#I know we all get angry and huffed up and want to protect our opinions but please. Please please

[maealderxb]

we have this argument every year I'm sorry but I can give less of a shit if you or somebody else identities as a bi lesbian especially right now PLEASE can we move the fuck ON already I promise you there are more important things in the world than bi lesbians and people who don't like bi lesbians!!!!

i know I'm being rude here, but god every year at the same time people just yap and yap and like what happened to "lgbtq discourse dni" just fucking. GHHRRRGGHHH!!!! it's not even the discourse that makes me mad it's that people drag it on and on, most of you are full ass adults just block and move on for your own sake jesus

[fruitcoops]

If you're still taking requests, could you do one where someone is making Remus really uncomfortable and someone from the team helps him out? (Preferably Sirius, Leo, Logan, James, or Dumo but everything you do is so good so it really doen't matter 😂❣)

Yep! Please take a look at the TW below before reading, since there are parts of this that are a bit intense. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Combined with protective Sirius and Leo/ Loops friendship!

TW for a super creepy guy, unwanted handholding, unwanted flirting/ not taking no for an answer, innuendo, moderate panic attack, and alcohol

The folding chair next to Remus creaked as a tall man in a perfectly-tailored suit sat down hard in it. He was clearly a drink or two past tipsy, and something in Remus’ throat itched at the way the man’s eyes flickered across his chest and arms. “You’re Lupin, right? The new Lion?”

Remus set his drink down. “That’s me.”

“Stan Martin, nice to meet you.” Stan held his hand out and Remus shook it; his palm was clammy, and he held on just a second too long. Remus was the first to pull away after he felt a light squeeze from wrinkled fingers.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Remus said with a polite smile. Sirius was nowhere in sight, and everyone else was occupied in their own conversations. He swallowed hard. “Do you own a team?”

“Nah, I just fund ‘em,” Stan snorted. “Too much work otherwise, not enough time for play, if you know what I mean.”

Remus forced a laugh. “Right, yeah, totally. Are you involved with the Lions? I’m a bit new to the whole administration thing.”

“Even after being a PT for so long?” Stand gave him an incredulous look, but beneath it there was a shadow Remus didn’t like.

“Yep. I was pretty contained to my tape pallets and charts.” Joke it off, Lupin.

A hand, heavy from alcohol and lack of inhibitions, fell on Remus’ forearm with a few clumsy pats before settling on his wrist. Stan looked directly into his eyes. “If you ever need someone to, ah, show you the ropes, give me a call.”

Remus cleared his throat and tried to pull his arm away, but the hand didn’t budge. “I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

“No, really. The NHL is a complicated world. I’d be more than happy to take some of that weight off your shoulders.” Stan leaned closer and Remus tensed as his eyes roved his face. “Your freckles are much more striking in real life, Lupin.”

“Please let go of my arm, Mr. Martin.”

“Call me Stan.”

“Let go of me, Martin.”

An awful little grin spread over his thin lips. “You’re a spitfire, aren’t you? Too much for Captain Solitude, I bet.”

He jerked his head to the side of the room, where Remus saw Sirius making polite conversation with a woman in a long dress. A spike of fury bubbled up. “Are you talking about my fiancé?”

“Easy, tiger, I’m just saying—” He hiccupped and Remus tried to pull away, but Stan’s grip tightened by a fraction. “—I’m just saying, you could do better with someone who knows how to handle you.”

“I can handle myself just fine. If you don’t stop talking shit about my fiancé, I’ll—”

“What? You’ll do what?” Stan leered at him and Remus paused to shove down his nausea. “You know, you were much prettier before you tried to be like the rest of these jocks.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“I’m just being honest,” Stan huffed, never releasing Remus’ arm from his hold. Remus could feel his shoulders starting to shake. “You’ve got those cute little cheekbones. Very delicate, like—almost feminine. Those training regimens they put you on ruined it, in my opinion. Look, Lupin, when you get tired of tall, dark, and boring over there, gimme a call and you can be pretty aga—”

“What’s going on over here?” a falsely bright voice cut in. The chair on Remus’ other side clicked at its joints as Leo sat down, looking between them with icy eyes. “Am I missing out on all the fun?”

“Hey, Knutty,” Remus managed, wincing as his voice cracked. Stan leaned back in his chair and Remus quickly yanked his arm away, tangling his fingers together.

“Lupin and I were just having a chat,” Stan said, glancing back down at Remus’ lap until he tucked his hands under his thighs. “Nothing big and important.”

Leo’s knee pressed against his own. “Sirius was looking for you a minute ago.”

Stan’s jaw tightened. “What, we can’t finish our conversation?”

“No.” Remus channeled all his roiling discomfort and the urge to knock the creep’s teeth in as he stood up. “No, this conversation has been done for a while. Have a nice night, Mr. Martin.”

Leo’s arm was steady across his shoulders as they walked away; Remus’ vision tunneled, sparkling black at the sides. “Are you gonna be alright?” Leo asked under his breath, his accent soothing. Remus nodded. “You’re shaking, Re.”

“No, I’m not.” He grabbed a plastic cup of water off a nearby tray and nearly sloshed it all over himself. “Jesus fucking—”

“Re.” He could feel his teeth starting to chatter and sweat rolled down the too-tight collar of his shirt. Leo’s hand closed loosely around his own and took the cup. “C’mon.”

“Sirius was looking for me,” he protested as Leo led him down a side hall.

Leo shrugged. “Probably.”

“…he didn’t talk to you.”

“Nope.”

“You came to get me anyway.”

“Yep.”

The clog in Remus’ chest grew and he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Thanks, Knutty.”

A sharp puff of air cooled his burning face. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I tried to leave.” The words tangled around his tongue as Leo pushed open the bathroom door and led him to the sinks, dampening some paper towels. “I—fuck, Leo, I’m stronger than him but he was holding my arm so tight and I was so fucking freaked.”

“Easy, Re.” Leo sounded like he was trying to calm a spooked horse.

The towels were a balm in Remus’ hands and on his face as he pressed them over his mouth to muffle the wheezing noises. “I’d rather be called a slur to my face than have that happen again.”

The gentle circles on his back stopped for a second. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t—no. I just wanna go home.”

“Deep breaths.” Leo handed him a new towel to blow his nose, then pulled his phone out.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a kickass friend?”

A weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but his face was still troubled. “Once or twice.”

Remus’ lungs were tight with a mix of fear and disgust; he felt a little like he wanted to throw up, and while Leo’s hand on his back was an anchor to the world, the rest of him screamed ‘don’t touch me’.

Barely two minutes later, the bathroom door swung open. “Honey? What happened?”

“Holy shit,” Remus managed as gray eyes swam into his field of view. Sirius. Sirius meant safety. Reality zoomed back at double speed and the dam broke—tears poured down his cheeks as his whole body began to shake again. “Holy shit.”

Sirius shushed him softly, pulling him close with a kiss to the top of his head. “D’accord, mon loup, je t’ai.”

“I love you,” Remus sobbed. The fabric of Sirius’ suit was probably wrinkling under his tight grip, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I love you so much for exactly who you are, okay? Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I know.” Confusion edged his voice, but he kept it low and gentle. Remus loved him for it, wildly. The door creaked as Leo left, and then there was silence.

He finally pulled his face out of Sirius’ chest, kissing his jaw, cheek, and lips before resting his forehead in the curve of his neck. “Thank you.”

Sirius’ hands eased through the curls above his ears as he cupped Remus’ face in his hands. “What happened, Re?”

Remus shook his head as revulsion rose again. “There was this creep and he wouldn’t let me go. Said some shitty stuff.”

“He was homophobic?” An angry furrow appeared between Sirius’ brows.

“I wish.” Stan’s words rang in his ears and made his mouth bitter with shame. Remus closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Sirius’ face during his confession. “He, uh—he propositioned me. Kind of.”

“He what?”

“I didn’t catch on until he already had my arm.” Remus sniffled, pressing the heel of his hand below his eye to stem the tears. “He followed it up with some bullshit about you, and then some bullshit about me, and just wouldn’t shut up. I just froze. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, mon amour.” Sirius’ touch was so gentle on him, warm and broad compared to the crushing discomfort of Stan Martin. His hands were heavy, but they let Remus move however he liked.

“I love you,” Remus said again.

“I love you, too. Are you ready to go home?”

“I need a minute.” He rubbed his face against the soft lapels of Sirius’ jacket, desperate for comfort around the guilt wedged in his chest; his next words spilled out before he could choke them down again. “You still like me, right?”

“I love you so much—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You—am I still nice to look at? Now that I’m not, y’know, pretty and kinda twink-y.” There was a long stretch of silence. “Is that a yes?”

“Sorry, I had to take a second and stop myself from putting that fucking idiot through a table.” Sirius took a step back and met Remus’ eyes, fixing him with a hard look. “First of all, I love everything about you, and you will always be the most beautiful man on earth. Second, your muscles are the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. Third, you’ve never been—what word did you use?”

“Twink-y. It’s like…delicate. Femme. Etcetera, etcetera.”

More anger sparked in Sirius’ eyes. “Yeah, and you’ve never been delicate. You are the strongest person I know, Re. Whatever he said to you, it wasn’t true.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Absolutely.”

The ballroom was still crowded with high-end management and people Remus never wanted to see again when they finally left the bathroom; thankfully, the throngs of sparkles and dark suits made it easy for them to slip away with minimal human interaction. Stan Martin was over by the water cups, dabbing uselessly at a large wine stain across the front of his crisp white shirt—Remus saw Leo watching him like a hawk with a suspiciously empty wineglass in his hand and internally vowed to give him the biggest hug of his life at the next practice.

Remus slowed down to take in the fresh nighttime air, holding Sirius’ hand tight in his own as they crossed the parking lot. He paused at the passenger door and tugged him in for a slow kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and cologne.

Sirius’ arms wrapped around him and Remus melted into the hug. He felt him trembling slightly, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the chilly breeze. “You are the best part of my life, Re,” he whispered, his voice thick. “The best part, no matter what. I’m so sorry for what happened tonight.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours, either.” Sirius kissed the top of his forehead once before giving him a squeeze and going to the other side of the car. “I’m sure Hattie will agree with me once we’re home.”

Two hours, one hot shower, and thirty minutes of puppy cuddles later, Remus curled up against Sirius’ ribs and felt his chest rise and fall under his palm. “I love you,” he said quietly.

Sirius let out a slow breath and entwined their fingers, kissing the inside of his wrist. “Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

“Impossible.”

He could hear Sirius’ smile, even in the darkness of their bedroom, and fell asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

[notveryglittery]

battle weary

summary: he was supposed to have cried until he couldn’t anymore, put away all of his problems, and go about the next day like nothing had hurt him at all. wc: 2,850 / ship: platonic prinxiety (roman & virgil) warnings: lots of hurt feelings, mentions of manipulation and lying, brief questioning of one’s existence. lmk if i need to add anything! author’s note: y’all have @blinksinbewilderment​ to thank for this one. i was supposed to write roman-centric royality hurt/comfort first!! no biggie, though, this was pretty cathartic :) thank you @sleepless-in-starbucks​ for beta reading!

spoilers for “putting others first”!!!!  read on ao3 

— — — — — — — — — —

Roman’s head was so full of confusion and pain and swirling thoughts, he was sure he’d fall over from the dizziness of it. A dull ache was beginning to spread throughout his skull, reminding him of how hard he’d tried — of backtracking on insults and stumbling over opinions and attempting to fix what he’d broken. He could barely sift through what they had discussed. Selfishness was okay sometimes, Patton had sided with Deceit, they’d gone to the wedding for nothing. Roman had given up the callback, had ruined their chance at a breakout role, for nothing.

Tears stung hot at the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away, frustration bubbling up his throat, threatening to spill out in sobs or… or screams or curses or something, he didn’t know, he didn’t know if he wanted to know. Roman finally moved from where he stood, the spot he’d been rooted to since he sunk out, since Thomas lied about Roman being his hero, since Patton lied about loving him, since they both ignored Deceit manipulating and using and lying to them, to him. He barely made it up the stairs, each step feeling higher as he climbed, the intended destination of his safe and quiet room feeling harder and harder to reach.

He hadn’t even realized he’d passed Virgil’s door until it was opening and his voice was breaking through the fog Roman was losing himself in.

“Hey, Ro, c’mere.”

Alright then. Showtime, apparently.

Plastering on a smile and standing up straight, he squared his shoulders before turning to face Virgil. He looked tired but relaxed, purple plaid pajama pants on to match his hoodie. He must’ve been in the middle of a project because his hair was pushed back with a headband. Before Roman could ask what Virgil required of him, his hand was taken and he was pulled across the threshold. The room was considerably brighter than usual with the setting sun casting rays of light through the window, where the spider curtains had been tied back.

Virgil guided Roman to the bed, where he sat him down, before going to retrieve something from the closet.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your company,” Roman began, managing a genuine yet sarcastic tone, “but I am… quite spent from filming today. Will this take long?”

“Depends on how cooperative you are.” Virgil said, backing out of the closet and carrying something rather large, hidden under a blanket.

Cooperative. Hah. Roman allowed himself a bitter smile. He’d been cooperative all day and look where it had gotten him. “Very well,” he agreed, scooting over when Virgil sat down beside him.

Virgil handed the box over to Roman and removed its cover. The Disney princess wrapping paper had to have been from years ago, dug out of storage just for this. He glanced at Virgil, who looked like he might be shaking from nerves — it was hard to tell, though, whether they were the good or bad kind.

“What’s this?” Roman asked instead of opening it.

Virgil seemed confused by the question. “What’s it look like? It’s a gift. Duh?”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve it,” Roman said, frowning.

Virgil’s brows furrowed. “Well, not that you need to do anything to deserve a present every now and again, but… Okay, it’s for today’s episode. Is that a good enough reason?”

Roman’s grip on the box tightened a little. The sound of crinkling paper grated on his ears. That just made it worse. He’d blown up at Thomas and Patton, he’d laughed at Deceit’s name. Of course today’s episode wasn’t a good reason.

“I don’t think I can accept this.” Roman held the box out for Virgil to take back.

Virgil didn’t look annoyed or frustrated with Roman’s denial, which felt unfair. Everybody else was already mad at him, what was one more? Virgil took the present and set it on the floor before he pivoted, pulling his legs up onto the bed, and facing Roman.

“Alright. What happened today?”

“Nothing,” Roman answered immediately.

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Let’s not invite anyone unwanted to my room, okay?”

Roman doubted Deceit was even paying attention to any lies in the Mindscape. He was probably too busy living it up, celebrating his acceptance, relishing in the glow of approval from Patton and Thomas.

“I led our chat to the trolley problem and sorta put the lives of Thomas’ friends in danger. Surprised you didn’t feel that one.” How could he have done something so stupid? Especially after they all knew Thomas didn’t take well to putting Joan in harm’s way.

Virgil folded his arms over his chest. “Locked myself in here and kept very busy to avoid it all.”

Roman wasn’t sure how Virgil could have possibly not noticed the trashing of the living room and Patton’s boss battle, but he wasn’t going to question it. “Deceit took Logan’s place, again. Did a better job of it this time.”

Virgil tensed.

“Said how the way he manipulated me in the courtroom was just a prank. Funny. Wholesome.” Roman couldn’t be sure if it was a miracle or a testament to how well an actor he was that kept his voice steady. “I suppose I shouldn’t put words in his mouth. He probably just didn’t realize what I was saying. Clearly, for Patton and Thomas to agree with him, he can’t be as bad as I’m making him out to be.”

“Roman,” Virgil interrupted, tone edging with panic before he took a deep breath, which Roman unconsciously mirrored. “Back up. Hold on.”

Getting up from the bed, Virgil went shuffling through his drawers before pulling out his old jacket. It was folded neatly. “Outta the costume,” Virgil demanded, “we’re getting cozy.”

Too tired to argue, Roman freed himself of the constricting top and pulled the hoodie on over his undershirt. Virgil unceremoniously shoved a bunch of stuff onto the floor and settled at the head of the bed, with his back against the wall. He gestured for Roman to join him.

This was definitely on the list of things Roman didn’t deserve. … Still. The hoodie seemed to carry with it feelings of protection and determination and while he was sure he hadn’t earned being cozy, much less anyone to be cozy with, he didn’t quite have the energy to disagree. Not anymore. So he sat himself beside Virgil and took to breathing deeply while Virgil started talking.

“If anyone is familiar with being tricked and lied to by that snake, it’s me. I fell for it. A lot. He was crueler, when we were young. If…” he paused. Roman felt him move but he didn’t look, in case Virgil wanted some privacy. “If he’s got Thomas…” He huffed. “Thomas and Patton on his side…”

“We went to the wedding for nothing.”

“We went to the wedding to support Lee and Mary Lee.”

“Yeah, and Thomas was miserable and angry and regretful. Because of me.”

“Now, wait—”

“He lost his chance at fame because I sentenced him to the wedding. I gave up my dr— his… our dream.” Roman swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “In the act of selflessness. Because going to the callback was selfish and bad. I… I wanted to go to the callback. More than anything. Which makes me selfish and bad. Which means I don’t deserve gifts or to be cozy or to have a seat at the table or—”

Virgil’s arm shot up, looped around Roman’s neck, and yanked him down. The startled noise in response was muffled by the pillow he found his face shoved into. He adjusted, realizing that his head was resting now on a cushion on Virgil’s lap. Virgil sunk a hand into Roman’s hair and began combing his fingers through. He shifted so that his neck and back weren’t quite as uncomfortable in this new position but stayed put otherwise.

“I’m not trying to stop you from saying what you want or need to,” Virgil began, keeping his gaze at a spot on the far wall. “It’s just that you were magnifying. Princey, sometimes we’re told one thing for so long that anything that opposes it default becomes wrong. And then we find out that that isn’t true. It shakes everything else out of place.” He took a moment to brush the bangs out of Roman’s face. “It’s a lot to handle, much less if it’s coming from someone you trust.”

Virgil sighed and looked down at Roman. He smiled, only slightly. “I know it’s hard to be open about your feelings. You’re really good at hiding behind a mask.”

Roman bristled, denial on the tip of his tongue. “You would know.”

Virgil’s hand stilled as he grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” Roman said hurriedly. Panic raced through his veins. “That was out of line.”

Sighing, Virgil continued scratching gently at Roman’s scalp. “No, you’re right. It was a big secret to keep from Thomas for so long.”

“I guess… At least he’s had some time to think about it. Since all this happened and distracted him,” Roman offered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks.” He tugged a strand of Roman’s hair. “Back on track. You need to let us in, Ro. I’m guessing you had a lot to say when they pulled the rug out from under you?”

Roman hesitated, guilt squeezing painfully around his heart. He closed his eyes. “You could say that."

Virgil waited patiently.

"... He told us his name."

There was a long stretch of silence. So much so that Roman was afraid to even breathe.

"You laughed, didn't you?"

"I… yeah. And he. He compared me to…" Roman brought his arms up, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Virgil jolted, as if he were going to get up, but the weight of Roman's head on his lap stopped him. "He did what?"

A part of Roman was flooded with relief at the anger in Virgil's tone. Another part of Roman broke into pieces at the reminder that Thomas and Patton hadn't even tried to stand up for him.

"He may have had a point."

"Absolutely the fuck he did not." There was an electricity in the air now, as if Virgil's emotions were sparking off of him. "Sure, you laughing at an act of vulnerability isn't great. Comparing someone to everything they try not to be, that's… What the fuck?!"

"It's okay," Roman tried to say but the words got stuck, his throat closing up around them, as tears leaked unbidden from his eyes despite his best efforts.

"Ah, no, listen—" Virgil nudged Roman's hands away and then lifted him back up, cradling him against his chest. "You can cry, Roman. That's alright."

It wasn't, he wanted to argue, but shielded here from the disapproval of those that mattered to him most, and the crushing weight of failure, and the terror of not even knowing what the point of his existence was anymore… Virgil's arms held him close and tight, safe from harm, even if just for a few minutes… His shoulders shook as he sobbed, though hardly a sound came out.

Roman wasn't sure how long he stayed like that for but by the time he pulled back from Virgil, the room was considerably darker and the sky outside the window was black.

"Better?" Virgil asked, handing him a box of tissues.

"I don't know," Roman responded, voice hoarse and tone defeated. He wiped his face dry. "I don't think so."

"Might have a couple more bottles to empty, then."

"Pass."

Virgil turned on the bedside lamp. Roman flinched at the artificial light.

"I think the next step here is talking to Patton."

"I don't want to," Roman whined, not unlike a petulant child that didn't want to speak to their parents after being grounded.

"I'm not going to make you," Virgil promised. "You need to decide what happens first. Breaking down those walls between right and wrong, good and bad, with Patton? Apologizing to Janus for reacting the way you did but expressing clearly to him the damage he caused from the way he's treated you in the past? Opening up and trusting Thomas with your insecurities?"

"Can't I just go back to debating healthy sleep schedules with Logan?"

"You know he'd agree with me and send you right back to making this decision."

"Could you…" Roman hesitated, fidgeting.

Again, Virgil waited patiently. Roman wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. For all intents and purposes, he was supposed to have gone back to his own room to wallow in his misery and confusion. He was supposed to have cried until he couldn’t anymore, put away all of his problems, and go about the next day like nothing had hurt him at all. Instead, Virgil had diverted his course completely, and now he wasn’t alone while trying to put himself back together. It was… relieving. And terrifying.

“Could you… be with me? When I talk to them?”

Virgil grinned. “I’m proud of you for asking. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Roman thought that sentiment alone might tip him over the edge again, but he managed somehow to not burst into tears anew.

“I can do that, yeah. I’ll hang out on the other side of the room with my headphones on but I won’t actually listen to any music. That way, if you need help, you can call for me, and I’ll hear you. Is that okay?”

Roman nodded, not sure that he could keep his voice even if he spoke.

“I know there’s still a lot to unpack. I’m not saying that you are bad or wrong, but I think everyone involved in that conversation did and said some things that were bad or wrong. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but I can imagine things got heated and that you weren’t the only one to leave feeling bitterly, jittery, and not very glittery.”

Roman cracked a smile. “Patton turned into a giant frog monster.”

“What?!” Virgil exclaimed with a rough laugh. “Okay, wait, let’s go to your room. We’re having a sleepover tonight and you’re going to tell me what the hell happened earlier.”

Roman lit up, looking genuinely happy. Virgil’s heart ached, realizing how long it’d been since he’d seen such real emotion on Roman’s face. “Can you get snacks? There’s edible cookie dough in the fridge.”

“Yeah sure but don’t expect me to encourage your sweet tooth again after this,” Virgil teased, getting out of bed and helping Roman up too.

Roman picked the box up off the floor, clutching it to his chest. “Can I still have this?”

“Duh,” Virgil answered. “Go get the pillow fort set up, I’ll be there ASAP.”

Virgil opened the door, checking that the hall was clear, before gesturing for Roman to step out first. Before they could part ways completely, he caught Roman by the shoulder.

“I’m… really proud of you, Ro. You didn’t have to tell me anything. You’re willing to make amends. That’s pretty damn cool.”

Roman wanted to ignore the warmth blooming in his heart from such sincere praise but after everything else, it would have been hard to. He gave Virgil a tremulous smile. “I’m glad we’re friends. Thank you for looking out for me.”

A moment of silence followed and then they both took a step back from each other.

“Snacks. Edible cookie dough. Got it.”

“Pillow fort! I’ll even let you pick the first movie.”

Arriving in his room alone gave Roman a moment of pause. There was still… so much… that he had to fix. He took a deep breath. His time with Virgil, however, was a reminder that he wasn’t truly alone and that with enough time, patience, and support… Things could… things would get better.

[marvelbbyx]

Hell Hath no...Envy? (Envy Adams x Fem! Reader)

Request: @anon “hi love!!! wanted to please request a envy x reader? following the league on the other one where nobody knows you’re together and she’s your softie BUT.... she’s also possessive??? some other band lead manager or singer trying to flirt with you all night and she’s DONE WITH IT? mine??? (of course smut if you’re comfortable only!!!)”

Author’s Note: Part two to Your Sweet and Sour Girl!!

Warnings! SMUT!! Lucky Y/N...😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was long and arduous, but everything eventually went as planned and the concert was a raging success. Not that it came as a surprise to you of course, and in your opinion, you felt that it was the best one so far. So did Envy, because the second that the concert ended she took you to the tour bus to do some ‘warm-up vocals’ on her 10,000 thread count satin sheets. And the “I love yous” that were exchanged earlier only fueled the fire.

You were on the road to a gig in San Francisco, and you had a meeting first thing in the morning with another band manager for a tour plan—but at the moment—you were more focused on the way Envy’s lips tasted. You were on top of her, clothes forlorn and scattered haphazardly around her room; because neither of you couldn’t wait any longer and needed to have each other at that moment. Breathless moans escaped between kisses while your hands traveled each other’s bodies, exploring and memorizing every inch of each other. You freeze mid-kiss when you hear Todd call out for you,

“Y/N! You got a phone call!” You heard him bang on your door.

“Shit!” You hiss pulling yourself off of Envy, the both of you scrambling out of bed and rushing to put your clothes on.

“These people have a Spidey sense whenever we’re alone,” Envy murmured sourly as she pulls up her pants. “It’s starting to get annoying.”

“I know, we can never get any time to ourselves.” You say sliding on your leggings and then your bra. You hear Todd call you again, banging on your door like he was a police officer. “Fuck, where’s my shirt?”

“I think it’s under the bed,” Envy whispers. “It’s okay I’ll give you one.”

“Don’t you think he’ll know?”

“No, he can barely remember his cues let alone what you and I wear.”

It was true, the last time you got interrupted you slipped on Envy’s signature white jacket, practically parading around in it as you were talking to him. To which he never noticed.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t act like a spoiled brat things would be different!” You shouted at her mouthing after for her play along.

“I can act however I want! You’re the one that has to do whatever I say!” She shouts, quickly catching on to your plan.

“I don’t have to do shit you say!” You retort.

“Then why are you still here? Last time I checked you can leave whenever you want!” Envy hands you a Clash at Demonhead t-shirt, you go to pull it over your head but a part of the shirt gets snagged on your bra.

“Babe—I’m stuck. Oh god,” You croaked in a panicked whisper, your arms caught in an awkward position above your head. “If you don’t want me here so bad, then fire me!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, relax.” She moves behind you and tries to pull the shirt down from your bra only to get it tangled even more. “Damn, this thing’s on there really good -ahem- I mean...I would, but then you’d probably never find a better job!”

“Wow! Not like I haven’t heard that empty threat before!” Envy manages to get the shirt free, you pull it down; smoothing out any wrinkles before you would speak with Todd. “I love you.” You whisper only for her to hear.

“I love you too,” She plants a small kiss on your nose before moving to your lips.

Your fingers found the door handle, angrily storming out the room and meeting the white-haired band mate outside of your room, he was holding the landline in one hand while his eyes scanned you up and down curiously. “Were you wearing that shirt before?”

“Yes,” You answered quickly, snatching the phone from him. “I changed after the concert.”

“Ookay, it was just a question, Y/N.” Todd raised his hands in surrender before heading off to his room.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, then answer the phone in your best professional voice. “Hello, this is Y/N L/N, manager of The Clash at Demonhead, may I ask who’s calling?”

“Hello, Miss L/N, this is Caroline Briggs band manager for Heroines Of Hiking.”

“Ah yes, H-O-H, I’m a big fan.” You giggle.

“Yes, about our meeting tomorrow morning, was there a specific time that you wanted to meet?”

“No, I’m pretty flexible and comfortable with whatever time you wanted to meet.”

“Oh good, and also if it wasn’t too much trouble, do you think that Envy would be opposed to meeting Amber?”

“Umm...”

The answer would be yes. The answer would ALWAYS be yes. Amber was the lead singer to Heroines Of Hiking and she had the same temperament as Envy when she didn’t get her way. Maybe even worse. But like The Clash at Demonhead, Heroines of Hiking was a top-grossing band and this tour was very important to both music lovers and the bands. A highly talked about conversation over the past year.

You weren’t worried about the income from the tour, you could care less about that. But what did concern was whether or not your lover would get along with the other HBIC from a different band.

“I know how you feel,” Caroline spoke up before you could finish. “I feel the same way, I kinda didn’t want this tour to happen myself.”

“I’m just worried about the fire and gasoline situation.” You admit with a breath. “I’m not sure how it’ll affect the tour.”

“If stuff gets too out of hand then we can cancel it?” She suggests.

“I wouldn’t want that though, and I’m sure Nat—I mean—Envy wouldn’t either.” You say.

“No, of course not.”

“But what I do think is that we should keep them apart as much as possible so that there isn’t a chance for problems to start.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Caroline acknowledged.

“Great, is there anything else that you wanted to discuss?”

“No, no, I think we’ve settled it.” You can hear the smile in her voice.

You smiled back. “Alright, then I’ll see you tomorrow at...”

“9:30.”

“Perfect, see you then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next Morning [9:31 a.m.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hope you know what a terrible idea this is.” Your girlfriend huffed.

You were in an elevator leading up to Caroline’s office for the meeting, Envy had been griping the entire way. More now than ever. As if the second that the bus touched Californian soil, she grew tense and agitated like an animal before a storm.

“Sweetheart,” You tried to soothe her nerves by placing a hand on her cheek. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one performing with a stuck up bitch.” Envy bit harshly.

You laugh toying with a lock of her hair, “Hearing you say that is so weird.”

“And you’re not making it any easier for me...especially when you’re wearing that outfit.” She says, her eyes raking along the curves of your body. Her hands gingerly finding their way to your waist.

You wore a white collared blouse, accompanied by a skin-tight black pencil skirt and a matching blazer, the final touches were your black suede Louboutin heels and gold hooped earrings. You looked good, making you feel good too. Envy certainly seemed to think so—seeing as she couldn’t keep her hands off of you.

“Behave, Nat,” You tell her.

“But, Y/N,” She whines.

“If you act right during the meeting, I’ll give you a reward afterward.” Your voice was subtly sensual and smooth, a velvety whisper which got Envy’s attention fast. “And we can do it in this building, where we can be alone.”

Your lips covered hers in a long warm kiss that left her short of breath, slowly gaining momentum and passion but ceased when the elevator dinged to a stop. You pull away quickly once the doors slid open, Envy whining at the loss of your touch. Caroline waited for you on the other side of the metal doors as well as Amber, who looked like she never wanted to be here.

You felt like a mother bringing her child to a play date and expected said child to act appropriately so that you wouldn’t embarrassed. But the thing with Envy was that she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or stand down for anyone WHATSOEVER.

Caroline walks up to you with a grin, holding out her hand for you to take. “Hello! And good morning, Miss L/N and Miss Adams, I hope the drive wasn’t too terrible.”

“Oh, no not all,” You smile. “Trust me, after being in a tour bus for a while, no drive is that bad. Then again, I’m not the one driving.”

Caroline breathes out a laugh. “Well, I can’t argue with that, and how are you, Miss Adams?”

Envy forces a smile. “I’m great, thank you for asking.”

Amber stood by not saying a word, instead, she smiled, but not at Envy...but at you and not just a regular smile either. Of course, you were too caught up with Caroline to notice the girl staring at you like you were the last meal she’d ever receive. Even though you didn’t notice, your girlfriend did and it made her see red—or was it green?

You extend a hand out to Amber with a smile, “I’m a big fan of your work,” You began. “Not as much as Demonhead, but around there.”

She takes your hand. “Oh, I’m not worried, but I have a feeling you’ll be a Heroine fan after the tour.”

“We’ll see,” You chuckle. As you tried to let go of her hand, Amber kept a firm hold of it.

“You have soft hands.” She says, her thumb caressing the top of your hand.

“Thank you.” You say meekly.

A pang of jealousy struck Envy’s chest like an arrow to the heart, followed by a firm hand clapping on top of your shoulder, pulling you away from Amber. In turn, made her angry as well.

“Umm, follow me...my office is right this way.”

~~~~~~~~~

Throughout the duration of the meeting, Envy’s hand was placed protectively on your thigh the entire time. She didn’t even hear a word you or Caroline had exchanged, all she was worried about was someone moving in on her territory. And you weren’t just up for grabs either, that whole stunt with the ‘soft hands’ made her go feral. Holding/touching you as you made your way to Caroline’s office and after the meeting, you were good on your word. Giving her her reward for holding her tongue.

Although the same couldn’t be said for you, Envy couldn’t wait any longer and pulled you into the nearest office, making you scream as she brought you nirvana over and over and over again. Oh, how your legs quaked afterward...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first night of the tour, and Heroines Of Hiking was the first to go on stage. You were backstage helping out the band, you couldn’t afford anything to go wrong tonight. No wardrobe malfunctions, no faulty stage lights, no sound booth problems, absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Envy couldn’t say the same.

All day long, she would hear: “Y/N, you wanna share a pack of skittles?” or “Y/N, come watch me sing!” or “Y/N, what do you think about this outfit?” And she was livid. Fortunately, you wouldn’t give Amber the time of day, claiming that you would be busy or had something else to take care of. But the more you said no the more driven Amber was. And what really drove her crazy, was when you had to be around Amber.

If Caroline was busy or had to take care of business elsewhere you had to step in and take care of things on the Heroine side, one of them was helping Amber squeeze into a lace corset. Your hands were meant for Envy and her alone, everything about you was meant for her.

“She’s been bothering you all day.” Envy says through clenched teeth. “Doesn’t it get annoying?”

“It does, but I don’t pay any mind to her.” You reply as you finish sewing a button on Envy’s dress.

“I would hope not.” She grumbles.

You set down your sewing kit, draping your arms around Envy’s shoulders. “Baby, you have nothing to worry about, you’re the one I love.”

She wraps her arms around your waist. “Sweetie, I know, it’s just she’s being annoying with you.”

“Super annoying,” You laugh. “But come to my room after the gig, I’ll show you how much you really mean to me.”

Envy breathes deeply, her eyes fixated on yours, the hazel orbs darkened with every heaving breath that she took. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with excitement as she pulled you in closer, “Show me now then.”

Your eyes widen. “You have to go on soon.”

“I don’t care.” She says breathlessly.

“Nat—“ She silenced you by grabbing your hand and shoving you into Todd’s dressing room. Thankfully he wasn’t there otherwise he would’ve been in for one hell of a show.

Envy’s soft lips pressed aggressively against yours, knocking the wind out of your lungs as she kissed you with every ounce of passion that she had. Running her hands down your body, not like how you would normally make love but better. Hungrier.

“Nat—“ You mumbled against her lips. “Nat, wait—“

She pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. “Envy. You know that.”

“E-Envy,” You stammer.

“Better.” She says lowly before moving her lips down your neck. She stops at the base of your neck placing a soft kiss to your soft skin. Envy looks up at you through her lashes giving you a smirk, “You’re so pretty, baby.” She cooed. “It’s no surprise that people would want to be around you, but Amber...she needs to know not to touch things that belong to someone else. But she doesn’t know that you’re mine. So we have to fix that, Y/N.”

“Envy, wha-what are you—aahh!” You cried out as you felt her teeth sink into the base of your neck. Latching onto the skin violently.

You squirmed and writhed underneath her, whines of pain and pleasure erupting past your lips. A familiar warmth boiled in the lower pit of your stomach, that same warmth pooling between your thighs. God, this was so hot, especially with it being in Todd’s room. Her teeth detach from your neck with a loud pop, leaving behind a perfectly bruised bite mark.

“Beautiful,” Envy husks. “Now she’ll have to leave you alone.”

“Fuck me,” You breathe. “Fuck me right now.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the foreplay, baby. You want me that bad?” Envy rasps.

You nodded vigorously. “Yes, Envy.”

With that, she pushes you back onto Todd’s bed, your pants barely made it past your hips before two of her fingers delve into your soaked pussy. You throw your head back with a loud moan, gripping the back of Envy’s shoulders as she thrusts them deeper. The pad of her thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. You ground your hips into her touch, releasing throaty moans from deep within.

“You’re so wet, honey.” Envy grunts. “Feel so fucking good on my fingers.”

You moaned lewdly at the huskiness of her voice. She grabs onto your waist while her fingers slam into you, in a brutal and punishing pace, your ears were filled with wet, squelching sounds of her quickly moving in and out of you.

“Mmh—fuck!” You whined, feeling your walls contract against her fingers.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you, Y/N? Go ahead and let go, baby. I wanna smell you while I’m on stage.” She pants.

“Fuh—I’m cumming!” Your walls clenched and fluttered as she continued her pace, eventually leading you straight into your orgasm. You went to close your eyes but Envy gripped your face to look her in the eyes.

“Look at me when you cum, and only me.” She demands.

Your entire body twitched as you released into her hand, your breath sparse and labored as you came down from your high. Envy withdrew her hand, shoving them into your mouth. You sucked eagerly, the sweet yet salty taste of you flooding your senses.

Envy looks down at you, a sweet smile gracing her lips, she cups your cheek gently before leaning down to peck a kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whisper.

“Good,” She stands up from the bed. “Oh, and this is far from over. Stay right there, because that was just the beginning.”

Envy walks out of the room only to meet with Amber who had just finished her show.

“You’ve seen, Y/N?” She asks.

“Mm-hm, we just finished up some warm up vocals. Oh man, you should’ve heard her really reach those high notes. She was just screaming.” Envy smirks, making Amber’s eyes grow large. “Well, I have to go get ready, thanks for warming up the crowd for me.”

Not even a second after, you walked out. Your fresh love mark on full display.

Fuck.

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 14)

Title: Forgiveness is Not so Easy (the void will protect those shunned)

Summary: Phil and Techno are at the house. Ranboo isn't sure he likes it, but he's got his family to support him.

(Death is mad at Phil. He doesn't know it. Once she's done with something, she'll chew him out.)

Part One

Part 15

Masterlist

_________

Ranboo wished he was stronger. He wished he could put the past behind him and move on, but something held him back. Something looked him in the eyes and told him that he could not grow without closure, but even closure was too much to bear.

When he had looked over to the door and saw not only Technoblade but also Philza, leaning and eyes glassy, his first feeling was terror. It was an act- they had come here to kill him-

But his second thought was maybe they were here to kill Tommy. Or Sam. Or any of the family that had actually cared about him when he was at his lowest. Maybe Tubbo, Fundy, Purpled, maybe they wanted a way to Puffy. Because they hadn’t ever cared about him, so why would they now? Why would they have hunted him down? No, the world and the ones he used to live with both united in that they had left him behind, so it wasn’t Ranboo who was in trouble, it was his family.

When Sam had ushered Technoblade and Philza into the medical room, Ranboo let out a deep breath. “C’mon guys. Let’s go to our room.”

Tommy had taken one look at his wide eyes and agreed, as if he hadn’t just seen his father bleeding out over the man who’d once told him to die like a hero. “Yeah, let’s give them some space.”

They all ended up asleep, though he was sure that someone had gotten up, but Ranboo’s dreams were not kind. Had they ever been? Had he ever known compassion from something as simple as his own mind?

His dreams were plagued with heartache and pain, as his life had been, and though he was no stranger to it, he did not want it. He never wanted it, but no one ever cared about his opinions before he found this family.

Ranboo woke up gasping. He had already forgotten what the nightmares were about, but the adrenaline still pumped through his veins as he tried to calm down.

“You got ‘em, too?” Tommy whispered, from somewhere among the mass of blankets.

Ranboo swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice sounded hoarse. At least he hadn’t been crying. Had he? “Just memories. I think.”

Tommy shifted in the covers. “I know that you don’t like them. I have issues too, but… is it so much to hope that they feel sorry? I just want.. I know it’s selfish but I want them back. I have this family, but losing them… losing them still hurts.”

“I can understand that.” Ranboo said. “I think it all depends on what they do now, since we’re close together and can’t really avoid each other. It depends on how they act.”

Tommy hummed. “I hope they feel sorry.”

“If they don’t feel sorry now, after all they’ve done,” Ranboo whispered, “then they never will.”

“Yeah.” Tommy said, but he didn’t elaborate. They stayed in silence until weak beams of light began to shine through their window, and then even longer, until there was a soft knocking on the door.

It opened, and Sam stood there. “Ranboo? Tommy? Are you awake?”

“We sure are, big man.” Tommy said, and though his eyes were tired, his wings twitched. “What do you need?”

Sam hesitated. “Uh, Phil’s awake. He and Techno want to talk with you guys. You don’t have to, of course…”

Tommy’s wings drooped a little. “I guess. Will you be there?”

“If you want me to.” Sam said softly. “Or if you need space, I’ll just be outside the door.”

Ranboo thought about all that had happened. “You might… you might want to be further than that. If they want to apologise, and they mention what they’ve done… I’m not sure they’d get out of here alive.”

Sam huffed. “I’m well aware that they haven’t been great people, but if they want to apologise, then I’ll let them. You deserve to hear their apology.”

“Thanks, dad.” Tommy smiled lightly. “Do they want to talk now?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sam nodded, but Ranboo knew that he couldn’t keep them waiting. Not when Technoblade already had a short temper.

Ranboo clambered over the slumbering bodies of his family to get to the door. “Where’s Purpled? And Punz?”

“They chatted with Phil about what they were. I left a while ago, but Punz came up to me and said they wanted to talk to you guys. Purpled’s trying to sleep on the couch now.”

Ranboo wondered what their hybrid parts were, but he knew he’d find out eventually. “Alright.”

On the way to the medical room, they did pass Purpled on the couch, wings draped awkwardly over the edges. It didn’t look comfortable, and he grunted in acknowledgement as they went by. They got to the door to the room, and Sam put a hand on their shoulders.

“If you need something, anything, let me know, okay?”

Ranboo nodded, and Tommy opened the door.

Phil and Techno were on one of the beds, looking like they didn’t belong there. Ranboo thought for a moment that they really didn’t, they’d distanced themselves from family and in doing so they had forever condemned the possibility that they could fit. It was what they deserved, but Ranboo felt sorry.

“Hey Tommy, Ranboo,” Phil said slowly. “How, uh, how’ve you been?”

Tommy scoffed as he went to sit down on a bed. “Been doing alright, considering all of my trauma.”

Ranboo cracked a smile, but it fell when Techno started talking.

“Can’t have been too bad if you’re friends with Tubbo again, given that he exiled you.”

Tommy’s eyes were set alight. “Tubbo was never part of the problem. Dream was.”

“How?” Techno asked, and Ranboo thought he almost seemed genuine. “From my point of view Dream doesn’t have anything to do with what happened. Help me understand, Tommy.”

Ranboo spoke instead. “Dream’s manipulative. He didn’t like that Tommy stood up to him, so he needed Tommy gone. But gone would get rid of the fun of this server- so exilling him and getting him submissive was the best option. Setting George’s house on fire was never as bad as he made it seem, Dream just needed a reason to exile him. That’s why he never cared that I was part of it, too.”

Phil looked surprised. “You were part of it?”

“Yeah. My first day, and I was committing arson.” He scoffed. “Not that you care.”

“We can get to that later,” Techno said. “What happened in exile, Tommy? Why were you under my house?”

Tommy’s wings fell until they settled on the bed. “Dream’s manipulative. What more do you need? What haven’t you figured out, considering that you’re able to analyze everything I do?”

“I need to hear it from you,” Techno said. “Because otherwise, I can’t be sure.”

Tommy sighed. “It started out alright, other than the fact that he blew up all my stuff and made me start from scratch. Then he did it every day, he told me to put my armor in a hole, and if I didn’t, he threatened to put me in it. He said he was my friend, he said Tubbo hated me, and ghostbur disappeared. I made a party, and Dream sent out the invites, but no one came. Only Dream, and then I started believing that he was my friend.”

“But what made you run away?” Phil asked.

“I’m getting there.” Tommy snapped. “He kept getting into my mind, making me believe that I had no one but him. I really thought he cared about me, despite all that he did to me.”

“What’d he do?” Phil interrupted again.

Tommy hesitated, so Ranboo spoke up instead. “Abused him. Why do you think he flinches? Or did you not care enough to find out?”

“I said we’d speak about that later,” Techno growled. “One thing at a time.”

Tommy barged back into the conversation. “I think it would have continued, but Dream found the room where I kept all the important things I didn’t want blown up. He blew up the entire room, then everything that I had built while in exile. He said that I deserved it, because I had disobeyed. I said sorry, but he said it wasn’t enough. He said that I needed to be punished, and I believed him, but I was so sick of it all, I was sick of exile, I was sick of life. So I took whatever building supplies remained from everything I’d worked so hard on, and I built into the sky. I didn’t reach as far as I’d wanted, but it would have been enough. I could almost touch the clouds. Then…” He trailed off.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Ranboo whispered, and Tommy just curled into his side.

“I’ll be fine. I was on that… the fucking pillar, looking down at the ground, when I realized what Dream had been doing. I’d almost let him win. I couldn’t let him win, so even though I knew my eyes were grey and I woke up every night submerged in the water, I jumped. I landed in a little lake, and ran. I ran to the snow, because I knew it would cover any footprints I made. I found your house, and I meant to just take some supplies, but it was so warm, and some part of me still hoped you’d care about me. So I burrowed under your house and tried to sleep.”

Techno made a small sound. “And you grew your wings?”

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. “It was hell.”

“I’ll bet.” Phil huffed. “Why didn’t you have Techno call me?”

“Because I thought he wanted to put an axe through my skull.” Tommy snapped. “And I wasn’t exactly proven wrong, was I? What made you think it was a good idea to decimate my home?”

“I was angry.” Techno grumbled.

“That’s not a healthy way to take out your anger,” Ranboo argued. “And don’t you dare blame it on your voices. I know you could’ve ignored them. I know you have before.”

“They were a government,” Techo began, and Tommy groaned.

“He was sixteen!” Tommy exploded. “You expect a sixteen year old to run a country? He was stressed, and grieving, and you certainly didn’t help! The problem isn’t Tubbo, it’s that you expected him to be an adult when he never got to grow up. The problem isn’t a government, it’s that you wanted to be the most powerful thing on the server. You wanted an equal playing field, and for you, that means you control what everyone does. You weren’t some savior, you were just some overpowered guy with anger issues who wanted to destroy everything.”

Techno didn’t have a response. Ranboo figured there wasn’t really any way to respond to that.

“I guess,” Techno started after a tense silence, “you may have a point.”

Ranboo snorted, and Techno shot him a look that probably was supposed to be playful, but he couldn’t help but flinch.

Phil sighed. “And we heard what went down with Dream’s lair. Do you want to tell us about your, uh, your issues?”

Ranboo cracked a smile as Tommy draped a wing across his shoulder. “The main cause of my problems begins with D and ends in ream, pretty much. I heard his, well it wasn’t him, but it sounded like him, his voice, in my head, sometimes. Telling me I did things that I didn’t, or maybe I did. I can’t remember. It stopped when I went to the End, or sometime after. I don’t know why.”

“And why’d you go to the End?” Phil asked.

He breathed deeply. “I overheard you guys talking about your, your syndicate, or whatever you called it.”

“Oh.” Techno said, like he knew where this was going.

“I don’t even remember why I was there, but I heard Technoblade, who’s notorious for hating people using him as just a weapon, speaking about how he could send me to be their assassin to relieve them of the blame. How he could take advantage of my forgetfulness, and then I thought, surely Philza of all people would shoot that idea down, but I had to stand there and listen to Philza agree with Techno.”

Phil wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Ranboo kept going. “So I figured, this can’t get much worse, but then, and here’s the best part of it, I listened to Technoblade say that he hoped that I didn’t mistake our relationship for a personal one, because it was purely business. How was that supposed to make me feel?”

Techno wouldn’t meet his eyes either.

So, he kept going. “So I packed up my stuff, and I prepared to leave. But then, Phil noticed I was leaving. He didn’t bother to notice that I was being suspicious, almost as if he wanted me gone. The rest is history, the Enderman of the End don’t like me all that much.”

Tommy looked over at the people who used to be his family. “So? Your turn. Are you going to try to justify your actions?”

“No,” Phil said, and Ranboo noticed he almost seemed mortified. “No. Admittedly, we might have meant everything then, but after we tried to talk to Tommy last, we spoke about everything. We tried to figure out why you were angry at us, and we realized, well, we had this huge realization that, well, we’d fucked up.”

“You think?” Techno laughed. “We, amidst our thinking, might have noticed that we are, quite possibly,”

“Massive jerks?” Ranboo asked.

“A pair of bitches?” Tommy offered.

Phil and Techno both laughed a bit. Ranboo tried to not be scared.

After a while, Phil quieted. “I just… you guys are allowed to feel mad. You can be angry. But… I want you to know that we’re sorry. We’ve noticed that we’ve done wrong, we want to make it better, but it’s your choice. If you never want to see us again, we understand, but… we want a chance to fix our relationships.”

“From a business standpoint?” Ranboo asked, and Techno winced.

“I deserved that.” He admitted.

Tommy thought for a moment. “Well, as much as I would like to never have to see Techno’s ugly face or Phil’s old-ass one again, you seem at least half genuine. I guess I could give you a chance, but it’s not me that should be the deciding factor. Sure, you hurt me, but I’ve got a shit-ton of other things to get over before I even start to address it. Ranboo’s the man you should speak to about forgiveness.”

Ranboo didn’t like all the eyes on him, but he knew it was necessary. “I…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know. Me leaving led to a bunch of other trauma, and I… I just don’t know if,”

Phil smiled gently. “That’s okay. We can leave, or we can stay, or if you want to take it slow we can visit later…”

“No,” Ranboo shook his head. “You’re hurt. I’m not gonna kick you out. Just… I might not come see you for a while.”

“That’s okay,” Techno said. “Are you okay if I walk around?”

“If you take off your weapons.” Ranboo said, after a pause. “I can’t really expect you to stay cooped up here.”

“I’d do it if you asked me to.”

Ranboo tried not to immediately latch onto the fondness in Techno’s voice. He grew attached to people easily. He knew that. He’d just have to hug Sam or something after this.

“No, it’s fine.”

So that’s how Ranboo ended up in his room, alone. He still didn’t trust Techno, but he knew Tommy had missed them. He knew that Purpled and Punz needed their help. So, he’d tolerate it.

The door opened and he burrowed out from under the blankets just enough to see who was intruding on his brooding.

“Awww,” Tubbo cooed. “I know you’re probably sad but you look really cute in your little blanket cocoon.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but feel a little happier. “Whatever you say, Tubbo Underscore.”

“Can I get you anything?” Tubbo asked, softer. “I know this is rough for you.”

“What about you?” Ranboo asked. “Doesn’t the festival still scare you?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I dunno. I have nightmares about it sometimes, but it’s in the past. We’re even, too. I didn’t kill him, though.”

“It doesn’t change that he still did that to you,” Ranboo argued as Tubbo sat down. “How do you forgive him?”

“I don’t want to live with the feeling that not forgiving someone brings,” Tubbo admitted. “It might be a weak reason, but I want to move on. I don’t want to think badly of anyone. I will, if I need to, but Techno is trying to be better, I think. I don’t really know, he’s a hard person to read, but I tend to give people as many chances as they want, so I dunno.”

Ranboo grinned. “That’s a lot of ‘I don’t know’s Tubbo.”

Tubbo scoffed. “And you’re here listening, so��”

Tubbo stayed a little longer, until dinner.

Dinner was a tense affair. There were a lot of failed jokes, a lot of winces, a lot of silence. They were healing though, slowly. Ranboo knew it’d be a while, but he knew that Tommy had talked with them while he had hidden, so maybe they’d be okay. They talked about moving closer, since living in the arctic was a little unnecessary, and Ranboo was conflicted on it. He faked nonchalance, but he doubted anyone other than Phil and Techno believed him.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He expected to just stay up, but around what he predicted was… midnight, Purpled turned over and groaned.

“Are you going to fall asleep or should we just watch a movie?”

Ranboo froze. “What?”

“Oh.” Purpled realized. “You weren’t there when I told everyone. I’m part Phantom.”

“I’m gonna act like I know what a Phantom is.” Ranboo chucked, feeling how the exhaustion was creeping over his body.

Purpled laughed. “True. Want me to tell you, or do you think that you’ll be up for a long time and wanna do something else?”

“Just talk.” Ranboo said. “I’m pretty tired.”

“I’d bet,” Purpled responded, and crawled over to where Ranboo huddled. “So, a phantom is an undead creature, which is kinda concerning, but that’s why I look like I need some rest. It can fly, and in worlds where they aren’t banned, they show up when someone hasn’t slept in three days, which is why I have characteristics that center around sleep. They don’t like daylight, which is why Punz gets a headache from sunlight, I guess. Uhh…”

Ranboo leaned his head on Purpled’s shoulder and sighed. “Continue.”

“I will. Oh, my eyes glow. I don’t know why, but it might be because there’s something to do with invisibility potions don’t work on their eyes? I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening when Phil talked about it. They’re apparently the fastest mob, so that’s why Punz is fast, uh, what else… you getting sleepy there?”

Ranboo hummed.

Purpled went on. “Oh, elytras are made of phantom membrane. Since you can only get elytras from the End, I guess that’s why I found the portal.”

Almost asleep, Ranboo frowned. “Don’t go to the End. It’s not nice.”

“Not nice?”

“No. The creatures don’t like me, but the void does, I think.”

Purpled frowned too. “The void?”

“Yeah. The void talks to me. She calls herself Death, but I don’t believe it. She was mad at Phil.”

“Yeah?” Purpled asked, and it’s clear he doesn’t really believe Ranboo. “Death and you had a chat?”

“Mhmm. She said she had to stop. She was nice, though.”

“Don’t go chatting with death.” Purpled said softly, as Ranboo started to drift asleep. “I want you to stay alive, okay?”

Ranboo nodded, but he was asleep a few seconds later, leaving Purpled alone with his thoughts.

If he was part of an undead mob, and Death was a real being, hypothetically, would he be able to talk to her? Purpled ended up deciding it was a question for another day, because it wasn’t really his problem. Death would show herself eventually, if she was mad at Phil, poor guy.

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer Final | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut, some angst, fluff (???) Rating: 18+ Pairing: demon!jungkook x FemConstantine!reader ft. Beezlebub!Hobi (briefly) Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: dom!jungkook, mentions of suicide (brought up previously), oral (f receiving), lots of bodily fluids, light breath play, unprotected sex, ass play, there is a blood ritual of sorts (use of a knife to cut hand for said ritual), more of Jungkook’s body parts warm up (yes, his cock does it again).

“You're quite alone. I'm... well, I'm just like everything else around here. Just like you, really. Just another dream becoming a nightmare.” -John Constantine, Prime Earth

You awoke again, not even realizing that you had fallen asleep. This time he was gone. The space beside you was cold and vacant. You sat up, groaning, because you felt like you had the shit beat out of you. But for some reason, you had never felt better. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you softly slipped down off it. You kept a steadying hand on the bed because being in bed for months did you no favors but you had a nagging feeling that the short amount of time you seemed to be here, he was healing you a lot faster.

The room was warmed by the fire and you noticed the spear was gone. Looking around, this room wasn’t unlike others, minus the grey cast, and there was no clear indication you were even in Hell. Except for the feeling. Hell had a way of feeling different.

Trying the door handle, it gave way easily, swinging open with no sound at all. The hallway beyond was just as dark and lit with candles that were melting around the twisted metal. The soft, grey glow barely illuminated to the middle of the hallway. The floor was lined with expensive rugs that protected the black, shiny wood beneath. Hideous portraits and scenes lined the walls. Many seemed to be sneering at you from the darkness. There were no sounds, which made it all the eerier. There was no draft, no distant conversation, or the occasional scream. One end of the hall curved towards the right, so you decided to take that direction since the other way was lined with doors that seemed to stretch on for forever. There were many illusions in Hell because you had encountered them. You didn’t think the House of Satan would be any different. Moving slowly, you kept to the carpet and tried not to look at the pictures on the walls. As you made the curve in the hallway you saw it open wide on the left into what appeared to be a very large room. From where you were you saw bookshelves lining the walls and you heard what sounded like a very large fire burning. You approached even slower as you looked around the corner. The room seemed to be a large sitting room and library with a very large fireplace. The sculptures on it were ornate; large golden serpents twisted amongst the branches of an apple tree and above that in stone was a visage of purgatory. Someone was sitting on a long leather couch, back to you, and engrossed in a book. He appeared to be in a suit, hair meticulously done, and slicked back with an undercut. When his hand came up to turn the page you recognized a very familiar tattoo you had seen on numerous occasions. You stepped into the room with a little more confidence now.

“Hello, Bee.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out in a croak.

He turned around smoothly as if he expected you to be there and narrowed his eyes at you.

“He let you out?” he chuckled.

“I woke up alone, so I walked out.”

He clicked his tongue and whistled before turning back to his book.

“He won’t be too happy about that,” he said as he crossed his leg over the other and picked the book back up closer to his face.

“Bee, what’s going on?”

He sighed as he sat the book back down on the couch.

“Why do I engage you ever, Hellblazer?”

“Because you’re my favorite Prince,” you said jokingly.

He had up until you met him, been your favorite. He was the only one you could hold a civil conversation with when it came to your dealings in Hell. He didn’t seem to hold as much disdain for you as everyone else did.

“Sit down.”

“And where is everyone?”

“You say that as if you live here and this place is usually bustling with life. I can assure you that this place is just as hopeless as it looks. Abandon all hope and whatever else.” He said it flippantly and with a wave of a hand as if he were bored of the subject. “Hellblazer, there is a war happening. He’s taken the General for his own and is using his military power to control his armies.”

“Heaven won’t stand a chance against him.”

“That’s the point.”

“So, why am I here?”

He screwed his face up as he looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

“How should I know? I thought maybe he was just playing with his food.”

You hadn’t thought of that. But why keep you alive and heal you? There must be some reason he was doing all of this.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

“Excuse me?”

“If he does what I think he’s gonna do, then you’ll see.” He winked at you as he picked up his book once more. “You’ll probably want to get back to his room before he gets back.”

You tried to bore holes into the side of his head with your eyes, but you knew he wasn’t going to relent and give you any more information. Huffing, you stood from the couch, and left him to his reading. When you rounded the curve this time, the hallway didn’t stretch into infinity, but made a ninety degree turn to the left a few doors down from his room. Yet another illusion to throw off any would be intruders. You slipped back into the room to find it just as you had left it.

With nothing to do but wait, you fell back on the bed and resigned yourself to staring at the velvet drapes of the four poster bed. Just when you felt yourself slipping into sleep, the air pressure in the room changed as the door was opened. You sat up suddenly to see who was in the room with you when you saw him. He was adorned in golden armor, it looked so thin yet impenetrable, as it laid over itself almost like a dragon scale pattern. The breastplate was adorned in filigree and gems that caught the light of the fireplace and made him shine in the dull light. The golden spear was grasped firmly in his right hand and planted on the floor.

“I see you feel better,” he finally spoke. “Are you hungry?”

Your stomach growled at the suggestion of food. He laughed as he pointed behind you and beyond into the room. You turned to see a table laden with food that hadn’t been there before.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, turning back around.

“I told you you’d be better off in Hell,” he said as he moved to place the spear in its place by the fireplace. “You should eat.”

You got up from the bed and walked over to the table. There were several types of roasted meat, vegetables, pastries, breads, and some other things you didn’t recognize. Grabbing a piece of bread, you popped it into your mouth and turned back around to see him now in his standard black suit, sitting in a chair by the fire and a leg thrown over the arm of the chair. He looked casual, but you could also tell he was on edge. You gestured towards him and then to the spear.

“’War’ things?” you asked as you threw up one hand in air quotes.

He studied your face before speaking. “This is a lot more serious than you think, _____.”

“So, what happens then?” You grabbed a few more things off the table before walking over and taking the chair across from him.

You had woken up in a simple, long black shirt and you didn’t feel the need to change it in your wanderings. Not that you had any more clothes packed away for Hell. His eyes shifted to your thighs as you sat, the shirt moving ever so slightly up your legs. He licked his lips and you grabbed the hem, pulling it down and placed your food on your lap.

He looked at you now if you had just asked a ridiculous question.

“Heaven falls.”

You shuddered. There had always been a balance between good and evil and even though evil peeked through a little bit more, it was never enough to be of concern. You had never lived in such an imbalance and honestly it scared you.

“How can you be sure?”

“He lost his best asset.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Don’t I have to be?” He produced a glass of wine from somewhere and started to sip the red liquid slowly.

“Are you scared?”

The question caught him off guard as his eyes flashed to yours. The dull light of the fire burned in his eyes and at first you thought he was going to be angry with you. He took a few more sips, face turned back to the fire, but he hadn’t answered you yet, so you decided to wait. You took small bites of the food in your lap, but you were slowly losing interest.

“You humans are so sentimental when it comes to relationships,” he started.

Maybe angels didn’t have feelings quite like you did, but you guessed that he felt something.

“In the infancy of Heaven, none of us felt anything. We were meant to protect the human race and that was it. No feelings, no opinions. Just blind trust that He would tell us the right thing.” He swirled the wine in the glass absently, leg still casually thrown over the arm of the chair. “But we soon discovered that He didn’t have our best interest in heart and Lucifer was just the first to say something. I felt like a coward as I stood by, Lucifer defying Him in such a way. I agreed with him, but I was too afraid to say anything and then…” He trailed off looking solemn as his hand stilled, head hung low, and bottom lip jutted out in almost a pout.

You held on to the plate tightly, engrossed in a story that was known to millions, but you were here hearing it firsthand.

“He made me banish him,” he said softly. His voice was mournful, laced in regret. “I remember the look in his eyes when He told me to send him out of the gates.” He lifted the glass and emptied it. “I betrayed Lucifer because I was too afraid to say anything. He put up a fight too. It was a thunderous event. Days afterwards, the skies were black, and Heaven remained dark. He assured me I had done the right thing, but I knew I hadn’t. It just took me this long to defy him myself. The fact that Lucifer was willing to take me was just fortunate.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking. “What would you have done if he didn’t?”

He shrugged without looking at you.

“Why did you mark me?”

At that, he looked at you again. He swung his leg off the arm and sat forward, elbows on his knees as he still held the glass in his hands. He stared at you pensively, searching your face again.

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what? Why?” In your moments awake at the Vatican, the Pope had instructed you of your new mark on your skin.

“I’m protecting you from the aftermath this war might, and will likely, have. When Heaven falls, Earth will be swarmed with demons and they’re not going to be merciful. People will be taken as slaves, killed, and made to live in a waking nightmare. Hell will extend to Earth because Lucifer wants to expand his kingdom. It’s nothing personal against humans.”

“Then why?”

He pursed his lips together, eyes flitting to the fire, and they shined brightly. He switched the glass from hand to hand.

“That one is a little harder to explain.”

“Then try. I’m just a human after all.” You said it with some disdain. He acted so casually as if basically wiping out humans was just something he did every once in a while.

“I get your apprehension about me.”

“Yea,” you said, getting emboldened and a little angrier, “you’ve brought me here twice and just dumped me at home with no explanation, completely confused, and then dying in the middle of the fucking Vatican. I’d like some type of answer as to why I’m marked by two denizens of Hell now without so much as ask-“

You were cut off by the shattering of the wine glass as it hit the floor. He came forward, dropped to his knees in front of your chair, swiped the plate off your lap, grabbed your face, and pulled your lips to his.

He didn’t answer because the answer scared him.

Your body relaxed further as he kissed you, pain washing out of your muscles, and relaxation settling in its place. It was almost as if being with him was like morphine, dulling any anxieties you had, and it confused you so badly that you were pushing him away. His lips were flushed red and his eyes looked large and almost innocent.

“I don’t understand…,” you trailed off as his hands came to rest on the tops of your thighs.

“Fuck,” he said sitting back on his heels and running his hand through his hair.

Your breath caught as he did so, profile turned to you and face illuminated by the grey fire. His features were in sharp shadow and he was even more devastatingly beautiful.  A whisper of fine, shiny dust emanated from around him. It was iridescent and only eye catching if you looked hard enough, but now that you could see it you couldn’t take your eyes off it. It was heavier behind him where his wings once were, floating outwards and dissipating into the room.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

Heaven still fell from his shoulders in the form of the beautiful remains of who he once was.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “At first, it was mild curiosity. The Hellblazer,” he laughed. “A human who sold her soul to the Devil, banishing demons, and had even killed herself once.”

You hated when anyone brought it up. It was a blot to who you were as a person, but it always seemed to be the subject of conversation when you were around a demon. Why were you so special that Lucifer himself spared you? At times, even you couldn’t explain it.

“I wanted to experience you for myself. You were like a beacon in the night. You lit up the darkness and your whole entire being seemed to call to me.”

He seemed to struggle internally on what to say and what not to say. He still didn’t seem to want to look at you, but he sighed and dropped his hands to his knees, head hanging in defeat before he looked up at you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it, ­­­____. I want you. I want every part of you. I want to protect you. I want you to be mine. I want you stay here, but I can’t make you.” He looked up at you pleadingly, stooping to a level he never thought he’d be at. “I can remove the mark.”

Your hand immediately flew to your heart and he followed the action, face falling as yours brightened. But now, your mind was turning, flowing through thoughts and images of your life. You essentially had nothing. You were only trying to redeem yourself through failed exorcisms, wading through life having wished your suicide worked all those years ago. Here, around him, you felt a little less empty. Could you be happy in Hell? Sometimes where you were already felt like Hell, so what could it hurt to go a little deeper?

Your eyes found his and they shone brightly in the muted tones of the room. The soft halo of color around him accentuated his form and he seemed to glow a little brighter. You fell a little deeper the more you looked at him and soon you were slowly leaning towards him. Instinctively, he rose up on his knees just a little, not wanting to assume what you were doing. Your hair fell into your eyes as you leaned a little closer. His hand shot out to catch it and tuck it behind your ear, stunning you into stopping. His hand froze against your cheek as he stared into your wide eyes. Your heart thrummed painfully in your chest. You tried to breath calmly through your nose, but your tense body was giving you away. He stayed still, gauging your reaction, that much you could tell. Everything in your body was pointing you in the right direction, towards him. It was as if your skin was magnetized and it only knew him. You leaned your face into his palm, feeling the heat of his skin against yours and it almost seemed to burn coldly. He closed the space between you, lips connecting with yours gently. He sighed as you reciprocated, bringing his other hand up to your neck as he deepened the kiss. As much as you felt reborn and empowered around him, something was missing. Your whole body seemed to ache with a loss you couldn’t quite place and with a pleasure that only he could stir inside of you. He let go of your face in favor of shoving his hands under your thighs, lifting you as he stood. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he put your legs around his waist, hands sliding to your ass. All the while he was kissing the curve of your jaw and drawing your earlobe between his teeth. You moaned and leaned into him, nestling your face into his neck and kissing the skin there. He breathed heavily against you as he walked and sat you on the edge of the bed, leaning over you so your fell to your back as he continued to kiss you. His hands were all over you body as if he didn’t know what he wanted to touch first. His fingers grazed over your nipples beneath the shirt and he felt them harden under his touch. You moaned, arching your chest upwards towards his but he moved with you and kept his distance. You broke the kiss and grasped at his biceps.

“Please touch me,” you said breathily.

He moaned as he grasped your waist, sliding his hands upwards, pushing your shirt up passed your breasts. You held your arms up as he moved the shirt upwards, pausing to wrap his lips around your nipple and suck it into his mouth before pulling it off the rest of the way.

“Please stay with me,” he whispered back gently into your ear.

His hand was hot on your hip, just above the waistband of your underwear. The other skated up your side causing chills to spread across your skin.

“I will.”

His lips found yours as he ground himself against you.

“Take these off,” he said, snapping the band of your underwear. He stood up and began discarding his clothing to each side of him. He suit jacket hit the floor, followed by his white button down that was thrown somewhere to his left, and this time you let your eyes wander over his tattoos without fear. Many were old, from the time of his creation, to more recent ones after his fall into Hell. He wrapped his inked hands around your calves and pulled you to the edge of the bed, dropping until he was eye level with your dripping cunt.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he said before licking a stripe up your center, causing you to moan. He kept your thighs apart, arms wrapped around them, and his hands grasped firmly against your thighs. “Fuck, I’ll make you mine.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, and you shuddered, hips stuttering against the bed. “You’ll be even more beautiful, even more so than Lilith.” His mouth covered your clit as his eyes met yours in a heated stare. His eyes blackened until the whites were almost gone. Your body heated so hot from the inside out you thought you were about to combust. He leaned back a little, mouth wet and almost dripping. “All of Hell will know who you belong to.”

He dove back between your legs as if some life saving potion were there. You cried out as his tongue teased circles on your clit before dipping down to explore more of you. He was being selfish. He wanted all of you and he wouldn’t feel complete without it. He lapped at you sloppily, pulling you harder and harder into his face. You ground your hips against him, and he moaned. His fingers were digging into your skin until you were sure you’d see bruises tomorrow. Your fingers were in his hair as you began to fuck yourself against his face, feet digging into his shoulder blades. His lips heated up against you and they brushed wetly across every part of you. Even now, you could feel his pout. His left hand now firmly held your ribcage and then he was inched forward and grabbed your breast fully in his hand. His palm heated instantly, causing an entirely different sensation than what you expected. You rutted against his face even harder and soon his teeth were brushing over your sensitive clit, before moving downward to dip his tongue inside of you, his nose stimulating you now. His moans were low, deep, and came from the back of his throat and they seemed to pulse up through your body. His lips warmed even more as he lapped lewdly now. Your hips circled on his face and you dripped down onto the bed no matter how much of you he tried to swallow. Your orgasm struck forcefully, his tongue inside of you to catch every drop. With your body twitching on the bed, he leaned forward, placing kisses against your stomach and kissed the curve of your neck gently.

“I can make you feel whole again,” he said against your skin.

Your entire body was flushed with sweat, totally spent, and muscles now melting into the mattress. But his comment sparked something inside of you. Could he feel it too?

“How?” you asked. Your fingers skated across the scars on his back and then up to his neck where you held on tightly, looking him in the eyes.

“I can give it back to you.”

You didn’t think you’d ever see stars again, agreeing to come to Hell, but his eyes held thousands. They were no longer completely black, but a soft chocolate, reflecting a strange milky way.

“Give me…what?” you whispered, falling into the void that was his gaze.

“Your soul.”

The ache in your chest blossomed and overcame the pleasure you had felt. Now the ache you felt had a name, had a face, and you were looking straight at it. That explained how you felt around him. He heightened everything inside of you that you wanted to have, but he also emphasized the large hole inside of you too; the thing you didn’t really try to think about and what it cost you.

“But…if I get it back won’t I just di­-,” he cut you off with a kiss to the side of your mouth.

“I won’t let you die. I’ll bind your soul to mine.”

Nothing about what he said should have lit the type of fire inside of you like it did. You were hungry for more. For more of him. You turned your face to meet his lips fully, pulling him against you. He was rutting his hips against you, his cock nudging your entrance. You pushed your hips upwards and he moaned as he entered you the slightest bit.

“Make me yours,” you said hotly.

His eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled back. He pushed against you a little more forcefully, fully pushing inside of you. He sat up, hand at your throat as he began to thrust a little harder. He didn’t press as hard as he had before, but just enough pressure to make it pleasurable. He watched the pleasure flit across your face as you grabbed his wrist. He brought his other hand to your neck, pressing his thumbs up into your jaw. You were practically drooling as he fucked you, building up that pleasure inside of you as his cock warmed.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he moaned as he pressed into your skin a little harder. You were wet around him, dripping even more onto the sheets below you. He released his grip on your neck, but you kept your eyes closed as he continued to fuck you. Producing a knife, he made a quick cut in his left palm, dropped the knife and dipped his pointer finger into the blood. He pressed it against your skin and your eyes flew open at the hot, wet feeling. Your eyes found his and you could tell he was concentrating, but it didn’t make you afraid. You found yourself falling into the feeling of him once more as he continued to draw across your skin, skillfully sliding into you all the while. It only took a few minutes before he was leaning over you, his hips slowing to a more languid pace, brushing against your clit softly as he pressed against you, careful not to smear the blood.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he kissed your temple.

You nodded, looking at him squarely as he came into you view over you. He looked at you hard for a moment before pressing his hand right over your heart. Pain shot into every nerve ending. It felt as if fire ants crawled across your skin and bit every inch. Flames licked at your toes and you wanted to scream but you couldn’t. He was holding you to the bed as your body begged to move, begged to die. You were hoping the death would be quick. Anything had to be better than this. Soon, your body would shut down as it went into shock and maybe the pain wouldn’t be so bad. The flames began to die out, ice taking its place as a dull chill crept across your skin. It pricked at your fingertips, becoming uncomfortably cold as if you had stuck your hand in ice for too long. You became sleepy, but this was a different kind of sleep. It was almost as if everything were quietly shutting down together. If this was how dying felt it wasn’t so bad. The last time you tried, you hadn’t been able to actually die. It was almost as if you and all the friends you loved laid down together in each other’s arms, sleeping into the beyond. Slowly, your heart began to skip a beat here or there. Your lungs tried just a little harder to draw in air. Your heart skipped every third beat. Your eyelids got heavier and your breathing got shorter. Your body felt heavy as if someone had laid a weighted blanket over you. Your heart beat one more time and then stopped.

Everything came back in a blinding white light. Warmth flushed over your body like a warm river and the feeling came back to your fingers and toes. Your skin no longer burned but felt soothed as if someone had rubbed a healing balm over your entire body. You breathed in deeply and exhaled even longer, life coming back into your lungs. Your heart beat softly in your chest.

What you couldn’t see nor feel, was currently happening before his eyes. He watched with rapt fascination and desire as the same tattoos he bore slowly etched themselves across your skin. Your name spelled out slowly in red lines, also in Hebrew, but it wasn’t your Christian name. Hellblazer. Lucifer’s mark disappeared from your skin as another of his own sigil appeared over your heart then another, upside down, etched itself over the other, signaling the binding of souls.

Your eyes flew open as you inhaled as if coming up for air after being held under the water. The room came into focus in blinding color. Now fully a citizen of Hell, you could see it for its true beauty. Emerald stone fireplace, golden fixtures, dark as midnight velvet curtains, and the fire that burned was the truest red you had ever seen.

He slammed his hips into yours and the pleasure shot back into your limbs causing you to fall instantly into an orgasm.

You finally felt whole. The pull to him even stronger now. It was so strong you were sure he could be millions of miles away and you’d still be able to find him. Fire and passion burned inside of you, in your soul, and you were finally able to feel. The bond even affected him as he shuddered against you, but he kept pounding into you with a force that only hinted at his need for you. He pushed his hands underneath your back and up to your shoulder blades, pulled you upwards, and had the both of you flipped in seconds. You were dazed as you planted your hands on his chest, still sitting on his cock as he adjusted himself beneath you. He slowly ran his hands up your sweaty thighs, fingers tracing over the new lines on your skin. You looked down at your arms, the dark markings too out of focus for you to see what they were right now. Any noticeable scar you had, of which you had many, was now gone. Where there wasn’t a tattoo, your skin was porcelain white and clear of any flaws. Your breathing felt clearer now and the pleasure you felt building up inside of you just by sitting here caused you to shudder. He hissed as you squeezed around him and his fingers dug into your hips.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He sounded desperate as his head fell back and his eyes closed. His skin shone with sweat and you could see him for the full ethereal beauty he was. He did have a little of Heaven in him still. Dark with light. Good with evil. A demon and an angel. He would never be one without the other.

You rolled your hips against him and he tensed and relaxed all at once as he got what he wanted. He grew hotter inside of you again and your thighs slid easily alongside his as the heat between you built. He sat up, legs still off the side of the bed as he held you close to his chest. You draped your left arm across his shoulders as you braced yourself on his right knee, rolling your hips into his, his hot cock brushing against your g-spot with each circle of your hips. He kissed your throat, bit the skin on your collarbone, and then drew your nipple in his mouth once more. He had handfuls of your ass in both hands, assisting you as you fucked yourself on his cock. He dipped his fingers between your legs from behind, catching the juices that now coated him at each thrust and he traced his fingers around your asshole before pushing one wet finger inside. You hissed, inhaling deeply as he pushed in slowly.

“Keep fucking me, baby,” he said as he kissed the side of your neck.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as your right arm now crossed his back. Your cheek rested on his shoulder as you moved your hips. He moved his finger in rhythm with the bounce of your hips and soon you were moaning harder as you bit into his skin. He pushed another wet finger inside, stretching you in the most pleasurable of ways, pressing against that thin layer of skin that separated him from your g-spot. You clenched hard around him, his hot body pressed against yours, as pleasure ran hot inside of you, coming hard around him as you gushed around his cock. It dripped against his fingers as you made a mess of his lap, fingers still moving slowly in your ass.

“All mine,” he said before licking at the salty sweetness of your skin.

The space between you was wet, but he paid no mind as he pulled his fingers from you, grabbed your ass again and started to use your swollen cunt. You could barely keep your eyes open as you focused all your strength to your thighs, helping him as you clutched at his shoulders, face still nestled in his neck. His breathing quickened and his thighs tensed beneath yours. The bond between you only amplified his pleasure as yours seemed to mix and meld with his. Your orgasm flowed into his nervous system and pleasure flowed outwards from him in waves. He came hard with the memory of your soul binding to his, the same fire burned under his skin. He filled you up and then some, his cum even warmer than his cock as you physically felt it spill out around him, mixing with your cum as well. His fingers on your ass loosened, not even realizing how hard he was holding on and you relaxed on his lap and fully into his chest. His chest rose and fell softly as he came down. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer as he grew a little softer inside of you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded into his neck, holding on just a little bit tighter. He laid back again and this time you let your head fall against his chest to hear his heartbeat beneath you; the same heart now connected to yours. Your life was in his hands now, and his in yours.

“I’ll bring down Heaven for you.”

You melted into him, tired, but fulfilled. You finally felt redeemed. Your soul was still in Hell where it belonged, that much you weren’t going to argue, but you had come to terms that this would be permanent for you. You had gained back what you wanted and more which was hardly fair. But when it came to a side you felt as if you were on the right side of the line. A second heart beat in time with yours. A second soul twisted out and grasped onto yours like vines. You were two, but one. A Prince and a human, side by side in this new age.

Far away, on Earth, and nowhere near the clutches of a place that was slowly crawling to the surface, the Pope sat at his window looking out into the night. Over the horizon of the lights of Rome, thunder rumbled, and lightening began to streak across the sky as a storm approached. He felt the change on the air as it charged with electricity. Whatever was happening was going to be catastrophic to humankind.

“It’s in your best interest to do that now. There’s going to be a war soon and Earth will suffer just as many consequences. You’ll want to find yourself on the right side.”

The Prince’s words plagued his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. Guilt rested deep into his heart; his faith tested. In his hand he held the brooch, the symbolism of his betrayal. Whether Heaven or Hell won, he had chosen his side.

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (06)

word count; 6299

summary; mitch goes to a therapy session, and hates what happens to you whilst he’s there, and hates himself even more for the role he plays in it.

notes; y’all, I gotta make one thing clear - I know irene comes off really awful, but think about how much she’s got to sacrifice to be able to save all the others.

warnings; anxiety attacks, and references to the following; child abuse, electrocution, imprisonment, stealing, and violence.

Mitch wasn’t sure what he had been expecting you to be like before a therapy session, but it wasn’t like this. Then again, this wasn’t your usual therapy session.

You were on edge, that much he could tell, but it wasn’t on edge in a way that he was used to. He’d seen you in many moods, all the way from the very first time that he’d met you as you’d been coming at him with a gun and a pocket knife, and a look in your eyes that read ‘no mercy’. He had seen fear in your eyes before, on the nights when you’d awoken in a fit of screams and tears, thrashing as your legs were tangled in your blankets until you’d rolled from the mattress so violently you’d hit the floor with a loud thud and he’d been rushing in to pick up the pieces and put you back together before morning. 

He’d seen you upset, both in the ways you let it out, tears in your eyes and a cracking voice when you’d been taken back to your parent’s house, the realisation and resurfacing of who you were being prominent in your mind. He’d also seen the version upset when you tried to hide it, when you’d been told that you were being moved out to your own place, even though you’d voiced how you didn’t want to leave him, or the betrayed look on your face when he’d been able to return after an entire week, leaving you to think for a whole seven days that he’d abandoned you.

Mitch had even seen you angry, in the way that was utterly terrifying as you sat with clenched fists until you’d cut crescent-moon shaped marks into your palms as the furrow between your eyebrows created trenches, moody and snappy on days when your drawings wouldn't come out quite right with the way you were picturing things in your head, or the when you would slip up in the way you regressed to yourself, when your progress took a tiny step backwards for all the steps forwards you took when you were tired.

This was nothing like any of those moments, though. 

This was chilling. It was calm and collected but unsettling quiet. It was a simple breakfast, with no music or dancing, and only the sounds of cutlery and tinkering pots and pans to break the tension, occasionally muttering underneath your breath. He was sure you could hear the grinding of his teeth as he listened to you remind yourself of who you were. Your name, your address, his name, your birthday, the gym you went to, your coffee order. Everything that made you who you were, making sure it was kept at the front of your mind, that nothing was slipping, and he absolutely hated that such a thing wasn’t something you got to take for granted like he did, that you lived every day in fear that it would all go away, slip from your grasp and slip from your life. 

He ate his food quietly, choking back the urge to speak up or reach out, to offer you comfort and reassurances, because he knew just how badly you needed to stick to your routines, just how much they meant to you, and therefore, he knew that interrupting you and messing them up for the slightly selfish actions just to put his own churning stomach at ease could have disastrous results on your anxiety, and your fragile mindset.

He watched as you slipped away, taking his plate when he was done and offering him a small flick of the lips upwards, but you had barely met his eye at all this morning, and he could count the total words you’d spoken to him since waking on his fingers, and he figured he was already disrupting your rituals before your cognitive hypnotherapy sessions just by being here, but that he couldn't compromise on. He had to see it, he had to know that Irene was looking after you, that you were being cared for the way he would, that they weren’t using you as a source of information and draining you down more than you could handle, sapping you of all energy until you were just a hollow and broken shell. Not when he’d worked so hard to save you, and helped you to build that life that you so truly deserved.

With dishes washed and left out to dry, you slipped away without a word, your back to him as you wandered down the corridor to the bathroom, the door clicking shut, and a second later, the water heater had been humming lowly inside of the cupboard and the sound of water thrashing against the bottom of the tub, disrupted by your body joining the mix. He was left alone, to wander your bedroom and find some of his clothes, dumping the spare ones in your laundry hamper and knowing that you’d keep them and wash them, and he’d find them in the exact same drawer the next time he came over. 

You were wrapped in a robe when you emerged, a little startled as the two of you met in the doorway, but for the first time that morning, you offered him the same kind of affections that he was used to. Your shoulders sagged, stiff tension dropping away for just a second, before you were slipping your eyes shut, leaning in enough to bump your forehead to his shoulder, twisting your head to rest your cheek in its place, and he could feel your short puffs of breath against his skin.

“I’m sorry.”

He wrapped an arm around you, squeezing tightly enough that you sighed out against him, your body slumping into him a little further. 

“These mornings are always weird, it just puts me on edge. I’m not purposefully shutting you out.”

Turning to rest his chin atop your head, Mitch let his own breath go slowly, fingers running over your arm lightly. “I know that, and I understand it. You don’t have to apologise.” You only nodded in response, your hand coming up to sit on his waist, fingers curling in the material of his top as you allowed yourself a final moment to cling to him, to forget where you were going and what you were doing for a few seconds more, and when you shifted a little, he loosened his grip, chuckling as you hesitated in your movements. “You should get ready, Irene will be here soon.”

You backed away, closing the door as he left to have your privacy, and once again, he was shut out from you as you slipped back into your tightly locked state, protecting yourself against your circumstances. He busied himself, little jobs he knew you would’ve done yourself later but he could help you with now, putting away your dishes and plates and making sure everything as neat and tidy, the perfect way for you to come home to after you were shaken up from having someone digging through in your mind and shifting through your every memory and thought for the information they wanted, discarding what they didn’t as though it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t something just as vital in what made you who you are.

Drawers opened and closed, the creaking of floorboards as you wandered around, before the humming of a hairdryer was taking up, soothing enough to him with the ticks and shakes it made for him to use it to steady his own heart rate. This morning - this day - was all about you, he was just here to support you, but the few moments of singular reprieve he got to calm his own nerves and try to get past his own anxiety was more than eagerly welcomed, needing to collect himself so that he could be the strong one between you both today.

There was a soft knocking at the door, and he smirked a little, wandering over and taking his time in undoing the locks, before he was opening it up and offering an openly fake smile to the woman before him, who fixed him with a scowl in response. “You’re here.”

“I said I would be. Eight sharp, yes?”

“Shame. I was rather hoping we’d get to leave you behind.” He scowled at her then, being sure not to move out of the doorway to invite her inside as he reached for his shoes, a hand on either side of the doorframe to tug on his shoes, before his coat was following and he was sticking his arms out in jerky movements to pull the sleeves up, blocking her from stepping into the apartment as she huffed. He knew he was being childish, but the glare she gave him upon having no further actions or responses was more than enough to justify it, in his opinion. 

They were locked in an intense stare-down when you finally emerged, clearing your throat, entirely unaware of the aggressive anger between the two, and you were pulling a warm coat up your arms. A pair of his sweatpants and a simple top, a knitted cardigan with black speckles in cream-coloured wool was sitting on your body, before you were slipping on your shoes, staring at them both expectantly.

“I’m ready. We can go.”

“Great, Mitch can take his own car.” It was a more chipper voice than he had ever heard from Irene, and he scoffed as he watched you lock the front door, a hand on your lower back as he guided you along, choking down the lump in his throat as he picked up the shake in your body as your nerves got the best of you.

“We have another, today?” The therapist jutted her chin out in Mitch’s direction, despite her gaze being locked with Irene’s, his superior only giving a curt nod, and you were lingering in the doorway, picking at the loose threads of your cardigan. “Come on in, (Y/N). Sit yourself down.” She was friendly enough, and you seemed to accept her words as such, shuffling your way over to the couch after hanging up your coat, and you settled down in the middle, laying out one of the pillows to lay downwards instead, and reaching out across the wooden surface to pour yourself a glass of water. “What about our guest?”

She turned to him now, and he cleared his throat, smiling politely as he offered her his hand, his name following, and she shook it gently, before his boss was making her presence known once again. “Rapp is here to observe, he won’t be interfering.”

It was like one of those times your parent inadvertently spoke to you while pretending to be polite in front of others, and he felt like he was being chastised by his mother for being loud and obnoxious in public, the woman nodding her head towards one of the chairs in the corner that he could sit on. You were sipping on your drink, eyes following the every movement of ‘Doctor Lindsay’ as she sat across from you, legs crossed as she leaned forwards, everything about her body language being relaxed and soothing as you sipped at your drink.

“Are you ready to begin?”

Your eyes flicked up to his, not looking for permission or support, simply as though you’d almost forgotten he was there, shocked a little by his presence, and the silence in the room felt stifling, before you cleared your throat. “I’m ready.”

“You remember all of the questions, and the routine we’ll be going through?”

“Yes, Doctor Lindsay, I remember.” Your voice was steady, emotionless once again, and a shudder went along his spine. Your eyes seemed duller, your lips in a neutral frown, and he felt like he was meeting you for the first time all over again. Crossing his arms over his chest in a protective manner, Irene leaned over the back of the couch as you lay yourself down, head propped on the pillow you’d laid out and legs stretched out all the way to the end. 

“I want you to listen to my voice. Just my voice, okay?” You let out a slow breath, and Mitch found himself copying your movements, exhaling slowly in a mimic of what you’d done, and the rigidity of his muscles gave way a little. “I want you to focus on your breathing, and on your heart rate. Slow, in and out, as slow as you can go. Let it all go. Focus on your heartbeat.” 

You licked at your lips, taking a final deep breath, and holding it in your lungs, and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his eyes, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to clear his mind, shaking it all away and bringing himself back to consciousness as her soothing voice and simple commands began to get him to slip into a haze place as well. She had an iPad out, bringing up a simple panel of controls, before the lights in the room were dimming considerably, and the hum of the heaters came to a stop, air conditioning taking its place, and the one above his head sent a sudden wave of cold chill into the darkened room. The blinds were closed now, so far that he had to squint to still see you, and he muffled the yawn he wanted to release, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as the temperature within the room dropped.

“Unit eight. State your location.”

He felt bile rise in his throat, the cool and commanding tone to your voice, and your entire body suddenly locked up, that tranquil calmness you’d gained while studying your own heartbeat was gone, your hands forming fists by your side and your body going stiff, and he could see the last bits of who you’d become slip away before his very eyes; “Unit eight is in the dorms, ma’am.”

“Which dorms, unit eight? Which building are you in?”

“Units are not disclosed that information, ma’am.” She nodded her head, humming to herself as she placed the device down, her and Irene sharing a look, before a voice-note recorder was being turned on, only a blinking light to signal that it was active. 

“How old are you, unit?”

“This unit was born eight years, one month and six days ago, ma’am.” She was happy with that revelation, shifting in her chair, before her tone was going slightly softer once again. 

“Can you tell me what is happening, right now? Tell me where you are, what you can see and feel and hear, what are you thinking?”

“I-I see the dorms. My bed, the sheets are scratchy, I don’t like how they feel when I sleep on them, it makes my skin feel itchy. I can hear the guards, they’re changing any minute now, the ones outside the door are getting impatient. There’s plastic, smooth, clean, and cold.” Your fingers twitched a little, your hand moving as though you were holding onto something, and then there was a laminated playing card slipped into your hold, your fingers flexing around it. Your thumb stroked over the material, before you were letting out a sudden gasp. “It’s quiet, now. The showers are running, that’s where the other units are. They’re good, I want to be good, but I don’t like it here. I don’t like it here, please, I don’t like it here.”

You were choking up, voice childlike and cracking as you spoke, slipping between the way he’d known you to refer to yourself as, and a child who didn’t know any better, the inner monologue of a frightened youth who was being made into a monster. “Focus, unit eight. It’s quiet now, why?”

You sniffled, gripping the plastic in your hand again tightly. “The guards are gone. It’ll be forty-six seconds before the others get here. The rounds are changing.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s time to go.” There was a finality to your voice now, determined and adamant like a petulant child, before you were taking a deep breath, body jerking slightly from your feet and upwards, as though you’d jumped and landed on them harshly, and he imagined that was from the impact of hitting the floor as you jumped down from bunk beds. 

“Tell me what you’re doing, unit eight.”

“I’m looking out of the window in the door. It’s small, I can’t see much, but I can see the hall. It’s clear. I remember the way, from training this week. I remembered. The second left, the first left, the third right, then straight ahead until I get to the big grey door.”

“Correct. How do you plan to open the door?”

“I stole a keycard. I have to go. I have to go now!” Your voice was becoming more frantic, and then, it all seemed to kick off. Your arm jerked, the one holding the card, as though you’d swiped the card over the door and opened it. Your legs twitched, jerking with each step as your breathing became shallow, like you were running, laboured and gasping as you went, and your entire body was shifting from side to side, up and down, subtle movements, but a considerable amount of twitching nonetheless. You were mumbling directions to yourself, marks you remembered, passing the labs and the gym, as well as the cafeteria, before a cry left you. “No, no, no!”

“What is happening now, unit eight? Tell me what’s happening.”

“There’s an alarm. It’s only been half a minute, they shouldn’t know I’m gone yet! The lights are red, and flashing. It’s loud, it hurts my eyes and my ears.” He knew what they were approaching, Irene had explained it all to him after choosing to travel with him on the drive over. You hit a wall, you got to your escape, and they knew you made it outside but then your mind closed in on itself, and you were lost to them. As soon as you could tell them what happened on the other side of the door, they could track the location, but you never could. “I’m confused. I lost count! I don’t know where to go!”

You sounded broken, and his heart clenched for you, standing up a little straighter and Irene turned her gaze to his own immediately, a silent glare that screamed at him to stay put, and he had to bite his tongue just to stop from making a comment and telling her to back off. Clearly, they were used to this, they must’ve seen you like this a dozen times, but it didn’t hurt him any less.

“The second left, the second left.” You were mumbling to yourself now, panting as you spoke, your chest rising and falling quickly. “The first left and the third right.” Your body was twitching again, like you’d run the route through in your mind and remembered where to go, before you were letting out a cry again, this one sounding a little more victorious. “The big grey door!”

“Have you found the door, unit eight?”

“Yes! Yes, I can make it!” Your arm moved again, before you were shaking, once along your body, and the temperature in the room went down again, even colder, and he assumed that wherever it was you were being kept at the time must’ve been somewhere icy. Irene turned on the fan beside you, harsh winds blowing silently over your body, your hair moving around lightly with the strands that framed your face. Their bodies both sagged as you cheered, before your face was falling again, and you were beginning to let out sobs. “They found me. They found me! It’s too slippery, I can’t make it! There’s too much snow, it’s too much!”

Irene ran a hand through her hair, the plastic dropping from your hands as you began to scrabble, breathing desperately and as your knees jerked, cries and whimpers leaving you as he watched your body shift in diluted movements of climbing and falling, trying to drag yourself along. You were hyperventilating, you were panicking, shutting in on yourself and you couldn’t take it anymore. “Can you tell me what you see, unit eight?”

You only let out another cry, and he watched as the therapist reached for the device, Irene standing up robotically and already reaching for the switch on the fan again as he decided enough was enough, your words mixed with desperate drags of breath and shakes as you got stuck in the cold. 

“That’s enough. Stop it, you’re breaking her!”

“Rapp!”

“Unit eight is-” Your words cut off, Irene letting out a sigh as the flashing light on the device was taken off, Doctor Lindsay’s entire body deflating, and he didn’t care about how much they needed this information, or how much trouble he would get into, he just needed to be there for you right now. His hand found yours, and you whimpered under your breath, before you were squeezing his hand back. “Mitch, it’s so cold. I’m so cold. I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart, it’s okay. I'm here with you.”

“Hold on.” Irene’s hand shot out, her mouth agape a little, and the therapist seemed just as shocked. “Continue on, continue!” The device was turned back on, and he adjusted himself on his knees, opening his mouth to protest before the doctor was speaking over him. 

“Unit eight, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“Mitch, they’re here! I’m not fast enough, I’m so cold!” Tears slipped out of your eyes now as you gripped at his hand, and he winced as your nails dug into his skin, scratching as you scrabbled. “No! No, please, no!” Your back arched up off of the couch, a violent motion that made everybody jump back, a loud shout tearing from you, one of the most broken and distressed sounds he’d ever heard.

“Get her out! Now!”

“No, we’ve never gotten this far!” Irene yelled back, uncaring of being delicate now, not wanting to break the trance, her desperation for the information taking over. “Ask her, Mitch, ask her what she sees! She’s responding to you! You’re in her mind deep enough that even her subconscious is seeking you out for comfort, you’re helping her keep going.”

His nostrils flared, but he knew he had to do as told, and so he turned back to you, a shaky hand brushing away your tears gently, before you flinched violently, pulling away from his touch. “Sweetheart, can you tell me where you are? What do you see, tell me about it? How would you paint it?”

“Paint it?”

“What colours would you use? What would it look like?”

You steadied your breath, relaxing slightly as you gasped, wet breaths as more hot tears slipped down your cheeks. “White. There’s so much snow, and there’s grey, too. Looks like there’s a storm coming.”

“You’re doing so good, keep going for me.”

He brushed a hand along the edge of your face, and you tipped into his warmth a little, your mind instinctually searching for him, his heart skipping a beat in his chest as you did. “Green. The trees are tall, so tall they block out the sun, there’s shadows, and the woods look dark, but I can’t take the road. It smells like Christmas.”

“Pine trees. There are pine trees.” The therapist's words were drowned out as you continued to whimper quietly before him. He shushed you gently, watching as you continued to fight, but your shivering was calming a little.

“Tell me about the building.”

“I can see it now, I’m almost at the end of the garden, the fences are broken, I broke them last week so I could get through.” He nodded, waiting for you to continue. “It’s a big warehouse, not like the usual houses. There are lots of colours on the side. Drawings.”

“Graffiti?”

“Yes.” You mumbled this word, going quiet, and suddenly your whole body is stiff. “They’re too close. I can’t go yet. I need to hide. Mitch, we need to hide.”

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re hiding.” You hummed, and he could see your eyes darting around under your eyelids, breathing held, and he rubbed his other hands gently over your ribs, coaxing you to take a breath before you hyperventilated. “Tell me about the drawings, what are they?”

“Not drawings, it’s words. It’s a warning.” 

“What does it say?” You were getting frantic now, whimpering under your breath as a child would, and he felt sick to even be partaking in this, but you were so passionate about it, he knew that if you were of your own mind right now you would have told him to keep going, and you’d already told him how much you wanted to help the others. He needed to know that he could make you safe, that he could use this information to make sure he brought down whatever organisation had ruined you, and make sure they’d never harm you again.

“Берегитесь Ахмеровского леса, он проклят.” Beware the Akhmerovsky Forest, for it is cursed.

“Is that Russian? Did you get that?” He’d almost forgotten about Irene and the therapist, but she confirmed that she’d got it, the blinking device being waved in the air, and the two women looked elated, before he growled, cutting them off and drawing their attention back to him. 

“Great, now you’ve had your fill of picking through her mind, can you bring her back?”

“Unit eight, can you hear me?”

“Mitch! Mitch, they’re coming!” You were whispering now, your hand clenching around his as your entire body went stiff, and he opened his mouth to reply, before a loud shout left you. Your entire body jerked, head to toe, and you were sobbing now, shouting and crying out for help, his name mixed in along the pleas and begs. “No, no, I’m sorry! Please, no! Mitch! Help me! I’m sorry!”

You were struggling to breathe, tears flowing from your cheeks as your legs kicked, your arm flying out so fast he barely had time to avoid it, and your glass of water was knocked to the floor, water spraying everywhere and glass shattering on the wooden tiles with a cracking sound that made him wince. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

“Mitch! Where are you? Mitch, please!” Quite possibly the worst scream Mitch had ever heard sounded out, blood-curdling and enough to make him feel the clenching of his stomach. Your hand was limp in his now, before it was flying up to grip at your ribs, and your breathing struggled. The cushion under your head slipped from the couch, your body twisting to the side, curling into the fetal position as you spasmed, like you were being beaten, and he could feel his own tears leaking from his eyes now.

Irene was shouting, authority and power in her voice, but it was no use, because among the white noise was Doctor Lindsay, trying to get through to you, every keyword and trigger break the two of you had was flailing from her lips, but you weren’t even responding to his voice anymore, panting and whimpering as you relieved each blow and beat in your mind. Finally, you stopped, crying to yourself quietly, and Mitch thought maybe that would be the entire scene, that would be the only fuel to haunt his sleep for the next few months, but then, you were scratching at your chest trying to breathe as it seemed you couldn't even get the oxygen into your lungs, what he knew well as a panic attack was forming.

“No, please, don’t lock me away! I’ll be good, I promise! Please!”

You were making fists again, knuckles white from the intensity of it, and he reached out to try and uncurl your fingers before you cut into your palms, but you jerked away from him. Your back left the couch, your entire body shaking and vibrating in a way he knew was a form of electrocution, and he clapped a hand over his own mouth to stop the noises he wanted to make from being released.  

“Don’t leave me here! I’m scared, it’s dark! Please, don’t leave me!” You were getting worse now, a clammy sweat lining your skin as your body began to go entirely calm, each organ shutting down and becoming sluggish as the panic took over, but you still couldn't breathe, that part of you was still in overdrive as it failed to work. “Please!”

It was the last word to leave you, before finally, you were able to take a deep and gasping beat, everything going silent as your mind gave in, passing out on the couch as reliving the panic attack made you short circuit, giving up to reboot as it all became too much.

It had been hours, Mitch eventually having moved to sitting on the couch beside you, your legs across his lap after repositioning the cushion under your head. After it was all over, the quiet was more deafening to him than your screams had been.

Sprawled out on the cushions, you had looked utterly exhausted, panic and stress still stitched onto your features, your hair messy from your thrashing with flushed cheeks, but he figured the slow breaths you were taking was a good enough step, calm and quiet taking over the room. Irene moved first, motioning the therapist to go with her, and the two had stepped out of the room. At any other time, he would’ve followed them, demanding to know what information it was they were exchanging, but right now he was willing to let them have their confidentiality, because he was more concerned with your well-being.

He smoothed back your hair, lifting your head up to place a cushion underneath, and he couldn't resist the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling an apology into your skin for letting this happen to you, and for being a part of it. He comforted himself by knowing that you were happy, he soothed his own nerves by pretending that he knew how much you wanted this and that it excused the way he’d acted, but it didn’t. He should have fought harder to refuse, and he should have fought harder to resist Irene’s demands, or to pull you out while you were listening to him. 

You’d had to relive the event that had been the final breaking of your spirit, the final piece that had made you into an obedient soldier who would do as told, and when you’d subconsciously put enough trust in him not to shut down, he’d made you go through it all. He felt awful, and so as the hours dragged on and the light faded away, the therapist and his superior having left you both alone a long time ago, he was still sitting here, waiting for you. 

The dimple between your brows was gone, smoothing out, and the frown that seemed so reply embedded had faded, your face was simply left blank, chest rising and falling slowly, and it was enough to tempt him into a serene level of calm himself. 

His head was resting against the back of the couch, eyes closed as the turning of the ceiling fan made him feel dizzy, and so he’d opted for complete darkness instead to block them out. With a hand smoothing over your leg, he waited patiently, head snapping up when he finally felt a more solid twitch than everything else had been. 

He watched again, your nose scrunching up a little as you began to surface, and your lips parted, a deeper breath than the even ones you’d been taking as you slept, and his lips flicked up at the sides as you began to rise back up out of your unconscious. Suddenly, just like that, the peace was shattered once again. You let out a loud cry, fists clenching again before you were screaming, letting out a stuttered call of his name, followed by a sob, and he couldn't get to his feet fast enough. 

He was kneeling by your side, skin growing damp from sweat once again as he tried to cup your face despite your thrashing, and you sat bolt upright with such speed that he felt backwards, banging his elbow on the coffee table and hissing out in pain as he grabbed it, but his attention was solely on you. Your eyes were glossed over and filled with tears, once that promptly began to leak down your cheeks, fast and heavy tears that dripped away to leave marks on your clothes, and he tried to swallow down the lumps in his throat as he watched you. 

You still seemed a little dazed, staring off into space, and you jumped violently when he cleared his throat, as though you hadn't even known he was there until you were looking at him. Fear and panic became anger, and he almost flinched under your glare as you backed away from him, pulling your knees up to your chest as you pressed back into the cushions. 

“You left me!”

He gaped, staring at you in shock, before hurt was washing through his body again, the tone of your voice breaking him, each crack and wave as you stared at him, sniffling sadly and clinging to yourself for support. Shifting again, he moved, taking a seat beside you on the couch, and you didn’t move any further away, but you refused to meet his eyes, and he let out a deep sigh. 

“It got bad, and you left! You left me alone!”

“It wasn’t real, sweetheart..” You cut yourself off before even saying your next words, raising your eyes to look at him, before you were whimpereing a little under your breath, and he tried to inch a little closer to you now. 

“It wasn’t?”

“No, it just felt real.” He offered a hand out, placing it on your knee slowly as you watched him go, but he smiled a little when you didn’t push him away or back off, your tense stance slipping away a little as exhaustion too over, the fight or flight instinct slipping out of your body and leaving you with nothing but aches and pains, and very tired. “I promise, I would never leave you. I’m sorry I helped them, but you did so well, sweetheart, and now you’ll never have to do it again.”

“It’s all over?”

“It’s all over.” You only nodded, wiping your cheeks on your sleeve, and he could see how sensitive and sore the puffy skin must been, your eyes red, just like the tip of your nose, and he watched as you seemed to process the information, cogs working inside your mind as you became yourself again.

“You won’t leave me?”

“Never. I promise.” You let out a slow breath, before you were uncurling your body and slumping down onto the couch cushions. He offered his hands, standing and pulling you to your own feet, and your legs almost buckled underneath yourself. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” 

You grinned a little at that, and he didn’t realise just how much he’d been longing to see that expression on your face again until he was seeing it now. He helped you put on your jacket, and grabbed his coat, patting down his pockets for his keys, tugging them out as you signed your name and the time in the visitor book at the front reception, mumbling a goodbye to the friendly receptionist who wished you a good evening, before you were on your way with him out of the clinic. “I just want to go home, now.”

He wasn’t sure you even knew you’d said the words, but he nodded anyway, holding the car door open for you and letting you hop up into the seat. 

He quickly followed your actions, and he couldn’t get away from the therapy practice fast enough, watching in his mirrors as it faded away into her distance, until it was blocked by other buildings and he could no longer see it, finally feeling like he could relax fully. You were safe, and conscious again, and he knew you never had to go back. You’d forgiven him, and so maybe now he could forgive himself, and he felt like the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel could let up. 

You were playing with the music channels, settling on a classical music station, the low notes of piano and guitar filling the vehicle, and it was soothing to say the least, feeling like each little melody helped to lift away his fears and wash it from his mind, and you were hypnotised by the headlights of other cars, watching as they flashed by along the roads as he took various turns, before you were sitting up a little straighter, staring out of the glass at the road.

“No, no, Mitch. I want to go home.”

He turned, glancing at you quickly, and fixing you with a puzzled look, but you didn’t see it, staring out on the garden with concern once again. “That’s where we’re going, you live here.”

“No, I don’t want to go to where I live.” You reached over, your hand resting on his arm, squeezing urgently as he slowed down the car. “I want to go to our home.”

Mitch felt his heart leap in his chest, lost for words for a second, before he was only nodding, driving right past your building and picking up speed once again, and he didn’t miss the relieved noise you made as he did. “Okay, sweetheart. We can go home.”

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Beginnings and endings

Synopsis: The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Warnings: Murder, angst, fluff, gore

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @didiintheblog @lol-haha-joke @shannygoatgruff @heavenly1927 @chynagirl13 @queenbeeta @thereareendlessopportunities @astridbaby​ 

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas's punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn't let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn't what she yearned to do. "Are you alright, Vanya?" Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar's shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it's her duty to help choose the way he will die. "Let's burn him alive," Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

"Slit his throat, that's what he wanted to happen to Vanya." Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

"Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out." Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya's hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. "Skin him alive." He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

"Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don't look so good." Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn't care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. "I can't sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that's what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive." She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn't even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming, Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her's.

He didn't check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well, what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice, but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn't take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son's corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar's arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

"Are you sure you want to see him?" The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. "She lives." A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain, and despair. "You look terrible."

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. "I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people's minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat." He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. "You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings."

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her, the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. "It's alright. Please leave." The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. "You mean Father, don't you?"

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn't wait for her to question him, he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. "You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was."

"Father was a good person, far better than you or me." Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. "Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn't follow his rules."

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. "Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are."

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one." Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn't love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn't meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions."

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother."

"I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me, by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife's back."

The princess stared at Silas in shock, Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent's treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

"He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me." Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. "He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood."

"I am not you or them!" Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

"If that's what you like to believe."

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. "You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you."

"If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf."

"Stithulf didn't order men to murder three people!" Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

"He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother's brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great." Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father's cross. "Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won't care for your death. Terrible people don't go to heaven."

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. "Then, I shall see you in Hell. That's where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs." He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. "Farewell, Sister."

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back, she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"Blood eagle," Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

"What?"

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony." She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband's stormy hues. "What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?"

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. "I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again." Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again."

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. "From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!"

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none, all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. "You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me." She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

"I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you'll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I brake this promise. I swear on my arm ring."

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction, with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son's absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again. 

The next morning, five days since their son's birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. "And who will do it? Ivar can't stand." Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

"It doesn't matter. We can give him a chair, or let someone else do it." Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn't matter by whose hand. 

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other's hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier. 

"You are on edge." Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

"I..." A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. "I miss my son, that's all. They still won't let me see him." 

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya's hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir. 

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?" Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. "You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you." Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent. 

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. "Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar's child." 

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd's comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife's arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat." Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya's hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. "With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok." 

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar's confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too." 

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya." 

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him, he didn't see that much of you." She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way. 

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar's brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions, Hoenir, and Aslaug were sure of it. 

"Did you think of a name?" Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew. 

"Yes. But it's a surprise." Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return. 

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni ausinn is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water. 

"My son, Aros!" He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older males smug look.

"From the river's mouth? Really?" He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

"It fits, does it not?"

"I guess it does." He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. "Aros Ivarsson."

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it."

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers." She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy. 

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead's side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

Truth is Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren't for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren't for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend. 

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya's love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn't mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable. 

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya's lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well, she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings. 

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made actually. It's not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don't know how to make dresses like that, so it's plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn't as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It's beautiful. I bet it's comfortable as well." She reassured the other female twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn't get to give it to you." With a  bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger. 

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off. 

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can't just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!"

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That's what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back."

"Nonsense!" Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja's smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn't want anything in return, but that didn't sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours."

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers."

"You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don't ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, liking the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn't complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is he better?"

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya's gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor's widow. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things."

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja's father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children in his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own."

"Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough."

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?"

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head, and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?"

"Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion. 

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it's hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams."

"No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn't happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don't die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you."

"Ivar will be with me."

"Doesn't mean you will be safe."

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear."

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to."

"You are very annoying."

"I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion, till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark. 

"Your husband's coming. And I have a hut to find. I don't want to hear anything I shouldn't." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn't if you were outside! That's so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door? 

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well."

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?"

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess."

"Call me, Vanya. Please."

"As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?" She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well. 

"His. Mother gave it to him." He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn't know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. "Did you take your bath yet?"

"Not yet." She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. "Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?"

"I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster." Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh. 

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. "Let's hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon."

"If it's born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn't worry about you two as I did!" Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

"Ivar." Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. "Torvi shouldn't suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better."

"I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn." 

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!" Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

"Why? Do you not like the view." He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips, to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

"You are a pain, husband. You are lucky I love you."

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. "Good. I would be hurt if you didn't." Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar's arms once again. "What would I be without my Freyja."

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!"

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. "You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn't blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that."

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really think I'm powerful?"

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. "I, for one, find you terrifying." She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. "Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?"

"The people do. And Sigurd as well."

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. "He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it's not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit." She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar's face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn't for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya's wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt.  "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously."

"Obviously." Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night's lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

"Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal," Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son's life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

"Then let's go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn's and Torvi's baby." Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros's head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn't have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. "Wait."

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn't take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best, Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn't alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. "Make him pay. For everything."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

"You don't have to be here, Vanya." Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar's and her hut. "I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don't, I will never be sure if it's over or not."

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd on the other hand, scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. "What is his problem?" Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. "He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you."

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. "If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it's me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer."

"I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don't have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air."

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. "Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room."

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas's flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas's screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn't handle so much gore ever again.

"Vanya!" Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. "Please!"

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas's eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.

[angst-art-writing]

The Edge-The Island(4)

TW: executions, hanging.

The next day, Talyn and Iris prepped the Inn before dawn, none of their residents awake yet. Diana came down dressed in a corset and a coat with intricate black designs on the trim. She usually wore it when something important was going on.

Talyn looked up from the glass she was cleaning and raised a brow. "What's going on?"

"Well," Diana said, cuffing the sleeves of the coat. "Today is a bit important." Her tone was light, almost excited sounding.

Iris, who was wiping down some tables glanced over and raised a brow, Talyn caught he quizzical look she had shot at her. "Is... Today someone's birthday or...?" Talyn asked, setting the glass down.

"No. We have executions set for today."

"Oh." Her heart hit the floor, traveling down from her chest to her toes. Then that...That meant-

Iris was obviously thinking the same, because she then went on and asked, "Who's it for, exactly?"

Diana glanced up. "No one in particular. But our space is filling up, and we need to... Get rid of people. Before disease starts to spread." She sounded so sure, as if that was a perfectly fine reason and Talyn just felt sick.

"We-Well did they get a trial? Anything?"

"Of course not!" She glanced over and smiled, looking at her as if she was stupid. "Only those whose families can afford a trial were kept in their cells. You know this, Talyn."

Talyn tried to smile back. "Right." She turned away and pretended to busy herself in organizing things that did not need to be.

Of course- Only people who could afford a trial or had family could have a trial. Most times, that didn't even work, and the families went poor as the criminal was almost always found guilty with lies Diana's guards would make up. But because Diana was happy...That meant everyone else should be. Once the blood king was dead, that meant all the issues in their world were too, right?

Talyn felt a hand ruffled the top of her head. She looked over and her eyes met Diana's dark ones. "You're going with me. Both of you! Let's see these criminals get what they deserve, no?"

But Talyn's mind was already working, the gears in her head turning. She shook her head. "I- I won't be able to. I promised I'd tutor Will today." She glanced at Iris, who just stared back at her. Talyn had already decided on something, but also decided to not tell Iris.

Diana frowned. "You can't cancel? It's important and I want you to come to one of these at least once." That just made goosebumps rise.

"Afraid not. Sorry."

"Ah. Just Iris then! C'mon Iris, go get dressed up." Diana hugged her then and Talyn was forced into the embrace. She smelled of flowers. She made Talyn think of roses, thorns hidden under plump petals.

Iris gave Talyn a look. But she turned and headed up. Soon enough, both Diana and Iris had left.

And Talyn would soon, too.

-----

Executions were usually held in The Circle, a round section in the middle of the Capitol in front of the building where important affairs occurred with outside countries. A crowd was already gathering, muttering and talking amongst themselves.

An hour after Iris and Diana had gone, Talyn stood on a roof on one of the buildings that surrounded the circle. She was crouched down and had a dark hood covering her face, as well as hiding the quiver on her back. In the center of The Circle was a wooden platform, and a noose.

Some important people Talyn recognized as Diana's workers stood around, holding their children's hands. Talyn was stunned to see them there. Did they really think it was alright to bring kids here? In their false definition of justice?

Talyn glanced up toward the sky, focusing on the grey clouds that swirled above them. Yet, oddly enough, there was no wind. Perfect. Nothing natural would collide with her plan.

She glanced down and spotted Iris's purple head in the crowd. She was right to the side of the platform, where Diana now stood. Diana was speaking to the crowd with her hands folded neatly behind her back and her head held high, but Talyn couldn't register her words. Blood rushed in her ears, and she could feel her eyes pulsing nervously in her head.

Diana pointed, and Talyn followed her finger. Some people dressed in rags were walking in a line led by her guards, their faces sallow and grim. They stared at the ground, just getting back up as the crowd by them shoved them as they walked onto the platform. The crowd were yelling at them, spitting at them. Talyn felt her shoulders tense, and she carefully slid her bow over her shoulder and gripped it tightly. She felt burning in her neck.

Another man came over, the executioner. Talyn pursed her lips. His name was Jarvis, and she had memories of him coming to visit the Inn when she was a kid, tossing her up in the air and chasing her around tables. The memory tasted sour and rotten in her head. Talyn continued to watch underneath her hood, waiting.

Diana went and picked out a man, yanking him forward by the collar of his shirt. He staggered forward and fell to his knees onto the platform, before Jarvis yanked his head up and slipped the noose over his head, making it snug. Then, Diana announced his crimes. Theft, and whatever lies he guards made up. Talyn couldn’t hear. It was all just noise.

The old man kept his eyes down. Talyn loaded her bow and stood slowly, aiming.  Everyone’s back was towards her. Her blood was like a waterfall in her ears, her veins buzzing- Though her hands remained steady as she positioned her hands.

"Go ahead, Jarvis," Diana boomed. She nodded her head, and the man went and grabbed the other end of the rope. He pulled, and the man swung into the air while the crowd watched.

No one said anything now. It was forbidden not to. All that was heard was the sound of life being slowly stopped, and Talyn tried to push away the satisfied smirk she could see on Diana's face away from her mind.

She had one shot.

Talyn took a deep breath, her eyes focusing on her target. The man squirmed now, and his gasps were louder than anything at that moment. She drew the string tighter and exhaled slowly. She released, releasing a breath as well.

The arrow traveled through swiftly and struck, sailing through the air and slicing the rope cleanly. The man fell to his knees again and Jarvis crashed, rolling backwards off the platform. Everyone swiveled around, peering up at the archer.

Silence.

No one had ever acted out like this. No one had acted out against Diana, so publicly. It was so silent, but Talyn’s frame upon that roof was screaming.

With satisfaction swelling inside her chest now, Talyn turned and hopped off the roof, slipping inside the back of a library. She took down her hood and placed her bow over her shoulder, the buzz louder than ever. She peered out at the curtains, watching them go by.

She began to laugh, unable to push away Diana's shocked look. She laughed to silence the guilt she was beginning to feel. Afterall, Diana was her mother. Not by blood, but by choice.

Usually that was the best kind of mother someone could have.

Usually.

She laughed and pride swelled inside her throat. She wanted to rip her hair out and hug herself at the same time.

------

"What the hell was that, Talyn?"

Iris and Talyn stood in their training base, the only true place for some privacy now. Clint and Will were seated on the ground, and Talyn had just finished recalling the events of her stunt, proudly. She didn't know why Iris seemed so upset, and why Clint and Will were so silent.

"I was proving a point-”

"No, you were making things worse!" Iris snapped at her, her eyes wide. "Don't you see what you've done?"

"I-"

Iris cut her off, and Talyn's neck grew hot as she was interrupted. Iris pressed on.

"Of course, you don't! Because you always act on impulse! You don't- think! You never do!"

Her words echoed against the walls and slammed back into Talyn as she processed them. She could feel hot tears form behind her eyes, but she fought to keep them contained. Suck it up, she told herself. Suck it up.

"Talyn, if anything- You made it all worse! You think just because you made some shitty metaphorical statement that they're going to stop the executions? No! They'll just be done privately instead of public! They still die and all you did was piss off Diana and making things more difficult!"

The words pushed against her, except these felt as if she had been stabbed with ice.

She hadn't... "Iris, I didn't-"

"When are you going to realize that you can't protect everyone? You can't be some sort of hero all on your own, goddamnit! Are you proud of yourself? They're still going to-"

"Iris. I think that's enough." It was Will who spoke, clearing his throat. His voice was soft still, as it always was. Never had anyone heard his voice rise, even when he was clearly angry. "Theres no point in yelling."

Talyn clenched her fists and looked down at the floor. Iris huffed angrily. "You need to learn to not be so-"

"Enough. No more yelling." Will's voice was sharper there, and his next words were addressed to Talyn. "Talyn, you can't act on your own. What you did has consequences..." His voice became soft again, softer, and he sighed. "You need strategy, you need more opinions. We could have thought of something else."

"I didn't have time-"

"You could have spoken to Iris. She was there. She could have helped, in a way that wasn't so destructive." There was a pause. "We don't work separately, Talyn. You can't pull stuff like that. Other than those people just...y'know.. Diana's group is going to be more powerful in trying to catch the culprit, and then that'll permit them to arrest more innocent people already and blame people for nothing. This was huge.”

"I..I didn't think of that.." She would have preferred Iris yelling at her than Will right now. He sounded so disappointed. It hurt a lot worse than Iris being angry at her. Clint hadn't said anything, but she imagined he was disappointed and angry too. She was glad he remained silent.

"Well, you need to start. This is what happens, Talyn."

Talyn looked up and frowned.

"No training today, I think." He said after a moments silence. "Let's just go home, we won't get anything productive done if we're all upset. Iris, I'll walk with you."

Talyn watched them leave, pushing past the curtain of vines, with iris pinching the bridge of her nose. Clint got up slowly, picking up his coat and shrugging it on. "C'mon. You can stay at our place tonight." He said gruffly before he got up and turned to walk.

"Thanks.." She swallowed back tears, turning and walking beside him. She was grateful he had offered; She didn't feel like sharing a room with Iris.

The walk to Will and Clint's house was a silent one. She wished he would speak, wished he'd say something. But Clint didn't and she was left to wonder at how angry he really was. He must've been angry. Usually he'd explode before, but now he didn't.

By the time they went in, it was dark and quiet. Will's family was asleep, so Talyn just followed him up the stairs. He let her sleep in the bed, and he took the floor.

No matter how much she wished for sleep, it didn't come.

She wasn't laughing now. Her hands went up to her hair, short and fluffy on the top her head, and she pulled at it.

------

Iris went down into the Inn, pulling up a chair at a table. The place was mostly empty, even though it was open- Signaled by the lit lantern outside. Carina had just finished cleaning some of the glasses, when she looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Iris!”

Iris lifted her head and saw the girl with white hair, heading over to her table with two steaming mugs. She smiled at her softly and pulled up a chair, sitting across from her.

"Hey, Carina." Iris smiled a little at her. She took the mug from Carina and wrapped her hands around it. They had their meetings like this, at least once a week. "How are you liking this job?"

Carina shook her head slightly, speaking after she had taken a sip. "Oh, it's wonderful. Cozy, lots of people. I'm learning so much." It felt almost like a home, or what she imagined home would feel like.

Carina was not from the Capital, instead from one of the other kingdoms, Nerin. Nerin was the underwater kingdom, usually of sirens and mermaid. Carina was a mermaid, able to get rid of her tail and shift into legs when she moved onto The Island. She hadn’t shifted back since Iris knew.

Nerin was very secretive, mysterious- Strict. She had been banned from it a few months back, and while swimming in the other unfamiliar parts of the ocean, had been caught by some fishermen. In which Iris and her friends had rescued her. Now, she lived on land, and she was learning their ways here.

"That's good, then! I'm glad you're enjoying the new job. Better than the library?"

"Ah, that's hard to say. I like both." She smiled again. "But how are you? I heard about what happened yesterday. That's just... wow."

Iris glanced up at her, looking down and frowning slightly. Carina knew of what they did, Stealing, helping innocents escape. She hadn't said a word.  She would never do that, she owed a lot to them anyways. "It... was insane. It was also Talyn," she murmured quietly, speaking into her mug.

Carina stared at her for a moment, her eyes widening. "Seriously? Taly- Actually, not that surprised." She frowned, recounting the times she had gotten up in large men's faces, ready to start a fight while they had hung out. "They're looking everywhere for her, though. Not her, really- But..."

"Yeah, yeah. My mom's been going crazy. She's furious."

"Oh, dear..." Carina sighed softly, before the door rang with the chime of a bell, and a familiar red-haired boy came in.

"Icarus!" Iris said, and she smiled. He beamed back at her and headed over.

"Hey!" He said, planting a small kiss on her cheek, and Carina glanced away for a second and downed the rest of her tea. He waved politely to Carina, and she nodded her head and mumbled a hello.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to take a walk?" He said to Iris. Carina waited for a moment, and Iris nodded eagerly. "That's okay, right?"

"Yeah! I mean- Carina?" She tilted her head, asking as if she was merely a second thought. And she was.

Carina bit her lip slightly. "I uh... Well, Iris you just got here-"

"I'm sorry, but you know... Don't get to see Icarus that much. I'll come back in a couple hours, okay? Have our tea ready then?" Iris asked her.

"No, no, go ahead. I should get back anyways. You two have fun. We can talk later, okay?" She picked up the mugs, nodded a goodbye to them and turned as the couple headed out.

She sighed as she went behind the counter, setting the mugs down. She dumped them out.

----

“.... And then she just goes and does whatever she wants, and she doesn't even pick up after herself!" Iris huffed, glad to release some of the tension as she and Icarus walked down the shore of a nearby stream. "She doesn't even ask us, especially with something so important- Doesn't even realize how destructive it is!" She tossed a rock into the water and watched it splash.

Cool it. She could feel the intricate lightning patterns begin to prickle on the backs of her hands. She needed to keep her emotions in check.

"I can see how frustrating that would be," Icarus replied, his tone gentle. His voice calmed Iris down, and he slipped an arm around her shoulder, as always. And as always, she leaned into him. It was like magic- A good magic. Different from her own.

"It's very frustrating. She never listens, never thinks. God, sometimes she's so- stupid." She regretted it immediately as she said it, but it just came out. She frowned. "I... Shouldn't "have said that. I don't mean it."

"I think you do."

She turned to look up at him, surprised. "What? No, that's awful of me to even say-"

"C'mon now. It's okay." He smiled a little again. "I mean, all of that is pretty...dumb. When you think about it. Which she didn't."

"Hey-"

"It is stupid, Iris. You just said so. We're merely stating the obvious, dear. Your sister can't rely on just impulsiveness." He steered them around a rock as they walked. "One day, it might get her hurt. Might get you all hurt."

He was right. Really, he was. Talyn’s impulsiveness would be her downfall.  She just shook her head and sighed. "Yeah... I just feel apart from her, I hope it goes away. I don't like being angry at her."

Icarus rubbed her arm with his thumb. "You two will be fine, I'm sure. It'll pass." Her hands still prickled, and she looked down at them. She sighed softly and glared down at them. "Man... I hate these things."

Icarus looked down at them. "You should wear gloves for them. I can get you some."

"Really? Thank you." Iris sighed softly, sticking her hands in her pockets then.

---------

It was dinnertime for Clint and Will. Him and his family sat around the table, three younger siblings and his ‘mother’. Clint and Will sat side by side, eating their soup quietly. Clint glanced up at Will's mother, Aliane, pausing for a moment. Aliane looked tired. She went to work at the library early in the morning and left Will to take care of the kids, then after her shift at the library she would go to work at some bar and work late into the night.

Still, it wasn't enough to cover the costs. The youngest was barely a few months old, and the father had left. He was Will's half-brother. Their fathers had left a long time ago and left Aliane. Will didn’t remember his own father too well. But at the face Aliane made whenever he was brought up, something told him he didn’t want to.

Diseases were such a dangerous thing They traveled fats, especially with houses and people so close together. The kids would get sick almost every two weeks it seemed, and the medicines only grew in expense. Especially when the baby got sick, panic and stress would cover the house like a suffocating blanket.

Clint and Will would bring home what they could. Talyn and Iris would send them home with baskets of food and herbs that may help, but it wasn't enough. Clint felt like a burden here. They had been so kind to take him in, all those years ago when he ran away from home... But still... Would it be easier if he wasn't around? That was less people to feed, less people for Aliane to worry about, to support, to house. Aliane wouldn’t let him stay at the Inn though. Aliane hated Diana as much as the rest of them. She barely accepted Talyn and Iris.

He would find that out soon enough.

"How was your days today?" Aliane asked, her voice soft as always. She looked up at the two boys in front of her, swirling her spoon in her fork.

"It was fine," they both said at the same time.

Today had just been hanging out outside while the kids played, after taking them to their teachers. As well as helping Talyn feed some of the poorer communities in the area, covering her while she stuffed her bag with treats and bread.

"Oh, come on! Tell me more, I feel like we haven't talked in ages!" She exclaimed in an exasperated tone, and she leaned forward in interest. "I want to know what you're both up to. I know I'm not home often but... Y'know.  You are still teenagers. I still have to try and keep an eye on you two."

"Alright, alright. We've been stealing, making our with girls, throwing tra- I'm kidding!" He said as he noticed the wide eyes from Aliane.

"You better be!" She grinned at him. "I know I've raised you well. You wouldn’t pull any shit like that.”

"That's right. But I did take your piece of the bread." He held it up.

"Give it to me-" Aliane huffed and snatched the piece out of his hand, rolling her eyes. "Anything else?"

Clint hesitated for a moment. If I don’t do it now, it would never happen. "Actually, there was something I had to tell the both of you. " Out of the corner of his eye he saw Will's eyebrows go up. He faced Aliane, tapping one finger on the table. In sync, his leg bounced up and down rapidly.

"Oh?" She spoke. Clint didn't talk much- So he knew this must've been a surprise.

"I signed up for the Front. Training starts in a few days." Right as he finished uttering the words his tongue felt as if he had swallowed something sour and bitter. Involuntarily, his gaze shifted down to his bowl of soup.

There was a silence that followed his words. Aliane stared at him for a second before she spoke, her voice much softer, much quieter. "Oh..." No one knew much about them, the Front. There were no opinions really- Just honor them. That's why Clint had been so surprised to hear Will's opinion on them. Clint closed his eyes for a moment and saw the word Puppet.

He opened them again and met Aliane’s gaze, feeling Will staring at him too- But he didn't look over. She didn't look mad, only surprised. "I'd just like to ask... Why?"

Clint inhaled for a moment. "Because I want to do something. I want to do something that is going to help people. I want to be someone these kids can look up to." He gestured briefly towards the younger ones, oblivious to the talk. One of them was holding their spoon the wrong way.

"But they already look up to you. Well, they must see but- You already help people, Clint. You help us out. There's no wars, anyways-" Will spoke up this time. His voice was less soft, stricter and more linear.  Almost whiny.

"There is," Clint interrupted. "There will be. Not a war we're really concerned in, but Lilura and Eira are getting more and more... tense every day. They'll probably call on us to aid them."

"Oh, no.." said Aliane. "Do you know why?"

"One wants to abolish the other. I'm not sure, but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon." Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted to let you know. I'll be living and training on the base, though. I'm already signed up.”

"You did this without letting us know first?" Will exclaimed, his eyes narrowing a tad. He looked upset, almost hurt.

"I didn't want to change my mind. It's been on my mind for forever. I decided to get it over with and just do it."

"Will, please." Aliane leaned forward some. "Will there be visits? We still want to see you, Clint."

"I- I'm sure there will be." God, he hated stuttering. He cleared his throat and talked more clearly, forcing his voice to be steady. " I'm not sure when but... I still want to see you all too. It's not like I'm going to drop off the face of the earth."

"You better not. You know I'll kick your ass," Aliane joked. She looked more comforted by that fact. Clint wasn't sure why. He was only another mouth to feed. Will, on the other hand, was hard to read. Part of what Clint read of him- looked almost hurt. He couldn't get why, though.

Will looked up at Clint, but not directly in the eyes as he had always done before and sighed. "I'm glad you're...Making your own way. I'm happy for you. No matter what you choose you’ll always have us for support."

Clint could feel his throat tighten slightly. All he managed then was a quick nod.

"We’re proud of you," added Aliane. She smiled at him gently when he looked up.

"Thank you. It... means a lot." Clint swallowed down whatever was crawling up his throat.

Aliane reached over the table, placing her hands over his and Will's. She didn't say anything else; she didn't need to.

[ibijau]

demon NHS // On AO3

Set after wwx freed the Wens, and a little before NHS meets his mother

The last notes hung in the air, giving the room a peaceful air it often lacked. Lan Xichen had not often had the occasion to come into Nie Huaisang’s quarters before things took the turn they had, but it had been enough to find out the other boy, trying so hard to be elegant and refined in public, hid a messy side in private. It had grown worse lately. Back when Lan Xichen started playing music to help him keep his nature under control, Nie Huaisang at least made efforts to put some order to his things.

For his last two visits, the mess had been allowed to remain. 

It was not the only sign that Nie Huaisang was struggling more and more with the situation. There was also the lack of care with which he had dressed himself, the state of his hair, the way he no longer smiled when Lan Xichen joked. And that was only what Lan Xichen himself could see. Nie Mingjue had mentioned terrible arguments between them, usually on the subject of Wei Wuxian. 

Nie Huaisang, apparently, was of the opinion that although his manners had not been ideal, Wei Wuxian had been right to interrupt the Flower Banquet and demand to be given an account of the surviving Wen's treatment, that the Jin's actions needed to be investigated, especially those of Jin Zixun. In short, he wanted Qinghe Nie to give support to Wei Wuxian. Nie Mingjue, however fair he tried to be in other matters, refused to listen in that one, arguing that the lives of some Wen dogs were not worth so much trouble, and that Nie Huaisang would do well to forget he had ever been friends with Wei Wuxian. 

In truth, a similar discussion was happening between Lan Xichen and his own brother, though with a great deal less shouting. Wei Wuxian was not a man of many friends, but those he had certainly were fiercely loyal to him. 

And yet news had just arrived from Yiling about Jiang Wanyin visiting his brother, about Wei Wuxian seceding from Yunmeng Jiang… 

"Is Er-ge too angry at me?" Nie Huaisang asked. 

His train of thoughts interrupted, Lan Xichen's gaze fell on the other man, still in a meditative position, his eyes closed. In spite of the song played to him, there was little peace to be found on his handsome face. It made Lan Xichen sad that he could not help more. They had never been particularly close before this started, and even now Nie Huaisang probably would not have called him a friend, not when he had Jin Guangyao and Wei Wuxian, but still… Lan Xichen felt an ever deepening fondness for the unfortunate young man, and wished he could have done more. 

He missed how insouciant Nie Huaisang used to be, how easily he would laugh. Lan Xichen didn't think he'd heard him laugh since his nature had been revealed.

"Who do you think is angry at you, Huaisang?" 

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes and gave him a long, tired look, as if to signify he found the question a particularly stupid one. 

"Da-ge is furious that I want to help Wei Wuxian," he pointed out. "That's why he called you here, he thinks I must be going crazy if I agree with protecting a bunch of Wen. San-ge is upset that when I yelled at his father and everyone else, I've ruined all our hard work in making me look weak and insignificant, which is why he also wants you here to calm me. And then there's everyone else who is just generally angry that I'm still around and wants me dead, but I don't much care what they think. Your opinion I do care about. Are you angry too, Er-ge? "

Lan Xichen winced at the ease with which Nie Huaisang spoke of being so hated. Sadly, it was a fair assessment. Nie Huaisang, even more than Wei Wuxian, had few people on his side outside of his sect (or even inside it). Hearing him publicly stand up for his friend had certainly not endeared him to anyone, just as it probably made Wei Wuxian's own case worse. 

"You have done nothing that Wangji did not do as well, although perhaps a little more noisily. I am not angry at him for doing what he thought was right, so I see no reason to be angry at you either."

"He's your brother, it's different," Nie Huaisang pouted. 

"We're family as well, in a sense, and so I will extend the same good will to you as I would show any brother of mine. I am not angry at you, Huaisang." 

"Unhappy then. Upset?" 

"Worried," Lan Xichen conceded. "I wish more people saw you the way your brother, A-Yao, and me see you." 

Nie Huaisang snorted in disdain, but something still relaxed in his expression and he finally stretched out of his meditation posture. 

"Useless and foolish and only good at getting in trouble, that's me!" 

"Clever when you feel like it and devoted to the people you care about," Lan Xichen countered. "I will not contest that you are rather good at getting in trouble, but lately that's only because people around you are unreasonable." 

A weak smile found its way to Nie Huaisang’s lips. 

"Er-ge is too kind." he sighed. "I wish Da-ge and San-ge saw this the same way as you do. I'm glad they finally agree on something again, I just wish it weren't on how much I messed up." 

For some reason, Lan Xichen felt an impulse to pet Nie Huaisang’s hair or hug him or just do something to comfort him. It was just so wrong for him to be so melancholic. But it would have been improper for Lan Xichen to be so informal with him when they weren't that close, so he restrained himself. 

"I'm sure they're just worried, like me," he said. "I will be going back to them now. If they are just worried I'll scold them for not showing it more kindly. If they are angry… I'll try to deal with that for you." 

Nie Huaisang broke into a large, happy smile, and thanked him profusely for that promise. For a moment he looked almost like the cheerful boy he used to be, and just that would be worse the headache Lan Xichen was sure to get while trying to get his sworn brothers to calm down. 

-

"Of course I'm angry at him," Nie Mingjue huffed while Jin Guangyao poured tea for all three of them. "That little idiot, losing control over something like that!" 

"He did not lose control," Lan Xichen protested, smiling at Jin Guangyao when he handed him a cup of tea. "In fact, I remember him backing off the instant you ordered him to." 

"Storming off and going after Wangji and that girl who defected is not backing down."

Lan Xichen frowned, but before he could protest, Jin Guangyao intervened. 

"It was really bad timing, and I wish Huaisang had kept quiet. Now people will certainly think that he is associated with what Wei Wuxian is doing with those Wen cultivators. Our Didi's reputation did not need that."

Jin Guangyao sounded genuinely worried, as he always did when their conversation were about Nie Huaisang. Lan Xichen dared not imagine what his sworn brother must have heard when Nie Mingjue was not around to keep people quiet.

"Did you investigate what was going on in that camp?" Lan Xichen asked. "Was there any truth to Wei Wuxian's claims?" 

"Some of the guards were at times a little rough," Jin Guangyao conceded with a sigh. "But nothing more than a little bullying, a few unkind words here and there. Jin Zixun swears that the incident Wei Wuxian described also never happened, and as we know, Wei Wuxian could have a grudge against him." 

"Jin Zixun is not the most trustworthy person out there," Lan Xichen pointed out. 

Jin Guangyao froze in the movement of sipping some tea, and flashed him a pained look. "Er-ge, do you think I took him to his word? I asked others as well, of course. I know how my cousin can be when he gets upset, and I double checked." 

Lan Xichen felt embarrassed for having doubted his sworn brother's zeal. After such accusations, it was normal that Lanling Jin would have made sure that nothing wrong had happened within its ranks. Certainly Wei Wuxian had sounded very sincerely upset, and Nie Huaisang seemed to fully trust him, but… Jin Guangyao would not have lied to them.

"Go tell that to Huaisang then," Nie Mingjue said. "Maybe he'll stop moping around like a molting hawk if he just hears that he was wrong."

"Huaisang doesn't listen to anyone these days," Jin Guangyao sighed. "Me least of all, since I have nothing to say that he wants to hear." 

Nie Mingjue reluctantly nodded to that, glaring at his half empty cup of tea as if it were responsible for the unease between him and his brother.

"I think he's bored," Lan Xichen hazarded. "He's been very isolated since this all started, and now he can't even write to his best friend. You can't fault him for being upset." 

“Then perhaps Huaisang needs more… appropriate friends,” Jin Guangyao suggested. “I know Jin Zixuan is organising a Night Hunt in a few weeks with a few others. I think if I asked him, he would agree to invite Huaisang.”

“A Night Hunt?” Nie Mingjue grunted. “Isn’t that going against everything you’ve been telling him to do for over a year?”

That was Lan Xichen’s thought as well. They had worked so hard to make it clear that Nie Huaisang was harmless, it would ruin everything if he started slaying monsters. Besides, even before the truth came out, Nie Huaisang had never enjoyed Night Hunting, so this seemed like a rather poor way to find him friends.

“Don’t worry, Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said with a pleasant smile. “It is not the sort of Hunt you would go on. As I understand, quite a few young ladies have been invited, most of which just so happen to be either engaged to Jin Zixuan and friends of his, or hoped to become so in the future. The boys are going there to show off, the girls are going there to admire them. If Nie Huaisang stays with the girls during the actual Night Hunt there’s no risk at all, but he’ll show again how tame he is. It had worked quite well during the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, right?”

“I don’t like it,” Nie Minjgue insisted. “I’m not worried about fierce corpses and monsters, I’m worried about what would happen if someone decided to take their chance and attacked him.”

“Then send a few trusted Nie disciples with him if you’d like. But you needn’t worry. Jin Zixuan would not allow any harm to come to him. In fact, since Nie Huaisang has so openly declared himself in favour of Wei Wuxian, it is likely that my brother, put in his presence, will try to befriend him even without my prompting him to do so. After all Lady Jiang will be there and he is still very eager to impress his fiancée.”

Even with this promise, Nie Mingjue looked unconvinced, so Jin Guangyao turned to Lan Xichen for support, silently pleading for his help. On any other subject, Lan Xichen would have quickly sided with him, but for once he felt uncertain.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to organise an occasion where he could meet with Jin Zixuan and chat with him alone?” he suggested. “I think Huaisang could get along with him if he tried, but I’m less sure about the crowd that usually follows him. Would Jin Zixun be there?"

"He sees Wei Wuxian in every shadow these days, so that's very unlikely," Jin Guangyao explained. "As for your idea… Er-ge, it is possible for my father to allow Nie Huaisang to join a Night Hunt if Jin Zixuan requests it, but meeting in private would be too much considering the current… situation. Otherwise, I would not have suggested an activity Huaisang dislikes this much."

It made sense, sadly. Jin Guangshan had never directly taken sides against Nie Huaisang, but he had also made no effort to silence those who did. Yet with how fond he was of his only legitimate child, it might work if Jin Zixuan started arguing in favour of Nie Huaisang. 

"I suppose it might not be bad," Lan Xichen admitted. "He looked very unhappy earlier." Like a caged bird with clipped wings, he thought. Like a flower cut and displayed in a vase, starting to wilt for lack of roots. "He can't stay in his room for the rest of his life, Mingjue."

Even with the most logical of arguments, Jin Guangyao could never have convinced Nie Mingjue. Yet now that Lan Xichen approved it, the plan was instantly less distasteful. 

"I'd be sending him with the best disciples his age," Nie Mingjue warned. "And he'd be taking his sabre." 

"It would be odd if he didn't take it," Jin Guangyao replied with a note of amusement. "This is a Night Hunt in name at least, and it would be unseemly for a cultivator of his rank to appear without his weapon. The same goes for him having companions. He is the Second Master of Qinghe Nie, of course he cannot travel alone. Da-ge, I also want Huaisang to be safe ! Tell me all your conditions, and as soon as I return to Lanling, I will talk with Jin Zixuan to see if he agrees to help. Everything will be fine, Da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue looked unconvinced, but started naming his demands, which Jin Guangyao listened to without a single protest.

It would be good for Huaisang to be around people again, Lan Xichen told himself. It would force him out of his melancholy, and it might make him a little more reasonable in his views of Wei Wuxian if he could just have other people to talk to.

It would be good for him.

And yet, Lan Xichen couldn’t help feeling at least as worried as Nie Mingjue was.

[mwolf0epsilon]

How about a Sammy and Wally teaming up for once to get out of a sticky situation only to never speak of it again as no one would believe they worked well together :3c

Summary: Just like how water and oil didn't mix, there was no way Sammy could ever be openly nice to Wally... Or could there?

---

[[MORE]]

     Water and Oil. That was the sort of relationship Sammy Lawrence and Wally Franks had between them.

Under normal circumstances they did not mix, avoided getting involved with each other, and overall preferred to maintain a general distance.

Like both liquids, they were polar opposites of sorts.

Sammy was somewhat anti-social with a rather finicky temper that could be set off easily, while Wally was highly sociable, very easy-going and carefree.

Where the music director was a workaholic by nature (to the point it became quite detrimental to his own health), the janitor was more on the lazy side (only ever becoming invested in certain very particular interests of his).

So really, the hostilities and recurring arguments weren't unexpected whenever they crossed paths.

No one expected anything less from them.

     Everyone knew that Wallace Franks was a friendly person. He was born and raised in Brooklyn and had quite a mind-boggling background that often contradicted itself or put in question what sort of upbringing his parents had subjected him and his sisters to.

Questions that were met with a smile, a shrug and an eagerness to follow a routine full of cut corners, cleaning up spills, ignoring Mr. Connor and trying to avoid stepping on both Sammy's and Mr. Drew's toes.

He didn't particularly dislike anyone (although Thomas's pretentious tone made his blood boil quite a bit), and felt a little off put when others found reason to pick fights with him (fights he could in theory win if he felt like getting into a scrap with any of these fancy white boys who never once so much as got a punch to the gut or a kick to the balls).

Avoidance was the best survival tactic, one he stuck to unless personally blighted by anyone that thought he wouldn't retaliate.

He was a friend you could count on, but also a natural trickster, so if he wanted to be a problem he certainly could be.

The two things keeping him in line were sheer laziness and a good disposition. Why make enemies when you could make new pals? And thinking too hard on things wasn't really worthwhile in his humble opinion… Just look at Sammy Lawrence!

     Sammy… Wally didn't hate him (like most people thought he should, considering the blond was such an antagonistic asshole towards him). If anything he pitied the guy quite a bit.

The music director was an aggressive bundle of nerves. A ticking time-bomb that was just ready to be triggered, and it often seemed like no one cared enough to keep an eye on his well being.

Wally wasn't a medical professional of course, but even he knew when someone should step back and let themselves play stupid for a while to combat the amounting stress. Sammy was in his early forties (only 5 years older than Wally) and in desperate need of partying and some no-strings-attached sex. You know, the usual stupid adult stuff that got you in trouble if you weren't legal or if you weren't a straight white male.

Either way, all opinions aside, Wally didn't find reason to hate Sammy. He could understand why someone would carry themselves so tightly guarded when the economy was in shambles and you were trying to make something out of yourself. Although the same consideration did not apply to the other...

Because Sammy sure seemed to find reasons to absolutely despise him.

  "He's an incompetent brat with no respect for others! He's a petty thief, inept at maintaining the pipes, sloppy with cleaning and absolutely infuriating in how he brags about skills and smarts he clearly lacks!" The Brooklynite winced as he hid behind Norman, who was glowering down at the blond nuisance currently screaming at him.

A leaky pipe in Sammy's office that he'd been trying to fix had gotten displaced and destroyed a nearly completed composition, setting back the band quite a bit. Naturally the head of the department (who'd gotten sprayed in the face as well) had lost his temper.

  "Bite your tongue Lawrence, before I rip it out of your mouth myself." The much larger man between them growled in warning. "It was an accident, no need to go spittin' out such poison."

  "You can't keep protecting that little… that speckled half-breed!"

  "Now yous is really askin' for me to put my foot up your tight little ass!" Norman bodily shoved the belligerent ink coated man, the indignant anger in his voice pointing to the projectionist beginning to lose his patience. Not that Wally could say for sure, he was still very much hiding behind him. "Apologize to the boy before I deck yous in that big beak o' yours!"

  "I'd rather die." Sammy hissed between his teeth.

  "Why I oughta teach yous a good lesson on havin' some manners, you obnoxious little--"

  "N-Norman that's enough…"

Both fell silent as he spoke up, the janitor moving back from the pair and looking down at his feet in defeat.

He had messed up and Sammy had every right to be angry, since he had ruined his work and consequently screwed over the rest of the department.

It wasn't fair if he got off completely scot free, even if he didn't want to face Mr. Drew soul crushing reprimands.

  "I made a mess of things… I didn't pay attention and messed up the stinkin' pipe…" Sammy actually looked confused that he was just taking it for once, rather than getting out of dodge. "Now Mr. Drew's gonna be real mad and it shouldn't be the music department to pay for it…"

  "Don't mean Mr. Lawrence gets to go havin' a dyin' duck fit! Hollerin' up a storm like that, you'd think yous went and deflowered his sister."

  "Polk!" Sammy really did not like the sound of that. If he went any redder with rage Wally feared he might literally explode like a bomb. "How dare you?!"

  "Don't feel too good when others go sayin' shit do it? Even if Wally here is takin' the fall, yous still gonna apologize to the kid." Norman stated.

  "I will do no such thing."

  "Good Lord in heaven, yous really are like water an' oil! You better start cleanin' up your act before I start usin' yous to grease up the projector belts!"

  "Why am I the oil in this analogy?!"

  "Must be because you're an unpleasant asshole."

The three turned to stare at none other than Thomas Connor who had a displeased look on his face and a toolbox in hand. Wally looked away, already knowing what was coming.

  "Franks, get moving back into that office. You're fixing that pipe while I sort the ink pressure." Thomas passed him the toolbox without any second thought. "Mr. Lawrence, I'd suggest you go collect your things to keep them well away from the ink."

  "I don't take orders from you, Engineering." Sammy huffed "I was already planning to do so before you decided to show your face around here."

  "Then why haven't you?" The older man raised an eyebrow.

Well it turns out Sammy's face could get redder. That probably wasn't normal, but it did seem to amuse Norman quite a bit.

He snorted and shook his head.

  "I needs to go downstairs t'get a new reel for the projector. I better not hear no more hollerin' when I get back." He gave Sammy a pointed look before looking at Thomas "And yous better get sortin' that pressure issue. If any more pipes burst in this little ol'department we might get another flood, and we still don't got no pump switch installed yet now do we?"

  "At the end of the month that's getting sorted. For now, we do our jobs." Thomas huffed and moved to go check the utility shaft where most of the pressure gauges for the music department were located.

     Wally watched quietly as both older men went their separate ways, leaving him alone with Sammy.

  "Well,what are you standing there for? Go fix your fuck-up." The blond snapped at him as he went to pick up an empty box from the closet and began to stomp his way back to his messy office.

The Brooklynite gulped and took the toolbox he'd been given, hoping this wouldn't take long.

The thought of being alone in a room with Sammy when he was in a terrible mood wasn't particularly appealing.

Especially when he was pissed at him.

It was just one measly little pipe.

How hard a fix could it be?

Stepping inside, the janitor winced. The floor was absolutely coated in ink and the spill was beginning to spread.

Sammy was dragging his desk away, leaving marks on the wood that were then hidden away by the growing puddle. The bin he'd used to put under the flow was full to the brim and spilling out in rivets.

  "Franks! Close the damn door and put that curtain under so it doesn't end up going into the actual band room!" The music director called out, startling him slightly.

  "Oh, uh right. Contain the issue an'... Junk." He grabbed the curtain, something Sammy had put up himself to cover his office window because he couldn't be bothered to mess with the rickety shutters, and stuffed it under the crack of the door once he closed it.

There was a loud click but he elected to ignore it since he had his keys. He could just unlock it later.

  "You need any help dragging that?" He asked as he began to look through the toolbox for a wrench.

  "Just do your job."

  "Right…"

     They fell into silence, where Wally tried to figure out where exactly along the pipe did he actually have to sort, and where Sammy muttered to himself as he tried to salvage his papers.

The leak wasn't too bad all things considered. There was little to no pressure, which meant there might be a block somewhere else but that was why Thomas was checking in the utility shaft.

He just needed to fix this, tighten that, twist this doodad and turn that knick-knack… He winced when he heard papers crumple and get tossed into a wastebasket.

  "Damn it, not one fucking sheet… I swear I had some notes somewhere… where did I put those…" The composer was going about trying to find his stuff, looking through a filing cabinet that looked just as disorganized as Wally's dresser. "Was it in E? Or… L? Do I even use the separators?"

It was amazing really, how easily Sammy seemed to lose track of things.

He often yelled at the janitor for misplacing his keys, yet here he was murmuring and rushing about all scatterbrained.

It was a little ironic.

  "What are you staring at, Franks?!"

  "Hm?" He hadn't even noticed he'd been looking. "Oh uh, was just gonna say this is almost done."

  "Good. I want you out as fast as possible, so get that done and clean this muck so I don't have to see you for the rest of the day."

  "Yeah yeah, this whole pipe stuff ain't too bad when the ink aint--" a loud groan interrupted him abruptly, and even Sammy seemed to pause to look up.

Both stood there, slightly alarmed by the sound.

  "What was that?" Sammy asked.

  "I…" Wally frowned and listened closely. It sounded almost like, like… "Oh crap."

Another much louder groan and then suddenly the Brooklynite was on the floor, ears ringing and mind blank from taking a sudden hit.

The pipe had completely burst now, due to a sudden change in pressure, leaving the two with a rapid cascade of ink.

  "What did you do now?!" He heard once his hearing returned, but he didn't respond. Instead he sat up and stared at the pool of ink all around him. Where he sat it was steadily rising to his knees, and it was already covering Sammy's feet completely.

The office was filling up like a tub, and quickly.

  "Oh boy…" he got up onto shaky feet and made for the door, wincing when he realized it had indeed locked.

He went for his keys but froze when he found them gone. "Shit, shit shit shit shit!!!"

  "What now?!"

  "I think we're in a bit of a pickle!"

  "Why am I not surprised?" Sammy rolled his eyes, moving over to try the door. "Where are your keys?"

  ".... Uh…"

  "Are you serious?" The blond groaned and began to try pulling the stuffed curtains from under the door to get rid of the flooding problem. The color draining from his face when he realized they wouldn't budge. "No…"

Wally bit his lip as he watched Sammy tug harder and then try the door handle with a little more urgency.

  "No, no no no! I'm not drowning in my own office!" The music director let go of the handle and instead began to bash his shoulder against the door to no avail.

It wouldn't budge. "FUCK!"

     Thinking quickly (and trying not to stare at the ink slowly raising up to halfway up his legs and nearing knee height), Wally began looking for his keys.

  "I just had them!" He'd checked before entering the office. They must have fallen out when the pipe exploded and threw him down, so they had to be somewhere in the pooling mess. "Come on…"

He was practically on his knees searching while Sammy continued to assault the door.

There was no one to hear the noise, and if they didn't find a way out soon… Well… Wally's aunty Tess once told him drowning was a painful and far too long a death.

  "This isn't the time to roll around like a pig in mud!" The blond shrieked at him, to which he couldn't help look back with a glare.

  "I'm lookin' for my keys! They're somewhere in here!"

  "Then move aside!" Sammy joined him and began to frantically palm the floor, trying to find the illusive circular keyring "If we survive I'm getting you a better ring!"

  "If we survive you won't have to! Cuzz I'll be outta here!" Drowning was definitely not on the job description. This was good enough a reason to quit right?

  "I'll believe it when I see it happen!"

No matter how much they desperately searched however, no keys could be found in a pool that now reached well above their waist.

Realizing just how dire their situation was becoming, both men looked at each other with dawning horror.

It was a matter of minutes… their lives were going to end in minutes.

Wally felt at a loss for what to do, while Sammy… Well the blond was already under enough pressure as it was, so naturally he broke.

  "No… I can't die like this!" Fat tears began to run down his face as despair started setting in.

  "Hey now, I know this ain't ideal but--"

  "Ideal? Ideal?!" Sammy grabbed at his own hair and began to tug while he hiccuped hysterically. "I'll tell you what's not ideal! Drowning in this chemical mishap, with some brat from Brooklyn while my 16 year old sister is none the wiser at home, probably thinking 'Geeh I wonder where Sammy is, he usually calls if he's staying at work', only to then find out on the local paper the next morning that she's absolutely alone with no one to care for her! That! That isn't ideal!"

  ".... Oh you actually have a sister? I thought Norman was just provokin' you…"

  "I WILL STRANGLE YOU WELL BEFORE YOU DROWN YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

  "OI DON'T YOU GO CALLING MY MA A BITCH, SHE'S AN ABSOLUTELY SWELL LADY!" He yelled back, ignoring how both of them were now up to their chests (well he was starting to float since Sammy was taller than him) in ink. "HOW WOULD YA LIKE IT IF I CALLED YOUR MA A BITCH?!"

The blond head of the department screeching and lunging for him was all the warning Wally got before the two ended up tumbling in, heads fully submerged and bodies flailing as they attempted to restore their mothers' honors (if anything they probably looked like little kids fighting in a puddle while their parents looked away in embarrassment).

They only came back up to gasp for air and push themselves away from one another.

  "Ok that was not my best idea!" Sammy coughed and looked around. "I can barely see the doorframe or the edge of the window… We're going to die in here and it's all Drew's and that infernal machine's fault!"

  "... I." Wally paused "Wait, I ain't included in that?"

  "No?"

  "But the pipe, and what you were tellin' Norman and the fighting just now…"

  "I was pissed because you aggravated an issue I already had! You also stole my sister's birthday cake that I spent money on, are a braggart of the worst kind, and a troublemaker, but fuck I'm not gonna blame you for this shitty situation!" Sammy threw his hands up in disbelief, yelping once he lost balance. He righted himself and looked back at Wally. "And the fighting was because you called my dead mother a bitch."

  "Oh… My condolences… also that cake was yours? Man good taste! Nice stuff really… I uhm… I donno what to say… I just thought you hated me."

  "... Well if we're going to die I might as well be honest." Sammy sighed "I don't hate you Wally. I just find you aggravating. You're an impossible optimistic guy in a world that eats brats like you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If someone isn't hard on you, how are you meant to learn how to survive out there?"

  "... That how you were taught?"

  "..."

  "Then no worries Sammy. I'm from Brooklyn! We're made of durable stuffs! Like our uh… like… roaches!"

  "Durable like roaches… how reassuring…" Sammy held a hand up to reach for the ceiling. They were going to lose air in seconds. "It's the same as saying glass is strong unless it meets with a hammer…"

Wally stared at him before something clicked. The toolbox!

  "Glass, hammer, the window!"

"Hm?"

  "Sammy you're a genius!" The janitor took a deep breath and dove down to the floor. He blindly groped around for the toolbox and then for the hammer inside it.

He resurfaced to take another big gulp of air before showing his companion the hammer and diving back down.

All it took was a knock on the side of the glass for the whole thing to come down. Thank God for Joey Drew's not so safe work ethic and construction jobs!

-

     Thomas Connor was having a rotten day. He'd gone down to figure out what the pressure issues were all about in the utility shaft connected to the music department and the sewers, and had then rushed to get Joey to bring him down and show him the root of the problem.

He'd become irate when he realized the man had turned on the machine during maintenance, and it took a newly returned Norman and a mildly concerned Jack to talk him out of kicking his employer's ass.

  "With how irregular the pressure has been, turning on the machine was grossly negligent on your part! The more fragile pipes could have burst and then we'd be faced with catastrophic failure all around the studio!" He practically roared at the impassive grinning bastard. "Have you any idea how unstable the floors currently under construction are?! The building could collapse!"

  "But it didn't."

  "But it COULD have!"

  "And yet it didn't." Joey's grin widened. "So I don't see what the big deal is, Mr. Connor."

  "Sir I really think you should consider what he's trying to say. For uh, for everyone's safety…" Jack tried, only to be shrugged off with a wave.

  "Mr. Fain I see no reason to worry. No catastrophic failure has occurred, and no one has gotten hurt." Joey insisted. "It's as they say. No harm no foul."

  "No harm no foul?! What kind of business owner doesn't consider their workers's safety?!"

  "Mr. Connor…" Joey rolled his eyes but stopped once he heard what sounded like a loud bang, before the band room was suddenly inundated by a massive wave of ink and random junk. Among said junk, lay a coughing and very disoriented Wally Franks (still holding a hammer) and Sammy Lawrence.

The foursome that had been arguing were now coated in almost as much ink as the pair, and looking stunned.

Once the coughing subsided, Wally raised the hammer in triumph.

  "We're alive!" He dropped the hammer and flopped his arm back down weakly.

  "Huzzah…" Sammy rubbed at his face tiredly before looking over at their audience. Once his eyes locked with Joey's, he seemed to regain all strength. "DREW."

  "Shit." Joey turned around swiftly and began limping away at a considerable speed with aid from his cane, while Sammy scrambled onto his feet and began running after him.

  "WE NEARLY DROWNED! YOU AREN'T GETTING AWAY SO EASILY! COME BACK HERE!"

  "Someone cancel my appointments!"

  "DREWWWW!!!!"

    Norman clicked his tongue and shook his head while Jack helped Wally onto his feet and asked if he was ok.

  "Oh, I'm good!" The Brooklynite smiled "Nearly drowned with Sammy, but peachy!"

  "You nearly drowned?!" Thomas stared in disbelief.

  "Yeah… but it's good. I broke a window but other than that everything should uh, be repairable I think? Might need a lot o' bleach to clean up… but you know." Wally shrugged.

  "Should I ask what abouts happened in that office when yous was both alone in there?" Norman questioned "Besides nearly drownin' in Joey's hubris?"

  "Uh… oh, you're asking if Sammy gave me any trouble aren't ya?" Wally shook his head "Not really. He was even nice to me for a little bit!"

  "Nice?" Norman and Thomas both exchanged looks "To you?"

  "Oh Geeh, I should get him checked, he might have swallowed ink and become delusional…" Jack whispered to himself in concern.

  "Ye, nice! Sammy Lawrence was nice to me in a situation where we thought we were gonna die, so it had to have been genuine!" The janitor grinned. "But I'll bet by Monday he'll be back to being a grouch. Probably for the best… saying Sammy is nice is like saying water and oil mix."

Thomas stared at him before snorting.

  "They do mix."

  "What…?"

  "Water and oil mix. It just takes the right conditions." He shrugged "Thought you went to college."

  "Oh come on you're yanking my leg!" There was no way those two mixed, just as there was no way Sammy could be openly nice to Wally.

Could there?

The world might never know.

[toysoldiers-rwby]

[SYT] 1. the sheep and her stupid dogs

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Mature Word Count: 5247

The deadline to find a new teammate and pass their combat exam is approaching fast. Desperate for a substitute, Fiona takes her teammates to Mantle and finds more than a new partner.

Read on Ao3

PREV - NEXT  

Fiona knew Atlas Academy was going to be difficult. The upperclassmen always told them, “Survive the first year and everything else would be a breeze,” but they weren’t a Faunus. They weren’t partnered with a quarry owner’s son. They weren’t surrounded by Atlas born elites, who’s family money was practically made from Faunus blood and bones. Lives even.  

Yes, the first year was hard but not because of the test and training. It was her own partner and those… those stupid elites!  

Fiona remembers the first time she finally broke under those hateful comments. She doesn’t remember the words, her own sobs to loud to hear much of anything. She could barely see Winter’s sneers through her tears. She does remember May’s fist… The feeling of shock, joy, and fear, as it colliding into her partner’s face.  

May beat the quarry owner’s son until his Aura broke then threw in a few more punches hidden under his clothes. All the while Winter Schnee shield Fiona in case he slipped past May. Fiona never stood up to people like that. It always ended bad for her but… she never had people defend her in such a way.

Fiona held her palms to her eyes, trying to push back the tears. She laughed and smiled at the now bittersweet memory, “You two… ugh! You two are such idiots!”  

Rich idiot with money and who knew how Atlas worked. A stupid Schnee too stubborn to care about her family name and a stupid Marigold too angry for reason. Two Atlas elites… who sacrifice their public image for her. Fiona wiped her eyes and replayed the public speech that finally got their fourth member expelled.  

Their team had just won a tournament and stood on stage before the crowd and cameras. Fiona should have known her elites were planning something. On screen May softly nudged Fiona to stand at the far left instead of her usual position in the middle right.  

Winter took the podium with an air of authority and confidence only the the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company could posses . Her voice was steady and calm, “Atlas is the pinnacle of peace and technology. We lead the world and set ourselves to a higher standard to strive beyond perfection,” the Winter-on-screen said. After nearly two years with the elite and countless hours of re-watching, Fiona could see the subtle tells of Winter’s temper rising.  

It was a little scary. She wasn’t as obvious as May’s pulsing veins and clenched jaw. It was her posture. Always perfect but her shoulders tensed, forearms stiffen, everything coiled tight ready for a strike.  

The strike was an angry gesture at their fourth member on the far right. “So why is this hateful, racist, queer intolerant buffoon still here?!” Winter yelled into the mic. That was the moment Winter became the former heiress of the SDC.  

Fiona watch her own reaction. On-screen-Fiona tried leaning over, to look at Winter, maybe to stop her but May gave a subtle gesture to stand down.  

Now Winter looked like May. A pulsing vein at the side of her neck, jaw tense and face reddening with anger.  

Anger for Fiona and May.  

Anger at the lack of action from General Ironwood and the other instructors at the Academy.  

“We endured his unreasonable hatred for over a year. If this is Atlas’s definition of peace and perfection…” On-screen-Winter took a deep breath, returning to the calm and cool women that first took the podium. “I, Winter Schnee, will have no part of it.” She ripped the medal around her neck and threw it to the ground. May did the same and the Fiona did it too with shaking hands, her nerves and fear bare for the world to see.  

If the Academy continued to do nothing, the world would know.  

Fiona laughed and wiped her eyes. She held the Scroll close to her chest, “You two idiots… Was it worth it?” Her voice cracked as another sob broke through.  

It wasn’t.  

She could hear Winter and May arguing in the bathroom. The most promising team of Atlas Academy… cut down before graduation… General Ironwood had deemed the combat exam too dangerous for only three second years and bared them from taking their final. They had till the middle of summer to find a replacement, train, and to pass the exam.  

“It’s been four days, Winter! No one is going to partner with us after the stunt we pulled!”  

“I’m sure there’s at least one other person willing-”  

“They can’t be upperclassmen. We’ve asked every second and first year, Win.”  

“We’re not taking that asshole back. That’s final.”  

“It’s our only option.”  

“There has to be another way!” Winter yelled.  

May sighed, “Me and Fiona will be fine-”  

“Bullshit!” There were several loud crash in the bathroom. Fiona flinched under each one and when May yelped in pain Fiona bolted from her bed. Her hand hovered just out of range of the motion sensor. “I’m not watching you two cry again.”  

“We’re not Weiss!” There were several loud crashes. Fiona nearly stepping back at each one. She stood her ground, heartbreaking with each punch that thudded through the metal door and walls. “We don’t need your protection!”  

“It’s not… it’s…”  

Fiona pulled her hand back using them pressing her ears flat and back to her head. She didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth the sacrificing their huntress careers. She survived nineteen years of racism, she should survive two more… For these stupid elites willing to throw away their status.  

The sheep Faunus took a breath for courage and waved her hand in front of the sensor before she lost it. The door to the bathroom slid open, revealing the pair of elites sprawled on the bathroom floor. Of course Winter was on top, a hand on May’s chest to pin her to the floor. Their chest was heaving from the yelling, face a little flush from their argument. Fiona didn’t blink, it was a familiar sight between two hot heads.  

“May’s right. We’ll be fine…” Then she spotted something a little off and her words trailed off. She could count the space between May and Winter’s lips with a hand, one finger. For a total of one inch.  

Either May didn’t realize how it looked or that this happened away too often in private. Winter couldn’t meet either of their eyes, but perhaps it was due to fighting May when she tried to shove her off. The Schnee didn’t budge, instead she adjusted from straddling May’s hips to sitting on her abdomen. The casual display of dominance only had the Marigold bristling, almost growling.  

“You’re crying,” Winter observed with a scowl. That seemed to snapped May out of their fight. She arched awkwardly to get a look at Fiona.  

“Why-” May started but Fiona interrupted her.  

If she wasn’t a Faunus they’d all would be moving into the third year dorms right now.  

“Stress,” Fiona said. She turned to one of the sinks and quickly rinsed her face from the tears and some snot she hoped the elites didn’t see. Through her fingers she caught Winter moving in the mirror, pulling at missing buttons and examine her uniform of any other damage. May seemed content to watch her partner preen and fix her appearance as best as possible until Winter looked down at her through long lashes and an arrogant smirk.  

“Get off, you fat ass,” May scowled.  

“In an effort to be a good teammate, leader, and reasonable adult. I’m ignoring that comment.” Winter said. She got to her feet and offered May her hand. Despite the scowl her partner took it.  

Fiona shelved her suspicions for later. She patted her face dry and looked back up at her elites. Their light glares at each other soften when Fiona caught their attention, “May’s right. We need a fourth and everyone in Atlas is too much of a coward…” Fiona gasped. In Atlas. Fiona’s ears flickered about, almost tickling herself as it brushed against her fluffy hair. She smiled up at them, “We haven’t asked around in Mantle!”  

As soon as the last word left her mouth May and Winter gave her an… interesting reaction. Disgust, contempt, reluctance, defeat. Fiona huffed and glared at the two, “The requirements was no upperclassmen. Nothing about our fourth member being a student!” She said.  

It didn’t really sway Winter’s opinion, “I doubt General Ironwood would allow it,” Winter said.  

At that May only light up, yellow eyes gleaming with mischief. She smiled back down at her, “Fiona you’re brilliant!” May laughed swooping her up and holding the sheep Faunus up high in the air. Fiona pouted back and kicked her legs. One of these days she will kick May in the balls… but not today. Today Fiona will enjoy that dumb smile and cute face. She needed it.  

Winter did too, even if she tried to act cool and indifferent. The Schnee made a show of slipping off her shirt with a sigh, “I suppose I’m out voted…” She mumbled looking at the missing buttons. Fiona only smiled. It wasn’t much of a vote when May was too eager to fuck the system. Winter dropped her shirt onto May’s head as she walked back into their dorm room. “You’re either fixing it or buying me a new one, Marigold.”  

“Whatever, ma’am,” May drawled at her, sticking out her tongue. She finally set Fiona down and grinned. “So where do we start?”  

The Police Academy was Fiona’s first thought. But after May smoothed down her designer clothes she changed her mind. “We need to get you two into something that doesn’t scream money.” Fiona said. “Something casual.”  

Winter and May glanced at each other. And May glanced at Winter’s abs and lace covered breast while the Schnee’s vision was blocked by a new top. Fiona couldn’t call her out on it because she was guilty of doing the same.  

“… This is casual,” Both the stupid elites replied.  

Fiona sighed, rubbing her temples. “Let’s just wear our uniforms. And a coat. A nice thick coat.”  

As expected the pair didn’t actually have a coat thick enough to make up for Mantle’s weak heating grid. Only after five minutes of walking around Fiona stopped them by a small store. Fiona’s suspicious rose slightly, watching Winter give May a red scarf and hot drink to help with the cold. May grumbled but still accepted the small gesture and even pressed her shoulder into Winter.  

When the Schnee finally looked away from her partner and at Fiona, the little lamb almost squeaked. “So? What now?”  

“We should start with the Police Academy. There’s a chance General Ironwood would at least recognize their training,” Fiona said.  

“Or we can split up and ask around,” May suggested. When Winter shivered a little May held out her drink for her. It was… so casual but Fiona couldn’t remember if it was a regular thing or not.  

Fiona shook her head from the distraction. “No, absolutely not,” She said crossing her arms and looking up at the totally the pair. “You two will totally get swindled or pick pocketed.”  

Winter’s lips frowned around the mouth of the hot drink. “I’m such a damsel in distress. Please protect me,” She drawled out in the most dead and flat tone Fiona has ever heard. May snorted and laugh while Fiona tried to pout but ended up giggling anyway. Winter tried to hid her own smile by taking another sip. The default scowl returned when Winter returned May’s drink to her, "I don’t need my swords for my Glyphs."  

“They can’t charge me with assault if it’s not on the cameras!” May said. Fiona and Winter frowned at her. Somehow May’s cute face and innocent smile turned the statement incredibly dark. Possible because it was a well tested statement. The Marigold huffed at their reactions, “Besides it’s not like we need the lien.”  

“… Very reassuring you two,” Fiona sighed. They could claim self-defense and get away with it but that favoritism will probably work against them in Mantle. Though dragging along an unwilling pair of elites could hurt their cause. “Let’s put it to a vote…” Fiona drawled out already knowing how it would go.  

“For splitting up,” Winter said with a raised hand.  

May actually hesitated, “… How pissed would you be if I changed my mind-”  

“Marigold!” Winter scowled. May winced under the tone and few bystanders jumped and walked away from them.  

“Too pissed to make it worth, got it.” May mumbled quickly raising her hand.  

“Alright. We meet back at the transport hub within the hour and no leaving the sector got it?” Fiona asked. May smiled and gave a thumbs up. Winter laced her hands behind her back and nodded.  

As they started walking in separate directions Fiona’s ears twitched. She could hear Winter whisper, “How do we know we’re leaving a sector?”  

“… I didn’t even know there were sectors.”  

Fiona tried not to groan and drag them along with her. The pair were adults. Huntress-in-training. They’ll be able to figure it out themselves. Even if Winter’s famous face and May’s carelessness made them targets…  

No it was a bad idea. With a small noise of complaint Fiona turned around to see a crowd of dull greys, blues, and browns. The Schnee and Marigold was gone. Fiona just hoped their tendency to stick to each other continued in Mantle.  

“Focus, Thyme!” Fiona mumbled slapping her cheeks. Now was the perfect chance to repay them for all they’ve done for her. Winter didn’t need to throw around stupid amounts of lien to get Fiona’s supplies. May didn’t need to rough up the ignorant students harassing her. She would will finally be able to help her team. Fiona’s ears perked up with renewed energy and she marched down the street to her first destination, “Police Academy.”  

It was almost comforting to be in a place with so much rules and structure. The Police Academy was the former Huntress Academy before the Great War, so there were many similarities. The biggest difference was due to the lack of funding. They didn’t have hard-light lamps and banners decorating the walls but at least there were no visible signs of age.  

Many students just passed by Fiona, apologizing because their finals were approaching and had no time. The few that did stop to talk to her held themselves very similar to Atlas Academy standards.  

“For how much lien?” They’d ask again and again.  

“… None,” Fiona was nearly speechless every time, “I’m from Mantle, I get how hard is it. But if you could help spread the word that would be much appreciated.” The police students wished her luck and took her number to share with friends. As the minutes ticked closer to an hour, Fiona’s ears started falling lower and lower.  

But the last one… Maybe she should have dragged Winter and May with her.  

"You expect strangers to risk their lives for over a publicity stunt gone wrong? For free?" The police student asked, towering over her with their arms crossed.  

Fiona felt a snarl flinched onto her face before she could stop it. The student was only mildly surprised but did flinch at Fiona’s yell, “Publicity stunt?!”  

"You have two of the biggest family rivals on a team with you. A Faunus," the student said. Fiona could feel her heart beating so hard in her chest it shook her body. “How about a cut of how much they’re paying to make them look good? Must be a lot of lien if your still in Atlas-”  

Fiona turned. She kicked open the doors and stormed down the steps in a haze. Is… is that what everyone thought she was… Thought of Winter and May?!  

“Aaggh!” Fiona nearly pulled out her hair as she walked out of the gates. Then she was looking at her reflection in the screen of her Scroll. She wanted to call them, tell them about the rumors in Mantle but… knowing May, the women would run down here and beat up the student.  

They… They didn’t deserve that. Fiona dropped her face into her Scroll with a sigh. Fiona did think the same thing when she first met May. The rich girl who tried a little too hard to be nice to the point it was a little awkward.  

Another rich snob wanting to look good.  

Then May punched their expelled teammate in the face. The pair was very secretive so Fiona had to piece it together with cryptic clues and maybe someone forgot to lock the door to the bathroom. May was just happy to be herself. Fiona wasn’t worried about the Schnee pretending to be fake for bonus points. It took a few months to figure it out but the way she acted towards May and gradually Fiona herself… Winter wasn’t nice in the conventional way. Eventually the Faunus learned the Schnee just… didn’t know how to be warm. Even her smiles towards May was guarded.  

Fiona felt tears pricking her eyes again. Her hopes were as burnt as the smoke the factories put out. Winter, May. Those… idiots! If only they didn’t come from rich cold families, if only everyone wasn’t a shallow, mindless follower… “Why can’t things be easy for once in my life!” Fiona kicked a small rock, trying to calm down. She watched it bounce around until it hit a dog’s nose. It yelped in surprise and the owner jumped a little too.  

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” She instinctively reached out for the dog but pulled her hand back to double check with the owner. She looked up… and up. A giant woman with green hair only smiled kindly down at her.  

“It happens… well no. That’s a first but don’t worry about it,” She said with a laugh. “Lil’ Tank will probably forgive you with a few pets and kisses.” Fiona tried not to pout and huff. Little for her… If Fiona knelt down that would make the fully grown Akbash taller than her. So she only bent over and pet their head.  

“I’m sorry Tank. I’m just having a bad day,” Fiona mumbled. The dog seemed to understand because they licked her hand in a possibly comforting gesture.  

“Or month. I doubt things were easy after your leader’s outburst.”  

Fiona’s eyes darted back up and up to a kind and awkward smile. Slowly Fiona could feel her face heat up, ears twitching as she remembered the recording she watched earlier. Winter was constantly stopped and recognized around Atlas but they always ignored Fiona.  

She was really wishing she brought her elites right about now. The panic must have been pretty obvious on Fiona’s face because the giant women stepped back a little and seemed to shrink on herself.  

“Sorry! It must be really weird…” The stranger mumbled, scratching the back of her head. Fiona nodded a little. How did Winter deal with it? “I’m uh, I’m Joanna Greenleaf,” the giant said with a hand out stretched.  

“Fiona Thyme- But, you already knew that.” Fiona mumbled ears flinching down. Joanna’s smile calmed her nerves enough for Fiona to actually shake her hand.  

“So, Ms. Thyme, what brings you back to Mantle?”  

Fiona looked up, charred hope flicking back into embers. She carefully looked at Joanna. Tall, from the way her coat stretched across her shoulders and biceps she was rather built. If she’s from Mantle meaning she most likely knew how to defend herself and possibly knew how to use a firearm. She didn’t look like a civilian but Fiona didn’t exactly look like a huntress-in-training. Even in uniform.  

And she nearly decked out a stranger for pre-judging people.  

Fiona took a breath. The worst that could happen is that Joanna bad mouths her teammates, Fiona defends their honor, gets locked up for assaulting a civilian, and Winter pays bail.  

“I’m looking for a substitute so me and my team can take Atlas’ combative final.”  

Joanna looked a little surprise, eyes brows slowly raising. The thought rolled around in her head enough for them to miss the light to walk across the street.  

“I… I think it’ll be better if you find someone much more confident than me.” Joanna said. When Fiona started deflating the women spoke quickly, “B-But I think I know a person who’s willing to do it! Robyn Hill, my roommate!”  

Fiona’s ears perked up again, wiggling around happily as a smile grew on her face. Joanna laughed ruffling Tank’s head, “Would you like to meet her? I think her shift at the Gym ends soon.”  

“Yes, please!” Fiona said with a small bounce. She followed Joanna across the street, small strides doubled to keep up with Joanna’s longer ones. She pulled out her Scroll and sent a quick group text to meet up at the address.  

The pair of elites were usually prompt with replies. Family upbringing emphasized good impersonal communication. She was a little worried when it took nearly the entire walk for May to reply.  

lionflower: give us a minute lionflower: or ten  

Fiona frowned. Her steps slowed and so did Joanna’s.  

happywool: ??? why??? lionflower: running. explain later happwool: okay… @angeldust you okay? angeldust: lmao  

Winter did not use abbreviations. Fiona stopped and stared at her Scroll… If it wasn’t May it could only mean it was a stranger. If a stranger got a hold of Winter’s phone in Mantle that only meant she was pick pocketed.  

“Ugh! I know I shouldn’t have let those rich idiots out of my sight!” Fiona scowled. Out of everything that could have been stolen, it has to be the Schnee’s Scroll. An apparently unlocked Schnee Scroll.  

“Uh… is there a problem?” Joanna asked.  

“My idiot teammates got pick pocketed and the angry one is texting the thief,” Fiona explained. She angled the phone up so Joanna could read it.  

lionflower: WHERE ARE U?! angeldust: u and the white one ran past me like 5 times :p lionflower: when i get my HANDS ON U IMMA THROTTLE U angeldust: kinky <3 angeldust: i think ill use this username as a safeword  

Joanna threw her head back and laughed. “Seems pretty friendly for a thief. Have you tried asking for it back?”  

Fiona frowned and stared at Joanna for a real suggestion. When the giant and her dog raised a brow Fiona sighed and looked at her Scroll.  

happywool: can you please return the Scroll angeldust: hhmmm. Tell the cute blue one to stop screaming and the white one to drop a few lien here  

There was a picture with the message, taken from the rooftops and zoomed in to show May, red in the face and hunched over her Scroll. Winter was standing at her side, eyes scanning the crowd for the thief and posed to run after them. An arrow was drawn to an alley on the opposite side of the camera.  

Lionflower: CHEATER Angeldust: :p Lionflower: Fine. We’ll be at your location soon Fiona. -Winter  

Fiona tried not to laugh. It was rather obvious who it was from the grammar alone. The sheep Faunus nearly screamed when a heavy hand patted her shoulder. She looked up at Joanna who gave a thumbs up. Fiona… may have forgotten she was following her to meet a potential fourth member.  

“See? Asking nicely works wonders,” Joanna said.  

“I think my teammates were extorted,” Fiona mumbled following the giant women and her giant dog again.  

Joanna shrugged, “The information on that Scroll is probably worth a lot more than pocket change.” Fiona nodded but couldn’t help the frown on her face.  

A thief got hands on a Schnee’s Scroll and just… hand it over? It couldn’t be that easy. There had to be a trick but- Ugh. Fiona ruffled her curly hair. Focus on the current problem! Substitute teammate. May and Winter were adults who should have listened to her! They can deal with it- are dealing with it!  

Joanna cleared her throat. Fiona blushed, remembering she was in the middle of a busy Mantle street and shoved her hands into her pocket.  

“So… Which one is the angry one?” Joanna asked. “May or Winter?”  

“To be honest… they’re both pretty hot headed,” Fiona admitted. She winced, “But at least Winter thinks first, usually,” She added the last part after remembering Winter’s speech. “You think that’d be a deal breaker with your friend?”  

“Robyn is… I think they’ll get along.” Joanna winced at her own words, “Eventually? Robyn can’t be worse with what you’ve already dealt with.” Fiona frowned and glanced at her Scroll.  

angeldust: Scroll received. No sign of target. Moving to next location.  

Fiona already decided to deal with the racism if it meant May and Winter they still had a chance of passing their finals.  

May and Winter would physically disagree.  

The Gym was… a retrofitted speakeasy or just a very large basement. Paper targets were hanging along the back wall and donated chairs and tables were scattered closer to the counter and stage. Fiona ran up to her teammates loitering by the entrance.  

May’s chest was heaving, face a little flush from her run. Winter was a little out of breath but double checking everything on her Scroll. From her rather calm and a little shocked expression, everything seemed to be untouched.  

“So… does the princess still need protecting?” Fiona said with a rare smirk aimed up at Winter. May snorted, too tired to hide the laugh while Winter only stared down at her. A little too tired to play angry but still not sure how to laugh.  

Joanna wandered to the bar, handing Tank’s leash to another person in exchange for a handful of lien. Then she exchanged a few words with the platinum blond barista with a gesture towards Fiona and her teammates.  

Fiona quickly averted her eyes, hoping her staring wasn’t too obvious. She looked up at Winter and tilted her head, “Everything good?”  

“To my knowledge, yes,” Winter said with a frown. “The thief only had a few minutes with my phone, not enough time to bypass the security checks for more sensitive information.”  

“That’s good,” Fiona said. She bit her lip a little scared to ask the next question. “How much lien did you lose?”  

Winter gave a rare and extremely small smile. “Me? None. My father’s company on the other hand…”  

Fiona sighed. She really wish these rich girls were a little more careful. But hopefully the thief wouldn’t need to steal, at least for a little while.  

“Fiona! Uh… Ms. Marigold. Schnee, ma’am…” Joanna mumbled. Fiona gave the large women a smile. It was awkwardly adorable how she tried to shrink herself. She didn’t seem to know how to act with the Atlas elites. Instead she stepped behind the barista.  

Fiona stepped in front, trying to smooth things over for the gentle giant. May and Winter could be rather intimidating alone but it seemed to triple when the pair was together. “Everyone, meet Joanna Greenleaf and Robyn Hill?” Fiona asked.  

“Correct, lambchop,” The barista with violet eyes and two moles smiled.  

Fiona blinked at the nickname. It wasn’t said with malice but after all the harassment any animal puns stung a little. Fiona could deal with it, her teammates on the other hand… Fiona quickly looked at Winter and May. The overprotective idiots shifted, just half a step in front of Fiona with vicious scowls up at the women.  

Joanna groaned, elbowing Robyn a little hard. Robyn only shrugged it off and tried to diffuse it with a smile, “What? It’s a compliment, she looks cute enough to eat.”  

Now May took a full stepped forward. Fiona tried to grab her and had to push Winter away to do so. May stopped her advance but Fiona could feel the light shiver of rage.  

“Was that supposed to be a pick up line?” May asked. Voice sharp and pointed like the rapiers Winter wields.  

Robyn crossed her arms, that easy but arrogant smile finally dropping, “I’m gonna have to say no. My pickup lines usually work.”  

“Robyn…” Joanna hissed under her breath, “You recognize them don’t you? The team that got their fourth member expelled after winning the tournament?”  

“Of course I do!” Robyn waved off Joanna’s concern again. That easy and arrogant smile returned. It fanned Winter and May’s anger a little more. “What they don’t realize is they’re looking for their only option.”  

“An entire city full of people and you’re the only option?” Winter said with a scoff. Somehow the Schnee manage to look down at the taller women, something about the power and confidence she had made her seem bigger. “I’d rather have someone smart enough to know the difference between confidence and foolishness.”  

“How about someone humble enough to apologize and to admit their wrong?” Robyn quickly said.  

“An apology doesn’t matter if we don’t give a shit about what you think,” May quickly stepped in again. The first line of define like always. Fiona sighed and shoved her way to the front, physically pushing back her elites. “Fiona! This bitch-”  

“Ouch. Names, liontail.”  

“You’re not helping!” Joanna and Fiona scolded. Robyn flinched a little but did relent and step back to deescalate the situation. Fiona pushed her teammates back a little more for good measure. “She’s right,” Fiona said.  

“We only spent an hour asking around,” Winter argued. She then closed her eyes, trying to hide a sliver of shame and embarrassment. “Admittedly… some of those minutes were spent chasing a thief around…”  

“And we’re gonna have to spend a few days to convince Ironwood to give a civilian a pass,” Fiona gently argued. “Ignorance and bad habits doesn’t make someone a bad person.”  

At that the tension finally melted from Winter and May. The rich girls grumbled and fumed. “Only a fool would limit their options,” Winter pressed again.  

“Alright, we’ll spend a few more hours looking around but we need to find someone so we can start training.” Fiona said. It took a few seconds for the hot heads to see reason but they eventually gave in and nodded. Fiona and her teammates walked up to Robyn and Joanna.  

“We’re keeping our options open. We’ll give you two a call if we need to ask you a few questions,” Fiona said.  

Joanna looked a little panicked. “But I said I’m not-”  

Robyn clapped her hand on Joanna’s back, “Give yourself more credit, Jo! You’re just as skilled as I am.”  

“Hopefully it’s enough,” May grumbled under her breath. “We just need you to pass. Other students will probably want to fill in the fourth spot once this entire thing blows over.”  

“Ideally,” Winter agreed quietly.  

A tense stare down passed between the three. For a Mantle Rat against two Atlas Elites, Robyn didn’t budge. She held her chin high and matched their arrogant glares.  

“Do all Atlesians suck at making friends?” Robyn quipped.  

Before May or Winter could respond Fiona started pushing them to the entrance. May grumbled and fumed, Winter simmered in silence. Under the loud the bustling city, Fiona barely heard Joanna scold her roommate.  

“This is your best shot at getting into Atlas Academy! It’s literally handed to you on a platter Robyn.”  

“I know but it’s never this easy!”  

“We’re from Mantle. It’s never easy.”  

Fiona frowned staring at the backs of Winter and May. She dealt with their arrogant ass for two years and ended up loving them. Having a Mantle version of the two might be nice… or it might drive her crazy.

[hexlikesramennoodles]

For @granpappy-winchester, inspired by Cherry!Billy.

*

*

*

The music was turned down low, the lights dimmed; the festivities’ last stragglers wandering off to either pass out or fuck in whatever spare corner they could find. Robin’s friends had turned the living room into an island of refuse, cigarette butts buried behind the sofa cushions, empty bottles gathered on the coffee table like dominos, cold pizza crusts lining the pot plants. The shattered window had been sealed with excess rolls of duct tape, and yet Steve still felt the wind on his nape; a chilly, autumnal wind, with the knifelike threat of winter in it. He couldn’t see Billy, but he could hear him breathing; shallow and hoarse, as if he’d been walking on a steep upwards incline—or smoking an entire carton of cigarettes, which he did nearly every other day.

“Looks like we’re the last ones standing, Harrington,” Billy said.

The pantry door stood open, the single bulb inside flickering, spilling sallow light across the linoleum. Steve followed the emphysemic rattle of Billy’s lungs; he had memorized the sound, apparently. He knew the way Billy moved, the way he smelled, the shape he took in the darkness; like reaching for a wellworn light switch, you were confident it would be there when you did.

He was struck by the surreal domesticity of the scene: Billy Hargrove, sitting at his kitchen table with the sole of one boot planted carefully on the seat of a chair—Steve’s chair. He was, at nearly four o’clock in the morning, eating a bowl of cereal: balancing the bowl atop his fingertips, slurping noisily from it as one would with soup; Steve’s bowl, Steve’s cereal.

“No one else could keep up,” he added, after a pause.

Steve said nothing.

(He would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined something like this—wished for it, even—Billy, eating breakfast in his kitchen the morning after, sneaking up behind him to wind his hands around his waist, his jaw whiskery with stubble and his voice sleepy, hazy, asking: what’s cookin’, good lookin’? The answer, Steve imagined, would be French toast, because that was what he had cooked for Nancy. Because Nancy had always stayed, the morning after.)

“Be honest,” Billy said. Both boots were resting on the chair, now. His legs had fallen into a wide V, seemingly casual, but Steve knew better; like a wellworn light switch, Billy was extremely predictable. “If it were you and me—if we were the last two people on Earth, what do you think we’d be doing?”

Steve said nothing.

(Billy never stayed. Billy was here one day and gone the next; he could be gone for weeks. He refused to shower at Steve’s, refused to even touch the spare toothbrush Steve had left for him in the bathroom; if Steve went as far as to offer him breakfast, Billy would laugh in his face. He had learned not to ask, and so he said nothing.)

“Or even—even before the asteroid hits,” Billy said. He was watching Steve closely, the whites of his eyes shining, a little frantic. Setting the cereal bowl down, he dangled his empty palms between his legs; a vague suggestion. An invitation to look, come closer, see for yourself. Steve tried not to look.

He tried to say nothing.

“The asteroid,” Billy repeated, nodding. “Or the nukes. Or a biblical flood sent by God, the Russkies, the fuckin’ Chinese. I’m talkin’ about the end, Harrington. Of everything. When the volcano erupted above Pompeii, you wanna know what the people did? Have a city-wide orgy, right there in the streets.”

“You’re drunk,” Steve blurted out.

(His anger was cold and clear and pure, like the depths of a mountainside stream; for once, he could see all the way down to the bottom. He knew what he was going to do: tell Billy to take a hike. Tell him, get out. No one wants you here. It had all seemed so easy, before; when he’d had something else to protect—the kids, Nancy. Steve was never as good at protecting himself. As a boy, he would forget to look both ways before crossing the road; he had assumed the drivers of the cars could see him. Too willing to see the good in other people.)

“Fucking,” Billy said clearly, in an infuriating, teasing tone, “is the best thing there is. It’s what makes life worth living. That’s what we’ll be doing, when the world ends. We’ll be balls to the wall, going at it like rabbits.”

His smile had unfurled like a sail, wide and white. Steve didn’t return it. Billy was making a pass at him; he was also mocking him for his stupidity, his weakness, his gullibility. Somehow Billy making a pass at him and Billy mocking him with each exhale always seemed to be one and the same. It was the only reason he was here; the only reason he seemed to exist, in Steve’s opinion. “Billy. You’re drunk.”

“I’ve only had one beer,” said Billy.

He stared at Steve, blinking, unmoved. Expression colorless, implacable, erased smooth. You never saw the change happen; Billy would be smiling, laughing even, his face flushed and his gaze bright and sharp—and then he wouldn’t be.

(Steve didn’t even know if he was real, sometimes. He was still wondering if this was one long, feverish dream he had yet to wake up from; a bad fucking trip. Billy was both the high and the crash; he could be both loving and tender, and cruelly dismissive. The ups and downs were hatefully addictive, poisonous, yet Steve couldn’t bring himself to stop. Billy knew. He knew how much Steve liked the chase, the competition. Like they were back on the basketball court again, just the two of them, the world narrowed to the size of a fishbowl.)

“Baby,” Billy said, spreading his legs wider. “Don’t you miss me?”

Steve said nothing.

(Deep down, he knew that it had been Billy who’d thrown the brick through his window. Steve remembered waking to the explosive decompression of shattering glass, the sound of an engine; he had memorized what shape the Camaro took, as well: a blistering roar in the night. As if the sound was the hellish manifestation of Billy’s own rage, burning as hotly as a falling star, burning itself out. Why had Billy done such a thing?

Why did Billy do anything?

Because he could. Because he wanted to.)

“You broke my window,” Steve said abruptly. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Billy would use them as an opening, find a way to shift blame; he would sweettalk Steve, soothe him, make him forget about being angry. Until it happened again. And again.

“I what?”

“Our living room window,” said Steve. “You threw a brick at it. It’s gonna cost me and Robin, like, two hundred dollars to get a new one. Why? Why are you so—”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Harrington.” Billy was frowning, his lower lip jutting out. He looked like a sulky schoolboy. Steve was too calm; too still. Billy hated stillness, people who walked too slowly in the street; he hated the quiet, which was an unknown variable. Billy preferred being in control; they grappled for it, locked in an eternal struggle for power, as all rivals were. It was vicious, petty; it could also be soft, but that was rare. In elementary school, Steve had played war games during recess with the other boys, shooting at them and declaring himself king when he was the only one left, the last boy standing; the rules were not so simple as adults.

“I want you to say that you’re sorry,” he said. “Can you do that?”

Billy rolled his eyes, huffing. “Fi-ine.” He was theatrical with his movements, letting Steve know how ridiculous he thought he was being, how much of an unnecessary fuss he was making. The Queen of Sheba, getting his royal panties in a twist. That’s what he called Steve sometimes, smiling and snide: the Queen of fucking Sheba. What, you want me to kiss your feet, Your Majesty? “I’m so-rry. How was that, pretty boy? Are we friends again?”

“Is that what we were, before? Friends?”

“ ‘Course we were,” Billy said, too quickly, too comfortably. “I’m everybody’s friend.”

Liar, Steve thought. Billy didn’t have any friends, apart from Steve. If you could call what they had friendship—it wasn’t, Billy could say it was until he was blue in the face, but he was lying, he lied so easily—a moot point, either way. Billy didn’t have friends. People swarmed to him in droves, like moths blind to the lethal electricity, the sharpness of his teeth, all the better to eat you with—they weren’t his friends, but means to an end. They gave him booze, weed, a place to sleep when he had nowhere else to go; sometimes, they gave him sex. Of that, Steve had no doubt.

(He thought he’d known what he was getting himself into. Billy had warned him. You’re just a warm hole to me. Did Steve even have a right to be angry, when he had seen the bullet coming from a mile away, had goaded Billy into pulling the trigger himself?)

“Baby,” Billy said; he sounded breathless again, perfectly contrite. His lips were as dark as ripened cherries. Steve thought he knew what the lipstick was called. Little Red. He knew where Billy had hidden it, too—in the glovebox of his Camaro, where he also hid his porn, rolling papers, and condoms. On anybody else, such a color would look whorish, cheap. Steve had watched Billy put it on, his mouth puckering as he stared at himself critically in the rearview mirror; after dabbing the bullet onto the center of his lips, Billy had smacked them together, fingering his hairsprayed curls until they bounced; he had done this in the same haughty way Steve had seen girls do, the beautiful, untouchable girls they’d both gone to high school with. I’ll kill you if you tell anyone, Harrington. I mean it. I’ll break your fucking fingers.

Steve hadn’t told anyone. The lipstick left pinkish smears on his neck, his nipples, his cock. It had occurred to him that Billy was attempting to rewrite some essential part of himself; plucking his eyebrows, curling his hair, stripping the hard external coating of his masculinity away. Steve wondered if Billy, as a child, had ever played dressups with his mother’s clothes. If he did, his dad had probably beaten him for it.

(You’re a better fuck when you’re angry, Billy had told him. He preferred Steve’s anger to his softness, as if the only emotions Billy understood and could navigate were fury, pain, and grief. A child, trying his mother’s clothes on for size—trying on the lipstick, the eyeliner, the lady’s perfume he filched from the SALE! counter at the drugstore—furtively and when no one was looking, as if to do too much, too overtly, would endanger him.)

“Say you’re sorry,” Steve said.

Billy opened his mouth, perhaps to argue at first—if he ever apologized, it always came with a disclaimer—then his expression changed, sharpened. The chair toppled to the floor as he slid into a standing position. His fingers scrabbled for his belt buckle, suddenly clumsy; it was Steve who slid the leather through the loops of his jeans, folding it up and laying it next to the cereal bowl. Without the belt to hold it in place, Billy’s jeans sagged, looser than usual, making it easy for Steve to pull the denim all the way down his legs. He could see the paler skin of Billy’s pelvis where his tan didn’t reach, and, cutting into his hipbone, a delicate scrim of red, shiny satin.

Billy was wearing panties.

“You got a hot date tonight, baby?” Steve demanded.

“I wish,” replied Billy. “The asshole never returned my calls.”

He was leaning on the table using his forearms as leverage, his head angled over one shoulder; his gaze was relentless, unnerving. So glaringly blue.

“So, what,” Steve murmured, his thumb grazing the edge of the red satin. Billy regarded him coolly over his shoulder, his eyes rebellious slits. Ready to bite back, at any given opportunity. “You decide to smash his window with a brick? Like that’s something any normal, sane person would do?”

“You were ignoring me,” Billy insisted. “You were rude, Harrington.”

His lip continued to jut out; it looked swollen, obscene. He sounded so reasonable, so wholly convincing, that Steve almost believed what he was saying—he wanted to. He wanted to bite into the cherry of Billy’s lower lip, taste him, let his juices flow down his chin.

“In other words,” he said, “you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

One thumb became a thumb and a forefinger, pushing the panties up and away; baring Billy’s soul. He took note of Billy’s thighs: thick with muscle, but lusciously soft to the touch; he’d shaved.

(The image of Billy with one foot perched on the edge of the bathtub and a woman’s razor in hand floated into being, unbidden. There was something about the ritual that had always seemed erotic to Steve; maybe it was the privacy of it, the unknowability of femininity—how many times had he and Tommy been caught by their teachers trying to sneak into the girls’ locker room, if only to see what went on behind closed doors? In that sacred state, Billy would be completely naked, at his most vulnerable.)

“Fuck you,” spat Billy. “You think you’re too good for me? Huh? You ain’t shit, pretty boy. Don’t get too big for your britches—”

He moaned angrily, his arms spasming as Steve shoved the blunt head of his cock between his legs, plastering his chest to Billy’s torso; there came the subtle snarl of tearing satin, the panties falling to pieces between the tight friction of their bodies, grinding, so close—a fact neither of them would register until later, until it was over.

“Don’t put this on me,” Steve said, pressing his mouth to Billy’s neck. “You told me, remember? You told me that you don’t care what I—what anybody—thinks.”

“Fuck you,” said Billy. Desperately, as if he had realized that he was on the losing side; as if this was his last resort. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Steve drove forwards, using the silky, slightly sticky corridor of Billy’s thighs like a glove, like his own fist around his cock. It wasn’t hard to imagine that he was fucking Billy, really fucking him; Billy was slamming his hips to match his pace, his cheek flattened against the scratched surface of the kitchen table and his wrists crossed behind his back. He mewled when Steve caught on his perineum, his spine bowing into a parabola of pleasure, outrage, or both. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck me. Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. His moans were loud and brash, performative; obviously not for his own benefit. Steve hated that. Billy thought he was the smartest person in the room, but he didn’t know how transparent he was, truly.

“Shit, Steve,” Billy was panting, biting his lip. When he reached around to take Steve’s cock in hand, Steve saw that his nails were painted the same cherry color as his mouth. It nearly did him in, the sight of his cock moving through the cage of Billy’s fingers, all that debauched red. “You make me feel so good. So fucking good, like this.”

He mewled again when Steve wrapped a hand around his throat, digging his fingers ruthlessly into his air supply; Steve saw the blonde curls drop, the hard, clenched arch of Billy’s spine giving way like a snapped power cable. His Adam’s apple strained under the pressure of Steve’s hand; the false sounds issuing from his throat had ceased. Steve was coloring Billy in; filling in the uncertain lines, making him seem more lifelike. The lipstick was getting everywhere, feathery vibrant slashes of it on Steve’s palm and knuckles, as if he’d been fingerpainting; adding shade and depth and nuance, marking Billy, marking himself.

“Steve,” Billy said. His voice was hushed, remote. As if he were dissolving, liquefying like one of those hard candies that came in the plastic wrapping, especially susceptible to heat; turning into sugared sludge, sweet enough to make your teeth ache. They were merging into one another. “Steve, honey. Look at me.”

His eyes, latching onto Steve’s face, his mouth. He knew how much Steve needed eye contact during sex, how much he craved it. The shreds of intimacy he scattered like breadcrumbs, because he enjoyed watching Steve get on his knees for them; begging, like a dog for scraps. They were merging, holding hands.

“Sorry’s—sorry’s just a word you say,” Steve grunted. He watched Billy’s fingers, the gemstone flashes of his painted nails as he pushed between his legs, slowly at first, then sharply, brutally, as if he were stabbing Billy, or exorcising him. “It doesn’t—ah—it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just you telling me what I wanna hear.”

He drove forwards and forwards, losing sight of the painted nails as he came, his eyes slipping shut and cock bucking, spurting between Billy’s thighs. He might have heard a moan, a curse. Billy’s legs were trembling; his shoulders had slumped forwards, as if he were concussed, or praying. Their come dripped steadily onto the linoleum, pale as churned egg whites; dreamily, Steve reached down and caught some of it on his fingertips, ignoring Billy’s reflexive shudder.

(He tried to remember where he was, where he had been before Billy had come into his life; he had been at a party. Robin’s party, or had it been Tina’s? They all looked the same, after a while: the same music, the same clinging miasmas of marijuana and free beer and unsafe sex; the same leftover cigarette butts and pizza crusts in the pot plants, the cheese hard as dried chewing gum.)

Billy whispered, “It’s not my fault you’re so easy.”

Mists of sweat hovered between his eyebrows, his upper lip; his hips had slowed to a lazy, languid roll. Billy smiled, looking like an insolent cat, the cat that got the proverbial cream. Then he rose, his hair falling in fuzzy cumulus clouds around his shoulders, and kissed him. Steve’s reaction was pained, immediate—he told himself that he didn’t want to be kissed, he didn’t want to have anything to do with what Billy considered intimacy; he wasn’t anyone’s experiment, damn it, he didn’t want to be fed Billy’s scraps—the taste of the lipstick was waxy, alien, as was the way Billy was licking into his mouth: using too much tongue, making a mess, bloodying him with the color. Steve knew how it would look, when he finally pulled away: like they had cannibalized each other. Like Billy had torn his heart out, dripping, and eaten it.

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

임창균, Im Changkyun

anonymous asked:

Hi Mars! Could I request an imagine (is angst & fluff possible?) with Changkyun (MONSTA X) where his girlfriend and him get into a heated fight and he backs her up into the wall, staring deeply into her eyes, making butterflies erupt in her stomach? If not, that's okay. Thanks, much love. (Congrats on 200 followers!) ❤

Group: Monsta X (몬스타엑스)

Member: I.M.

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Dick jokes, lazy make-outs on the couch, making fun of and defending one another in equal measure, linking pinkies while on your around-dusk walks and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders, no matter the place.

That’s what yours and Changkyun’s relationship was made of. 

At least... It had been. All until that stupid game of Truth or Dare. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jooheon had said, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention. He looked straight at you, his eyes boring into yours, a playful shimmer to them. “Truth or dare?” he asked, mischief swimming in his eyes. 

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Truth,” you said. “I’m not letting you get me killed tonight; I have work tomorrow.” 

“Little did you know—truth was my plan the whole time!” he laughed. “I’m gonna get all that juicy stuff.” He pointed to Changkyun. “Get ready to be shocked by your girlfriend’s dirty little secrets,” he warned. 

Changkyun snorted. “As if,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer with an easy smile. “Unlike some people, we’ve got no secrets.” 

You nodded in agreement. “I know his phone password,” you said, shrugging. 

“I know hers,” he said. “Laptop, too.” You gave him a look. You hadn’t told him that. He caught your gaze and furrowed brows. “Looked over your shoulder while you were typing it in,” he explained simply.

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him playfully in the side. “That’s so... You,” you said. “Why am I not even surprised?”

“‘Cause he’s a demon,” Hyungwon chimed in, sprawled out on the couch while scrolling through his phone. 

You laughed. “That’s an insult to all demonds, dude.”

Changkyun pouted. “Rude,” he huffed. You gave his shoulder a small kiss, successfully appeasing him. Changkyun could get really whiny and childish sometimes, but he was easy to get back into a good mood. A light peck, an unfunny joke—then he was right back to his old self.

Jooheon groaned. “Can I ask now, or what?” You gave him a nod. He rubbed his hands together, rather reminiscent of a cheesy villain from the 80s about to reveal his master-plan. “Okay!” He cracked his knuckles, bringing up the drama of it all. “Virgin or not?” he asked confidently. 

Changkyun let out an amused puff of air. “Well, that’s easy,” he said. “Of course she’s not—”

“I am,” you said simply. You felt the room go quiet, Changkyun’s form stiffening beside you. Your brows furrowed. You’d never seen why it was such a big deal to be a virgin. In your opinion, it was a sign of self-control. You gave him a look. “What’s up?” 

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, no sounds passing his lips. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Nothing,” he said. “Really, it’s nothing!” he assured you, rubbing your arm warmly. “I just didn’t expect it, I guess.” He chuckled. “You’re just a real natural at... intimate stuff.” 

You should’ve noticed in that moment. The hesitation in his tone, the slight shift in his eyes. The way his hands avoided touching the bare skin of your hip when your shirt rode up a little. 

It had only gotten worse from there. Suddenly, it was all cute nicknames, soft touches and tip-of-the-nose kisses. Sure, that was lovely and all, but it wasn’t Changkyun. And it certainly wasn’t you. 

It seemed like you had been demoted from girlfriend to beloved niece whom he every once in a while gave a kiss on the lips to. Creepy analogy, but it was the only thing you could think of to describe your frustration.

From that point on, any dirty jokes shared between the guys involved your ears getting plugged. Any racy scene in a movie, your eyes were covered.

Your normal lazy make-outs were slimmed down to almost none, any clothes that showed what he deemed ‘a little too much skin’ was sent back to the closet, and he never stayed over at your place past midnight because, God forbid he be in girl’s house past her bedtime. 

It pissed you off to no end. 

You weren’t a child just because of something as silly as that. You didn’t need to be shielded from the world and taught the difference between right and wrong. You were your own person, and you would live how you wanted to.

With whom you wanted to.

You didn’t enter into this relationship to be controlled. You dated him because you could trust each other, tell each other anything and everything, and because you made each other feel alive.

At least, that’s the way it was for you. It was hard to tell how he felt anymore. Despite all of his sweetness, compared to how you were before, it felt like distance. 

A distance of miles and miles, despite how dramatic that sounded. 

There you were, sitting on your couch with Changkyun by your side, you legs tangled together and him petting your hair gently. He’d tucked your head into his neck, kissing the crown of your head softly every few minutes. 

He kept whispering tender things that you couldn’t quite understand. It was like he was protecting you from the world. 

Except you didn’t want to be protected. Not like this. 

There were things that you craved to do, and you’d shared all those things with your boyfriend. You thought, at the very least, he would remember that.

This wasn’t the way that Changkyun usually protected you. The way you kept each other safe was by facing the world with reckless abandon, holding each other’s hands tightly the whole time, as if saying: “Screw regret. We’re gonna try it all, even if it’s scary. We’ll do it together”. 

That’s just the way you both were. The opposite of glass. Fighting against the things that you shouldn’t do with full trust in each other.

Changkyun glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, ticking away the minutes. “I should probably get going,” he muttered. 

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder. “It’s not even ten,” you said. “Why do you have to go?” 

He shrugged, already standing up after giving your temple a peck. “’Cause sleep is important,” he said, grabbing his hoodie from off the back of the couch. He mussed up your hair. “We both need it.”

He reached out to smooth your hair back down, but you smacked his hand away before he could. “Save it,” you sighed, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. 

He frowned. “Okay,” he said slowly, deep voice resonating in his chest. He draped his hoodie over the back of a chair. “You’re obviously upset.” 

You almost snorted. “No shit,” you said, not meeting his gaze. 

“Do you mind talking to me about it?” He paused for a moment, waiting for you to answer. “Please?” 

Finally, you looked at him, eyes narrowed, staring up at him through your lashes. He always knew he was in trouble when you did that. “Fine,” you said curtly. “Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you’ve been treating me like a doll, shall we?”

You knew that your tone was a little sharp, but your temper was getting the better of you. It felt as if he were becoming a condescending parent, and considering he was the person you could usually be most free around, it was suffocating.

His brows furrowed. “A doll?” he echoed. He held back a sigh. “Why do you think that, love?” 

You rolled your eyes. “See? That! You never used to call me that, except on really special occasions!” You could feel yourself slipping, getting more and more frustrated. 

“I’m just trying to make you feel appreciated,” he said in a very easy way, shrugging. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d almost believe that’s how he really felt. 

Your fists clenched, but you didn’t move from your spot on the couch. “But I felt appreciated and loved when we’d call each other ‘jerk’ and ‘butt-munch’,” you said. You knew that your voice had grown quiet.

“Sure, it wasn’t very romantic in the standard sense of the word,” you continued, “but it was very... us. Y’know? It was our thing. It was fun.”

He chuckled. “Okay,” he said gently, coming up and patting your head. “I get it. I get where you’re coming from. I’ll be more careful.” 

For whatever reason, that set something off in you. You ducked your head away, standing up quickly. “Don’t do that!” you shouted. “Please!” He stared at you; his pretty, dark eyes wide and surprised. “Get angry! Shout at me and storm out of the room, then order takeout and apologize later! Do that!”

His jaw threatened to drop. You’d gotten into spats plenty of times, but as you’d said, he was usually the one losing his head. You were the grounded one. Even when you raised your voice, you said sorry right after. But now? He saw no apology in your eyes. 

Because you weren’t sorry. You weren’t sorry for what you were saying.

To some, it may seem dramatic or a little bit dumb, but it felt like he wasn’t really Changkyun anymore.

Not your Changkyun, at least.

“Ever since we played that stupid game,” you said, “you’ve been treating me like a child! It’s so annoying!” You continued ranting, seeing his neutral face slowly contort further and further into a frown. 

You didn’t normally explode like this and argue for no reason, so he knew it was bad. 

“It’s like you decided since I’ve never has sex before,” you shouted, “I must be less knowledgeable and intelligent than other people!” Your voice dropped a few octaves. “Do you know how that makes me feel?” you asked, voice scratchy from shouting so much. “It makes me feel like I’m not respected by the guy I respect the most out of everyone on this planet. And that’s sad.” 

Changkyun sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, he stepped forward. It shocked you, but it didn’t scare you. He’d never frightened you before. He continued walking forward, forcing you to step back. 

You could see the frustration in his dark eyes. Your back hit the wall, but you noted the way that one of his hands darted up to shield the back of your head. His hands traveled down to your wrists, pinning them at the sides of your head. 

“The reason I’ve been treating you like this,” he said, voice cutting straight through the air, making you hear him loud and clear, “is because I was worried. And honored. I don’t want you to regret me,” he said. His jaw was clenched while he spoke, but you could tell he was being genuine. “I didn’t want to move to fast or be too rough with you. I just wanted things to be natural.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Well, that’s dumb,” you said. “Things were natural before you screwed them up. How could I possibly regret you, moron?”

His hands tightened around your wrists. “I’m sorry?” He leaned closer, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You wanna say that one more time?” 

You didn’t avoid his eyes, but you did bite your lip nervously, making his gaze flicker over your face. “Maybe I do,” you said bravely. “It’s the only way to get it through your thick skull. I just liked the way we were before... Y’know?” 

He paused for a moment, searching your eyes. It was like he was looking for any source of hesitance or uncertainty swimming in your pretty orbs. 

When he found none, he wasted no time in pressing his lips to your firmly, almost feverishly wanting. It took your breath away, as always. It made your eyes flutter shut within seconds, your breathing become erratic and your mind go blank. 

You just loved him so freakin’ much. 

After a moment, he pulled away. “Love you,” he whispered breathlessly. 

You nodded, eyes still closed. “You too,” you said. You opened your eyes to look at him. “You won’t treat me like that again, right?” 

He chuckled. “After the way you kissed me a second ago?” he teased. “No way! I’m starting to think you’re not so innocent after all.” 

You snorted and smacked his shoulder. “Shut up!” you laughed. He smiled, giving you a quick peck on the nose before pulling away. “Where are you going?” you asked.

He fished his phone out of his pocket. “Apology,” he said simply. 

You smiled to yourself. You knew that meant take out from about six different places, just so he could get all of your favorites, ‘cause that’s just how he was. 

That was your Changkyun, and you were happy to have him.

.

.

.

Helloooooooooooo, Anon! I am legitimately disappointed in how long this took me when it’s not even that long, but y’know, I guess life gets busy. Work has been... work. :’) It’s lucky I love it. 

I’m sorry it took so long to get this to you! Thank you for you patience, and I hope it was what you wanted. ^-^ I hope reading this made you feel happy. 

It doesn’t even have to be REALLY happy, just a little happy! I hope so, anyway. If nothing else, I know that gif at the end made you smile, ‘cause how could it not?? Have a good day/evening/night, all right? Take care of yourself!

[halstudandruz]

Safety

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Hank Voight x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Voight is not here for people threatening his family

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my first Voight imagine so hopefully you all like!

The pregnancy came as a surprise. Like a huge surprise. Luckily you were prepared for something as big as this, and Hank was ecstatic. You worked at the front desk of intelligence which is how you met Hank. Your relationship definitely had a weird start and progression, but it isn’t anything you would ever want to change. Yes, he was older than you, but you never had a problem with that, and it never made an impact on your relationship. As serious and risky as Hank can be on the job he was the opposite when it came to you. Completely loving and romantic. Making sure you were always okay. Taking care of you in every way, and even more so after you found out you were pregnant. You were getting bigger by the day, and your self esteem was dropping right along with it. However, Voight always assured you of how beautiful you were. Obviously he’s very overprotective of anyone he cares about. None the less when it comes to his family. So, whenever you started receiving the random calls and letters of threats you didn’t want to tell him. It didn’t bother you much at first. You knew Hank had a lot of people on his bad side, and you just figured they were trying to get a reaction out of him or they were trying to distract him for whatever reasoning knowing he would drop everything to hunt them down. However, whenever the letters and calls became more frequent you started to get a little anxious and the tipping point hit whenever the latest letter had threatened the life of your baby. You knew you had to talk to someone. Get someone else’s opinion to assure you that you were just starting to overreact, but you needed it to be someone that wasn’t going to go crazy. Someone that would be level headed unlike Voight or even Erin. So, you had decided on Antonio. You had thought about going to Jay but you didn’t want to get him in trouble with Erin if she ever found out so you went with your next best option.

“Hey Antonio can I talk to you about something real quick?” You whispered as you stood in front of his desk. He threw you a weird look before nodding and heading towards the break room for you to follow. Once inside you made sure the door was closed not wanting anyone to hear or walk in on the conversation.

“What’s wrong?” He asked clearly worried. You pulled the latest letter out of your back pocket laying it on the table.

“So, I just need you to stay level headed with me okay? That’s why I came to you.” You began as he went to reach for the paper. “I’ve been getting these and a few random calls here at the district for the past couple months. At first I just didn’t think anything of it, but they’ve become more frequent and as you can see they mention the baby in that last one there which is why I felt the need to finally do something.” You explained protectively laying your hand on your stomach as Antonio read over the note.

“Voight doesn’t know?” Antonio asked even though he already knew the answer. You looked at him sheepishly not answering. He sighed running a hand through his hair. “You have to tell him.” He stated.

“What? No, Antonio I can’t. He’ll lose his shit.” You whined.

“I know, but we need to do something about this [Y/N]. Whether this is a joke or not it needs to be taken care of, and we both know I can’t do it myself. He’ll find out. He always does. It’ll just be a bigger fight then. It’s not just about you. We need to keep that baby safe too.” Antonio explained reaching to squeeze your shoulder. You sighed heavily feeling defeated that your little plan got blown up so fast.

“Okay, but can you please just not let him do anything stupid.” You begged.

“I’ll try my hardest.” Antonio promised hugging you, but you already knew it was a lost cause. You told him you would talk to Voight tonight at his house where he was able to react “freely.” Taking the note from Antonio you folded it up sticking it back in your pocket before you both headed back out to your desks. Upon stepping out of the door everyone’s eyes immediately turned to you two.

“What?” You asked innocently ignoring Hank’s suspicious gaze on you as you practically waddled back to your desk. He threw you a look and you knew you would be getting questioned later as you rolled your eyes at him leaning back in your chair while they focused their attention back on the case they were working on. For being such a badass Hank got surprisingly jealous quite easily and you got that vibe from him the rest of the day. You were supposed to leave before him as Erin offered you a ride home, but you politely declined deciding to wait for him to be done to go back to his place. You were in the process of moving in and you did not want to be surrounded by all the boxes you still had left to unpack. Just about everyone was gone as you walked into Hank’s office making yourself comfy in the chair across from him. He looked up from his computer raising an eyebrow at you.

“I thought you went home?” His gravelly voice echoed in the room.

“Decided to wait for you.” You shrugged picking up the bowl of M&Ms he had on his desk popping a few in your mouth. He looked at you amusement on his face for a second before it returned to a glare.

“Antonio didn’t offer you to come back to his place?” He asked accusingly looking back down at the papers on his desk.

“Excuse me?” You replied annoyance in your voice.

“What were you doing in the break room with him earlier?” He asked continuing not to look at you. “Stop picking just the green ones out. They all taste the same.” He lectured laughing a little as he watched you dig through the bowl in your hand.

“Having sex obviously. Right where everyone could walk in. Adds to the risk I guess.” You answered sarcastically as he looked up at you rolling his eyes. “Why do you get so jealous?” You asked propping your feet up on his desk.

“Because…I… because.. can you just answer the original question?” He huffed as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. You knew he was insecure about the age difference, but he always refused to admit it. No matter how many times your reassured him.

“I wanted to wait till we got home to talk about this.” You mumbled sitting up straight and putting the bowl back on his desk.

“Just tell me.” He huffed.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to go all psycho.” You groaned as he just continued to stare at you not promising anything. You rolled your eyes leaning up to pull the letter out of your pocket handing it to him. He looked confused before taking it and reading it. The further he got the more anger took over his body.

“What the hell [Y/N]?! What is this!” He yelled making you flinch a little. You went on to explain everything. Which just made him even more angry if that was even possible. He pulled his phone out quickly.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Calling everyone back in here.” He stated putting the phone to his ear. You quickly snatched it from his hand ending the call to Erin.

“No. You are not calling everyone back in here. It’s their night off. Let them be.” You lectured holding the phone away from him.

“This guy is not only threatening you but our baby [Y/N]. Do you not get that.” He retorted.

“I do. But waiting until tomorrow is not going to change a thing Hank.” You crossed your arms across your chest.

“You’re not leaving my sight.” He growled.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You walked around his desk to kiss his cheek. He finished up the rest of his work before you guys headed home. Whenever he said you weren’t leaving his sight he wasn’t kidding. It was like he had to have eyes on you the entire time. Tension was clear in his body as you drifted off to sleep in his arms. The next morning he woke you up before your alarm went off. You groaned stuffing your face in your pillow.

“Come on honey. I called everyone they are coming in early.” He rubbed your back trying to get you up. You huffed slightly annoyed that he was waking you up early as well as the fact that he called everyone in early. Eventually you had arrived at the district. Greeting Trudy on your way up the stairs. After everyone was there Hank informed them of the situation. They all turned to face you shock and worry written on their faces, except Antonio of course.

“Can you all not look at me like that?” You rolled your eyes. They wasted no time getting down to work, Hank continuously on everyone’s asses. When it came down to it they had traced the calls that came through the district back to a David Graham. Someone Hank had busted a while back and had just gotten out of prison. As you had expected. Everyone suited up getting ready to make the guy regret his every thought. “Hank...please just don’t do anything stupid.” You sighed hugging him. He nodded kissing your forehead then leaning down to kiss you stomach before everyone drove off. You went back to your desk catching up on some work as you waited for them all to get back. After about an hour you had went down to deliver paperwork to Trudy just in time to see Hank and Antonio carrying the guy in. David’s face covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. You weren’t surprised one bit, but you were just glad Hank didn’t kill the guy. You headed back up stairs as everyone else was scattered around. “How’d it go?” You asked Erin leaning against her desk.

“The guy is lucky he’s alive. That’s all I have to say.” Erin answered smiling a little. You shook your head walking over to your desk as Hank walked up the stairs. He smiled walking over to pull you into his arms.

“Well?” You asked looking up at him.

“My family is safe for another day.” He sighed laying his hand on your stomach.

“Didn’t go crazy or anything did you?” You raised an eyebrow.

“The guy’s still alive. That was your only request.” He answered shrugging.

[vandnana]

Loving You Is Easy

Part Fifteen

I planned on dropping Chanyeol off that morning so we could have a classic movie goodbye. I woke up fifteen minutes earlier than Chanyeol, knowing that he would need extra coercion to just open his eyes.

I was laying on his chest, his arms draped over my back as he snored soundly. I called out his name, urging for him to get up already. As much as he pretended he didn’t hear me, his ears perked up every time I talked. He finally showed signs of life, once I tried to get up, grabbing my arm in protest.

He gently pulled me back down onto his chest and tightened his grip around me. “Please, June, just five more minutes. I won’t get to hold you like this for two days.” He was groggy as he spoke, his voice dipping into an even deeper octave than his regular voice. 

Maybe it was because of the words he spoke to me, but I had only noticed his morning voice in that moment. My heart jumped, and my mind became entranced by it.

“Has your voice always been this deep in the morning?” I rested my head on his chest as I looked up at him.

His eyes were wide open now, and he rubbed them slowly, yawning. “Is it rea-Oh yeah, it is pretty deep. Why? Is it sexy?” A smirk formed as he made eye contact with me.

I laughed at his comment, but answered bluntly, “Yeah, honestly, it’s really sexy. But...you’ll be gone and I’ll just be in here by myself with no one to wake up to.” 

Heat rose to Chanyeol’s cheeks because of my honesty, and he suddenly got shy, turning his gaze away from mine. I sat up, amused by his reaction.

“What? You asked if it was sexy. I think it is.”

Still not looking at me, he scratched the back of his head. “Y-yeah but I said it as a joke. I didn’t think you were going to answer seriously. Now, I’m all blushy at 4 in the morning.”

It was usually Chanyeol who would make me flustered, always finding an opportunity to make me blush by being sweet or suggestive. But, on a rare occasion when the roles were reversed, Chanyeol, although terribly confident and secure, always got more shy than I ever would.

He covered his face with a pillow even though I couldn’t really see how red his face was, and I smiled widely. Chanyeol rarely ever got embarrassed, but when he was, I always liked it. 

I got up from the bed, walking over to get my clothes for the day. He noticed my movements, and peeked his head out from behind the pillow. 

I could feel him staring at me, but once I looked back, he covered his face again. 

“Super sexy Chanyeol, you need to get out of bed. Your train leaves in an hour.”

Chanyeol left his lying position to sit on the edge of the bed, abandoning the pillow haphazardly.

“Alright, fine. I’m going to take a shower real quickly.” He rubbed his eyes one last time before finally standing up. 

He picked up the clothes he laid out the night before and trudged out of the bedroom to the bathroom. 

I changed quickly out of my pajamas into a warm sweater and black sweats. I shivered at the thought of how cold it was going to outside, and I looked down at my outfit. It would suffice, but I resorted to stealing one of Chanyeol’s beanies and the hoodie he let me borrow so long ago.

I walked out to find Halmeoni in the kitchen putting plates on the dining table. She looked up at me sympathetically as she motioned for me to sit down. She patted my shoulders.

“I would say good morning, but Chanyeol is leaving us because his friends don’t know how to use the garbage disposal. I’m sorry June.”

“No, it’s okay. He isn’t going to stay for the whole week, so he’ll get to come to the exhibit still.”

“Yes, but not the opening. His friends are such leeches sometimes.”

“But they’re his friends still. Besides, they probably miss him too.”

Halmeoni let out a painful sigh as she peered at me, “Oh June, how did you end up so understanding? If I was in your position, I wouldn’t even look at Chanyeol.”

“What are you saying about me?” Chanyeol’s voice rang as he approached the dining table.

The shoulder of his crew neck was blotched with water from his hair that was recklessly finger-brushed. I could see that he was now freshly awake, the drowsiness he once felt no longer in his happy eyes.

She scowled as he walked into the dining room, crossing her arms. “I was just telling June that I wouldn’t be as understanding about you leaving if I was her.”

“I see that you’re still mad at me.” Chanyeol’s voice was tinged with distress.

“Of course I’m mad! For June and for your sake! Don’t you think it’s unfair that they want you to go up just to fix the house. They could do it themselves.”

Chanyeol huffed sadly, not wanting to look at either of us. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t say no in the moment, and the guilt he had put away for the night came crawling back.

His eyes glinted that guilt, and I put my hand over his to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s really okay. It’s not like I’m your only friend. You have a whole group of them back home. Don’t stress out about it.”

I turned to Halmeoni disapprovingly. She was stubborn about her opinions, but she knew that it was too late to do anything. She uncrossed her arms and sat down with us to eat.

There was an uncomfortable tension in the air, but I had no choice but to bask in it as we all ate together. I kept glancing at Chanyeol as if I could read his thoughts. It was easy to tell that he still didn’t want to go. His eyes were happy because we were together, but his posture had a lingering despair. 

Once we finished eating, Halmeoni insisted on coming with me to drop Chanyeol off. She said that she only wanted to because she was concerned for my safety, but we both knew that, despite her angry, she would regret it if she didn’t send him off.

The walk to Penn Station typically only took six minutes, but Chanyeol purposely walked slower so that we wouldn’t have to say goodbye sooner. He protected my hand from the cold by putting it in his pocket, and I smiled the whole way, despite the dread I knew I would feel later. Halmeoni walked swiftly in front of us, looking back every once in a while, then slowing down to somewhat match our pace. As we walked to the station, a question rose in my mind about his friends. Although he talked to me about them, it didn’t make sense that he would live so far away when they all lived in the city. Chanyeol recounted the story with all the juicy details. 

The house they all lived in was in a place called Schenectady. It was calm, a stark contrast from the bustling nature of Manhattan, and a complete change of scenery for their little group. 

The only reason why they lived in Schenectady was because Junmyeon’s dad bought property to be nearer to the General Electric headquarters. He became a board member when Junmyeon was a junior and, for convenience sake, moved his family over there.

At first, Junmyeon hated being separated from his friends, hated the quaintness of the place, and despised the lack of industrial air. But, he warmed up to the place once he became the talk of the town. Girls at his new high school ogled him, guys were envious of him, moms wished their daughters would date him, and dads wished their sons could be like him.

But once his dad was promoted to handle national affairs, they didn’t need to live there anymore. Junmyeon moved back to Manhattan for senior year, but the appeal of Schenectady got to him. Being in Schenectady was easy and relaxed, and he figured that his friends would enjoy the calming air too. It was easy to convince Baekhyun and Sehun to come, but Chanyeol didn’t want to leave his grandma. Eventually though, he agreed to live with them up there, and they all started at Pacific Union College.

Chanyeol kept up with his studies too diligently to keep his scholarship, and ended up graduating early. The other three let the ease of the town get to their heads, taking their time and reveling in the party scene, but the matter of when they would graduate never really mattered to them anyway. All of their parents were rich and affiliated, relieved that their kids were doing something with their lives, and relieved that they sought their own independence.

I laughed when Chanyeol talked about the independence that his friends apparently had, and he gave me a sideways look. I didn’t want to confront him with my ideas because he had heard enough from Halmeoni yesterday, so I brushed it off.

We finally approached the huge building and I gaped at the height of it. Once we entered inside, I was still in awe as I marveled at the station’s entire structure. Everything was intensely interesting, but the one thing that truly caught my eye was the glass domed ceiling. I let go of Chanyeol’s hand and spun around looking up at it, but as I returned my eyes forward, I stumbled a little from the slight dizziness.

“Woah June, falling already?” Chanyeol teased as he grabbed my shoulders to keep me upright.

“The ceiling is so cool. The architecture of this place is so genius.” I gaped as he cheerfully giggled at my reaction. 

“Yeah, it is pretty, but it’s also a place for goodbyes, which is why it makes me sad.” Chanyeol let go of my shoulders, his head hanging low as he kicked the air miserably.

“Yeah, but it’s also a place for reunions too. I’ll be here waiting for you when you come back. And it’s not like this is the 1800s where we don’t have any communication. We can text and FaceTime.” I rubbed his shoulders reassuringly then lifted his chin with my other hand. He couldn’t help but smile.

Chanyeol pulled me into a tight hug, and I found myself not wanting to let him go, not wanting to let him leave me. For a second, there was a fear that he would never come back, that he would be more comfortable around what was always familiar to him, and it grew once he pulled away.

But the feeling faded as he gave me a look that dripped with a tender affection. He paused, studying my face as if he needed to remember it, then kissed my forehead. I froze once his lips touched my skin, and a sheepish smile formed on my face. He pulled away, and cautiously made his way toward Halmeoni who was reading the different signs plastered all over the place, her arms crossed again. 

“Halmeoni, I’m sorry.” Chanyeol said quietly. She turned around frowning.

“I don’t need an apology, your ‘sorry’ should be for June. Just make sure to make it up to her when you get back. This trip better be worth it.” 

“I promise I will, and it will okay? I’ll give them a full lecture when I get there.”

“As if that will work with those spoiled kids.” Halmeoni muttered under her breath, but Chanyeol still heard, frowning at her. 

“Come on, Halmeoni, you know them better than that.”

“Yes, I do, but they rely on you too much. They are all grown. You know what, I don’t want to fight with you on this. Just have a safe trip. Call us every hour so we know how you are, okay? I love you Chanyeol.” She hugged him tightly, and Chanyeol held a silent thankfulness that she didn’t press on. 

Chanyeol gave a final goodbye, waving to us as he walked away. I waved back happily, but inside the dread I knew would be in my heart finally settled. We turned back toward the entrance, and back into the fresh, cold morning air. The sun was starting to peek through the sky, coloring it a brighter color than the previous darkness that illuminated the moon. 

Our walk back to the shop was silent as we focused on increasing our pace. I thought that Chanyeol’s clothes would engulf me in the familiar warmth I always felt around him, but it didn’t feel the same knowing that he was gone.