, when the silence became stifling. They were both keenly aware that they were both still awake, and Clarke's last thought evaporated guiltily. I can't believe I just thought that. "Is this alright?"

"Yeah—yeah, it's fine," Clarke said, distracted. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"It's alright. If you are uncomfortable, let me know, and I will move accordingly."

"It's—are you okay? Are you comfortable?"

"We're just keeping each other warm," Lexa mumbled, dipping her head down ever so slightly. Clarke's chest felt like it would never stop aching for her. She knew Lexa cared, but Lexa knew that she knew. It was an impossible situation, after they'd placed themselves in impossible, horrible circumstances. And fuck, it really hurt. Clarke could feel it. She didn't want to imagine how Lexa felt. "That's all."

"Lexa..."

"We'll deliver Nia to Arkadia tomorrow. If we ride early we can avoid this. It's fine."

"I know."

"We will deliver Arkadia justice. Your people, as you've mentioned so frequently, deserve as much."

"I know. Lexa—"

"We will return to Polis, and you will have your wish." Clarke stayed silent, inquisitive. "We'll never speak of it." She could hear the smile in Lexa's voice.

Could people go on living like this? Self-imprisoned in pain and betrayal and distrust? Clarke knew she couldn't. She knew she couldn't trust Lexa—not yet, anyway. But trust or not, it had nothing to do with the sometimes youthful naivety Lexa held in her eyes whenever she approached Clarke in Polis with an invitation to look over the city from the walls. Sometimes, Lexa proudly showed her around the various different places in Polis and they'd spend an afternoon reading books from the Old World. Sometimes, Lexa retrieved unimportant letters in Trigedasleng in an effort to help Clarke learn the language at her request. Sometimes, Lexa behaved as if her invite to Polis, just outside the Mountain, had been instantly accepted, Clarke had arrived, and nothing else had happened. No genocide had occurred. And most of the time, Clarke appreciated it.

Everyone reminded Clarke of the crime she'd committed, except the one person who'd betrayed her at Mount Weather. Clarke shouldered the burden every minute except for the minutes she spent with Lexa, where the burden was so massive on her slim shoulders it overshadowed Clarke's.

Clarke didn't like that thought. She didn't like Lexa, haunted at night.

"I don't hate you," Clarke admitted softly, her lips pressed against Lexa's collarbone. It was the truth. It had taken her months and an attempted assassination to say it, but it was her heart. "I don't. I really don't."

Lexa nodded against her, and pulled her closer. Clarke tried not to get sucked in by the intoxication that was Lexa kom Trikru, but they both knew where they stood. They weren't there yet. But naked, and pressed hot up against Lexa's body, Clarke had never felt safer. The brief feeling of arousal was not gone. It felt like a background presence. All Clarke truly felt was safety, and maybe the willingness to walk along the tightrope that was this journey with Lexa. Because for once, she knew Lexa had given her a safety net below.

Lexa's reply was quiet. "I know. And one day, I hope you know how I feel."

"I know how you feel, Lexa."

"No, Clarke, you don't."

Against everything she believed in, against every voice in her mind screaming at her, Clarke leant up to press a kiss against Lexa's lips. It was chaste, but lingering. It was the very memory of Lexa and her lessons, her smiles, her flat jokes, her voice—that had stayed with Clarke in isolation for all those months in the woods, alone. It was Lexa in Polis, guarded, polite, and unable to stare at her without giving herself away. Clarke broke off their kiss, and stroked Lexa's cheek. "I don't hate you," she repeated quietly.

Lexa nodded, a little more understanding this time.

It still hurt.

"I know."

[softelesbian]

Can’t stop thinking about you

(my very first bodhicassian fic ever, so i hope yall like it!) 

Summary: After the events of Scarif, Cassian and Bodhi fall even more for the other, even though they think they’re not good enough for the other. Ensue endless pining by these two which drives everyone crazy as they beg for these two to share their feelings about the other so they can get together.

After the Scarif mission, there were many aspects that Cassian wanted to forget: lost lives, serious injuries, and lost limbs, to name a few. Sure, there were many missions that resulted in similar outcomes, but the Scarif mission had a much bigger impact on the Rebel Alliance, the losses and injuries seemed more impactful.

However, if there was one aspect that Cassian didn’t want to forget, it was the one person who,if it weren’t for him, Rogue One would not have made it. Bodhi Rook. He was responsible for saving Chirrut, Baze, Jyn, and himself and narrowly escaping Scarif before the planet was destroyed by the Empire. He was responsible for connecting the ship to the radio tower so Jyn could send the Death Star plans to the Alliance so they would have a chance of destroying that atrocious weapon before it fired at another innocent planet. Heck, he was even responsible for being able to enter Scarif so they could steal the plans in the first place!

After helping the rest of the crew escape, Bodhi spent a lot of time in recovery in the medical ward after losing massive amounts of blood and his right arm in a nearby explosion. But, Bodhi had made it and Cassian couldn’t have been more grateful. He made sure to spend whatever free time he had accompanying Bodhi as he healed, even if he was unconscious. He talked to him about how grateful he was and how brave he was, being able to save the others while he was severely injured and even sang to him!

Cassian realized that he had fallen for Bodhi while he waited for him to wake up. He looked so peaceful while he slept. His long, soft hair lay graciously on his side and his face was at peace and looked amazingly handsome. His biceps showed that he worked out, or probably carried a lot of weights in order for them to be very muscular and toned. Not only were his looks very attractive, but his story and personality made him even more handsome. Defecting from the Empire to help the Alliance steal the Death Star plans, even if it meant going into battle with his anxiety was truly an incredible deed.

Yes, Cassian had truly fallen for him. He began to blush like a lovestruck teenage boy simply thinking about Bodhi as he lay still in bed.

However, Cassian soon realized he probably couldn’t be with Bodhi. He had never been in a serious relationship due to dedicating his whole life to the Alliance, and even if he had, he didn’t know if Bodhi even liked him back. He tended to give off a serious, angry persona, which normally scared other people away. Given Bodhi’s nervousness and anxiety, he was probably terrified of Cassian and didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Cassian sighed sadly as he thought over how Bodhi could never love him, and left his room to go to the mess hall for dinner.

A week later, Bodhi had woken up and was slowly on the road to recovery. Cassian wanted to go over and talk to Bodhi, but everyday, his feelings for Bodhi grew stronger and he didn’t think he could even say hi to him without proclaiming his love for him. Cassian felt extremely shy and nervous even when he walked by the medical ward to glance at Bodhi from afar. Damn! How could love render him so hopelessly that he got butterflies in his stomach simply by thinking about Bodhi. He was a spy for crying out loud! He should be able to work around this humongous crush. In the end, he decided not to visit Bodhi for both of their well beings and distract himself with any job the Alliance needed help with. Hopefully then, his feelings would have calmed down enough so he could at least have a normal conversation with Bodhi.

One day, as Bodhi was doing arm exercises in physical therapy, he suddenly recalled a far but familiar voice echoing through his head. It sounded as if that voice was talking to him, but he didn’t know what the voice was telling him. Sometimes, it even sang to him! Whoever that voice belonged to, they had a beautiful singing voice, a bit rough and weathered, but soft and gentle at the same time. Eventually, curiosity got the best of Bodhi and he decided to ask the nurse about it.

“Oh, you must have been hearing Captain Andor’s voice! He came to visit you all the time while you were still unconscious and I heard him talk to you a lot and I think I even heard him sing to you one time!” the nurse exclaimed.

Of course! Bodhi knew that voice sounded familiar, but why would Cassian of all people come to visit him and sing to him? Surely he had other duties to attend to and he takes his work very seriously.

“Excuse me, but are you sure Cassian actually visited me? It could have been someone else that looked like him?” Bodhi questioned, even though he knew there was nobody else that even resembled what Cassian looked like.

“Oh I’m definitely sure it was him!” the nurse giggled. “Some people who go unconscious can hear a bit of what’s happening in their surroundings. It’s not common, but it does happen. Trust me, I monitored you all the time and I would watch Andor talk to you about his life in the Alliance or gush about how grateful he was towards you for helping the Alliance,” the nurse said.

After hearing about what Cassian did, Bodhi began to blush a furious shade of red that spread throughout his whole body. Bodhi had developed a small crush on the Rebel spy after he rescued him from Jedha, but he never really thought much about it until now. Cassian actually came to visit him while he was recovering? He felt so giddy inside that he was trembling with happiness.

However, his brain got to him as his anxiety started to swell. Why hadn’t Cassian come back to visit when he woke up? Did he not want to see him again? Why would he come to visit only when he wasn’t conscious? Bodhi took a deep breath to calm down his nerves. Cassian is probably away on a mission or busy working somewhere in the Rebel base, yeah, that’s probably it.

Bodhi was able to distract himself with that idea for a bit until his anxiety would swell again. When it did, he would stop whatever exercise he was doing and take deep breaths to calm himself down. Occasionally, he would daydream about how Cassian was loyal to the cause of the Alliance and about how it would feel to kiss him, if his facial hair would scratch or if it would be soft, and how it would feel to stroke his soft, short hair all over his fingers. Bodhi used this mechanism as a way to calm down so often, he would be red all over and smiling lovingly that his anxiety would disappear for a good while.

About a month later, Bodhi was able to leave the medical ward and resume working, now that he was used to his new arm. The first thing he wanted to do was make a couple of modifications to the imperial cargo ship they had stolen back on Eadu. Working on ships was Bodhi’s favorite pastime, he would dedicate hours to making sure the ship he was working on was in great shape and able to function well with whatever changes he made to them. He spent so many hours working that he would unzip his new rebel flight suit down to his waist while his white undershirt got covered in sweat and grease. This did not help settle down a certain spy’s feelings about him when he happened to pass by Bodhi working on a ship.

One day, as Cassian was walking down where the ships were kept, he happened to pass by Bodhi working on the imperial cargo ship. He quickly hid behind some crates containing engine supplies as he admiringly watched Bodhi work. He sighed lovingly as he noticed how beautiful Bodhi looked with just his stained undershirt on him and how his biceps moved when he had to lift tools towards the ship. Cassian was so lost in his own world, he didn’t realize someone coughing behind him. Cassian jumped back with a huge shock to see Jyn standing right next to him, a smug grin plastered on her face.

“Admiring the view Cass?” Jyn teased at him.

Cassian’s face burned a bright red until he straightened up his coat and put on his stern, serious face as he cleared his throat.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I was simply on my way to the mess hall to see if dinner was ready,” Cassian lied, even though he knew Jyn could see right through him.

Jyn snorted and rolled her eyes. Honestly, it was hard not to notice that Cassian was head over heels over Bodhi.

“Don’t lie to me Cassian, of all people, you know that doesn’t work on me,” Jyn said.

Jyn stopped her teasing as she saw Cassian’s face break with a nervous, scared look. She was one of the few people to see Cassian in a state like this so this must be more serious than it looked.

“Listen, why don’t you go and talk to Bodhi about how you’re feeling?” Jyn asked.

“I can’t!” Cassian fretted. “He doesn’t feel the same way about me. If I told him, he would probably hate me more than he already does and never speak to me again,” Cassian moped.

Jyn wanted to groan into empty space. Sometimes, Cassian could be so oblivious about some things; however, she knew she had to help him talk to Bodhi or this pining hell would last even longer.

“Come on Cass, you don’t know if he hates you or not. If you simply talk to him, it would make not only your life so much easier, but everyone else’s too,” Jyn said.

“Sorry, but I can’t,” Cassian replied sadly, “Sometimes, the risk simply isn’t worth it if you have a lot to lose.”

Cassian stood up and walked glumly towards the upper floor to go sulk in his room until dinner was ready. Jyn sighed in defeat as she saw Cassian walk off. Well, at least she could say that she tried.

Ever since being released from physical therapy, Bodhi had tried to talk to Cassian, but everytime he tried, he noticed Cassian briskly walking away or coming up with excuses that he was busy. Bodhi couldn’t understand it. Why was Cassian ignoring him? Did he do something wrong? Did he not like him anymore? As the days went by, Bodhi’s anxiety was becoming worse, so bad that some days, he had to stay in his room in order to try to calm himself down from all of the negative thoughts swirling around in his head. Sometimes, he went on walks around the base to distract his mind when his room felt too silent. One day he decided to walk around the base, only to bump into Baze and Chirrut, who were seated together drinking some hot tea. Chirrut immediately noticed Bodhi’s anxiety and tense mood due to the racing thoughts in his head.

“You seem to be very tense and nervous. Would you mind telling us what’s on your mind?” Chirrut asked.

Bodhi jumped in surprise but soon calmed down. Of course Chirrut would know that something was bothering him. Baze sighed calmly and looked up at Bodhi.

“You don’t have to tell us your thoughts if you don’t feel like telling us,” Baze said.

Bodhi sighed and decided to just tell them what’s on his mind. He knows Chirrut is very stubborn and he just might as well talk to them; after all, they both have been married for about 30 years, they must have some good love advice for him.

“It’s just… it’s Cassian. I may like him more than a friend and I may have liked him like that ever since Jedha… But he keeps on ignoring me and trying to stay away from me! And it doesn’t make sense, I mean, he came to visit me while I was unconscious and even sang to me! Basically, I am just so confused and scared that I might have done something wrong to upset him. You two are married, do you think you might know what all of this means?” 

Chirrut and Baze turned towards the other and began to silently giggle until they were dying from laughter that tears rolled out of their eyes. Bodhi began to panic and became a bit angry.

“Why are you laughing at me? This isn’t very funny you guys! If all you are going to do is ridicule me, then I am leaving!”

“No no!” Chirrut said as he began to calm down. “We aren’t making fun of you, I promise! It’s just that, you remind me of when Baze and I were young and hopelessly in love with each other.”

“It’s true,” Baze said, “Chirrut acted the exact same way as Cassian. He ignored me and would distract himself by praying or engaging in spars with our other companions. I got so worried that I did something wrong and confronted him about it one day. Chirrut admitted that he simply did that because he was in love with me and was afraid of confessing his feelings because he thought I didn’t feel the same way about him. Simply, long story short, we confessed our feelings and became boyfriends for about 3 years until we married.”

Bodhi looked at them in awe as he began to think about what they said. It did sound exactly what Cassian was doing, but his anxiety made him doubt that for a second.

“Excuse me, but are you sure this is the same case with Cassian? I mean, for all we know, he may just be extremely busy or something?”

“Trust me, we are certain that is the case, we’ve been through this, we know how it feels like to crush on someone like that. I can sense through the Force your strong feelings for Cassian and likewise his feelings for you.”

“If he won’t confront to you about his feelings, you do it. After all, life is very short and you don’t know how long you will get to be with Cassian due to all of this war. Take the risk while you can, we know that you two have feelings for each other,” Baze said.

Bodhi sighed heavily as he considered their advice. It was true that due to the war, he didn’t know how long he could see or be with Cassian; however, he still wasn’t very sure if Cassian really liked him. Stupid anxiety! Bodhi pushed down all of his negative feelings as he responded to Chirrut and Baze.

“Alright, I understand. I’ll just… I will think about what you said and wait for the perfect time to tell Cassian how I feel.”

Baze and Chirrut smiled and both nodded in agreement as they took each others’ hand.

“That is perfectly fine, don’t wait too long though. You never know what could happen the next day,” Chirrut replied.

Bodhi bowed in thanks and waved them goodbye as he began to walk towards his room. Baze and Chirrut sighed and hoped Bodhi would act soon as his and Cassian’s pining was going on for too long now.

 It has been three weeks since Jyn had caught Cassian admiring Bodhi from afar, and honestly, Cassian does not think he can take it any longer. He cannot stop thinking about Bodhi and he feels like he is going to burst anytime soon. Thanks to Jyn, word began to spread like the flu about Cassian’s feelings towards the pilot. Even K2 had found out and so many things could go wrong if K2 were to open his mouth to Bodhi. Eventually, Cassian decided that he simply couldn’t take it anymore. Life was short and he wanted to be with Bodhi so badly it hurt. He decided to simply go for it and hope for the best.

As he made his way towards the hangars where the ships were kept, he happened to run into Bodhi as he was heading back to his room to pick up a tool he had forgotten.

“Bodhi!” Cassian exclaimed, “I.. uh.. I need to talk to you, please.”

Bodhi felt his body tremble, but pushed down his anxious feelings and calmed himself down so he could answer Cassian.

“O-of course! Is here ok? Or do you want to talk somewhere else?”

“No no! Here is fine,” Cassian replied.

Cassian moved up a bit towards Bodhi as he began to slowly confess his feelings.

“I bet you have noticed that I have kind of been ignoring you?”

Bodhi nodded cautiously as he listened to Cassian.

“I.. uh.. just want you to know that it was not done out of spite or anger and I… just… uh…” He stumbled over the words, not sure what to say or how to go about this

Eventually, Cassian couldn’t take it anymore as he closed the space between him and Bodhi and kissed him.

Bodhi gaped in surprise as he took a second to register that Cassian was kissing him. Kissing him! Chirrut and Baze were right after all! Bodhi began to kiss back until relief and happiness took over his whole body. Soon, big tears began to roll down Bodhi’s face as he broke the kiss to wipe them off.

As soon as Bodhi started crying, Cassian began to panic as he felt a huge rush of fear sweep over him. Did he hurt Bodhi? Why was he crying? Did he not like him that way? Cassian cupped Bodhi’s cheek with one hand as he used his other hand to wipe the tears away.

“Bodhi?! What’s wrong? Oh my kriff! I am so sorry! Please, tell me what’s wrong,” 

Bodhi shook his head and began to laugh as more tears came streaming down his half dried cheeks.

“I’m just… I just feel so relieved! I thought you were ignoring me because I did something to upset you and I was so scared that you hated me. But now I can see that you return the same feelings I have towards you and… oh Cassian! You wouldn’t believe just how scared I was!” Bodhi sobbed happily.

Cassian wiped away the remaining tears on Bodhi’s cheeks and hugged him so lovingly, he buried his head in the crook of his neck.

“I am so sorry Bodhi. I didn’t mean to scare you and I don’t hate you. I mean, how could I? You’re the bravest man I have ever met and you just make me so happy, I don’t know how I can live without you. Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”

Bodhi pretended to ponder over the question until he smiled up at Cassian, already knowing what he wanted.

“Could you kiss me again so sweetly just like you did a couple of minutes before?”

Cassian was taken aback by the response but smiled so widely and giggled at Bodhi’s adorableness.

“You are going to be the death of me Bodhi Rook, ” Cassian replied as he kissed him again.

Bodhi adjusted himself so that both were in a good position to kiss passionately and lovingly. He poured all of his emotions into that one kiss as Cassian did the same.

While they were kissing, several people who were nearby began to cheer and applaud at the new couple. Jyn hollered and clapped very loudly while K2 nodded in approval.

“Fucking finally!” Jyn exclaimed.

K2 nodded in agreement while Baze and Chirrut held hands and nodded as well.

As Cassian and Bodhi finished kissing, they layed their foreheads against the other and smiled so much their mouths began to hurt.

With new possibilities out there, Cassian and Bodhi couldn’t wait to start living as an overly-loving romantic couple.

Notes: omg this was pretty hard to write but I think I like it so that’s good! I was inspired by this lovely artwork for the scene where Bodhi cries and asks Cassian to kiss him as an apology. Also, this was the song I imagined Cassian singing to Bodhi. I hope you liked it and please reblog it if you enjoyed the story! 

[majiniesthings]

Remember (that night)

Also on AO3.

They had shared lingering glances, seemingly accidental touches and just a little more closeness than was strictly usual between good friends from the very beginning. John remembered being intrigued from the moment the scrawny man with the loud voice had first opened his mouth (“if you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?”) and he'd felt the other's dark, expressive eyes on  him even before that.

Alexander had leaned on him for support later that evening, cackling with alcohol-induced mirth, shoulders shaking with it when John wrapped an arm around them to steady him. Alexander had quieted, then, head falling back onto John's shoulder as he stared up at him and rendered him unable to look away.

The moment had been broken by Hercules stumbling against them and spilling half of his drink, but it hadn't been the first nor the last one that evening.

John remembered all these occasions with crystalline clarity. He knew the way Alexander could talk up a storm, dark eyes blazing and his hands flying, fluttering around him, never still, never stopping, and he knew the way the same Alexander went silent and eerily motionless when there was thunder rumbling above their heads and rain beating down onto their tent.

He remembered holding Alexander close that night, letting the smaller man curl into him and cling to John while he shook and flinched at every crack of thunder. He'd murmured meaningless words into Alexander's hair, nothing worth repeating but enough to serve as a grounding presence until Alex, exhausted to the point that his shivering had subsided to the occasional, weak shudder, had slipped into an uneasy sleep.

John remembered the first time Alexander had kissed him, quick and passionate in the spur of the moment like so many things he did, and he remembered the slightly wide-eyed, nervous look Alex had given him afterwards before John had leaned in to press his lips to the other man's again, effectively cutting off any sort of justification or apology from being spoken out loud.

He remembered the nights they'd made love under the thin blankets in their tents, as quietly as they could to avoid the risk of getting caught, remembered Alexander's breathy whispers and his light, almost shy touches that grew more confident as time passed, remembered the way Alex' hair would tumble down to frame his face, the way his eyes grew even darker when John whispered his name back at him. It was hard to forget, really.

Although, John mused, it seemed it came to Alexander easier than to him, if the light in his eyes when he looked at Eliza was any indication. He had watched his lover twirl the Schuyler girl – a lovely thing, really – around the dance floor for as he could bear before he had slipped out onto a balcony while nobody was paying attention to him. There was a half-empty glass of some alcoholic beverage or the other dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the stone railing, staring up at the clear sky and reminiscing, trying not to think of the fact that Alexander was most likely having the time of his life inside the ballroom right now, with Eliza and his new-found step sisters, with his family.

Of course that meant a lot to him, John got that. He did. Truly. It was the first time Alex experienced a functioning family, what kind of person would John be to begrudge him that? No, he was going to get back in there and smile and be a good best man, a good best friend. In a minute. He merely needed a moment to compose himself.

Of course, things could never be that easy, could they?

The muffled sounds of music and chatter grew more pronounced for a moment when the door behind him opened and John turned, a smile plastered onto his face. It grew more genuine when he saw who had joined him outside.

“Lafayette,” he greeted quietly and received a striking smile from the Frenchman in return.

“Mon ami,” came the warm answer. “What brings you out 'ere all by yourself?”

John looked down at his drink, swirled it around in its glass. “I just needed some air,” he muttered and looked up to give Lafayette a smile that was hopefully convincing. Concerned dark eyes met his and he immediately knew he had not fooled his friend.

“This does not mean he will stop holding you dear,” Lafayette said.

John averted his gaze to fix it on his drink again so he wouldn't give his emotions away in his expression. “Of course,” he agreed half-heartedly. “We're his friends, he's still gonna like us.”

“Oh, I am not talking about us, mon cher,” the taller man responded gently. “I am talking about you.” A little alarmed, John glanced up again – they hadn't told anyone about their involvement, not even Hercules and Lafayette. It had seemed too risky, not knowing how they would react. But whatever reaction he had feared might come, all he got now was the knowing, compassionate look in the Frenchman's eyes. “It's alright,” he added, and John felt long pent-up tension drain from his shoulders at the words.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Lafayette wrapped an arm around his shoulders in response, pulling John against his side in a firm, comforting half-hug. “Will you come back inside with me?” he asked and John, tucked against his side, glanced at the doors, the shapes of people he could make out by their shadows.

“Why don't you go ahead,” he replied after a moment of hesitation. “I'll be there in a few minutes.” As an afterthought, he tacked on: “I'll be fine.”

For that, he received a critical look from Lafayette, but then he patted John's shoulder gently. “I see,” he said. “Then I shall see you later, mon ami.”

“Sure thing,” John answered with a smile that didn't feel quite as forced as before. He raised his glass in a small toast and his smile was returned before his friend slipped back inside, probably aware that pressing John for answers wasn't going to get him anywhere.

With a sigh, he turned his back to the door once again and sipped on his drink. He didn't feel like going inside just yet.

He wasn't sure if that made him a horrible person, but seeing Alexander so happy with Eliza was hard to bear, especially with the letters in mind that were safely tucked away with his belongings. Had Alex sent the same carefully crafted words to Eliza?

My dear Laurens... my dear Eliza?

The door behind him opened again, light and music and laughter spilling out onto the balcony before it clicked shut again.

“Laf, I told you I'd be there in a minute. Go find yourself a petite mademoiselle or something.” He didn't look up when the other man leaned against the railing beside him.

“Okay, first of all, your French is atrocious.”

John jumped and turned. “Alex! I was just catching some air, I was about to head back inside, I swear, I just –”

“Hey.” Alexander slid a warm hand over John's chilled one resting on the cold stone railing. “It's okay.”

John smiled wryly. Everybody seemed so intent on telling him that. “Of course,” he replied hollowly. “I... you're good together, I've seen the way you look at her, it's – you love her.” He had to force the last three words past a suddenly tight throat and Alexander's hand tightened on his.

“That doesn't mean that I don't –” he began and cut himself off just as quickly. He was better with those things in his letters, John thought. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

“It's okay,” he echoed the other man's earlier words. Despite that, he felt a sharp sting of disappointment when Alexander's hand left his. Usually, he was more stubborn than that.

Then, there was an insistent tug at his shoulder. He let himself be turned around after a moment, leaned back against the railing to stare at Alex without looking confused or longing. The shorter man met his eyes firmly and took two steps backwards into the middle of the balcony before he extended a hand toward John.

“May I have this dance?”

Large, dark eyes were fixed on John, who sputtered. “Stop that, Alexander, you're being silly.” He held his drink in front of himself defensively.

“I'm not,” Alexander insisted. “Come on, Laurens, dance with me.”

John was tempted, but shook his head. One of them had to keep a level head after all. “We can't –”

Brash as ever, Alex stepped in, reached out to pluck the glass from John's loose grip and set it down to precariously balance on the railing behind John before he took both of his hands in his own to pull him with him as he stepped backwards again.

“Alexander, someone is gonna see, you're going to –”

“Talk less, dance more,” Alex cut him off and John scowled.  

“Don't Burr me, seriously, you of all people...”

While he was busy protesting, Alexander tugged one of John's hands to rest on his waist and clasped the other with his own. John sighed in defeat when his lover took a step back, vaguely in tact with the music they could hear playing softly from inside.

John went along stiffly for a few seconds, then closed his eyes in defeat and drew Alex closer. He took the lead, keeping their pace slow, small steps moving them around the balcony, his cold hands regaining some warmth from Alexander's body heat.

For a few minutes, he could pretend the muffled music from the inside was playing just for them, Alexander and him under the clear, if cold sky. Their breaths came out in small, white clouds that dissipated into the air between them like so many unspoken words – regrets, promises, apologies, confessions. So many things they'd written in letters received on lonely nights, things they'd never said but knew all too well nonetheless. Things that didn't need to be said, things that perhaps should not be said.

For a few minutes, John got to bask in those things, got to cradle Alexander close and have him move with him, pressing close against the chill.

Eventually, however, the waltz that had been playing faded away and John reluctantly came to a halt. He refused to let go just yet, pressed his lips to Alexander's hair and heaved one, two shuddering breaths while he blinked rapidly against the tears blurring his vision. He was not going to cry on his best friend's wedding night.

Alexander squeezed his hand and John exhaled with a shiver before he stepped back to meet the other man's gaze. Alexander's eyes were large and dark and vulnerable, reminding John that this wasn't as one-sided as his mind would have him believe; with a bitter-sweet twist in his chest, he pressed a kiss to the other man's forehead and watched Alexander's eyes flutter shut, a shaky, uncharacteristically quiet sigh on his lips.

For once, he didn't have anything clever to say. Instead, he squeezed John's fingers gently and asked: “Will you come back inside with me?”

“Yeah,” John murmured, almost a whisper, and he knew he was going to remember this, too, their shared minutes in the cold outside the ballroom, for a long time yet.

Alexander's “thanks” drifted around them in a cloud of white, frozen breath and John let himself be tugged along by his hand, back toward the door that led toward the ballroom.

When they stepped over the threshold, music and chatter suddenly at full volume again, Alexander's fingers slipped away from his and John thought he might remember the feeling of something colder than the winter air settling around his heart and squeezing for even longer.