#Remember the Protector of Warm Waters and where he died?

[musical-chan]

Father of Time Chapter 78: When Gods Cry

It made Link nervous when he heard about the deities dying. While he knew his dad almost perished when the mask broke, that felt different from knowing there were monsters that could kill them. Sure, some of the things he had fought in the past had been really difficult but he had just been a mortal kid; surely nothing like that would test a deity in the same way. 

Well, except maybe Majora. 

When even Enma, sarcastic and off-putting on the best of days, had real pain in zir voice, he decided to give his family some space.  What could he even say to them that would have any meaning at all?  So he wandered off to look around the hot springs, enjoy how clear it was up here above the storm.  The air was frigid and thin this high up but the view was amazing, just like atop Nayru's Mountain.  It was peaceful and beautiful in its own, austere way.  Link picked his way carefully around damp, icy stones, not really going anywhere in particular, following a feeling he couldn't name.  

The plain behind the spring was a different matter entirely.  It hadn't been touched by anything but the elements in many hundreds of years but told a tale of an ancient battle that was waged and nearly lost. Where there should be mountain peaks were chunks of rock and slag. Pockmarked surfaces were half filled with ice and snow, half empty holes that whistled with the winds in a deeply mournful song.  For the first time in his life, Link found music that he didn't enjoy, that caused him pain to hear.  This was an ancient song, trapped in a place of horror, a cry of pain and sacrifice and loss that tore at his heart with claws that had also left their mark on Hebra's face.

A deity had died here.

(Read the rest on AO3!)

Look, I promise this chapter isn't as sad as the title makes it sound.

[daemonkitsune]

Drogon Headcanons (...kind of)

[A/N: nothing yet]

Game of Thrones Masterlist | Masterlist

drogon doesn't treat life as "alive" and "dead", rather he treats it as 'heated' and 'cold. because dragons themselves generally radiate heat, if something is "hot" they are alive and healthy, if something is "cold" they are dead or unhealthy

(therefore, because a human is less physically hot than a dragon, drogon considers them to be unhealthy and weak)

drogon is the youngest of his brothers (viserion and rhaegal), however, he is the most protective, often being the one to comfort or secure the area. he considers himself the 'protector' of his family because he's the biggest

during extreme moments of anger, drogon's flame slowly starts to turn white, and because he's still quite young and his scales and body have not fully matured, white flames actually burn his throat and cause him to bleed slightly

drogon is very careful around his brothers and daenerys (mother), but when he's alone he essentially abandons any caution and foregoes any kind of concern about his own safety

he doesn't recognise people via name or even really looks, but rather by who they are in relation to his daenerys, and what they smell like

suppresses all of his childish habits for being completely alone (or around his brothers), because daenerys needed a serious dragon to help her claim... whatever the metal seat was supposed to be

refers to snow as "cold" and ice as "freezing"

remembers everywhere he has been and knows his way to "important" places to dragons, targaryens etc.

[Maybe spoilers below this point?]

drogon grieved after viserion's death and was comforted by rhaegal (who was angry at himself and almost every person who had been in the area)

if daenerys hadn't been with him when rhaegal died, he would've dived to catch his brother, and if he'd failed, he wouldn't have pulled away from the iron fleet's scorpion bolts and would've destroyed them at that moment

he was completely prepared to essentially go straight for the castle and burn it to the ground, and he would've completely ignored the city if daenerys hadn't wanted them to burn

drogon 100% would've returned to where his brothers died in attempts to retrieve their bodies if he had the time too

returned to old valyria with daenerys body in an attempt to try and "make her warm again", and after trying and failing he basically goes on a revenge adventure and burns every place he remembers going (and every place in between) out of anger

as he arrives at kings landing (minimum 2 years after it was originally destroyed), he spends a couple of moments diving into the waters around the castle and trying to find rhaegal's body

does the same after destroying aspects of the wall, venturing into the cold and trying to find viserion's body (even though it was completely destroyed)

after failing to find his brother's body and returning to old valyria, leaving nothing but carnage and destruction behind him, he lets himself finally cry and disappears from the world for... an amount of time

if he ever leaves old valyria, he's considerably less aggressive and murderous, instead doing his own thing and living his life

if you're interested in a fic that shows drogon's perspective (kind of) about viserion's, rhaegal's and daenerys deaths, there's this fic here

[spikesbimbo]

 Kingky

Pairing: Prince!Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: getting royal dick on valentine's day < 3

cw:  body worship, dacryphilia, marking, breeding , praise (receiving and giving), sir/king kink, defaming royalty??(idfk what to call it) treason, possessiveness, borderline yandere, hurt/comfort, body worship, rough sex to soft sex, mind games, sacrilege, slight cnc (barley), former virgin reader, corruption kink, false sympathy, sweetheart to meanie >: ( , idk if this is slow burn

wc: 7.8k

a/n:  for the jj plays cupid event!!!!! Thanks to @alto-march-of-death and @kmorgzz for helping build this story and giving me the title.

Happy valentines day, 

            love valentine < 3

- 18+ Minors DNI

“Stop being a crybaby, calm down”

His stern voice making you more anxious, not knowing how you ended up sitting in his lap. Feeling like a dog under him, or right now on top of him. Wondering how you got in this position daily, hourly.

You didn't understand why he kept you around, always having his hand around you whenever he could. You weren't the only pretty girl in the country, you weren't even qualified to be with him, being a somewhat servant before him snatching you up.

As much as you tried you couldn't ignore the stares and side comments of all the other girls in the harem, it made your eyes water, trying to wipe them when you got back to your room the prince gave you, all the others living in the same building, much more run down than yours; maybe that was one of the reasons.

Looking in the solid gold mirror he gifted you, ‘just cause’, always reflecting your red and puffy eyes daily as you called your most trusted maid to grab you some ice.

She was the only thing keeping you sane. No, the prince never did or pushed you to give him anything, but it was natural to be scared. Being in a foreign state after your guardians sold you. Aran, the only one who treated you like a human being and not a prize, saving you from being sold completely by saying that the prince would take care of you. As he worked under him his whole life as guard, proving his dedication.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Thinking back to the day you listened to the first love of your life, dressing in their outfits on the day of the celebration. Aran keeping a close watch on you, seeing your uncertainty knowing you had no other way out.

He flashed you a small smile, not big enough for anyone to see but you, trying his best to reassure you that everything was going as planned.

Hearing the drums stop, you and everyone else at the festival turned their heads to the large door, carved out of the most luxurious stone, their family crest being engraved onto it.

You bowed seeing everyone else do it, the head advisors words being caught in your mind, "To properly curtsy, you place the right foot behind the left and then it's just a slight bob, what you don't want is when a lady goes too far down and then she can't come up."

This being the third time you done it since you've been here, the first after running into prince Sakusa’s advisor. Him declaring that you would be a perfect match for his concubine after seeing you at the banquet the other day.

He continued by saying that he wouldn't be able to deny your beauty and that you would be perfect for him, even making an exception for you due to his distaste with the women in his country.

You tried to zone out of the conversation until the words “produce an heir” brought you back. You froze, throat closing, sweat now forming on your body extremely repulsed at the thought of being in that situation. Aran quickly noticed the state you were in and told his advisor that you weren't feeling good, leading you back to your room, his hand supporting your back as you trembled in his hold.

You entered the room that had been provided for you while you stayed here, immediately crying your eyes out as soon as the door closed. Your dreams of having a family, a normal family, the only thing you've ever wanted, being snatched right from your roughed up hands.

You turned your attention back , hearing the Herald speak. His voice being loud shocking you, but you still kept your balance not wanting to mess up already.

“Now introducing His Grace, the Duke of Inari, followed by His Royal Highnesses, the Princes of Inari.”

You slightly looked up, seeing the king followed by the two princes, not being able to tell them apart.

But luckily Aran moved ajar to his prince, the other prince’s and duke’s guard doing the same for them before they went their separate ways. Everyone lifting their heads now as you did the same following in suit. The party resumed itself as you could see everyone going back to drinking and taking along with the music returning.

They moved to the prince's chair, making out that they were talking, not being able to read their lips, not that you wanted too, what was their business you had no involvement in nor did you want to. But that changed when you saw aran gesture towards you out of the corner of your eye.

That's when the prince you would grow to care for laid his dark eyes on you for the first time, not being able to take them off, making you shiver in embarrassment. The outfit you had on only covering the parts that needed to be. The ‘dress’ you had on having slits on your legs all the way up your upper thighs,borderline hips.

The white, almost see through material held together by jewels and gold, along with your hair being fastened the same way, hoping nothing was out of place. You wanted to do a good job for him, trusting him with all your heart since he was the only you've had your whole life.

You were brought back to reality by noticing that Aran and the price weren't in the same place, quickly looking around before you were greeted by a charming smile as you turned your head straight again.

“Good evening my lady” he said, holding his right hand covered in jewels out, slightly bowing to be eye level with you, his smile not fading. And as you looked him in the eyes you froze yet again, getting entranced by his gaze, so warm and compassionate yet terrifyingly cold, remembering the power he held.

You looked up at aran for a second, him reassuring you that you were supposed to give him your hand, so you did.

“Good evening, your royal highness.” trying to be as confident as you could, again breaking eye contact with the prince one again to look at aran, making sure everything you did was right.

“Would you care to join me for some drinks?” the crown on his head shining brighter than the stars, his eyes still lingering on you.

“Y-yes your highness” you stuttered out, shocked that this was working. Even if you didnt what you were supposed to say. No? You'd probably be executed if you did, the thoughts plaguing your mind as you walked alongside him and Aran towards their table.

He sat down patting next to him for you to sit. Yo looked up at Aran, standing there nodding as confirmation. As you then sat next to him, as far away as you could without it being obvious, or at least he didn't mind.

He poured you a drink into a gold cup, guessing the red liquid to be wine, before pushing it towards you “Thank you your highness” you said more assured this time, picking it up with both hands wrapped around it, nervous that you'd drop it.

This continued the whole night, feeling more comfortable due to the alcohol and Aran being your ‘protector’; even though he'd kill you if the prince asked him too. Lucky that you weren't lightheaded, this night being the first time you've ever had more than one drink.

You even laughed, the prince saying something funny trying to get it out of you, and from the moment he saw your smile he was entranced.

A few days after you were requested by the prince, Aran coming to fetch you. The relief on both of your faces that you'd at least end up somewhere where he could watch over you too.

You were greeted by him after passing through the gate, the prince himself helping you get out of the carriage and not your guard. He expressed that he couldn't keep his mind off you for days, your pretty face being the only thing running though his mind before finally asking you to be one of his girls.

As much as you didnt want to be “one of his many girls” you didn't have any other option than to be with, some random guy, sorry- a prince. Or be sold to an old guy whose wife ‘suddenly’ died, the thought making you cringe.

You put on a fake smile, finally let go of all your hopes and dreams, letting yourself be his, completely in and out. “Yes your highness. I would love that!”

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“Miss y/n!” your maid said coming back. “The prince wants to see you!” she exasperatedly said, running back here as it was urgent to get you ready to see him, always having to look perfect for him.

He probably wanted to talk to you about valentine’s day, something he or anyone in this country doesn't celebrate, mentioning it to him about a week ago as you laid in his arms after being with him the whole evening.

Thinking back on it; being embarrassed at how you asked, covering your face at the thought.

“I-it's um-, a day where… couples spend together” you said in a combination of mumbling and whispering out the last part, not wanting to make anything out of you twos 'relationship’. Not expecting anything after being together after being his for almost 9 months.

You've grown accustomed to not expecting anything, always getting disappointed in the end. Being emotional was hard, running in the nearest private place letting your tears run free at the littlest things, but at the end of the day it was just because no one listened to you. Someone being the slightest bit attentive to you was all it took to make you happy,.

She ran a bath for you, the steam rising as you got in it, giving you the ice you requested for your face while putting in some oils from the flowers you were growing.

Them residing in the same garden that grew the ones you planted for the a few months ago, wanting to give them as a sort of goodbye present, or not. Still being unsure about staying with him, even already writing a letter around a month ago; hiding it in the pocket in the fur coat.

You just knew at the moment you were going to play into his hands, letting him do whatever he wanted to you, not that you wouldn't enjoy it; he always took care of you.

Another reason you've grown attached to him, not realizing if you genuinely liked him, or the affection and attention he so profusely gave you. Sometimes you ever questioned your love, not romantic anymore for Aran, wondering the same. The both of them being the only ones to ever treat you with any sort of care or respect, besides your personal maid.

After doing your hair the way he liked it, along with putting on the light fitted dress you loved to wear, tou took one last look in the mirror before you walked to his office.

“My lord...” you stummerd now, clinging onto his robe straddling his leg, a heat rising up to your face. Your body never knowing how to control itself after being with him.

The other woman's jealousy still got to you, even the way they looked at you made you cower. You were sensitive, still not numb to it after everything you've been through. You were weak inside and outside. Nowhere near good enough to be his, whatever he wanted to call it.

But he noticed, not letting none of them do anything to you, you having your own personal bodyguard now. Usually spending the night with him in his room, and during the day you just sit in his lap and entertain him while he works.

He was in no way a bad prince, in fact he was a great one in your opinion, putting everyone first along with his brother, twin brother, as you learned. But something you also understood was do as you were told or it would be the end of your life, as your dear friend Aran said.

“Just because he likes you doesn't mean he’ll keep you forever.” His words always replaying themselves in your mind every time the prince did something for you, whether it was buying you something again, or that one time he gifted you a whole garden for you to tend to when he couldn't be around.

Yes you were insecure about you two’s ‘relationship’, wondering if you should just leave as you later found out any of the girls were free to leave. But the way he treats you you've grown accustomed to. Waking up in the morning, the first thing crossing your mind being him, even if you slept in separate beds. Immediately reaching out for him being disappointed when he wasn't next to you.

---------------------------------

There’s nobody else here, which is as much of a surprise to you as it is to the rest of the girls that had been ushered out. It’s just you and him, with the overwhelming tension blinding and dizzying.

The bath that you two were in, warmed to your liking, was only adding to that fact. After rubbing his shoulders and feeding him the sliced apples he liked, pampering him like the royalty he was, your arms got tired along with your mind. Thinking about the fact that you may not be here in a month, the ache in your heart growing.

Reaching out for some of the wine his maids had prepared earlier in the glasses as he beat you to it. Gently taking your jaw into his hand, tilting your head back enough, as you let him. Letting the slightly chilled liquid make its way down your throat. His eyes grazing you like you were a little lamb and he was a big bad wolf coming knocking on your door.

His thumb swipes once across your lips, partly cleaning up some of the wine that escaped your them. His soft grin widening, his voice being laced with the smell of liquor. “you’re so pretty, my love.” pushing your pulled up hair to the side, laying soft open mouthed kisses along your neck. Shivering at the touch while melting into his arms. “so pretty.”

You heart flutters in fearful anticipation, the lust in your body rising to the top. Every movement of his forcing a sharp, terrifying jab at your chest. He stares, stares for too long

His fingers holding a vice grip to your jaw, thumb poking at your lips, tugging your lower lip down. Marveling at you for a few more moments, before his hand falls back to his side, and he sighs.

He was entranced from the very moment he saw you.

He helped you out of the tub as it grew too cool, placing your hands in his as he then picked you up over the ledge. Placing your feet on the floor, your wet body now getting cold while admiring his slightly tanned figure as he loosely wrapped the light robe around your frame, doing the same to himself.

His broad toned chest peeking through; his pretty collarbones exposed just for you. Impure thoughts getting to you as you remembered the last time the two of you were in here. Your legs wrapped around his head, dangling, as he made you cum over and over again on the cold marble countertop.

He picked you up again, mumbling out something along the lines of “beautiful”. His big arms supporting your back and legs as he took you to his bed, sitting you down in his lap as he calls the maids in, always females, telling them to bring in some food before placing his attention back on you.

“Are you okay dear?” he asked looking at you yet again bringing you back to reality, placing his hand on your thigh, making its way slightly under your robe .

“Yes your highness-, I'm fine. Thank you for asking.” you responded giving him a warm smile. Not entirely fake, as you were enjoying yourself, but were you really happy?

You wanted the average; a nice house, a family you could always come back to, a warm bed and clothes. And he made sure to give you all the material things you could ask for. But again, were you really happy? At the end of the day you just wanted genuine love and affection.

The maids knocked on the door, him letting them in as they brought trays of food, your eyes lighting up as a smile peeked through when you saw your favorite. Making you heart beat even faster that he remembered what you told him, even though he asked you.

You fed him as usual, placing him before yourself as you were taught, not minding. Instead feeling like a mom feeding her kids, a giggle coming between you lips at how peaceful he looked.

“What's so funny?” he asked, his words coming out as concerned that he wasn't in on it.

“Nothing my lord, its just… i was thinking of how cute you looked” you said trying to hold back the laughs still trying to make their way out of your mouth.

“Cute?” he questioned, looking vaguely offended that someone would call him, the strong, handsome, intimating prince ‘cute’.

“Yes my lord”

“What about me is cute, huh?” he asked again, sounding like a child. “Is it this?” he said, now grabbing a piece of meat while opening your mouth. Taking the food in between your lips, your cheeks stuffed as you chewed on it, looking the happiest he's ever seen you. His heart growing with every movement you did. “Your right… it is.”

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, moving his hand to your waist firmly gripping it. Feeling the affection ooze out of him as he leaned into your neck. His breath being blown onto your neck with every word, his lips being so close yet so far.

You nodded, another smile appearing on your face, trying to hold back your eyes watering, not letting one tear slip out. You turned your body facing him, his hands never leaving your body. Resting your head against his chest, letting you do whatever you wanted to him.

He turned your head out of his body, facing him now. Connecting your eyes with his while he stroked your forehead.

His lips meet yours, not even realizing for a second, the feeling of his plump ones against yours being so natural at this point. Making you give him a good morning, goodnight, a good whenever kiss, everyday. One kiss turning into many, an overwhelming amount by the time his mouth is trailing down your shoulder. His wet open mouth kisses, spit and marks being left behind.

Stopping when his neck can't turn anymore. Instead repositioning you to sit higher on his lap as he now can kiss your arm, doing the same but adding his hands down your body this time.

You let out a whine when he slid your dainty little robe to the side, your body now being exposed to the cooler air, tensing you up. Hardening, hoping he would just keep paying attention to everything but that, your nipples rubbing up and down against the linen fabric, your legs straddled his thigh as he slightly bounced you everytime he reattached himself to your skin.

His warm hand eased the cold feeling as he placed in on your inner thigh; a wave of heat rushing through you as he gripped it, fingers inching closer and closer while his eyes looked down upon you, his lip behind your ears, feeling his hot breath be blown onto the to top of your spine making yous shiver in his summery embrace.

“y -ah, your high-ness” you moaned out, your hands nothing compared to the size of his, reaching out for his wrist, barely being able to wrap your trembling fingers around it.

Your dramatic, conscious tears finally spilling out as you feel his length grown against the swell of your ass involuntary grinding against it.

“Why so formal my love?” he smirked, the hunger in his voice evident, spreading your poor little cunt open. His fingers sliding down it, gathering the slick in between them before teasing his finger in your hole. Only putting just past his nail in, feeling the wet hotness slide down his knuckle letting out a heavy groan at the sight.

He pulled the finger out, moving his head so you could have a clear view of him as he placed his ring finger on his tongue sucking on it, deliberately making it sound as lewd as it could. Loving how flustered your pretty face got as you hid into his arm, clenching your fists around the fluff of his collar.

He let out a little laugh, thinking about how precious you were while sliding his hands up your thigh and separating the sides of your robe letting the shoulder fall off completely all the way down to your waist.

His fingers covered in slick and saliva now fondling your tits he freed, his middle finger and thumb pinching your nipple, already hardened from earlier. Internally blaming it on the cold and not how worked up he got you.

Opening your legs with his other hand, letting you back rest of his chest once again, hiking your knees up to give him a full view, looking down or in the big mirror he had against the wall.

Returning his hands to the mess of your cunt, this time actually sliding his finger fully in, no warning besides the fact that he was obviously growing impatient. Wanting to devour you, but reminding himself that he had to take his time or he would break you.

“You get like this… for me?” he teased nudging his head into yours, forcing you to look at your reflection. Your legs spread open just for him, your greedy little hole swallowing him up as you whined out not knowing for what.

Your mostly naked body against his still clothed,m while his eyes stared into yours from the mirror, your cheeks being squished into his hands as he makes you maintain looking at the scene, bringing your pouted lips to his, so irresistible.

The formerly neat bed you two were on now being the opposite, the roses you said you loved being spread out all over the mattress as he pulled away from the kiss to lay you down on the soft quilt

His body towering over yours, knowing already in the back of his head that the maids would have to come in for a second time to clean up, just to throw away his sheets after he took care of you tonight.

Voice high pitched as you sobbed in embarrassment from his lips attaching to your nipple, fingers fucking into you shallowly, his slow pace getting faster every second. 

Sucking on your chest, the pain being eased by his tongue dragging the spit over them, before working against it by using his teeth almost drawing blood. Your writhing under him, mouth open, no sound coming out except gasps, the way you’re squirming under him makes him grow even harder .

“I just want to fuck you, my dear, over and over again. The only thing I ever think of is you. Your precious moans and the pleasured look on your face is always running through my mind.” kissing away the tears falling on your cheeks before they fell onto your chest.

 Leaning back into you and whispering into your ear, his breath tickling your baby hairs. “Fuck you till you cant think anymore, till all you can think of is me... just like you deserve.”

Sweat dripping down your back as he flips you over, your robe falling completely off, bare as the day you were born. Him trailing his finger down your spine, your ass already in the air knowing how he liked it.

Feeling the need burning under your skin, your hole clenching around nothing, wanting so desperately to be filled.

 He wants to defile you, fuck you so much that all you know is him. Whether it was his cock making its way into your hole or mouth, barely being able to fit it but doing your best. His cock twitching at the thought of it.

His hand wrapping around your throat bringing you out of your own little world, choking you with your back to his chest, your knees doing their best to support you.

 The atmosphere quickly changing, feeling the displeasure seep out from him. “Now what was that letter, hmm?” he questioned, already knowing, wanting you to explain what the fuck was going on in that pretty little head of yours.

The fact that you, a noble now thanks to him, wanted to leave the man who gave you everything you heart desired? He thought you were crazy. Even questioning if anyone had put any poison in your food.

“Y-your highness!” you choked out, turning around quickly trying to solve the problem you created, fat tears falling once again.

 “I- um, well… the other women were-“ you cried thinking back to this morning when you went to grab the white and yellow flowers that you've been pampering for so long. This now being the second time they've done something like this.

“A-and…i've taken a liking to you, Your highness. please forgive me!” you sobbed out, knowing what you said. His naturally flirty nature made you doubt yourself, Not knowing if he even liked you back. 

Your head now hurting from putting yourself in this position, already getting too attached to him, what were you thinking? You? With the future king, your food must have really been tampered with.

“Huh?” he said, ignoring the words coming out of your mouth being music to his ears. His somber voice turning damned as his anger was rising.

“you'd think i'd let you leave me? I don't think you understand dear...i'd kill you and everyone working under you if you left me.'' you winced at the threat is his tone, not knowing if he was being sincere or not, working against it so you'd never find out.

“You don't think I noticed? I always have guards around you. They let me know your every movement, whether it's taking a stroll outside or going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and they just so happened to see you crying your eyes out.” He stated loosening his grip. “But don't worry dear, I took care of them.”

“W-what?”

“You'll never have to see them again my love, I got rid of them.” he said with his unforgiving smile, almost cooing at you. Moving his hand from around your neck to cupping your face, his body still hovering over you. “So now it's just me and you.”

The strange thing is that you felt no fear, even knowing that getting rid of them meant he killed some of them, but why did it make your heart flutter? Why did it get you more excited? You were really going insane.

“You know I'm the only man that can take care of you, the only one can fill this needy little cunt up. he said, spreading you open, slightly pushing one of his fingers in. “i've got your slutty body trained to get soaking at just my presence”

“my lord-” you sang, thinking of how gentle he was while still controlling you. Remembering the first time he laid his hands on you. It hurt so bad, even though he spent a good amount of time prepping you to the point where you felt ‘messy’, but it still pained you to take him.

The first time you've ever been touched, and when you told him he froze, never being in this situation before. He thrived knowing that he would be the one to take the purity out of your body, preparing a whole week to ease you up. But you would never tell him this, not because you were scared for your life, but more of a caring reason, not wanting to hurt his feelings and ego in a sense.

“That's not my name.” he said, shoving his finger all the way in you in one motion, gasping at the action, still not letting a word out . “Fuck princess, call me by my name.”

You hesitated, your body not following suit. “Cmon love” he said almost pleading with you, his voice once changing again, sounding like a sad kid right now. “You're not gonna get anything till I hear that pretty voice say my name” he continued moving his finger in you, your moans bouncing off the walls.

You've never been so conflicted, not knowing what to do, just letting yourself be his completely in and out again. “P-prince Atsumu-”

“Fuck.” he groaned, your soft whine letting out his name, accompanied by prince. But he could deal with that. That fact that he's got you wrapped around his finger right now, literally, has him fueled. This all he needs to keep him going, to prove you would be nothing without him, without realizing deep down it was the same for him.

“You only get like this for me don't you. Of course you do! i'm the only man you've ever been with.” he confidently stated, keeping it that way, not caring if he had to use his bloodthirsty hands to do it. “Your brain only thinks dirty thoughts when I'm around, huh?”

He continued playing with you, touching every part of your body, the parts that he taught you about, some that you couldn't even get to, making you act like a fool under him getting him even more ansty. “fuck-.” he groaned taking his clothes fully off, letting his cock finally be free. The friction of his robe already making it leak with pre-cum, standing on its own against his stomach, so red and needy.

“You ready princess?” he said dragging you by your ass towards him, rolling you over as you arched your back, now face down ass up.

Presenting yourself for him as he let his cock rest on your ass, lubing it all up with your slick as he rubbed against it, wanting to stretch you out comfortably for you, pain and pleasure to mix not be separate.

“a-ahh,” you panted out, his thrusts immediately taking your breath away, not being able to catch it. His hands wandering all over your body before grabbing you shoulder, pulling you back against him, his other hand grabbing your tits, his grip tight.

HIs slow pace quickens as you clench around him, his other hand gripping under your hips to hold you up. He's never heard something so beautiful in his life, your moans and whines echoing around in his big room.

He's also never seen something this beautiful, looking in the mirror as your face is all fucked out for him. You tiny little cunt taking him whole, his balls slapping against your clit making you squeal with every thrust.

This position being his favorite, him able to see your body in every angle with help of the mirror, letting him abuse your body for hours. Watching his big hands tease your hardened nipples while you wheezed out nonsense, going completely dumb from his dick.

“You gonna be louder? Gonna let your precious guard know your getting fucked?” he tells you, thrusting into you harder, the jealousy that was settled in him rising back up. Ever since he first saw you he noticed the way you looked at him, putting it to the side due to the fact that he and Aran were close and that you too had nothing going on.

But the possessiveness in him grew after you tried to leave him, wanting to claim you in every way, wanting you to not be even able to function without him or his dick, him being the only thing in your mind. The heat growing under his skin this time, burning up throughout him as he fucks into you harder, pulling you close to him, his face now in your neck.

You could only whine at the shame you felt, Aran not even crossing your mind like that anymore. His hand unyielding its place on your breast, his fingernails leaving marks there as leaves sloppy kisses under your ear, knowing how sensitive you were there.

“You like this, right? Getting fucked like a whore, showing off. Like it when you’re stuffed full of my cock, pounding my own cum into you? You know cant leave me”

The vulgar splurge of words coming from his mouth along with his cock nuding your cervix at this angle was knocking the sense out of you, letting your moans finally be free, not holding them back anymore. Your body going limp in his hold, lucky that he was holding onto you so desperately, his hot breath sticking to the slobber he left on your neck.

“tsumu,” you gasped out to his delight, not even realizing what you had just said, too lost in pleasure. Knowing that he now has you in the palm of his hand. Saying his name so casually and lewd, like he wasn't going to rule the country one day. Pushing against his tight unchanging hold on you. “Can’t , please― ”

“You’re addressing someone of importance you know.” He said, regripping the base of your neck hard enough to hold you in place. “People are killed for not addressing royalty properly. Confidence overflowing through his words, finally having the upper hand.

“It would be a shame if that happened to you”. He continued, a slight tease in his voice, his cock getting harder looking at your pretty little tears dripping down your cheeks, falling onto your tits.

“-i didn’t mean to!” you sniffled, moving your arms backwards, grabbing onto him, lucky that he wouldn't cut your hands off for touching royalty at him. Tears now flowing from fear and pleasure.

“Tell me who I am, then I might forgive you.” he teased, playing mind games with you, having you fall and break into his hands, made him grow in excitement. “M-my lord” you moaned, not wanting to give in. “No.” he asserted, his grip on your neck tightening again. “Tell me who i really am”

You trembled in his hold that was growing looser with every second, knowing exactly what he wanted. “f-future king” you muttered out trying not to cry, embarrassed of how this, he, was affecting you.

You would normally be scared in this situation but the way his cock was pulsing inside you making all your worries go away. If you were to die, you would gladly if this was the reason why.

Your words getting to him, somehow fucking into you harder, bruising your cervix, breaking into your womb. “You want me cum inside? Leave my cum stuffed up inside of you? Hmm?” you could only nod, knowing you had no other choice, not that you wouldn't choose the other option in this situation, the feeling of pleasure overriding your logical thoughts.

“Can't hear you.” He uttered, groans following him. ”y-yes!” you whined like a baby, not wanting the feeling of him to leave. You were really spoiled, always getting what you wanted, and as usual he followed though, never saying no to you. “What a good girl, already thinking of how to help me.”

You don't know how long it’s been anymore, can’t think of anything besides ‘Prince Atsumu’, just how he wanted it. He couldn't picture anything other than him fucking you full of cum until your swelling with it. Unable to move as he flips you over facing him, wanting to see face first the mess he was making in your cunt.

Every part of him wants to own you, in and out. Wants to break you down until you're completely his, until your body responds to only him, until your brain is trained to be completely his, not giving any other man any attention.

“Want me to breed you, want me to fuck so much of my cum into you, that it’ll be spilling outta you for days? M’gonna knock you up full of my babies, just like a good little girl,” he groaned, having your wrists pinned to the bed with one hand.

Not like you could move, his strong arms holding you in place. Your pitiful whines not being heard over the sound of his balls slapping into you, the sound of you creaming all over him being white noise at this point. But the idea is nice at the moment; being unable to move, just being Prince Atsumu’s, the future king of Inari’s plaything to fuck as he pleases.

“Tight little cunt, swallowing my cock up,” he tells you, watching as the drool escapes your mouth, kissing it off of you. “Gonna fuck you till your pregnant angel, I’m gonna fuck you again and again until your carrying my heir. You’d like that, right love? Fuck my cum in and out of you.”

“y-yeah tsumu please tsu- tsumiee, please -ahhh” you cried, not caring what the consequences were. He was thrilled, his excitement being shown through his body, finally breaking you down to this state.

The fact that he turned you, a sweet, nervous virgin, into a needy little thing. Still remembering the day he took it, getting on his knees for the first time in his life, being the first person he's ever pleased and not the opposite.

Something about you made him keep coming back, wanting to see your face scrunch up in delight, caring about you more than himself, wanting to be your first and last. He genuinely thought he was going crazy, not experiencing a human emotion.

“Gonna fill you up with little princesses and princes so you gotta stick around and we’ll make a whole kingdom for ourselves.” he stated, wanting to make sure no one could mistake you as anything but his.

Your “yeah” makes his heart burst. You soft, sweet voice saying just what he wants makes him snap, hips relentless as he fucks you, unable to think beyond anything except fucking a baby, or two, into you. Wanting to see you so big and needy.

His heads in a whole nother world, the urge to fuck you, make you his own, the only thing not draining him. He trails finger down to your clit, rubbing it energetically. Listening to your sobs, edging him to not stop.

“Please” you voiced out, choking on your words. Being so close, yet so far. Him not letting you orgasm until he wanted you to. His selfish desires making you kick your legs out in complaint.

Feeling his cock pulsing inside you, finally moving his fingers on your clit again; blessing the gods that he at last let you cum, your body shaking as he slid his length deeper into you. You let out a cry, clinging onto him. His shoulders being placed into your arms as you didnt let him go, chest rising and falling dramatically.

“Fuck!,” he grunted. You nails digging into his skin, leaving little crescents there. Dropping into your neck as he finally feels sedated, cum shooting hot and thick into you. Holding you as you did him, your eyes already staring to close.

“You take everything so good, princess. so slutty,” he says, affectionate as he can be, looking at the mess you were making. His newfound love for you pouring out with every touch he laid on you. Not pulling out of you as he picked you up to get the dirty sheets off the bed, your head falling back his arms, eyes burning to close, lips slightly open.

“My love...” he murmured, now laying his body on yours, skin to skin. His face in your chest, your hands grabbing onto his fluffy hair. “You’re such a sweet girl… a pretty little thing.” he whispered, knowing you loved when the words left his mouth.

You murmured back, wanting the words ‘I love you'' to come out so desperately. Hiccupping as he adjusted himself in you. Leaving light kisses on your chest, clenching at the sensation, hating being so sensitive.

As he trails his hand down your chest to the pendant necklace laying in between your breasts, the first gift he ever got you.

He noticed you never took it off, just this one, not the countess rings, headpieces and other necklaces he bought you. He knew that you very much appreciated those, but this one was special to you, even keeping it on whenever you had to put on other jewelry whenever he had events, tucking it in the chest part of your corset.

You coddled him, his real personality coming back, where he acted like a needy baby, loving how you held him in your arms. Feeling like home along with his mellow smell, the scent of burnt amber mixed with the comfy smell of fresh linen making you melt into his touch everytime he pulled you closer.

He didn't want to admit how attached to you he was. Your warm smile, soft body, always knowing how to take care of him and make him feel warm and cozy, his personal stress reliever. Swearing he saw a halo around you head when you woke him up every morning, the light shining through the windows providing another testament.

“Were you serious?” you said, voice course and shaky. Wanting to hear the words you wanted the most.

“I'm the future king, they can't go against my orders.” He said reading your mind again, understanding how stressful it must be in your position. “Besides you already are in the eye of the people.” he huffed out, rubbing your stomach with his warm hands.

You saw a smile appear on his face before he disconnected himself from you, disregarding the warmth leaving your body.

“P-prince Astumu! You can't!” you uttered trying to take it off as fast as you could, hands scrambling. “Shh, see?” he said, turning your head to the mirror. “Look at how well it fits you.” he continued. You thinking his mind was clouded right now. Your naked form covered by the sheets the sheets. Your being a mess, along with your eyes looking red and swollen.The crown being the only thing presentable, sitting upon your fucked out head.

“fuck, you’re so pretty...” he said, giving you a longing kiss on the forehead, taking his time separating from you.

“W-what are we?”you said finally placing the crown back on the dresser.

“What do you want us to be?” he said, letting out a laugh, trying not to be so serious as he's never felt this way before. Being nervous for the first time since he was a kid.

“I'm serious.” you said pulling away from him. His shocked attitude working the fastest he's ever done in his whole career. His face expressing his need

“Ok...” pulling you back to him, the thought of you leaving making him want to crumble. ‘I need you.”

“And?…i'm not the only one you need.” you said trying to push him, his immature side coming in at the worst times.

“Fuck, okay my love, i promise you, you or I won’t be going anywhere, okay? I swear on god's green earth and everything I own.” suffocating you in his arms so you couldn't leave, pressing his lips against your head speaking every word that came into his mind.

Before you moved your head looking at him in the eyes, the blanket pulled up over the both of you, the roses wilted all over the floor. Your stare halting his thoughts, your eyes telling him to spill every secret that he held against you, wanting to know his very thought about you.

His eyes met yours, not being able to look away. A sigh left his lips as a blush grew on his face, you being the first person to leave him like this. At last he regained his composure, his messy haired, scratched up self speaking. “If you'd just let me explain.”

[meg-moira]

I did the thing. Based on this writing prompt!

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What am I, you ask?

It was a question I, too asked myself, once upon a time. I ask it no longer, because I don’t much see the reason in dwelling upon questions which have no definitive answers.

I can tell you what others think I am. Will that satisfy your curiosity?

An aged deity they call me. A minor one, of course. For they know I never laid claim to the vast domains of the Great Gods. War, Knowledge, Death are all grand pursuits, but they are not to my tastes.

Besides, I would never claim anything so specific. To those who live in the village beneath my humble temple, I am the warmth of a tended hearth, the safety of home - and the joy of returning to it.

It is a quiet village, you know. And I know my people by look and by voice. They take turns climbing the steep hill to tend my temple.

I settled here for a reason.

Did you notice my temple? It’s nice, is it not? Wooden, round, and short enough that the adults must bend to enter. Inside, two rows of candles illuminate walls lined with dangling shells dug from deep within the earth. Shelves are stacked with pebbles, feathers, twigs, and flowers. Gifts from my followers and requests I planted in the minds of my most devout.

At the center of it all, bathed in the candles’ butter yellow light sits a gleaming stone. It is opalescent and a pretty enough sight to behold. It was recovered generations ago, a layer or two beneath the dug-up shells.

The humans believe that I reside in the Everstone. That’s what they call it. Everstone. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I don’t. Live in the Everstone, that is. I don’t believe I live anywhere in particular.

Occasionally I sit in the stone, just for fun. I warm it sometimes when my followers’ reverent fingers brush the grooves. I like the sound of their surprise and delight. Other times I perch upon the temple’s roof, and drink up light from the first and second sun. And on rare instances, I expend the energy to make myself just corporeal enough to walk upon the hillside and feel the grass between my toes. I only allow my most favorite devotees to see me like this. It is strange and awkward to have limbs and take up space. I only do it because the sensation of touch is so entirely captivating.

Those who glimpse my walking form see someone who looks human in the same way that a painting of an ocean resembles the cold, untamable tides. I take up space, and within that space is the suggestion of personhood. They see a figure draped and hooded in ethereal white, brown skinned and with a face whose features are vague and changing. Human faces fascinate me, and I cannot always make up my mind about the features I want for my own. I-

Why would you interrupt me?

Did you not trudge your ugly boots up this steep hill to seek me out? And if you’ve come, as you say, from lands afar - why would you not want to make conversation?

...Could it be that it is not me you seek, but the one who, even now, lies crumpled and half dead upon my temple floor?

That is the truth of it. I can see it in your terrible war-bright eyes. You are no more human than the one who bleeds ichor on my nice wooden planks.

No. No. Don’t go lifting your ugly spiked weapon just yet. I’m not done talking. I can’t talk with the humans. At least, not like this. And the god currently bleeding in my temple wasn’t much able to make conversation.

He staggered up the hillside not an hour before you arrived. He had taken far more care in the crafting of his physical form than I, and I’d guessed right away that he was one of the visible gods. Likely in possession of both power and desire enough to parade himself about for his followers. To drape his body, wrapped in opulent cloth, across the velvet couch upon his temple dais.

Yes, I made the last part up. I don’t know that he liked to drape himself across couches like a subject waiting to be painted, but with his raven black hair, muscles sculpted by an undoubtedly delicate hand, and a pretty face which did not shift like mine was wont to do, he fit the part well enough.

His fine clothes were ripped and bloody when he staggered up my hillside. And his hair, which looked to have once been drawn back in a sleek braid, was mostly dragged loose, falling in wisps and tangles. His pretty face was cut and broken, and when he pressed a shaking hand upon my wooden walls, he left a smear of ichor, brutal and golden beneath the suns.

“Sanctuary,” he murmured, and his voice was cracked and broken as the rest of him.

I could have barred my door. He might have once been powerful, but it had been cruelly beaten out of him by something.

You, I presume.

No. Enough with the weapon waving. I said I was talking.

I let him in. Don’t ask me why. Maybe stripped of his power, he reminded me of my village devotees. Or maybe I just didn’t want his divinely made flesh to stink up my lawn.

He stumbled in as soon as I opened the door, and immediately collapsed, one hand clutching what was surely a severe wound in his side. If he was as human as he appeared, I’m sure he would have died.

No, he’s not dead.

It was touch-and-go for a while. But, as I’m sure you know, gods are not so easy to kill.

I helped him, pouring some of my own energy into his form. It was like feeding oxygen to a faltering flame. As I worked, he lay limp as a doll, lips half pressed to my wooden floor as his voice rasped, filling the room.

His people call him Praesaro. He told me of how you killed a great number of them, cutting a path so you might reach him. His tears of saltwater and gold dampened the temple floor as he spoke, and where they slipped between the slats of wood, wild clovers sprouted from the soil. His throat was dry and grief-wrung, but I did not need to hear him to feel his overwhelming, aching loss. He’d seen his followers cut down, all while he, their glorious protector, was powerless to stop you.

You smile. Does pain amuse you?

I see. It is not just any pain you seek, but a god’s pain. You cared not for the city you slew, did you? You only wanted the god who protected it. So are you the God Devourer of which the wind has been whispering of late?

I hear conflicting tales of you. The wind says that you came from the skies - or perhaps the heavens. The rocks deep within the earth say that you are not of this world. And the oceans say you smell of strange waters. But all of them are in agreement on this point: You come to consume. And you will not leave until your boundless appetite has feasted upon this world.

And now you do lift that monstrously spiked weapon. You intend to destroy my temple and crush the last of the divine life from poor Praesaro - I can see it in the set of your jaw, the way you bare those sharpened teeth.

You intend to devour me too. In my little temple on this little hill, I probably seem nothing more than a snack to you. But before you unhinge your salivating jaw, dear god eater, let me ask you this:

Do you know why I remain here, on this little hill, above this little village?

It is because I like it here.

Do you feel that? The way the earth trembles beneath your bloodied boots? Or perhaps you’ve noticed the wind and how it nips at your skin. And what about the clouds that darken, bearing down upon my little temple on this single, lonely hill.

I was not entirely honest when I told you that I do not know what I am. Or rather, I have a guess.

You see, I remember when oceans covered these hills, and I remember when tiny creatures filled the shells which are strung up in my temple. I knew where each had burrowed, because they were buried in my soil. The feathers collected for my temple were carried here on my wind. And the pebbles smoothed in my streams.

To these people, I am a minor god, because that is how I wish to be perceived.

But for you, Devourer of Gods, I will deign to stretch out, unfurl.

You came to feast upon gods, little one. I wonder, how will you contend with a world?

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[skyloftian-nutcase]

Sleeping Dove (Legend of Zelda Fanfic)

Summary: When the Spirit Maiden Zelda finally passes on, she finds herself in an unexpected situation. The true nature and cruelty of Demise’s curse is revealed, and reality crashes down. Angst, two part story.

XXX

When Zelda died, she was surrounded by loving family and friends. The sun was beginning to set outside. Whispered I love you’s echoed in her mind and heart. Amidst it all, she just wanted to hear one more voice, one that she hadn’t heard in ten years, ten long years…

 Link.

 Her husband had passed on before her, his adventures and injuries finally catching up to him. She’d missed him so much, but a part of her was grateful that he had gone first – she was sure he wouldn’t have been able to bear being alone; the pain of being without him had felt like it would kill her some nights, despite being surrounded by so many who loved her.

 Zelda closed her eyes and breathed her last.

 Something strange had happened then. She expected that, given her mortality, she would move on to the land of spirits like all the other mortals, forever at peace and with the man she loved in the glowing presence of the Golden Three.

However, that… was not what happened.

 Zelda felt… odd. Warm, and then cold. Old and then young. She felt… light, sky, air, sun, breeze, clouds… she tasted the air, heard loftwings call, sensed life around her.

 She knew this sensation. She remembered it.

 She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she knew it had been a long while. But time meant very little to a goddess.

 She was Hylia once more.

 This… isn’t how mortality works, was the first coherent thought that came to her mind. But then the next was, Will I ever see Link again?

 Oh, and her heart hurt to think of it. There was no way destiny could be this cruel that she could never again see her beloved.

 Zelda, Hylia, opened her eyes, looking around. She was in the Sacred Realm. She could taste the magic in the air, could hear the life of the world below her, the water trickling around her. She wasn’t entirely sure where in the Sacred Realm she was, she’d never seen such a configuration of waterfall covered platforms. But there was something distinctly absent…

 Where was the Triforce?

 “Welcome, Your Grace.”

 Startled, she turned around to see an elderly looking man. “Who are you?”

 “My name is Rauru,” he explained. “I am one of the Sages.”

 “Sages…?”

 “We began after your time, Your Grace, to compensate for a departure of your presence. We are protectors of Hyrule and the Sacred Realm.”

 “Protectors? From whom?” she asked warily. Link had confided in her the details of Demise’s final words, and it had haunted him to his grave. She’d known in her heart that the Demon King would not utter empty threats, and she’d spent many years trying to find ways to break the curse before it had a chance to start. She’d come up with nothing, and she was beginning to fear that she was about to find out just how fruitless her attempts had been.

 Rauru tipped his head. “I believe you know, Your Grace. He goes by a different name now, but it is the same monster. A reincarnation of his hatred, though it seems mortal flesh has muted his power somewhat in comparison to the ancient days.”

 Ancient days? What sort of terminology was that? Hylia knew that her original time of war had been history by the time she’d awoken as Zelda, but they’d fought Demise again since then.

 How long have I been in the Sacred Realm?!

 Rauru watched her silently, and then gently, he asked, “Do you wish to see him?”

 Demise? Why would she want to see that monster again? That god of destruction had done everything in his power to kill her and everything she’d loved!

 She was about to spit all this out at the foolish Sage when she noticed a softness to his eyes and recognized that, somehow, he wasn’t talking about Demise at all.

 She felt her jaw slacken. Hope spilled into her, just a sprinkling at first, before her heart began to pound. “…Link?”

 Rauru smiled.

 Zelda let out a sob of joy. “Yes! Yes, where is he?”

 Motioning for her to follow, Rauru began to walk away from her. Hylia rushed to join him like she was running across Skyloft to get to Link, like she was running through Faron Woods with her husband as their laughter floated in the air. However, despite how she pushed herself, she felt like it took forever to keep up despite her sudden increase in height. She’d forgotten how strange it could be to move through the Sacred Realm; she had stopped visiting the holy place after Link had died.

 A pale blue light glowed in the distance, and a familiar figure hovered in the air. Was… was that Fi?

 “Your Grace,” the figure said in an oh-so-familiar melodious voice.

 “You… you were asleep,” Hylia stammered. “You had to keep the Darkness sealed away.”

 “What can be controlled of the Darkness still rests with me, Your Grace,” Fi confirmed. “In doing so it ensures Demise will never reach full power again.”

 “Then how…?”

 “With the Master Sword sealed in the Sacred Realm under these circumstances, it allows me a brief period of wakefulness,” Fi continued factually.

 Zelda began to breathe quickly, practically hyperventilating. “Where’s Link?”

 Fi gazed down, and it was only then that Zelda realized there was a small figure being carried in her feathery arms. A blonde child was nestled against her, still as a stone, breathing calmly, clad in green.

 Confused, Hylia bent over the little child. There were attributes that were similar to Link, but this was most certainly not him. “Fi… who is this?”

 “This is Link.”

 Hylia stared at the sword spirit incredulously. “No, it isn’t.”

 “Forgive me, Your Grace. I will elaborate.” Fi explained. “When my original master died, his unbreakable spirit became the Hero’s Spirit. He accompanies every new hero throughout time. This new hero is also named Link.”

 Zelda looked at the boy again. “But… he’s just a child.”

 “Indeed,” Fi agreed. “He attempted to draw the Master Sword, but it is too large for him to handle. He will certainly perish if he attempts to fight the reincarnation of Malice with it. Therefore, I have put him into a slumber, and the Sage will determine when he is ready. He will soon be sealed to keep him physically nurtured while he grows.”

 Hylia looked at the boy, biting her lip. “Sealed? Like… like I was?”

 “In a way, Your Grace. His sealing protection will keep him safe and alive, but unlike yours, it will allow him to age so that he can be physically able when he awakens.”

 Zelda jolted. “Wait—you’re incubating him until he can fight? Why not just let him live his life?”

 “The reincarnation of Malice has already entered the Sacred Realm and—”

 “What?!” Zelda interrupted, whirling around, looking for the demon from her nightmares. She felt like a teenager again, she felt like she had when she’d been pursued by Ghirahim with only Impa to protect her as she slowly regained her memories. “Where is he?!”

 “He is not here, Your Grace.”

 “But—but you just said—” Hylia turned to look at Fi and saw that the little Link was encased in a blue crystal with Fi hovering around it, watching. “Hey!”

 “Your Grace.”

 Hylia turned to see Rauru watching her. He smiled softly. “Your Grace, the crystal will reflect light differently than you might expect.”

 Reflect light? What was he talking about? There was a child sealed in there just waiting to be used to save the world without any preparation or thought of helping him! At least Link had Fi to guide him, Hylia knew that Fi was only awake now because she was in the Sacred Realm. The instant that child woke up, Fi would be gone! Hylia had created so many different ways to guide Link during his journey, and this child had nothing!

 This was… this was so wrong. She’d done this before, had set up plans ahead of time concerning a child and… this was wrong! She’d seen how it had hurt Link, and that was with her planning for him to fulfill his destiny as an adult, for Nayru’s sake, it was worse that Ghirahim had started them down that path early, but this Hero was a child!

 Zelda shook her head, ready to protest, when she truly looked at the crystal and saw… and saw…

 Link.

 Gasping, she ran to the crystal. Depending on the angle of the light, she saw the child in green clothes or she saw him, she saw her husband, young and alive and sleeping as if he were back on Skyloft relaxing on one of the benches scattered around the island.

 She banged on the crystal. “Link!”

 She was filled with an overwhelming sense of irony, remembering when Link had rushed to her own crystal and tried to smash it with his bare hands as she sealed herself away to keep the Imprisoned One at bay.

 Why was this happening, this cruel joke, this torture?

 Demise’s curse.

 Hylia grit her teeth, anger boiling her blood. If she could, she’d leave the Sacred Realm and hunt Demise herself. But she had a sinking suspicion she couldn’t do that.

 Voicing the thought, she said, “I don’t suppose I can leave this realm, can I?”

 “I’m afraid not, Your Grace,” Rauru answered respectfully, his head bowed. “After you took mortal form, your return to godhood is not quite as complete if you had never left it. You are trapped here, and at this time the majority of the Realm is corrupted by Malice. It would be unwise and unsafe to leave this chamber.”

 She bit her lip, feeling a lump form in her throat. The Triforce was gone, the Sacred Realm was corrupted, Demise was running amok even if his powers were not what they once were.

 It was all up to Link, to this new Hero… and she was powerless to help him.

 Well. At least in the land of the living. But here… here she would stay with him. She would keep him company. She would watch over him, just as he did for her when she had been sealed away.

 Putting her hand on the crystal, she felt the tears slip out of her eyes. Link was so close yet so far. But she wouldn’t leave him. She would be there for him, always.

 Time passed differently in the Sacred Realm. A minute could be a millennium, an hour could be a second. All she knew was she never left his side until Fi, who had also kept vigil (it was reassuring to see that the emotions she had started to learn were still there – she was clearly trying to protect Link as well as her new master), turned into a glowing ball of light and sealed herself back into the Master Sword. Hylia jumped, seeing the crystal crack.

 “Your Grace,” Rauru said. “I ask that you leave now. The boy will have enough to process as it is.”

 “But…” she looked back at the crystal. The cracks cut across the image of the now teenager, and her Link was nowhere to be seen. “Wait… he… he won’t know me?”

 Rauru watched her sadly. “I’m sorry.”

 Taking a step away, she nodded mutely, fighting back tears. So he didn’t remember her. Did he even know what was going on, bound to this new Hero? Did he just live vicariously through the child? Was he even aware of anything at all?

 She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by this new information. The nature of Link’s bond with his new hero was still something she was trying to figure out. Either way, she understood not interfering with this moment; she didn’t want to scare the likely already overwhelmed child.

 Child. He was still a child. Though his body was in the midst of adolescence, that didn’t change that he didn’t have the experiences to show for it. To him it was just a nap. This was… this was so messed up. Giving herself a hug, she backed away, fading into the background. She watched as the child awoke, terrified but trying to hang on to every word Rauru said. A fairy appeared alongside him, someone he seemed to trust, and he left the Realm in a flash of light.

 Zelda didn’t talk to Rauru again. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to anyone. She worried for the boy. She may have been unable to leave the Sacred Realm, but she figured out a way to watch the land of the living. She marveled at how much Hyrule had grown since her time, and then she felt her heart cry out in pain as she watched it burn under Ganondorf’s rule. She held her breath as her little hero bested temple after temple (by the Three, he was a smart little boy, sharp as the blade he used). Occasionally her divine eyes would catch a glimpse of her husband, looking just as scared as the new hero, looking lost, determined, fierce, and analytical. He mirrored his little hero, his own spirit glowing with a sacred power as he defended the child subconsciously.

 Oh, Link…

 Eventually more Sages came to join Rauru with each temple the young Hero of Time freed. Hylia didn’t bother talking to them, not yet. She couldn’t muster the strength.

 And then she saw Zelda. Her descendant. They had established a royal family, she was a princess. It had been so many generations that there was barely a resemblance, but the hair…

 That was Link’s hair. That same dirty blonde wavy appearance, thick and shining in the light.

 Zelda started to cry watching what her daughter by however many generations had to endure. Seven years of running and hiding, seven years of fighting. And the new Hero of Time was caught in the middle of it.

 And then she watched with joy as they triumphed over Ganondorf. Joy turned to anguish at their parting, anguish turned to horror at the splitting of the timeline, horror turned to agony at watching what the Hero had to endure afterward in his supposed second chance at childhood, agony at watching the timeline he’d left behind, the Zelda he’d left behind, struggle to adapt and instead fall to ruin.

 And then the third timeline… why had that even happened?

 This was horrible. She couldn’t watch this. She couldn’t.

 She heard voices. Prayers. People’s petitions. Distracted, she glanced through the waters of the Sacred Realm. Prayers to the Goddess of Time rose to her. She didn’t know what she could do, what power she still had while trapped here. So she tried to listen, she tried to answer. She dedicated so much time to it that she almost forgot to check on her family, on her Hero.

 Until one moment she turned, and there he was.

 “Link!” she cried, running to him.

 Her husband laid in the shallow water at the center of the Temple of Light, surrounded by smiling Sages, no longer hidden as a shadow to the new Hero. Instead, he was there, complete and whole, looking to be in late adolescence (it was bizarre seeing him as he was when he’d first defeated Demise), sleeping right in front of her. Zelda fell to her knees, lifting him to her lap and running a hand through his hair, feeling electricity shoot through her as she could finally hold her husband again.

 “Link,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Link, Dove, wake up.”

 Link didn’t stir. She giggled. He’s always been a heavy sleeper. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

 After a few more attempts, however, it became apparent something was wrong. Hylia began to grow frantic, but no matter her words, the volume at which she spoke them, or the tears she cried, her husband would not stir.

 She sensed someone approaching her, and she looked up to see Rauru. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

 Rauru watched her grimly, looking down at Link. “The Spirit of the Hero is bound to his destiny. When Hyrule is at peace, so is he. I’m sorry, Your Grace. You will never be able to wake him. He is only awake when he is bound to a new Hero.”

 Hylia felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her blood ran cold. She… she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to process that.

 So this was the curse, then. She could hold her husband, but she would never have her husband again. Link would never see her, never know her, never remember her. She would just have her sleeping hero and then she would have to watch him suffer again and again, endure trial after trial.

 And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

 At least he can guide future heroes. At least he can protect our family. I’m completely useless here.

She hated this. She hated being this useless - at least she had been able to assist in the fight last time they’d waged war with the demon king.

“What happened to the Hero of Time?” she finally asked as she cradled her husband, unable to look at him yet.

 Rauru sighed heavily this time, guilt on his face. “He… he is not at peace. I have tried to reach out to him, but he won’t hear me. I’m hoping Saria will have better luck.”

 Hylia wasn’t sure what that meant, and she didn’t really want to know. She… this was too much. She would investigate that later. Finally mustering some courage, she looked down at her little dove, peacefully unaware of his wife desperately trying to reach him. “Oh, Link…”

  Zelda held him close, and she wept.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterNine

GIF is not mine, and i’m running out of options haha.

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Chapter Summary:  The one where an old friend return.

AO3> Land of Thieves

Warnings:  18+, explicit language, explicit violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, cursing, blood. Chapters Warnings: Slightly smut, panic attacks.

Words: 53.380K (All chapters)

tags: @mionemymind @whosedevil​ 

You wake up to a whistling noise. Wanda moves against you, burying her face in your neck, as you open your eyes, getting used to the clarity.

- Good morning, girls! - Nat says suggestively at the entrance to your tent. Wanda mumbles softly against your collarbone, not moving from her position on top of you. 

- Good morning, Nat. - You retort, letting your hands go up to Wanda's back. 

- Good morning, Nat. - Wanda repeats the greeting, but her voice is muffled against your neck. You don't mind.

Nat chuckles, walking into the room with her arms crossed.

- You guys are adorable, and everything. - She teases. - But we have work to do, Miss Maximoff. 

Wanda grumbles, and Nat nudges her quickly in the ribs, causing her to wriggle against you and almost knock you off the bed. She keeps poking Wanda until she demonstrates that she is going to get up. You just laugh at the interaction.

- Fuck you Nat, I'm going. - Wanda retorts, pulling out of the hug and standing up. You let out a sigh, missing her body heat immediately.

She stretches and gives Nat a gentle shove that makes her laughs and exits the tent, while pointing to the watch on her wrist.

- Good luck. - You tell her imagining she was already following Nat, but Wanda turns to you and climbs into your lap as she leans her body to give you a firm kiss on the lips.

Your body warms up quickly, but as you bring your hands to Wanda's thighs, you hear Nat shout that she would throw a bucket of water on you both if Wanda didn't come soon, so you end the kiss, and Wanda leaves your tent.

You lie there for a few minutes, eyes closed, smiling with the memory of Wanda's warmth, before you get up. You know you have a long day ahead of you.

Shortly after you delivered Stephen's letter to Steve, and talked to him about the plans to steal the gold from the Rhodes families, you approached Bucky as he was sitting in his tent.

- Would you help me with something? - You asked him shyly, and he just smiled, signaling for you to sit in the chair in front of his bed.

You sat down, a bit awkwardly, and then handed over the letter Erik had given you.

- A man looked for me yesterday in Saint Denis. - You told Bucky. - His name was Erik Killmonger.

Bucky frowned, looking worried. And then he opened the letter, reading its contents. 

- Did Killmonger say how he found you? - he asks seriously. And you look at him curiously.

- No. He didn't. - You reply. - Actually he didn't have time to tell me anything. - Seeing Bucky's confused expression, you add as you look away to the floor - Someone murdered him.

- Shit. - Bucky retorted, placing the letter on the bed, and running his hand through his hair. - Did anyone see you with him?

You blink in surprise at Bucky's nervousness.

- Only the guy who attacked him. - You reply. - But he must be in jail now.

Bucky shakes his head in denial, and then stands up, closing the tent. He sat down in front of you again, looking really worried.

- You can't tell Steve what I'm about to tell you, okay? - he asks, causing you to raise your eyebrows in surprise. But then you nod, and Bucky lets out a sigh before continuing. - Do you remember the time when I was away from the gang? A few years ago? - You nod in agreement. - I was up north. Helping the Wakanda people establish a reserve there. You didn't know her, but my sister lived with the Wakanda people, and she asked me to move there with her and her husband. - You were surprised by this information, but you didn't interrupt. - Unfortunately, explorations in that area started happening, and although no one can prove it, we know that the army attacked the reserve. My sister and her family died in the attack, and I rejoined the gang.

- I'm sorry about your sister, Bucky. - You say, and he smiles sorrowfully at you.

- That's all right, dear. It was a long time ago. - he says. - But what I want to tell you is this. A year after I returned, a group of Wakanda warriors set up a gang. A gang like ours. They call themselves the Panthers. - He tells you, and you nod, knowing exactly what he is talking about. - They came to me when we were in New Austin. They needed as much help as possible to get revenge on the soldiers who killed their families. And I accepted. - Bucky confesses, and pauses for a moment, as if lost in his memories. - Erik Killmonger was one of these men. We rode together to Fort Wallace, and together with the rest of the Panthers, we killed more than fifty federal soldiers.

- My God, Bucky. - you exclaimed. Bucky just looked at the ground. 

- After that the Panthers became the protectors of the Wakanda people. They are not thieves, and they only kill in case of defense. - He continued. - The gang grew in size, and spread all over the country. What we did that day, unfortunately, only delayed the inevitable. - Bucky affirms, and then grabs the letter from the bed and places it in front of you. - Killmonger has obtained the court license issued by Captain Vasily Karpov for explorations on the lands of the New Elizabeth reservation. 

- But what does this mean for the Wakanda people who live there?

- Death. - Bucky answered simply, and you held your breath. - And that's why Erik contacted you. He's trying to repeat what we did years ago. 

You bite your lips thoughtfully. And then you turn your gaze back to Bucky.

- Erik told me to save someone. - You tell. - Maybe he wanted me to find another way to help them.

- I don't know. - Bucky rebuts. - I see no other way out but to fight. Wakanda will not leave their land, and they are completely justified in staying.

You let out a sigh, trying to think. And then an absurd idea strikes you.

- What if the land was bought? - you ask suddenly. Bucky looks at you with a raised eyebrow in confusion.

- We literally have less than $500...

- The scam, Bucky! - you exclaim, smiling. - We'll get more than five hundred dollars with those gold bars.

Bucky laughs, but then he realizes your expression.

- My God, are you serious? - he asks incredulously, and you nod. - Child, we don't even have the money yet! And we don't even know if we're going to get it. On top of everything else, the army will send troops to the area in a few days. We simply can't help them!

You don't answer Bucky, because you are too busy thinking about the whole plan.  Bucky looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

- I need a paper and pen please. - You ask him, and he hurries to look for the items in the room.

When he hands you the objects, you turn toward the table next to the chair you are sitting on, and start writing down the plan as you explain everything to Bucky.

- If we do this right, we don't need to put anyone in danger. Especially the Wakanda people. - You say and Bucky nods slightly. - I really hope Tony Stark agrees to help us, or I'm going to need someone who looks a lot like a feudal lord.

Bucky laughs and picks up the plan sheet. He lets out a sigh and looks at you proudly.

- Let's do this, kid.

You don't tell Steve about your plan. Bucky doesn't like to talk about his past, and he thinks that this operation is something that only disrespects you and him. So he asks you not to mention anything to Steve, that he would find a way to tell him about it. You feel that they are distant lately, but you don't mention anything.

You have to go to Saint Denis, to pay Tony Stark a visit, so you leave after lunch. You'd like to kiss Wanda before you go, but she's not at the camp, and you figure she's still in Rhodes with Natasha.

It doesn't take that long to get to town, you quickly realize that your mare is quite sturdy and can run for a long time.

Now that you are in town, you need to find a way to find Tony Stark. The only place you know that has information on everyone is the saloons. 

So you spend much of your afternoon pulling conversations with strangers and buying them drinks, while trying to find as much information as possible. Finally, while you are at a card table surrounded by well-dressed drunks, a man tells you that Stark lives in a mansion at the northern end of town. You say a polite goodbye after he describes the house, and then you leave the saloon in the direction of the place.

You figure that the guards standing in front of the gate, and scattered all over the entrance area will not respond to an outsider's request to see their boss, so you go around the house, looking for a way to get in without being seen.

You find a ledge in the wall, and scale with some difficulty, but finally enter. Then you walk around with your head down, and enter the house through one of the windows.

You have never been in a mansion before, but you imagine that they are all as beautiful as this one. The floor was so shiny that you could see your reflection in it, and you suppressed the urge to let out an impressed hiss.

Finding the stairs to the second floor, shortly after ducking behind a couch when I heard a maid walk by, you went upstairs.

You had to look through many empty rooms before you found Stark's.

Opening the door carefully, you frowned with confusion at the image you found. Tony was sitting with his legs spread on the floor in front of his bed. Many bottles of drinks surrounded him.

He raised his gaze to you as you entered, and let out a dry laugh.

- Are you here to kill me? - he asked, clearly drunk, and then laughed again. 

- This is sad. - You commented with a light sarcastic tone, closing the door as you entered the room.

You walked toward the closets, looking for something for Tony to wear. You threw a set of the most comfortable clothes you could find on his bed.

Then you walked to the bathroom suite, and filled a metal pot with water. 

- Sorry about that, Tony. But I just don't have the time. - You told him before you poured the water over his head.

He let out a mixed exclamation of anger and surprise, and sank his face into his hands. You put the bowl on the floor, and stooped down beside Tony.

- Did that sober you up enough, or do I need to get more water? - you asked, and Tony just flashed you his middle finger, eliciting a laugh from you. You stood up, looking around the room, amazed at the number of items there. You were going through the books on the bookshelf when Tony finally finished dressing after he had gotten up complaining of a headache.

- What the hell are you doing here? - he asked as he approached you, taking the book from your hand and putting it back on the shelf.

- You treat your friends very badly. - You sneer and he lets out a laugh, turning in the opposite direction toward the room's exit. You follow him through the house to the lower level, where he leads you into the living room, and you sit in one of the armchairs while Tony pours a drink for you, and water for himself.

- To what do I owe the honor of your visit? - He asks with a slight irony as he sits down on the sofa.

- I need your help with something. - you say. - But I would also like to know if everything is okay with you.

Tony seems really surprised that you would ask him that. He rests his legs on the living room table and assumes a lost look.

- Everything is fucking great. - He replies sarcastically. You frown, and he looks like he is going to cry at any moment. - I live in a house with twelve rooms. I have employees at my disposal twenty-four hours a day. Everything is just fine.

- Tony.

- No. - He interrupts. - I don't want your pity.

You sigh, crossing your arms and placing your legs lying on the table next to theirs.

- I don't pity you, Stark. - you say. - I was going to tell you to have a little self-respect and stop sinking to the bottom.

He laughs lightly, and you follow him. You fall silent for a moment, and you assume a serious expression.

- This is about your father, isn't it? 

Tony's gaze is focused on one point in the room, as if he is not really there at all. But he nods slightly. You wait until he is ready to speak.

- I don't... My father and I, we didn't get along very well. - He confesses, looking down at his lap. - We had different opinions about many things. I never wanted his legacy. And then he died, and all his responsibilities fell to me. 

- This isn't about you assuming his business, is it? - you ask after a moment. Tony laughs humorlessly.

- No. - He confesses, and when he speaks again, thick tears stream down his face. - I just miss him.

Tony wipes away his own tears as they fall, apologizing. But then he sobs, and you get up, and throw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging him tight. 

- Damn, I'm sorry. - he says when you part, several minutes later. - I am a complete mess.

You nod in disagreement.

- Stop it, Tony. You don't have to apologize for your grief. - You tell him, and then put your hands on his shoulders, and give him a smile of mixed amusement and sarcasm. - But if I see you drown yourself in booze again, I'm going to punch you in the mouth, okay?

Tony laughs, hugging you one last time. He then gets up and asks one of his employees to prepare dinner for you both. 

He beckons you to follow him to the table.

- You still haven't told me why you are here. - He says without sounding accusatory, just curious, while pouring you some wine. 

- I need your help with a job. - You say. - I need you to pretend to be interested in buying some land for me. 

- Maybe this is a good time for me to tell you that I am bankrupt. - He says, and you let out a laugh. He seems surprised by your reaction.

- Yeah, I heard. - You say. - People talk more than they should when they are drunk in saloons.

Tony laughs, agreeing with a wry nod. Two servants enter the room next, and serve you both your dinner. When they leave, and Tony sees your face toward the plate, he lets out a chuckle.

- Sorry, is this not appropriate for your refined palate? - He mocks, and you take one of the cutlery to poke at the food that has been placed in front of you.

- I don't mean to be rude. - you say. - But this doesn't look like food.

- This dish costs almost a thousand dollars.

- That's exactly why you're bankrupt. - You joke, making Tony laugh. 

- It's called Caviar, by the way. - he says, eating some of the food. - You will hate it.

You laugh, and push your plate slightly forward. Fortunately, there were also other options you liked.

- Now tell me exactly what you want me to do. - He says after you finish putting some deer meat and mashed potatoes on your plate.

You explain to Tony that you need him to open a purchase order for the land in the New Elizabeth reservation area. He needs to prolong the negotiation as long as possible, until you have the scam money. You tell him what the Wapiti and Wakanda people went through there, but you don't mention Bucky. And when you finish, Tony drinks some wine.

When he nods in agreement, you let out a sigh of relief. And he laughs at your expression, but raises his hand to the table, holding yours.

You sleep in one of the rooms of the mansion, the bed is extremely soft. And then you are surprised that Tony is up bright and early the next day, excited to help you with your plan. He puts on his best clothes, and as you say good-bye at the front door, he tells you that he will keep in touch by correspondence about the negotiations, but that you should visit him as soon as you can to buy the land. You tell him that you intend to continue visiting him even after this scam, and he hugs you before you get on your horse.

Riding back to camp, you miss Wanda. You think you would like to share a large bed with her. And you feel your cheeks flush when you think about what this implies. How far away you were in your relationship. You realize that the next time you lie down with Wanda, you will most likely not sleep at all.

- Jesus, you're making that face. - You hear Pietro sneering while you are playing cards.He is sitting in front of you, while you are sitting at one of the camp tables. 

- I'm not making any faces. - You retort, looking at your cards. Pietro chuckles.

- You can't even hide it when you're thinking about Wanda. - He teases.

You had arrived at the camp a few hours ago, and when you realized that Wanda was still away with Carol and Nat, you accepted Pietro's request to play. You had also talked to Bucky about the reserve plan just before you sat down to play.

Maybe you were too distracted, and now Pietro was teasing you.

- I'm thinking about my next move. - You hit back.

- On the game or on Wanda?

- God, Pietro. - You grumble blushing as you kick him under the table. 

Pietro just laughs, and you play again in silence. When you win for the third time, you feel someone covering your eyes with their hands.

- Take a guess. - whispers a voice in your ear that you know well. You smile, raising your hands to Wanda's on your face.

- I think it' s the prettiest girl in camp. - You play along and hear her shyly laugh as she lowers her hands to your shoulders and kisses you on the cheek.

- Who's winning? - Wanda asks and you try not to mind her touch on your shoulders. She begins to massage them lightly and you ignore the shivering in your body. 

You turn your head back slightly to look at Wanda, but she turns around and sits on your lap. You suddenly feel very aware of her presence, and try not to blush so much. The position warms your body, but you say nothing.

- You know very well that I can't beat Y/N. - Pietro grumbles, leaning his elbow on the table and his face in his hand. Wanda imitates her brother's gesture, and this causes her butt to bend over your lap, and suddenly it's hard for you to breathe normally.

- Play with me then. - She says to Pietro in a tone of defiance and playfulness. Pietro shrugs, and begins to deal the card between the two of you. You rest your head on Wanda's shoulder, watching the game, as you move your hands up to rest on her lap, hugging her.

Wanda is a good player, you watch them play in silence. And then Nat joins you next, looking tired.

- By the way, how was your work? - you ask.

- Fucking boring. - Nat mutters, looking at Pietro's cards as he observes the table. Wanda let out a giggle at her answer.

- At least we have a hint. - Wanda said a moment later, and Nat nodded in agreement, and then laid her head against the table.

- What hint? - asked Pietro, buying a card from the table.

You signaled a move to Wanda by raising your hand quickly to her set, and she smiled.

- A load of moonshiner leaving in two days. - Wanda answers Pietro after following the move you showed her. - We will follow and find the breach to steal them.

- This is cheating. - muttered Pietro watching you help Wanda again. You laugh, taking your hand away from her cards. 

A few moments later, Wanda wins the game. Pietro lets out a disgruntled grumble, and Nat laughs at his expression. But then he lets out a loud exclamation as if he has remembered something.

- Girls, I completely forgot about the bear bet. - He tells you, and you roll your eyes playfully.

- We tied, Pietro. - reminded Wanda, but Pietro just shook his head in denial, a playful smile on his lips.

- That doesn't break the bet. - He says. - One wish for each. 

- That doesn't make any sense. - Nat commented humorously, but she seemed interested in where this story was going. - Please wish him to stay in silence for two weeks.

You and Wanda laughed at the idea, but Pietro was contemplative.

- I think it would be fair if we each got a wish from the other two. - He said with mischief in his eyes. You knew he would find a way to make very good use of it. 

- That's fine with me. - You agreed, shrugging your shoulders, it wasn't as if you'd thought of anything. Wanda then nodded.

Pietro seemed to get excited, and slapped the table lightly afterwards. 

- Great! I want you two to handle all my chores for next week. - he declares, and Wanda lets out a dissatisfied sigh. You roll your eyes, and then say:

- You are so predictable, Pietro. - You comment. - My request to you is that you take over Wanda's chores for the next month. 

Pietro looks shocked, and Nat laughs. Wanda turns her head to give you a little smile, and then turns to Pietro.

- And mine is for you to take over the monthly Y/N duties. - She says, and Pietro looks really annoyed that he didn't see that coming. You, Nat and Wanda laugh at his reaction.

- Plot should be against the rules. - He says angrily as he gets up and walks out toward his own tent.

Nat gets up next, stretching.

- You two are all hugs and cuddles, aren't you?  - She teases you about your position, but you and Wanda just giggle. She then leaves with a smile.

You lean back against the chair as Wanda turns in your lap, her legs splayed out to the side, allowing you to see her face.

- How are you? - you ask as you twirl your arms around her and intertwine your hands around her waist to hug her. Wanda smiled, leaving one hand on your forearm and one on your neck, her fingers playing with the hair on the back of your neck.

- I miss you. - She says, ignoring your question. Her eyes sparkle with something that means something else, and makes you swallow dryly.

- I'm right here. - You joke breathlessly.

- I miss touching you. - She confesses softly before she brings your mouths together. Her tongue caresses yours with slowness and sensuality, making your whole body tremble. 

You kiss like this for a few minutes, and then Wanda breaks the kiss, but keeps your foreheads together. You are both breathless as your mouths part. You think about saying something, but your mind is completely blank. And then Wanda is brushing her lips shallowly against yours again, as if deciding whether to kiss you again. She licks her lips, and this makes her tongue rub against your mouth because of the closeness, and you let out a low moan.

- God, keep it PG. - You and Wanda are startled as a voice sounds mockingly from beside you. Wanda sinks her face into your neck, you can't tell if she is embarrassed that she was caught or if she is trying to calm down. You look at who is talking, and find Carol with a suggestive look in her eyes. - I hate to be a bother, girls, but I need to steal Y/N away for a little while.

You let out a sigh, and from the look on Carol's face, you know what you are talking about. The blonde nods her head for you to follow her, and walks off in the direction she has pointed. 

You raise your hands along Wanda's back, stroking her tenderly to get her attention. Wanda looks up at you next, a dark gleam in her eyes, mesmerizing you, but a mischievous smile on her lips.

- I have to go. - You mumble, clearly preferring to stay. 

- Go before I kiss you again. - She says, looking down at your lips. - If I do, you're not going anywhere.

You let out a breathless laugh, and Wanda stands up. She smiles at you before you walk over to Carol's tent.

- What happened? - you ask as soon as you enter the place. Carol is waiting for you with a cigarette on her lips, standing beside you as she looks around the camp.

- Bucky told me about your little adventure. - She says without looking at you. You can't tell if she is angry, but you are surprised that she knows. You put your hands in your pockets while you wait for her to speak again. - I've been thinking about the whole situation. Do you have any idea how Killmonger even found you?

- No. - You shrug. - He died before you could tell me.

Carol takes a long drag on her cigarette before speaking.

- I'll find out if he was following us. - She says. - I wouldn't want to end up bringing other people to us.

You nod knowing that she is referring to the feds and bounty hunters.

- You want me to come along, right?

- You'd rather stay with your wife? - Carol replies with a teasing tone and a sideways smile. You can feel your cheeks flush, but your tone of voice is also provocative when you say:

- Wouldn't you?

Carol lets out a giggle, and throws the cigarette on the floor, putting it out with her boot. Then she turns to you.

- I'd better ride alone. - She says. - I'll attract less attention. And besides, Killmonger looked only for you, so maybe it's better that you are not seen investigating.

You nod, and Carol pats you on your back before walking off in the direction of the horses. 

You return your own tent, and Bucky enters at the back, carrying a letter in his hands.

- This is for you, kid. - He says, handing you the paper. - It's from Tony Stark.

You thank him and hurry to open it. 

- He made it. - You tell Bucky as you finish reading. - We have a week until the buyer arrives to meet with Tony.

Bucky nods, looking anxious. You place a hand on his shoulder.

- It'll work out, okay? We'll do it together. - You assure him. He gives you a short smile, and a pat on the arm before leaving.

You throw yourself on your bed then lie down as you stare up at the ceiling of the tent. You feel slightly anxious. You trust Stark, and you will have to be content with that. The other alternative was to die in a gunfight defending that territory. 

You end up napping for a few hours. When you wake up, it is very late at night. You walk out of your tent, and many huts are closed, indicating that much of the camp is asleep.

You walk over to the campfire area, where Nat and Bruce are sitting by the fire. 

- Hey. - You greet them with a smile, which they respond to. 

- Hey, sweetheart. - Nat says. - Do you want to sit down?

You shrug, looking around. You are cold, but feel that you are interrupting them both.

- Not really. - You deny it and your heart races slightly when you notice Wanda several meters away, staring at the lake. - I-I'm going to...

- You can go. - Nat cuts you off with a smile and an insinuating look. You give an embarrassed chuckle, and walk away in the direction of the lake.

You hug your jacket against your body as you walk toward Wanda. She is right on the edge of the camp area, and when you are arriving, you make sure to make your steps louder so that it doesn't startle her. And then she turns her head slightly to the side, and gives you a shy smile, before looking away again towards the lake.

- Someone is pensive. - You comment with a slight playfulness in your tone as you stop beside her. Wanda is quick to entwine her arm in yours and suddenly you forget that you were cold.

- Take a good look over there. - She says without looking away from the front. - Can you see the swans?

You squint your eyes to see through the darkness, and at first you see nothing. But then, several meters from where you stand, floating majestically on the water are swans. And they are white like the moon, and completely hypnotize you.

- They are beautiful. - You remark. - Do you remember the last time we saw swans, Wanda? When we were little...

- And we ran away to get married. - She interrupts with a giggle. - Oh yes, I remember well. - You laughed as Wanda turned to you. - We ran away to get married in secret and Bucky and Steve followed us for two days. 

You laughed as you remembered.

- We were, what, fourteen? - you ask, and Wanda agreed with a nod as she laughed. - Wow, that sounds like a lifetime ago.

- Yes. - She says looking at the lake. - I think I would do it again.

- What? - you ask with a smile. - Run away?

Wanda turns to you, her eyes glowing tenderly.

- I would run away again with you. 

Your heart skips a beat, but you hold her gaze and smile

- Where would we go? - You find yourself asking as Wanda brings your bodies closer together, and rests her forehead against yours.

- I'd go anywhere with you. - she declares.

- Wow, you are loaded with declarations of love today, Wands. - You sneer breathlessly, Wanda laughs and hugs your neck, burying her face in your hair. You wrap your arms around her waist.

- I'm glad that we don't have to run anymore. That I... I can love you without worrying.

Wanda lets out a sigh against your neck, and then looks up at you with misty eyes, a shy smile on her lips.

- I love you. - she confesses. - And I'm happy with you.

You nod slightly, your heart racing, and then kiss her. Tenderly and softly, just savoring her taste. And when you part, you remain holding hands as you watch the swans migrate away.

[mybabygirlelsa]

So I was watching Frozen II the other day and the whole confusion about the voice visited again. Like, who's calling Elsa? Is it Ahtohallan? Her mom? Her own self? Jennifer Lee (I think) said that the voice belongs to Iduna, but that doesn't sit well with me. And then I remembered that I've written my own theory about it, which why not share it with you? 😂

It's probably very inaccurate based on the things we know, but it was really fun to write!

Hope you enjoy!

(A/N: italics are extracts of the book "Frozen II: The Junior Novel")

The Fifth Spirit

Very long ago, in a time no man can recall, humans weren't the dominant species on Earth. There were no rules, yet neither freewill.

Or so it was thought.

People lived under nature's laws -they interacted with it, respected it greatly but mostly feared it. Prophecies about nature's rage were foolishly believed and seriously taken into account.

But it wasn't nature they truly feared -it was its magic.

Humans never succeeded to understand magic -it was considered unreachable. Only a small group of people that repeatedly refused to take part in the "vision of civilization" decided to co- exist with the magical elements and spirits of nature. These people were the first human inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest and the ancestors of the future indigenous Northuldra.

As time went on, people grew more and more arrogant, thought they were capable of everything and gradually stopped believing in nature's power. They began sacrificing and falsely taking advantage of nature's goods. Seeing their audacity getting out of hand, the spirits of air, fire, water and earth sought help from Ahtohallan, the mythical river said to hold all the answers.

The then- small glacier, foreseeing the consequences of people's hauteur, sacrificed a part of herself and sculpted a female figure, with hair and skin as white and pale as freshly fallen snow and eyes as blue as shining ice. With her ancient magic, the glacier gave life to the woman, who was none other than the Fifth Spirit.

According to scanty myths, the woman had achieved great and extraordinary accomplishments in her previous life and the magical river had collected and kept her soul to be used for greater things when the right time would arrive. However, those speculations never came to be confirmed.

Nonetheless, why she was there and why she was chosen, that she never came to know. And a part of her wondered if she ever would.

People's conceit kept growing in an astonishingly fast pace while the Fifth Spirit was given a duty -to connect humans and the magic of nature, as well as protect the only home she would ever know in her existence; the Enchanted Forest.

Apart from her duty, she was also given a power no human had known and no spirit had possessed -the ability to create ice and snow, to control and bring winter. After connecting with the other elements, she was also gifted and given powers to represent all four spirits, such as wings, the ability to strike lightning and control the water, as well as the power to cause earthquakes.

The Fifth Spirit was sent to humans after fully mastering her powers and understanding her purpose. Under the guidance of the unseen deity, people began having faith in nature and underlying yet great respect.

However, this was not an easy task to achieve. It took her almost a hundred years to restore people's faith and trust -but she successfully accomplished it.

Each passing day her power grew significantly, and so did her fondness for her creator. To show her gratitude, she used her unprecedented power and expanded the length and height of her beloved glacier, making Ahtohallan an extension of her powers and mostly, herself.

To honour her child, Ahtohallan assigned to her a new task; she had to visit a chosen woman's dream and recite a poem that would soon be heard from every young Northuldra mother's lips -the lullaby of Ahtohallan. The old glacier also gifted her with a beautiful staff that could summon power and turn into a crystal necklace when unneeded.

Having already mentioned the lullaby, it's important to subjoin the meaning behind a specific lyric -"dive down deep into her sound, but not too far or you'll be drowned". The youthful spirit created a sheer drop that ended to an ice sheet to keep there the utmost truth, for only the most selfless souls would be fearless enough to ignore the warning, as well as brave enough to dive into the abyss. That, if anyone would ever manage to reach the frozen river. For the mighty Water Nokk -who shared a very special bond with the Fifth Spirit- guarded her secrets.

For the very start of her existence -as well as in the meantime of her mission to restore people's faith-, the Fifth Spirit would travel across the Earth to bring winter and joy to the children. She was the very first winter spirit  -Jack Frost made his appearance a lot later. Legend has it that she was the Snow Queen the Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen, spoke about in his fairytale. However, unseen as she was, this theory had never had a requisite basis and was never further explained.

As time went on, the forlorn deity was assigned tasks that aimed for specific, chosen people freeing their potential, resulting their lifework to be considered admirable, and almost magical. All spirits had agreed there were and there would be humans that deserved to be known for their own "magic". The Fifth Spirit helped people accomplish dreams and bring visions to life, as she was the only spirit that had the power to transform, painlessly get into one's head to guide and/or give advice and take a human form of any needed age as well as gender when one's achievement was considered of great difficulty. She even had the power to seek a specific ability she didn't possess -which would later on be declared hers- so her efforts could be crowned with success. 

She could do anything. There was only one thing she was unable to do; feel.

She was emotionless.

Even her fondness for her mother was taken away after the second century passed. It was thought that if she was given the ability to feel, she would show mercy and compassion and her unlimited patience would spare.

So forsaken she remained. Nameless and isolated, unseen and walked through by people, having to serve her cause on her own, merely meeting with the other spirits on specific occasions.

One of them was on the first day of spring every five years, when everything was blooming, blossoming and growing. A great part of the Enchanted Forest was her deed -she expanded its length and grew more trees, more grass, bloomed more flowers, added more bushes, a small river -where the Earth Giants would be sleeping in the future- that floated into a waterfall which ended at a sheer drop, a pit full of black rocks later known as the Lost Caverns. Because of this, the spirits gave her the appellation "The Reincarnation of Mother Nature" -the only name she was ever given.

For most of her existence -as long as she was waiting  for her next task to be handed-, she lived close to her glacier. Away from any kind of life, on her own, in her Ice Palace of memories. She spent so many years close to it, that her fondness returned and she wanted to praise her treasured river.

So she gifted her her voice.

Her act was pure and sincere and played a significant role in the Enchanted Forest's and spirit's future. The iconic and quintessential call would later on be heard, and then, much later, known worldwide as one of the most famous melodies of the Gregorian Chant -the "Dies Irae".

During one of her missions, on the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest, while she was making sure the protector of people, the famous warrior of old, Aren, had achieved his life-changing goal, something changed. Aren was a little bit like her, a protector who served people as his cause. She was protecting the Forest and was serving both nature and humans. Yet a big difference grew the gap between them; he was loved and surrounded by people.

He was feeling.

She wasn't.

Occasionally, she would roam the night skies to witness a life she had never known, to witness how people felt.

And remind herself how she couldn't.

She had been told to distance herself from sunlight, as if she was a single snowflake that would melt when she met with sun's light. She had been told humans were weak, mischievous and unpredictable creatures. She had been told she was greater and superior. Yet she caught herself longing to spend a day warm in the sun, longing to see people dancing...

Longing to feel.

And so she did. Painfully, her as cold and hard as ice heart melted and its first beats sounded like heavy raindrops hitting the dry soil loudly.

She had never felt so alive. She had never... felt.

However, her accidental action required a cost to be paid.

The same, previously mentioned scanty myths, referred to another woman's soul, which had been collected and kept by Ahtohallan. She was certain she would be the one given the great purpose and when she wasn't, her soul never reached the heavens as she swore revenge on the young soul of the Fifth Spirit. Hiding her true intentions, in Ahtohallan's chambers she remained, nurturing the young spirit like mother Ahtohallan did.

Once she learned the youthful deity had broken the laws she had been restrained from ignoring, the resentful soul brought her bitter foe to the Enchanted Forest, secretly from Ahtohallan, and for the first time in forever, she allowed her to feel.

While she burned her.

The Fifth Spirit was set on fire and was obliged to feel her skin melting, like snow on a bright, sunny day. It was unimaginably painful. Her haunting call, that was later on used by a young Northuldra girl, tore the sky apart and meant only one thing;

"Help me".

If it wasn't for Ahtohallan's and Water Nokk's intervention, the Fifth Spirit would have vanished. The evil soul was banished to the Lost Caverns, a place with no way out, where one would be at their lowest emotional point from that day forward. However, before she was sent away, the hateful soul put a curse on the traumatized spirit -when she failed to serve her cause, she would be burned. If the mistreating soul still existed, that no one ever confirmed.

After her adored water horse healed her with the water's curative properties, the Fifth Spirit swore not to feel again, and accepted the prohibition of getting any near the land where the future kingdom of Arendelle would come to be.

Thousands of years passed and the unseen spirit's heart had gotten colder than ice, preventing her from repeating her mistake. Ahtohallan and the other spirits mourned for her, for she was not who she had once been, and made great efforts to change the past's design, intentionally forgetting what had been done was unchangeable.

Despite her change -and most likely because of it-, the Fifth Spirit had dedicated most of her attention to her precious forest. Seeing this, Ahtohallan assigned her the task of looking after a young Northuldra girl, so the deity could be surrounded by her forest.

The Fifth Spirit and the young Northuldra were somehow connected. Iduna, the young Northuldra, would occasionally hear the eerie melody of the spirit, since the deity would "sing to those who hear". The girl would also be seen playing around with Gale, the feisty Wind Spirit. Iduna was connected with nature in an unexplainable way -she was different and destined for great things; she was chosen.

One day, ships arrived at the entrance to the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest -wooden ships full of people who were determined to create a home for themselves near the water. Soon, the kingdom of Arendelle came to be and the Fifth Spirit knew what that meant.

The newcomers were welcomed by the Northuldra's ruler when he met with their king on a cliff as the sun set. The leaders firmly shook hands at this meeting, which was seen by others only in hazy silhouette. Yet the deity saw everything clearly.

To demonstrate their goodwill and friendship, the Arendellians built a mighty dam in the Enchanted Forest. They placed it on the river that flowed into the Arenfjord, the deep blue body of water upon which Arendelle Castle had been built. The dam connected all the lands and made it easier for the Northuldra and their reindeer to roam. King Runeard, the leader of Arendelle, offered it to the Northuldra as a symbol of peace and cooperation between the two groups. But the powerful spirit could see past his facade.

When the dam was complete, the Arendellians threw a great celebration. Northuldra from all over the land gathered at the base of the dam to mingle and feast with the Arendellians. The Fifth Spirit tried to warn the indigenous tribe about the trickery behind the kindness for months but no one listened -they were all busy welcoming and celebrating with the frenemies.

The poor spirit could see how it would all end and attempted to warn young Iduna. But it was too late -the battle had already begun.

Arendelle had turned out to be harmful once again. And as the lush beauty of her beloved forest was being destroyed, as the chaos continued beneath her, she cried, with her plangent call shaking the trees and crumbling the ground.

Her cry echoed as another voice synchronized with it -a pleading for help. Her eyes spotted Iduna holding a young boy in her embrace, as the girl called for help in agony. The Fifth Spirit, overcome with grief of centuries, wailed her eerie melody, mourning for her forest.

As well as for herself.

Her end was near and she was about to meet her tragic fate. She had failed to protect the Forest. She had failed to serve her cause -and the curse continued.

The Wind Spirit heard her call and took the children to safe ground. But it was the only one who listened.

Overcome with rage, the Fifth Spirit cried sorrowfully one last time before a mist, as thick and impenetrable as stone, enveloped the forest, as a promise she would forever guard it from foreigners. Then she disappeared, since people had stopped listening.

However, this was not her end. The Wind Spirit carried the remaining bits of her body to the devastated glacier that grieved over her lost daughter for days, in the meantime causing great parts of herself to collapse. The Water Spirit, overwhelmed with pain as well, told the river about the girl the Fifth Spirit was assigned to look after. Ahtohallan understood the importance of the young Northuldra's deed and finally let the soul of the deity find its new body, knowing she would not return the same.

The Fifth Spirit's soul travelled across the skies and on the Northern Lights above Arendelle it remained, looking after young Iduna, for she was destined to carry in her womb the reincarnation of the lost spirit.

And so, the spirits waited -waited for the Fifth Spirit to be reborn and return to where she belonged.

They waited for her to rise again.

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Forever & Always: Stage 1 - Denial | Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Witch!Reader; Platonic Avengers x Reader

Words: A little less than 2.2k words

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Grief (Loss of Parent), Depression, Anxiety, Angst, & Fluff (more to be added) If you see something that I missed don't be afraid to tell me.

Synopsis: Y/N “Birdy” (nicknamed by her family), comes from a long line of witches and warlocks, living her days at the New Avengers Compound, alongside her friends. The Avengers are part of her family and her family is always welcome to the compound. Things for once seemed to be going well now that all was right from the attack on Thanos, everyone was alive, all was forgiven, friendships were thriving, that all ended when Birdy’s brother came calling with sad news, their mother had suddenly passed. These are the stages of grief Birdy faces, through the loss of her best friend, her protector, her mother.

Info: The Sebastian edit in the moodboard is done by @nix-akimbo and the dividers are done by @firefly-graphics. A big thank you too @sllooney for beta editing this, all mistakes are mine. I've had this finished for over a week I just hadn't had the heart to post, but I had my laptop out so here it is! I do not give permission for this to be translated or to be posted on other sites without my written permission.

Forever & Always Masterlist | My Masterlist

Baby wails rang through the kitchen as Birdy sat on the floor with her back against the cabinet. She felt exhausted as she tried to calm her speeding heart, her husband was gone on a mission, and she has been left to take care of the 6 month old twins on her own.

Lyra and Grant had been crying since they had woken up this morning at the crack of dawn and it was now noon. Birdy had tried feeding them, rocking them, tummy time, nothing was working. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Getting up from the floor after making sure the twins were still safe in their playpen in the corner, they both just looked at her red faced, breaking her heart. Birdy made her way to the chalkboard picking up a piece of chalk, writing; Mama HELP! I need you please, I’m having a crisis and I don’t know what to do.

Dramatic? Yes. Effective? Apparently so, because the words 'on my way' appeared immediately under her message. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Birdy grabbed the pitcher of Orange Blood tea out of the fridge and the shortbread cookies from the jar where she had been hiding them from her husband.

The back door to the kitchen opened and the older Lyra walked in, met by the sounds of her grandbabies wailing their little hearts out. Birdy’s mother looked at her with a soft smile, taking in her daughter's exhausted frame. Her hair was pulled off her face in a ponytail, oversized yoga pants hung loosely on her hips, with a tank and cardigan to match. Birdy looked just about done, but still so beautiful in her mother’s eyes.

“My little Birdy, sit down, I got this.” The mother moved behind her daughter and gently steered her to the breakfast nook, while she went in the direction of the playpen.

“Oh my little cherubs, what seems to be the matter?” Speaking to the babies in a soft voice, the grandmother grabbed Grant and brought him over to his mother, who quickly cradled the bundle of joy in her arms, while she returned for her namesake, cradling her closely, shushing her softly. It didn’t do much but as Lyra sat at the breakfast nook across from her daughter she began to rock the baby in her arms, Birdy copying her mother’s actions, brushing her finger down Grant’s sweet button nose.

“Let’s see… your belly's full, you are clean, warm, nothing seems to be off, I think your Mumma has just forgotten the most important thing, a lullaby!” Birdy looked at her mother with wide eyes, while she simply just smiled at her. “When you were a baby you could be quite fussy as well and the only way to get you to settle down was for me to sing a little lullaby. So I think what these two need is a little diddy and they’ll be right as rain.” Birdy’s mother began to hum one of the ever so familiar songs from her childhood. A song to ease her worries as her mother held her.

“I'm rocking you to sleep, the water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart. You'll always be a part of me.” both babies had stopped crying and were now yawning, holding onto the fingers of the women holding them.

“Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream. And dream how wonderful your life will be. Someday your child may cry and if you sing this lullaby, then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.” Little Lyra had drifted off into slumberland, while Grant had gone quiet, his eyes fighting hard to stay open but as Birdy continued to brush her pointer finger down his nose, it was becoming a losing battle.

“Someday we'll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on. They never die, that’s how you and I will be.” Both babies asleep, Birdy looked up at her mother in relief but stopped when she saw the sad look in her familiar eyes.

“Birdy since you were just a Babe in my arms I dreamed this moment over and over again, it never varied until now. I need you to know that I love you so much and I’m so very proud of you, proud of the woman you have become. You are a superhero, not many mothers out there can say their child is a superhero.” it felt as if her heart had dropped to the pit of Birdy’s stomach as she watched her mother put Little Lyra back in the playpen with a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sharing this moment with you now because I know it’s going to come true for you, but I need you to remember something for me...” Lyra placed her hand on her daughter's cheek, brushing the single tear away. “Remember you were loved by me. That you made my life a happy one, and there is no tragedy in that.” Kissing Birdy on the forehead? Lyra moved towards the back door, her daughter getting up as carefully as possible, hoping not to wake the babies.

“Don’t go please, I love you!”

With a smile on her face Lyra blew a kiss to her daughter and then was out the door.

Birdy gasped sitting up. Wanda, falling off of her, being forced from the comfortable place where she had laid her head on Birdy’s stomach to watch the Breakfast Club in the blanket fort that Peter and Morgan had assembled earlier in the day. The fort took up over half of the New Avengers main living room and sat in front of the television. It's where the duo, Peter and Morgan had hung out and watched cartoons together, waiting for budget meetings and debriefings for the week to be over.

Wanda and Birdy had quickly fallen in love with the fort, and with Peter and Morgan for inviting them inside to help keep the little girl company until her parents were done working for the day. When Morgan had left they had decided to leave it up for a John Hughes movie marathon. Bucky and Steve had come to join the youngest Avengers in watching the films.

All eyes had moved from Breakfast Club to a gasping Birdy. Wanda’s hand was quick to grab hers and give it a reassuring squeeze, trying to pull her from her frantic daze. Birdy’s eyes started to scan the cozy space, seeing that the popcorn was all gone and Peter had stopped mid way to the Jelly Beans, now peering at her in worry. Bucky was on his side looking from her to Steve, as he put his hand on her shoulder, trying to give comfort.

“I’ll go get Mr. Barton and Miss Natasha!” Peter’s quick reflexes had him out of the fort in seconds, without knocking anything down, before anyone could say anything.

Birdy was trying so hard to figure out what was going on. She knew where she was, at the compound. She knew it was Friday, movie nights with Peter and Wanda, and that she had fallen asleep at the end of Weird Science, her least favorite John Hughes movie.

She had been dreaming, yet it felt so real. But she wasn’t carrying a child and she wasn’t even dating anyone, so it made no sense. Also her mother just leaving like that? Strange. The more Birdy thought on the dream the more her head started to hurt. Someone calling her name pulled her from her thoughts and looking up Clint stood crouched above her.

“Hey Kiddo, are you back with us?” Clint held out his hand to Birdy, which she gladly took, letting go of Wanda’s, and allowing the archer to pull her up off the blanketed floor. Natasha stood at the entrance of the fort in her pajamas, looking in, watching as Clint hugged the younger woman. Right away Natasha knew something was off.

“Yeah, I’m sorry you guys, I had the strangest dream and it-” Birdy’s face was scrunched up in almost confusion, as she stared off behind Clint’s shoulder. “-It felt so real.” Her voice died off as Clint hugged her close to him.

“It wasn’t a vision was it?” Natasha moved inside the blanket fort, her question was more of one of concern. Every time that Birdy had a vision, something bad was about to happen or come their way, like the time she had envisioned the meeting with General Ross, the next day the team was torn in two, because of the Sokovia Accords. Birdy just shook her head, it wasn’t a vision that she knew of.

“Well if it was just a dream, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Wanda and Peter, why don’t you go make chamomile tea. Steve go adjust the temperature? I think it’s a little warm. Bucky do whatever it is you want to do.” Natasha waved the former assassin off, “Clint and I are going to just sit in here with you until you feel better.” Sitting on the loveseat, Natasha patted the empty cushion next to her as Clint guided Birdy to sit next to her.

Before anyone could do what the Black Widow demanded, a gust of wind blew through knocking many of the blankets to the ground. Bucky was up on his feet in flash as none of the windows were open. This gust of wind was not ordinary. Steve moved to the opening of the fort with a pillow in front of him, peeking out into the living room.

In front of the windows facing the vast forestry surrounding the compound, stood Pietro Maximoff and Jasper Valentine, the pair of them holding on to Birdy’s older brother Rory. The trio looked disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and their hair all over the place. Steve felt his body relax when he recognized them, dropping the pillow to the ground. Scoffing, Jasper let go of the warlock first, and made his way forward, hugging Steve.

“Rory Sellar, what have I told you about just portaling unannounced into the compound?” Steve let go of Jasper before he made his way to Pietro, hugging the twin of his teammate, then to Rory, who just cleared his throat and looked to the ground. Pietro shook his head, getting Steve’s attention, immediately the scolding died in Steve’s throat.

“Steve, is Birdy awake?” Rory’s voice cracked as Natasha and Bucky looked out. Bucky gave a slight wave of his hand at the newcomers, while Natasha tilted her head in the direction of the fort. The group made their way inside the massive fort following behind Natasha. Birdy, jumping up from the couch at the sight of her older brother, rushed to give him a hug. Rory took his little sister in his arms, hugging her tightly, as he kissed her on the crown of her forehead.

“I just had the weirdest dream…” Birdy pulled away as she heard Rory sniffle, looking up at him in concern.

“Birdy I’m so sorry, she wouldn’t let me portal to come get you, she said she didn’t want you to see her that way.” Birdy’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I begged her to let me come get you, but she said no, and Dad agreed.” Rory started to let the tears fall.

“Rory, you aren’t making any sense, what is going on?” Pietro was by the warlock's side in an instant, his hand on his shoulder, looking at Wanda, who gasped after reading her twin brother's mind. Wanda looked away with tears in her eyes, hand covering her mouth in shock and sadness.

“What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?” Thousands of questions swam through her head, as her brother grabbed her hand, holding it as Natasha made her way to the younger girl's side.

“It’s mom Birdy, she’s gone.” tears started to build up behind the girl's eyes at her brother's words. Shaking her head, Birdy felt as if the room dropped ten degrees in that moment. “She has gone to be with souls in the great beyond.”

Before anyone knew it Birdy was falling to knees, a cry erupted from her mouth, “No!”

Birdy screamed while the power in the building started to flicker as the walls started to shake. Natasha, at Birdy’s side, pulled her to her side. Steve looked around realizing they needed to get the young witch calmed down or they were going to be in trouble.

“Rory you need to get her out of here, the building isn’t going to be able to handle this sort of shaking.” As he spoke part of the stucco from the ceiling fell on his shoulder.

Rory reached down holding onto his little sister's shoulder and looked back at Clint, “I’ll be right back for you.” In a flash, through a portal, the trio were gone. As fast the shaking and flickering lights had started they had stopped. The rest of the group stood there staring at the empty spot that once was Natasha, Rory and Birdy, feeling a sudden emptiness with the news they had heard. Things were about to change and it was out of their control.

[kawaii-kozume]

Okeii Ao3 saw it first but here's Miss Missing You, quasi-sequal to One Day(The Only Butterflies Left).

Rated T. CWs: Recovery, Insanity, Complicated Relationships, Effects of Tartarus

Don't panic, no, not yet

I know I'm the one you want to forget

Cue all the love to leave my heart

It's time for me to fall apart

Sunlight through trees, glittering over water and the sound of laughter. It's a quiet kind of laughter. An intimate sound, one that Nico recalls too perfectly. Blond curls and warm skin wrap around him and then he wakes up.

The ache that accompanies morning grogginess is not foreign to him anymore. It's been a year since he walked away from Will Solace in the Big House sitting room. A year since he felt like his mind was split into two. A year since he lost himself to whispering voices and scorching heat.

The first month he stayed locked away under the Big House in the isolated, sterile room. Mr. D's presence pushed the heat away but the voices still rattled around his brain and the nightmares didn't slow down. Two months in, Mr. D began visiting Nico during the day, usually bringing a cup of tea with him. Slowly, ever so slowly, Nico began talking. He started from the beginning, or what he could remember of it. He told the god about his childhood, his mother and Bianca, his time in the youth army and the fear of his own existence. His fear of being found out and forcing it down, way down.

Then he moved on to talking about Bianca. How she was his role model, his lifeline and his protector. How he was so angry when she died. The anger that felt like it would never go away. He talked about how lonely he was. How he was afraid of himself again, except this time it wasn't just being afraid to be outed but being afraid of who he was beyond the human world.

He talked about Minos, and how the bitter old ghost manipulated his way around Nico's mind. How he dug into that anger and rooted around, finding the perfect way to make Nico do his bidding. He talked about how he hated Minos but also owed him for teaching him his abilities and powers he would otherwise not learn.

He talked about Luke's offer, being found and scared and how he was so close to accepting it because of his anger and fear. By this point, three months had passed and Nico now cried at every single thing. He would apologize to Dionysus who only reassured him.

After the Titan war came the period where Nico thought he'd accepted that Bianca would be gone forever. He told Dionysus things he'd never uttered to a soul, living or dead. He confessed how a few times he nearly took his own life and how he heard whispers from the Underworld. How those whispers became his only reason to live and how exhausted he got when he learned Bianca was gone. He confessed he vaporized souls that didn't deserve it in his following tantrum and how he spent days in the fields, hoping to lose his own mind.

He told Dionysus that by the time he found Hazel, he was no longer a person. Just a tool, a puppet doing as prophecy commanded and this is where Dionysus told him:

"Whether a prophecy dictates and event or not, humans often find ways to alter it slightly. I can't say for sure, but I have a feeling you weren't supposed to find Hazel Levesque."

Upon hearing this, Nico shut down. That was the end of their meeting that day and it would be a week for him to speak again.

Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flame

Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight

Let the fire breathe me back to life

Baby you were my picket fence

I miss missing you, now and then

Chlorine kissed, summer skin

At five months, Nico ventured into camp again. Early in the morning, before sunrise, when there weren't many campers awake. He inhaled the cold air and, as if it were lead instead of oxygen, it brought him to his knees. Tears starting down his face, he tried to keep quiet and pull himself back together.

For the first time in a year, he only heard silence.

He sat there on his knees until the sun peeked over the hills of strawberry fields and even a moment after.

"Nico?" The voice that haunted his dreams spoke his name and Nico realized he overstayed his time outside the Big House…for now.

"Sorry, Will. I was just…fresh air." Nico replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. Will looked as gorgeous as he remembered him. His blond hair was a little longer now, enough to be pinned back, and illuminated by morning rays. His blue eyes had the same uncertainty in them as the last time they stood face to face and Nico wanted to break. He wanted to beg and plead and apologize until he couldn't breathe, but instead he just looked back into those beautiful eyes.

"Are you okay? Do you need-" Will started and Nico stood.

"I'm okay, I'm here. I really was just wanting fresh air." Nico replied. He wanted to reach out and he noticed Will's fingers twitch.

"Okay, good." Will said. Nico's heart tripped.

"I haven't forgotten someday." Nico stated and turned back to the Big House. Seeing Will renewed him. Just like the sunlight and morning air gave his body energy, Will, still at camp - still willing to look at him - gave his heart the kick to keep processing.

And that's what he was doing anyways. Every meeting with Mr. D was processing grief. It was mourning the loss of his mother, his sister and his friends. It was mourning the loss of the child he never got to be, the loss of a life without murder and war.

Sometimes before it gets better

The darkness gets bigger

The person that you'd take a bullet for

is the one behind the trigger

And it was hard. It was exhausting and difficult and some days all he wanted to do was not engage with Dionysus because that was easier. It was easier to descend into madness than it was to talk about the ugliest, mangled parts of him.

"I hate this." Nico said. "I hate sharing my thoughts and feelings and I hate reliving it and I hate it all. I'd rather go mad."

"And leave Solace to forever wonder about you?"

And that shut Nico up like a slap in the face.

"I want to be clear that you should not be getting better for him." Dionysus said, picking up the table Nico pushed away in his fit. "You will not survive if the only reason you're trying to heal is for him."

"Why should I get better then? If it's not to have a life with him, then there's no point in living." Nico replied and yeah, it was a little juvenile but it was true for him, especially in that moment.

"Because you will end up making him something he's not. You will put too many expectations on him and he will fail to meet them because he is human. He is fallible." Dionysus sat down across from Nico and laid his piercing gaze on him. "You need to decide that life is worth living, you are worth saving, beyond William Solace. If you cannot, you will hurt yourself and find your way back to me."

Nico stayed silent and Dionysus repositioned so he was comfortable. It seemed he was going to stay until Nico processed his words.

"I don't know if I can." Nico finally whispered. "There's nothing about me that's worth saving."

That was a turning point in the care plan. The first six months was focused on grief and trauma and now Mr. D decided it was time to look at self-worth and maintenance.

"You may never stop having nightmares." Dionysus told him one day. "You may never stop hearing the voices. What you can do, though, is use tricks to see if they're real or not. Record your surroundings, take a picture, ask a close friend if they're experiencing what you are. These are all options to double check that what you experience are, in fact, hallucinations."

Nico stayed silent.

"I don't know if you've realized it, but your nightmares are no longer violent. Your room is still put together when you wake up. When was the last time you had a flashback?"

Nico shrugged. "I don't know."

"Two months ago." Dionysus stated. Nico stared in disbelief. There was no way it was two months.

"If you continue this way, you'll be able to safely go back to camp activities." Dionysus said before leaving that day.

Oh, we're fading fast

I miss missing you, now and then

Making eyes at this husk, around my heart

"So, let's talk." Dionysus says. Nico sits across from him in the living room where he broke his own heart a year ago and happily nibbles on toast with jam on it.

"Why are you getting better?"

Nico swallows his bite.

"A couple reasons. One, to make my family proud of me. Even if they don't see what I do, I know that they would be. Two, I'm tired of being sick and I want to live, like everyone else does. And three, I really want my boyfriend back." Nico looks Mr. D in the eyes with his chin out in almost defiance.

"What happens when you start hearing the voices?" Dionysus asks.

"I can record and play it back. If it's on the tape, then its not the voices. If it is the voices, I can ignore them or tell them to go away."

"And the flashbacks?"

"Find a way to ground myself, if that doesn't work, come to you or call a crisis line."

"And how often are we meeting?"

"Twice a week and if I start missing them, I move back into the Big House."

"Good. I've done what I can at this point. Remember to take it one day at a time and to be kind to yourself. This is a change and it may be a little difficult at first."

With that, Nico is dismissed to his cabin. He leaves the Big House and steps into the sunlight. Campers are moving around to their various activities and Nico just walks through the people standing by and watching him. There are new faces around and some he remembers but he ignores them in favor of reaching his cabin. His safehouse.

Once he gets there, he wanders around and opens the dark curtains. Dust is layered on the windowsills, his bedside table and even a layer on his bed. The first thing he notices is the distinct lack of Will’s things. It made sense as nobody’s been here in a year and at some point he would need his items back, but the lack of familiar things still struck Nico hard. The air started feeling stale but he paused, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before returning to his original task. He opened a window and went to start dusting everything.

About an hour into fixing his cabin back up, there’s a knock on his door. He stops where he’s at and goes to check who could be coming to him. On the other side of the door was Will. Nico’s breath catches and he leans against the door frame.

“Hey.” He says. Will scans him up and down and says nothing. “If we wanna make this work, we’re gonna have to talk.”

Will still says nothing but he walks up to Nico and opens his arms. Nico holds back tears as he wraps his arms around Will’s waist.

“I missed you.” Will says.

“Me too.” Nico replies. “I’m not perfect, I’m going to struggle with this the rest of my life, but I’m far better than where I was a year ago. And I know it’s gonna be hard, but please trust me and don’t look at me like I’m fragile.”

“Nico, just let me hold you. We’ll work everything out and talk about boundaries in a couple minutes. I’m just so happy we can still work it out.” Will says and Nico shuts the door to his cabin still holding Will.

Baby you were my picket fence

I miss missing you, now and then

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Next part of the weird Thorin-story that comes to me while I swim

Dear friends…Here I am again with another part of a story I had not planned to write and that has taken on a life of its own…

I love you, don’t hate me…

(Warning: this is less formal and a lot more…ridiculous than the last parts)

(It is “in-universe”, but barely, because I have no idea of the universe per se…)

She took the bowls to the river to rinse them in the cold waters that glittered and glimmered in the dimming light; the way the last sun of the day reflected in the ever-changing blue hues reminded her of the man she was travelling with.

It came as a very small surprise to her that her old nan had been mostly right about the dwarves, and she was more inclined to believe her post-mortem, now that she had seen a dwarf lord, no a future king, with her own eyes.

She harboured not the inkling of a doubt in her mind that he would indeed be king one day; there was something so noble in his demeanour and deportment that she found it easy enough to have faith in him. He was clearly born to lead, just as she had been born to serve.

A pang of pain washed over her heart like the cold water submerged her numb hands; she wished she could tell her grandmother about the magical creature she had come upon in the woods. How nan would have loved to hear about a man whose eyes held all the mystery of endless tunnels and the deep longing of the open sea at the same time; she would have laughed and nodded her fragile, little head, saying that kneeling was easy to those who will stand up for you as a protector rather than as an executioner.

“You shall find your master one day.” Old nan used to exclaim every time her young granddaughter had been particularly wilful or disobedient, running wild in the forest or toying around with the ingredients the old woman had collected during long hours.

She had loved her nan, but she had not believed that anyone would ever manage to curb her spirit and bind it to their will. “There are things between heaven and earth, child, that you cannot even fathom. Creatures of great strength, beings of profound wisdom, and lives full of beauty and suffering; one day, you’ll find your place in the grand design and you shall bow to its magnitude.”

At this moment, her nan’s words revealed their true and full meaning. She had believed that walking to the chapel every day would be her life’s work, but she had been wrong. All her life, she had but been waiting for the quest to begin. A quest for truth and for freedom.

His cloak was still around her shoulders and she regretted having to take it off to slip back into her own, sinfully rumpled, clothes. Checking if he was looking at her, she lifted his garment to her face and inhaled.

It smelled of woodsmoke, pine needles and of something darker that she could not identify, for she had not known any man before. Not like that. She had not smelled their skin and thought about pressing her lips against theirs; she had spent her youth with an old woman and her adulthood alone.

“Woman, there are hills in the distance. Can we reach them before night falls?” He called out to her and she dropped the garment, feeling caught and embarrassed.

“No, but we should reach them soon after. Why?” She responded, returning to where he stood, both feet firmly planted on a rocky outcrop cutting through the grass like a blade.

“We could spend the night in one of the caves in the rocks.” He cocked one eyebrow as if that had been a very obvious thing to consider.

Approaching the point where he stood, already holding on to her cart, she hesitated.

“We cannot.” Her feet stopped moving entirely as they bumped against the edge of the rock.

“I have never gone beyond this point. This is where the wilderness starts.” She whispered, pulling a small, needle-like dagger from her pocket and planting it forcefully in her forearm. While her blood dripped onto the grass, she said a quiet prayer.

“What are you doing?” He asked, interested and slightly alarmed to see her bleed onto the floor.

“My blood is bound to this earth, Master Dwarf, I want the ground to remember me and to bring me home if ever I lose my way.” She sighed before adding with a tremor in her voice: “Many have not come back after stepping past this stone. This is where the world of fire and mystery starts.”

He looked at her with calm interest. “We are getting ever closer to where my kin lives.” He declared, an unspoken question in his eyes. “Aye.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

“Are you afeared?” – “Aye.” She repeated, but with a heaving sigh, she lifted her foot onto the ledge. His hand closed around her elbow as he pulled her up and took his cloak from her cold, trembling hands. “You may turn back now; I won’t resent you.”

She laughed in a low, rumbling voice. “I cannot turn back, Master Thorin, I have pledged my service to you. Your story is part of my blood now, inscribed forever in this earth you might never tread upon again. Maybe, it always has. Maybe, old nan knew what would happen long before I was born.”

He had to admire her blind faith. She seemed so brave in her belief that all that happened was meant to be. Closing his hand around the shells buried in his pocket, he decided to believe her.

“Why can we not take refuge in the caves?” He then asked as they made their way through the rougher terrain. Sometimes, he had to steady her as she tottered and stumbled because she could not see the small boulders jutting out of the ground like gravestones; she never complained or pulled away from him and the smile she wore in the semi-penumbra was full of faith and affection.

“You cannot breach the integrity of the rock and delve into it without being given permission. It is rude and bad manners lead to bad accidents.” She shrugged.

“Another teaching of old nan?” He commented without irony or ill-will. “Everything beyond that rock”, she pointed to the ledge they had just passed, “is alive. We are now in the realm of the old souls where the trees have voices and the stones are stubborn. Listen, Master Dwarf.” She murmured and he was surprised, again, at the simplicity with which she accepted these things.

Indeed, he could feel the rock underneath the thin layer of greenery thrum with anticipation; it had been a long time since last someone had come this way.

“The stone bears you no ill will, woman.” He heard himself say in a low, gentle voice. Her tread was so light that it felt like a caress to the neglected ground; or, maybe, it was the inherent reverence she seemed to hold for everything around her that swayed the unmoving to support her insecure, flailing steps as well as they could.

“I give thanks to its gracious acceptance then.” She smiled, kneeling on the ground immediately and pressing both her hands to it in silent prayer.

This, he thought, was why she had survived. She had believed herself out of the reach of what she called “magic wilderness”, but he was almost certain that every element surrounding her had conspired to keep her safe.

“I have a sister.” Why did he tell her those things? “Oh, really? Is she beautiful?” She looked up.

“No, she’s a terrible…yes, she’s…She’s my sister. I guess she’s alright. Others find her beautiful.” He laughed and her smile broadened while the ground hummed in agreement with the joy they were spreading.

“She has those two terrible boys. I wonder…Would you teach them?” He was not usually this open, protecting his family and their secrets with fierce jealousy, but a part of him wanted her warm light of affection and respect to shine on his kin as much as on himself.

“Teach them what? What could a simple maiden like me teach princes?” She scoffed.

Maiden? Had she really told him that? She could have died of embarrassment.

Thankfully, he did not pick up on it, instead pinching the bridge of his impressive nose and groaning: “Respect…and how to swim.”

“Love shines brighter than respect, Master Thorin, but it doesn’t cancel it out. I’ve respected nan a great deal, but I loved her more. You are their uncle first and their king second, I’m afraid.” She smiled and he was struck by the truth in her words. It had been a silly remark, only half-serious, but her earnest tone chased away all teasing in his voice as he agreed with her.

“Keep that gorgeous head over the waterline and you’ll be fine.” She then picked up on the second part of his sentence seamlessly with a cheeky wink. “That much, I had figured out.”

They neared the looming rock now, pocked with caves and alcoves, and her steps slowed.

“Trust me, we are quite welcome.” He reassured her when he saw her hesitate; her hand slid very willingly into his own as he led her up a narrow ledge, leaving the cart at the foot of the small rise.

“I’ve told you so much about my sorry, lonesome life. Tell me more about yours if you please.” She asked as they entered a spacious cave. “We are on our way to rejoin my kin in Ered Luin.” He started, his face growing hard and unforgiving for a second in the light of the small fire he was coaxing to life. “One day, I shall reclaim Erebor though.”

She gasped. Another childhood story seemed to bleed from her befuddled mind into the real world surrounding her. “The lonely mountain…is real?” She asked, her breath bated.

“Of course it is real. What do you mean? What do you know about it?” He looked up sharply.

She had poured over every map in the small library of her town, she had even asked for express permission to enter the one in the richer, more sophisticated neighbouring town and she had questioned every travelling merchant she had encountered, but nobody had ever seen that fabled mountain. Many had even scoffed and laughed at her, shooing her away like an unruly child with too many questions and not enough common sense.

“Oh no, you were telling me a story, Master Dwarf.” She shook her head, undecided if she should tell him about a family secret; after all, since she had met him, many things she had imagined being mere fiction and a dash of conjecture had turned out to be completely true. Maybe, he would know more about those things and old mysteries would finally be resolved.

“As I said, I shall reclaim Erebor and lead my people home…after the bane is dead.”

“Which bane?” She cradled her head in her hands, elbows resting on her drawn-up knees and listened to him talk. He had a deep and melodic voice, the voice of century-old pride and eternity-spanning strength, and she liked the way it soothed the gnawing fear inside of her guts.

The sound of his voice was a presence in itself, reassuring and as solid as the creature it spilled forth from; it conveyed confidence and inspired trust. It was the voice of a king, booming in alarm and lulling in peaceful narration.

“The dragon, Smaug.” He uttered with disdain and barely held-back anger. “A dragon? Really?” She shook her head, dazed beyond words; dragons were even less likely to exist than dwarves.

“Yes, really. What other creatures do you not believe in?” He seemed partially impatient and partially amused; when his face split into a dazzling grin though, she realised that he was mostly entertained by her apparent naïveté.

“Are there really creatures made of pure light who can talk to trees and float over the ground?”

“His name is Thranduil and he’s a pain in the ass. Excuse the language, he’s a treacherous, disloyal coward, but yes, he is fair. As in…he shines with a cold, hard light. He rides an elk and some say that his soul can travel in the form of a white cow…or deer…or something stupid like that.” Thorin grumbled, heat flushing his face upon thinking of that distasteful creature he was describing. She laughed, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, her laughter echoing deep within the lonely stones encasing them. “Amazing!” She wheezed, clapping her hands and, had he hated Thranduil just a smidgen less, he would have been tempted to take her to the dark woods that cursed king lived in just to see her marvel at him.

That leaf-muncher riding other grass-eating dumb beasts did not deserve her starry-eyed wonder, even though, Thorin didn’t doubt that for one instant, the king of dark trees would have loved that.

She would also enjoy the forest, at least the way it had once been; she would love the different berries and herbs one could find galore in the shade of the trees that did indeed whisper of their dark secrets.

“Oh, I hope you won’t be disheartened by the long walk. There’s so many people I want you to meet: my darned nephews, my fiery sister…Ori, he sure loves a good story. If you start telling him your stories, he’ll follow you around like a puppy.” Thorin rumbled and she was struck by the love in his voice. These people sounded interesting and she couldn’t wait to meet them.

He inspected the fading burns and muttered: “Óin will want the recipe for this salve. If you manage to charm the old boy, and I’m sure you will, he might trade some of his own tinctures and potions with you.”

“Oh, I’d love to share my recipes with him. I’m sure there’s a dire need for it…with furnaces and dragons and such things.” She exclaimed, completely disregarding the gravity of the subject.

“Do you think they’d want to meet me though? I am just a human and far from the best of them.” Suddenly, she was overcome by a sense of dread and insecurity. She had never left her valley and the surrounding area; she would strike them as a silly girl who knew nothing of the world they had been born and raised in.

“You’re charming and you bring skills and knowledge we’d greatly profit from…but yes, we’re a private people and there will be dwarves who will not take to you kindly. I shall do my best to protect you.” He would not lie to her and she was thankful for his candid words.

“I have been poor and outcast all my life, I am not afraid of being shunned. I am used to a life in the shadows surrounding the bright lights.” She gave him a warm smile that was meant to be reassuring; she did not want him to trouble himself on her behalf.

“There will be none of that under my rule.” He sounded definitive, clearly, the last word was spoken on the matter and she dared not contradict him.

“Will you tell me of your prophecy?” His voice was soft now, enchanting, coaxing, seductive.

“Will you tell me of your mountain?” She shot back in the same melting tone.

“Tell me what you know of it first.” He challenged her and she blew up her cheeks in an effort to remember the exact words, handed down from generation to generation in her family. From daughter to daughter, words spoken in kitchens over steaming cups of herbal brew and at bedsides when the fire burned low.

“When my nan’s mother was but a babe in arms, or was it her grandmother, I don’t recall…either way, a traveller came to them.” She rolled her eyes, adding in a narrator-tone “Travellers coming seems to be a theme in our family history”.

“So, a traveller came and told them a great treasure had been received in the Lonely Mountain.”

“The Arkenstone.” Thorin exploded, shocked and outraged, apparently, she had touched upon another one of his well-guarded and jealously kept secrets.

“No, it didn’t sound like it was a stone. It was said that – after desolation and ruin, after being lost and found, upon returning home through the fire to lead his people – he, whoever he is, will be the “spring”.”

She paused, rubbing her index along her lower lip slowly to focus her mind.

“Go on…” He encouraged her. “I do not know if “spring” is meant in the sense of the season of rebirth or of the source of something good…or even as the coil that will catapult the world into the future, but he shall be the “spring”.”

She shrugged. “It’s been, oh so many years, and no doubt, the story has been tweaked beyond recognition or sense, but there it is. We’ve only ever heard of that place once: as the crib of a miracle.”

She shivered in the flickering light of the dying embers and when he took her hand, it was icy cold. “It’s a real place…I was born there, but we had to leave when the dragon came. It has vast halls, once filled with laughter and light, and…a treasure.” He tried to hold up his end of the bargain.

“You said that twice.” She teased. “What?” He frowned.

“You said that you have lived there and then you said there was a treasure. I understood you the first time.” She grinned when a treacherous blush stole into his cheeks. He was a warrior and a leader, he was not used to shameless flattery from females and he did not know how to react.

“I meant an actual treasure. Gold and gems.” He stammered, lost for words.

“I meant an actual treasure too, silver and marble.” She smiled, waving aside his embarrassment.

“Did you believe in that prophecy?” He then asked, to change the subject.

“Oh, Master Dwarf, human lives are short, but we believe in cycles. We are born, we live, we die, but everything and everyone comes back somehow. What has been lost, will be found. What has left, might well return. Nan used to say when one is at a loss, one should go back to where it ended, because chances are, that’s exactly where it will start again.”

Giving his hand a slight squeeze, she whispered: “You will face your dragon again, you will see your home again, you will have the chance to walk the same path backwards and find new solutions to old problems. This is not the end, it is but another beginning.”

She looked like an old, wise woman herself now, despite the youth of her face and the softness of her body, for her eyes seemed timeless. How many cycles had those eyes and the knowledge within them seen?

“Where is old nan now?” He asked. “Buried under the chapel where you found me. Where I found you.” Her smile was unfathomable and deep, as if the world held no secrets for her anymore, and he was in awe of her once again.

“You are cold.” He said in a hushed voice when she shivered again. He remembered how she had plunged into the cold water for his dinner and suspected that she had never really dried.

“I am fine.” She crept a little closer to the dying fire. “I don’t want to leave you here to fetch more wood.” He murmured as if to himself and she was quick to promise that she was completely comfortable the way she was. She had known cold and darkness before and she was not afraid of it.

“Will you teach my nephews to swim then?” He prompted her again, just to see her warm smile. She thought them children, but to her, they would look like full-grown men already.

“I could not bear to see such beautiful hair turned into this.” She pointed at the matted, tangled mass of her own hair hanging in a wild nest from her head.

“Their hair is pitiful either way. You might want to brush, should I give you privacy?” He offered, turning around and handing her a comb.

She wondered where he had taken it from, but she suspected that he brushed his own luscious locks obsessively every time her head was turned away, because there was no way his hair looked like this on its own.

He could hear the comb dragging through her hair and the sweet smell of fresh water filled the air, a note of citrus and wild flowers dancing on the waves the scent conjured up, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from turning around.

“You know you can watch me brush my hair? I don’t make a secret out of it.” She laughed after a moment and he did not need more coaxing or inviting than that; he spun around immediately, his eyes riveted on her slow movements.

She felt slightly awkward with him staring at her as if she was about to undress in a slow, salacious way; more than ever, she was convinced that he brushed his hair in secret in a kind of semi-erotic ritual. His hair was of course also something that was quite bewitching.

She didn’t question the fact that she seemingly found everything about him enchanting, literally from the top of his head down to the sturdy boots he was pulling off now.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get cold feet.” She warned, mainly because her own felt frozen stiff by now, but he just gave a rumbling chuckle that seemed to be echoed by the walls.

“I am…not.” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over her cold, frail hand slowly to show her that he was much better than her at keeping his body temperature stable.

“So…have you always been a herb witch?” He asked, not letting go of her hand. For some reason, he just couldn’t bear when she fell into silence. He was so full of questions; old nan had never told her that dwarves were such nosy creatures.

“What? I am not. I am a potter by trade. I started making the vessels for my nan’s tinctures, but when…after the plague, there was no need for vases and plates and so I made money how I could.” I needed to eat, she thought, and my nan’s knowledge of the world around her saved my life.

“A potter?” He sounded taken aback. “Yes, Master Thorin, I make fragile things to be used just like you make durable, strong things to be used. We are what we make, it seems.”

He cocked one eyebrow: “You don’t strike me as particularly fragile.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, we learn a trade and we work in it, but ultimately, we must come back to our blood and the responsibility we have towards it, don’t we?”

He nodded slowly. One of her hands felt warm now, encased as it was in his huge paw, while the other one was still numb with cold.

For one moment, she debated if this was the moment to be prideful, but then she just extracted her hand from his, shoving it into the gap between her tunic and her skin.

He looked positively hurt by her action.

“I am sorry.” He mumbled. “Why? For what?” She asked as she extended her other hand to him; he just stared at it in confusion. “Could you warm this one up as well, please, Master Dwarf?”

It was mortifying having to ask, but he seemed puzzled. “Oh, I thought I had crossed a line by holding your hand for so long…I…you snatched it away to tuck it away in a safe place…kind of…wiping it…I don’t know.” He confessed.

She didn’t know if she should laugh or frown at that kind of stupidity. “You are very warm.” She simply said, sighing with relief when he took her other hand and rubbed it slowly.

“You are clearly not.” He replied, his strong hands closing around hers up to the wrist. She felt like crawling into him and staying there.

Had nan known about this as well? Had she known that a dwarf lord was like a furnace, radiating light and heat in to the confined space she was huddled up in? The almost dead fire before her seemed a ridiculous, puny thing compared to him.

The hand in her tunic was growing cold again and she proceeded to another sneaky switch, which made him chuckle under his breath. “Scoot in closer?” He offered.

It was inappropriate. He was a king-to-be, he was a creature she had not believed existed in the first place, he was wholly too virile and intimidating, but when he extended his arm she pressed against his ribs with fervent eagerness.

“You’re frozen…and your clothes are wet. How are they wet?” He exclaimed as his arm settled around her shoulders. She had thrown them too carelessly onto the bank and they had soaked up some water, she thought, but she would not tell him about her own stupidity for fear of making him worry more than she was worthy of.

“Enough is enough. I’ll go get some new wood and fetch some dry clothes from the cart. You get out of these rags.” He rumbled, but when he tried to get up, she slung her arm around his waist in a fit of childish petulance.

“I’ll be back soon.” He draped his own cloak around her. “No, you’ll be cold. Take it.” She cried out, extending his garment to him. “Stone and metal hold heat better than mud.” He smiled gently and exited the cavern.

His sudden absence turned the cave into a grave and she scrambled out of her wet clothes with frantic urgency, spreading them on the rocks at the back of the grotto.

“Oh stone, let me hear those heavy footfalls so I know I’m not alone.” She begged, lying down on the floor, his cloak underneath her skin and half-draped across her shivering body.

He found nothing but his own clothes and, in his haste to get back to her, he grabbed a tunic of his and hurried up to the cave again.

She was lying on the floor and for a second, he thought that she might have fainted or worse, but when she sat up, a smile of welcome blossomed on her face that made his heart wince.

His cloak had slipped and he realised that she was back in her chemise, her naked body clearly fathomable under the thin layer of fabric. “I could only find my own tunic, I am, again, so sorry.” He mumbled, walking over to her slowly. She did not flinch or move back; her whole body seemed to lean towards his approaching silhouette instead.

While he threw some twigs onto the fire, begging it to flare into life again for her sake, he couldn’t help observing the way her breasts lifted and sank as she shrugged into his tunic, sighing in an expression of pleasure that was cruelly uncalled-for in her present state of hypothermia.

“Tell me more about your kin, Master Dwarf. Tell me about the people I shall meet so I shall know them when I see them.” She begged, extending her arms to make him sit down by her side.

“Are you still cold?” He asked, alarmed, as he settled next to her. She slipped back under his arm like a child, feeling frail and shivering, but sighing contentedly.

“I shall be warm in a minute. Look at the fire, Master Dwarf, what beautiful things we could fashion if we had the tools and the time.” She murmured, fatigue making her voice grow slow and melting, like honey dripping onto his senses.

He was aware of her slowly heating up flesh and her tiny hand resting innocently on his thigh as she was snuggled against him the way his nephews had when they had been but tiny little things. Only, he had never felt the fire pass from the hearth in front of him into his bloodstream when his nephews had sought solace or protection under his wing. He had not wondered about the way he might feel or smell when they had been this close to his body.

“I think that you’ll like Balin. I really do. He’s kind and smart; he’ll love the stories about your nan. Ah, you’ll get to meet Dwalin as well, he’s…probably my best friend. He’s solid, but he’s…there’s a reason he’s my best friend. We’re…less courteous than we should be.” Thorin started to honour her wish. “You’re lovely, stop it.” She mumbled hazily.

He thought about her words and about the mussel shells he still kept in his pocket. She was right, if he had the tools and the time, he would make something beautiful for her; she deserved something frivolous and gorgeous for all the help and devoted service she had offered him.

His eyes fell on her feet that were extended away from him and he was aghast to see them take a blueish hue. She was not falling asleep; she was succumbing to the surrounding cold still.

“Close in, oh stone, protect her.” He whispered, but the rock around him seemed to mock his words. “Close in, oh son of stone, son of ore, protect her.” Voices thrummed through the unmoving walls, and so he did.

Gathering her up like a bundle of empty clothes, he pulled her into his lap, leaning back against the stone wall and held her there.

Looking down, he saw the naked expanse of her legs which made him feel like an idiot for not having thought of that before. With one hand, he bent her legs at the knee and tucked them safely into the hollow he had created by spreading his own.

She lay flush against him now, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own and, when he pulled his cloak over her gently, his hand brushed the smooth skin of her unclothed thigh.

Just a hand-breadth higher he would have brushed against other parts, secret parts, that were much like his dinner: firmly closed now, but if heated just right, revealing a glittering pearl.

This was a very inopportune thought to have, he berated himself, as his body heated up against his will, making her press against him with ever more fervour.

A maiden, she had used that word, and despite being clearly of age, he wondered if she had meant that in the most allusive and perversely seductive of senses.

When had that plague ravaged her village? When had old nan died? How long had she been alone?

It didn’t matter. She would not consider sacrificing that most precious of prizes to one such as him…She had not denied him anything this far, he remembered, not her time, not her care, not her boundless courage.

Not this though, he curbed his own fanciful imagination, never this. He would not ask anything of her, not before he could show himself worthy of all the things she had given up for his benefit this far.

Her hand snaked up and came to rest just above his heart. “Lovely.” She repeated in a low, mumbling voice.

And, as she was warm and clearly asleep now, he permitted himself the tiny, tortureous indulgence of pressing his lips for one brief moment against her head, resting against his shoulder as if it belonged there. Maybe…it did.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Hollow Crown from Phil’s point of view is nice to think about. Like imagine.

You’re a dad of two kids. You’re currently residing in this small town called Dirtmouth. It once was a part of the fallen kingdom of L’Manberg, but all there is really is a few people now. You open up a small shop that sells charms and it’s semi-successful. People come in and you go and continue life like this.

You also get some books on L’Manberg’s history to have something to do. Might as well know more about the place you’re living in now. It’s not much but you have enough to somewhat put the pieces together.

Then your sons go and tell you that they want to go down the kingdom to explore and to get to the Colosseum of Fools. Understandably, you’re panicking over this. You’ve seen a lot of travelers go in and never come back out. And those who do, go babble on about how it’s cursed.

(You felt the pull more than once. How it whispers to you on how it can take away all his problems and protect your children. You refuse every time.)

And now your sons want to go in it.

Your own sons.

After some arguing and some compromises, you let them go, on the condition that they write to you and that they visit every few days. Yet you still feel intense worry for them. Intense big worry for them.

Then, not even an hour later, a kid drops in. Probably sixteen or seventeen from appearance but they drop in. They don’t really respond to your attempts at conversation but hey, they might be shy.

(It’s a kid. Where are his parents? Who’s watching them?)

You realize that the kid is going to L’Manberg and impulsively, you tell them to watch over your sons. You give him some change in return and he accepts. You have no idea why you did that.

A few days later, both of your sons come back from the kingdom and tell you about a Ravine and an abandoned town on stilts. They talk about the people they met. A three wanderers and how Tommy got in a fight with one of them. A lady who carries a needle and throws it with precision. And of a traveler who’s about Tommy’s age and how Tommy is trying to befriend him despite the weird vibes he gives off.

Turns out the kid actually did met your sons. You appreciate this and hope that he’ll keep on doing this. It’s a little worrying that your eldest child told you that the kid has no parents though. It makes you regret giving the kid that. You can’t really take it back now though.

Your kids depart once again and a few days later you see the kid again. They seem to got a different cloak and seem faster now. You thank him and show him your shop and offer some items you have on sale.

The kid buys a few of them (Sprintmaster, a shard, and what you think is an egg. You have no idea why he bought the egg.) You wave to him goodbye and the kid looks at you for a moment, before delivering his own stiff version of a wave.

Weird kid. Then again you’ve seen weird people before. No need to be offensive or anything.

You then wait at your shop once more and talked to them. Among the people who passed by was a lady with rainbow hair, claiming to be off to protect those who need her. 

A young man with ginger hair and mapping supplies has also passed by to ask for some ink for his travels. There also seems to be some history books in his bag and you both compared your notes and piece together more of L’Manberg’s history. Eventually he had to leave but he promised to come and visit again at some point.

There has also been two people who passed by. One a bard with a beanie and another, a historian wearing bright colors. The bard reminds you a bit of your eldest son with his chaotic energy and all that. The historian then asks to compare notes with you on L’Manberg and more of the history is revealed. They soon left, saying that they’re looking for the library of L’Manberg. An impossible task, but sometimes the journey is better than the end result.

Your kids come back again, only to be a little bit shaken from their last adventure. They tell you about the City of Tears and about them meeting the three wanderers again along with the kid. This time, your youngest did not go and fight the one with the bandanna but it’s a little hard to focus on fighting when apparently the kid and the wanderer with goggles accidentally got trapped in the Soul Sanctum.

The fucking Soul Sanctum.

(You hate that place. You have heard stories about it from those who came back and they all tell you about how they can hear screams from there. How they distantly saw human experimentation being conducted. It’s terrifying.)

All of them had to go and break into it and apparently when they did find the kid and goggles, they apparently defeated the Soul Master and the kid apparently got magic from his corpse. Disturbing but this kingdom is pretty disturbing.

The story thankfully takes a lighter turn as after a few days of rest, they all talked and gotten along pretty well. The kid as it seems also seemed to be a little bit brighter. A spar between goggles and the kid happen and the kid won. And apparently according to your sons, the kid has also won against the Badlands. Pretty impressive if you think about it.

They leave but not without telling you that they sort adopted the kid as their brother. A bit surprising, but nice to know about.

The kid comes back again and seems to be a bit lighter than usual. He seems to have a brighter look in his eyes and he perks up when you wave at him. He buys things and you thought that was it before the kid gives you a beautiful writing quill. 

He looks at you expectantly and you realize that this is a gift. You’re touched by this and smile a bit. He smiles back and your heart warms a bit at the sight. He waves to you goodbye and goes off to the Stag Station.

Things are slow for a couple of weeks. The map maker visits again and you find that some more people visit. You talk to them and you find them to be pleasant company. Your sons visit, the kid visits. Rinse and repeat.

Your sons visit again, this time the eldest is holding the hand of the kid that you’ve been seeing. They then tell you that this is their new brother and the kid looks so much more brighter than last time. He smiles a bit and goes to hang out with your youngest as you talk to your eldest.

Things then go back into rhythm again. The only thing that was changing that was when the kid one day visits you, and tells you, with the brightest expression on their face and with a shaky yet happy voice that their name is Tubbo. 

The kid comes a lot more often with Tommy and Wilbur. He seems happy with those two. More people start to visit the town. 

For one, the lady with rainbow hair seems to decide that this is her home now, saying that she has protected who she needed to protect but now is currently being told by the kid to be on bed rest after a rather close encounter with an infected. She seemed shaken despite her brushing it off, so you offer some tea and tell her that his door is always open to talk.

The map maker, bard, and historian also came back and also made residence in the town. Apparently the bard, historian, and the kid found L’Manberg’s secret library. Well shit. All of them actually found it. They came back with books they made copies of and you compare more notes and get about almost all of L’Manberg’s history. 

You also notice that they all seem to hate the dark now and panic a bit when it does get dark. There’s some trauma there but all you say is that they can talk to him anytime. You don’t know them that well but you still should comfort them.

Your kids came back but with another kid. Apparently an End Folk kid. You let him stay at your house after some convincing and you’re patient with them. Several days later and you accidentally adopted him. Whoops.

Things seemed to get weird in that week. The kid summoned the vessel of the blood god and then fought said vessel of the blood god. It was weird. Said blood god turns out to be just a vessel and you accidentally became friends with him after talking to him. Well then. He then tells you that the kid fought well and that he actually beaten the actual blood god.

The kid has beaten a god. 

What the fuck.

(Isn’t he like sixteen or seventeen? How did that happen?)

Well then. The kid apparently beaten a god! That’s great! ANd also a bit terrifying but you don’t say that. The potato farmer (what the vessel would like to be remembered as) then decides to make residence in the town.

A blacksmith with red and blue glasses then comes around and asks if this is Dirtmouth. When you said yes, he nodded and asked if he can stay here. You let him and now there’s no excuse for your sword to go dull.

A month has passed again and you grow closer to everyone in the town. A man in goggles also visits but seemed frazzled. Frantically asking for anything on the history of the infection. The historian seemed to know him and gave him access to the books.

By the end of it, he leaves disappointed and panicked. You tried talking to him but he only rushed to the stag station.

Several days passed and then you find that your youngest had almost died at the Colosseum. You panic. You panic so much and your eldest and the kid is crying.

He barely survived the fall and only was saved because of a woman who calls herself the Protector. You thank her and you get your youngest on bedrest after some arguing. You eldest however looks distant. You’re worried about him but before you can say anything, he leaves, saying that he has to do something.

Several more days passed and the kid is frantically pulling on your clothes to come with him, he seemed to be crying. You then find your eldest at the lake and looking at the water a bit too much and talk him out of it. You take him home and the kid stays with you for a couple of days before leaving.

Both of your sons are at home and you and the rest of the residents help them heal. Eventually they do and they start to be a bit like themselves again. You’re eternally relived and think that is the end of your problems before the kid comes back with the three wanderers that your kids talks about.

Turns out bandanna was infected and had to be snapped out of it. They made residence there in order to heal. Though after a couple of days you saw that the guy in the hoodie was slowly bringing things such as flowers and flower pots to the house they’re residing in. Yep. They’re permanent residents now.

The kid- no. Your son, then comes up to you and tells you that there is something he needs to do. If you looks closely, you can see that some parts of him seemed to be void. You aren’t sure what to feel about this.

A month passes and no one has seen your kid. The Badlands, the Protector, the Colosseum, no one, has not seen him. The Protector now goes to the town once a week to ask if anyone has seen him.

Then a week passed and the infection starts to fade away. People wake up and so many things happen at once. The Badlands are whole again, bandanna says that he can’t hear the call anymore, and the Protector confirmed that this is happening everywhere.

Then a guy with chipped armor and eyes with no pupils appears in town and you know. You know from the history books that they’re the hollow knight. Everyone asks if they’ve seen the kid and they sadly replied no.

Another week passes and as everyone heals, you start to think that the kid might be gone. And then you hear a thumping sound is heard and you look outside to see a humongous creature outside.

You were about to fight it only for them to raise their hands in surrender and then turn into the kid. You and your family (because admit it, you adopted all the people in this town) can only stare in shock before hugging him tightly.

This happened in a year. All of this happened in a year and you are glad for it. Your family has gotten a lot bigger and yeah they’re a bit traumatized but they can heal. All of them can heal.

[jonogueira]

Peace

AO3.

Summary:

The Inquisition marches to the Adamant Fortress.

Cullen makes sure Alma comes back alive, and Alma makes sure to let him know when she is back.

TW: none (angst/fluffly)

Notes:

I want to thank @kemvee for being my Beta in this one shot.

Cullen could feel the tension in the air. His skin tingled with anticipation, and his muscles tensioned with the proximity of combat. His body was as ready as it would ever be, but his mind…

He watched her from a distance. She talked to Leliana about things he could only guess. Hawke came to her side and her hardened expression softened for a split second. Carver joined the family reunion and the trio leaned forward, touching each other’s forehead together.

He noticed the sadness and regret in her eyes when she watched them walk away, getting lost in the ocean of people ready to give their lives for a greater cause. To make sure the ones they loved stayed safe.

He envied the soldiers around him.  

He envied them because they could march and fight, battle and die in peace. Knowing that their deaths would be a fair price so the last wisp of their souls would remain inside their lovers’, partner’s, and loved ones’ beating hearts. That they would live a long and happy life. A life with a beautiful future and hope.

He envied them…

But most of all, he felt sorry for them.

He felt sorry for them because he knew exactly what it was they were feeling.

The sense of dread and loss. The impending doom leaving feather-like touches on his overly-sensitive skin.

The lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe… To utter the words his heart wanted to shout into the cold morning air. To curse the sun that rose little by little, bathing the view in front of him with its warm rays and decorated the sky with a breathtaking portrait. Painting everything around in hues of orange and red. Reminding him that in a few hours that hue spread on the ground, sand and walls would instead be the crimson hue of the fresh, hot blood of their enemies, friends, lovers ...

Cullen felt sorry for them… He felt sorry for himself.

When he accepted his role as Commander, he didn’t expect to find her again.  

Her.  

The one to whom he had given his body, his heart, and his soul. To whom he had promised forever until his last breath. The one he left behind without a last goodbye. The one he hurt so deeply that her beautiful, pure heart drowned in sadness and distrust. The one from whom he desperately awaited for forgiveness.

His mind visited the past. His ears heard her whisper his name in that tone that made him feel loved and wanted. His fingers traced the freckles on her heated skin. His nose touched her soft lips to claim them in a chaste kiss. His eyes watered when he saw the hatred in hers.

He lifted his head to look at her. To see the woman she had become. The Mage, the Warrior, the Hero, the Herald, the Inquisitor, the Love of his life. The woman he would love until the end of times. The only one who could break him without any words. The one he would gladly die for that and any other day.

His lips curved into a sad smile, and then it was gone.

Cullen observed Nathaniel gather the last pieces of her armor and approach her. When the Warden started to help her, Cullen found himself making his way through the sea of people. His steps firm on his path and his mind set on his goal. If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He had to make sure she was prepared, even if she dismissed his help. Even if they had to argue, he wouldn’t let her push him away.

He didn’t care that they were surrounded by the Inquisition army. That he was their commander and she was their leader. She had to survive for the future of Thedas… and maybe to argue with him one more time. He would be forever grateful if she graced him with one small smile.

He took the last of her armor in his trembling hands, and their eyes met in a wordless conversation. Not for the last time, he prayed.

She studied his features, and he begged her in silence. Her answer came when she lifted her arm for him to take.

There was quietness between them. Peace that once came when they lay in each other’s arms.  

Cullen’s fingers found every knot. Every forgotten flaw in her armor, and he made sure to correct them. To send her out there prepared for anything and everything. To be protected when he couldn’t be by her side.

The only words in their speechless conversation came from his whispered prayers.

He asked and pleaded. He implored the Maker to keep her alive and safe. To not let any harm come to her. To be able to see her even if it was the last thing he would do. To be by her side when he couldn’t. To be her protector where he had failed. To never abandon her as he had.  

His fingers wavered on the last lace. His tongue tied on his final word. His eyes closed, defeated and hopeless when she looked at him with unreadable emotion in her eyes. His heart stopped when she took a step back from him. His soul died when she spoke her last words to him.

“The Maker abandoned me a long time ago. There is no salvation for the likes of me, Rutherford. May He bring the peace you so desperately seek.”

He watched her once again walk away from him with death as her best and only friend.  

He didn’t pray anymore.

Cullen accepted what she had accepted a long time ago. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to forget about her. To just let her go.

He let his eyes stare into the heavens, and a single tear, filled with all his sorrow, rolled down his face.

–––––––––––––––

Alma felt her knees touch the ground. Her lungs fought for air, and her mind ordered her to breathe. Breathe and forget what had just happened.

She cursed him once, then twice. She was the one who was supposed to stay back. To fight the Nightmare demon and end it all.

She was just so very tired.

Tired of everything. Of all the demands. Of all that was expected of her.

She had to be an example as a Mage. The perfect Hero for her nation. The one blessed by the Maker himself. The leader that would save them all.

Only a few knew the truth.

She was just a woman. A tired, hurt, dying woman.

One that grasped and tried and regretted.

All she wanted was to disappear. To go back to a time when everything was so much simpler. When there were no burned corpses, no spiraling tower, no blighted monsters or demons falling from the skies. No whispers in the back of her mind reminding her that her death was near and everything she still wanted to do were just wishful thoughts.

Things she shouldn’t think about.  

Not think about the fact that she had never learned how to swim. About the family she couldn’t be with. Her beautiful niece who she adored so much. Of how much she loved to sleep outdoors and watch the starry night sky. Recite the recipe she learned to cook with Wynne. The friends she had to part ways with. The family she once wanted to create. A daughter and a son that filled her dreams. The lover that left her behind. Think about the man she wanted to hate but couldn’t stop loving.

She dismissed the hand that tried to help her stand. She was too sensitive. The anchor flared in anger, and her body jolted in pain. She could still see Stroud fighting the demon when the rift closed at last.

She cursed him again and then she thanked him.

She thanked him for his sacrifice. For giving her a chance. A chance to atone for her mistakes. To maybe be able to dream again.

There was shouting and people talking to her. Words her brain wasn’t capable of understanding.

Her eyes prickled with hatred.

For her, for him, for them.

She wanted to damn them all.

She was tired, her body begging to rest… but once again she was denied her simple request.

“Inquisitor… Where is Stroud?”

She balled her fists by her side. Ordered her emotions not to spill through her eyes. She breathed slowly and deeply.

“We will honor his sacrifice and remember how he exemplified the ideal of the Grey Wardens. Even as Corypheus and his servants tried to destroy us all from within...

“The Grey Wardens will join the Inquisition and help with whatever we can.

“In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra called by her side but gave up when Alma looked at her, and the warrior saw the exhaustion in her soul. “Get some rest. We will deal with whatever is needed.”

She thanked with a nod and marched out of those cursed walls.

The hair that had been perfectly tied was half loose and poked in all directions. Her muscles ached and complained. Her lips allowed low groans to escape her mouth. Her eyes, bleary, saw nothing but blurred pictures. Her feet moved without command. Her body cursed her mind. And her mind cursed her soul.

The rain started out of nowhere. She looked up at the sky, narrowing her eyes against the thick droplets of water. The stars hid behind heavy clouds, ashamed of the blood bath below.

Alma closed her eyes and allowed the water to wash her armor. She remembered once asking him to dance with her in the rain if one day they left the prison’s tall grey walls and how he had chuckled at her. Promising with that kind smile only he had… have.

She glanced to the right, and her wild hair stuck to her cold skin. In between the wet strands, she noticed him inside his tent. The light from the lamp against his body made his shadow appear on the fabric. Showing that he had started to remove his armor.

She closed her eyes once again and allowed the relieved sigh to escape her. His prayers reached her ears, and she smiled. His words had stuck to her while she walked into and around the fade. His face, selfishly, the only thing that made her want to leave the place. His fingers against her the only thing she sought.

She wanted to hate him, and she did, but the mere thought of him… the mere sight of him, made her heart fill with hope. Made her want to have him in her arms again and never let him go.  Made her want to beg for his forgiveness and to allow her to stay with him. To stay with him forever and ever... and then beyond.

She giggled, she chuckled, she laughed. She walked to him, letting her heart lead the way. She stopped by the entrance, and she then allowed herself to pray.

She asked the Maker for one more chance. For one night to forget about everything and remember about them. To be a woman and a man. Madly in love. Together again.

She reached for the fabric, but her hand hesitated, fingers curling with indecision. She was suddenly scared. A little girl covered in soot once again.

–––––––––––––––

She was safe. She was back. That was all that mattered at that moment.

Cullen cleaned his face with his gloved hand, smearing blood on his cheeks.

When he heard she had been thrown into the fade, he panicked. He fought his hardest trying to find a way to get her back. Alive.

He cursed the Grey Wardens. He cursed Clarel. He promised he, himself, would kill Corypheus with his bare hands if necessary.

And there, amidst the fight, he heard the horn. It was over. She was back.

The rain poured on his tent, the wind shook its thin walls and brought coldness with it. He adjusted his bed, throwing the covers over it so it would be warm when his time to sleep finally came… If and when he went to bed that day.

Afraid of the inner demons darkness would bring. The cherished memories of her and him. The painful feelings he wanted to bury, he lit the lamp on his table.

Cullen relaxed his shoulders and started to take his armor off. One knot at a time he removed. His muscles ached to no end, but he wanted to be rid of the extra weight as soon as possible. He knew there was still a lot to do, but that fight was over. He left the thought of other battles  to come for another day.

He rolled his neck and saw his surroundings brighten with the sudden lightning bolt. A shadow on his tent's entrance caught all of his attention. Sighing, he headed to whatever waited for him.

Cullen's eyes widened when he saw Alma standing there. She was soaked to the bones. The curls he loved so much were stuck to her face. The water dripped from her chin onto her dirty armor. And her parted lips trembled.

He took a step in her direction, but her eyes never met his. They were focused on the inside of his tent, in a silent request to enter. Moving to the side for her to get in, he noticed the soldiers examining the scene in front of them.

Alma stood in the middle of the place. Waiting for something he didn't know. Something he was afraid would be one more thing separating them.

"Inq-"

She finally looked at him, and what he saw broke his heart.

She looked so fragile. Nothing like the woman who marched into battle that morning. The fierce soldier who brought courage to the army's heart. The leader who inspired her troops.

No.

Alma looked no more than just a woman in need of comfort. Rest from everything and everyone. A place to feel safe.

Cullen closed his lips and the space between them. He towered over her hunched figure and didn't move when she placed her hands on his chest. Looking up at him. Searching his face. She closed the gap and rested her forehead on his chestplate.

His hands slowly raised. One to softly hold her in place, the other to massage her scalp. Without noticing, he nuzzled his nose into her hair... just like he used to do... when she was his, and he was hers.

He sighed. A regretful sigh.

Her fingers found his belt and then his vest. He observed her focused eyes pull them off his shoulders. She moved to his gloves, and her fingers traced the scars in his hands. She caressed the callouses and planted a delicate kiss on his palms.

The vambraces and pauldrons were next. The curass was meticulously examined for any damage and then removed. Her hand traveled his chest down to the hem of his shirt and when it was off she then folded and laid it on the table beside them.

Without a single word, he saw her kneel and start to untie his boots, which were placed underneath the table.

She stood in front of him. They gazed at each other. Seeing nothing more than a man and a woman in need of redemption. A new start.

Alma placed her palm on his chest and walked around him. Her trembling fingers gently pulled his undershirt off his body. Her lips caressed the scars on his back before her hands encircled his body and embraced him. Her cold cheeks pressed against his skin. Her ears listening to his heart.

Cullen couldn't stop himself and brought her knuckles to his mouth. A tender kiss he planted on each and every one of them, hearing her sob behind him.

It was his turn to take care of her. He faced her and removed the armor just as she had done to him. He found every scar on the visible skin and kissed them, murmuring apologies and compliments. Asking for forgiveness and begging for a chance. A chance to be her comfort. Her safe haven.

Cullen stood in front of her. His soul bared for her to see. His heart in his hand for her to take. He looked at her. So small and so big. Unreachable.

Alma took some cloth and cleaned the blood on his cheeks. Her eyes never meeting his. Never answering his pleas. Her lips never soothing his broken spirit.

She cleaned his skin and then... then she cried.

She cried, and she begged. She sobbed and urged for him to forgive her.

Forgive her for pushing him away when all she wanted was to have him near. As near as they had never been.

For wasting precious time. Time she didn't have. Not anymore, not like she wanted.

She circled his neck with her naked arms. Her lips whispered supplications. They confessed her love for him.

She held him, afraid he would let her go, and Cullen pulled her closer. Burying his nose in the crook of her neck. Revealing he had dreamed about that day for so long. Having her in his arms, telling him she still loved him. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her. That she was still his and would always be.

He cupped her face and kissed her. Thanked her for coming back for him. For loving and letting him stay. He told her she didn't need to apologize, she needed her time, and he understood. He understood that so much depended on her. That so much was expected of her.  He told her he understood, and then he asked her to stay.

For a future for her and him. Them.

Stay with him that night and all the others to come. To let them have what was taken from them. He looked into her eyes and told her with all his being that he loved her and would always do. He kissed her one more time and took her in his arms.

Gently, he placed her in his bed and laid beside her. Her body in his arms and her lips on his.

Cullen rejoiced when she said she loved him always and forever. That there was, and there would never be anyone but him. That she was staying with him, and there was no way he would get rid of her.

He heard her lips word her worries and ask him to not leave her. To never hurt her again. To be his comfort and his safe haven.

To be his for that night and all the other to come. To let them have what was taken from them.

A future with him and her. Them.

Cullen chuckled and laughed. He pulled her near and kissed her. He admitted he missed her more than anything.

And there, with their bodies intertwined, they finally found the peace they had been seeking for so long.

I hope you liked.

Likes and reblogs are super appreciated!

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

I Sleep with the Dirt by Fire Glow

Language: English

Chapter 1:  Please pull me from the dark

Characters in Chapter: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin (Briefly),  Albus Dumbledore (Briefly)

Chapter Summary:

Regulus is returned to life after his body has been kept in stasis as an inferius. It takes some getting used to, being alive again. Sirius meanwhile is dealing with having to look after a somewhat wild brother and not being able to adopt Harry, like he promised.

Word Count: c. 5 900

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34049455/chapters/84695911

It was strange. Bright. Pain. Noise. Smells. Thoughts. Feels. Sights.

Food.

He lunged, grabbing the prey which shrieked, only getting shriller as teeth tore into it. He pulled his head back and tasted sweet iron. Something grabbed him, forced his jaw open. He snarled. He was hungry and this was his food. He had rightfully caught it.

There was more noise and he turned, glowering. He hated the noises that they made at him. He had a sense that once it might have meant something but now they were empty sounds. It was infuriating.

The one he did not want to eat was there. That one was skinny. Bones. Bones weren’t food. He could crunch them to get food, but the skinny one was still not food. He did not know when the concept of food had come. But the desire to kill the warm moving ones had become a painful urge to fix an emptiness within. Hunger. Skinny was not that though. There was more to the bony one. That was why it was not food.

The other one was tempting but it could stop him. He had tried.

It always knew. It was always prepared.

They made noises to each other as food was placed into his hand. It wasn’t fresh but he tore at it, snarling at anyone who got too close. Too soon, food was gone and he licked his fingers. They were tasty.

Bony was there, hand on his arm. He snarled and Bony flinched but made noises at him. Soft sounds that soothed and promised safety. Bony took something damp and pressed it against his face, rubbed it over his fingers. He liked the damp and wet. It was like a home in that dark, wet cave. The bony one continued to make the noises and gently shifted his limbs. It was a more comfortable position. The old one came and muttered words. He tried to shift and get at it but Bony was being gentle with him and captured his attention once more.

He did not know what he was doing here. He had known, back at the cave. Or perhaps it had not been a knowing – it was more like a state of being. There had been no knowing, just guarding. Devour any that touched the water. Wait. Constant waiting. Protect.

A part of him had something different. A part had been sleeping, almost too deep for dreams but that part had been more alive. There had been the vaguest sense of a series of sounds that had defined it. Memories that had created it.

He could not remember the memories now. They were like the fish that sometimes made their way to his deep waters and were devoured by their many hungry mouths. Flashing, briefly there and so powerfully sating. Then gone. The Bony one perhaps came from there. It came from somewhere deep within. That was why he didn’t eat it.

Bony looked at him, it gave an expression. The lips curled slightly at the ends and it helped him to lie down and pulled the soft warmth over him. It took his head and held it until boredom closed his eyes.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“No, Regulus.” Sirius said firmly as his brother held the raw, half eaten chicken breast in his hand, teeth bared and showing the remnants of his midnight snack.

This was not what Sirius needed. He didn’t need Regulus back. He ran his hand through his hair, guilt sparking in his stomach at that thought. No, he did need Regulus back. Just not with the caveat that he would have to fight off the magic that had kept his body frozen as a minion for Voldemort. Because that was a lot to deal with when you were fresh out of Azkaban. As was knowing that if it hadn’t been for Regulus’ soul somehow taking root deep inside him, if Dumbledore hadn't realised that… well his brother's body would still be in that cave. Dead and violated, twisted by Dark Magic. The thought was sickening.

Yet it was because of Regulus that he had been told he couldn’t take Harry into his home. Harry Potter, James’ son. Sirius' very own Godson, who he had sworn an oath to protect. A boy who was criminally neglected by his supposed guardians. Sirius had waited all this time to get Harry back in his life. He had told the boy he could move in with him. It wasn't fair that he had to look after a kid who should be grown and able to take care of himself.

Sirius resented Regulus for that. He resented that a lot when Regulus had never shown him any love or care back when they had lived together. It had always been ‘why can’t you just behave?’, ‘why must you hurt mother so?’, ‘can’t you just get it into your thick skull that we are better than everyone else and that it is our duty to rule?’. Well, Regulus didn’t look much better than anyone else with his half-eaten chicken breast clutched in one hand.

“Put it down. You’re going to be sick enough as it is.” Probably. Apparently inferii had pretty tough guts because Regulus had taken to eating a whole host of raw things (the healer had not been impressed to find that out). Unfortunately for his brother, the closer he got back to being counted amongst the living, the more raw meat did not agree with him.  

Regulus shifted the chicken breast closer to his mouth, staring a challenge down at Sirius.

“No.” Sirius growled and Regulus froze. In that second, Sirius took the time to consider the situation. The pantry had been charmed closed. If Regulus had opened it, that had to mean he was getting his magic back which would not be ideal because Sirius didn’t need a magic wielding, zombie brother. He groaned, running a hand down his face and Regulus quickly took a bite of the chicken.

“Regulus!” Sirius roared and his brother jumped, dropping the chicken breast and quick as a flash, made for the door. Sirius swore and lunged after him, wrapping the smaller body and pinning his arms while his hands went to wrap around Regulus’ wrists. He might be skinny after his time in Azkaban but Regulus was still only seventeen (he’d be eighteen if counting the days – he died days before his birthday a voice whispered in his head) and apparently hadn’t been taking care of himself in the lead up to his death. He’d been all skin and bones when they dragged him out and the inferius voracious appetite was not doing much to put weight back on his frame.

The tiny body squirmed in his grasp, twisting his head and sinking his teeth into Sirius’ dressing gown.

“Stop that, Regulus.” Sirius was softer this time, trying to be more reassuring now the chicken was gone. While most people seemed fair game for eating, Sirius had yet to be bitten. Oh, Regulus threatened to and Sirius did not trust himself to sleep without a heavily warded door, but he’d had no more than panicked bites that stopped short of bruising his skin. He pulled Regulus over to a sink and with some effort managed to get warm water running. Forcing Regulus’ hands under, he glanced around for the soap as his brother started to relax.

“See, nothing wrong, Reggie.” He said soothingly, rubbing the lavender scented soap against his brother’s pale skin. He got a cloth to clean Regulus’ face likewise. His brother squirmed but did not resist.

“Just cleaning you up. You know, if you get hungry, you can come to me. Just knock on the door. I’ll make you something.” He told Regulus this every time but he had little way to tell if it went in. His brother made a noise though and leaned into him.

“Right, all cleaned up now. Not much point eating until you’ve got this out your system.” He said, turning Regulus and giving him a once over. He didn’t let Regulus wear anything with long sleeves, unless attended which just made his arms look like skinny sticks but it made moments like this easier. It didn’t look like Regulus had gotten anything on him.

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

The House Elf appeared. Sirius knew he lived in a cupboard in the kitchen and he found it ever so infuriating that he didn’t help keep Regulus from eating raw meats. Unfortunately, Kreacher was rather dedicated to ‘the young master’, even if that meant letting him eat things he shouldn’t.

“Clean up the mess and then bring the sick basin into the Parlour. I’m staying up with Regulus until we know if this is going to pass through or not. And next time stop letting him eat raw meat.”

Regulus growled at Sirius for his tone, dark eyes narrowing and Sirius groaned.

“Please.” He added, trying to make his tone sweet because he could do with Regulus not waking up mother’s portrait, which was what he would do if in a strop. She only got agitated seeing Regulus in such a state and it didn’t help that Sirius was there either.

“Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black.” The House Elf grovelled, bowing low and Sirius bit back his retort and instead said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you. Kreacher.”

Regulus seemed to accept that as genuine because he smiled and let himself be guided out with minimum fuss. In fact, he looked rather over the moon to be taken into the Parlour where he took his customary seat as Sirius set the fire up and carefully made sure to place the fire protector so Regulus wouldn’t accidentally get too close.

Warmth was something that Regulus seemed drawn to. He loved the fire, he loved the sun, he loved being wrapped in warm hugs when before he’d always been hesitant about touch. It felt like someone else walking about in his brother’s skin. It was not a comfortable thought but Dumbledore insisted that Regulus would come back to his senses. They had to treat this like a flu that his body was fighting off.

His brother was curled up, small limbs all folded in close, and Sirius pulled a blanket over him. Regulus jumped and snarled before realising it was him and calming back down.

“Fire.” He said, giving a nod towards the flames.

“Yes, Reg, fire.” Sirius confirmed, sighing and settling down next to his brother, carding his hand through his hair. Regulus made a small humming noise which Sirius knew to mean he was pleased with himself. Speaking was… a challenge and at times, it could be especially frustrating. Some days, Regulus could manage to string together a sentence and others would be solely animalistic snarls.

Kreacher came in and placed the sick basin down. Regulus smiled at him and Sirius let his brother do whatever it was he did with Kreacher. There was no denying that there was something protective within Regulus when it came to Kreacher and Sirius wondered whether something had happened to Kreacher before Regulus had died. The old House Elf would let Regulus check him over with agitated hands before pulling him in tight for quite a while.

No one knew quiet what had happened and Kreacher was not elaborating. The only information that legimency had been able to glean from Regulus’ soul attached onto Sirius was where he had died. Snape, and Sirius still shivered to think on that, had impressed on them that whatever had happened, it was more important to Regulus than merely the place he had died. It was the one thing that bound him to this earthly plane and even in death, he kept shielded with occlumency.

Dumbledore had uncovered some things. They’d seen that unearthly green glow across the water of the cave and after he’d brought Regulus’ bound and writhing corpse… After Snape had helped coax Regulus’ soul back into it… Dumbledore had returned.

Sirius still remembered that note that Dumbledore had placed into his hand. Regulus’ curved and delicate hand writing. That would have been his last words on this earth. It had been chilling.

Voldemort had created a Horcrux and Regulus had intended to die destroying it. It was clear that he had found it but no one knew where the original was. Snape had confessed that although he and Regulus had shared a friendship, he had had no word about this from Regulus. Kreacher feigned ignorance and Sirius knew that was the case because he had caught Kreacher hurting himself after saying he knew nothing.

He had ordered Kreacher to tell him because he knew that Kreacher knew but that was the closest Regulus had come to hurting him. His brother had flown in, snarling rage, with clawing hands and hadn’t calmed for a week.

Sirius sighed and stared at Regulus, who was lying, eyes half closed as Kreacher now comforted him, singing him songs in Kreacher’s own language. Regulus didn’t sleep. Not since they’d brought him back. At most he dozed. Sometimes by the fire, more often when someone cradled him in warm sunlight. Sirius figured that Regulus felt he had been sleeping enough with fifteen years of being dead. That he might fear that his sleep would bring that again. Certainly rest seemed to bring out the inferius in him. Always a step back from whatever improvement he had built up.

Harry would be easier.

Harry deserved the love that Regulus was given. Dumbledore visited once a week to chat with Regulus – a kid who could barely speak at the moment. Even Snape visited, although he kept these visits to once a month due to the fact that strife seemed to upset Regulus, otherwise he would no doubt be a more frequent visitor. Remus, Merlin knew how, tolerated Regulus. The first few times, Regulus had gone for Remus’ throat and had to be stunned. Remus brought bribes of chocolate frogs and still, Regulus would sit between them once he had finished chasing his meal.

One day he had told Sirius ‘ ‘trayed you. Left you.’. Sirius had tried to explain that he had betrayed Remus, that it was him that hadn’t trusted. But Regulus had touched his chest and said one word. Hurt.

Regulus could tell that no matter what had happened, Sirius had felt betrayed by Remus. That one of his childhood friends had not fought for his freedom… it stung and it didn’t matter how irrational that was because to Regulus, it was real and if he didn’t sit there, protecting Sirius, Remus might hurt him.

Merlin, this was messed up.

“Bad.” Regulus said, stiffening, and Sirius grabbed the basin, handing it over to Regulus who retched into the bowl as Sirius rubbed his back in what he hoped were soothing circles. Kreacher vanished the sick between breaks in his brother’s throwing up.

“There you go. Better out. It’s OK.” He said, using his other hand to pull Regulus’ hair out of his face.

Harry wouldn’t eat raw meat and then need a guardian to look out for him. Sirius winced as Regulus threw up again, sounding rather painful as he shuddered, fingers clawing at the ceramic. At the very least Regulus might exhaust himself and doze. That would be nice. Some peace and not having to rely on paintings waking him up whenever Regulus decided to go on his walks.

Sirius yawned and Regulus paused from his heaving, looking up with dark, pain filled eyes.

They were his brother’s eyes. His little brother, who had died alone in a cave to try and bring down Voldemort. Regulus. The soft little idiot who thought he’d take on the world alone because he had no one else to turn to. Sirius hadn’t been there for him.

Regulus doubled over again and moaned in pain and Sirius returned to rubbing his head. Yes, he resented his brother for a lot of things. It had been a long time since Regulus had brought him joy but every time he looked into those eyes, he saw a kid he’d failed. Someone he should have been there for. Perhaps, the guilt would give way to love at some point.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Regulus snarled at the man who came in through the door. Sirius grabbed him and pulled him away, placing an arm out to stop him getting at the man.

“No, it’s alright Sirius. You said he had a turn last night. It’s fine.” The man… the wolf… said, reaching into his pockets with slow movements. He pulled something out, fiddling with it and suddenly Regulus found his focus forced to something moving fast. He dashed after it and it jumped away. Another pounce and he had it wrapped in his hands, feeling his prey wiggling, trying to get out. A quick crush and he broke it. Opening his hands, Regulus started to pick at its brown, sweet flesh, crushing it between his teeth. It was good. Tasty. Bits fell to the floor and he cleaned up those traces as well.

Good. He’d killed it.

Feeling more content with this, Regulus wandered through the house, trying to recall what had happened before. He had chased his prey but something important had happened before that. What was it?

Voices.

Ah, the wolf.

Regulus dashed to the warm room where the fire was merrily burning and Sirius sat with the wolf, his brother lounging across the sofa and the wolf, the betrayer of his brother, sat on a chair.

“Sirius said you’ve started to collect the cards.” The wolf said, looking up as he entered and stalked to sit in front of his brother. Sirius may have forgotten but Regulus remembered the pain his brother had felt when the wolf hadn’t saved him from whatever had happened. It would only be a matter of time before it happened again.

Regulus looked at the offered card but did not take it. Sirius shifted forward, plucked the card from the wolf’s hand and placed it in Regulus’ own, wrapping his fingers around it.

“You’ve been wanting this one, remember?” He said and Regulus stared at the picture.

“S… Slyth… Slytherin. Salazar.” He managed to get the words out, forcing his mouth and tongue to roll around the foreign sounds. There was a vague sense that this had once been easy, like breathing. He had a concept of breathing now. He remembered realising that he breathed.

“Yep! Rarer than the other Founders because no one wants him.” Sirius said, in a jolly tone. Regulus stared at it. He knew this one mattered to him. He knew that some days he could remember why he mattered. Grey eyes shifted to look up at the wolf.

“Trick.” He said.

“I watched him take the card out, it’s not a trick Reg.” Sirius said, rubbing his head. Regulus growled and glared at the two. He had no idea how the wolf could just waltz in and make Sirius forget the pain that he had caused.

“Regulus.” That was the stern voice. He barred his teeth at the tone then flinched as Sirius went to grab him.

“Sirius, it’s okay.” The wolf said hastily, producing another box.

“No, if he can’t play nice he shouldn’t get nice things.” Sirius said. The wolf hesitated with his bribes. Regulus hated that they talked about him as if he wasn’t here. He could understand them, their noises made his mind know. It was just hard to remember how to make the noises back.

“Sirius, you said other than the relapse, he’s doing better.” The wolf said before looking at him.

“Would you like another chocolate frog, Regulus?” He asked and his tone was nice. It was always nice and Regulus did not trust that. He did, however, like the frogs. He eyed the box up and licked his lips, thinking on how good its flesh would be.

“Please.”

The wolf hands over the frog, his prize, and Regulus clutched the box tight in his hands. It is his now and it feels good to own things. The desire to consume now falls away and he leaned against the sofa, staring. Sirius went back to talking but the words wash over him. There’s something unsettled in him, a poking feeling that makes his limbs feel restless. Something he should be doing.

Regulus gets up and follows the feeling.

It takes him to his room. There is a draw there with lines. He traces them. Line with three with three lines. Two hills. A curve and circle. Emergency. It is scrawled in a very slow and deliberate attempt to be neat.

He pulls the draw open and inside are boxes, unopened. A collection of frogs. Because sometimes he could plan for the future. That maybe one day he’d want a frog when he wasn’t being given one. That they were useful. Regulus placed the box inside with the rest, then on second thought he shifts it down to the bottom. Older ones on top. Cycle through.

He closes the draw and looks at the top of his desk.

On there sits a hairbrush, with a symbol engraved into its handle. Regulus traced the symbol.

It was a gift, from mother. His initials made into one image. He’d been ten when gifted it. The handle had been big in his hands and he knew its worth. Grabbing it, Regulus brought the brush through his hair, wincing as it tugged at knots. Sometimes Sirius held him down and ran a comb through his black hair. Sirius would try to be gentle. Regulus did not.

His scalp stung but his hair was fixed.

Investigating his desk, Regulus next found a vial. It smelt of woods on hot summer days. The smell pulled memories of walks with friends like Barty or Severus. It was comforting. A pot held a cream, near dried out but which moistened as his fingers touched it. Regulus sniffed his fingers. It was a gentle hint of night blooming jasmine. He’d chosen it because of that. One summer, they had stayed in Southern France and each evening meal had been punctuated by that smell. It reminded him of family and love. He rubbed the cream against his face, a familiar gesture. His fingers found their own and rubbed it into his skin which softened.

The smells of the wood went on the neck and wrists. He remembered that now.

A tub full of powdered silver used the brush to add flakes to his skin so he looked otherworldly and more than the peasants around him.

There was a ribbon. He used it to tie his hair back into a ponytail, leaving just enough loose to frame his face. That took too many goes until it was satisfactory but what stared out at him was a face that he might remember.

Regulus glanced down at his clothes. Attire.

Sirius dressed him in robes that cut off above his elbows, short at the legs and with a split. He knew his movement could be erratic. It was the outfit of a child.

His wardrobe was empty of suitable garb.

Regulus went into the room next to his. Sirius’. The one his brother did not sleep in but was so painfully his. Sometimes Regulus understood why it hurt. Mostly, though, he couldn’t remember. There, in the draws were proper robes. Long, rich and flowing. They smelt of mothballs and dust but it was still a better alternative. He pulled the robes on and they came up short. It made no sense because Sirius was taller than him. Older than him.

But it was more presentable.

Regulus made his way downstairs and back to the parlour. He breezed in and took a seat near the fire. It hurt to sit up straight. His body did not seem to like it but Regulus knew it was proper and expected of him. He didn’t know who expected it.

“Hey Reggie.” Sirius smiled.

“Siri.” He said with a nod. Even that took too much effort. How had this once been so easy?

“You look good.” Wolf smiled.

“Are… are those my old robes?”

Regulus glanced away.

“I hadn’t realised that old hag had kept them.”

“M.” Regulus glared at Sirius. “Mother.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Love.” Regulus said firmly.

“She never felt an ounce of love for us, Reg.” Sirius said, laughing callously. Regulus felt his muscles twitch.

“Sirius.” Wolf cautioned, leaning forwards and placing a hand on the arm of Sirius’ chair.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“You said they kept the room the same as you’ve left it.” Wolf said softly.

“Probably never noticed I left.” Sirius scoffed.

“Or they were waiting for you to come home.” Wolf pointed out gently.

“Fat chance.”

“Did.” Regulus said.

Sirius turned his attention back to him.

“Did they come by the Potters to collect me? Turn up at the Express to pick me up? Ever write me a letter? No, Reg, they didn’t. No one did.”

Regulus pulled his legs in closer, feeling eyes water but he couldn’t be weak. Not in front of the wolf.

“Time. Needed time. Then back.” He whispered. That’s what he’d been told. His brother would come back, he just needed space to realise that he still loved them, that nothing was as important as family. Days became weeks, weeks became months. He just needed more time. He’d come back, see his room kept just as it had been when he had left and would realise that they loved him.

“Sirius-” The wolf said, reaching for Regulus’ brother but he pushed the man’s hands away.

“No! They didn’t care!” Sirius said, his voice shaking and Regulus realised he had zoned out for some of the conversation between the two. He also remembered that the wolf was called Remus.

“I’m not saying that the way they treated you was okay, Sirius. It was wrong and it was good that you got out of it when you did because it was destroying you. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t care. That’s what makes it harder.”

“No one could love their child and put them through that. They didn’t love me. They couldn’t have.”

“I did.” Regulus said softly. Sirius glanced up and ran a hand down his face.

“You didn’t put me through anything, Reg. You were the only thing that made home bearable.” It was a comforting lie and Regulus shook his head.

“I was with mother and father.” He said, his words slow as each rolled around his mouth. “I did not help you.”

“That’s because you were soft enough to believe our parents. You were soft.” Sirius said. Regulus shook his head and stared at his arm.

“I joined.” He pointed out.

“Because they forced you.” Sirius insisted.

“I thought ‘twas right.” Regulus said quietly.

“They brainwashed you.”

Regulus shrugged. Sirius wasn’t convinced but at least he wasn’t fighting.

“I didn’t help you.” He repeated.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sirius stared at the cold, blank eyes staring up at him.

“James… Lily.” He whispered, hands trembling as they reached forwards, hesitant to cradle the corpses of his friends. As he reached out, he realised his hands were uncomfortably warm. Glancing down, he saw them dripping red. His friends’ skin tore open, pouring blood. He had done this. He was drowning in their blood and the world around him got dark. His heart quickened as a cold touch grabbed his heart and tightened. Slimy hands wrapped around his throat, his legs, his arms. A rattling death gasp and he was falling deeper and deeper.

Sirius screamed, starting awake, thrashing underneath duvet covers as his door banged as if it were about to be smashed in.

He swore and grabbed his wand, unlocking the door and Regulus flew in, snarling at the darkness in the corners of his room and hovering protectively over him.

Sirius’ heart was pounding and his body trembling and he did not have time for Regulus not being OK. He did not want a snarling brother trying to bite his nightmares.

“Reggie, it’s okay. Just a nightmare. Nothing’s attacking me.” Sirius gasped out, trying to place a hand on his brother’s arm to try and comfort him. He did not need a jumpy inferius. Regulus jumped, then glanced around.

“Dream?” He asked. His voice sounded young, uncertain of how to pronounce different words.

“Bad dream.” Sirius confirmed, rubbing Regulus’ arm. His brother calmed down a lot faster than he did and then dashed off to do Merlin knew what. Probably whatever inferii did when everyone else was supposed to be sleeping.

Sirius fell back against the bed. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes but Blacks did not cry. Not the women, not the children, not the men. But if a Black cried and no one was there to see, did they really cry?

Sirius covered his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He was fine. The dementors weren’t here. It was Peter who had killed James and Lily. Dumbledore had gotten him a pardon for that. The world now knew he was innocent. He would never get sent back th-

Something dropped on his stomach and Sirius let out a blood curdling scream, flinging his arm away from his face to stare up into the shocked face of Regulus.

“Wha?” He asked, glancing down, terrified to find out what Regulus might consider an appropriate midnight gift.

It was a chocolate frog.

Still in its wrapping.

Regulus nudged it towards Sirius with a hesitant smile.

“Thanks.” Sirius said softly. Regulus openly grinned back and dashed over to a chair, watching him. Sirius sighed and took the offered gift, opening it up and carefully grabbing the frog before it could jump. He saw Regulus start, ready to hunt, but control the urge. Remus always said chocolate was the best cure for dementors. It was sweet and creamy and thawed out some part of his chest.

“You saved this?” Sirius asked in sudden realisation. Regulus frowned then gave a nod.

“I can’t kill the nightmares.” He said in his slow and carefully thought out way. “Chocolate might. I think I read it once.”

“Yeah. It does.” Sirius gave a small smile. This was progress. Maybe soon they could have Harry here safely.

“What dream?” Regulus asked, words slipping in perhaps an excitement at being able to keep a conversation going.

Sirius shook his head. He was not going back there. Not at all.

“I can’t… Were you asleep?” He decided, trying to turn the conversation to something he might manage. Regulus frowned and Sirius noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t realised before. They must have slowly built up as Regulus’ body became more and more alive. The frown had made his eyes look sunken in and not too unlike the face Sirius still saw in the mirror.

“Can’t.” Regulus agreed and he went to sit on Sirius’ bed, head hanging down.

“Hey, it’s OK. No one expects you to get back to normal immediately.” Sirius said softly, shifting to pull his brother into a hug. Regulus fell against him. Warm. Alive. Sirius could feel his heartbeat against his side. It was strong.

“Do you need food?” Sirius asked. Regulus shook his head. Well, at least that was something.

“Want you safe.”

Sirius sighed.

“Well, since neither of us are sleeping, why don’t we go into the parlour?” He suggested, throwing off the bed covers and grabbing his dressing gown and wand. On second thought, he also picked up his bottle of firewhisky that rested on his bed side table. It was depressingly low and Sirius hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to do his own shopping. There was only so often he could ask Moony to pick up booze, even when spaced out between what remained of father’s cabinet.

Maybe mother’s cabinet. She’d outlived him and Reg by years.

He hated thinking that he might be using anything she owned.

Regulus followed him on deadly silent feet. It was unnerving. Sirius always felt that Regulus was just about to pounce. They managed to get through to the parlour with no murders and Regulus took his customary place by the fire, waiting expectantly. Sirius muttered the incantation and the fire flickered to life. He took a swig of whisky and offered it to Regulus, who did likewise, coughing.

“Missed whisky.” Regulus commented as he handed the bottle back to Sirius. Sirius gave a bark of laughter.

“When did you have time to miss whisky?”

Regulus frowned and cocked his head.

“Don’t know. Last week?”

“Well, that’s a good sign that you’re becoming yourself again, Reggie. What’s a Black without a love of alcohol?”

His brother hummed and Sirius handed the bottle back to his brother who took another gulp.

“Can… Can I ask?” His voice shook and Sirius took the bottle back. He was going to need it.

“About what?”

“Mother?”

“Died five years after I was sent to prison. Guards let me know. They thought there was something hilarious about me being left this house.”

Regulus sniffed.

“Bellatrix?”

“Captured and put into Azkaban not long after they got me.”

“Narcissa?”

“Uh… you remember she married Malfoy, right? Were you around for her pregnancy? Ok, well, she’s got a baby boy. Same year as Harry.”

Regulus nodded, thoughtful.

“Evan?”

“Rosier? Dead.”

“Barty?”

“Did you know about him? That he was a Death Eater?”

Regulus went silent. Sirius sighed.

“Look, I know he was a good friend of yours at school.”

“New brother.” Regulus said softly. “I… I wanted a brother that mother would approve of. You had James.”

“Did you know?” Sirius asked again, his blood running cold. He hadn’t thought about it but the two had been close. Barty had been a years younger than Reg and practically worshipped the ground beneath his feet. Slytherin cronyism, not that the Crouch family needed it, but they were Slytherins all the way. Bartemius Senior just sucked it up to the crowds and the ministry.

“I brought… Yes. I brought him into the fold.” Regulus’ voice was wobbling now.

“Merlin. Oh Reg!”

“Please tell me he’s okay.”

Regulus had been seventeen when he died and he sounded it. He’d been just a kid. Just like Barty when they dragged him into a cell. Sirius remembered the boy screaming for his mother until he went silent. He remembered thinking if Regulus had been caught before his mysterious death, that’s what he’d have been like. And when Barty had died, Sirius had wondered if Regulus would have lasted that long.

“I’m so sorry.” Sirius said, moving to wrap Regulus in a hug as his brother collapsed in on himself. A sudden ringing filled the air and Sirius just had time to cast a quick shielding charm as glass smashed around them. Regulus was crying openly and Sirius shifted his brother to rest against his shoulder.

“’S my fault.” Regulus whispered as Sirius wrapped his arm around his brother and used the other to wave his wand and restore the room.

“No, you aren’t responsible for others, Reg.” He whispered softly as he held his brother as he fell apart and they tried to put each other back together.

[iloveakindofmagic]

PLEASE STAY AWHILE

One shot

Relationship: Deacury (John Deacon x Freddie Mercury)

Words:  2.7k

Summary:

If the death of Freddie Mercury had not happened and it was only a dream that a bassist had...

... would life give Freddie a second chance to be loved?

November 27, 1991

It was a day more cloudy than normal, large gray clouds covered the London sky with threats that it was going to rain.

The world of rock and music were in mourning ...

...Freddie Mercury died ...

~ • ~

Days before the vocalist, pianist and showman of the famous band Queen had left this world due to complicated pneumonia by AIDS, which he had acquired in 1987. Freddie, however, he kept it quiet, to avoid scandals and harassment by the press, although the latter was impossible, since the paparazzi had surrounded his house since the rumors began that he had this terrible disease.

But despite everything, he denied such rumors. Until the condition worsened and the end of Freddie approached. He decided that it was time to reveal to the world his true state of health. All the media reported the new declaration of the QUEEN’s vocalist

The day after the news, Freddie Mercury passed away ...

Thousands of QUEEN fans gathered outside the singer's house to say goodbye, singing songs, leaving messages of farewell to the singer who had become a Rock legend...

~ • ~

Now, Freddie's funeral was going to take place this day. Family, friends and the members of QUEEN were present to say goodbye to him.

For the band, Freddie's death was the most painful, they had lost an essential member of the band, an excellent singer and above all a good friend with whom they shared thousands of anecdotes.

The remaining members of QUEEN were completely devastated, especially the bassist John Deacon, who for him, the vocalist was his best friend, protector and motivation. He was deeply affected by this terrible loss, to such a degree that he was crying throughout the funeral.

After the funeral, Brian went to take a vacation with Anita so he could take in everything that was going on, Roger went home with Debbie and their children. John for his part went home to be with Veronica and spend time with his children to get through this.

The bassist came home, he was still devastated. He climbed the stairs and came to his room and then locked the door, he did not want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be alone and let his tears flow freely. His wife understood that the death of his best friend affected him. She preferred to leave him alone for that day and the next morning she would talk to him.

John was sitting on the bed, he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, he was drinking and letting the tears and sadness wash over him.

He couldn't believe what was happening, his heart was in pieces. He had lost one of the most important people in his life. He had a strange mix of sadness, hatred, anger, and guilt.

He felt guilty and hated himself for two strong reasons: on the one hand it was for not having been able to protect Freddie from fucking Paul Prenter, that bastard led Freddie to the world of debauchery and total perdition, which was the cause of that he got AIDS.

But he also hated himself for not expressing his feelings ...

John loved Freddie. At first he believed that it was a kind of affection and admiration for the Persian for protecting him and motivating him to write songs, however, one day he realized that he was more than a friend.

However, it was slow for John to realize that he was bisexual. He always hid these feelings because he had a wife and children. It did not mean that he did not feel love towards Veronica, he loved her, but not intensely as he did with Freddie.

But now John was broken inside. The love of his life was forever gone from this world and Freddie would never return.

He wished this was all just a bad dream and that Freddie was alive.

He lay back on the bed and he kept crying. The memories of Freddie are on the bassist's mind, he remembered the beautiful brown eyes that he had, his lips, that energy that made him unattainable.

How could he be so stupid? Why did he never confess his love to her? He wondered over and over as he took another sip from the whiskey bottle.

John was a mixture of sadness and drunkenness. His eyelids began to feel heavy, he let himself be carried away by Morpheus's arms, falling deeply asleep.

~ ☆ ~

~ ☆ ~

~ ☆ ~

John woke up with a severe headache, he had a huge hangover. It was already night, he had slept most of the day, his family must be worried about him.

Before getting up he realized something: He was not sleeping in his room, he was not even at home, but he was sleeping on a sofa that was in the main living room of Freddie's old house.

The bass player was puzzled. How the hell had he gotten there? Was he too drunk and traveled to Freddie's house? Everything was very confusing.

He got up and went to a bathroom that was close to him. He wiped his face with water and turned his gaze to a mirror. It was observed carefully, her hair was completely brown, there was no whiteness in her hair; his face was free of wrinkles, his appearance was as if he had turned when he was 28 years old, the age he was in 1979. He was confused.

"What the hell is happening here?" Thought John.

Suddenly, John heard a melody provided by a piano, then John out of his thoughts, it meant that he was not alone in that house. It was a melody so harmonious and powerful at the same time began to be heard. John could recognize him from thousands of miles away.

Quickly, he got out of the bathroom and walked around the house in search of the origin of that beautiful melody. The house was practically dark. Meanwhile, he finds a lighted room in the shadows, slowly he approached and leaned out to then find a surprise that left him in shock.

He was there, he was alive ...

... Freddie was alive ...

And there was Freddie, playing the piano. He looked so handsome, jovial, full of energy. He had short hair, however, he did not have the characteristic mustache of the 80s. Meanwhile, the brunette turned his back to the bassist as he focused on playing the piano while singing "You and I".

"Laughter ringing in the darkness

People drinking for days gone by

Time don't mean a thing

When you're by my side

Please stay awhile ..."

John had written that song to Freddie so that he could indirectly realize his feelings and an invitation to have something more than a simple friendship. John wanted to cry, he couldn't believe his eyes, he was seeing Freddie again, he was hearing his melodious and beautiful voice again.

Was he dreaming? Did he go back to 1979? o Was Freddie's death just a bad dream? Whatever it is, he wanted to keep the brown-eyed there forever.

"You know I never could

foresee the future years

You know I never could see

Where life was leading me

But will we be together forever?

What will be my love?

Can't you see that I just don't know"

The bassist listened carefully the song performed by the vocalist.

"I can hear the music in the darkness

Floating softly to

where we lie

No more questions now

Let's enjoy tonight

Just you and I

Can't you see that we've gotta be together

Be together just you and I just you and I

No more questions just you and I "

...

When Freddie finished the song, he turned to look towards the door, finding John standing on the threshold of it, he gave him a smile

“Finally, You had woken up, Deaky” Freddie said, approaching where John was standing “You had drunk too much and fell asleep. Brian and Roger left, so …” He was interrupted by a sudden hug provided by John, taking the persian by surprise. Freddie responded quickly to this act.

“Don't go …” John said and began to cry in the arms of the vocalist “I don't want to lose you again” John whispered in the Persian's ear deepening the hug, he blushed.

"W-What are you talking about, John?" He said, he was puzzled “I am here... I'm not going anywhere” He separated a little to see the child's eyes and meet his beautiful green eyes full of tears, which worried Freddie. "What's wrong, John?" He asked as he caressed the minor's pale face causing him to shudder.

If this was just a game of his mind and he was only dreaming, he didn't want to wake up anymore. This felt more than a dream, it felt so real, Freddie's touch was so warm and comfortable.

The Persian took him to the kitchen and invited him to sit down.

"Do you want some tea?" He offered with a small smile, John just nodded.

He made and poured the tea into two cups. They were both silent for a long time as they took small sips of the drink.

“I had a dream, Fred" The youngest began to speak “In that dream you contracted a terrible disease and …” He stopped to take a breath “... You died young” John burst into tears again. “You left me alone, Freddie …” The Persian was shocked by such words, he worried about forJohn, he didn't like to see the bassist cry.

If there was one thing Freddie hated, it was someone or something hurting John, because these hurt him too. They were hurting the most important person in his life and the person he loved. That I did not forgive anyone.

Freddie had loved John since he had joined the band, he was different from the other men he had known. His way of being with him, his sweetness and innocence; Those green eyes which tore when he laughed, he was perfect for Freddie. He had always silenced his feelings because he knew that he loved Veronica, his wife with whom he had procreated beautiful children.

That is why he only limited himself to protecting and supporting him as a kind of minor brother.

“Oh, darling…” Freddie hugged John and he responded by hugging him tighter, letting his tears flow “I will never leave this world soon ... Brian, Roger and especially you will have Freddie for many  years, I promise " He whispered sweetly. They continued hugging, enjoying the warmth.

John separated a bit from the older one

“Freddie, you must stay away from Paul Prenter” He changed his tone of voice to a serious voice, surprising the vocalist.

“John I …”

“He's not a good guy …” John interrupted Freddie letting go of the hug “He will make you fall into bad steps and that bad dream can come true” his hands held the vocalist's face and staring at him “ Please, let me protect you like you have always done”

“O-Okay John” Freddie blushed at John's words “Tomorrow morning I’m going to fire Paul”

A satisfied smile appeared on John's face, he felt that he had saved from a dark fate to Freddie.

They stared in silence, a slight blush appeared on their faces. Suddenly they both began to draw their faces closer, their hearts were beating fast, they could both feel their breaths.

They finally closed the distance when their lips met in a loving kiss. They both enjoyed that kiss, they transmitted thousands of emotions and feelings that they had saved for a long time.

Before they could deepen the kiss, Freddie reacted and separated of John quickly

“J-John, I'm sorry …” The vocalist got up from his chair, he felt that he had ruined a great friendship “I shouldn't have done it …”

“ Freddie, wait …” the brunette grabbed his wrist before he left “Haven't you realized?” He got up from the chair and grabbed the brunette's hands “I love you, Freddie. I've always loved you��

Freddie blushed when he heard those words, he was surprised.

“B-But Veronica …”

“The love I feel for her doesn't compare with the great love I feel for you” John got closer to Freddie, being inches away from him. They could see the difference in stature between them, John was taller than Freddie and the older man liked that difference.

The bassist hugged the older man's waist and brought him closer to him, blushing Freddie more

“I love you from the first day I saw you and I will always love you, Fred”

Freddie started to cry, he was very happy to hear those words

“Deaky, darling ... “ his hands held John's neck “I love you too much and I will love you forever”  

John blushed, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, he was very happy. Freddie stood on tiptoe and approached John’s face.

"You don't know how much I wanted this feeling to be mutual, John."

They both joined their lips in a sweet kiss, they felt that nothing else mattered but just the two of them. Now they could finally be happy together.

They deepened the kiss, now their tongues danced between them, exploring her oral cavities. The bassist’s lips traveled to Freddie's neck and he kissed his neck, drawing moans from the vocalist.

Freddie took John to his room and there they continued with the passionate kissing session ...

Finally, they made love with passion. Freddie was very happy, he had felt John inside of him and it was so special. It was the best sex Freddie had ever had in his life, it was so romantic and so passionate at the same time. Besides he was very happy to have made love to the person he most loved.

John was happy to finally be with the love of his life. For John it was not just sex , it was the beginning of a relationship and a new path in Freddie's life.

Both of them finally fell asleep hugging each other.

~ • ~

John woke up the next morning, he was naked and he was covered only with a sheet. Slowly he opened his eyes and found that the vocalist was not at his side.

A fear seized him when he saw that Freddie was not in bed.

Was it all a dream? Was Freddie really dead? He thought.

I was about to cry, when suddenly, Freddie came in holding a tray with a plate full of toast with cheese and orange juice. John immediately changed his face.

“Good morning, Deaky” He left the tray on the nightstand and approached the bassist to kiss his lips.

“Good morning, Fred” He said without stopping to see his new boyfriend.

The singer wore a kimono that he had gotten on one of the many tours to Japan. John was stunned to see him in that garment.

"Do you like what you see?" The old man modeled. John was able to see her naked and well turned thighs, she looked so fucking sexy with that.

“Y-Yes" He blushed "You look beautiful, Freddie" He confessed with a slight smile. Freddie's face  turned red when he heard those words.

"Thanks, Deaky" She sat on the bed and leaned over to kiss him sweetly. "I love you"

“I love you more, Fred ... And I will love you always” John whispered and then gave him a deep kiss full of love and passion ...

~ • ~

Freddie fired Paul without saying any reason that same day . His ex assistant threatened to divulge everything he knew about him, however, the vocalist gave it little importance, since he had already found that person to love and he didn’t care about anything else.

While John asked for a divorce from Veronica, she understood John’s feelings towards Freddie and she didn’t oppose his decision, the woman promised that she would be discreet with the relationship he had with Freddie. He said to her that his children wouldn’t lack anything and every weekend he would spend time with the children.

A new story full of love and mutual affection began. John didn’t know if life had given them a second chance to be happy together and Freddie could live without having contracted that damn disease or it was just a very real nightmare. The only thing he was sure of was that he was going to do everything possible to make him happy and be that somebody to love that Freddie had always sought. He was going to protect and love him forever so that the dream he had was just it ...

... Just a dream ...

*THE END*

Hi! This is my first story that I post in Tumblr. I hope you liked it. I love write fanfics about Deacury relationship!

Please visit my ao3, Instagram and Wattpadñ. You can find me under the same name: ILoveAKindOfMagic

Greetings! 💞

[writing-the-end]

Chapter 31- Respect

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

TFC, as the leader of the Guild of Hermits, has a job to do. But he also sees them as family, his sons and daughters. And sometimes young souls need to learn a thing or two.

________________________

Iskall can hardly hear his own teeth chatter against the howling wind from the mountain peak, his heavy breathing attempting to take in the cold, thin air at the top of the world. His words are tossed off the mountain as soon as he speaks them. “Why couldn’t we take the tunnels to the mines? It would be mega faster, TFC.” 

“I promised to the ZIT boys we’d deliver this to the Shrine of Natasiel.” TFC huffs, turning his head to look at the three youngsters following him. He trudges through the snow, fur lined boots and clothes bracing him from the cold winds. Iskall and Mumbo share similar thick down coats, but Cleo is still in the same overcoat and pantaloons as she’d wear at sea. She’s already dead, the cold doesn’t bother her.

Cleo growls, jumping off the path that TFC stumbles through. She trudges ahead of TFC, forging her own path through the snow. Despite hardly being able to see the ground five paces ahead of her, she continues forward on her own. “Where even is the Shrine?” 

“The top of the mountain, isn't it? I-I’m not sure, I’ve never gone here. But this weather...my word is it dangerous!” Mumbo stutters out his words, but he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t remember for sure or because he can feel his breath freezing in this throat. A heavy gust of wind catches on Mumbo and Cleo, sending the two stumbling towards the cliff face. If it weren't for TFC grabbing their collars, they’d be meeting Natasiel in person. 

“Nothing is as dangerous as me!” Iskall booms, raising his voice above the weather. “You can’t take me down, mountain! I am an S-Class nuclear mage, I take your nature and turn it on it’s head with my magic!” 

TFC shakes his head, continuing forward. In his frozen, gloved hands, he grips the tattered banner as tight as possible. He’s not losing such precious cargo entrusted to him. It’s time to lay them to rest, to give the guild long gone some peace. 

Zedaph handed the banner to TFC before they left, fingers tightening for a second before letting it go. “This belongs somewhere better than that bastard’s office. Can you take this to Hanshaa’s mirror? Let Natasiel take care of them.” 

Of course TFC took the banner, took the route to the tallest mountain in Lairyon. Mount Hanshaa, the crown to the Queen of Death. And at the peak, the Shrine of Natasiel. TFC has only been up here a few times before, to pray to Natasiel and thank her for her work. To protect those alive, and care for those who have moved on. 

And of course Iskall has to challenge everything. Whether it's a creature on the side of the road or the mountain itself, he can never back down from a challenge. TFC lets go of Mumbo and Cleo, and climbs higher into the sky.  They’re almost there, he can already feel the soothing calm of Hanshaa’s Mirror. 

“I...I don’t think I can do this, TFC. I can hardly breathe, and it’s so cold. I’m not cut out for climbing this, or any, mountain.” Mumbo complains, hands shaking when they clasp onto the guildmaster’s. He hauls the newest member of the guild over the lip. Just one more face to climb, and they’ll be there. So close, and he wants to give up. Cleo, on the other hand, refuses his offer to help, her green skin digging through the ice, snow, and rock and pulling herself forward. 

“We’re almost there, Mumbo. You’ve already made it.” TFC breathes, lowering his voice as the wind lowers it’s howls. A sense of calm washes over TFC, watching the snow settle. “Just one more climb, I know you can do it.” 

Over the lip, and there on the peak. On top of the world, the Evershade mountains tumbling out beneath them. The winds are quiet, playing with flecks of snow and dancing down the mountain. Peace comes from the fierce bite of snow, and at the center of the peak, the Shrine of Natasiel sits. 

Despite it being well below freezing, the round pool has not a single vein of ice in it’s waters. Perfect and calm, not even snowflakes breaking the mirror. In the reflection and around Hanshaa’s mirror, the shrine opens. Multicolored flags flutter in the wind, stone statues resting beneath the pennants. Intricate carvings in stone and wood, offerings to Natasiel, poems of love and loss, food for friends and family, and blankets against the cold. At the center of the shrine, the guardian of Hanshaa stands. A stone monument, intricately carved feathers and fur of Natasiel’s griffin, with it’s head tucked and eyes closed, watching the world unfold before it and the shrine guarded by it’s gaze.

Sprouting from the snow and rock, against all odds of survival, delicate blue flowers glow in the low light of the snowstorm. Petals as thin as paper, bursting from the ice, opening their white pistils to the thin air. The rarest, the most beautiful flowers in all of Lairyon, fighting the harsh climate at the top of the world, growing around the goddess of the dead’s shrine. Finding life in the cold, the death, rising in the meditative peace at the water’s edge.

A calm and quiet washes over TFC, Mumbo and Cleo. But Iskall finds no sense of reverence upon seeing the shrine. He does notice the flowers, and stoops down low. Fingers wrapping around the slight stem, gripping and tugging on the hardy plant. Silence is broken by a loud, harsh shout that nearly teeters Iskall off the edge. “Don’t pick it!” 

It’s TFC, one hand crossing Iskall’s torso and pushing him back, the other still gripping the tattered banner. The snap was severe, but not aggressive. Enough to make Iskall stop, but not enough to scare him. “Why not dude? It’s just one itty bitty flower among hundreds.” 

TFC lets go of Iskall’s arm, turning back to the griffin statue. Open eyes watching them as the guildmaster kneels in the snow. He gazes at the old banner, the embroidered symbol frayed and color faded. A guild long gone, murdered for power. Massacred for control. He’s here to lay them to rest, to give Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango the peace they deserve. “It’s not about that.” He whispers, looking over his shoulder and boring his gaze into Iskall like a mole in the dirt. “It’s about respect.” 

Iskall steps back, his foot scraping off the ledge of the mountain. His heart leaps into his throat, the wind picking up just enough to cause him to teeter. Just one gust, and he’d be plummeting to the earth. Falling from the top of the world, and no way to stop it. No one can fight gravity- even Grian will eventually plummet if he doesn’t counteract it. In that heart pounding moment, no way to stop a gust of wind from sending him over, he realizes that there's one thing he cannot fight. He cannot challenge. Life and death, and that thin line between it. He has to respect that. 

And he has to respect life and death. Especially in the presence of Natasiel’s shrine, the goddess of death’s realm so close. The wind dies down and Iskall can regain his footing. He stumbles forward, away from the mountainside, side stepping from the flowers and sitting beside TFC. All four hermits take in the silence, the sound of the strung flags flying in the wind the only commentary to the world. It’s an eerily calm silence, a reverence and connection to those who passed on. Iskal looks down at the banner, ZIT’s first family destroyed by Dolios. He may not be able to challenge life and death, but he will challenge dark magic. And win. “Can...can I put it up?” 

TFC raises an eyebrow, but when his eyes lock with Iskall’s, he can only see respect glimmering back in his green eye. Even the blue jewel shines with the same calm TFC feels in his body. He offers the ensign to Iskall, who picks it up as gently as he would an unstable rod of iskallium. Fingers tight enough to keep from losing the fabric, but laid out between his arms. 

He stands, walking past the pool, watching the water reflect the sky and himself. Careful not to step on a single flower, he approaches the guardian of Hanshaa’s Mirror. The guardian of the shrine, protector to the entrance of the underworld, Natasiel’s griffin companion. Strong, stony eyes watch Iskall as he approaches, climbing up the podium and avoiding the precarious rock cairns stacked around the statue. A cold brush of wind causes Iskall to shiver, fingers sapped of heat by the stone statue. 

“It’s mega cold up here, but you still keep watch.” Iskall wraps the banner around the stone statue’s neck. He folds the insignia out for all to see, and knots the tattered ends together. “Watch over them, for our friends. They’ll keep you warm.” 

He steps back, watching the gold and blue press against the stone, blocking out the wind. Behind him, he hears Mumbo sniffle, tears freezing on his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes. TFC reaches out, patting Iskall on the back. His son, if not by blood then by guild. And a soft expulsion of breath escapes Cleo, mist dazzling in the air. “I can feel souls here...they’re at peace. It’s so calm, so content.” 

They remain in silence for a little longer. Just taking in their time at the top of the world, in between life and death, at the shrine to the goddess of death. Watching the glassy pool, the snow drifting in the air and waltzing through the flowers. TFC stood first, one hand over his heart and whispering thanks to the guardian before turning around, eyeing the descent they must make now. Mumbo stands beside him, tucking his fingers under the pits of his arm. “I can’t believe we climbed all of that to make it here.” 

“You have more strength than you give yourself credit for, Mumbo. You climbed the tallest mountain in Lairyon, you are one of the strongest mages I’ve ever met. Just because a task seems daunting, you shouldn’t doubt yourself. You are more than the sum of your parts, Mumbo Jumbo.” TFC glances over his shoulder to the others, then begins his descent. And all but Cleo accept his help. 

-----------------------------------

From the tallest peaks of Lairyon, to the depths of the kingdom are where the group find themselves next. Swallowed whole by the mouth of the Golden Hearth mines, they follow a set of hastily drawn directions marked on a scrap of leather. The dwarven miner they had interviewed was more interested in returning to his mining than telling a bunch of mages where they noticed missing gems. 

And for the first time ever, the hermits see TFC lose his parental demeanor. He’s a kid in the candy store, bouncing from deposit to deposit. He pulls free a chunk of amethyst, admiring the deep purple hue with glittering excitement in his eyes. The deeper they go, passing miners and other mages connected to the earth, he can’t help but pick up a pickaxe of his own and mine out a few crystals to add to his collection. Kyanite as dark as an unlit cave, pyrite that lusters against the illuminating energy from an iskallium rod. 

Cleo strides ahead, plucking a torch from the wall. “This way. Come on, we have to find Esten’s Spring.” 

“Hold up, Cleo, take a breather.” TFC pauses, grabbing at her shoulder and forcing her to stop. She can’t keep running through the mines this way. “Esten’s Spring is deep, one of the deepest parts of the mine. It’s hardly been explored, and the underground river leaves it unstable.” None of them know how to explore caves like TFC does. They didn’t grow up playing in caves, didn’t spend their early years mapping out the crystal mines. They can’t read the seams in the stone, the rolling of rockfalls. 

Cleo raises the fire, distracted by the ores and geodes that gleam against the light for a second before returning to her trailblazing. She doesn’t need anyone’s help but herself, she is strong and clever. She knows the way all by herself. She’s independent, even in a group. She’s the captain of her own ship.

The narrow passage opens up to a deep, yawning chasm with only a broken wooden bridge to cross the immense drop. Cleo looks over the edge, biting her lip as she notices sharp stalagmites piercing through the darkness, teeth of some ancient stone beast waiting to swallow an unsuspecting miner whole.

Beside her, TFC hums. “Let me rifle through my bag, see if-” 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Cleo strikes her saber between a stone pillar and the ground, tipping it forward and pressing a magic circle against the stone. The rock erodes, decaying to sand at her fingertips, and with one swift yank of her blade it falls across the canyon. She flashes a smile over her shoulder, and struts across the bridge. 

She got lucky, TFC knows that. She did that all on herself, but had the rock fallen the other way, they all could have been crushed. She could have hurt herself. As strong as she is, no mortal can withstand the crushing blow of the very earth itself. But Cleo just keeps moving, on her own journey deeper into the caves. 

Whether crawling through gaps, jumping across chasms, or skirting across ledges, Cleo was always ahead of the others, doing things her own way, and refusing help. She doesn’t need help. She’s strong, she doesn’t need anyone’s help. 

TFC stops, hearing the sound of water dripping through the teeth that rise from the ground and fall from the ceiling. He clambers through the mouth, stepping between the stalagmites and into the open well. “Here we are. Esten’s Spring.” 

For a moment, the only light within the cave is the luminescent rocks, a soft glow that ricochets across the smooth stone, casting shadows along the walls and turning the cavern ceiling into a reflection of colors. Arches and ledges run along the side of an underground river, crystals beneath the water illuminating and rippling all around them. 

To any person, Esten’s Spring was a godly sight. Gems as tall as buildings and wide as tarasques growing from the earth. But for a mage like TFC, who’s magic draws from the earth and it’s shimmering gifts, it was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Rare stones buried deep in the belly of the earth, all collected together and growing in one mutually exclusive place. Stones that would never be seen in any other place at once, all here. But with such beauty also comes danger. “Watch your step, hermits. The ground is unstable.” 

Cleo hardly hears TFC’s warning. She’s already charging ahead, like a ship into battle. She notices a mar in the earth, dirt overturned and scraped aside. And the rusty, dusted ground turned grey like ash. “He’s been gathering them from here.” 

Dolios was here. Multiple times, if the marks and stains of darkness were any indication. All across Esten’s Spring, the ground has been uprooted, entire clusters of crystals missing from their perches. Of course he would create the crystals here. In the depths of the mines, the dangerous passage deterring even the bravest miner from wantonly exploring this deep. And here, among the rarest, strongest crystals in all of Lairyon. They were ripe for his corruption, and for TFC to know he’s stolen them from here is heartbreaking. 

“He has no respect.” TFC grumbles, picking up a broken quartz stone. Spared from the staining of dark magic, left shattered on the ground. He takes without remorse, without respect for the mountains or the land. Mining isn’t just about taking. It’s about giving back as well. Thanking Lairyon and the Earth god, Esten, for such amazing creations. He feels Iskall’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, a knowing gaze on the mismatched eyes. Even Iskall knows to respect nature now.

“To think, we’ve gone to the highest peaks and the deepest abysses, and no matter where we go, his darkness still follows.” Mumbo breathes. To think that he’s made it to both places, he’s still not entirely sure how. It’s like TFC said, he has to believe in himself, even when he thinks he couldn’t do it. 

Cleo’s shoes skitter as the ground beneath her feet collapses, the lip of the ledge falling into the underground river. She doesn’t have time to deal with the past, and whatever the boys are up to. If they hope to stop Dolios, they need to cut off his supply of crystals. Stop him from making more, and for TFC to round up more crystals to use in his spells. 

A dim corner catches her attention. All along the cavern, shadows are cast from stalagmites and stalactites. But the purples, greens, blues, yellows, and reds of the incandescent crystals turn even the darkest corners into a misty glow. But down a passageway, one place is devoid of all light. As if the rock swallowed it whole. 

Or the crystal within it. Cleo scrabbles across an arch, careening off the rock wall and ignoring the light shower of stone dust in her hair as she comes face to face with the gemstone. It’s taller than her, the faceted edges a milky white, rising like a tower with thin lines perpendicular to the ground. Except for the peak of the tower, which was darker than night. Night still has light, color, whether from the moon or the stars. This is pure darkness, empty of all color, all light. 

Dark magic. Dolios must have been trying to corrupt this gem, to use it to siphon magic like the crystal in Gildara, at the championship. “Cleo? Where’d you run off to now?”

She turns, slapping her hand against the crystal. “I found one in the works!” She yells, her voice making droplets of water fall from the cavern ceiling. “I can take care of this myself.” 

TFC looks up, eyes following Cleo’s bright orange hair, the white crystal, and the cave wall that it rests against. And he sees the seam in the rocks, the thin planes of stone on the precipice of gravity. The soft shower of dirt, sprinkling like pixie dust in her locks. The dust turns to pebbles, pebbles to rocks. “Cleo, look out!” 

The cavern roof collapses inward, and TFC has less than a second to react. His hand is already digging into the depths of his  bag, pulling out a jasper and clasping it in his gloves. By the time the rocks have turned to boulders, he’s already summoned his magic and is casting the spell. He pushes his hand forward, and Cleo stumbles back. 

His last sight of her is that bright red hair, pale green skin and fear written across her face. Boulders ricochet into a pile, cutting Cleo off from the rest of the hermits. Mixed with the clattering of rock, the soft sound of bone cracking and skin scraping. Iskall and Mumbo race forward, but TFC grabs them both. 

“We have to help her! She could be buried!” Iskall howls, fighting against TFC. 

“Hold on! The rockfall is still unstable.” He huffs. It kills TFC to have to wait as well, but rushing in will only lead to more disaster. “C-Cleo, can you hear me?” 

“I can hear you! There’s a boulder, it’s pinned me to the ground.” A soft chuckle escapes, but it’s strained and high pitched. “Better my leg than the rest of me.” 

TFC steps forward, brushing past Mumbo and Iskall. One of which is about to succumb to his nervous jelly knees, the other racing alongside their guildmaster. “Just stay calm, Cleo, we’ll get you out of-”

“I can do it myself!” Her voice snaps through the stone wall. “I don’t need to wait if I just-” 

“Cleo no!” The rockfall shifts, growing thicker. Boulders roll towards the boys, and a stifled yelp can be heard through the cracks. 

“S-see? I freed my leg. Now I...now I just need to break this wall.” 

“Stop, Cleo! You’re going to hurt yourself.” TFC’s voice is strong, but soft enough to make Cleo pause. “Let us help.” 

“I don’t need your help! I’m strong enough on my own!” TFC and Iskall leap backwards, a boulder narrowly crushing them both. 

“But true strength is knowing when to reach out for help instead of letting it destroy you!” TFC shouts, his voice echoing across Esten’s Well, causing droplets to fall from stalagmites and ripple across the underground river. His harsh breath is the only voice, and TFC brushes back his hair, his braid. “Cleo, you’re one of the strongest hermits in all of the guild. We all know that. How many other of us are literally too strong for death to hold us back? But sometimes there are things that can’t be done alone. No one is stronger than the mountains themselves. It takes an army of dwarven miners to take on the earth. Each one of them strong on their own, but stronger together. Let us help you, let your family help you.” 

Silence fills the cave, thick and hot against the stale air of the deep chasm. TFC’s ears prick at the sound of fabric shuffling through the wall of boulders. His shoulders fall, believing that Cleo is attempting to do it on her own again. That is, until her voice calls out. “I will come back as a ghost if you three crush me. I will come back and break your legs.” 

Iskall grins, neon green magic reflecting off the glittering gem for his eye, meeting Mumbo’s worried expression. And together, with Cleo’s commands, they free her from the stone tomb. As Mumbo clasps Cleo’s hand and helps her stand, TFC notices a pale blue gem laying at his feet. Stooping low, he picks up the crystal. Iskall peeks over his shoulder, seeing the rock. “Whatcha got there, T?” 

“I’ve never seen blue moon quartz in my life. Guess Esten hid it from Dolios.” TFC chuckles, and pockets it. “Let’s get back to the surface before his blessing turns to a curse.”

[rainsonata]

Doppelgänger 15/15

Chapter 15: Connect

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: T Word Count: 6,674

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves.

AO3 Link  I  FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] —

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Class Notes: 

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen   

Alternative Path: Rune Master, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

Transformation Path: Immortal, Metamorphy, Twilight, Nova Imperator, Code: Sariel, Centurion, Shakti, Bloody Queen, Mad Paradox, Iblis and Anular (Diangelion), Herrscher

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2 Weeks Later

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Rune Master

Red haze from the smoke and flames clouded Rune's vision. Everything was hot to the touch. The air was stiffening from the dry wind and the ground was uncomfortably warm. There was electricity in his hair that left the fire user on the edge. His mind was going to burst into flames if someone didn't put out the fire! Dominator snarked it was all the meat he ate before being silenced by Ultimate's glares. His body was overheating, Blade kindly told him and forced him on the side while the rest of the party dealt with Rosso.

Pain struck Rune in the lower part of his abdomen, struggling to catch his breath as he dragged himself across the floor. He hugged his stomach and straightened his back in an attempt to sit up to avoid nausea. There was nothing to support his back except for the remaining tree trunk exposed by the winds. Rune poured water from his canteen over his face. The fire user shuddered from the cold water trickling down to the base of his neck. Rune tilted his head back again to chug down the rest of the water.

Dead plants and tangled weed curled up at his feet. Was Varnimyr always like this or was this caused by Rosso's presence? Varnimyr was the same as Rune had remembered. The only difference he noticed between the different Demon Realms was that this one didn't know about humans until their arrival.

They made it to the correct Demon Realm, or at least one that wasn't already occupied by another El Search Party. As they traveled up north in the Varnimyr region, Rune kept wondering if Knight and Immortal encountered the same challenges and problems as they had. The only thing Rune was sure of was that Rosso existed across their timelines.

Immortal wasn't kidding. Despite his size, Rosso hit like a brick wall. There was so much anger and sadness coming from the El Master of fire. Every burst of flame and swipe was followed by the half-demon's pained screams. What could have caused someone as powerful as an El Master to curse everything around him? If only Rune was spared enough time to look into the source of Rosso's pain…

Forcing an eye open, Rune looked up to be greeted by haze and dusty clouds. Rosso's fires have hindered his view of the stars that once dotted the eternal night sky. His friends' cries scattered in the distance as he laid himself to the floor. His fingers felt numb from clutching onto his sword until his knuckles were white.

Warm palms pressed over Rune's, applying pressure to his knuckles before letting them go. Covered in calluses, it was a wonder how those hands could pull a trigger, but those hands were also responsible for saving his life among many others in the past. Phantom sat beside Rune with one hand over his destroyer and his eyes staring into the thin winding tower where Rosso was.

"What are you thinking?" Phantom kept his voice low. His eyes darted to Rune's with care in his words, "You've been quiet."

"It took us two attempts to get to the right Demon Realm," Rune laughed without humor. "We still couldn't avoid fighting Rosso."

"I think there are some things that can't be prevented even with prior knowledge," Phantom said. "Rosso was already here before we arrived. I don't know what his goals are, but it's up to us to take him down."

"You won't kill him, will you?" Rune asked.

Rune briefly caught a glimpse of Rosso's figure before being forced to leave by his teammates. What could have pushed an El Master to cause such destruction? The El Search Party managed to reverse their previous enemies from mind control in the past, but Rosso was different. He was alive and aware of his condition. Rosso actively screamed at the El Search Party to leave, resorting to violence when his wish went ignored. There had to be a chance to save him from his poor fate.

"I won't hesitate if it means coming out of this alive," Phantom said. "There are people depending on me."

Those that didn't know him well would have taken his statement as being cold, but Rune understood. After nearly losing his kingdom to demons, Phantom had learned the harsh lesson of what it meant if one hesitated to fight back. Delaying their next action by the merest second could mean a premature death to them all. They have followed Immortal's advice to split the team into two to rotate whenever Rosso changed his battle strategies - if mindless thrashing and crushing buildings counted as such.

Rosso was not to be trifled with. Despite having control over fire, Rune had suffered burns from attempting to breach Rosso's tower. Rosso's flames were demonic, impatient, and demanding. His skin was still hot when he applied cold water to the nape of his neck and the rest of his body. They were already struggling to fight back when the half-demon was using a small portion of his abilities. Immortal warned him what would happen if they weren't prepared to give it their all.

Half of their team was out of commission from the fight outside of Rosso's tower. His sister was leading their remaining team inside to find the El Master. Rune was half-listening to the occasional messages sent between team members. He was thankful for Dominator making last-minute adjustments so they could communicate with each other over long distances. The messages were getting shorter.

"They'll be okay," Phantom noticed Rune looking back and forth between the Hamel protector and his communication. "Your job is to stay alive."

"Not making sure none of us do something stupid?" Rune chuckled.

"That's my job," Phantom broke out of his facade and smirked.

Rune's heart nearly leaped out of his chest to the sight of the blonde man's smile, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. He distracted himself by examining the freshly cleaned bandages wrapped around his joints. Soaked in an herbal bath to alleviate burns, Rune was proud to say he was getting better at prioritizing himself first so he could attend to his teammates. He and Richter helped prepare the bandages while Oz and Dominator counted how many people needed elixirs. They were lucky that most of their injuries were minor. There should be enough resources for them to last for at least a week.

"You're still worried," Phantom studied Rune's face.

"I was," Rune admitted. "Rosso makes Perkisas look weak."

"Was?" Phantom made note of Rune's wording. "What else is there?"

"We're already fighting Rosso, so there's no turning back." Rune said, "We did everything we could to prepare for this moment. Even if we fail, I can at least say that we tried. I have you guys to help me."

"I think I can live with that answer." Their fingers brushed. Phantom brought his hands back to his lap and leaned his head back. "You're not afraid to die?"

"Nah," Rune laughed. "If I was, I never would have left Ruben considering how many times I almost died. Gotta sacrifice myself at least once a week, right?"

"Not funny," Phantom growled.

Phantom gave him a look as if wondering, "Really?". The blonde was going to drill holes into Rune if he kept glaring at him like that. A lopsided grin found its way onto Rune's facial features, giving his partner a shrug and cocking his head to one side to show he was joking. Rune knew it wasn't going to work, but man was he going to try.

"You know being an adventurer isn't the safest job," Rune said with a more serious expression. Maybe joking about his own death wasn't the best way to cope, especially around his friends. Old habits were hard to break. "That's why they make so much money. They do the jobs no one else wants to do. Not even soldiers want to do it."

"That doesn't mean I'm okay with you joking about your death," Phantom said.

"I know, sorry."

Rune hated how lame his response was, how hollow his words rang. He wished he could say more than that, but he couldn't take back his words. Even if he did, Rune still made light of people's feelings. How many times was he going to ignore how his words impacted others? He was supposed to stop keeping things to himself and rely on others more, yet struggled to be honest about himself without making self-deprecating jokes.

"Did Immortal tell you Rosso's weakness?" Phantom asked.

"I didn't get it when he told me, but now I can see that Rosso was not completely in control of himself," Rune said. That much was certain from his enragement, sometimes crying to an outside influence with no name. "When his shadow appeared, I saw him covering his left eye. Do you think that has to do with why he overpowered us?"

"He's also an El Master," Phantom added. "We struggled against Solace when we defied him. Did you think fighting Rosso would be easier?"

"No, but isn't it strange that Solace barely mentioned him when we saw the other El Masters?" Rune grew frustrated, "I'm sure he has a lot to worry about because of the El Lady and the state of the El, but isn't it important to wonder what happened to his friend?"

"Unless they don't get along," Dominator interjected into the conversation. With a potion in hand, the scientist had a smug expression, "Talking about others behind their backs? I can't believe I thought you were a good boy."

"I can," Oz deadpanned.

"Don't scare us like that!" Rune twisted his body to pout. Couldn't a guy get some privacy for once? He crossed his arms, "We're talking about battle strategies."

"Like your distrust for an El Master?" Dominator cackled.

"I'm getting tired of nobody telling me what's going on," Rune sighed.

"Solace probably didn't think it was something we should be concerned about," Oz reasoned. "We already have a lot on our plate as is. Don't you think he may have kept Rosso's existence away from us because he didn't want us to throw ourselves into danger again?"

"You mean this brat doing something dumb?" Dominator pointed to Rune.

"Don't pretend you don't do stupid things too," Phantom wasn't impressed. "What about that knife-wielding cleaning robot?"

"T-that's different!" Dominator protested and turned pink, "I was testing something!"

"Already done healing everyone?" Rune stiffened a laugh to Dominator's shock of being talked back by the quietest person on the team. Although they lacked in battle healers, their team compensated by having a handful of alchemists. Natural resources weren't lacking from the various plants and rocks they found on their ventures.

"Nothing a few doses of elixirs and rest can't fix." Dominator was relieved to change the subject. "Is Solace obligated to tell you everything going on in his head? I'm not sure if he knows about the fire midget being here if he was so eager to throw us here instead of coming himself."

Rune wasn't sure if Solace was as keen as Dominator claimed about sending them over to another dimension, but his words made the rune user wonder. Would Solace find a way to the Demon Realm if he knew that Rosso had imprisoned himself in a tower? If one of their teammates had disappeared, Rune wanted to believe he would have done something about it, but he wasn't so sure after meeting Solace. He and the El Master of the sun were both Rubenians, obligated by an invisible force to carry responsibilities over the El. Although Solace had deemed him as a worthy equal, Rune couldn't shake off the unwavering restlessness he felt around the older man. Solace was a reminder of what human desperation could do to a single person and those around them.

"Regardless of Solace's intentions, we need to calm down Rosso if we want to get any information out of him." Phantom said, "Someone with that kind of power would likely know something about the Dark El."

"I can't promise I won't kill the midget," Dominator mused.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Oz forced the scientist to jerk his head down by pulling on his collar. She hissed, "Rosso may have lost his mind, but he can still hear us."

"Then there must be two of him," Dominator laughed. "Because I heard him screaming about Elesis while I was talking to the priest."

More fire? Who are you people?

Rune ran his hand over his temples, that voice again… Rosso? His voice sounded so young yet ancient, easily centuries older than Rune. The half-demon's voice echoed like a memory ingrained into his subconscious, refusing to let go and forced the leader of the El Search Party to look into the faces of his teammates. A darkened blade covered in gold scriptures, Flame brought her Claymore over her head to strike a giant demonic eye covered in thorns. Fire spun from her fingertips as she led five other people by her side.

A row of grey thorns was blocked from spawning above their heads by Ultimate, who had summoned a dozen spears at her disposal. With the help of a few demon allies, blue flames rose to form a firewall controlled by Timoria and Abysser. Fire splashed to the side as Blade made his way across to slash through the barriers protecting the demonic eye. Green wind swirled as Anemos spun around into a high-jump kick. Dozens of arrows flew from her nimble bow.

Blood shot out from the demonic eye in all directions. Its shrieks caused all to cover their ears. Seismic waves riveted over the floor as everyone dug their weapons into the ground for stability. Its thorns shriveled back into the eye's core before it stopped moving.

"Is everyone okay?" Flame checked on her teammates. "Careful, it's getting restless…"

"That eye must be a part of someone who could very well be within this tower," Ultimate stated. "Energy levels have elevated."

"I think we angered him," Timoria backed away from the flames. "I'm not sure if there's enough time to retreat for this one."

"We need to let the others know," Abysser clenched his teeth. "We're reaching our limits. Els-"

"Elsword!"

Rune opened his eyes to his name being screamed by his sister. He rushed over to meet Flame and the rest of their shabby team, clearly worn out from the last battle.

At the wake of the demonic eye's death, the earth had opened up. A fault emerged from the depths of the Demon Realm. The long narrow tower once protected by its prisoner had split open, engulfed by violent crimson flames. Once the flames had cleared, darkness cloaked a towering figure rising from the horizon.

GO AWAY!

Towering at a height that was easily comparable to Eltrion, the colossal figure was composed of a material that reminded Rune of black lava rock. Darkened wings made of the same material expanded outward for the monster to look down at the El Search Party. Red horns protruded from its forehead, matching its equally red eyes hinted with an unworldly hue of blue etched into its pupils and the rest of its body. This was Rosso?

"Is that our demon?" Devi grabbed her spear. Hunger replaced her once emotionless expression, bringing her spear pointed downward and lowering her body close to the ground. The older woman gave a dark chuckle, "I won't let it get away this time."

"Find shelter while we deal with Rosso!" Rune looked to Anemos and Abysser, "It's okay, I promise. We'll come out of this alive."

"You better," Abysser laughed. "Lu isn't too happy after he nearly took her eye out."

"Ciel and I will do our best to heal everyone in case you need to switch out," Anemos said. "Watch out for the eye. There's a lot of demonic energy coming from it."

"Not unless we blind him first," Dominator grinned.

"I can help him," Richter said with a serious expression.

"Spread out and watch your feet," Rune ordered his team. He couldn't believe the scientist could find the time to joke at a time like this. Richter too? Or maybe the priest thought Dominator meant it and agreed. "Don't rush into this battle. We only have six people active and can't afford to lose anyone."

Richter nodded. Light shone from his palms, grasping around the spears materializing in his hands. Raising one arm from the side, spears rained down from above and shattered into Rosso's left shoulder, sending the half-demon roaring in pain. Red flashed over the already reddened landscape. The priest dodged a laser blast from Rosso's eye and tumbled onto the floor.

High pitch cackling roared out of Rosso. The earth rolled as a pillar of thorns erupted from the floor. Long shadows extended beneath Oz's feet, followed by firing dark energy to propel herself into the air. Dominator and Oz moved towards the center of the battlefield, out of reach from Rosso's spiny attack. Multiple drones were set up at the base of Rosso's waist level to fire lasers around the half-demon. Orange orbs from Devi spun around in circles before consuming the rest of Rosso's remaining pillar of thorns.

"Look out!" Phantom shouted to him.

A pair of giant conal structures swung from the side. They were slow-moving, descending onto Rune and spinning counterclockwise with the intent to crush the leader of the El Search Party. The runes on his body glowed as he concentrated and released flames from his fingertips. Smoke filled his vicinity to create confusion for the towering half-demon. Rune slammed his greatsword against the dirt as a launchpad to distance himself from the strange structures that could move on their own, perhaps controlled by Rosso. He could muse about Rosso's abilities later when he wasn't running for his life.

Silver bullets flew from Rune's direction. There wasn't time for Rune to look and see Phantom sliding over with his arsenal of pistols and an oversized cannon he kept from his early teen years. The blonde wasn't taking any chances and had them fired at the eye visible on Rosso's face, red layered with unnatural bright blue rings around the pupil.

Rosso didn't like that. His arms extended from behind the cliff where the rest of his body was, clawing at their team of six and howling. The left eye glowed. Red and gray thorns erupted from the ground up, threatening to pierce into the toughest man-made armor.

Phantom cursed loudly over the chaotic fight. Blood gushed from beneath his armor, pushing forward and using the last few bullets to get in between Rosso's hardened shell. The way he limped over when he crawled to the side was one Rune was too familiar with. He had broken a few bones. The thorns were stopping him from bleeding out, but they would need to remove them eventually - if they made it out of this alive.

Rune felt his hands form into fists. This could not happen, he wasn't going to allow it! He gripped his blade, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth because of the overwhelming smoke from his own fires and from Rosso's. This was what happened when one fought fire with fire.

"Keep going!" Phantom hugged where the thorns dug into armor and into his skin, "I'll be back on my feet in no time!"

"Not in that condition," Rune glared. "You're going to Rena and the others."

"You can't defeat Rosso with only five people!" Phantom argued, "Our friends barely stunned him long enough before he found us!"

"Arguing in the middle of the fight?" Devi backflipped to land neatly on her feet and turned to wipe blood dripping down her forehead. "I can't believe you're purposely missing this opportunity to kill this demon to bicker amongst yourselves. You must think you can win this fight by idling around. Move!"

Both men silenced. Rune grabbed Phantom and tossed his weight over his shoulder, ignoring the definitely-not-taller man's protests as he and Devi ran together to avoid another line of lasers. Rosso's wings expanded as he brought his arms to the side to summon a sea of energy orbs. The orbs floated slowly like bubbles and surrounded the El Search Party. Rune stared at the orbs in awe.

Rune blinked. The orbs have disappeared. His blade clashed against Rosso's arm swinging towards him, bearing down his weight and struggling not to get pushed off the cliff. Rosso backed off when sparks flew from his hands and surprised the half-demon. Flames licked Rosso's arm and traveled to the rest of his body before disappearing. Just enough to buy him time to run to the opposite side of the battlefield.

"How many times do we need to bring down this brat to make him stop moving?" Dominator complained.

"As many times as needed," Richter said.

Metal clashed against the conal structures rising once more against Devi, who had her spear extended and her hair turned white. The wind howled as the spear user flipped her weapon so that its tip was facing the floor, bringing her feet up and jumping to the opposite side to avoid another row of thorns fired in her direction. Her girly laughter filled the silence as Devi summoned orange orbs to fire at Rosso.

A tiny figure fought beside Oz. Cladded in purple clothing to match with the dark mage, Angkor assisted Oz in opening a dimensional gate. Purple bats flew from the portal and dislocated the arm Rosso used to summon the thorns. Rosso cursed at the woman as his form began to darken and lowered his head. His eyes glowed and the battlefield shone brightly.

"Did we defeat him?" Rune asked.

Dominator frowned and looked to his screens for help before his eyes widened, "No, you idiot. He was just playing with us!"

A small body rose from the collapsed rubble. Red hair draped past the shoulders and hid the right side of the face. The body was covered in black markings and the arms were colored bright magenta, wielding a scythe over the head. Rune recognized the figure. It was the form Rosso held when they tried to break into the tower.

"Is everyone alright?" Rune checked his teammates.

There was no time to listen to a response as he turned around to duck a scythe aiming for his neck. Great, now he was going to truly lose his head as Dominator always complained. Rune held his arms up to concentrate fire into his hands and touched Rosso by the wrists. Unfortunately, Rosso was also made of fire and used the moment to raise more thorns at the red-head. Rune was pulled out from the rows of thorns summoned by the half-demon by Oz, who was quick to teleport to his side with Angkor following her.

"I should be asking if you can still run," Oz gasped. "Worry about yourself first, silly."

"Hard to when most of us are barely avoiding his attacks," Rune said. "One wrong move and we're dead."

"Only if we get hit," Richter said. "I'll bring Mr. Guardrian back to Rena. I will return as briskly as the El permits."

Rune was in awe of Richter's confidence, never letting the little things get to him. He needed to ask the priest how to do that. Once again, Rune pulled out his blade to fight. His flames were eager to show Rosso what real fire looked like. Rune weaved around his opponent, only taking a few steps to allow Rosso to slide to the side. His friends joined the macabre dance in their own rhythm, spinning new steps with their unique fighting styles.

Oz and Angkor relied on each other as a medium to summon familiars to aid them in the battle. Bats flew above their heads and struck Rosso from behind. Drones floated the area from Dominator's endless supplies of technology. Forming into a triangular formation, lasers flew into a straight line to disarm Rosso from his weapon. Devi's eyes glowed red in bloody prance, swinging her spear to the side in precise movement as an extension of the demon-loathing woman. Her attempt to cut into Rosso's stomach at the midline was only stopped by the reddened scythe armored in demonic energy.

"What a dangerous monster," Devi glared at the half-demon with disgust. "You sure you don't want to kill him, boy?"

"No, we can't do that." Rune gasped. "He was crying for help. Something is controlling him. Something is…"

Rune's voice was cut off by the sound of his own scream. His blood sang when Rosso's scythe sliced through his shoulder. Red blood dripped from his pores and he heard his name being called.

Fuck.

He had suffered many injuries in the past. Some were worse than others, so why did this one hurt the most? His brief stay in the Demon Realm had strengthened his endurance of demonic energy, but Rosso was too strong. Solace barely held a candle against what Rune had witnessed from the El Master of fire.

Was there an end to this battle? Rune grasped where he bled, fumbling through the limited cloth he had to stop himself from bleeding. If only they had a healer, he thought in blinding pain. No matter how many times he wanted to tell Rosso he was sorry for the pain, his own had made it difficult for him to see past the battle.

Phantom was already out of commission and had joined Anemos and the others shortly after he was hit by the thorns. Fighting Rosso was barely feasible with a team of six when his sister did it, but a team of four? What was going to happen to them?

Footsteps scattered all around him as Rosso swung his blade, blocked by Devi's swift blade. It was impressive how long the older woman could withstand ongoing battles with such vigor. Dominator ordered Dynamo to switch to a different install to fly higher to release a rain of laser grenades. Oz dropped her staff to pull Rune to the side.

"I can walk," Rune waved his hand away when Oz offered to help him up. "You go fight Rosso. I'll take care of myself."

"And let you bleed to death?" She scowled.

"There's only three of us left because Ain left with Chung," Rune argued. "You need to stay. Ain should be back by now."

Oz looked as if she was ready to argue back, but stopped. Glazing over the bombed battlefield with pain visible on her face, the black mage nodded, clearly unhappy about their predicament. Rune didn't like it either, but what else was there to do? Rosso had neatly cut into their defense like tissue paper.

A woman appeared within his eyesight. Rune wiped his eyes to make sure it wasn't an illusion by one of those demon plants. Ultimate? Cladded in black spandex covered in white plated armor, she bore a strong resemblance to Ultimate. When Rune was able to get a better look at the stranger, he noticed her face lacked the same depth of emotions as his teammate.

"There they are!" Immortal exclaimed.

The swordsman brought attention to himself by raising one of his many swords as a guiding beacon. Rune was too stunned to vocalize his shock about his counterpart appearing. He was greeted by Immortal's signature grin, pearly white teeth and dried lips. Richter was with him. The priest must have shown Immortal where they were, although it wasn't very hard with the lasers and thorns flying in their general direction.

Rune's gaze switched back to Ultimate's doppelganger. She must have been Eve from Immortal's dimension. Unlike her rowdy teammate, she kept to herself and was silent with Richter, who equally had nothing to say amongst the chattering party. The priest made eye contact with Rune and acknowledged the rune user with a curt nod. It looked like Richter was able to bring Phantom to safety with no complications.

Knight appeared in good health albeit his expression suggesting worn and wear from the long journey. He nodded tiredly to a person Rune didn't recognize. A petite girl whose height was only rivaled by Timoria's ("Hey!"), her pink wavy hair reminded him of cotton candy. Keeping up with cotton candy as inspiration, the rest of her attire was in various hues of pink and pastel blue. Rune noticed a large amount of energy coming from the mirror bobbing next to the girl's head as she talked loudly in the middle of a warzone.

"Sorry for being late," Richter apologized.

"We were kinda lost until Richter found us." Immortal laughed.

"Elsword lacks understanding in reading coordinates," Ultimate's look-alike stated.

"Shhhh, I'm trying to look cool in front of myself!" Immortal stage whispered.

"You mean Metamorphy isn't here?" Rune still couldn't believe they were here.

"She was, but said she had business to deal with." Immortal shrugged, "Magical girl duties, or whatever."

Rune didn't get it, but couldn't bother to ask. His mind was on his friends, who were fighting for their lives against a corrupted El Master. The sight of his counterparts and their friends should have brought ease to the tension in his shoulders, but Rune couldn't shake off the fear that they were too late. He looked to Richter for help.

"What are they doing here?" Oz looked at the new strangers with concern.

"We're here to help," Knight said. "Richter told us you were fighting Rosso. It sounds like he's been giving you guys as much trouble as he did for us."

"In all fairness, Rosso isn't a pushover, especially when angry." Immortal mused, "Funny guy with a hot and cold personality."

Rune frowned. Why was Immortal talking as if he personally had the half-demon over for tea and biscuits? Was this another one of Immortal's moments of undermining things that were worse than how he phrased it?

"Oh no, you're bleeding!" The pink-haired girl tugged Rune's arm. Her eyes watered and pointed to his bleeding shoulder. "Why are you hurt?"

"Who's the kid?" Rune looked at the girl with confusion. He would have remembered someone who dressed as strangely as the young girl if they had met before. "Are you recruiting kids now?"

"This is Laby." The girl talked. Her voice was as sweet as hard candy and had to look up to make eye contact with Rune, "Is this one of Elsword's friends?"

"Yes," Knight said with wariness. What was up with this guy? One would think he had lost a pet rabbit in a fire. Too soon? "We met when we were trapped in the Demon Realm. We came here because Laby wanted to meet you guys."

"How did you get here if Bringer isn't with you?" Rune noticed the brawler's absence.

"I think Add gave the machine to Elsword as an apology," Laby said.

"For what?" Immortal asked.

"Elsword needs to have his wounds attended to immediately," Richter interrupted. There was irritation in his tone after what he thought to be too much conversing. "That demon is still alive."

"Right," Oz looked at Knight and Immortal. "Think you can keep up with us? We need someone to create a diversion while Richter and I remove the weapon from Rosso."

"Of course," Immortal smirked. "Why didn't you say so?"

Oz rolled her eyes but smiled.

"Laby, can you help Rune with his injuries?" Knight asked.

"Of course!" Laby waved her arms out in excitement. She bounced onto her feet and pulled Rune to look at his sorry state.

"Thank you," Rune lowered his head to hide the tears. Their timing was impeccable when they were down to a few adventurers. He couldn't have imagined his next meeting with his counterparts to be at the edge of a one-sided battle. "Please help my friends."

Laby's healing was gentle and reminded him of Bluhen, who wasn't with Knight today. He thought the priest would have stayed close to the knight and noticed how tense his counterpart was when Bringer was mentioned. Did something happen between them? Rune shook his head, that was their business to deal with unless Knight was looking for a second opinion. But still…

"Don't forget we're your friends too," Knight smiled for the first time since his arrival. "You're welcome to join us after Laby helps you."

"Man, how come you get two healers?" Immortal whined, "Ow!"

Immortal rubbed his forehead where Knight had smacked him. Laby failed to stop herself giggling from the man's pain.

Greatsword pulled out, Knight had the imposing demeanor of a Velder soldier ready for battle. Nodding towards the direction of the battle, Knight gestured Immortal to follow him. The swordsman pulled out his two blades. Sleek in design and balanced, Immortal struck a pose as Sariel ordered her Nasod drones to fly into combat mode. Richter looked to Oz for the signal and the two ran into the battlefield to join their teammates.

The cathartic landscape of torn-down buildings and the ground set ablaze was enough to bring most men on their knees. However, as Rune witnessed Knight and Immortal pulling Rosso towards their blades, he saw the fire light up in their faces. The excitement of battle in fusion with fear of uncertainty. Sariel's drones weaved along with Dominator's as they roped Rosso into using his thorns opposite Devi as she harpooned her spear into the half-demon's flesh.

His strength was slowly returning when a strong wave of power flooded his vicinity. It was coming from Rosso. Even those not sensitive to the El could feel it. The corruption had taken over Rosso. Rune stood up, suddenly finding strength in his voice.

"I'm going," Rune said. "They need our help."

Laby looked up at him in confusion, but it must have been his tone that stopped her from protesting. After much arguing with the pink girl (Who would have thought someone so tiny could be so stubborn?), Rune had forced himself to be content on resting, at least until he could move his limbs without wincing. He could no longer ignore the crave to return to the fight.

It was as if all of the pain in his body had disappeared. Maybe it was the strange food Laby gave him to recover or maybe he was delirious from the adrenaline, but he couldn't let the fight go on without talking to Rosso one more time. Fire lit up in one hand and his sword in the other, Rune calmly stepped into the battlefield to face the Master of Fire. It was time to settle this once and for all.

----------------------------

Metamorphy

"Ugh, I hate snow." Metamorphy sighed.

What could be so important for the magical girl to be summoned to Pruinaum? Although it was barren in demons since most tried to avoid the cold, no amount of layers could get rid of the frigid wind finding its way through her clear pores. It was a good thing Metamorphy was the nicest and most patient person in the world, otherwise, she would have been very angry to meet up with the person who was so generous to invite her to the coldest place in Demon Realm.

Sitting at the edge on top of a tall glacial structure was a tiny figure. They were a single black dot to the naked eye. When Metamorphy teleported to the figure, she was greeted by a child. She made out a pair of cat ears sitting atop of the hood they wore and the chains dangling from the back of their jacket.

"How long are you going to pretend you're a kid?" Metamorphy asked.

"How long are you going to pretend you're nice?" Paradox snarked.

"Add, you requested this meeting." She said in her sweetest voice possible. "So this better be good."

She cracked her knuckles between the grip of her staff.

Paradox wasn't shivering only because of the cold, although she couldn't understand how the literal man-child wasn't freezing from how little he wore. Light flashed for the child to be replaced with a man in a body-tight suit. His hair reached past his shoulders and nearly touched the ground.

Metamorphy shrieked when a portal opened from the side and a frozen body tumbled out. Red hair sprawled out from the roots and over the unidentified person. Their hair was so long that Metamorphy was sure it could have gone past the ankles. A red Claymore laced in black stuck uncomfortably between their ribcage.

"Add, what is this?" Metamorphy gasped.

"A body," Paradox said as a matter-of-fact. "I found her under the ice. Aren't you going to thank me?"

"She's dead!"

"Her heart is still beating," Paradox corrected.

Metamorphy flipped the woman onto her back to press her ear against the Queen's chest. A faint heartbeat fluttered weakly like a dim light on a winter night. She kneeled down to frantically tend to Bloody Queen's wounds. They needed to pull out the Claymore to clean her cuts. Metamorphy looked to Paradox for help. It took more effort than it should have to pull out the weapon. It was tempting to toss out the weapon since it was rusting from excessive use, but she also didn't want to risk losing her head to a frostbitten woman. Time froze in place as Paradox unwound time to heal the deep cut.

"What are we supposed to do with her?" Metamorphy asked more to herself than the Paradox. The time traveler didn't make a good conversationalist most of the time and she struggled to understand the brat.

"Do you want her or not?" Paradox asked, "If not, I can throw her back to the demons."

"Like hell you are," Metamorphy growled and pressed one hand over her temple. "What do you want out of this? It's not like you did this because you felt like being nice."

"Don't you have some brats to pick up from their fun little fight?" Paradox asked.

How did he know?

"You never told me what's going on between you and Glave." Metamorphy said, "Why didn't you complain when he agreed to keep the timelines together? Are you planning to mess with time again?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," Paradox said. Cryptic as ever, typical. "Not everything I do involves destroying time and space, you know."

"You always seem to know where everyone is too," Metamorphy made note of how the time traveler always popped up whenever they were in trouble. Even more so, he often held important information they needed for any obstacle that got in their way. "Could it be that you actually car-"

"Mention me about having feelings for you losers and I'm going to throw up." Paradox interrupted.

"Of course," Metamorphy smirked. "Then you just happened to stumble onto Elesis's frozen body and asked me to come pick it up."

"Yes, and now you have a new problem." Paradox grinned.

Metamorphy could never understand the enigmatic man. Albeit childhood trauma from the short glimpses of Paradox's past, she didn't know much of the time traveler. Maybe it was for the best. There was no point in digging up painful memories when it didn't help them in the present.

She turned to thank the man but he had disappeared. Metamorphy groaned. Why did Paradox always do this to her? The magical girl was one hundred percent sure he lured her to do the dirty work so he could take his leave. Looking at Queen's still body, she tucked some of the hair behind the older woman's ear. It was going to take time to bring Queen back to the others before checking on Immortal. Metamorphy lifted the woman and sighed. Immortal was not going to be happy about this. Her sole hope was that Queen wasn't going to wake up and dart the other direction when reunited with her brother like the last time in Velder.