#I never coloring grey skin before so i hope i did decent job on that 🥹👉👈

[naurasweetarudesu]

The Centennials!

Art trade with @skarloeyspa . I drew their Skarloey and Rheneas because I love these two silly old men 🥹

I love how they made these two changes outfit that based on the eras where they get overhaul. Love the 1958's Loey and 1961's Neas because idk but I feel that kind of outfit gave classy but casual vibe.

Without background:

[queers-gambit]

Neon Sticky Notes

prompt: ( requested ) reminding your boyfriend you love him one sticky note at a time.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.4k+

note: baby gets what baby wants! God, do i hope this is what you want, my baby...

warnings: probably cursing, Carmy needs a nap, men being simps, this is short and sweet! it's FINALLY edited!!!

You knew he was struggling. Worn-out, beaten down, exhausted, run ragged, amuck, and into the ground.

It was evident in the way he carried himself; the prominent bags under his eyes, the way he tossed and turned in bed before being found on the living room couch in the morning. His hair seemed greasier then usual, his skin turning gaunt and grey, and you knew he wasn't making time to eat.

By comparison, you had a simple job, something corporate and in an office. Something that made decent money; something you were good at, something you could find pride in doing.

However, Carmy's job as a chef was different; being more than stressful, and while coupled together for years now, it was still a work-in-progress each time Carmen started on a new venture. Owning, running, and converting The Beef into something "better" should've been no different, only it was - it was totally different. Carmy was frazzled, looking deranged some evenings, as if operating on adrenaline, and you were at a loss on how to help.

So, you resorted to a natural instinct - communicating.

Carmy needed reassurance, he needed support, he needed to be loved for who he is, exactly how he was, in order to keep his head on straight. You never did mind the challenge that was Carmen Berzatto, finding him akin to a puzzle. So, on your way home from work one evening, you stopped at a CVS to grab a pack of neon, multi-colored sticky notes and a brand new Sharpie marker.

You had an idea.

When you got back to your shared apartment, you unloaded the groceries you needed onto the counters before calling Carmy. "Hey, Peaches," he answered on the third ring, usual kitchen clatter in the background, "everything okay?"

"Yeah, all good."

"Sure? Sound outta breath."

"The elevator's broken, I got groceries," you groaned, "and have been skipping the gym for a couple weeks."

He chuckled, "Never skip leg day, baby, you know it's our house motto."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever - hush. I'm just wondering if you had an ETA for tonight? I have an early morning meeting, so I want to go to sleep early."

"Uh," he trailed, a muffled ruffling sounding over the line before a small clatter that made him sigh, "yeah, um, you know what? I really don't know, baby, I'm sorry. You do your thing and I'll be quiet when I get in, just leave my stuff on the couch."

"No, come to bed," you whined slightly, "I miss you."

"Awh, yeah, miss you, too, Peach. I'll be there," he promised.

You finished putting all groceries away; the dishes following, then you got started on prepping dinner. Look, you were no cook - that was all Carmy. But you weren't totally useless in a kitchen, so, you didn't mind taking over most meals now that Carmy was waist-deep in The Beef's bullshit. You played music as you cooked, poured a glass of wine, danced around, and tried to think of a list of encouraging things to remind Carmy. You ate dinner alone, and when done with clean-up, faced off with your sticky notes and Sharpie.

The first note was scribbled and stuck on the covered plate in the fridge: Bone Apple Teeth, Chef!

Then you wrote a note to leave at the door where Carm was sure to drop his keys: make sure you eat the plate I left you!

Humming, you pondered a moment before smirking and writing a third note to be left on the TV remote: I know you too well. come to bed.

Lastly, you wrote a fourth and final note to be left in the bathroom: great job today, Chef! you're killing it!

You were fast asleep when he got home. He found the note in the key bowl, smirking at your kindness and thoughtfulness. Carmy saw the messily-drawn heart and pocketed the note, toeing off his shoes and entering the kitchen. He reheated the plate you left, pocketed the second note after a silent grin of amusement, and when ready, took his hot food to the couch.

Carmy laughed when he found your third note. He left it on the table as he ate, half-watching the news segment he flipped on. When he was full and his plate clear, Carmy turned the TB off, pocketed your note, set everything in the dishwasher, started it, and then went into the bathroom. Another soft chuckle emitted as he pulled the final note in his hand - and you already know he saved it.

When he got in your shared room, he made sure to leave the notes in a random shoe box, stashing it in his closet, changed for the night, and crawled into bed with you.

This was a regular occurrence now: Carmy came home late to a barrage of sticky notes, saved them all, then crashed in bed with you. You missed each other, but understood scheduling just didn't line up right now. It wasn't like you two never saw one another, you still did - but it wasn't like it was. Time together now felt fleeting, as if you had to savor everything, so you made the most of your situation.

Was it overcompensation? Possibly. But Carmy adored your notes.

Sometimes, you'll be sat in the living room, reading a book, working on your laptop, or scrolling Instagram on your phone, while he cooks and he finds a note left on the milk carton that reads: I am UDDERLY in love with you!

Get it? 'Cause cows have udders? You were pretty proud of that pun.

Other times, he'll be up at an unGodly hour, getting a steamy hot shower, and you'll come in to pee. He doesn't think anything of anything until he gets out of the stall only to see a neon orange sticky note on the counter, saying: i love your butt! lemme pinch it!

Carmy feels himself looking forward to your little surprises. Some were funny and a little vulgar, like the note found on the eggs: fertilize MY eggs!

Some notes were more innocent, like the one he found in his shoe one morning, reading: I'm so proud of you. have a great day today!

Some just said: be home for dinner @ 8! making your fav!

Others were found, saying: you're so fucking handsome. I'm one lucky ducky! You even tried to draw a little duck.

Some notes were motivational: you're doing a GREAT job, baby!

Some notes reminded: you have a dentist appt @ 10!

Some notes were sweet: call me during your break, cutie, i miss your voice!

And others found on the bathroom mirror were playful: you look too good today, go change! A second note added: don't need anyone looking at your fine ass! A third: i'm the only one allowed to look #respectfully

Each and every note had a drawn heart, being saved to a hidden shoebox. He found notes in his usual coffee mug, reminding him you loved him. He found notes on his toothpaste tube, telling him he was doing a great job. Cereal boxes now promised Carmy they were proud of him, pastas told him to have a great day, and the light switches assured reminded him how special he was.

The microwave told him you felt blessed to be his and in his jacket pocket, he was told how lucky you are to love him. Some notes swore to him he was one of a kind, others explicitly detailed what parts of him you wanted in parts of you, and a few reminded him of important dates, appointments, deadlines, anniversaries, birthdays, etc..

Sometimes, he found little treats with these sticky notes. Like when you had to make brownies for your little sister's bake sale, you left him a Tupperware full with a hot pink note, labeled: for the love of my life!

And then... One morning, when you got up for work, Carmy was already gone for his day. You went through your normal routine, entering the kitchen with the intention of making a to-go cup of coffee, only to pause and grin when a neon green sticky note greeted you from the stovetop. Written in messy, fresh, black Sharpie was: got you on my mind. love you, be home @ 6 tonight!

Carmy drew own heart and you beamed at the reciprocation. You didn't mind the distance for now, knowing he was busy and it wouldn't last forever; but the fact that he could reassure you as much as you could him warmed your heart. You felt like the Grinch when his heart grew in size, just without the painful grunting. If anything, you felt euphoric from his little note - thinking it was reassuring to still communicate even when your schedules differed.

The day passed sluggishly - only because you were actually excited to go home. Ironically, your last client of the day didn't leave until a little later than scheduled, so, when you FINALLY got off work and made it home, Carmy had beaten you. When you got through the door, you were met with a heavenly aroma; using Gandalf's advice and following your nose to enter the kitchen.

You sighed dreamily when you came to a halt in the doorway, bottom lip trapped between your teeth to attempt and restrain your ecstatic grin. Carmy was shirtless at the stove, stirring a pasta dish to coat it in the sauce of his choice. "Hi, pretty peach," he beamed at you.

"Oh, I've missed this sight," you squealed, rushing to his side to throw your arms around his neck. "Hi, baby, hi, baby, hi, baby," you chanted between chaste kisses to his cheek.

"Someone missed me," he laughed, cheeks blooming a bright red - but not from the kitchen heat.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, and you know I don't do well alone, I need attention," you teased with a pout, his arm slithering around your waist - but a crinkle noise caught your attention. "Woah, hey. Did you get a new tattoo?" You pondered, looking down at his arm that was protectively bandaged.

He smirked and held his arm out, "Wanna take the plastic off for me?"

"What'd you get?"

"Find out," he whispered, staring at you with his intense baby blue eyes; waiting as you calculated your next move. Slowly, you reached out and unwrapped the protective cling wrap, getting to the gauze, then slowly peeling that from his skin.

"Ohhh, my fucking God," you whispered.

"Like it?"

"Are these... My hearts?"

He nodded, "I got 6 of them from your notes tattooed. 'Cause we've been together six years. Figured, each year, I could add one - but you gotta draw it."

"You're ridiculous," you laughed, in minor disbelief. "What made you do this?"

He eased, "You. I've never felt so confident in my life before, and I know you're a huge part of that. It feels right, being with you feels right and I wanted to show you that I see and appreciate all you do." His tone softened, "I wouldn't be me without you, Peach."

"You'd still be Carmy."

"A totally different Carmy, though," he chuckled. "I actually like who I am with you, baby. But look here, I know it's been real hectic lately, sweet girl, with the restaurant, but it's not gonna be like this forever. We're makin' progress, we're gonna get this settled."

"I know," you assured, "'cause if anyone's gonna get this done, it's you. Just don't forget to breathe every now and then - you're drowning in this stress and I need you to stay afloat, Carm."

"I'm good, Peaches, got you on my team so I can't lose," he eased, tucking you into his chest for an embrace. After a minute and a tight squeeze, he sighed, pecked the crown of your head, then mumbled, "Why don't you go wash up? Dinner's almost ready."

You agreed, stealing one last (prolonged) kiss before scampering off to the bedroom. When you got there, you almost tripped when you came to a halt; laughing loudly as the entire bed was covered in an array of neon colored sticky notes. Until you got closer and realized each note detailed a different reason Carmy loved you; from the way you search for him in your sleep to how you resembled a Gremlin if not fed within certain hours. From how you weren't afraid to dress up for the Renaissance Festival to how you throw blankets in the dryer for 15 minutes before movie nights. In fact, "movie night" was on a single note, being a fond yet routine date. You read each note carefully, tears wanting to build but you refused to let them, yet it was difficult when this was the sweetest gesture you've ever known.

Even things you were insecure about, like dimples or weight or hair color, was highlighted as a reason Carmy loved you. He listed your authenticity, generosity, thoughtfulness, charisma, incredible brain but even bigger heart. He praised your wit, your humor; adored your sneezes, and looked forward to coming home every night because he knew he was coming home to you.

You've never felt so loved before, wondering if this was what Carmy felt each time he found one of your notes.

Movement caught your peripheral, and when you looked up, Carmy was leaning in the doorway of the bedroom; arms crossed and lips pulled in a small smirk. He didn't speak, he just stared at you. You were at a loss for words, opening and closing your mouth twice; holding most of the sticky notes in your hands, but then, you settled on telling him simply, "I love you so fucking much, Carmy."

Dinner might've allegedly burned that night, but so did your love and passion for one another. Even the smallest of gestures can go farther than we anticipate, and showing someone you care could be as simple as leaving them notes around the apartment you cohabitate in, on neon colored Post It's.

Wanna know the cool thing about adult relationships? You get to love your partner out loud; being unapologetic in how you emote, and in return, you're loved by them. Each person deserves to be loved in the way they want to be loved - but you know how fucking great it is when two lovers respond to the same language? What I mean is, it could be considered rare that you, who liked to leave notes, would meet and fall in love with someone who liked to collect and read those notes. Your love language was the same as Carmy's, part of the reason you both worked so well together - but also why one day, he'd add plenty more hand drawn hearts to the collection on his forearm.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

[stories-to-tell-by-lantern-light]

Who Am I Really?

(Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel blood crusting under his fingernails, he could feel the sting of the cold snow underneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he was being honest with himself he knew that from the moment he awoke and could still see that he was no longer human.

Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the black tar that was mercilessly poured in there by Jenny and her cult.

‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him, it only served to make his mouth water.

What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, which happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (though realistically that was just wishful thinking). The true college experience one might say, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should’ve just stuck to focusing on school and studying his brain out, god why did he have to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.

What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed to get medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if normal medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack grit his teeth trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He placed his hand against a tree the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible, he felt like a wild animal that was cornered by the hunter. There was a girl in front of him, she had (h/l) (h/c) hair that was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her (f/c) parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.

“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath, she smelled divine but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.

---

Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that, glancing down at his wound he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?

Jack felt his stomach growl and he doubled over clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening, in the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense he bared his teeth opening his jaw as wide as he could, he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcomed sensation.

Did he have more than one tongue?

Shaking the thought away Jack didn’t move to attack, he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty, the only issue was he was starving and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.

“Don’t try demon.” The girl scoffed eyeing Jack up and down, if he was still his old college self he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back them. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands, it was a plate, a plate that had kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.

Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move, even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.

“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.

“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”

“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”

“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”

Jack growled low and guttural.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl had the audacity to laugh in his face was she not aware of what he was capable of now?

“Nice try but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little however he could hear her pulse increase just the slightest bit.

Jack only scowled.

“What pray tell is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow watching carefully as the girl lifted up her sleeve to her sweater. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”

The (h/c)-ette let out a loud sigh like this conversation was boring her. Oh he’s sorry it’s not his fault he was turned into a fucking organ-eating monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.

“My name is (y/n), I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, (y/n), clicked her tongue in clear distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know The Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious and he only grew more confused.

“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, all you have to focus on is getting better so you can begin your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at castle de la (Y/n). Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind and his little question and answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.

“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation picking at the strings of her sweater.

“Was a med student Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after I was scouted by the boss man. That, however,” He watched as (Y/n) put a hand to her lips signaling him to stop asking questions, “Is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me that’s saying something cause I smell blood all the time.”

Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully and it got under his skin that she seemed to know everything about him and he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice at this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like, (y/n) clearly didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.

“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation and the girl gave a relieved smile.

“Oh thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was deciding that that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him and he immediately recoiled back almost biting her handoff, the smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.

“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade coming closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-

“Alright, cannibal boy snap out of it. Can’t have you succumbing to blood lust just yet. You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” (Y/n) snapped her fingers next to his ears and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”

Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. On the short walk there Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.

“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” (Y/n) explained as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the other side of the door and listened to the girls retreating footsteps.

Jack leaned against the sink putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked at the newfound pressure and Jack wasn’t sure it was because it was an old house or because he had newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident he got a good look at himself, he looked about as good as he felt.

Terrible.

His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that (y/n) didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious, Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been.

His skin was unnatural and sickly grey color, as he lifted up his shirt the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body he lifted up one of his padded feet, he was correct in his assumption from earlier. They were much more animal-like, he wondered if they made him faster, what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?

Gently letting his footfall back down on the floor he shuffled to the shower and turned it on, the water sprayed out in a burst and he patiently waited for it to heat up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head not only against the curtain rod but also on the showerhead.

“Fuck!” He snarled glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, with a deep breath he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.

~~~

“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as (y/n) stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.

“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job Tim?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow “You realize he’s, like, almost seven feet tall, has no eyes and eats organs right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” She muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”

Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, it made her ball up her fists subconsciously.

God, the main proxies really got on her fucking nerves sometimes.

“You won’t have to worry about that, The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks. No need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little and the (h/c)-nette’s did the same, she normally prided herself on her strong stomach, but this was a lot even for her. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, and obviously keep him alive.”

“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that at least, she fucks up and he dies they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.

“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. (Y/n) mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up' in a nasal voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of her guest's room, she pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. She gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist, this is going to be a long month.

[manikas-whims]

Troublesome New Girl

Sequel to A Place Good Enough

[Read on AO3]

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker

Summary: Inej has newly joined the Dregs. She goes to return Kaz's coat in the presence of many members. *cue the teasing & jokes*

Jesper meets Inej & evidences of Jesper's crush on Kaz (tiny bit of angst).

Kaz is his usual self & sets an example. A violent one :)

Note:

I just noticed this complete written fic has been sitting in my drafts for a month now. I'm so dumb 〒_〒

PLEASE DO READ THE PREVIOUS PART IN THIS SERIES TO UNDERTAND THIS SEQUEL.

Hope you guys enjoy!

Inej

The constant noise of banging against wood rouses Inej from her sleep. She looks around haphazardly only to find herself lying on a cot in an unknown room, her torso covered by a grey coat. Sun's rays blind her eyes momentarily as she turns her face, an open window staring back at her, not the daunting walls of the Menagerie. Memories of the previous night flood back and her shoulders deflate in relief. She takes a long breath to calm her rapidly beating heart. She doesn't need to endure Heleen's beatings or sell her body anymore. She is free of that life. Free.

“Oi new girl!” a voice calls, followed by more knocking at the wooden door to her small room. “Brekker told me to bring you some clothes. I’m leaving a pair out here.”

Right! Kaz Brekker had promised her better clothes. She leaves the comfort of the cot but by the time she unlocks the door to thank whoever was on the other end, the person is gone. She catches a short glimpse of a feminine figure with blond hair at the stairs and vows to thank her later. Picking up the clothes, she closes the door.

Jesper

When Jesper had heard his fellow Dregs gossiping about Dirtyhands bringing back a girl with him late at night, he hadn’t given it much thought. He had ignored Anika when she had said that she was literally asked by Kaz himself to provide the said girl with some clothes. In fact, he had completely shooed away anyone who came up to fill his ears with rumors about this unknown Suli girl and the bastard of the barrel. So when a small, bronze-skinned girl bumps into him on the third floor of the Slat, he's stunned.

"Ohhh—", The girl waves her hands frantically, her pupils dilating in concern, "I'm sorry."

But Jesper doesn't bother with apologies for he's too busy appraising her. Now she does match the rumored descriptions and is even donning Anika's lame clothes. But what actually piques his interest is a neatly-folded coat in the deepest shade of grey held between her dainty hands. He doesn’t need to think long to guess who it belongs to. There’s only one person who doesn’t indulge in the colorful fashion sense of the barrel— Kaz “Dirtyhands” Brekker.

He feels his insides fuming. But no way is he going to act like an idiot and jump to conclusions. Just because here's a girl he’s never seen before and she happens to have a coat, doesn’t mean that every single narrative he's heard about this whole situation is true.

He narrows his eyes in what he assumes is his best look of suspicion as he towers over the girl. “Where did you get that?”

"Um", she looks down at the piece of clothing and mumbles in the most innocent tone, "Mr. Brekker lent it to me."

Mr. Brekker!? The hell kinda way is this to address a man you slept with? Or whatever the heck it is that Dirtyhands prefers to do with girls..

"Why?" he asks. From Jesper's experiences, the young lieutenant of the Dregs isn't big on kindness. "Why did he lend it you?"

The girl's brows narrow in thought. It seems she herself is unsure of the reason. Her left palm clutches her right forearm in apprehension. "I guess..because I wasn't in a very decent attire."

Alarms go off in Jesper's head again. What exactly happened between her and Kaz? His heart needs answers yet he knows that its none of his business so he suppresses the unease welling in his belly.

"Well Kaz is up there." He gestures in the direction of the attic. "I'm headed there right now so I can give it to him."

The girl frowns. "I can't let a stranger do that for me. Besides," she twirls a strand of her hair, her eyes alight with some indescribable emotion, "I must properly thank him myself."

Jesper is familiar with this look. It mirrors his own when he was still a newbie at the Dregs and wanted to prove himself, wanted to repay Kaz for saving his ass. And not just by helping him pluck stupid pigeons but also by adding extra sums of profits to his ledger. Jesper can empathize with her on this.

"He saved you too," The Zemeni asks carefully, "didn't he?"

She stares at him, gauging the understanding in his expression and simply nods.

He rubs the side of his neck awkwardly. "Well, wanna go up together?"

Her eyes widen and she involuntarily takes a few steps back. Distrust. Fear. He can empathize with this action as well. In the barrel, it'd be foolish to believe a complete stranger within few moments of the first encounter.

"Then," he smiles the smile that many have called charming and starts his ascend upstairs. He only looks back once to wink at her, hoping it'll quell her anxious mind a bit, "follow my lead?"

"I can do that." she mumbles, more to assure herself and takes the first step of many that will become the foundation to their sibling-like friendship.

Kaz

When it comes to change, development and fresh ideas, Per Haskell always cowers and dismisses the topic. People like that will never achieve anything if they aren't willing to take risks. The restoration of that abandoned fifth harbour would already be in motion if Kaz hadn't chosen to waste another of his precious mornings trying to convince his boss that investing in it may prove fruitful to the Dregs. And so, after a pointless argument he had had earlier with the old man, he's decided to take matters into his own hands.

Huffing audibly, he continues explaining every member present in his room their respective job for the day. The boisterous throng huddled around him, begins dispersing all of a sudden. Curiously, Kaz looks up to find his faitful right-hand man Jesper Fahey walking in, a mischievous glint in his silver irises.

"We bumped into each other on our way up here." Jesper gestures behind him.

And it is then that Kaz notices her presence— Inej Ghafa, the strange Suli girl he had brought back from the West Stave. Oddly, he had felt her presence moments ago but had brushed it off as a mere byproduct of his rest-deprived mind playing tricks on him. Turns out his intuition hadn’t been wrong at all.

"Its that Suli girl."

"The one that Brekker took up to his bed?"

"Who would've thought Haskell's rabid dog had such exquisite tastes."

The one that Brekker took where? Haskell's rabid what? Kaz isn't sure which remark he finds more insulting towards his reputation. Although he does realise he has no one except himself to blame. He should'nt have let the girl follow him up to the attic last night. As usual, he'll have to cover this small err with fresh tales about himself that are even more gruesome than the previous ones. But for now he must find out why the new girl is here.

Anika’s clothes are baggy on her small frame— a deep green shirt so loosely-fitted that she has tied its ends into a double knot just above her belly-button whilst the fawn-colored trousers hang tastefully around her hips. He watches her long, silky hair sway behind her as she walks gracefully in his direction, determination glimmering in her dark brown irises. Shock briefly flits across his gaze but before he can even think of stopping her, she shoots out her hands in which he (dreadfully) recognizes, she’s holding his coat. He can feel all eyes in the room already settling on him. They collectively stare in a mix of shock, curiosity and..is this jealousy he's witnessing on a few faces?

"What do you think you're doing?" He grits out. He hears a muffled snickering which he's sure is Jesper's and wonders if the two somehow managed to become friends in the short span of their climb up the stairs. And that they both planned this prank together on their way.

However, Inej only furrows her brows, debunking his ridiculous theory. She seems to be wondering what she's done wrong as she answers confidently, "I forgot to return it last night."

More interested staring ensues. The new pen in his palm snaps.

Is this girl serious right now? It took him long, unrelenting years to rise to the position he's at. He's spilled his blood, sweat and tears to scatter the seeds of terror about him throughout the expanse of Ketterdam. Even people who come across him for the first time, visibly shiver and turn pale. So what part of their last conversation has given her this courage to approach him so casually? She seems to have forgotten the fact that he’s an infamous barrel thug, feared by merchers, stadwatch and gangsters alike. She isn’t supposed to saunter up to him and return his coat, making this whole exchange appear to be a scandalous affair to the curious bystanders. She isn't supposed to crumble Dirtyhands' hard-built reputation with just a few words!

"Stand aside, I'm busy." He mutters, because he truly has no idea how to get out of this predicament and hopes that his caustic tone will get the message across just like it does with everyone else.

To his utter dismay, Inej seems to be far more tactless than Jesper, who still hasn't stopped snickering. She tucks the coat back in her arms and bites her lip as if suppressing herself from saying something mean. Her eyes quietly regard his own, an unspoken understanding settling between them. She is aware that if she doesn't wish to be thrown back into the Menagerie, she must behave properly with him. And yet, her nostrils flare as she responds, "I just wanted to pay my gratitude-"

"You can pay your gratitude," Kaz hisses back, glaring up at her from his perched position, "with your services." And its only after uttering those words does he realise the ambiguous implications hinted in them. Jesper's shoulders are shaking uncontrollably now, his palms tightly clamped around his mouth to muffle his laugh.

"Slow down, Dirtyhands." comments someone from the back and the whole room bursts into a howl of laughter. Inej brings a palm to her lips, gasping in mortification.

Kaz massages his eyes. Dealing with these ruffians has already been a headache. Now this new girl just walks in and takes the cake. She's proving to be far more dangerous– scratch that– far more more troublesome than he had expected.

He lets them have their fun as he pulls out a knife from his coatsleeve and gets up. He ambles towards Dirix, his steps slow and deliberate. He's sure it was Rotty who'd made the joke but Dirix is standing closer and it doesn't really matter who said what. Dirtyhands just needs to set an example.

The young boy is suddenly looking very pale. Kaz grabs his right hand, the dominant one and digs the blade along the joints of his fingers. The knife easily tears through his skin and goes deeper into the muscle beneath. Dirix is now screaming whilst everyone else hold their breath. From his peripheral vision, he catches the horror on Inej's face and rolls his eyes. Surely she must've heard of his violent endeavors at the menagerie. She shouldn't have approached him in the first place if she's going to be so shocked everytime he spills someone's blood.

He roots out the knife before it can completely sever Dirix's limbs. "Get 'em patched up." The boy is already running out.

He walks back and tosses the knife to the desk, its loud clang making everyone flinch in fright. "Pipe down before I actually start chopping tongues."

The threat silences everyone.

"This is Inej Ghafa." He points at her and the girl cowers slightly. Not at all the abrupt attention on her, he notices, but from him. "She's to be a new spider."

This one simple statement seems to piece together everything for them. Though he has an inkling that his previous act of brutality also plays a major part. They nod and whisper amongst themselves. He almost scoffs. Of course its easier for them to believe that Kaz Brekker took up a girl to his room for information. Not some spicy dalliance.

"Now get to work." He orders and one by one they shuffle out of the room, Rotty nodding respectfully. He knows he was spared merely by luck.

Jesper is the last one. He winks at Inej before taking his leave. "See you around, new girl!"

And with all of them gone, Kaz turns to Inej. She inhales a breath in anticipation.

"Let's start your training."

So hopefully that was as fun reading as it was for me writing :3

Coming parts will have Inej's training and ofc her picking her canon outfit.

.

SoC Masterlist

( divider by @firefly-graphics )

[atomicstrawbrys]

Dead On Arrival

WOW i haven’t written in forever lmao, hopefully I still remember how!! I hope you enjoy the fic!! Please let me know if you did!!

Summary: Arthur and Alfred have a date. However, as Alfred finds himself unable to attend due to a rather...serious condition, it is up to Arthur to make sure they get to their dinner reservation on time. USUK.

Warnings: gross imagery, character death, violence

Words: 2583

Honestly, of all the times for Alfred to die, it had to be a few weeks before their big dinner date. 

Arthur had made the reservation months in advance, as The Boathouse was always packed full of the rich and influential, and, hell, he’d just wanted to have one really nice date. Sure, he adored Alfred, and loved being with him no matter where they were, but he’d been looking forward to getting all fancy and renting a nice car for the night, to coming home late and getting pounded into the mattress before they would wake up and resume their normal lives. 

And then Alfred got himself killed. A mugging gone wrong; they’d said. Alfred wasn’t even the intended victim, but he’d noticed the crime unfolding and had stepped in. The initial target had run away, but Alfred had not been so lucky. And oh, how his family wept. As did Arthur. He couldn’t even be considered a widower, as he had asked Alfred to prolong their engagement, putting off the wedding until they were secure enough to afford a decent house. How silly that seemed now- if he could go back, he’d have gone with Alfred to the courthouse the very day his fiancé had proposed. 

And now, instead of planning a wedding, Arthur had planned a funeral. Closed casket, at his insistence. He didn’t want to see Alfred, a man who represented the very definition of life, reduced to a cold meat sack. They’d lowered his love into the ground, and, rather than a goodbye, Arthur departed with a ‘See you later, Darling.’ And, if he had anything to say about it, he would.

On the day of their date, Arthur rolled up to the cemetery in the rose gold Ferrari they’d reserved for the occasion. He stepped out in his crushed velvet suit, checking his watch. He had a little less than an hour before they had to be at The Boathouse. If they were even a minute late, they’d lose their reservation, so he did hope this would be quick.

Opening the passenger side door, Arthur retrieved a weathered tome from on top of the seat. He’d had this particular book of magicks for a while now, though before Alfred’s death, he’d never intended on getting involved in necromancy. Well. Maybe only a little, but still. The tome itself felt odd in his hands- it was bound with some type of animal skin, but not like anything he’d ever felt. He had plenty of old books, but this didn’t feel like any of the others...it also had this weird, fleshy color that wasn’t too far off from his own, and- Nope. Nope, that train of thought had gone far enough. Whatever the book was made out of, he didn’t make it, so it wasn’t his problem.  He flipped through the pages of the tome as he walked through the graveyard, stepping over and around the headstones of those he was much less attached to.

When he arrived at Alfred’s grave -a nice little spot underneath the shade of a tree- Arthur took a moment to read the inscription on his headstone.

“Here lies Alfred Jones. Beloved Fiancé and Friend. Loved by all who knew him.” Beneath that were the dates that marked his birth and death, a short twenty-five years that seemed much too short for a man who loved life so much.

Before Arthur could contemplate on the tragedy further, he shook himself out of his thoughts  and held up the ancient book. He read the page-long incantation labelled only ‘Reanimation.’ Once he’d read it through a few times, he set the book down in the grass, leaving his hands free.

As he chanted, Arthur took out his pocketknife, bringing it up to his hand. The blood of the living to awaken the body of the dead, that was the exchange. Of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to slice his palm, despite what was often shown in movies. Instead, he nicked the side of his wrist, letting crimson droplets sprinkle the freshly tilled earth of Alfred’s grave. With a final flourish, he wiped his wrist across Alfred’s headstone, the grey inscription now painted red. Then, he waited. Forty-five minutes until their reservation- Alfred had better be quick about this ‘coming back to life’ business.

For a moment, nothing happened. Arthur had been beginning to lose hope, beginning to wonder if the Definitely-Not-Human-Skin tome had been little more than a cheap Halloween decoration. But then, the earth beneath him shifted. There was something shifting around down there, or, rather, someone.

A hand burst through the dirt, clawing desperately towards the sky. Arthur, recognizing the engagement ring on Alfred’s finger, lunged forward and grasped his palm in both his hands. He pulled as hard as he could, the hand eventually giving way to an arm, and then a shoulder, and finally, to the rest of Alfred.

At first, Arthur could just stare. Alfred’s body, once decomposing, slowly began to knit itself back together until he looked, well, sort of normal. Alfred just stared back at him, light blue slowly pouring back into his milky white eyes. They weren’t as clear or brilliant as before, sure, but Arthur didn’t mind in the slightest. Alfred always looked perfect, even as maggots wriggled in the flesh of his crudely reconstructed body.

“Baaaaaaaaabe?” He rumbled, his voice garbled and slurred. Arthur could only laugh then, pulling his fiancé into a hug.

“Oh, Alfred, it’s so good to see you! Ha, don’t you bite me, now, I’ll not be responsible for some zombie apocalypse.”

“Ha. Ha.” Alfred’s raspy voice replied, jerking an arm up to Arthur’s back to give him a squeeze. “Missed...you. Sorry…”

“Hush, Alfred, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Arthur blinked quickly, shaking his head. He’d known the moment Alfred died that he would be bringing him back, but still, having the weeks without him...Arthur never wanted to do that again. And now that Alfred was back... it was a good feeling. “We do have a dinner reservation in like half an hour, though, so we’d better get going. It’s a good thing you’re already in your best suit.” He leaned back, pressing a kiss to Alfred’s cheek. Alfred’s lips twitched into something that resembled a smile.

As they pulled up to The Boathouse, Arthur slipped out of the passenger side. Alfred’s parking job was crooked as all hell, but it still wasn’t the worst he’d ever done. Perhaps it had been a mistake to put Alfred behind the wheel, but Arthur didn’t really like to drive, and besides, Alfred had geeked out once he saw the rented vehicle. He’d run up to the driver’s side as quickly as he could manage, which, to be fair, wasn’t very fast for the time being. Rigor mortis was not being kind to Alfred for the moment, and all his movements were jerky and stiff. It might ease up over the course of the night, but, even if it didn’t, Arthur found the way he moved to be absolutely fascinating. 

Walking up to the restaurant with Alfred, Arthur held on to his fiancé’s hand, giving him a smirk. “I think I shall drive on the way back, Love. As much as I’d prefer not to, I’m a little worried that if I let you, I shall have to reanimate someone else before the night is out.”

“Boooo.” Alfred groaned in response. Arthur’s smile only widened.

The hostess of the restaurant seemed rather uneasy as she sat the two of them down at their table. Why, Arthur couldn’t begin to fathom. Even their waiter made little more than fleeting eye contact with them, practically throwing their menus to avoid stepping close to the table. Arthur just gave him a polite nod, opening it up and looking over the options. 

“Well, I think I shall be getting the Lobster Thermidor. And you, Darling?”

Alfred grinned then, a little more easily. He waggled his eyebrows.

“Braaaaaaaaaaaaains.” He snickered, and Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you funny. I already told you, no one is starting an apocalypse tonight. We can talk about it in the morning.” Arthur’s lips twitched up into a grin.

Alfred smiled, and, rather than giving the wheezing chuckle Arthur expected, he started to laugh. Sure, it was deep and bone-chilling and almost definitely not of this world, but it was still Alfred’s laugh, and Arthur’s heart melted at the sound of it. Then, Alfred looked back at his menu.

“Seared scallop pasta...looks good.”

Arthur nodded, and, once the waiter returned, relayed their order back to him. The waiter, again, would not get anywhere near their table, but that was no matter. Even if Arthur did have to speak up a bit for the other man to hear him, as long as the order was taken, it was alright.

As they waited, Arthur looked at his fiancé, fiddling with his own engagement ring that Alfred had spent way too much on. Alfred’s gaze wandered now, cloudy blue eyes taking in the restaurant and its patrons. He was still Alfred; Arthur was sure of it. Sure, he was pallid, and his body was...misshapen in some places. Sure, there was a weird wet ooze that soaked the front of his suit. Sure, he walked like a doll without articulated joints, and sure, his voice sounded as if there was dirt in his lungs. And, sure, his chest did not have the rise and fall of breath, indicating that perhaps Alfred no longer needed to breathe at all. But he was his fiancé, and, had they gotten married, Arthur would have pledged to love him until death parted them. Hell, Arthur loved him so much that death had failed to part them.

Alfred’s eyes refocused on him, and he smiled. “ Arthur…” He clumsily jerked his hand across the table, taking Arthur’s warm palm into his cold one. “Love...ya.”

Arthur felt a warm, soft smile spread across his lips as he looked down at their hands. It had only been a few weeks since he’d lost Alfred in the first place, but he’d gone far too long without hearing his partner say that he loved him. He blinked back misty eyes and nodded.

“I love you too, Alfred. So very much.”

When their meals arrived, the waiter’s hands subtly trembled as he set their plates down. Arthur pretended not to notice. He also pretended not to notice the way Alfred tore into his food- like he was a barely contained animal with a crazed hunger that flashed in his eyes only momentarily. Still, when Alfred looked at him, his eyes contained only warmth and adoration, so Arthur decided he wouldn’t worry about it too much.

After dinner, Arthur paid their bill, and helped Alfred to his feet. They left the restaurant, Arthur hugging his fiancé’s arm and nuzzling against his shoulder. He was sure the staff was glad to have them out of the building, and, to be honest, Arthur was glad for the fresh air. Alfred didn’t exactly smell the best anymore, but it was nothing a bath and some cologne couldn’t have helped. 

“Tonight was really nice, Al.” Arthur hummed, looking up at him. “I’m really glad we got to go out again. It’s...” His voice thickened. “It’s been really hard without you, you know.” 

Alfred slid his arm up Arthur’s back with more grace than he’d possessed the entire night, and gently squeezed Arthur to his side. He pressed a clammy kiss to Arthur’s temple, his eyes sad and apologetic.

“I didn’t...wanna leave you.” He murmured, and Arthur nodded, rubbing his eyes with a closed fist.

“I know, Alfred. I know. And I don’t...blame you, for what happened. You tried to do what was right, and you probably saved a life in the process. I only wish you’d come out unscathed.”

They reached the car, and Arthur opened the passenger side for Alfred before he climbed behind the wheel. He smiled at him, and, as they drove, he held his hand across the console. They rode in silence- not uncomfortable, but not quite comfortable either. Arthur wondered where Alfred had gone after he died- if he’d gone anywhere at all. But although he knew Alfred could answer him, he didn’t ask. He wasn’t meant to know what happened to a human soul after death, and he was alright with leaving it a mystery. As long as Alfred was alright, that was all the information he needed to know.

As they pulled back up to the cemetery, Alfred sat up, looking confused.

“Here?” He looked at Arthur, tilting his head. “What about...home?”

Arthur parked the car and turned off the headlights. “I know, my Love. I wish you could come back with me, too. But...you can’t, we both know it. What is your family going to think if your grave is empty tomorrow? And besides- I’m a little worried about the effects of keeping you out here for too long.”

Alfred’s lips drew into a pout. “Wouldn’t bite anyone...” He crossed his arms, looking down at his lap.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. All the same, I think this is for the best.” Arthur got out of the car and went around to open the trunk. He pulled out a shovel and motioned for Alfred to follow. Reluctantly, Alfred obeyed, getting out and shuffling up the hill to the place he’d been buried.

“Right, then. In you go- according to the book I read, once you’re back in there, you’ll...you’ll fall asleep, and...you know. You’ll go back to wherever you were before I woke you.

Alfred looked down at the dark, damp hole, and shot his best puppy eyes at Arthur. Arthur crossed his arms and acted like he wasn’t affected, but they both knew it wasn’t true.

“Goodbye, Al. I’ll miss you.” He gave him a little smile, but his lip wobbled.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I know.”

Alfred sat down at the edge of his grave, legs dangling as he stared down into it. He sighed, shoulders slumping as he started to ease himself back in.

“Ah, fuck,” Arthur murmured, shaking his head. “I’ll wake you up again next week, okay? We’ll stay in- we’ll order pizza and watch a movie. As long as you promise we’ll have you back in here before sunrise.”

With a surprising fluidity, Alfred shot up out of his grave and crushed Arthur to his chest in a hug.

“Okay! I love you!”

Chuckling, Arthur hugged him back, pressing a soft kiss to cold lips. “And I love you. Now, get back in there before I change my mind.”

Nodding, Alfred wasted no time in hopping down and lying in the splintered remains of his casket. He smiled up at Arthur and waved before he closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.

It took almost an hour, but, shovelful by shovelful, Arthur filled Alfred’s grave back in. He finished it up with a resounding pat-pat, then “borrowed” a rose from a nearby tomb and placed it down at Alfred’s headstone. He pressed a kiss to his dirt-crusted fingertips, then pressed his fingertips to the cool stone.

“See you next week, my Love. Sleep well.”

And with that, Arthur hefted the shovel up onto his shoulder and headed down the hill, already thinking about what movies they’d watch on their next date.

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (3)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.1k warnings: nightmares, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

Bucky didn’t move for nearly an hour before Steve and Natasha found him curled up against that wall. Forehead pressed the thick glass barrier that had kept you from him, stare glazed over, unblinking. His body so numb he could hardly move.

He didn’t register Steve rush at him, skidding on his knees to press his fingers  painfully to Bucky’s pulse point or the violent shake of his shoulders as his friend begged him to say something, to tell him what happened, to answer him goddamnit because the way he sat so unmoving, unresponsive, the red seep of blood upon the open wound at his stomach, Steve thought for a moment he might be dead.

He might as well have been.

Natasha paced back and forth, eyes darting down the long hallway and spotting the dirt layered handprints on the other side of the wall, the skid marks on the tile left behind by your boots.

“Steve,” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, lips pressed tight together to hold in the cry etching through her spine as she nodded towards the end of the hall. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, catching onto the fragments you’d left behind and slumped over in realization.

“Oh God.”

***

Bucky sat at the end of a long conference table back the compound less than eight hours later and he could barely get his thoughts to form a straight line. Every image in his brain replayed the sharp realization in your eyes as you watched him so desperately try to reach you with no avail, the acceptance of what was about to happen as you placed your hands on the glass to find his eyes one last time; the complete panic that swept over you when they dragged you away, your heels digging into the concrete, arms thrashing, as you tried to resist your capture.

And still, above the worst of it, above the fear on your face seared into his memory and the unforgiving grip of the agent’s hands on your body, Bucky couldn’t let go of the last thing you had said to him. While the cadence of your voice was lost behind the barrier of the wall, Bucky couldn’t shake it from his mind, wondering what it would have sounded like aloud. He would have given everything to hear it, just once.

I love you.

I’m sorry. I love you.

He had so many questions; so much he needed to know. Why were you only telling him now that you were being taken away? How long had you known? When did you first realize?

Was it in that moment as you caught his eye through the other side of the glass barrier, tears streaming down your face as the Hydra agents approached from behind you? Was it before that? Back before he found the courage to talk to you on your silent runs in the morning? Was it somewhere in between? 

Was it the first time you dragged him to Brooklyn or the day you spent with him curled up at the foot of your bed, listening to music and showing him the new books you’d bought him?

Was it after the first time you had stayed the night in his room after a particularly grueling mission, curled up against his left side, completely unbothered, if not relieved, by the cool metal on his shoulder? Because that was when he knew.

Had it been years of silent glances and the soft curve of lips, unspoken conversations and cautious touches, loving one another from a distance?

Wasted years you could have been his.

He could have been yours.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky blinked a few times, focusing his vision back on Steve as he raised an eyebrow, concerned. He stood at the far end of the room, watching Bucky under a worried stare as he leaned onto the table. Behind him, filling the monitors, were images of different Hydra bases, blue prints, schematics, and a few profiles of the Hydra agents who were present at the base where you were taken.

Bucky’s gaze caught on the monitor to the right of Steve’s shoulder, your official SHIELD identification picture set around several layers of text detailing demographic factors for the rows of agents standing behind the table who didn’t know you like the team did. Bullet points of your height, the color of your eyes, the prominent scar above your eyebrow, your various skillset.

It all felt too clinical, too impersonal, dispassionate almost for these agents to read about you like you were a target, or a mark, or anything other than the most important person in his life.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from your image displayed upon the screen. Your hair was up, wisps falling down to frame your face and the suit you wore was an older model, one you wore before Tony got a hold of it, though you had always said it was your favorite. It was subtle, humbling, and reminded you of the years of training it took you to get to this point. You smiled in the picture, the slight curve of your lips and a dimple in your cheeks and –

“Buck?” Steve called again, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, gaze flickering over to the agents Steve was attempting to bring up to speed.

Not even a full day had passed since you’d been taken and Steve was organizing rescues ops to every known Hydra base he could find. With the fresh wound in Bucky’s side only haphazardly stapled together by Natasha on the quinjet and a seemingly permanent ringing in his left ear, he’d been benched.

He had fought Steve on that. Begged, screamed and threw punches until the dizziness in his head started to pull his vision black. He was in no shape to raid Hydra facilities, physically or mentally. He was too vulnerable, too willing to do whatever it took to bring you home. Steve knew him better than almost anyone and he knew that given the chance, Bucky would walk openly back into Hydra’s arms if it meant securing your safety. It was too great of a risk and SHIELD couldn’t allow Hydra to get ahold of the winter soldier again.

It was for that reason Steve wouldn’t let him get within a hundred feet of a jet.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What was the question?”

Steve exhaled, incredibly patient through the sad look on his face. “You know these bases better than anyone. Just checking to see if we missed anything in their defense procedures.”

Bucky nodded, taking in a deep breath as he studied the monitors. They seemed to cover everything from the security monitors to the defense protocols of the agents to the boobytraps installed in some of the older buildings.

“I think you're good,” Bucky confirmed. 

He tried his best to ignore the stares of the agents gathered around the table; eyes full of pity, some with apathy, others with that prominent look of disgust they didn’t bother to hide. Not everyone was as willing as you had been to accept him as a member of this team. He was a constant source of gossip amongst the agents, even three years later, and though his team members did their best to put a stop to it, it never seemed to let up.

Everywhere he went, someone would be watching him, waiting for him to slip up or reveal his ‘true nature,’ to turn on the people who took him in because he was nothing more than what Hydra trained him to be.

Bucky looked to the empty seat on his right. Your seat. His hands clenched so hard into fists he drew blood in the palm of his right hand. He couldn't stand to be in this room any longer.

As Steve and Tony turned to address the teams, Bucky abruptly pushed his chair out from the table and shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Steve’s cautious glance and the murmurs that followed him as he stepped out into the hallway.

The door of the conference room slammed shut behind him and a relief circulated through his chest with a steady inhale of breath. It was the first time he was alone since the jet landed back on the base.

Moving to wipe a line of sweat from his brow, Bucky caught a glimpse of red on his hands. Staining the cracks in his knuckles and dried in the lines of his flesh palm. Blood. Your blood.

His hands began to shake, tremors so violent that he couldn’t begin to control them even as he curled his hands to fists by his side. Flash of grey fog and the heat of flames surrounded him, trapped in the memory, as he had cupped the sides of your face, blood trailing from your ears and onto his palms. The look on your face, the ache in your voice flooded back to him at once and he leaned against the wall for support.

Tears blurred his vision and he nearly collapsed under weak knees when suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to whip around defensively, fists held high and ready to strike.

Sam raised his arms, taking a step back. “Hey man, I’m just checking in.”

Bucky let out a sharp breath, lowering his hands with a careful nod. His heart was racing; the dangerous combination of a half-stitched wound on his stomach, the adrenaline coursing in his veins, and the emotional distress of losing you to the very people who had ripped him apart, who were featured so heavily in his nightmares, was starting to break him.

“Look, why don’t you get down to the med bay?” Sam offered, gesturing to the soot and blood coating Bucky’s skin. “I’m sure Helen will want to properly stitch up your stab wound. Though Nat did a pretty decent job with the stapler, even if you did try to toss her off of you more than once.” 

Sam chuckled lightly, hoping to draw some kind of reaction but when he was met with the solemn stare etched on Bucky’s features, he added, “Steve and Tony are heading out with their teams soon. Nat, Rhodey, and Lang are heading up units, too. They’ll find her, Barnes. No stone unturned, you got it?”

Bucky swallowed. It burned.

“There’s nothing you can do but wait,” Sam sighed and the ache in his voice reminded Bucky of his own. Worried. Afraid. Though he tried to shove it aside. It was what they did best. “Y/n will be home soon and she’s going to need you to have a hold of yourself, okay? No pity parties. Get that mess on your stomach taken care of and get a shower. Don’t wanna be looking like a fool when she comes back, right?”

Sam pressed out a grin, though it was forced, as he shoved Bucky lightly in the shoulder. Despite their history, Bucky knew that Sam was a decent guy, someone who would have his back without a second thought even with their constant bickering. He was the only person who dared to stomp on every eggshell around him since you’d been taken. Sam provided him with a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved.

So, as Sam walked down the hall, leaving Bucky to his own self-destructive devices, he tried to convince himself that Sam was right, that in a few short hours he’d meet you in the hanger as you sprinted off the ramp of the quinjet, unharmed, beaming so wide it hurt, and you’d crash into his arms. He could practically feel the curve of your back, the thin layer of your favorite t-shirt, soft waves of your hair, all under his fingertips. He could smell the sweet fragrance of your shampoo and the warmth of your body pressed against his.

He’d return the words you had spoken to him. He’d tell you that you were the reason he found himself again after decades of being trapped within his own mind and tell you he’d give his life just to see you smile again. He’d tell you that he loved you and he couldn’t stand the idea of being without you for even a second longer and maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you like he’d been imagining for years.

Cracked lips, still gentle and soft against his own, and he’d rake his fingers through your hair not caring about the blood caked through the roots, because he just needed to be closer to you and his mouth on yours just wouldn’t be enough. He’d cry and hold onto you like an extension of himself and he wouldn’t let go for hours.

Maybe you’d hold him back and maybe you’d kiss his cheek and maybe you’d tell him that it wasn’t his fault because—God-- he needed to hear it so badly and there wasn't a single person but you he would believe it from.  

But Bucky Barnes was not a hopeful man.

He had learned over the years that this world was not a kind one and that dreams were useless fantasies meant to hold his sanity until the next blow came and he’d find himself searching again for reasons to hang on, each time getting harder and harder until he had nothing left.

He knew Hydra and he knew what they were capable of.

He knew what they would do to you. As an Avenger and as someone so clearly connected to their favorite asset. They’d destroy you.

Bucky could barely feel the agonizing ache in his chest.

***

Five nights since you were taken and still no word. Sam had taken over for Steve’s team somewhere in Russia, searching the eighth base on their list. Tony and Nat’s teams grouped up in Austria, while Scott’s team was following a far-off lead in Brazil.

Bucky tried to keep himself away from the communications center where he’d find the voices of his friends chiming in through the radio, each reporting that they had found nothing and another base was crossed off the list. He’d only find pain there and he knew it.

But Bucky Barnes was a masochist and he put himself in that room anyway, sitting at the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the analysts and listened to the chatter of Sam’s voice as it started to become more and more defeated with every abandoned base they encountered.

Even when Tony and Nat’s teams were able to infiltrate a fully operational base and burn it to the ground, Bucky couldn’t even find it in himself to feel even an ounce of satisfaction. He couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that they were running out of known Hydra facilities on their list and there was yet to even be a sign that you were even still alive.

He left around three in the morning when the chatter began to die down and the only sound filling the room was the constant typing. He retreated back to his room, laid on the top of the computer and began to count the cracks in the tiles on the ceiling.

His bed was too cold, too hard under the aching swell of his muscles without you.

You had spoiled him, allowed him to get used to the warmth of your body so innocently next to his under the ruse of fighting nightmares together. Something about the feel of your hand curling into his when you noticed his body start to tremor in his sleep or the soft murmur if your voice lulling him back to fonder memories, and Bucky hadn't woken screaming in months.

But the unspoken arrangement wasn’t one sided. Sometimes, there’d be nights you’d come back from a mission in tears from the horrors you’d seen; graphic, violent scenes Bucky hadn’t been able to protect you from, and he’d hold you so tight to his chest his arm would grow numb. Soft, careful kisses to the crown of your head, brushing over your hair until your breathing came back to pace and he finally eased you to sleep.

It was his only solace. Even in his worst days, he knew he could always knock on your door, no questions, and you’d wrap yourself around him until he forgot why he sought you out in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t sleep without you, couldn’t fathom facing the monsters in his dreams without you next to him, especially now that those same monsters had you within their grasp. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the memory of your face as tears streamed down your cheeks, hands pressed to the glass barrier between you, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Even with his lids falling heavy, he jerked himself awake before the darkness could pull him under. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours since you’d been taken.

Bucky resumed counting the cracks in the ceiling, falling somewhere in the eight-hundred range, when his head lulled to the side, lids slipping shut before he could find the energy to snap himself back to conscious.

Bucky pushed through double doors to an empty sea of darkness. In the distance, illuminated under a spotlight was the sparring ring from the gym sitting amongst a black abyss. As Bucky walked closer, a warmth filled his chest to find you standing at the center of the ring, tapping your closed fists wrapped in boxing tape, as you waited for him.

A smile beamed on your lips as he approached and you jumped a few times to get your blood circulating. Bucky hulled himself up into the ring and slipped under the ropes.

“You ready?” you asked, voice echoing airily through the emptiness around you as you stretched your arm over your chest. Bucky glanced down to his pajamas to find he was now wearing his workout gear, his hands already tapped.

“Only if you are, sweetheart,” he teased and a heat reddened on your face.

He knew those names made you flustered, which was exactly why he did it. There was nothing he found more endearing than a spy with a blush in her cheeks.

He supposed some might find it condescending, the little pet names, but not you, and he supposed it was perhaps because he sincerely meant them that they affected you so much. It was never to demean you or make you feel small or powerless. It was because he adored you and couldn’t find the words to actually tell you so it came out in terms of endearment he could easily brush off if someone started asking too many questions.

You laughed, the sound sending a nervous kind of excitement in his stomach, as you rushed him. Sparring with you was always his favorite match; even when you were winning, even when he was. Any excuse to be close to you was one he was eagerly willing to take.

His back slammed to the ground as you hovered over him and maybe he let you do that, but you didn’t seem to mind. Your full body weight on his and your hair fell down to cage his face. He reached up and tucked a strand behind your ear, chest panting from the exertion of the fight, heavy breaths warming his face.

It was so familiar, this moment, but he pushed the feeling aside as his gaze flickered down at your lips so swiftly, he thought you might not notice. When he was met with the soft hue of your iris again, he knew that you had. Your hand traced up his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and you lowered your lips to his, so slowly, so impossibly delicate, that Bucky’s heart was pounding so fast he questioned if he would survive it. A graze of your lips, not enough to even feel it, and--

The scene changed.

You disappeared from above him and Bucky was surrounded by the ruins of a Hydra base, thick grey smoke filling the room as flames cast up in angry orange waves around him. Bucky scrambled to his feet, stumbling from the dizziness in his head.

“Y/n!” he shouted, wincing at the echo his voice produced. “Y/n! Dammit, answer me!”

Then, he spotted you trapped under a beam and rushed to you. By the time he pulled it from your body and you scrambled out from underneath, the flames had consumed the room. Bucky went to grab you to his chest but you were gone. Panic coursing through him and he spun around in search of you, only to be met with the burn of the fire.

He closed his eyes and then the heat was gone.

He opened his eyes to find you standing on the other side of the clear barrier, hand pressed to the glass, a blank expression on your face. Bucky slammed his fist to the wall, screaming out in agony as pain radiated up his arm, pain he hadn’t experienced on his left side since the fall, and he nearly collapsed to the ground.

You didn’t so much as flinch as Bucky desperately clawed at the wall, chest panting with the ache of the adrenaline in his veins.  

“Y/n!” he shouted your name like a desperate plea. Tears blurred at his vision as the crowd of Hydra agents appeared at the end of the hallway behind you. Your expression remained entirely blank, if not dismissive, and Bucky’s stomach was twisting into knots.

“Why didn’t you stop this?” your voice carried through the wall, low and detached and Bucky nearly doubled over.

A Hydra agent suddenly appeared behind you, as if from thin air, and took your hand from the glass twisting it behind your back, though you remained emotionless.

“You could have saved me. This is your fault,” you accused and Bucky nodded his head vigorously.

“I know, I know,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, doll.”

He collapsed to his knees, sobs raking through his body enough to limit his intake of breath as they dragged you away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes when he was met with deafening silence.

Then, a sudden clicking noise and he was somewhere else. He removed his hands, taking in his surroundings, and a sharp breath hitched in his lungs. He’d seen this place before, been here in his nightmares too many times to count.

The chair that took his memories from him, his free will, his dignity, sat at the center of the room. Various men and women in lab coats, some in military uniforms carrying large weapons, carried about their business, completely obvious to Bucky’s presence.

A commotion sounded to his left and he turned to find two men dragging you into the room. You were screaming, crying, fighting with every ounce of strength you had left. Blood dripped down the side of your face, the left part of your hair coated in dark red, and your leg was clearly broken.

“Get away from her!” Bucky bellowed, moving to sprint towards you when a pull tugged on his wrists. He looked down to find them cuffed together, a chain extending from the wall that hadn’t been there before. You locked eyes with him and Bucky swore his stomach had plummeted to the far center of the Earth.

“Take her to the chair,” one of the men ordered, “wipe her, and start over. It’s time we find a new fist of Hydra.”

“No!” Bucky roared, yanking hard enough on the chains to dig open wounds in his wrist. You were screaming for him, begging for him to save you, to stop this, but he couldn’t move. He was crying again, so incredibly helpless but to watch, and he couldn’t find his breath.

Bucky’s vision started to blur, finding it impossible to breathe through the thin straw in his lungs and he fell to the ground. They strapped you to the chair and time seemed to fall still.

Through the numbing in his body, the lightheadedness, and the quick, desperate breaths, Bucky caught sight of your eyes as you bored into his. A frown passed your lips, features hardening in a way he had never once seen on your face.

“You did this to me,” you spat as they pressed the buttons to turn the machine on. Electric sparks radiated from the panels. “You did this, Bucky! YOU DID THIS!”

They shoved the mouthguard to your teeth and you clamped down, glaring at him enough to stab holes straight into his heart, as the panels pressed to the sides of your face, where his hands should be, where he would brush the tears from your eyes and let his thumb so carefully run over your cheekbone, and electricity pulsed through them.

You let out a scream Bucky could only find in his nightmares and he closed his eyes.

“Bucky!”

Bucky curled up onto his side, shaking his head, too afraid to see you on the chair again, to see you strapped to the instrument that destroyed him from the inside out. His face was wet with tears, his breaths too shallow.

“Bucky! Wake up!”

Heavy hands gripped at his biceps, yanking him up and Bucky’s eyes darted open to find Steve staring at him with panic in his features. Bucky’s lips had grown numb, his brain feeling fuzzy, as he struggled to find his breath.

“I need you to breathe, Buck, come on now,” Steve urged, running his hands along Bucky’s arms. It had been nearly three years since he was the one to help Bucky through these nights, he had almost forgotten how real these dreams could feel.

Bucky nodded, hands curling into the fabric of the sheets to ground himself. He focused on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s breaths until his heart rate started to slow and his breaths came in at an even pace. He exhaled, the numbness in his face still present and his head feeling a bit dizzy, but he knew where he was, knew it had been a nightmare that brought Steve barreling into his room. It was why he had tried so hard to stay awake.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered under his breath, shifting away from Steve on the bed. He looked away, an embarrassed heat in his face.

“No, no, please don’t apologize, Buck,” Steve replied sincerely. “I know that this is hard for you. It’s... it’s hard for all of us... not knowing.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, desperately willing himself not to cry in front of Steve.

“But we’re not stopping until we bring her home,” Steve continued, offering Bucky a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He paused, letting out a deep breath. “I... I know what she means to you, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t reply, couldn’t find the strength to talk about you without completely losing it. He felt so weak, so small, so pathetic as his entire world seemed to collapse without you.

How was it that he banked his entire recovery on a single person, that you had carried his burdens and lifted the pain from his shoulders without him even realizing it? How was it that he was crumbling and falling to pieces? How was he supposed to survive without you?

He never wanted to find out. Though, now, he might not have a choice.

***

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee that had long grown cold, settled in the seat he had taken all those months when you’d meet him before the sun rose, before he even so much as spoke a word to you.

It was comforting, in some way. Like he could hold onto a piece of you in this memory, a good memory, of your sweet smile as you stole quick glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking as you stretched next to the refrigerator.

He glanced over his shoulder to the spot he had seen you in so many times, folding your leg behind you as you leaned against the wall, sending him a reassuring smile, one that never asked him to step further out of his comfort zone than he was ready for but one that reminded him he was safe here, that he was home and you were intent on making him feel as such.

He was only now realizing that this compound was never home to him.

You were.

It had been nine days since he last saw you in that Hydra base and Bucky was sure his body had grown completely numb. He was barred from joining the rescue ops until his therapist cleared him for duty, which he didn't expect to happen anytime soon, so he spent most of his time behind a punching bag or running for hours on end until his legs had grown weak with use. He’d work himself to the point of exhaustion just to catch an hour of dreamless sleep because if he left himself alone with his thoughts long enough, they’d swarm in masses of guilt and images of that fear in your eyes, and he’d never survive that on his own.

He sighed, clenching his jaw, and he turned back to face the blank wall he had been staring at when the flash of the television caught his eye.

A picture of you illuminated the screen, one from a mission downtown a year back as you escorted pedestrians away from the warzone happening on Broadway. You had a small child in your hands as you handed him to a crying woman. A blonde woman in a dark blue blazer sat behind a desk to the right of the image, lips moving though the TV was muted.

The image to the anchor’s left flashed to your official SHIELD headshot, the one that had been on the monitors in the debriefing room the day after you were taken. Having made his way into the living room almost in a trance, Bucky grabbed the remote and turned on the volume.

“—just over a week since Agent Y/L/n was taken prisoner by known Hydra affiliates during a classified mission in an undisclosed location,” the woman continued, voice stern as she stared directly into the camera, “There is still no word on her whereabouts, however we have learned that the Avengers at the command of Captain Rogers, continue to lead cavalries in search of the missing agent.”

The screen changed to a shaky video of Steve and a dozen agents storming a warehouse, the muffled sound of gunfire reigning in the background. The chyron at the bottom indicated they were in Slovakia.

Then, a new video as the screen flashed to Stark as he flew above the tree lines with several small jets behind him. The anchor appeared on screen again. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Targeting locations seemingly at random, it appears that the Avengers are no closer to locating Agent Y/L/n than they were the day she was abducted. With no word from Hydra, no indication of ransom demands, and no proof of life, unfortunately, we can only begin to assume—”

The screen suddenly turned black, a drop in his heart, and Bucky looked down at the remote, narrowing his eyes to find it sitting on the edge of his couch, away from his grasp.

“They don’t know shit,” Sam shot from behind him. He had his arms folded over his chest and a scowl upon his lips. A second remote sat in his left hand. “No news doesn’t mean bad news. They’re just looking to sensationalize this.”

Bucky shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hand. “It’s been too long, Sam, and- and she’s right! Why hasn’t Hydra made any demands for Y/n? You don’t find that strange at all? What was the point of taking her if they didn’t want something from us? She’s probably already de--”

“Stop it!” Sam snapped, shoving Bucky hard in this chest. “You don’t get to give up hope! It’s been nine days, Barnes! Don’t you dare do that to her. Don’t you fucking dare because we all know for a fact Y/n would never give up on you like this!”

“I didn’t—I, I haven’t—” Bucky fumbled over his words, something he was entirely unused to.

“Yes, you have!” Sam retorted, shoving Bucky again in the arm. “I know that going out looking for her yourself isn’t an option right now and I know how bad you wish it was. But you’re not helpless, Barnes, and she’s not dead!  Stop acting like it!”

Sam grunted, folding his arms over his chest. He waited, watching Bucky for a reaction and ready to put him back in place if needed. Cautious eyes trailed over the apprehensive clench of Bucky’s jaw as he nodded to himself.

With a steady exhale, Bucky chewed on his lip, meeting Sam’s eye. “Thank you.”

A flash of surprise cut through Sam’s features.

“You’re right. I'm no good to Y/n like this,” Bucky admitted much to Sam’s shock. He carded his fingers through his hair, tugging it away from his face. He had spent too long allowing himself to wallow in a sea of self-pity and guilt and blame that you never would have stood for. It cost him precious days he could have spent out looking for you.

With a newfound determination and a sense of purpose he had so desperately needed in your absence, Bucky said, “I need to get training again so I can be back in the field. I need to get my mind right and convince the doc to give me the all clear and I’m going to get the hell out of this compound and find Y/n myself.”

A slow smirk pulled on Sam’s lips. It was what he had been waiting for.

“You coming or what?” Bucky asked, chugging down the rest of his cold coffee and set it on the counter. He was already halfway across the room, heading to the gym, before Sam jogged to catch up with him.

***

Bucky spent every day in the gym with Sam for nearly a week. Sparring, running, lifting weights, sparring again. With Sam decked in his suit, he even agreed to let Bucky use his full strength just to make sure he was field ready before he made the round to the med bay to get the clearance from Dr. Cho.

Even his therapist was beginning to come around. With Bucky attending on a daily basis and putting more work into his mental health than he did in the three years he had been living at the compound combined, he was confident he’d get the ticket he needed to be back in the field by next week. The fact that the nightmares had started to subside, even without you next to him, didn’t slip his notice either.

It was officially two weeks since you were taken and while the endless coverage on the news wouldn’t let him forget it, Bucky kept holed himself up in the gym with Sam. They’d been at it for nearly three hours in the ring and Bucky was dripping in sweat. Sam was a more adversarial opponent than he gave him credit for, though he would never admit it aloud.

“Stop relying on your left arm!” Sam quipped as he ducked under Bucky’s shoulder and jabbed him with an electrical current at the base of his shoulder.

Bucky grunted, stumbling away as he gripped onto the dead weight in his left side, metal falling heavy and useless by his side. He glared at Sam enough to stare daggers through his head.

“I thought we said no weapons,” Bucky grumbled, trying to shake his arm back to life.

“Yeah, well Hydra is going to come at you with everything they got and knowing you, you’ll fuck something up and end up weaponless, so you can thank me later,” Sam shot back, that irritating smirk upon his lips that drove Bucky absolutely insane.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Maybe, but I’m the only one working to get your sorry ass back to field duty, so deal with it,” Sam retorted and Bucky felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Sam was right. He was the only one who stayed behind to make sure Bucky didn’t do anything stupid and with his complete disregard for Bucky’s feelings, Sam was the one person who was able to kick him out of his all-consuming self-pity.

Bucky made a mental note to explicitly not make any jabs at Sam for at least a month once they brought you home.

Bucky shook out his right shoulder, his left arm still entirely useless as Sam circled around him in the ring, getting ready to pounce again. Bucky was nearly ready to strike, when Sam stood up straight, eyes narrowing at something far over Bucky’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, turning cautiously to follow Sam’s gaze, when suddenly Sam was sprinting off the edge of the ring, hurdling over the ropes to the far corner of the gym.

Confused by Sam’s abrupt change in behavior, Bucky raced after him to find Sam desperately scrambling for the remote to the TV that hung on the wall above the cardio equipment. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, almost afraid to look, Bucky slowly glanced up at the TV to find the same blonde woman reporting from behind a desk he had seen a few days ago, a solemn look in her eyes, as an image of you was pictured to her left.

“Stupid freaking remote, come on,” Sam grumbled under his breath as he struggled to unmute the TV.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to the woman’s lips, trying to make out what she was saying because the look on her face was setting an ache in Bucky’s stomach.

Then, Sam exhaled in relief and the woman’s voice began to echo through the empty gym.

“-- received just moments ago in the mailroom of our television studio, just several floors below where we are recording this now,” the woman continued, “It remains unclear who dropped this package off as our security footage appears to be malfunctioning but rest assured authorizes have been notified. If you are just joining us, we have received what appears to be video footage of the MIA Avenger, Agent Y/n Y/L/n.”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his lungs and Sam set a hand on his shoulder. Frozen.

“Please be warned that the video we are about to show may be difficult to watch,” the woman let out a heavy sigh as she looked to someone off screen. She nodded, a slight wave of her hand, and the screen went blank.

Bucky flinched, thinking for a moment that the feed had cut out, when suddenly, the screen faded into the view of a dark room, a single folding chair illuminated under a free hanging light bulb. The scuffling of feet echoed through the video and Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. Then, he nearly stopped breathing as you appeared on the screen, shoved into the chair by two men with masks obstructing their faces.

“Fucking hell.” Sam exhaled a harsh breath beside him as he began to pace and back forth. 

Bucky could do nothing but watch. He was paralyzed. The relief of seeing you alive overshadowed by the state of your present injuries, leaving a sharp pang in Bucky’s chest.

A deep gash ran along your cheekbone, dried blood trailing down your face, over the swollen purple bruising. It looked infected, like it had been sustained days prior without any medical treatment and your skin was flushed and covered in sweat. Dark circles sat under reddened eyes, bruising on your nose from where it had been broken, and blood caked into the split of your bottom lip. Your collarbones were more prominent than they should be and you looked weak, frail, like they hadn’t been feeding you and Bucky could only suspect as much.

Your eyes glued onto the camera, like you could see straight through it right into Bucky’s soul, and he wondered if maybe you could. You flickered your gaze for only a second off screen and a fist came barreling out of nowhere and slammed against the side of your face.

Bucky jumped, hands clenching at his side, not even realizing he had regained feeling in his left arm. You turned and spat a thick glob of blood to your left, shooting a glare at whoever hit you.

You turned your focus back to the camera. Slowly, you parted your lips.

“My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n,” you spoke, your voice raspy and broken from either the lack of use or screaming and Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to wonder which. “I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

A newspaper was thrown in front of the camera, proving today’s date. It fell away and you swallowed thickly, though you winced at the effort. Your eyes glanced down at something under the camera and Bucky realized you were reading from prompts.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cursed, running his hands down his mouth but Bucky couldn’t focus on anything beside the trembling in your lip as you read the next cue card before you said it aloud.

You shook your head, clenching your jaw. “I’m not reading that,” you spat to someone off screen, only to be met without a second hit to your face and Bucky felt his knees lock.

Blood trailing from the corners of your mouth you turned back to the camera.

“Just read it. Come on, sweetheart. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you,” Bucky muttered under his breath, entirely unwilling to see you get hit again. You straightened your back, a hardened scowl on your lips.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant, “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eyeing someone standing to the right of the camera before you continued, “They can’t even protect their own.”

Bucky’s throat ran dry and Sam’s pacing behind him ceased.

“You will hear from us again,” a man off screen said, American, deep voice, and the blatant detest on your face as you glared at him made it clear he was the man in charge. 

A heavy breath in your lungs, eyes glancing back to the camera, a new kind of softness behind the hue of your irises, like you were searching for him beyond the layers of technology. 

Then, the screen turned black and you were gone. 

--

Im... so sorry. 😬

feedback is always appreciated 💖

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[whiskey-bumblebee]

I Want Candy

Pairing: Pale/Reader

Word Count: 1953

Year: (after Raw, before Vacation)

A/N: This one is a little bit sad but nothing awful. Extensive discussion of Pale being a father (not related to reader) consistent with character’s backstory. Mostly plot, sorry! Mentions of condom-tampering by Pale’s ex.

You’d noticed Pale buying things that were a little out of the ordinary for him. Twizzlers? Sure he’d bought them once or twice when he was stressed, but pop rocks? Skittles? Fun dip?

Then you noticed the packing tape, the little boxes he’d been buying. Most curious of all, sheets of thick cardboard. And marbles.

One night, you got up for a drink of water and found him in the kitchen, bent over the island as he measured out some cardboard.

“Pale?”

“Jesus fuck!” Pale breathed your name as he turned around and saw it was you. You leaned to the side, trying to see around him.

“Look, I didn’t wanna say anything but... What’s happening?”

Pale cleared his throat and stretched out his back, leaning side to side. Must have been leaning over for a while.

“Uh, you remember my kid, right?”

You nodded.

“With Halloween coming up, he’s not allowed any candy and I thought I’d send him some. Not fair if all his friends get to go trick or treating and he doesn’t, you know? His mom, she’s uhh... Not a very nice lady. Kid deserves a chance to get all shot up with sugar now and again. Part of growin’ up.”

You squinted, eyes adjusting to the light in the kitchen after being asleep for a while. 

“So the marbles?”

Pale nodded and gestured for you to look. “I put false bottoms in all the little boxes I send him. The post office doesn’t give a shit because it’s clearly candy right? Hell, even if it was heroin, they’d probably let it through. Anything going New York, Miami ain’t worth their trouble. So, the story is that my kid is having a marbles phase. But the good marbles are the ones that aren’t common in Miami. Gotta come from Canada, that part’s true. So I get them shipped here cos they don’t ship Toronto to Miami, only Toronto across the border. Also true.”

“Hang on, so your kid’s having a marbles phase?”

“Nah, that part’s bullshit. He’s smart, made that bit up, found a company in Toronto that makes good marbles, according to his friends, now he’s got a perfect excuse for getting a bunch of packages from me. Marbles go in and out real fast, who knew?”

You smiled and rested your head on Pale’s back. “He’s like you then, huh? Smart, resourceful. Gonna have to watch out when he gets old enough to work in the restaurant industry.”

He turned around and wrapped you in his arms. “You think I’m smart?”

“Mhm. Einstein level shit, all the logistics you do.”

Pale let you go and turned back to the packages. “Been doing it for a week or two now so he can start a decent stockpile under his bed or wherever the fuck.”

“You wanna send him a big one for Halloween?”

Pale worked for a moment, considering what you’d said. 

“I don’t know how we’d get away with it. Mom’s Catholic, she isn’t big into Halloween. Devil’s work and all that. Apparently she only likes holy spirits, not just the regular spirit schmucks. Poor guys. Reckon they get that kinda discrimination from a lotta folks.”

You chuckled tiredly, then yawned. “I gotta get back to bed. Do this during the day, alright? Ain’t gotta hide from me.”

“Baby,” Pale turned around and took your hand. “It ain’t that. Well, I didn’t wanna upset you by talking ‘bout her, but it ain’t that. Angel, I just ain’t got time during the day. By the time I get home, my eyes are shot from being up so long. Hands are shakin’ from holding a knife, or grippin’ the steering wheel. Gotta rest for a bit before I’m good to go again.”

Sadness fell over your face, you felt it. Your eyebrows drawing together, frown pulling at your chin. “Pale...” You stroked your hands over his hair, gathering the hair at his temples and pushing it back. 

He kissed your palms. “C’mon, I’ll come back to bed with ya. You can cut the things for the bottom of the boxes, you got littler hands that’ll actually fit in the fuckin’ scissors.”

**

“Pale, you know the thing you did before you met me? Before you had your current job?”

“Can’t say it out loud, dollface, but yeah.”

“Did you ever do it in Miami?”

“Yeah, real good at it too. Cops are slow over there. Fuckin’ alcoholics.”

“Are there any guys you trust enough to let them near your house?”

“Yeah. Couple of guys came over a few times, said they were friends from work. Trusted ‘em with my life.”

“Any one in particular come to mind?”

Without skipping a beat, Pale nodded. “Ethan.”

You nodded. 

“What are you getting at, huh?” Pale glanced at you for a moment, away from the road.

“Just thinkin’. What if we made that Halloween package for your son, got Ethan to deliver it early in the morning or something? Leave it somewhere he knew to look?”

Pale was quiet for a while, then slowly began to nod. “That’ll work. I can call Ethan, tell him there’s a package I wanna send to the house. He won’t ask questions. I’d do the same for him. Then call the kid and tell him where to look.”

**

It was childlike, the fun you had with Pale putting the gift together, assembling candy in all the colors of the rainbow into an altogether excessive box. You only wished you could see the look on his face when he opened it. The thought sent a twang of pain through your chest. If you wanted to see his reaction, how bad did Pale wanna see it?

“Pale?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Pale drummed his fingers across the coffee table, expressing a guilt he couldn’t name out loud, allowing the feeling to bubble out of him through his hands. Maybe that’s why he liked the piano.

“When I left Miami.”

You swallowed and nodded. It wasn’t the right time to ask. 

“Terrible dad, huh?” Pale was turning inward, caving into his ribcage so he felt like he didn’t have to look at you. 

“Pale, terrible dads wouldn’t be sitting here, making a beautiful little box of candy to send all the way to Miami. A terrible dad wouldn’t be staying up all night shipping candy hidden in boxes of marbles.”

You shuffled across the carpet and rested your head on your shoulder and your hands on his thigh. 

“Thanks angel. Just a terrible husband then?”

You huffed a laugh and kissed his cheek. “Yeah. I’ll let you have that. I’m sure she’s a worse wife than you’re a bad husband. I guess good husbands don’t fuck girls from Manhattan.”

“Girl from Manhattan,” Pale corrected. “If she had any lady parts left she’d be doing the same thing, someone from Jacksonville. Fuckin’ shame they’ve all turned to dust.”

You laughed and turned your face into Pale’s shoulder. “What’s his name? What’s he like?”

Pale shook his head. “I’m not a good dad, never had the whole moment where I fell in love with him. He’s alright-looking, mostly looks like her, but he’s got my nose I think. He’s a math kid. His name’s Joseph, I call him Joe. Typical of her to call him something like Joseph. Surprised she didn’t go with a saint name.”

He lifted the box. “Jesus, this is heavy. I think we’re done. Wanna help me do the ribbon?”

You nodded and pressed on the lid, hovering your finger over the ribbon as he tied the bow.

“I love you Pale.”

He looked at you when he finished adjusting the bow. “Yeah?”

You nodded. He nodded.

“I love you too. Know I don’t say it often enough, but I do. Love you more than anyone else I’ve ever known. And, uh, it’s nice. Not doing Halloween and everything alone. It’s hard sometimes when kids come knocking and there’s a kid with a little mop ‘a hair that looks like him.”

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” You breathed. 

He smiled and ran the pad of his thumb over your chin. “The girl from Manhattan wants to kiss me huh?”

You nodded, smiling like a lovestruck fool. Smiling as a lovestruck fool.

“C’mere then.”

**

brrrrriiiiiiiiiinngggg

brrrrriiiiiiiiiinngggg

“You expecting a call, angel?” Pale mumbled into your skin. 

You nodded and yawned. “Pick it up for me?”

Pale picked up the phone.

“Pale speakin’ but you’ve reached me and my girl, how can I help ya?”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, then watched Pale, waiting for a reaction.

“Joseph?”

“C’mon Dad, you know I don’t like my big name.”

Pale looked over at you, tears in his eyes. He took your hand in his and held it tightly.

“Happy halloween bud. Figured mom wouldn’t want you to go trick or treating so I went for ya. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Do I ever! Thanks dad, you’re the best!”

“Everything looks good? Nothing you don’t like?”

“I don’t like sweet tarts but everything else looks so good.”

“That’s good, kid. You gotta go to school or something?”

“Yeah, I got about five minutes before the bus comes. The girl at your place said I should call if I had time.”

“Thanks Joe. It’s good to hear your voice. You got a phone in your room now?”

“Yeah, my friends all have them and we call when the weather’s bad and we can’t play outside.”

“I should call you more often then, huh?” 

“Mom said you’re too busy.”

Pale scowled.

“Never too busy to catch up with ya. Listen, call me whenever it suits you, right? If I ain’t home then the lady can chat with ya and let you know when to call back.”

“What’s her name? She nice?”

Pale spoke your name so reverently you felt like a goddess. 

“She’s great. She wants to meet ya sometime.”

“That mean you’re gonna come to Florida?”

“We’ll see, no promises it’ll be soon, but sometime.”

“I miss you, dad. It’s funny, I don’t even know what you look like anymore. You could have grey hair like an old man.”

Pale carded a hand through his hair and grinned. The movement sent the tears welling in his eyes streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey, have some respect for your old man, huh? My hair’s still black, eyes are still brown. Is your nose still crooked from when you broke it playing football?”

There was a pause. You could imagine Joseph tracing his nose with a finger.

“A little. There’s still a-”

A pause again.

“Sorry dad, I gotta go. Bus is here.”

“See ya, Joe. Have a good day.”

“Bye!”

The receiver clicked.

Pale pulled you close to him and pressed his face into your chest.

“You see any grey hairs?”

You kissed his hair. “None. Still sexy as ever.”

“You hear what he said? You’re the best.”

“He isn’t wrong.” You ran your fingertips over Pale’s shoulders. “You’re a good dad, Pale.”

Pale hummed. “I wish I’d had a kid with you instead.”

“You know I don’t really want kids.”

Pale huffed a laugh. “I don’t either. I like Joe, but he wasn’t meant to happen. She poked a hole in the condom we used and it ripped. She told me the truth about it when she went into labor. Said it was her duty to have kids, even if I didn’t want them.”

“I’m so sorry,” You breathed. “That’s terrible.”

He sat up and shrugged. “Just wish you’d done it instead, wish I met you first. I’d stick around if it was you.”

You nodded with a soft smile. “I’d stick around too.”

[amazingdriverfics]

Hey sweetie, can I ask for a Kylo Ren imagine where the reader is dating him? He’s overprotective of her, and tries to keep her to where he could see her. When they were looking for someone to take a mission assignment, she volunteered. Kylo protests about it and it leads to them having a argument and says some hurtful words to her before she left. When the time came for her return, she never did. Kylo grew worried and decided to look for her. He spots the ship she took, now a wreckage site. He

Hey sweetie, can I ask for a Kylo Ren imagine where the reader is dating him? He’s overprotective of her, and tries to keep her to where he could see her. When they were looking for someone to take a mission assignment, she volunteered. Kylo protests about it and it leads to them having a argument and says some hurtful words to her before she left. When the time came for her return, she never did. Kylo grew worried and decided to look for her. He spots the ship she took, now a wreckage site. He saw it was on fire, he rushed towards it, seeing if she was trapped. But when he noticed that she was a few feet away, he rushed to her and saw she had been injured badly. Once the recovery starts, he’s there to take care of her.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, I wrote it while listening to The Reason. Sending you tons of love, thank u for the request.

warnings: angst with happy ending, fluff, injury, implied sex. 

The Reason

Walking through the grey halls of the Finalizer rushing to the Intelligence room, you started to think of how much your life had changed since you got to know Kylo, at first the mere sight of him made you shiver, his imposing figure demanding respect and spreading fear into the bodies of everyone standing near him. That was until he noticed you. You were the best at Intelligence Department, you brought in a great amount of resistance members to the First Order and countless informations that guaranteed the success of this organization.

It was the end of your shift, you were walking as fast as you could to the mess hall dying to eat something, you had been hearing your stomach complaints for about two hours now, but you had decided to ignore em’ in order to finish what you were working on. It was a terrible decision, you were starving. And then, you crashed with a huge black figure, falling to the ground.

“Stars, what the fuck are you? A mountain?” you said trying to get back on your feet, cursing the giant in front of you of every bad name you could possibly think. When you managed to stand up and look to the man you crashed into, you frooze, your blood stopped pumping and your face lost all it’s color. “S-Supreme Leader, I’m so-so sorry, I didn’t see it was yo-you”, you whispered facing his terrifying mask.  

Great so this is how I’m going to die, starving after a work day at a corridor in this stupid ship 

“You clearly did not” the mechanic voice reverberated inside of your brain making you even more scared “Or you might have a death wish, I think you need to be taught a lesson”. 

Much to your surprise the night ended at his quarters, he taught you a lesson, but it was the most pleasurable lesson of your life.

That was the start of a series of encounters between you and the Supreme Leader, he would often take you to deserted meeting rooms, computer rooms and his own private quarters. He was an incredible and absolutely gorgeous man, but it was hard for him to open up, so it took about five months for your relationship with Ren to be more than just sexual, you fell for him fast and hard. 

Now everyone in the Finalizer knew you were Kylo’s girl. It was annoying sometimes, you weren’t able to make any new friends, they all feared your lover, and you were constantly being followed by some troopers, Kylo was very protective of you, that’s why you haven’t been outside the ship since you and him started to date. It’s not like you didn’t appreciate his concern, but you missed feeling the breeze making your hair move, the sensation of sun against your skin, the adrenaline of a mission, the high after being successful. However, every time you brought the topic on a conversation with him he quickly said no.  

You got to the  Intelligence Room still in your head, but it wasn’t long before your eyes met a red haired man, taking your thoughts elsewhere.

“General Hux, a pleasure to see you, sir” you said stopping at the door waiting for his command. 

“Thank you, L/N, I was just starting to tell you colleagues about a mission that will take place in Bespin, we need someone to infiltrate among locals and check an information about a Resistance recruiter working in the area” he said, with a monotonous voice and a certain mischief on his eyes. “I was hoping that you could take the job, you are the best at this after all and you haven’t been active in field for almost a year now”. 

“It’s a honor, sir. You can count on me”, excitement started to pump in your veins, you were thrilled, you loved to act as an undercover for the First Order the only problem would be to tell Kylo about it, you weren’t so sure he would understand, but this time you would stand your ground.

“I’m happy to hear that, L/N, we will be leaving at 0800 hours in the next cycle, see you at the hangar” he said making his way out of the room. “Yes, sir”, you answered doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice, but you were certain that you had failed.

Your anxiety increased with the passage of time, you barely touched your lunch and by the time you finished your shift you felt like you were going to die. You took the longest path to Kylo’s quarters, you knew he would feel your anxiety the moment you got closer to it, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to the conversation you were about to have. After a ten minute walk to his place you were finally standing outside the door, you typed the passcode with shaking hands.

“What’s wrong?” he said, the minute you walked in, getting out of the living room couch and making his way to you “Someone hurt you?”. You shook your head, tears of anxiety falling slowly down your face. “I w-was assigned on a field mission by Hux” you whispered cleaning your face with your hands. 

“I’ll tell him that it is not a option, don’t worry, I won’t let anyone put you at risk, love” he wrapped his arms around you “I missed you” he said into your hair. You shook your head once again, leaving his embrace “You don’t understand, Kylo. I want to go. Don’t get me wrong, I love every single moment I spend with you, but I really love what I do, I miss being undercover, I like the thrill of it, it makes me feel alive”

“That’s not up to discussion, you. are. not. going. End of story” he said with anger dripping from every word. “You are right, Kylo, this is not up to discussion, I am going, I was just letting you know, not asking for permission”, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy but you needed to be firm, to make him understand. 

“You are not going, Y/N, you are weak, you are not capable of it, you are going to fail and then you are going to get hurt. It’s that what you want?” he barked at your face, eyes filled with rage. Every single word was like a punch to your stomach. “You don’t mean this, Kylo, stop being a dick. You’re just scared”.

“Scared? You should be the one terrified, you’re a nobody in this Order, if anything happens to you, no one will remember you.” now the tears were streaming down your face, you couldn’t believe he said that, it seemed that you were back to the day that you bumped into his chest, he was a stranger to you once again.

“Well, if I’m a nobody to this Order, than I’m nothing to you, Supreme Leader” you didn’t wait for a reply, before he could hurt you again you were going back to your quarters, leaving him and his anger behind. As you turned around the hallway you could hear the sound of his lightsaber going through his furniture. 

Kylo overreacted, he knew it, but the thought of losing you killed him on the inside, you were the only good thing in his life, the reason that he got out of bed every morning, why he tried to be a decent person, and he blew his chance, his rage got the best of him. So he made a plan to win you back, Ren was standing at the hangar maskless with a basket full of your favorite things in one hand and with a speech in his head.

 A ship landed there, but it wasn’t the ship you went to Bespin with. He started to panic and make his way to the vehicle. The ramp lowered and there were a great amount of troopers with injuries and covered in dirt. The basket was quickly forgotten on the ground.

You were nowhere to be found, that’s when his eyes met Hux, he quickly made his way to the red haired man, now with dirty clothes and a purple eye. He caught the man by the throat. “Where is she?” Kylo gritted through his teeth. “The ship exploded, and she was nowhere to be found, Supreme Leader” he whispered, having trouble breathing. “Prepare my ship” Ren barked to his subordinates letting Hux fall to the ground “If she is dead, your head will be standing in my quarters walls by the next cycle”. 

His trip to Bespin was quick, his anxiety consumed every single atom of his body, he couldn’t lose you, you couldn’t die knowing that his last words to you were so cruel, he didn’t mean it, he knew you were very much capable of anything but he was so scared, he felt like the little boy he left in the past. When he got to the crash he almost emptied his stomach on the ground, the ship was destroyed, everything was on fire. Fighting against every feeling running through his body he tried to concentrate on finding your signature through the force, when he felt you he almost cried, relief coursed through him.

Your signature was there, it was a week one, which meant you were seriously injured. Without thinking Kylo made his way through the fire, and he saw you, lying on the ground with burns all over your small body, a few feet away from the crash. The following hours were a blur. He saved you and soon you two were back on the Finalizers hangar. He stayed with you in the med bay and threatened every single doctor encouraging them to save you.

 You had had serious burns and broken bones caused by the impact when you were thrown away by the explosion. When you woke up you were in so much pain that all you could do was scream, he held your hand and let you squeeze it as hard as you needed. The treatment was long and hard, Kylo wished that he could take away all of your pain, but even his force healing abilities weren’t developed enough to do that. So he stayed there, by your side, helping you eat, helping you shower, helping you take your medication, talking to you until you slept, holding you tenderly through your nightmares. After two months in the medical bay, you got permission to get back to his quarters, you still had daily appointments to check on your burns and physical therapy to attend.

Walking was still a challenge for you since you broke your pelvis so he carried you there, and covered you with love. Your fight was now long forgotten, he apologised when you were still in the med bay, and it didn’t take you long to forgive him, you could see in his eyes how much he loved you, and his actions didn’t fail to prove that you were right. Ever since the crash Kylo whispered how much he needed you and adored you every single night before you slept. A year after he saved your life Ren asked you to marry him and you didn’t think twice before saying yes.

@originalposter-96

[silvereddaye]

Would you ever consider writing some sort of Medieval AU (maybe with magic) where Vaderkin is a king and he discoveres Luke as his son?

I can’t believe I haven’t written it yet! So I will! Here’s a WIP. I think a few things are going to change but enjoy what I’ve done so far:

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

Luke’s hands tightened on the reins as he looked up uncomfortably at the angry skies. He had never seen the sky like this before. It was thick with grey clouds, filling the damp air with an unwelcome chill. The Grey Lands, appropriately named, were nothing like Luke’s home back in the Tatooine Desert. In the Bright Lands, the sun never set, at least not truly. It would get low in the sky, and during the winters it might sink just below the horizon, but the sky never darkened. There was no night for night had long been claimed by the Shadow Lands, leaving nothing for the Bright Lands to enjoy.

Luke sat up in the saddle. Would he be able to see the Shadow Lands? The Gray Lands divided them, an in-between place where the ancient magic that separated day and night mixed. It created this depressing void where there were always clouds and everything was constantly damp. Luke’s horse trudged through the mud. He was glad he didn’t have to walk in it. It looked sticky and uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder if this would affect his racing.

He looked over at Biggs, his best friend, who had brought Luke out here to participate in a horse race.

“I bet you can outrace any of them,” Biggs had said. “Plus the prize is so good! Think of what you could do with that money, Luke!”

That was how Luke found himself here. His family thought he was just helping Biggs’ family with some work over in Mos Espa. They didn’t know that the two youths had gone to the Gray Lands to race. Uncle Owen would have never approved such a thing. He was distrustful of the Gray Lands and even more so of the Shadow Lands. Luke couldn’t blame him because in the shadows lurked the Empire. It was ruled by Darth Vader, a vicious and brutal man who had conquered all of the shadow countries, and was now working on claiming the Gray and Bright Lands as well. Luke’s homeland had been mostly untouched. He had seen Imperial troops before, but Tatooine had little to offer Vader. There were simply better prizes to go after.

Would there be any Imperials at the race?

It took another hour to make it to the starting line. It was a small canyon amongst some barren and rocky foothills that sat at the bottom of massive mountains. They were taller than anything Luke had ever seen, stretching up into the clouds, their tops heavy with white snow.

“The capital is that way,” Biggs said as he pulled his horse beside Luke. Biggs had traveled the Bright Lands and Gray Lands with his father for work. He had never been as far as the Shadow Lands, though he claimed he had seen the dark sky once on the horizon. “Alderaan is still free of the Empire,” Biggs continued, “but rumor has it Imperial forces are amassing on its Shadow border. This may be the only race you get to run in before the Empire claims this place.”

Luke nodded.

The canyon had widened out in a large circular area surrounding by short cliffs. Racers and horses of all types were scattered around. There were a few wagons offering fresh hay and feed, at a price of course. At the very bottom of the area was a small pond fed by a thin stream that worked its way along the canyon floor. A few horses were drinking from it while their riders eyed the competition.

This would be the largest race Luke had ever run in if all of these people were racers. Surely some were just spectators or companions of racers. Biggs was leading Luke towards the largest and most ornate wagon that was pulled by two white horses. A man sat in the driver’s seat talking to a few people gathered.

“He’s the one hosting the race,” Biggs said. “We pay him our entry fee.”

Luke wondered how much of a cut this man kept as he looked at the rich red paint on the side of the wagon. Or perhaps he had a second job and he ran races and betting pools on the side? Whatever he did, he clearly didn’t do it in the Bright Lands as his skin was so pale it was white. Luke had never seen anyone with such skin. His own skin was dark and tanned from the constant presence of the sun. Had this man ever seen the sun?

“Wait here. I’ll do the talking,” Biggs said. He nodded and Luke pulled his horse to a halt as Biggs approached the wagon. It was for the best. Biggs smiled and nodded. He knew how to talk to others; he was charming.

Luke patted his horse, Skyhopper. It wasn’t that unique of a name, but he had been young when he named her. Uncle Owen had gotten her quite cheap from a traveling caravan in Anchorhead. She had been thin and small. She wouldn’t make a good workhorse, but Owen had given her to Luke as a traveling horse. He was getting old enough to be able to travel by himself. Luke was just happy to have a horse instead of being gifted a camel or worse a nerf.

Horses were fast. You could enter races with horses. At least the ones with bigger prize pots. Camels, which were faster on sand, were only found in the Bright Lands. If one wanted to race, to truly race, you had to race against Grey and Shadow Landers. That meant having a horse.

Luke hummed and felt Skyhopper relax a bit from under him. No doubt this cold and wet place was bothering her as it was him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked around and spotted a tall man sat on a large black horse in the shadow of a cliff wall. Both the man and the horse were outfitted in all black leather. The man wore a black cloak with the hood drawn, but under it, Luke could just make out a black mask.

A mask?

Who would wear a mask to a race? Wouldn’t it block some of your vision? Was that man a Shadow Lander? He wasn’t a Bright Lander, not wearing all that thick black clothing. Luke looked away not wanting to be caught staring, but the unease and sense that someone was watching him didn’t go away.

He looked around the rest of the area in hopes of distracting himself. There were a few other Bright Landers, which he easily identified due to their dark or tanned skin, light-colored clothing, and even the type of horses they rode. There were a few Luke guess to be Shadow Landers. They had pale skin and horses with markings he had never seen before. There were also a few that looked to be Gray Landers. Their horses were large, stocky, and grey. Even the clothes the riders wore were grey.

“You gonna race on that thing, kid?”

Luke turned to see a man approaching him. He was older but only by a few years. He rod a light grey horse with dark grey spots.

“Skyhopper is a fine racer,” Luke said. “She’s won several races.”

The man laughed. “This ain’t the Bright Lands, kid. Some of these racers all they do is race. They travel the world hopping from one race to another. They race hard and dirty.”

“Do you?” Luke asked.

The man paused before he barked out a laugh. “I don’t mind racing whenever there happens to be one. Me and Millennium Falcon here have won the Kessel Run thirteen times.”

Luke only nodded. It sounded impressive, but he had never heard of the Kessel Run before. It was then Biggs returned.

“You’re racer T-16 and I’m T-17,” Biggs said.

“I’m T-13,” the man said. Biggs gave him a look. “I’m Han Solo.”

“The Champion of Kessel Run?” Biggs asked.

Han gave a huge smile. “So you know your competition. I’ll be on the lookout for you two from the winner’s circle.” Han pulled on his reins and steered his horse away.

“Is he good?” Luke asked.

“He’s got a few decent wins under his belt,” Biggs explained. “He works a smuggler when he isn’t racing. Taking things from one side, running across the Grey Lands, and selling them to the other side.”

Luke nodded knowingly. The Shadow Lands weren’t well liked in the Bright Lands, especially in Tatooine. Even owning Shadow goods could be a cause for ostracization, but there were people who bought them in secret. Biggs had once shown Luke a few Shadow items his father had purchased over the years.

[gayrett-hawke]

Getting to Know Hawke

Basics

Name: Garrett Hawke

Age at the start of their game: 27 (born 30 Firstfall, 9:03 Dragon)

Gender: Male

Sexual orientation: Gay

Race: Human

Class: Mage

Height: 6'4"

Weight: 227 lbs

Eyes: Brown

Hair color/texture: Black; Wavy (not that you can tell with how short it normally is)

Skin tone: Ivory

Do they tan or freckle?: He definitely tans, and he gets some freckles too, but they're so faint, it's hardly noticeable

Any distinctive physical characteristics?: Other than being a big, beefy boy with a fabulous beard? Just some scars here and there, most notably the one across his nose that he usually covers with war paint

Personality

Personality type: ESFP-T

Optimist, pessimist, or realist?: Realist

Best traits:

Charming

Friendly

Outgoing

Compassionate

Loyal

Worst flaws:

Self-Deprecating

Foolhardy

Soft-Hearted

Audacious

Evasive

Tropes that apply to them:

All-Loving Hero

Almighty Janitor

Aloof Big Brother

Badass Unintentional

Because Destiny Says So

Benevolent Boss

Beware the Silly Ones

Big Brother Instinct

Bullying a Dragon

The Caretaker

Casual Danger Dialogue

The Charmer

Cosmic Plaything

Deadpan Snarker

The Dutiful Son

Failure Hero

Fight Magnet

Friend to All Children

Heroic Self-Deprecation

Hurting Hero

It's All My Fault

Let's Get Dangerous!

Living Emotional Crutch

Magic Knight

Magnetic Hero

Modest Royalty

Must Make Amends

Nay-Theist

Nice Job Breaking It, Hero!

Non-Idle Rich

Obfuscating Stupidity

One-Man Army

Properly Paranoid

Rage Breaking Point

Reluctant Warrior

Right Man in the Wrong Place

Royals Who Actually Do Something

Sad Clown

Seen It All

The Snark Knight

Warrior Therapist

You Are Better Than You Think You Are

Are there any songs that particularly suit them?:

Forever Young by Youth Group

Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Smile by Nat King Cole

For You I Will by Tata Young

If yes, would they agree with your selections?: Yeah, probably, but he might prefer I leave out the 4th one

Preferences

Favorite color: Red

Favorite animal: DRAGONS!

Taste in clothing: Casual. Anything that's comfortable, sturdy, and at least somewhat decent-looking

How do they feel about mage rights?: Would like some, thank you

How do they feel about the other races of Thedas?: As long as the personality is decent, he gets along with them. Also, Qunari are big and strong, and he admires them from an aesthetic point of view

Are they religious?: Not especially, but he technically was raised Andrastian

If they were to find themselves in a modern AU

Favorite food: Burgers

Drink order: Dark and Stormy, Old-Fashioned, or Whiskey Sour

What would they wear for a night out?: An obnoxiously-tight black t-shirt, a red flannel with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of jeans, and some black Doc Martens

Song(s) that would be sure to get them on the dance floor:

Take on Me by a-ha

Tubthumping by Chumbawamba

All Star by Smash Mouth

Blue (Da Ba Dee) by Eiffel 65

Ma Ya Hi (Dragostea Din Tei) by Dan Balan and Lucas Prata

What Is Love by Haddaway

Careless Whisper by George Michael

Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley

YMCA by Village People

Rasputin by Boney M

U Can't Touch This by MC Hammer

Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye

September by Earth, Wind, and Fire

College major: Kinesiology or Paleontology, maybe

Ideal date: Amusement Park

Favorite movie and/or film genre: Shrek 2; Comedy

Family/Friends/Love Life

Relationship with their parents: Garrett was very close to Malcolm. As the firstborn and a fellow mage, he had plenty of time to bond with his father and follow in his footsteps. His relationship with Leandra wasn't as solid, though. He always wanted to make her proud, but she put a lot on him after his father died, and he mostly just accepted that she needed someone to take her pain out on

Siblings (outside of canon): Surprising or no, Hawke really loves Carver. He's not great at being serious and all that, but he does actually care and would do anything for his younger brother. He also realizes how much Carver has had to deal with and is willing to be an emotional punching bag whenever he needs it. His relationship with Bethany was a lot better, since they spent a lot of time learning magic together, and she was more willing to let loose than Carver. She was his rock, and the rest of the family's too, and her loss affected him deeply

Best friend(s): Varric, Isabella, Anders (initially), and Inquisitor Adaar (if she is able to exist in the RP)

Companion(s) they get along best with: Fenris, Isabella, Varric, Merrill, and Anders (initially)

Companion(s) they get along worst with: Carver (one-sided), Sebastian, and Anders (eventually)

Companion(s) from other games in the series you wish they could meet, and why: Alistair back when he was a Grey Warden, just because of the sheer amount of goofy himbo energy they both have

Age of sexual debut: Probably around 16 or 17 (but please don't be creepy about it; mun is ace and is only basing this age on what they heard about from their peers in high school)

Romanced: Fenris (RPs will not go beyond flirting with anyone he met after this man who stole his heart)

Relationship status as of the end of Inquisition: Partners

Are there any songs that particularly suit their romance?:

All On Me by Devin Dawson (with altered gender terms)

Did I Mention by Jeff Lewis and Mitchell Hope (again, altering gendered vocabulary)

Arms by Christina Perri

Latch by Sam Smith

What are they like as a romantic partner?: Snarky and playful, but ultimately putty in his partner's hands. He's a bit of a hopeless romantic and will turn his whole life upside down to please the one he loves. Also prone to grand romantic gestures and spontaneous displays of affection

Do they enjoy cuddling?: Absolutely!

Do they want children?: Not particularly

Do they (now or eventually) have children?: No

Skills

Can they cook?: A bit

Can they sing/play an instrument?: Sing? Sure. Play an instrument? No

Are they a good dancer? If not, do they do it anyway?: He can be, but it's much more fun to goof off and entertain the people around him

Do they have any creative hobbies?: Not really

Any martial training beyond their main weapon?: Malcolm trained him in swordfighting before his magic kicked in

Languages spoken: The common tongue and a bit of Tevene he picked up from Fenris

Any other unique skills they'd like us to know about?: He's pretty talented at drinking, but anything else he'd like you to know probably wouldn't be appropriate to repeat

Template

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 15

Hey guys! Thank you again for being so patient. Between school, work, and life, it has been super hard to find to just sit and write to my heart's content. Finals season is coming up soon, but after that, I have a good few months break for the holidays. Anyways -- hope you enjoy the chapter!!

Read More on AO3 or find more chapters HERE

Emily’s fingers twitched at the feeling of mist upon her skin, prickling dampness that made her hair stand on end. The air was stagnant save for that mist, still enough to make her feel as if she were encased in amber.  Her eyes felt heavy as led, fluttering open before being pulled closed against her will. It was a familiar battle. Clawing her way out of dreams was all too frequent a struggle.

When her eyes finally opened, everything around her looked hollow. Mist was mist no matter its form, she surmised. It existed and did not exist – solid as stone and as tangible as water. Such was the nature of dreams.

Above her, a cave ceiling stood, stalactites jutting from the ceiling like teeth in a gaping maw. From the roaring rapids behind her, stones jutted from the water in a similar fashion. Somehow, she knew it was River Styx. She didn’t know how she knew… it was as if the knowledge had always been there. 

The massive tunnel went on for miles left and right. Wooden beams were placed along the cave walls, reminiscent of what you would see in a mining cave. No humans were there to have constructed them – another fact that existed without reason in her mind. They simply came into existence. Emily took a moment to absorb these facts, whispers dashing past her ears like a gentle breeze.

In front of her was where the true wonder began. She had seen this place before, known it as well as she knew the back of her hand. It was ancient, predating the Greeks, the Egyptians, and even the Mesopotamians. 

A pressure that had been on her chest throughout her life lifted. Emily could finally breathe. Dreams had offered momentary relief, but this? This was freedom. She took the first step forward, adjusting to the sensation of feeling and not feeling while resisting the urge to run towards the door she knew waited for her ahead.

Grey marble jutted out of the otherwise brown and bleak rock, a staircase with intricately carved designs inlaid with silver. The first staircase was followed by a large equally-decorated platform and another short set of stairs. Beyond that sat a door all too familiar, engraved with snakes and sigils. It stood taller than any decent-sized house, making her small and insignificant in comparison. Emily found that she didn’t mind the feeling that thought evoked.

The blonde-haired figure standing before it was also familiar, making Emily halt in her steps. Michael peered at the door before him, pushing on it to no avail. His lips twisted in annoyance. The least his father could do was make this task easy.

If this were a dream, it was the most tangible one Emily had ever experienced. She followed him up the stairs, feeling the ground buzz beneath her feet. The energy of this place was rising from the floor, traveling up her legs like roots drinking water and centering itself on her heart. 

Michael was thrown off by the sudden presence beside him, more surprised when he turned to see Emily. He had stared at the door for a good five minutes before she appeared. He had pushed it, tried to use his magic, and done everything within his ability to make it move. Though the structure appeared as a door, it lacked any definition. More a tomb than an entryway. 

She did not acknowledge his presence, eyes distant but all-seeing. Slowly, she placed a hand on the stone. Eyes narrowing, she regarded the structure with scrutiny — focusing in on the bumpy and damp feeling of it under her fingers. 

“I know this place,” Emily murmured.

“I think most people know this place… it being hell and all.”

The woman either didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond. 

“I had a dream,” she said, voice distant and light as her hands fell back to her sides. The pieces were coming into place. “A man with golden hair. I called out to him… called him…”

Michael’s expression alone could have cut through the door. Emily ceased her rambling as she looked into his eyes, sensing his annoyance and quickly looking back to the door. 

“You don’t open it,” She said, placing her right hand on it once more, “You go through it.”

Why couldn’t things be to the point with these people — witches and wizards alike? It was always cryptic statements that procured more questions than answers. Michael was about to make some stabbing retort at the girl when her hand started pushing through the door, eyes closed and brows knitted together.

It felt like walking through a bubble, a cooling sensation around her arm where it met the stone. Mist danced upon her fingers which had reached through it, the world beyond nothing but a cloud of uncertainty. It had yet to form, a living organism recognizing a new presence and adapting to it. It looked like she was sinking into quicksand, body pushing through until the rock consumed her arm, and then her torso, and then her legs. 

Then… she was gone. 

Michael regarded the whole thing with calculated interest, head quirking to the side as the last of her went through. The stone looked like stone and it remained cool and hard beneath his fingers. Pulling away, he regarded his palm with interest for but a moment, brows furrowed. 

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or irritated at the girl’s ease in this realm. Either way, he had a job to complete.

Placing his own hands on the spot the brunette once stood, all he felt beneath his palms was solid stone. Slowly, he applied more force. All that accomplished was making his hands red from where the rough surface pushed into his skin. 

Closing his eyes, Michael focused on the door, pictured it transforming into mist. When he opened them, he was in a long hallway covered in mirrors, the pale-yellow light bouncing down the hall and scattering their reflections into a thousand separate pieces. Mahogany doors broke up the mirrors, making them more tolerable to deal with. Michael flinched as he caught sight of hazel eyes reflected in the glassy surface.

Emily stood in the center of the hall, patiently waiting for him, eyes fixed to the spot he emerged. Seeing that she was not bothered by the reflected eyes staring back at them, Michael did his best to hide his own anxiety. If the warlocks taught him anything, it was how to hide insecurities under a pompous mask.

Something about her eyes unnerved him. She looked the same as she had before the fire, but there was a glassy sheen to the hazel color. Emily wasn’t looking at him, she was looking past him… or into him. He didn’t know which was more unnerving.

“You have dreams?” He finally asked, straightening his jacket and turning his attention away from the walls.

“I wrote in my journal that the name I called out was Lucifer,” she said, “but the real name was Michael… it didn’t make sense so I thought I remembered it wrong.”

The Anti-Christ froze but quickly recovered his senses. Perhaps she should be lost to the underworld forever… she did seem to thrive. Cordelia knew there was a chance of death, after all. Emily’s disappearance would cause tension, but wouldn’t raise too many brows.

“Any other tricks up your sleeve?” he asked.

“That’s where the dream cut out.”

Michael hummed, looking around before speaking, “you have quite the memory.”

Emily either did not catch the sarcasm or did not care. 

“Things are easier to remember in dreams,” she said, breaking his gaze and finally turning to peer at her surroundings, “and harder to ignore.”

Before Michael could respond, she spoke again.

“So… this is hell.” 

He did his best to suppress a scoff, “Let me guess: never thought you’d come here?”

“Just expected to see more people.”

“Tortured in a pit of fire and brimstone for all eternity?”

“No…” she said, her voice fading a bit as she took a few steps forward, “this makes more sense, actually.”

Emily turned back to Michael, moving to the side of the hall. “It’s your trial. I’ll follow your lead.”

With a nod, the boy moved in front of her. She followed obediently. Michael still found himself looking back often, just enough to see her out of the side of his eye. Her presence seemed to flicker in and out. At times he’d turn and it felt as if nothingness was at his back, reminding him vaguely of the Greek story of Euridice. As with Orpheus, it wasn’t in Michael’s best interest to lose the girl. His father had to have a reason for her to be there, after all. 

The hallway went on for eternity, with no adjacent halls to turn down. Emily began to feel as if she might go mad. The thought of being trapped in such a place, with no windows and no sky, made her skin crawl. She crossed her arms to rid herself of the feeling, scratching them for good measure.

Time wasn’t linear in places such as hell, places that existed while simultaneously not existing. At times, it felt like they had been walking for days, then moments, then eons, then seconds. She wondered how much time was passing above-ground. 

How did she get there, anyway? How could things feel real one moment, then dreams the next? This was more vivid than her usual dreams… then again, all dreams felt vivid until you awoke.

Emily stopped in her tracks as the lights around them flickered, her hand reaching out for Michael’s back. She stared up at the ceiling. The orange hues of light in the hall took on a shade of muted purple. It was dark enough to be afraid but light enough for her to see the shadowy forms flickering here and there. 

Michael watched her, unsure what she was staring at with such intensity. Nothing had changed. The hallway still stretched on for eternity and the lights still blazed steadily. 

“Visions,” she said, noting his expression before looking back the way they came. He could feel a slight tremble to her hand before she let go of his blazer. “I’m remembering.”

“Remembering?”

Figures began seeping from the walls, dark masses without any discernible features. Mist-like goo rolled off them, thick globs floating towards the floor before disappearing. They were looking at her. She could feel their eyes even if she couldn’t see them.

The words left her before she could even think, “purgatory.”

Michael watched her for a moment, the way her arms curled to her chest as she looked back down the hall. Pupils dilated and eyes dashing here and there, he could feel her magic flickering in the air around them. Emily took a step back until her back brushed against him, an unconscious action she didn’t even seem to notice.

Gently, he reached out for her hand, ignoring the way she jumped against his touch. She offered a thankful smile and accepted the gesture. 

“Just keep walking,” He said, turning around and trying to ignore the way she unnerved him. The hairs rising on the back of his neck was an unfamiliar feeling. The way she spoke and acted reminded her of an oracle.

He wondered which Greek hero he was in her tale.

They walked hand in hand as they continued onwards. Michael was feeling out for Misty Day, but her energy had been diluted after being in the afterlife so long. New souls had a particular feel to them. More like Emily, burning bright with blood that still strummed through her veins. 

At some point, her visions must have stopped. Her fingers slipped from his and they continued to press onward. He had forgotten they were holding hands until the cold began to sting at his palms. Emily’s eyes on his back, Michael was unsure whether to be relieved at the presence of his companion or unnerved. 

Clenching his hands into fists, he rested them behind his back and continued walking.

*

*

*

Emily stood to the side as Michael stood before the door. How he could tell the difference between them, she would never know. The only choice she had was to trust his judgment. 

He spared her a glance before he waved a hand. The familiar click of a lock echoed down the hall before the door swung inward. Michael’s hands rested behind his back once more before he took a step inside.

Emily wondered if she should stay in the hall. While she didn’t want to interfere with the trial, the silence and never-ending monotony of the rows and rows of doors made her bones buzz in her body. Being alone in this place was more frightening than whatever horrors lied before them. If she was to be lost to hell forever, she didn’t want to be alone.

Catching the door before it slammed shut, the witch wormed her way inside. Stumbling over her own feet, she came to a stop behind boy-wonder. He spared her a glance but quickly turned his attention back towards the scene ahead.

The smell of bleach and formaldehyde were the first thing to assault her senses. Instinctively, she covered her nose, but it did nothing to ease the stink. That smell was far too familiar. Memories of dead sharks, frogs, and sheep’s brains were brought back into the forefront of her mind — back when Emily was still ahead enough to be considered “gifted” in the public elementary schools of the south.

Sobbing was the next thing she distinguished, finally looking up to see the rows of black-topped lab tables. The children were all small in comparison to the blonde-haired woman that sat at the center of the room, draped in a black rose-embroidered shawl. It wasn’t hard to realize she was staring at Misty Day.

Some of the children stared at the new pair with unblinking eyes that were detached from the scene before them. They were so small, smaller than she remembered being at eleven years old. Dressed in polo shirts and khaki shorts, she felt she was at a Mormon meet-n-greet back home in the suburbs of Georgia. 

Then, the sobbing stopped.  

“Mr. Kingery,” An obnoxious southern-twanged voice spoke, “She did it again!”

Emily watched as little tiny heads turned robotically towards Misty once more. A middle-aged man with a receding, gray hairline stormed towards the table. The frown etched in his face made her hair stand on end. 

Michael only spared the brunette woman a glance as she came to stand beside him, her shoulder slightly behind his own. Self-preservation — he could respect that.

“No, No,” Misty begged, voice wobbling with tears, “I don’t want to kill a living thing, please!” 

A loud sobbing filled the room once more, Misty howling in pain. Emily watched as the teacher forced a scalpel in her hand, the frog screaming in pain as the knife pierced its chest. All she could do was stare in horror.

Her heart lifted in her chest; body weightless as if she were falling. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came as the scene reset itself once more. 

“Mr. Kingery!” The voice came again.

Michael felt a pressure on his arm, turning to see Emily clinging to him. Her eyes were wide in horror, glossy sheen nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he had forgotten she wasn’t a figment of his mind — as if she had been but a ghost until this moment.

Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper, hands falling back to her sides, “Make it stop,”  

Michael’s movements were always calculated, she realized. Steps were taken as if he were following a dance and he held things as if they would break under his touch. Plucking a scalpel from one of the tables, he regarded it for a moment.

The blade went through the teacher like butter. Entering through the back, it stabbed through until blood began to ooze from the man’s chest. It took a moment for the teacher to realize what happened, looking down at his belly where his organs began seeping from his belly.

His hands floated above his abdomen, a squelching sound now emitting from him as his intestines slipped from the confines of his skin. Blood dripped to the floor, sounding more like a faucet leak than… well… she didn’t really know what blood sounded like. Emily’s hand reflexively rested on her churning stomach.

The teacher fell to the floor, unconscious or dead. Michael’s hands were covered in blood and all Misty could do was stare at him with wide-eyed wonder. Even the boy-wonder seemed surprised at his strength, the expression falling back into an expressionless mask. 

Misty looked upon them both with tear-filled eyes, her shoulders falling slack as she felt relief after ages of torment. She was barely able to get her voice above a whisper, “Are you here to save me?”

Emily’s mind was racing, trying desperately to comprehend the incomprehensible. How could a man be dead if he was already in hell? Was he even a man at all? If he was, was his hell paired with that of Misty Day?

Her existential crisis didn’t last for long. Movement danced in the corner of her eyes — the type you’d see all the time and turn to find nothing. Emily turned her head to see a small girl, sneaking her way towards the boy-wonder.

“Michael!” the brunette exclaimed. It wasn’t her sudden cry that made the boy-wonder flinch, but the roaring flames that erupted from the gas lines. He jumped as a line of fire came between himself and the tiny figure that had been standing behind him, locking himself and Misty away from any harm. 

Misty instinctively grabbed his arm, but let it go just as quickly. He did not like the expression she wore, looking into his soul like Emily had moments ago outside the classroom from hell.

The tiny gremlin of a girl turned her eyes on Emily, hunched back and foaming mouth reminding them all that these creatures were anything but human. The growl that left her small frame was deep and demonic. She barked at the brunette witch like a dog before charging. 

With a wave of Emily’s hand, the girl was thrown back into one of the flames. She was reduced to ash, the smell of sulfur simmering in the air.

Another shadow darted in the corner of Emily’s eyes, dragging her back to where Michael and Misty stood. The pair watched her with wide-eyes, unaware that, above them, another child stood on the countertops. He growled and gurgled like the other girl; eyes fixed on Misty.

Michael watched as Emily’s hand shot out, muscles tensing and poking out of her hand from the strain. When he looked behind himself and Misty, the demon boy was clawing at his neck. His gaze traveled back to Emily, her nostrils flaring as she pushed back against the demon. It was fighting back, her posture implied as such… but more impressive than that was that, in this fight, Emily seemed to be winning. 

Cordelia was right — the girl had untampered power in her veins. Perhaps this is what his father intended. 

Then, Emily was thrown back. He watched her slam into the nearest wall like a rag-doll in the hands of an angry toddler. Michael braced himself for an attack, turning to face the demon boy with scalpel in hand. 

But the demon boy hadn’t moved. He stared forward with his milky white eyes, arms limp at his sides. When Michael looked around the classroom, he realized all the students had the same trance-like appearance. 

Emily muttered curses as she pulled herself into a sitting position, grumbles dying in her throat as she witnessed the scene around her. A hand rested on her shoulder, her own going out to strike until she recognized Misty kneeling at her side.

“What’s goin’ on?” the blonde witch asked, eyes darting between Emily, Michael, and the students, “Is this supposed to happen?”

“… I have no idea.”

Then, in unison, the students threw back their heads. Mouths agape and stretched far wider than any mouth should, they gazed up at the sky.

“What are they—” Emily spoke, cut off by a booming voice.

“She is my gift to you,” it said, a thousand tongues in a thousand voices speaking at once, “and will be your greatest asset.”

“What does that—” Emily went to ask Misty but found the woman was no longer at her side. Her eyes dashed to where Michael had been standing. He too was absent from the room. 

“No, no,” Emily muttered, jumping to her feet and turning in circles. Her heart raced and pounded in her ears. She dashed to the door, only to find it locked. The brunette yanked at it with both her hands, only succeeding in making the door rattle in its place. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Emily gasped as the floor gave way beneath her, her heart leaping into her chest. A black void consumed her. She could not tell if she was falling or simply weightless in this nothingness. 

Heart continuing to thrum in her chest, threatening to burst from fear, Emily attempted to swing outward. She couldn’t feel her own hands, couldn’t see anything but this consuming nothingness. Desperately, she tried to reach for her face but sobbed as she felt nothing beneath her fingertips. Her head started to become fuzzy, her thoughts like water through her fingers. 

“Let me out!” She screamed, scared that her voice too would soon give way to nothing, “I can’t think! I can’t see!”

“You made a deal,” a deep voice said, smooth but crackling like a fire. In the shadows, a darker one moved, she barely made out the vision of a white skull painted upon dark skin, a pair of red eyes the only sign of light in this damned darkness. “Really, mambo, you were better off returnin’ back to the other realm.”

“Then—” Emily said. She recalled a dream — nothingness… then stars. A council asked her to make a choice. All she wanted was to go back home…

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You gave your answer none the less,” the voice said, a tut-tut hissing out from the darkness, “my master put good weight in your words.”

“It was a dream!”

The voice chuckled, “you’ve always known they were more than that.”

*

*

*

Michael awoke with a gasp, the words of his father still ringing in his ear. His heart raced and the world spun around him, his soul trying to orientate itself in his body once more. 

The observing witches and warlocks rose to their feet, coming to convene around him. Michael could still feel Emily’s hand in his own, cold and still. The red ribbon was gone, but he could still feel it tied around his wrists and up his forearm. It was as if his very veins had been connected to the witch and for a moment it felt as though his entire existence was dependent on her own.

“Well, that’s that,” Madison Montgomery spoke from above him, crossing her arms and sparing a pointed look at the warlocks that stood on the other side of Michael. She turned back to her fellow witches with an air of condescension. “C’est la vie.”

“This was not a fair test!” Ariel protested. Michael did not have to look at the grand chancellor to know his jaw was clenched and his nostrils flaring. 

Cordelia’s voice was bored as she spoke, “What happened?”

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked up to the current supreme. 

“Where’s Misty?” Cordelia pressed, not patient enough to wait for his reply to her first question. Michael wanted to snap at her to get a moment of peace, but he knew it was better to bite his tongue. He was to be the next supreme, after all.

“Isn’t it obvious, dear,” Myrtle sighed, not even bothering to look down at the boy-wonder that looked upon her with disgusted awe, “She’s right where she’s been the last--”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head and hands laying palms up, Michael conjured the last bit of energy he had to pull Misty from the realm of the dead. Ash and smoke rose from the floorboards, shifting into the shape of a woman. Flesh unfurled from the mass, draping itself over the newly formed body of Misty Day.

Cordelia gasped, hands trembling above the body as she fell to her knees. Her hands when to the other woman’s face, fingers smoothing over Misty’s cheeks as if to wake her from a blissful dream. “Misty. Misty.”

Michael stumbled to his feet, Professor Pennypacker helping him into Behold’s arms. The feeling had yet to return to Michael’s legs, forcing him to hobble to the nearest table to regain his senses. 

“My dearest Misty,” Cordelia cried, a smile flickering to her lips as Misty’s eyes slowly blinked open. Breath left the once-dead woman’s lungs in sputtering gasps, drawn in just as harshly until her body remembered the motions. There had been no need for breathing in hell. Like a dream, you simply assumed you were doing so.

Hot tears dripped down Cordelia’s cheeks as Misty stared at her in wonder, the Supreme’s arms curling around the woman and pulling her towards her. Cordelia never wanted to let go lest this moment be a fleeting dream.

Misty stared at everything in wonder. The shocked expression of Myrtle, the crying Zoe, beaming Queenie, and disinterested Madison. They were all so beautiful. Everything was so beautiful.

“Am I…?” She asked Cordelia.

“Yes!” The woman said, laughing in glee as she nodded vigorously. “You’re back! You’re safe!”

“… back from perdition,” Myrtle muttered, still unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before her.

Michael watched them with disinterest. He had done what was required, now the pieces must fall into place. Waving off his fellow warlocks, blue eyes flickered to a mass behind the pair, still sleeping.

Myrtle caught his gaze, following it to Emily’s unconscious form. Whatever warming glee she had felt from the resurrection of Misty quickly to ice in her veins.

“Delia,” She gasped, swatting at the air beside the Supreme, “Delia, she’s not waking up!”

Cordelia froze momentarily before turning back to her newest charge.

“No, no, no,” the woman cried, relief turning back to grief. She scrambled towards the girl, pulling Emily into her lap. Hands trembled over the girl’s pale face, brushing the hair from her closed eyes. Cordelia wanted to see those eyes. She needed to see those eyes. She could not lose another girl. “No, no. You have to come back! You have to wake up!”

Michael regarded the scene, equally worried. He willed her to wake up, to take one breath and then another. Why would his father give him a gift only to take it away? If Emily was a key to his ascension, losing her could jeopardize—

He watched as her fingers twitched, then her shoulder. Then, Emily shot up.

“NO!” She screamed, louder than any of them had heard her speak before. Cordelia let out a cry of relief and went to pull her closer, but Emily shoved her back with another strangled cry. Her eyes were wide with horror, darting here and there and unable to focus on a single thing. Cordelia tried to reach for her again but was swatted away. Michael could feel the same magic from hell surging in the air, but fizzling out just as quickly.  

Misty shoved herself between the two women, grasping Emily by the face and forcing her to look the revived witch in the eye.

“It’s alright. You saved me.” She whispered, “We’re back. You’re back.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Emily asked, voice hardly louder than a whisper. The adrenaline wore off and made her body shake, she clenched her hands into fists to make it stop.

“Most certainly not,” Ariel spoke before Misty could ask for clarification. His eyes burned into Cordelia. “What kind of sabotage—”

“I would not risk the life of one of my girls for some petty stab at power!” Cordelia hissed. Her anger ebbing as she turned back to her girls.

“Can you stand?” She asked the pair. Misty nodded, easing Emily to her feet. The brunette closed her eyes as the world began to tilt, but quickly righted herself. 

“I’m okay,” Misty reassured her mentor, Cordelia smiling and patting on her cheek before turning to Emily. The girl nodded.

Emily stepped back as Misty turned to her friends. Queenie rushed forward to hug her, the others following suit with tear-filled eyes. Michael watched the newest member of their coven pulled herself away back into the shadows, forgotten. Hazel eyes glanced to her hands before squeezing them shut, arms curling into her body.

Hell… Emily had just been to hell. She came back from hell. She had seen demons. Asleep, the reality of the situation had been easier to comprehend. Now, it was hard to process it as anything more than a dream.

“Cordelia!” Myrtle gasped, pulling Emily from her thoughts. Blood oozed from her headmistress’s nose; her hand covered in the substance. Misty rushed to her side; eyes wide in fear as she rested her hands upon Cordelia’s arm.

“Oh, my god,” Cordelia muttered.

“W-What’s happening?” Queenie stuttered, looking to Myrtle for answers. The red-haired woman did little to ease her concern, rushing to Cordelia’s side as the woman began to waver.

“What always happens when a new Supreme rises,” Ariel said.

Behold nodded at his Chancellor, finishing the statement for him, “The old one fades away.”

Ariel was quick to circle the wounded animal, going in for the final blow, “We demand what’s ours.”

“You are a pathetic, pompous ass!” Myrtle snarled, curled over Cordelia like a mother over its cub.

Emily regarded the scene with confusion, eyes flickering between the two sides. Michael had passed the test. What more was there to argue? What did it have to do with Cordelia’s bloody nose?

“I did everything you asked,” the boy-wonder reminded the women, his back straight and eyes unwavering. Eyes flickered towards him, his tone and posture commanding respect. “I descended into hell and I did what you couldn’t. I brought her back.

Emily watched the lips of her fellow witches twitch and twist into frowns and snarls. She did not understand their animosity. Had they expected him to fail? Had they hoped she would fail?

“I passed the seven wonders,” Michael concluded, head turning to the side as he regarded Cordelia. The woman could barely stand on her own, leaning on Myrtle and Misty whose muscles strained to hold the woman up. “…Unless you want to add another one.”

“No,” Cordelia sighed, shaking her head with knitted brows and tear-filled eyes. “No.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment, eyes locked in a battle of wills. Michael waited. He had patience.

“There can be no doubt,” Cordelia finally continued, lips curling in disgust at the words leaving her mouth. “You are the next Supreme.”

The final word left the woman with her breath, crumpling to a heap on the floor. Misty gasped as she was forced down with the woman, doing her best to break Cordelia’s fall. Emily pushed off the wall she had been leaning on, watching Misty stare at the boy wonder who could not help the smile from his face. 

Michael had won.

*

*

*

Emily had somehow found her way towards Michael, standing next to him between the two sides of witches and warlocks. Once again, the Warlocks took to one side of the fire and the witches the other. Now and again, one of the men would glance back at the younger women. They did nothing to hide their contempt and smug expressions. The witches paid the men no mind, giggling and speaking with Misty Day. They’d all reach out to touch the woman now and again if only to convince themselves that she was there.

Cordelia had been lifted onto the nearest couch, Myrtle staying behind while the rest of them lingered in the hall. They stood around a large bonfire. The students of Hawthorne had long since gone to bed, leaving the halls to be filled with the crackling fire and quiet murmurings of their little group.

Michael and herself stood in silence, staring at the roaring fire. Emily glanced at him now and again, doing her best to ignore the comfortable silence. Now of all times, she could not stand the silence.

The warlock watched her in turn, the way her brows furrowed as she stared into the fire which reflected itself in her eyes. Michael was busy in his own thoughts, contemplating his father’s plans. One battle won, but the rest of the war was still before him.

When he glanced to the girl beside him, her eyes looked distant. It was as if she was trapped in hell once more, glazed eyes peering past the physical and into the core of what surrounded her. The fire crackled, reaching higher as a log broke in half and sent embers flying. When his gaze returned to Emily, he saw a trail of red run from her nose.

She flinched as a white handkerchief was held out to her. When Emily looked at Michael, he simply gave her a pointed look before turning back to the fire. Hand instinctively going to her nose, she found it was bleeding. Face flushing with warmth, she took the handkerchief with a quiet thanks.

“That’s something I’ve never experienced before,” Emily noted awkwardly once the blood had stopped flowing. 

“Hell?”

“A nosebleed.”

A small smile curled to Michael’s lips and he let out a short airy laugh. 

“So… that was hell.”

“Not what you expected?”

“I don’t really know what I was expecting.”

Michael stared at her for a moment, searching her face. “You’re afraid.”

She chuckled, looking at him pointedly. “It’s hell.”

“Don’t worry,” Michael reassured, “They say the devil is a fallen angel. I’m sure he’ll have some mercy.”

“Don’t talk to me about the devil right now,” Emily said with a sigh, “I thought the existence of magic was going to make me insane. Contemplating religion might push me over the edge.”

Michael laughed at that, shaking his head. It was hard to remember an outsider’s view on these matters. Occultism was all too familiar to the boy-wonder — from ghosts to the devil himself.

They stared at the others for a good while, the warlocks plotting and the witches basking in their perceived success.

“Stupid question,” Emily finally spoke, dragging her eyes back to Michael, “What’s a supreme?”

Michael laughed. She shrugged as he rose a brow and his lips curled into a confuddled expression. Cordelia sent that girl to hell when she didn’t even know—

“The supreme is the most powerful magic wielder of their time, tasked with guiding and protecting their brethren throughout their life.”

“Why does Cordelia have to die?”

“We can’t all be Supremes.”

“So, it’s kind of like Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” she noted, brows furrowing as she put the puzzle pieces together, “one dies and another is born.”

“To a degree.”

“So, what will be your first business as Supreme? Preparing any radical change?”

Michael did his best to subvert the question. If Emily noted, she didn’t mention it. “The fact that I’m a man may be radical enough for now, don’t you think?”

“Oh,” Emily said, realization donning, “I forgot about that. Usually, it’s the opposite.”

She understood the hostility of the witches now. They had one section of the world where they could be the reigning force… now that was gone too. Emily would be lying if she said the concept didn’t bother her. Still… it wasn’t as if it was Michael’s fault. Fate was fate, she supposed — depressing as it was.

“But I have a few ideas,” Michael reassured, watching the emotions pass on her face. 

“Such as?”

They were interrupted by the sound of the sliding door to the salon, Myrtle’s signature red hair taking on an orange tint in the light of the fire.

“She’s awake.”

*

*

*

It felt like an eternity that they waited outside that door. Misty and Myrtle had gone in first, talking for what seemed like an eternity. All Emily could make out were the muffled lilting sounds of indiscernible words spoken back and forth. The wizards had gone away, offering them some level of privacy.

So, Emily stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot and counting the minutes passing by. The air was so thick with tension that one could cut it with a knife. Hazel eyes flickered between the faces of her sister witches, waiting for someone to say something. They were all so intent on not meeting the others’ eyes.

Finally, Madison looked down the hall, rolled her eyes, and scoffed, “I don’t understand why we have to wait here.” 

“Cordelia fell,” Zoe snapped, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the nearest wall.

“It’s not like she’s dead.”

“…yet,” Queenie said. Madison opened her mouth to retort but was silenced by the creaking of the door.

Zoe rushed to Cordelia’s side, offering an arm to lean upon, but the Supreme refused with a short gesture and a reassuring smile. Her brown eyes landed on Emily, pulling the girl towards her in a hug before she could protest. As usual, Emily was tense under her touch. Her arms did not move to return the affection, hovering in the air like they were held up by puppet strings. “Miss Cordelia—”

“I thought I lost you,” the woman admitted. Emily fought the urge to pull away as a hand came to rest on her cheek. She could not understand the woman’s fascination with the gesture but had been unable to find a polite way to tell her to stop. 

“I had to find my way back,” Emily replied. Ever since she had woken, she had prepared her questions meticulously word by word — the voice, the darkness. Her gut churned in warning and she listened to it, resigning herself to silence. “Didn’t exactly have a map.”

Cordelia giggled a bit at that, bringing her other hand to cup Emily’s cheek so the girl had no choice but to look her in the eye before finally letting her go, “I told you that you could do it.”

Misty had come to stand beside the pair, beaming smile unwavering. When one had been to hell and freed themselves from its grasp, it was impossible not to. 

“There’s not many people I can say have been to hell and back with me,” the swamp witch noted. She rested a hand on Emily’s arm for but a moment to show her appreciation, but finally let go.  

“I think you should thank Michael more than me,” Emily noted, finally pulling herself away from Cordelia’s grasp. The Supreme and the swamp witch shared a look. It was brief, but Emily could see their smiles falter ever slightly.

“Why don’t we get you girls some food,” Cordelia noted, putting a hand on Misty’s shoulder and easing her along, “You must be starving.”

“I could eat a horse,” Misty admitted.

It was easy enough to find a table. The kitchens were more than adequately supplied. Most of them weren’t hungry. Cordelia offered Emily some food, but she turned it away. Something about hell made food feel unpalatable for the time being. 

Misty insisted she sit right next to her, offering her a few fries now and again for good measure. The brunette took one just to ease the woman’s worrying. Cordelia sat on Misty’s other side, carefully attending to the woman as the others spoke around her.

For the first time, Emily was able to understand the world of the witches. Around the table they went, sharing their stories since the last Seven Wonders.  

In terms of history, Cordelia had only recently become Supreme. Her reign was short in comparison to those that came before her. They didn’t stay on that topic for very long.

Madison herself was also newly resurrected by the boy-wonder. Hell seemed to be catered towards the individual. Though, Emily would argue customer service to be anyone’s hell. Michael had brought the former starlet back around the same time Emily arrived at the Robichaux Academy. 

“If Michael already proved he could both perform and conquer Decensum, why would he have to repeat the task again?” Emily asked.

“Bureaucracy, darling,” Myrtle responded, earning a strained smile from Cordelia. That topic was also brushed over. 

Queenie had gotten herself tickets for The Price is Right on the courtesy of her Supreme. A wasted effort, she noted, as she had been killed before she could attend the showing. Ghosts were hard to tell from real people, it seemed, and had a natural defense against witchcraft. Cordelia had tried to save her, but it was ultimately Michael that pulled her back into the world of the living.

“Bet March wasn’t too happy about that,” Misty noted.

Queenie only scoffed, “After beating him at cards 56,433 times, I think he was glad to have me gone.”

“You kept count?” Madison asked, all but rolling her eyes. 

“Wasn’t much to do.” Queenie said, “I’d of much rather been stocking shelves and hunting for personal massagers.”

Emily’s train of thought wandered as the two bickered, her mind replaying the void of eternity and the voice. She made a note to meticulously go through every dream she had ever written down.

“She is my gift to you,” the voice echoed in Emily’s mind. She shook her head to rid herself of it. 

“You alright, firefly?” Misty asked as Zoe joined in the debate at hand. 

“Just tired,” Emily said.

“When did you join this gaggle?”

Cordelia spoke before she could open her mouth, smiling at the pair. “Emily is one of our most recent additions.”

“Not that she can do much,” Madison noted.

“Girl,” Queenie said, “Why do you have to be like that?”

“What? It’s true!”

“She killed one of those demons,” Misty noted, perplexed at the statements of her fellow sisters, “if they can die.”

The table went silent. Cordelia looked at Emily with a slight furrow to her brow, searching for an answer.

“Things are different in dreams,” Was all Emily could say.

A hum from Misty turned the uncomfortable conversation away from Emily, who spared the woman a thankful look. 

“I’m starving!” the swamp witch exclaimed, shoving another fry into her mouth, “They don’t serve solid food in hell.”

The clanging of the sliding doors made them all jump in their seats, gazes turning towards the sound. A woman stood there, searching the room for a moment. She smiled as she saw Misty.

“Is that…?” Emily asked, fumbling for words.

Misty leaned against Emily and squeezed her arm, grinning ear to ear, “That’s Stevie.”

[in-arlathan]

Eyes Wide Open

Back in the writing game with a new Solavellan story. When I started writing, I was convinced it would be this short fluffy thing. Oh boy, I was so wrong. It turned rather dark towards the end and I love it. I hope you do, too.

A want to give a big shoutout to @serial-chillr who beta’d this for me and help me really polish this piece. Your advice was amazingly insightful. I can’t thank you enough ♥︎ 

This is available on AO3, too.

___

One of the first things her father had taught her about hunting was to watch out for the green light. 

“When you’re in the forest and see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run. When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.”

She remembered his words with such clarity it was as if he was standing right next to her. A flicker of emotion danced on her skin, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

“Don’t let the patches of sunlight in the underbrush distract you,” she heard him say. “Your eyes won’t know where the Fade is thin and where it’s not. In some places, it quivers and if you’re not careful, you will attract attention from the other side.”

His words carried all the grief and sadness of a man who had lost a brother to the temptations of the Fade and even without an ounce of magical talent, Elenara could see the trauma it had caused him. She had wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and hold him close. 

She wondered what he might think of her now that she bore the mark upon her hand. Would he be afraid of her? Would he run? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

Elenara leaned closer to her own reflection in the mirror, tracing the fine lines around her eyes with her fingers. At 32, age had already begun to mark her and the blood writing of Dirthamen was slowly fading. But that was not what set her teeth on edge…

With two fingers, she pulled open one eyelid. Her eyes had always been as green as the leaves of a birch tree. Her mother’s eyes, as her father often reminded her. Another cause for grief he never learned to let go. Another loss she would rather not remember. A wave of guilt washed over her.

The dead never leave us, do they?

Pushing her feelings aside, she focused on the color variations in her iris – the fine lines of dark green intertwined with strands of lighter green and yellowish-brown that reminded her of the woods near Wycome. And flecked across it all, new sparks of ghostly green that  gleamed like stars in the vast and endless sea of the night sky. Green as the rifts that had been torn open all over Thedas. Green as the Breach that threatened the world. 

She let her hand sink, resting it on the washbasin below the mirror. It hadn’t been an illusion then. Her eyes had changed since getting the mark. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

The demon that had tempted and consumed her uncle had come from a rift that barely deserved the name. More like a fissure, as her aunt, Irileth, had told her. And yet it had been powerful enough to let Desire slip through, possess Tere’lan Lavellan and claim his life.

Oh, how she wished her aunt were here. Her father, too. But one was with their clan on the other side of the Waking Sea, and the other rested forever in a burial site in the Vimmark Mountains.

Elenara sighed. Since the keeper had graced her face with the blood-red vallaslin that declared her an adult among her people, she had known so many things – her place in the world most of all. And she had known what she was capable of. Now, she was not so sure. The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had changed everything, and now she walked among humans to fight in the name of a god she didn’t even believe in. 

“Creators, I have no idea what to do”, she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away and sniffled, pushing back her feelings once more.

Outside her cabin, Haven was slowly awakening. The talk of townsfolk mingled with the bells of the Chantry ringing in the distance. Not long until her party would set off to Val Royeaux. Surely, Cassandra was already saddling their horses. 

Elenara splashed a few drops of water from the wash-basin on her face, then turned to the bed and grabbed the boots standing next to it. They were sturdy and warm and not nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected them to be. Still, she hated those boots with a burning passion. She missed her foot wrappings and the feeling of grass between her toes as she stalked the open plains of the Free Marches, looking for a ram she could hunt down for dinner. 

Someone came knocking on her door while she was still struggling to tie the laces.

“Lavellan, are you still in there?”

That was Varric’s voice.

She coughed, then said: “Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”

A second later, the door swung open and Varric walked in. But he wasn’t alone. Solas was beside him, carrying his staff as if it was a holy relic. 

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said. “You look like shit, Lavellan.”

Elenara forced herself to smile. “You’re a real charmer, Varric. Has anyone ever told you that?”

If he took offense, he did a perfect job of not showing it. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. “Or any night since we returned from the Hinterlands? Because you sure don’t look like it.”

“Not a wink,” she said and sighed deeply.

“Well, shit.” Varric scratched his head. “Is it because of the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux? I know they can be a bit intimidating, but Cassandra and Chuckles and I will be there to have your back. If they so much as point a finger at you, we’ll be glad to chop it off.”

Elenara smiled again. Genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Varric.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Solas pursing his lips. Was he pitying her? 

“What are you looking at?” she asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

Solas blinked and his chin jolted upwards as if she had awoken him from a pleasant dream. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand. “I was just… wondering…”

Her brows furrowed. “Wondering? About what?”

“Have you noticed any… changes since you stopped the Breach from growing?” he asked.

She cast a curious side-glance at Varric, but the dwarf just shrugged. 

How can he possibly know …

The thought perished as she remembered what Varric had told her about Solas. How he had stopped the mark from killing her while she lay unconscious. The apostate clearly knew what kind of magic they were dealing with. Or he had a decent grasp of the situation, at least, and that was more than Elenara could say about herself.

Once more, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Promise me to run”, he’d said to her. But she couldn’t, not any longer. All those cautionary tales about the dangers of magic were utterly useless to her now. Maybe her best option was to give herself to magic and have a skilled mage help her deal with the problem at hand. 

“There is something,” she said slowly. “My eyes… they’re…”

Solas didn’t let her finish her sentence. He bridged the distance between them with three quick strides and kneeled before her. Then he placed the staff beside him on the stone floor and took her face into his hands, his fingers resting lightly on her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

Despite herself, Elenara held her breath and stared at him.

She had never noticed the true color of his eyes before. From a distance, they looked grey, like a storm cloud on an autumn day in the Free Marches. Now, she saw the hues of blue and violet mixed in there. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said, lost in thought while examining her eyes. “It seems your body is responding to the magic that has placed the mark upon your hand. An uncommon occurrence but not completely unheard of. Most mages undergo a process of change when their talents make themselves known.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” 

Solas offered a smile, his gaze still locked with hers. He brushed her cheek with one thumb.

��I would not worry if I were you. As long as the Breach remains stable, you are safe. Still, if you find any other changes or feel pain of any kind, let me know. I will look into it and help as best I can.”

Elenara felt her hand twitch with the urge to reach out and touch his face to trace the lines of his chin and mouth. She licked her lips and wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. 

Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This must be the worst of all the bad ideas you had in your life. For all you know, he’s an apostate who has no love for the Dalish. Creators, he might leave as soon as the Breach is sealed, just like you. 

And yet, there was a fluttering feeling that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave – like some kind of premonition.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly. 

“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I came to help after all.”

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

Varric coughed as noisily as possible.

“Great,” the dwarf boomed. “So, we’re done here, right? We should get going before the seeker sends a search party to look for us.”

Solas pushed back and let go of her face. She, in turn, rubbed her cheeks to cover up the blush that bloomed there. “Yeah,” she murmured and hurried to collect her travel bag. Solas, however, took his time to pick up his staff and get back on his feet again.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to keep Cassandra waiting,” he said.

Elenara shouldered her bag, casting a sidelong glance at Solas. He cradled his staff with one arm and watched her intently while she readied herself for the journey, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. To say she was confused by this would have been an understatement.

“Tell me about it,” Varric said to Solas, then turned to Elenara as she grabbed her bow and quiver. “You’re good to go?”

“Yes,” she told Varric and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lavellan. We’re right behind you.”

********

Solas cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. She wished she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers as she stared into his eyes, searching for the man she loved so deeply.

Two years had gone by since she had been this close to him. Two years wondering where he had gone, why he had left her. And now she knew. 

His name was Fen’Harel and he was about to shatter her world.

“My love,” he breathed.

The magic of the anchor flared and sent a wave of agony through her body. She bit her lip and forced herself not to cry out in pain. In this moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and that nothing had changed between them.

She wondered if he could still see the light in her eyes. It had spread more and more with every passing day since the Exalted Council began. The green glimmer flickered and flared just like the anchor and the pain almost blinded her. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas while he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with his gloved hand.

She had promised him that their love would endure. There was nothing in this world or the Fade that she wanted more. And yet, as the magic drained her life, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father had been right after all. Maybe she should have run when she still had the chance. If not from her duty as Inquisitor, at least from the elven mage that she had come to care about so deeply, despite knowing so little about him. When he had left her in Crestwood, she should have seen it as an opportunity to begin again and find someone new. She could have been happy, for a while.

And still, when he brushed his lips against hers, the world began to make sense again. He was her destiny and her duty and she would hold on to him as long as she could. He was hers again and that was all that mattered, even if it was only for a moment.

Elenara focused on the delicate movements of his mouth and pushed aside the pain that seared through her left arm. She remembered the day when she thought about kissing him for the first time. Back then, she had brushed the impulse off as just that: a terrible idea that had crossed her mind. Now, she felt incapable of going on without him. 

Tears filled her eyes, as he withdrew from her and got back on his feet. She didn’t even dare to look at her left arm. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas. He gazed at her with a stricken expression on his face.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered.

She saw him turn away ever so slowly as if walking away from her caused him physical pain. 

And with that, it was over.

Light erupted behind her closed eyelids, rendering her blind within seconds. She leaned forward, clasping her healthy hand around her left upper arm. The magic of the anchor went wild, roaring inside her body and soul one last time. She cried out in pain as her left hand and arm dissolved into nothingness. 

Overwhelmed by agony, she barely heard Solas slipping away through the eluvian. All she could think about were the words of warning her father had spoken to her all these years long ago that she had completely failed to follow.

When you see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run.

“You were right,” she hissed, repressing another wild cry. “You were always right.”

She had failed her father, just like she had failed her clan. Maybe she should have turned her back on all of this when she still had the chance to flee back to the Free Marches. She might not have been able to save her clan from the treacherous dealings of the Venatori in Wycome, but at least she would have died knowing she had honored her father’s teachings. Instead, she had chosen to run into her own misery with her eyes wide open.

What was she supposed to do? she asked herself, hoping secretly that a voice from beyond the Fade would answer her call. The world was in grave danger. And it still was. 

I’m sorry, father.

Elenara inhaled sharply, still blinded by the green light that reached across the Veil, and focussed on the low thrum of her own heartbeat. Steadying her breath, she waited until the pain in her arm slowly faded away.

Carefully, she let her right hand slide down her arm. A dry sob escaped her when her trembling fingers reached her elbow–or what was left of it. Through the remains of the chainmail that had protected her arm, she could feel the cauterized wound. And then… nothing…

She let out a long, controlled breath. To stop the mark from spreading, Solas had taken a part of her with his ancient magic. Maybe she should be thankful. Without the anchor, she had one less burden to carry. If only her heart did not feel as heavy as if it was made of pure lead.

When she opened her eyes, the world remained a bright haze of light. She blinked and new tears streamed down her cheeks. Slowly, the shadows came back. Blurry shapes of rocks and foliage surrounded her as she drew herself upright. Her knees shook violently as she made her way back to the mirror she had come through, passing by the frozen shape of the Viddassala. Elenara paused and pushed back the urge to touch the stone statue’s arm. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, she thought. Just like me.

As she walked over to the eluvian, the shapes sharpened around her and the world regained its vibrant color. She saw bushes and trees swaying in the wind and the golden streaks of sunlight dancing on their leaves. “Creators help me,” she whispered with a bitter taste in her mouth. The words had never felt so hollow before. With all that she had uncovered at the Temple of Mythal, her faith in the elven gods had faltered. Now, it was all but shattered. 

Maybe I should evoke the Maker instead. Or even Andraste. They haven’t had their chance to let me down yet.

The eluvian was still dormant when she finally reached it. Weakened from the fight against the qunari, exhausted from the truths she had learned that day, she leaned against the silvery surface of the mirror and closed her eyes. 

She had come so far only to realize that she had been set up to fail right from the start. Oh, how stupid she had been. All her meddling in politics to steer the world onto a safer path had ultimately amounted to nothing. Maybe the hunters had been right to mock her for her interest in history and shemlen politics. She should have run like her father told her to. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

But in truth she had known there’d be no going back ever since she had seen the terror of the Breach with her own eyes. With a threat that dark and powerful, there was nowhere safe to run to. And so she’d done the only thing that had seemed plausible at the time–she had joined forces with Cassandra and the others to heal the sky. And along the way, she had come to know the world so much more intimately than she could have imagined as a young girl devouring books about faraway lands and long-forgotten kingdoms. She had her companions to thank for that. With their love and friendship, their ambition and folly, their victories and failures, they had shown her what Thedas truly was and what it might be. It had kept her going despite all the fear and darkness she faced.

And while she thought of Varric, and Cassandra, and Cole, and Dorian, and Blackwall and all the others, she knew she had to take at least one more step. Because all these years of fighting would have been for nothing if she gave up now.

“I have to get back”, she whispered and her breath fogged the mirror’s surface. “Please.”

She could feel a ripple as her naked hand touched the eluvian. A moment later, the portal unlocked itself, its surface warping into a cascade of violet light. 

Elenara breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through. 

“She’s back.”

“Inquisitor!”

Before she knew it, Dorian was by her side, slinging an arm around her waist to help her stand. Varric and Cassandra, who had been standing by the corpse of the enormous Saarebas they had been fighting before, rushed to meet them. The Divine hissed as she beheld Elenara’s missing arm.

“Holy shit, Lavellan.” Varric looked more miserable than she had ever seen him. “What happened over there?”

“I found him...”

Her knees gave out and she would have sunk to the ground if it wasn’t for Dorian. “Careful,” he whispered soothingly.

Cassandra swore under her breath, brows furrowed. “Solas did this to you? Why would he do such a thing? I thought he and you were… ” 

The former seeker let her sentence trail off

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Elenara replied wearily. “We have to get back and warn the others.”

Dorian cast a quick glance at the dead qunari that lay scattered among the old elven ruins, then cocked his head in disbelief. “Warn them? About what?”

She gave him a sad smile. “This is not over yet.”

____

Thanks for reading. <3

[nightingale-twins]

🥀She made him feel good; about life, about himself, and for a brief moment he felt...happy...🥀

✧:ﾟ*↜✧↝*ﾟ:✧ ✧:ﾟ*↜✧↝*ﾟ:✧

...but happiness is a tender little thing, isn’t it?...certainly not meant for the likes of him.

✧:ﾟ*↜✧↝*ﾟ:✧ ✧:ﾟ*↜✧↝*ﾟ:✧

.....Julian stopped, taking her head into his trembling hands, staring with hungry grey eyes, “I...I want you.”

“Then you can have me,” Delilah whispered in reply. A genuinely surprised expression slapped Julian in the face. She ACTUALLY reciprocated these sinful feelings, and for him no less?!...but why? She was so refined and beautiful- no...no calling her ‘beautiful’ would be an understatement, an injustice even. Delilah was...angelic. This poor damned soul was laying with an angel. He felt so unworthy to even be in her line of sight-

"Selfish. That’s what you are. Nothing but an ugly, mangey, fox that’s managed to charm his way into the hen house, and score the juiciest bird...go on! Enjoy your meal before your luck wears thin and she pulls off the mask!...you greedy, no good, sleazy waste of a human body-"

“Julian?...” Delilah’s silvery voice cut through the stabbing negativity in his mind, pulling him from the void, “Are you alright?...”

Her hand, soft and delicate, gently brushed up against his chest. The warmth of her touch...and the concern she expressed for him, made the doctor feel cared about.

“You can talk to me, if-if you want to that is...” Delilah stammered lightly with a blush painting her cheeks. Hesitantly, she reeled the weary man gently to her chest. Elegant fingers ran through waves of scruffy auburn tendrils in a soothing manner. Julian needily leaned into her touch with closed eyes as Delilah pressed her lips onto the crown of his head.

"This...this feels...wonderful,"

Julian thought as he became lost in the pillowy sensation of feeling cared about. A blissful sigh escaped his lungs. The beat of Delilah’s steady heart sent waves of tranquility flooding through him that washed away his manic energy.

This tender, peaceful moment was like a beacon of light slicing through foggy waters; guiding a wayward ship away from sharp jetting stone that threatened to run it aground. It was a light that safely guided it’s passengers home....but....

Julian didn’t have a home, not any more.

The brief moment of genuine joy he clutched onto was all but ripped away by fear’s jagged claws. It laughed and mocked him in a voice similar to his own,

"Don’t believe for even a second that she would actually care about you. Now go on, lover boy, fulfill your selfish desires like you always do."

Dark stormy eyes fluttered open, as Julian begrudgingly leaned back, though his hands remained at Delilah’s waist. Bony fingers dug lightly into her skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through the magician’s body. The doctor’s glassy eyes gazed into the crystalline blues of the alluring creature in his grasp.

"You are a hopeless man, Ilya...she could never stomach being with a man like you,"

“Delilah I...I find you...very attractive. And if I’m, erm...reading you correctly, for some ungodly reason you find something attractive in me too?,” a roguish grin accentuated his handsome features, but it was only to mask the deep self loathing he harbored for himself.

“I do, yes,” the brunette blurted in reply without an air of hesitation, “And I think you should give yourself more credit...everything about you...is....attractive.” Delilah’s words trailed off at the end, the pink on her cheeks flushing a profound shade of crimson.

They were dangerously close.

Julian’s smile recessed to something soft as he stole a moment to simply soak in her image and commit it to memory. This woman, so kind and gentle, took him in with the only intention to help his decrepit soul. She tended to his wounds, healed him, fed him, offered a dry roof over his head and a warm bed to sleep, instead of the usual dank alleyways he’d blackout in during his drunken stupors...

"And this is how you repay her for her kindness? A single night of inebriated company? Yes how upstanding of you- "

“I’m indebted to you. Truly I am,” blood rushed to Julian’s cheeks, the red on his face practically glowing in the pale moonlight, “How can I ever repay you?”

“Don’t get into a knife fight with three men twice your size?” Delilah responded jokingly, her melodious laughter was music to the doctor’s ears. Julian grinned helplessly as he leaned closer, and found himself trapped in her tantalizingly sweet orbit.

“Well my dear, I’d say it was well worth it seeing as how...erherm...how...” Julian cleared his throat nervously, “What I mean to say is-is I’d do it all over again if it meant getting to see that darling face of yours again-no no, wait, that sounded- that’s not what I-ah, just, allow me to start over-“ he fumbled over his own tongue, having lost that suave bravado.

Delilah sat there completely enamored by his trepidous charm. How a man could be so shamelessly confident and utterly clumsy all at once was beyond her comprehension.

His stammering came to a screeching halt as Delilah leaned in so close he could almost taste her, “Julian, you don’t need to throw yourself into danger just to see me again.” A moment of charged silence crackled between them as the brunette hesitated before her glossy lips pressed delicately against his.

Julian’s eyes rounded, shocked by her bold action. He should be refusing this angel of the night, for HER sake. He would break her heart, hurt her, devastate her- but alas, he was a weak man. The doctor’s eyes fluttered closed. A low pleasurable utterance erupted from his throat as he kissed Delilah back feverishly. The energy in the room exploded into a heated flurry as Julian fell backwards into a cacophony of feathery pillows, and pulling Delilah along on top of him. Chests heaved for oxygen as the couple parted for air, the magician staring down at the doctor with lidded eyes.

Her irises, normally aquamarine in color, were now a dark sapphire that swirled with want and sinful intentions. Julian bit his lower lip lustfully. His heart, though pounding roughly with divine elation, was still heavy. “Please, have your way...ruin me, Delilah ,” he whimpered breathily in desperation for her lips to claim his once more. Beneath the fiery passion that burned between these two souls was a sad and hollowed out loneliness felt by Julian. After tonight? He’d run, thinking he was keeping her safe from the impending torture that was known as heartache. He was a scoundrel at best, Julian vowed he’d never never see her again...but for one night he would indulge his impulses. Though, it wouldn't stop his concious from reminding him of what he truly felt he was,

"Hah...you really are a selfish slut, aren’t you Ilya..."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

 ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿ ♡ ✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I just want to give a MASSIVE thank you to @canistheapprentice for doing this absolutely stellar commission for me specifically for this fic. I cannot thank you enough. I hope you enjoyed this indulgent read! I just really love the Julilah ship okay? 😰 I was really nervous to post this because I’m not sure if I did Julian justice and I really don’t wanna get slaughtered for doing a bad job and yet, here we are. There’s so much more to this fic, but honestly I wasn’t sure if people were gonna like it in the first place...and it’s still a work in progress. So um...please don’t crucify me if you hated it. Sorry the presentation on here is shit. I tried really hard to make it decent. So here's the link to the one on my amino. It looks much nicer.

[vigilumumbra]

#MeetingTheLawyer

Mharcus:

{After that strange phone call from Sydney Mitchell, a junior partner to the law firm I had called the other day. It started normal but towards the end it was odd, I had offered her to come here to my home which she will be working and might live here. I had even offered Syd my realtor number but I knew that once Syd becomes my lawyer I will need her here on call and nearby in case something major happens. I couldn't have my lawyer away which then I would have to wait and sometimes that could not happen in my new kind of work.

I had gotten dressed in a fall dark blue-grey double-breasted striped suit jacket, pants cuffed at the bottom in the same color as the jacket; a matching six button vest with notch lapels; basic button down dress shirt with white collar with double cuff shirt, gold cufflinks with my initials on them; a black wool overcoat, a black fedora hat with a white contrasting band about four inches tall wrapped around the base. A dark color tie and a dark pocket square folded in my left heart pocket. Black boots matching the suit I had on. I had a watch chain with watch dangles across the vest from watch pocket to clip. I had my cane but really it was a sword when you pulled the handle.

Nhico drove me to Sal’s about one hour early I had ask Trez twin brother #iAm if I could have the whole restaurant for my lawyer and myself which he didn't seem to mind. I had offered #iAm my help to cook the lunch meal which #iAm gladly accepted it. Once we were done making it I went back out to sit at the table while I waited for this lawyer to show up. I had taken my suit jacket off when I entered the kitchen to help.

Syd:

It was my first meeting and I didn’t want to be late, however, I had the opportunity to view a condo. The realtor I met with had informed me of this “gem” but it was covered in dirt.

It was in no way suitable, and I was not going to be around to do what needed to be done. It was a pass.

The traffic coming back to the main streets took longer than anticipated. Instead of twenty minutes it took 45. When the car finally dropped me off in front of the restaurant it was 20minutes later than when I was supposed to be there, which meant I felt 35 minutes late.

I straightened my red skirt and black blouse. It complimented my pale skin and blue eyes. I took one more look at the door, hitched my laptop bag onto my shoulder and walked in a little more agitated than I should have been.

Mharcus:

{looks at my watch seeing that you were a little late. I hadn’t looked up when you walk in.} You are late. So you planning on always being late to meetings? A simple text would work well.

{I moved the papers to the table next to me on my right side and getting up from my chair when I finally did look up. I almost purred at the sight of you but I push it down. I walk over to you hand extended} I’m Mharcus nice to you meet you,...?

Syd:

I wanted to cuss when you stated I was late, it was noticed. And I wanted to just turn around and haul ass back home. I assumed you were beyond pissed that I was late, I was worried I would lose my job.

When you finally offer me your hand I accept it, shaking it. “It is a pleasure to meet you Mharcus, I am Sydney Mitchell. I apologize for being late, the realtor I met with took me to see a house it was too far and definitely not what I was looking for.” A little frustration in my voice. “Ignore that… let’s get to work.”

I wait set down my laptop bag and get my computer out. As it is starting I prep the other documents. I brought with.

I catch you staring. “What? Do I have something on me?” Self conscious I look down at my outfit for any dirt then I touch my face to see if I feel anything out of place.

Mharcus:

Oh I’m sorry for staring at you didn’t mean it. {clears my throat as I walk back to seat and sitting back down. I saw that you went straight into business moad instead of just sitting here.}

These are my grandfathers will and his business papers. {I hold out the folder that had all of his papers in} I am his heir to all of his estate and businesses. It’s just some information I got about him that in a way throw me for a loop and I need this settled before a big family meeting and that I will need a lawyer to be there preferably my lawyer.

{I wait for you to take the folder to it all over and then we could talk about me putting you on my payroll and hopefully having you on hand 24/7 since of the kind of work I am doing}

Syd:

I pull out and put on my glasses when I accept the folder, most of it had been included in the dossier on the family received from the law firm. They knew more about the business practice, and of course the illegal side. I read the documents quickly. The Will was incontestable, which would be an easy thing to defend should any competitors arise for the new business leader.

I continued with a soft sigh and took some notes on potential problems that I would have to prepare for. “Mmmmhmmm.” I am lost in my thoughts as the noise sounds from my throat.

A small crease in my brows forms as I come to a troubling part. “I see your cousin is next should you fail at any endeavor your grandfather set forth.” Noting that as well.

It would be interesting and quite a few billable hours. Luckily his grandfather was very smart and had excellent advisors.

I closed the folder. “Now that I have that information. What would you like to start with?” I take off my glasses.

Mharcus:

There is another thing you should know before this all gets started. It’s about my grandfather and me as well. {I pick up the other folder that I had on the table next to me and hand it over to you. It had the information I had gotten from my boss about who my grandfather really was. He was not only the head of the mob but also one of the FBI top agents just like myself. Under his papers where the information on me as well}

What is in this folder I need you to protect it with your life. No one can ever find this nor see it. If you ever run into trouble and I’m unavailable you can go to my right hand man Nhico he knows all of this and he was the one who also work for my grandfather.

Yes he would be but that is the thing he can never be head of this family because if he does the FBI will have my cousin arrested for everything that my grandfather built. I mean his business end of things. It was an agreement between my grandfather and the FBI. All of this information is in this folder as well.

Syd:

I look at the folder, my glasses came back on, perusing the information. Most of this was new, but I wanted to maintain my poker face.

“Mharcus, this is quite a bit of information, what trouble do you assume I will get in to? I’m just a lawyer.” My blue eyes land on yours.

The criminal and business worlds entwined in this family. The partners at the firm were correct. It was a big ticket client, and continued one on one care. If they wanted to keep me on the case once the partner returned next week.

I took a few notes from the files. I maintained my cool facade.

“What are your plans for your grandfather’s stipulation for taking over the family?” Wondering if you saw that part about putting a ring on a woman’s finger.

Mharcus:

{grumbles as I remember the little clause in the will. My thoughts on the arrangement with another family. In all honesty I didn’t want to marry anyone because I couldn’t tell her that I work with the FBI unless it was someone I trusted completely, and that sure as shit wasn’t that viper. I had only really had two relationships in my life. The first one I had only used me to get out of her family bullshit. Then I used her for blood and thinking she wanted to be my mate but that didn’t work out well.

The last one I dated knew what I was but never that I work for the FBI. I couldn’t just tell her even if I agree to marry her.} Yes I know about that but can never happen.

Syd:

It seemed like he was allowing himself to succumb to sadness, and I did not like that whatsoever. My clients would not give up.

“Well. If you are unwilling to wed the kingdom your grandfather built will fall to your cousin. From the look on your face I see that is something you would not like.” Frowning as I read the papers again.

“Any others you can think of? The papers do not mention how long you have to remain married. We could get you around that marriage in probably a few short months, and we could create an iron clad prenup.”

Mharcus:

There is one but I could never tell her I work for the FBI even though I would be the head of my family. She would use that against me to take me down from the head of the family. All of the work my grandfather did to build this kingdom would be in ruin by my cousin hands.

{I look at all the papers that had all of what my grandfather built. I couldn’t let this fall into the hands of my cousin. He would destroy all of his work.}

Syd:

“If you marry someone temporarily, secure what your grandfather wanted for you, then divorce. I’m sure a cheating scandal would be ample grounds for divorce.”

Taking a deep breath. Noticing how hungry I am. “It really smells good in here.”

I bite my lip as my stomach growls for attention. I couldn’t believe I was hungry again. I had a decent breakfast. I guess the walking and anger from earlier made me use more calories.

“Would you mind terribly if I ate something? I know it’s rude as we have a meeting, but I can’t concentrate anymore.”

Looking down, somewhat ashamed of myself for being hungry.

Mharcus:

{smile as I move the papers to the table next to us} If I remember correctly I did ask you to meet me here so we could have lunch. {I turn towards the kitchen} hey #iAm do you need a hand in bringing out our lunch? {laughs as I hear him yelling back that he got it and will bring it out soon.}

Food should be out soon. I hope you like it, yes it’s Italian and I help make it so I really hope you like it.

{smiles as the food comes out first with the pasta and a bottle of red wine}

Syd:

The scent of the herbs and spices intoxicates me more than wine would. I groan softly.

“It looks and smells incredible. Pasta is my favorite.” I grab my napkin and lay it in my lap, then grab the fork.

Sense comes to me. “Would you like me to pour the wine?” Wondering what the actual proper protocol is for working lunch with a bottle of wine.

The man iAm smiles and walks away.

“I may start insisting we have meetings wherever you cook in the future because I’ve never smelled anything this incredible.”

I laugh at my own joke.

Mharcus:

{chuckles as I had a bottle of wine in my hands already as I was opening it} it’s ok I have it. If you insist on having meeting with food then there is a place that I can cook while we work but I’m not sure you would agree to it.

{I pour us some wine and then start eating our meal smile as think over what you said} see I am not one for a divorce since it’s against everything we stand in my family. There has to be another way to do it.

Syd:

I see the bottle “oh” blushing softly.

“So long as you feel it is appropriate I am willing to meet most places.”

When you mention you don’t believe in divorce, I try a joke, “you could always have her whacked.”

I believe my terminology may be outdated judging by the look on your face. Even without saying the word Mafia I understood the family involvement. When I take a bite I moan softly.

“So delicious.” I whisper.

Mharcus:

{laughs hard as you say the word} now that is an idea. You would fit in well with me on this. {drinks some wine} well the thing is I will have you on retainer as my lawyer meaning I will need you 24/7. There is a guest house on my property and you will have people serve you full time.

{I just lay all of my cards on the table as an idea came to mind}

There is someone else I have in mind about marrying.

Syd:

I shrug about fitting in. “I’m a realist” I look you over and take a sip from the glass of wine.

I take another bite. “Wait… you’re offering me a guest house?” I blink several times. “What do you mean they will serve me? I’m an employee just like them.”

Slightly confused.

“Well if you have someone in mind I suggest buying them a ring. You don’t have a large window.”

Mharcus:

Yes that is true, I am offering you a guest house. {placing down my fork as I look at you smiling, the smile not quite reaching my eyes, had no one even been nice to her before} i know that the window is not large. {the thought of what I was going to do pissed me off, but the little female before me did not need to see that} she knows what I do for the family. She knows how to spend money though {groaning at the thought}

Syd:

He was pleasant to look at, but would that be enough to be in a loveless marriage where he would consistently have the upper hand? Whoever this female was must’ve been much more patient and realistic than me. Despite having a realist nature I still believed in love even though I’ve never been in love, aside from my ex… nope not going there.

My chest started to constrict.

Oh no.

It was a panic attack. Full scale.

Change of subject now!

the constricting got worse. I felt like I was about to pass out.

“Excuse me.” The black circles danced in my eyes.

Without waiting for a response, I push away from the table and run for the restrooms. I was a pathetic excuse for a female. I needed to get back in the game.

I splashed water on my face and tried to compose myself. It wasn’t working well. I was so attracted to him, but he didn’t know me or notice. Hell he didn’t even know when I got to the table earlier. Why was I thinking this way? Ugh!

When I finally gained control I carefully walked out, stumbling when I was close to the table.

“Since you have someone in mind would you like me to draft a prenup? If anything should happen you need to be prepared, there are very expensive assets that would be at risk if it was left to community property law.”

Mharcus:

{I end up hearing your thoughts on and panic, someone- whose name you didn’t think of but a picture of his face was all over the fear response cause this. A woman beater was not good company so there would be an eye kept out for the bastard}

{Back to business, I wanted to laugh at the red headed female but that would make her more self conscious than she already was.} Yes please draft that and have it sent to me tomorrow end of day.

{observing her to see if that fast deadline could rattle her. If I was going to get her on the payroll I needed to test her abilities and willingness to do what was necessary when it was needed}

Syd:

He was giving me a day to prepare a prenup that would be iron clad and include his assets. I smirked at him, he wasn’t going light on me and this would let me prove to him and the law firm that I could handle it, I could play with the big boys and satisfy clients.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I have all the business information to create the document and I can use a few seldom exploited precedents that would benefit you.” Maybe I could play the part of the evil lawyer?

I dug back into the meal and moaned at the taste, even better going back for more. I would have to try to do more meetings here. After concluding business we shook hands and left- I didn’t recall him paying the check. Did he own that place too? I would have to check the file. I hailed a nearby cab and silently rode back to the corporate housing reviewing some of the documents.

Once to my home I flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A reminder went off on my phone

Fuck.

Tomorrow was my birthday.

#SASBDB end of meeting the lawyer.

[tinalbion]

OMG YOUR REQUEST ARE OPEN YEAAH, can i request possessive nsfw with freddy (and if not too much, inkubus and buckman) x fem s/o with a soulmate au? I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUCH YOUR WRITINGS ARE SO AWESOME💞💞 and sorry for my bad english

Of course, you can, honey! And don’t you ever apologize for how you’re speaking. You’re learning, and that’s all that matters! But if it helps, you’re doing a great job, honey! Since there are many Soulmate AUs that I’ve seen, I’ve just chosen one if that’s alright! ♡ I’ll probably be making a separate part for the possessive part of this ask since I was mainly trying to get down the AU aspect, so I apologize!

Freddy• Whenever you had slept, your dreams went wild, and sometimes you would catch glimpses of the thing that stalked you. It was hard for you to see what was chasing you since you had only seen small movements from the corner of your eye, but you never saw a face. 

• It got worse and worse as the days progressed, and your friends noticed the change in your face. The black circles under your eyes were getting more and more difficult to hide. “You’re never gonna find your soulmate if you’re always sleeping,” your friend would say, but little did they know that you hadn’t slept in weeks. 

• You thought about that as looked at the bleak black and white world, no colors filling your eyes like it did with others. You envied your mom and dad; they had found one another and your dad had brought color to your mom’s world when she needed it the most. But now, all you wanted was a decent nights sleep. The whole ‘soulmate’ thing everyone went on about was always so cliche and obnoxious, you just wanted sleep.

• The fear welled in your throat as you ran from your unknown assailant, the dark and steamy halls caused your footsteps to echo around you, and all you could do was pray to find a way out. You’ve run out of options as you backed into a corner, and that’s when you heard the heavy footfalls approaching. 

• Your eyes were squeezed shut as they approached, bot wanting to look your death in the eye. Your heart sped up as you could sense them hovering over you, and that’s when you heard the clinking of metal too close for comfort. 

• The snap of metal caused you to open your eyes and look up into the face of your demise, but suddenly there was an explosion of color. You weren’t entirely sure how to react at this moment, but you sat against the wall and stared up into your soulmate’s eyes with the most horrified and amazed expression. 

• The contrasting colors of his sweater hurt your eyes, his melted skin had so many different shades of colors that your brain couldn’t even explain it all to you. But the most horrifying thing was that your soulmate was about to murder you.

Inkubus • A creature like Inkubus had needed to be reborn every hundred years or so, and his time was coming soon. He had ended up in a large city and claimed many innocent lives, toyed with them like a cat would to a mouse. He enjoyed what he did, and he had usually gotten away with it.

• He had chosen you as his next target without even having to be close to you; he could smell your incredible scent from miles away. You had innocently been having a cup of tea at the local cafe when you had an odd gut feeling all of a sudden. You adjusted your hair and pushed it away from your face as you read your book, the black words not really standing out from the greyed page.

• Your world was void of color and you had just wanted to see the beauty of flowers for the first time in your life. Maybe your soulmate would be holding a bouquet for some reason, and upon seeing them with the bursts of color would brighten your day. You sat there and thought about whoever it could be when you had gotten a call from your mother, asking you to pick up some things for her before your visit today. You agreed with a heavy sigh.

• The demon was keeping close tabs on you as you had begun to drive off from the cafe and could easily keep up with you as he followed, his thoughts solely trained on you, making sure not to lose your scent or he’d have to start all over again. When you had reached the long driveway of the house, that’s when he tried to strike. 

• It was as if he appeared out of thin air as he pushed you against the car door, his hand immediately covering your mouth to repress your screams. You tried to get a good sense of what was going on as your body jumped from the shock, but your eyes met his and that’s when you felt your entire body surge with a jolt of electricity. 

• Your world was no longer the shades of black and grey, it had expanded to the extraordinary colors you had dreamed of seeing for so long. Inkubus was suspicious of your lack of fighting as you just slumped against your car, so he removed his hand from your face and questioned you. 

• “Do you not fear what’s about to happen to you, mortal?” he teased as he glared down at you. When you had suddenly raised your hand, that was when he figured you would try to escape, and he awaited a good struggle, but your hand had gently rested against his face, causing him to pull back. 

• You were both too confused to even consider speaking just yet, but you knew that this man who had just come from nowhere had appeared to you as if fate intervened. You swallowed the lump in your throat and offered a crooked grin. “H-Hi, my name is Y/N…” That’s all you could say, but something about you tickled his curiosity, so maybe he wouldn’t end your life just yet.

Mayor Buckman • How could you hide such a discovery from your entire group of friends and get away with it? How was it that some old school Southern mayor turned out to be the one to bring color to your life - literally. You and your friends were staying in town just long enough to enjoy their annual Jubilee celebration, so all you had to do was hide it until then.

• When he had personally came to the quarters you and your friends were staying to invite you to dinner, you kept your head bowed the entire time while holding your breath. You wanted to face this and tell him everything, but you had only met the man and knew nothing about him, only that he was very proper, which you had usually been quite the opposite sometimes. You were a free spirit.

• Buckman had found himself staring at you as he watched your interact with the townsfolk or talk to your friends; he was rather curious and dare he say, a bit infatuated. The way you presented yourself was reserved and yet had an undertone of dark humor, you were almost irresistible as there was an invisible pull. 

• You had dressed a bit more nicely since you were having dinner with the mayor and a few of his chosen circle, but you continued to keep your head bowed when in his presence. He noticed but said nothing as your friends all laughed and conversed with Granny Boone and the mayor. You almost slipped up a few times in your own conversation about your newfound sight to color when your friend commented on your dress, your cheeks reddening like crazy. 

• After dinner, you had slipped out quietly to get some uninterrupted fresh air, but you were spooked when someone had stepped up behind you and cleared their throat. The mayor stood there with a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he bowed to you. “So sorry for the intrusion,” he would say gleefully. “It’s been brought to my attention that you clam up a tad when I’m around, was there something I had done to offend you, Y/N?”

• This was a moment you had wished to avoid altogether, but if he even noticed your awkward behavior, maybe you weren’t playing it as cool as you’d hoped. “No, you haven’t done anything of the sort!” you’d stutter and wave your hands dramatically, trying to find a way to slip away again, but you knew there was no escaping this time. “I just…it’s really hard to explain.” He would just laugh and shrug his shoulders. “Try me.”

• He was relentless and wouldn’t let you leave until you told him, and when it was all over, you covered your face and hid your blush, but he stood tall like he usually did and remained silent for a few moments, taking it all in. Buckman tipped your head upward to face him with his index finger and thumb, his eye staring directly into yours as he wore that playful smirk. “Well butter my biscuits, I think we have an interesting night ahead of us, darlin’.”

[ladyamber]

Sirenade: Chapter Sixteen

Good evening everyone and welcome to Sirenade once again. I hope you’ve all had an eventful week I know I have I’ve been super busy this week, but that won’t stop me from posting chapters. I know I always say this, however, I do mean it. Thank you so much for reading and enjoy Sirenade and as always Stay Tuned!

Start: Prologue

Previous: Letter One

Next: Chapter 17

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 16

The beach remains peaceful, no hunters or unknown threats in the area either

Ryan thought to himself as he walked down the shoreline. Even though it’s been weeks since the so-called “Cutter Boys” were arrested for abducting three adults and severely wounding one of them. Ryan hadn’t stopped scouting for any potential threats that had made its way into their little town. Granted he easily erased their existence from their memories leaving them clueless as to why the police had taken them in. Plus he hadn’t seen or heard of them since then, but it still didn’t take the tension off his shoulders that there were hundreds just like them waiting to get their greedy human hands on them. He couldn’t afford to almost lose someone, siren or not. Brock continues to feel guilty about the whole ordeal, Craig refuses to the cavern after sunset, and Smitty’s attitude changed ever since. He and John have been avoiding each other, while Brock and Brian have been getting closer and closer. Everyone has been walking on eggshells since then, not wanting to bring up the incident at all costs.

Ohm continued to walk on the warm sand, creating a path of footprints only to be washed away by the cool tide. The crispy breeze that playfully blew through the beach and into the forest sent a small chill throughout Ryan’s body. It had been 2 hours since the sun barely peaked above the horizon, and with the warm sun rays beaming down mixed with the refreshing breeze. Ryan felt himself relax as he aimlessly continued his walk. The relaxation drifted out of his body when he saw a familiar roof, eventually, the small home came into view and he stopped in front of it.

Delirious is out of town, but maybe Cartoonz’s home?

Days turned into weeks since he and Luke had spoken about them. Ohm always changed the subject averting getting into details or using the excuse of “I need more time” and Cartoonz had gotten the hint immediately dropping that side of the conversation. Truth be told, Ryan had been thinking about them more than he wanted to. It’s not that he didn’t want to be with Luke, to touch him, to love him… he was afraid of the consequences of falling too deep. Ryan kept telling himself to keep walking, to move away from the home and avoid talking. However, the urge to knock on the door keeps him standing there right by the front door. He wasn’t even thinking about what he’d say to him once Luke opened the door.

I’ll just knock, if he’s not home then it’s a sign that I don’t need to do this.

Ryan hovered his fist over the wooden door, before knocking three times. Nothing. Another three knocks, and still nothing. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held in. Was he hoping Luke would be there? Yes, but maybe this was a sign from the gods telling him to stay away from human romance. For once, a decent amount of foreshadowing from them. Ryan chuckled to himself as he backed away from the door, turning around glancing once more at the small home, and walk passed the small front garden. “Jon sure does have a lot of plants.”

“Indeed he does.” Ryan yelped at the southern voice that scared him. Throwing a glare at the older male, fighting the shivers that creep down his spine at the deep laughter. He turned away to hide his glow, “What brings you to my humble oasis?”

Luke flashed a smile, readjusting his grocery bags, as he walked around Ryan to open the door leading to his so-called “oasis”. Ohm watched him carefully, unconsciously following through the purposely open door. “Like I said what brings you to my paradise?”

“I wanted...I wanted to talk. About us?” Ohm flinched as Cartoonz stiffened for a moment at the counter before resuming with his groceries. The only sound that could be heard was the crinkling of the reusable produce bag Delirious forced Cartoonz to use. It was too much for Ryan to bear, “Well say something. Anything.”

“Anything.”

‘Luke please.” Ryan watched his movements. The shifting of his shoulders, the change in his posture, his breathing. Watching him place the last fruit on the counter and fold up the bag, he turned to Ryan studying him as well.

“It’s not about what I want Ohm. You already know what I want, the question is what’d you want?”

“Y-you.” Ryan could hear the hesitation in his voice.

“But?” Luke’s eyes softened.

“I’m s-scared of what he might do to me. T-to you.” Tears swelled up in his eyes threatening to spill if Ryan continued to talk, but this whole scenario was abnormal for him. He never wanted to appear weak in front of anyone, especially his friends. Luke changed that though as if his mind and body were reacting to the long-awaited comfort he’d always wanted to receive. It was almost like Luke had control over him, and Ryan wasn’t sure how to counter that emotion. “What are you doing to me?!”

“Ohm…”

“Why do I feel different?! I’d never felt like this until you came along. So what is it, a spell, a wish, a curse?” The tears grew larger and larger with every word that poured out of his mouth.

“Ohm…”

“No, really I’d love to know. You have to be the reason why I feel this way.”

“Ryan.” Luke held his hands pressing them against his chest. The action alone made the tears he’d detained for so long finally fell. Following the path down his face they marked his grey shirt, Luke let go of Ryan’s hands to wrap him into that comforting embrace. He couldn’t control how his body so easily relaxes, letting its guard down around Luke. The thought had him cry harder, the sobs begin silenced by the red shirt he cried into. “I know it’s scary to feel somethin’ you can’t explain, but you are the only one who knows what you want.”

“B-but b-ut I-”

“What’s holding you back?”

“I was made to protect...someone. Someone who means a great deal to Poseidon. You wouldn’t understand…” Ryan so desperately wanted to tell Luke everything, but he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to. It was because he simply couldn’t.

“Then help me understand. I wanna help you, I love you, and not even Poseidon can change that.” That was the final seal Ohm couldn’t control his emotions. He’d made up his mind, there was no turning back without any hesitation Ryan looked at Luke and closed the space between them. Fire exploded within them causing an ignition with each touch, clashing lips and teeth. Too caught up in the heat both ignoring the long-forgotten groceries sitting patiently on the counter top. Never breaking the space between them afraid the other would be lost to the void of emotions they stumbled onto the spare bed in Delirious home. Finally breaking away to admire their work of swollen lips and lustful looks.

“I love you too. I want to tell you everything, but there are some things that I can’t. Not yet.”

“Is this what you want?” Those cooper eyes would be the death of him. The flush and dilated eyes told Ryan that Luke wanted this as much as he did, but behind that look was a pool of concern and love. Not lust as it was perfectly displayed right now, however, it was the same look he’d seen on Luke since they’d first met. Love, real love for him. Not showing any doubt about who or what Ryan was, only caring for the man under Luke. Him.

“Yes, Toonzy.” Just like that, they both gave in to the desire they’d been missing their whole life. This would be a day to remember.

~*~

“Stop messin’ with the bandages. You’ll mess ‘em up.” Brian warned the figure that fidgeted with his bandages.

“Sorry.” He chuckled.

“Tyler did a good job patchin’ me up though, I’ll heal in no time ‘specially with you motherin’ me.” He moved closer to the warm body that wrapped itself around him.

“You could’ve lost your arm Bri.” He rolled his eyes as he snuggled into his boyfriend’s hair. “Don’t roll your eyes at me I’m serious. You know I can heal, but I can’t regenerate limbs.”

“I know, I know but it’s better for me to lose an arm then to lose you Brocky.” Those warm cinnamon eyes shifted away from him, so he redirected them back his own sea-colored eyes. “You know it wasn’t your fault, you’re safe and so is everyone else.”

“You don’t know that.” Brock adjusted his position to hold Brian’s arm against his chest without hurting him. He shrugged.

“No, I don’t but I’d rather look at the good rather than try and anticipate the bad.” He smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll be more careful next time, I wanna keep my arms so I can hold ya properly.”

Brian lifted Brock's chin, looking down at his lips before locking onto them. Move together with warmth and love, Brock laughed into the kiss as Brian’s hands roamed around him finding places to tease. “Attention whore.”

“You love it though.” He lifted the hem of Brock’s shirt to reveal the lovely scar he’d created a month ago when Brock fulfilled his promise of a night he’d never forget. He traced it along the shoulder blade, kissing around it receiving shivers from above.

“You know i-it’s sensitive.” Brock's face flushed as Brian continued his actions.

“Want me to stop?” Teasing the question with light brushes on the skin.

“Gods no.” Brock sat up and moved to where Brian sat, placing himself on his lap.

“Who’s the attention whore now?” He spoke into Brock’s ear gaining the response he wanted more shivers traveling throughout his body.

“It’s still one hundred percent you.” Brian kissed along his jawline continuing his journey of teasingly nips and kisses every chance he got. Get the reaction he wanted. Hands stopping at Brock’s sweats and lips hovering over his.

“Wanna find out?”