#alternatively how do I get a longer cord so it stops getting strained?

[shatar-aethelwynn]

All right. I'm going to crowd source this because I am not tech savvy and some of you lot are.

I am really tired of having to keep buying headphones for wearing at the office because I keep damaging the wires. I need them. They keep me from being overwhelmed by all the sounds and having a sensory stress related meltdown.

So here's my question: can anyone tell me how to go about searching for wireless earbuds (preferred for situational reasons, but I am willing to consider alternatives) that DO NOT require Bluetooth? My computer at work doesn't support it. Google and general searches are not working because search functions online or more or less fucked at this point, and like I said, I'm not tech savy enough to know what terms to use or look for. Every result just says "for bluetooth".

So, I need something that does NOT require downloading software, has either a headphone or USB port connection to the computer monitor, but is wireless.

Does this exist? Preferably for less than $50USD? Or at least less than $100?

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Burning Love

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 26. Burning Fandom: MCU, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, f!reader Summary: When you and Bucky are captured, HYDRA scientists try to force you to use your powers to kill him. But you refuse to hurt the man you love, regardless of how much pain it may cause you... Word Count: 2171 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Burning, Torture, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Laser Beams, Damaged Vision, Bucky Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah for looking this over for me 💞 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

“Doll, please, open your eyes.” The desperation in Bucky’s voice as he pleads with you breaks your heart, but it’s better than the alternative if you comply with his wishes.

You twitch your head as much as the leather restraint across your forehead will allow, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Through gritted teeth, you grunt, “Not gonna happen, Sarge.”

The pain coursing through you is horrible, but knowing what it would do to Bucky if you gave in is enough to make it bearable—somewhat. Unlike his body, yours is more equipped to handle the damage caused by the laser beams you can shoot from your eyes. While it has taken maybe an hour to get to this point—where your eyelids and surrounding skin are charred, bubbly, and blackened like a flamed-broiled marshmallow—you would have cut through Bucky’s flesh in seconds. Which is why you are fighting so hard to protect him from your open eyes. 

“Turn it off,” a frustrated voice growls behind you. “We'll have to try something else.”

The searing sensation in your eyes disappears and you shift against the numerous restraints holding you into the metal chair. It feels so violating to have these HYDRA scientists hooking you up to their machinery, digging through your brain, and activating your beams as they see fit. You wonder if this is how Bucky used to feel back when he was the Winter Soldier.

As the scientists fiddle with the equipment behind you, you hear a tender voice call out to you. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” you mumble. “How you doing, Buck?” The last thing you saw before you began forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed was Bucky being strapped into his own chair directly across from you.

“Horrible. Watching you barbeque yourself just to spare me…Doll, you can’t keep doing this. You won’t survive it much longer.”

You gave him a wry chuckle. “I’ve been accidentally burning myself with these things my entire life. I can take it.”

“For how long?” You don’t answer. “Please, look at me. I need to see you’re okay behind all of this.”

As much as you want nothing more in this world than to stare into Bucky’s loving gaze one last time, it’s not worth the potential cost. “I can’t. They could turn them back on at any second and…I can’t risk it.” 

“I’m not worth all the pain they’re putting you through. I don’t deserve this kind of sacrifice—not after everything I’ve done.”

Smiling in his direction, you whisper, “When will you stop blaming yourself for what they made you into and see the man you truly are? The man I love.”

It sounds like Bucky is about to say something else but, before he can, an angry voice from behind you barks out, “I’m tired of this game. Increase the power.”

Bucky screams, “No!”

Suddenly, the pain behind your eyes increases exponentially and the pressure within your head becomes unbareable. An inhuman screech is ripped from your lips. Something in your vocal cords snaps under the strain. You smell the faint whiff of burning hair mixed in with your cooking flesh and wonder if the last of your eyelashes have finally been seared off. Your bare toes scrap against the cold concrete as they involuntarily curl as all the muscles in your body contract. Every other part of your body is restrained by the straps holding you down, but you begin violently shaking as the tension within you becomes too great.

The small part of your mind that’s still coherent wonders if your eyes roll back into your head if you’ll fry your brain and end this torture. Maybe it is worth it to try.

You have no idea how long they keep your beams on this time—all your remaining focus and energy is on keeping your eyes closed. Bucky is screaming, crying, begging, but his voice sounds echoey and far away so you can’t make out his words. You aren’t sure what HYDRA will do to him once you’re gone, but you pray he fights them with everything he has.

Finally, the machine behind you is flipped off and your body sags against your restraints. Without them, you know you’d topple to the floor, no longer possessing the energy to hold yourself up. Everything hurts now, not just your eyes. But you’re still alive which means you aren’t done fighting.

You hear footsteps approaching and you recognize the voice of the man in charge as he curses, kicking one of the legs of your chair. “This is ridiculous. How many of you fucking idiots does it take to make her kill the Soldier? Just pry her eyes open, clamp them in place, and turn the machine back on.”

You grin weakly, feeling blood dripping down your chin where you had bit your tongue. With your ruined voice, you croak, “You can try, but the second any of you put a finger near my eyes, I’m burning it off.” 

The man beside you yanks on the restraint across your forehead, tightening it to the point you feel bones crack. You let out a soft whimper as the man growls, “Fine. We’ll turn it up to full power and leave it on. Let her burn completely through her eyelids. Then we’ll get the results we want.” You hear him turn and march away.

For the first time, your resolve wavers as a small sob bubbles up in your chest. Your body may be resistant to your beams and can repair wounds sustained from them, but it takes time. If these scientists can make you burn through your eyelids—and based on how everything is starting to look a little brighter through your closed lids, it seems like a very real possibility—then there is nothing you can do to stop them from hitting and killing Bucky. 

You hear the scientists murmuring and fiddling with equipment somewhere far behind you, but you still don’t dare open your eyes in case someone is still at the machine and flips it on the moment you look at Bucky. Yet it won’t matter for much longer if they carry out their plan. 

“Doll…” The word is whispered so low you can barely hear it.

“Buck…,” It’s hard to whisper with your ruined voice, the sound more of a croak than a real word. But you hope he can understand you with his super-soldier hearing. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t stop this.”

“I know. You’ve done so good so far.” Even in a whisper, the love in his voice feels like a comforting embrace. “But I have a plan. You just gotta trust me.” 

“I do. You know I do.” 

“Then when I tell you to open your eyes and turn on your beams, whether they’re making you or not.”

You sob, “But Bucky—”

“Trust me!” he hisses. 

“Okay…okay, I’ll do it.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doll. Whatever happens, I love you. And this isn’t your fault.”

A single tear escapes your ruined eyes and rolls down your scared cheek. “I love you too. But we both know, it is.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. However, you can hear a soft scraping and shuffling from his vicinity. Maybe he found a way to escape. Or maybe…he couldn’t be asking you to kill him. After all the pain and suffering you’d put yourself through to keep him alive, he wouldn’t have you take him out now just to end both of your pain…would he?

But you promised to trust him and you do, so when you hear him mutter, “All the way down and to the right. Now!”, you follow his instructions.

Shifting your gaze behind closed lids as far to the right and downward as they’ll go, you open your eyes and blast without a second's hesitation. 

Your beams strike Bucky in the center of his left forearm, just a few inches above his wrist. Even though it is his metal arm, you are horrified. You thought he had found a way to get you to blast open his cuffs or melt his chair, and in a way, even killing him instantly would be better than this. His vibranium arm is advanced enough that it still allows him to feel sensations such as texture, pressure, and—what concerns you in this situation—temperature and even pain. Instead of ending his life with one blast, you are now forcing him to endure the same agony you have been going through. 

As the metal begins to glow under the intense heat of your beams, you want to screw your eyes shut once more. But Bucky told you to do this and you promised to trust him. Even though he is grunting and panting because of the pain, he isn’t telling you to stop so you keep your beams focused on his arm. 

Eventually, the red-hot glow expands and soon reaches his wrist. In moments, the metal restraint liquifies and Bucky wrenches his arm free. Without having to be told, you slam your eyes shut once more.

You can hear the sounds of fighting all around you: guns firing until their clips run empty, flesh sizzling against metal followed by screams of agony, bodies being flung around the room and crashing to the floor. 

But then everything goes silent.

For a minute, nothing happens. You are just about to call out when a pair of lips press lightly against yours. Jumping slightly, you quickly recognize the kiss. You try to lean into it but the strap across your forehead holds you firmly in place. 

Parting from your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, Bucky whispers, “It’s okay. You can open your eyes now. It’s just you and me.”

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. The world is cloudy and out of focus with huge black spots obstructing your vision. And yet, there was no mistaking the person kneeling in front of you. 

Weakly, you smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“H-how bad?”

Bucky’s brow furrows as he runs his thumb gently around the edge of your eye socket, the now cooled metal somewhat soothing against your damaged skin. “It’s really bad, but I’m hoping it’s worse than it looks. Once you get checked out—”

“Not me,” you whisper. “How badly did I hurt you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t make it out. “I’ve had a lot worse. And it’s because of you that it was as minimal as it was. You should’ve just vaporized my head from the very start.” 

“Nah. I knew we’d find a way out eventually.”

“Liar,” he teases. Then, with a more serious tone, he asks, “How’s your vision? You’re blinking an awful lot and that can’t be comfortable.”

You try to think of how to describe what you are seeing. “I can see some shapes, colors, movements…that’s about it. No details. But even that’s a miracle at this point. I’ve never burned myself this badly before.”

“Will they…will they heal?”

You try to shrug but you are still strapped to the chair. “They should. They always have before. Healing the burns is tied into my powers.” You swallow and flinch at the sharp stab of pain cutting down your throat. “My voice, however, might be another story.”

Bucky gently runs his fingers down the side of your neck. “I’m sure SHIELD has some specialists who can help you. But first, we’ve got to get back to them. So let’s get you out of that chair.”

He began unlocking each of your restraints and you can’t stop a moan from escaping. Your skin had been rubbed raw where the metal dug into your skin, and your muscles ache from how tensely they had been clenched in pain. Bucky must have noticed this, because as he undoes each strap, he massages the area, loosening up the muscles enough to ease some of the tension. But every inch of you still throbs in pain. 

As Bucky unlatches the last restraint, he asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“I’m not sure. Everything hurts. But maybe once I get going—” You try to rise from the seat but barely make any progress before collapsing back down. You look up at Bucky sheepishly. “I guess that’s a no.”

Carefully, he lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the exit. You can’t see where you’re going and the slight bobbing of your vision as he walks is giving you a headache. 

Leaning your head against his chest, you let your damaged eyes drift softly closed. Then you mutter, “I think I need to sleep for a bit. Helps my recovery time.”

You feel Bucky’s lips brush against your temple. “Rest, Doll. I’ll take it from here.”

Nodding softly, you begin slipping into a deep slumber. You are still in a lot of pain, but you don’t regret a single moment of what happened. You’d do it all again if at the end you could be safe in Bucky’s arms once more.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Burning Love

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 26. Burning Fandom: MCU, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, f!reader Summary: When you and Bucky are captured, HYDRA scientists try to force you to use your powers to kill him. But you refuse to hurt the man you love, regardless of how much pain it may cause you... Word Count: 2171 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Burning, Torture, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Laser Beams, Damaged Vision, Bucky Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah for looking this over for me 💞 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“Doll, please, open your eyes.” The desperation in Bucky’s voice as he pleads with you breaks your heart, but it’s better than the alternative if you comply with his wishes.

You twitch your head as much as the leather restraint across your forehead will allow, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Through gritted teeth, you grunt, “Not gonna happen, Sarge.”

The pain coursing through you is horrible, but knowing what it would do to Bucky if you gave in is enough to make it bearable—somewhat. Unlike his body, yours is more equipped to handle the damage caused by the laser beams you can shoot from your eyes. While it has taken maybe an hour to get to this point—where your eyelids and surrounding skin are charred, bubbly, and blackened like a flamed-broiled marshmallow—you would have cut through Bucky’s flesh in seconds. Which is why you are fighting so hard to protect him from your open eyes. 

“Turn it off,” a frustrated voice growls behind you. “We'll have to try something else.”

The searing sensation in your eyes disappears and you shift against the numerous restraints holding you into the metal chair. It feels so violating to have these HYDRA scientists hooking you up to their machinery, digging through your brain, and activating your beams as they see fit. You wonder if this is how Bucky used to feel back when he was the Winter Soldier.

As the scientists fiddle with the equipment behind you, you hear a tender voice call out to you. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” you mumble. “How you doing, Buck?” The last thing you saw before you began forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed was Bucky being strapped into his own chair directly across from you.

“Horrible. Watching you barbeque yourself just to spare me…Doll, you can’t keep doing this. You won’t survive it much longer.”

You gave him a wry chuckle. “I’ve been accidentally burning myself with these things my entire life. I can take it.”

“For how long?” You don’t answer. “Please, look at me. I need to see you’re okay behind all of this.”

As much as you want nothing more in this world than to stare into Bucky’s loving gaze one last time, it’s not worth the potential cost. “I can’t. They could turn them back on at any second and…I can’t risk it.” 

“I’m not worth all the pain they’re putting you through. I don’t deserve this kind of sacrifice—not after everything I’ve done.”

Smiling in his direction, you whisper, “When will you stop blaming yourself for what they made you into and see the man you truly are? The man I love.”

It sounds like Bucky is about to say something else but, before he can, an angry voice from behind you barks out, “I’m tired of this game. Increase the power.”

Bucky screams, “No!”

Suddenly, the pain behind your eyes increases exponentially and the pressure within your head becomes unbareable. An inhuman screech is ripped from your lips. Something in your vocal cords snaps under the strain. You smell the faint whiff of burning hair mixed in with your cooking flesh and wonder if the last of your eyelashes have finally been seared off. Your bare toes scrap against the cold concrete as they involuntarily curl as all the muscles in your body contract. Every other part of your body is restrained by the straps holding you down, but you begin violently shaking as the tension within you becomes too great.

The small part of your mind that’s still coherent wonders if your eyes roll back into your head if you’ll fry your brain and end this torture. Maybe it is worth it to try.

You have no idea how long they keep your beams on this time—all your remaining focus and energy is on keeping your eyes closed. Bucky is screaming, crying, begging, but his voice sounds echoey and far away so you can’t make out his words. You aren’t sure what HYDRA will do to him once you’re gone, but you pray he fights them with everything he has.

Finally, the machine behind you is flipped off and your body sags against your restraints. Without them, you know you’d topple to the floor, no longer possessing the energy to hold yourself up. Everything hurts now, not just your eyes. But you’re still alive which means you aren’t done fighting.

You hear footsteps approaching and you recognize the voice of the man in charge as he curses, kicking one of the legs of your chair. “This is ridiculous. How many of you fucking idiots does it take to make her kill the Soldier? Just pry her eyes open, clamp them in place, and turn the machine back on.”

You grin weakly, feeling blood dripping down your chin where you had bit your tongue. With your ruined voice, you croak, “You can try, but the second any of you put a finger near my eyes, I’m burning it off.” 

The man beside you yanks on the restraint across your forehead, tightening it to the point you feel bones crack. You let out a soft whimper as the man growls, “Fine. We’ll turn it up to full power and leave it on. Let her burn completely through her eyelids. Then we’ll get the results we want.” You hear him turn and march away.

For the first time, your resolve wavers as a small sob bubbles up in your chest. Your body may be resistant to your beams and can repair wounds sustained from them, but it takes time. If these scientists can make you burn through your eyelids—and based on how everything is starting to look a little brighter through your closed lids, it seems like a very real possibility—then there is nothing you can do to stop them from hitting and killing Bucky. 

You hear the scientists murmuring and fiddling with equipment somewhere far behind you, but you still don’t dare open your eyes in case someone is still at the machine and flips it on the moment you look at Bucky. Yet it won’t matter for much longer if they carry out their plan. 

“Doll…” The word is whispered so low you can barely hear it.

“Buck…,” It’s hard to whisper with your ruined voice, the sound more of a croak than a real word. But you hope he can understand you with his super-soldier hearing. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t stop this.”

“I know. You’ve done so good so far.” Even in a whisper, the love in his voice feels like a comforting embrace. “But I have a plan. You just gotta trust me.” 

“I do. You know I do.” 

“Then when I tell you to open your eyes and turn on your beams, whether they’re making you or not.”

You sob, “But Bucky—”

“Trust me!” he hisses. 

“Okay…okay, I’ll do it.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Doll. Whatever happens, I love you. And this isn’t your fault.”

A single tear escapes your ruined eyes and rolls down your scared cheek. “I love you too. But we both know, it is.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. However, you can hear a soft scraping and shuffling from his vicinity. Maybe he found a way to escape. Or maybe…he couldn’t be asking you to kill him. After all the pain and suffering you’d put yourself through to keep him alive, he wouldn’t have you take him out now just to end both of your pain…would he?

But you promised to trust him and you do, so when you hear him mutter, “All the way down and to the right. Now!”, you follow his instructions.

Shifting your gaze behind closed lids as far to the right and downward as they’ll go, you open your eyes and blast without a second's hesitation. 

Your beams strike Bucky in the center of his left forearm, just a few inches above his wrist. Even though it is his metal arm, you are horrified. You thought he had found a way to get you to blast open his cuffs or melt his chair, and in a way, even killing him instantly would be better than this. His vibranium arm is advanced enough that it still allows him to feel sensations such as texture, pressure, and—what concerns you in this situation—temperature and even pain. Instead of ending his life with one blast, you are now forcing him to endure the same agony you have been going through. 

As the metal begins to glow under the intense heat of your beams, you want to screw your eyes shut once more. But Bucky told you to do this and you promised to trust him. Even though he is grunting and panting because of the pain, he isn’t telling you to stop so you keep your beams focused on his arm. 

Eventually, the red-hot glow expands and soon reaches his wrist. In moments, the metal restraint liquifies and Bucky wrenches his arm free. Without having to be told, you slam your eyes shut once more.

You can hear the sounds of fighting all around you: guns firing until their clips run empty, flesh sizzling against metal followed by screams of agony, bodies being flung around the room and crashing to the floor. 

But then everything goes silent.

For a minute, nothing happens. You are just about to call out when a pair of lips press lightly against yours. Jumping slightly, you quickly recognize the kiss. You try to lean into it but the strap across your forehead holds you firmly in place. 

Parting from your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, Bucky whispers, “It’s okay. You can open your eyes now. It’s just you and me.”

Slowly, you peel your eyes open. The world is cloudy and out of focus with huge black spots obstructing your vision. And yet, there was no mistaking the person kneeling in front of you. 

Weakly, you smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“H-how bad?”

Bucky’s brow furrows as he runs his thumb gently around the edge of your eye socket, the now cooled metal somewhat soothing against your damaged skin. “It’s really bad, but I’m hoping it’s worse than it looks. Once you get checked out—”

“Not me,” you whisper. “How badly did I hurt you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t make it out. “I’ve had a lot worse. And it’s because of you that it was as minimal as it was. You should’ve just vaporized my head from the very start.” 

“Nah. I knew we’d find a way out eventually.”

“Liar,” he teases. Then, with a more serious tone, he asks, “How’s your vision? You’re blinking an awful lot and that can’t be comfortable.”

You try to think of how to describe what you are seeing. “I can see some shapes, colors, movements…that’s about it. No details. But even that’s a miracle at this point. I’ve never burned myself this badly before.”

“Will they…will they heal?”

You try to shrug but you are still strapped to the chair. “They should. They always have before. Healing the burns is tied into my powers.” You swallow and flinch at the sharp stab of pain cutting down your throat. “My voice, however, might be another story.”

Bucky gently runs his fingers down the side of your neck. “I’m sure SHIELD has some specialists who can help you. But first, we’ve got to get back to them. So let’s get you out of that chair.”

He began unlocking each of your restraints and you can’t stop a moan from escaping. Your skin had been rubbed raw where the metal dug into your skin, and your muscles ache from how tensely they had been clenched in pain. Bucky must have noticed this, because as he undoes each strap, he massages the area, loosening up the muscles enough to ease some of the tension. But every inch of you still throbs in pain. 

As Bucky unlatches the last restraint, he asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“I’m not sure. Everything hurts. But maybe once I get going—” You try to rise from the seat but barely make any progress before collapsing back down. You look up at Bucky sheepishly. “I guess that’s a no.”

Carefully, he lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the exit. You can’t see where you’re going and the slight bobbing of your vision as he walks is giving you a headache. 

Leaning your head against his chest, you let your damaged eyes drift softly closed. Then you mutter, “I think I need to sleep for a bit. Helps my recovery time.”

You feel Bucky’s lips brush against your temple. “Rest, Doll. I’ll take it from here.”

Nodding softly, you begin slipping into a deep slumber. You are still in a lot of pain, but you don’t regret a single moment of what happened. You’d do it all again if at the end you could be safe in Bucky’s arms once more.

Taglist: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @writercole, @wildbornsiren

@tavners, @sunshineflowerchild789, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @merlehs,

@princessmisery666, @ohtobeleah, @musings-of-a-rose, @a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all

[lupically]

#C45052 | BENNETT.

genre | fluff

word count | 1753

warning | mention of injury​

note | (ignoring the obvious fact that i did not know how to end this) bennett is a good and underrated boy.

you shivered after your fist came in contact with the ice barrier.

your skin was numbed by the sheer cold to a point where the pain of punching a giant fallen icicle would simply subside into the stinging uncomfortable of your freezing skin. the sheer cold of dragonspine was nothing to make fun of, you realized that now, and you should probably not have agreed to travel here with bennett out of all people.

you never believed in superstition. curling a cord three times around the hairdryer would suffocate you, whistling past midnight would get you kidnapped by witches, looking at the clock when it strikes three brings you to alternate dimension—bennett’s terrible, unexplainable, god-awful bad luck.

you did not believe in it. even after seeing the scars that adorned his young skin, you did not believe it was the result of poor luck but only the product of a teenage boy's aggressive clumsiness during an adventure.

yet, after venturing into dragonspine with bennett, as well as razor and klee who have decided to tag along (razor convinced only after finding out klee is also going, not to watch over her for her safety but the cold mountain's livelihood), you found out you were having a change of mind.

it was very likely that you only wanted somebody to blame, though.

you four got separated after bennett slipped from a cliff, bringing you with him when his leg somehow tipped over your ankles and tripped you as well. klee and razor got distracted, it seemed, as you could hear explosions firing during your fall before your shoulder hit the soft surface of bennett‘s torso.

the two did not come down to find you guys, so you two decided to head up the mountains again in hopes to bump into them somehow. but, during an encounter with some whopperflowers, you two were backed into a cornered cave and, lo and behold, a giant and thick icicle fell atop of the spike-sprouting flowers and, conveniently, the only exit to the cave as well.

that was not mentioning all the tiny misfortunes thrown in between, such as falling into lakes, unable to find fire podiums, and slipping off snows.

therefore, no, you do not believe in superstition, but for the sake of being able to direct your anger toward someone else, you spared yourself the strictness and blamed bennett's bad luck.

"hey, look, i'm sure razor and klee will find us somehow!" bennett exclaimed with a smile after walking to your side. "you won't believe me but razor has a very keen sense of smell!"

you rolled your eyes with a huff, feeling annoyed that he still had it in him to look on the positive side. "what's he gonna do, sniff your bad luck and find his way here?"

his brows raised in curiosity. for a second, he genuinely thought about the question, then he laughed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. "i don't know! but it would be so cool if he can do that, don't you think?"

"the only thing i am thinking about now is getting out of here," you lightly growled under your breath as you glared at the azure-colored icicle.

archons. you could not be trapped in here for any longer. it was cold, the oxygen was probably draining and bennett never stops talking so he sucks the living hell out of the air, and there was no guarantee you two wouldn't be stuck here for the rest of your lives!

worst of all, you snap at people easily, especially when you were angry at them. whether it was misplaced anger or not, having bennett be near you right now could easily cause a misunderstanding with the words you could spill out of you. you would not mean them, but they could still hurt his feelings, and you did not want to hurt his feelings.

bad luck and badly-timed optimism aside, bennett was the single most selfless person you have ever met.

he still had it in his head to reach out for you in mid-air and use his body as a shield during the fall, for archon's sake. you could count with less than half of your fingers the number of people who would do that voluntarily.

blowing air out of your mouth and sucking back in deeply, trying to breathe properly due to the cold climate freezing up your insides, you turned to look at bennett and he tilted his head at your stare.

"what is it?"

"couldn't you do that swirly thing with your fire?"

he widened his eyes. "oh, you mean my vision?"

"if that is what it's called, sure?"

he pursed his lips together then. that would be the easy way out, of course, but he hasn't thought about it because of how much his body was aching from everything that had happened.

he was sure the soreness around his shoulders and back, which came flooding to him like punches after he took your fall for you, would only amplify with the heat. not to mention the other wounds around his body from the additional mishaps and fights.

he had his fair share of accidents and pain before, and his endurance was built up well, but he would prefer not to take it if he didn't have to.

"i... uh..."

his eyes shifted away from the icicle to you. amid his reluctance, he watched the way you winced at the cold. all he did was watch you flinch and shudder, at the cold and the monsters you two continuously alert.

he remembered you weren't supposed to be here, that you were only here because he asked if you wanted to join him on an adventure to dragonspine of all places, that you were only here because disasters loved him too much.

but he had been so happy when you agreed to join him, happy and accepted like he hasn't been in a long time, like having a new friend to play with, like he finally found someone who wasn't afraid of what he could bring.

the least he could do for you was to try and help, he thought, even if it hurts.

"move aside."

he stepped forward, his brows narrowing in concentration. you did as he told you, your hands clutched together before you as you watched the slight redness of heat emerge from his feet. he brought out his weapon as it traveled up his legs to his torso, spreading to his hands, and suddenly—a quick jump in the air, fire burst through his body and covered his blade, and a loud clank could be heard against the icicle.

the icicle was, unfortunately, not broken, but your concentration was diverted to bennett instead of the result of his action. 

he was panting heavily, in a way as if he had just run a mile under a mere minute. his back was hunched so he could support himself by leaning against his knees, attempting to catch his breath and ease the numbing pain of conflicting fire with cooled skin. and, most horrifically, the wound on his left forearm has re-opened from the movement and was bleeding. 

“well, that–” he huffed with a soft smile, “–that did not work at all!”

“bennett–bandages, let’s get you some bandages.” 

you moved over to him quickly and urged him to sit down near the icicle. you knelt next to him, your face falling quicker into despair when you realized none of you bought sufficient supplies for such an injury. everything was in klee’s backpack with her bombs, and razor was the one who offered to hold the bag so klee could move around easier. 

bennett wanted to speak up.

watching you fumble with a concerned expression completely contradicted the reason behind him straining himself to use his vision. he did that to soothe you, not to make you worry even more! but, before he could open his mouth to speak, his face pinked with an immeasurable heat—hotter than fire—when he saw that you had proceeded to rip the hem of your shirt apart.

you wrapped the fabric around his forearm, hoping it would stop the bleeding for now, or at least keep him from injuring it even more. unbeknownst to you, bennett had turned his head and shut his eyes tight so the exposed part of your tummy would be out of his plain sight. his hand gently shook, not from the wound but the touch of your much more delicate hands.

“bennett.”

“i���i–i’m not looking, i swear!”

you furrowed your brows and glanced down at yourself. you held back a laugh; you were barely exposed, it was just the side of your waist, that was all. but his politeness was welcomed, nonetheless.

“i am going to lean on you, is that okay?” you asked then, sitting down on the ground and shifting into a position where you were close enough to him to make him flush even more. “you’re warm.”

“i–i think it’s the fire,” he squeaked, his hands curled into awkward fists that he propped on his knees awkwardly. he nodded to himself, feeling his heartbeat increase. "it's the fire... yeah..."

you smiled to yourself. this might be the first time you thought bennett was cute. if only the circumstance was less staggering and unideal.

“thank you for saving me back there,” you muttered. “i could have died if you hadn’t caught me.”

“ah! that! haha!” he blinked to keep his thoughts somewhere other than the proximity. “i have fallen too many times to let a little slip off a cliff end me!”

you didn't respond. the heat radiating off his body was so satisfying that all you could do was drown yourself in the warmth. sensing your silence, bennett snapped himself out of his shy rage and glanced down at you, and he softened significantly when he saw you huddled up next to his side trying to scrape as much of his body heat as possible.

silently (for the first time in a while), and timidly (also for the first time in a while), he moved his arm around your shoulder and brought you closer to his side.

the blush on his cheeks was furious, the shy boy within him jumping up and down in a frenzy, but he still kept you close for the warmth and stayed silent to let you rest.

and he hoped that the next time he goes on an adventure, you would be willing to tag along again.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 32: Wings in Amber

Summary: In the midst of hollowed dreams, a choice must be made.

Read on AO3

Read chapter 32 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 32: Wings in Amber

***

“Claire?”

The sound of someone calling her name dragged her from the grip of the peaceful darkness she’d been resting in. “Claire? Wake up, a leannan,” came the call again. It sounded urgent, even scared, but Claire felt too muted to respond. Until the realization of whose voice it was hit her, at the same time as she became aware of warm hands cupping her shoulders and pulling her upward from the bed. 

“Jamie?” she murmured, fighting now against the waves of exhaustion that crashed over her head. 

“Claire? Oh thank Christ,” came her beloved’s voice, “ye scared me, mo ghraidh.” 

Forcing her eyes open, she found herself cradled in his embrace, leaning against one of his strong arms and one of his hands holding the side of her face. 

“Good morning, lass,” Jamie said as she met his eyes. 

She wanted to say it back to him. She wanted to say anything at all. But the words seemed caught inside her mind, unable to be expressed. She panicked for a second, thinking she may never get a chance to tell him how much she loved him.

“Jamie, I love you,” came from her lips as she suddenly realized her mouth was able to move after all. 

It looked as if she had hit him square in the gut rather than express her love, but her eyes were falling closed, and she couldn’t think more on it. 

“I love you, Sassenach,” his deep voice echoed, “dinna fash, I ken.” 

She didn’t know what that meant. Everything seemed foggy for a second, as if she was trying to perceive the world through a haze of cotton. She must have lost track of time because the next thing she was aware of was the feeling of Jamie’s warm hand shaking her cheek. 

“Hey, stay wi’ me now, lass,” he rumbled. 

The muscles of her face tightened in concentration as she managed to open her eyes again. 

“Aye, there ye are,” Jamie said, an odd tinge in his voice that made him sound like he was choking. 

That worried her, but she couldn’t seem to focus her mind on it. He seemed too distant, so far out of her grasp. 

His thumb traced back and forth over her cheek as he stroked it with a sweet fondness that made her feel infinitesimally better. 

“We’re goin’ tae go out for a bit,” he said, making Claire’s attention pique. 

She thought for a second maybe she’d imagined it. Surely he couldn’t have been suggesting…

“I can’t, Jamie,” there was an edge of pleading in her voice. 

“Only for a wee while, and then ye can rest,” he said. He sounded terribly strange, like his light words didn’t match the strain in his vocal cords. What was going on? 

“Please, don’t make me, I’m so tired,” she breathed, trying to keep the whimper inside her throat. 

“I ken ye’re tired, but this willna take but a few moments, and I’ll carry ye.” 

She opened her eyes— not aware that they had fallened closed— and fixed them directly on Jamie’s. Tears of desperation beaded at the corners as she thought of doing anything but laying there in the safety of his arms and in their bed. 

“Please, Jamie,” she swallowed hard, “I’m so tired. Please. Just hold me?” 

She’d made that request before; several times. But never before had she meant it as much as she had in that moment. 

Something was going on in Jamie’s face, but she couldn’t identify what. He was starting to scare her. Nothing he was doing made sense to her brain, and she felt a shred of terror take root in her heart that something was wrong with him. Was he pulling away? Why was he refusing to hold her when he never had before? 

Her fears were assuaged when he gave a jerky nod and suddenly pulled her into an embrace. Perhaps embrace wasn’t the right word for it because Claire couldn’t manage to make her limbs respond enough to return it, but he pulled her upper body tight against him and buried his face in her hair. 

“Alright, a leannan, it can wait. I’ll hold ye for a little while longer.” 

Claire felt a sigh escape her lips, feeling relieved. That was good. Very good. She let her eyes flutter closed as Jamie began to move, repositioning her while she remained limp under his capable hands. Soon, she was horizontal on the bed again, and his body was pressed behind her. His arms came around to her to pull her securely back against him, and they didn’t leave her. They would never leave her. 

He was saying something then, speaking words over her that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded nice and she wished she could listen to them. Even without understanding though, she felt a tug of wellness deep within her soul. 

She was drifting again, lost in that odd sea of grey oblivion, but this time, she was content. Jamie was there with her; she could still feel his body against hers even as her mind began to swirl. Everything would be okay, she knew it, as long as he was with her, holding her in his arms. 

***

Numb. 

Jamie was numb with despair. 

It was a feeling so debilitating that Jamie could scarcely bring himself to move. Except the resignation was stronger still. 

This time, there was no choice. 

It wasn’t like the raw heartbreak that he’d experienced the first time he took her to the stones because there was no decision. No room for regret or guilt. There was only action to be taken. 

Action that would tear them apart forever. 

But somehow, despite the knowledge that he had one course only and there was nothing more to be done but act, the sorrow and grief still cut him to the quick. 

As much as he wanted to cry and scream and rage over how unfair it was, one glimpse at the love of his life— so still and ashen it was like there was barely an ounce of life left in her— he couldn’t. He had to do what needed to be done, and he had to be strong enough to do it. 

It couldn’t be delayed any longer. When she’d pleaded with him in that small voice just to hold her for a little while— not even knowing what lay ahead— he gave into weakness. In the time he’d spent laying with her then, watching her in that uneasy sleep that brought no rest for her fatigued body, it had taken all his strength to convince himself again of what needed to be done. He had to keep reminding himself that there was no choice. No alternatives. He couldn’t wait any longer— he was selfishly taking time she didn’t have. 

He gently gathered her in his arms, lifting her up from the bed to cradle her upper body against his chest. 

“Jamie?” she murmured, the word coming out slurred, disoriented. 

She was barely conscious. Oh God. God help him. 

“Dinna fash, mo ghraidh,” he said, not even aware that he had said it. How had his lips formed the words? He didn’t know. 

Her glassy eyes closed again, her head resting bonelessly against his shoulder. He raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek. 

She was so lovely even in her suffering. 

Christ, he would miss her beyond words...

—Enough of those thoughts! They could stop him altogether, and there was no room for that. No room for anything but action.  

With gentleness so extreme it nearly killed him, he brought his arm underneath her knees and stood, lifting her fragile form from the bed. 

He prayed she wouldn’t wake enough while they were at home to argue with him again. Please God...— he didn’t even know what to plead. That she stayed unconscious the whole time, or that she would wake enough to say goodbye? He didn’t know which would be worse. Or which would be better. Neither could be better. 

Carrying her out to the car, his stomach churning with the realization that this was the last time she’d ever be in his house, Jamie forced himself onward. 

It had to be done. To save her. 

His name fell from her lips again. It was almost a cry, an incoherent pleading for him to make things better. 

“Dinna fash, a leannan,” he answered, “I’m here. I’ll see ye safe. I promised ye I’ll see ye safe.”  

She settled again, going still and lifeless in his arms in a way that terrified him to the very core. Looking down, her face was nearly pale as a porcelain doll’s, and just as perfect. Those lashes curled against her cheek, dark and delicate. Only she was missing her usual glow. What had been a bright shine when he’d first found her had gradually faded into a muted shimmer until now the only thing that surrounded her was an air of heaviness. 

God, give him strength. 

Somehow, taking stock of her made it easier for him to take the next steps. He focused on the fact that there was no choice. Nowhere to go but straight ahead. Nothing to do but send her away. 

He set her in the backseat of the car, tears nearly falling at the thought that he would have to spend much of their last precious few minutes away from her, but he wanted her to be able to lay down comfortably. 

She didn’t protest when he gently deposited her into the backseat. There was no peep from her, and he started to panic at the thought that she might very well be unconscious when the time came to send her through the stones. 

He left her there to get in the driver’s seat, and that tiny effort nearly broke him. How would he possibly have the strength to do what needed to be done? 

As he drove toward those terrible stones, his mind couldn’t help but cry out at the injustice. 

He had thought he’d be able to hold her for the rest of his days. He’d dreamed of their life together. He’d been careless with the time they’d had, thinking it forever. Jamie didn’t understand how such happiness could be ripped from him so quickly. How the promise of a life with her could end up so hollow? 

Promises. He’d made so many to himself and said so few aloud. There was so much more to say. Too many things. 

He should have said them when he had the chance. 

Before long, the hill came into view, and he parked the car at the edge of the road. 

She was limp as a ragdoll as he gathered her into his arms, her head falling against his shoulder when he picked her up. 

“Hold on,�� he murmured, pressing one kiss to the top of her curls, and then another, “hold on, mo chridhe. I’ve got ye.” 

It felt like he was wearing boots made entirely of lead as he began his trek toward the hill. Every step felt like it would be his last— surely his strength would give and his resolve would break. Only he kept moving, kept going toward the stones. Because he had to. 

“Jamie?” 

This time, there was coherence to the whispered sound of his name. Jamie looked down in surprise to find glassy eyes regarding him with confusion. 

His heart sang with relief at the same time as anxiety flooded his veins. 

“Hi, sweet one. It’s good tae see those beautiful eyes.” 

“Where are we?” voice small and oh-so fatigued. 

His tongue couldn’t seem to form the words to tell her that they were walking toward the stones. He tried to tell her the truth, only he couldn’t seem to do it. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He closed it again, swallowing hard. 

“I want to go home,” she said, pained and breathless. 

Home— oh Christ. She was going home. Only she meant his home, the home that had become theirs, but he was sending her home . 

“Jes’ a little bit longer,” he said, only sheer resolve and monumental will keeping him from choking on the words. That was the truth. It would only be a little bit longer, and then she’d be home— gone from him forever. 

She didn’t answer, and he wondered for a second if she’d drifted out of consciousness again. But when he looked down, he noticed her eyes were still open and there was a tear tracking slowly from the corner of one eye. 

If his heart had not already been torn from his chest, that would have done him in. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his lungs. 

“What is it, mo ghraidh?” he asked, wrecked beyond repair. 

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”  

He couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t take one step closer to the stones. 

And then... his love— the very breath of his lungs and beat of his heart— said to him, so quietly it was barely more than a whisper, “I love you, Jamie. You know that?” 

All his resolve fell to pieces. Obliterated, shattered, wrecked until it was a pile of dust. He sank to his knees, every ligament feeling like jelly. He ended up on the ground with grass tickling at his legs and Claire cradled in his lap, her beautiful but haunted eyes gazing up at him with so much trust— some much love— that he could barely stand it. He swallowed, hard. 

There was one thing and one thing only on his heart and on his tongue. 

Don’t say it. 

It’s not fair. 

You have no right. 

But he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop the flow of water after a dam had broken. There was nothing left to do but embrace the wave and the words he’d been aching to say for too damn long. 

You can’t do this. 

Hold yer tongue. 

Don’t say it, you goddamn bloody bastard.

“Marry me,” he said anyway, the words falling from his lips as if they had been torn from his very soul, “marry me, Claire. I want you to be mine.” 

You selfish bastard. 

But he couldn’t stop. He was only human after all; he was weak. His heart longed to be left with one thing….

He wanted the knowledge that after she was gone from him, she would still be his. 

And that was the most despicable thing he’d done in his life. 

He had no right to ask that of her. 

“Yes, Jamie, of course I want that,” she was saying, “I’m yours forever.” But she didn’t know... She didn’t—

“Right now,” he burst out, “we can be handfast now. Please Claire, please say yes, mo ghraidh.” 

She struggled to lift her head from his shoulder, as if she was trying to sit up, only she lacked the strength even to raise her face. 

“Yes,” she said. 

Her eyes were dazed, glassy with exhaustion, but there was joy there too. She’d wanted this for as long as he had— he knew. Only she didn’t know what he really was asking of her. Not to be his forever with him, but to be his forever without him. 

Jamie thought himself a good man, but he wasn’t without his flaws. Of all his transgressions, he thought asking this of her might have been the worst. But he prayed that God would grant him forgiveness. And that the knowledge of their union would keep him for the rest of his lonely days. 

“Alright then,” he said, a bit shakily, his breath hitching in his chest. 

He let go of Claire with one hand and went fumbling around in his pocket. All he needed was something to bind them, anything, but he had nothing of use. His jacket sleeve would have to do. 

Handfasting was an ancient ritual, not typically used in the present day and age, but it still held weight in Scottish culture. It particularly held weight for Jamie, as his parents had been handfast at the tender age of 18 when they’d run away together. A handfasting was a promise: between two people and God. And that was all he needed. 

As he wrapped the sleeve around his and Claire’s wrists, he explained this to her, his voice shaking slightly. 

“It means we’ll be bonded fer life, ye ken?” he finished. They’d talked about the concept of human marriage before, but he wanted to be certain she knew the weight of the ceremony before they began. 

“I told you, Jamie,” she breathed weakly, “I knew we were bonded for life a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to catch up.” 

“I’m wi’ ye now, mo chridhe,” he whispered.

The dress she was wearing was her favorite— the white dress that had been hanging on display in Mrs. Fitz’ shop that day, the first one she’s tried on. It was like a stab to the heart to think that this dress was now her wedding dress. He would have decked her in the finest lace and most beautiful wedding attire there was, but it brought him some small comfort to see her at least in white, in something she loved. 

He wished he could sit her up and look straight into her eyes as they said the words, but he knew she lacked the strength. He kept her laid against his arm, staring down at her in adoration. 

“Repeat after me,” he said softly. 

She gave a nod against his shoulder. 

“You are Blood of my Blood and Bone of My Bone,” Jamie began, feeling a shiver run across his body. 

She repeated after him, sounding breathless but sure. Her thumb brushed across his forearm where they grasped each other. It was a small sign of affection, but it soothed Jamie’s aching heart. 

“I give you my body, that we two may be one.” 

Feeling her laying against him, it seemed like she had already given him her body. She could barely move, yet trusted him so completely. Jamie swallowed hard, trying not to think about how they’d never have the opportunity to belong to each other in a physical sense. 

“I give you my spirit, ‘til our life shall be done.” 

Their life together would be done soon. Jamie hated himself for asking her to make this promise, but she’d be released from it the moment she went through the stones. Not him, though. He knew he’d belong to her for the rest of his days. ‘Til his life shall be done, he’d love her. 

“You are Blood of my Blood and Bone of my Bone,” Jamie finished, with Claire echoing softly. 

And then she was his wife. 

With the utmost delicacy, he reached to tilt her face upward. Her cheek slid against his shoulder, and she looked up at him with eyes swimming with emotion. Adoration. Joy. Love. 

And he kissed her. 

It felt so much like the moment she’d ran down from the hill to throw herself in his arms and kiss him for the first time, yet so different. Her lips rocked Jamie’s world in nearly the same way. He felt like he was drowning in her just as much; her touch consumed him and soothed him all at the same time. Yet she was so still. There was no running. No eager hands threading through his hair. No arms clutching on to him for dear life. Just her body resting against his and her lips pressing softly to his touch. 

When he pulled back, he couldn’t help but profess, “I love ye, mo nighean donn.” 

“I love you too, Jamie,” she whispered. 

His hand was still cupping her cheek, keeping her face lifted toward him. He found himself growing lost in the whisky of her eyes. His thumb stroked back and forth over her jaw, reveling in the feeling of the silky skin. 

But he could tell that fatigue was dragging her under again. She blinked slowly, trying to keep her eyes open as if she wanted to stay connected with him, but eventually they fluttered closed and didn’t open again. 

Jamie felt a tug in his stomach— a sharp pull of grief. He just wanted more time! He wanted to bask in the joy of being married to her. He wanted to call her Mrs. Fraser and make love to his wife. God, he wanted—

There were too many things he wanted that he would never have. Sitting there on the grass as his new wife faded before his very eyes, he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, finding it clammy, and then another to her curls. 

“I love you, Mrs. Fraser,” he whispered under his breath, “I’ll love you for all of my days.” 

He gathered her up again, repositioning her limp and malleable body, and then stood. She felt so light in his arms. A burden only to his broken heart to see her like this. 

His heart pounding in his chest, he began carrying her toward the stones. 

***

Claire drifted, floating and falling at the same time. Grasping at awareness was like reaching through the mist, holding on to nothing substantial. 

She swirled in vague feelings of joy. Images of the ceremony with Jamie flashed through her mind on repeat. Glimpses of his face, the tie around their hands, the feeling of his lips. The words in his soft, Scottish brogue. Promising to love her forever. 

It was just out of reach. What should have been the perfect moment was shrouded in thick fog that threatened to suffocate Claire. 

Her head went under the water again. She could tell she was in motion. Strong, familiar arms carried her. But beyond that, everything seemed to fade away. 

*

She was dragged back to the surface sometime later by a sharp feeling of grief, like a stab through her very core. From some unknown source, it seared her, forced her brain to jolt into motion and her eyes to open. 

Blinking into the bright light, she found herself laying on the ground, Jamie’s arms around her upper body. He was curled over top of her, holding her to his chest in a tight embrace. 

He was saying something, what was he saying? 

“Please, Sassenach, please wake up.” 

His face was pressed into her hair, and she could distantly feel his tears wetting her skin. 

She tried to open her mouth to tell him she was awake and he didn't have to worry, but no words came out. Her stomach clenched, and she was hit by another wave of grief. Jarring, agonizing. 

It was coming from him. 

“Jamie?” she forced out. 

Her head was swimming. Keeping her eyes open was a feat in itself, and she couldn’t seem to grasp what was going on. 

“Sassenach!” 

He drew back, and she took in sight of his tear streaked face before her brain could process what she was seeing. He looked wrecked, his blue eyes shining with a hollowness that sent enough adrenaline through her veins to keep her conscious. 

“What’s going on?” her lips managed to form the words as her insides twisted in on themselves. 

“It’s time to go home now,” he said as his hand came up to cradle her cheek. His thumb was gently stroking, soft and tender, and her mind drifted away from his words. 

“Good, let’s go home,” she murmured. 

“No, Claire,” the way he said her name made her perk up again, blinking in an attempt to keep her wits, “look where we are.” 

For the first time, Claire managed to look beyond Jamie’s face, and she noticed the grey shapes surrounding them, rising into the sky in a foreboding way that made her blood turn cold. 

Before she could say anything, Jamie was speaking. “Listen to me. Ye have tae go through the stones, Claire. Ye’re cut off from yer energy source. Ye canna stay in this realm or ye’ll die.” 

The words couldn’t seem to penetrate. It was like she was wrapped in a thick cloud, and although she could hear his words, she couldn’t quite comprehend them. Jamie watched her with tear stained eyes as the words took a moment to sink in.

But the instant they did and her brain repeated back to her what he’d said, she was doused in a wave of icy panic. Panic that consumed her entire soul, but she was too tired to feel it with real intensity. Instead, it was like she was frozen, paralyzed as she watched the ground underneath her feet give way, crumbling into nothingness.  

“No,” she whispered, too weak to do more than that. “No.” 

She tried to shake her head. She would have been yelling and screaming if she could have, but her neck wouldn’t even move. “No.”

“There isna any choice,” Jamie sounded shattered, “I canna let ye die.”

“I’ll die without you,” she mustered, frustrated at how trapped she felt. She couldn’t let him do this. She had to fight. But her useless body betrayed her. 

That bloody, heroic fool. Don’t you see? Sending me back will kill me more surely than if I stayed — she wanted to yell. 

“No, you won’t,” Jamie choked, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek, “ye’ll have a life. Ye’ll survive.”

“I won’t go,” came her breathy words. 

Darkness was pulling at her again. It shrouded her senses, clogging her mind even as her heart raced in horror. 

Everything was ending and she was powerless to do anything. 

“Please,” Jamie was begging now, his tears dripping down his face and falling on her skin. The image of her beloved above her wavered for a second, coming in and out of focus, but she could tell he was just as wrecked as she. “Please, lass. Dinna argue. I canna bear it.”

This time, it was her throat that refused to move. Words failed her as the inky blackness threatened the edges of her vision. 

With all her strength, she managed to shake her head with exhausted but clear conviction. 

“I willna let ye die. I canna let ye stay and fade away while knowin’ that I could have saved ye. Ye canna stay.” 

Her vision faded out for a second, but she could tell the tenor of his voice was changing with those words. He no longer sounded broken and wrecked. He sounded… resigned. 

When she fought to regain her senses and the sight of him came back into focus, his face was as hard as the stones looming behind him. 

“I won’t go.” Her words were so weak, like tiny waves lapping against a massive cliff. 

“Ye must,” he said firmly. 

She wanted to cry. Claire desperately wanted her Jamie back— the one who would tenderly take her in his arms and hold close while whispering words of love. Telling her they’d be together for eternity. Gentle and giving. It wasn’t that this Jamie wasn’t tender— he was holding her close with such concern— but he pushing her away at the same time, resolution forming a coldness that made tears flow down her cheeks. 

She hadn’t known that she’d closed her eyes until she felt a thumb swiping over her cheeks and she realized she saw only blackness. 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was softer now, grief breaking through the facade of strength, “I ken ye dinna want to go. I ken ye want to fight and scream and cry but ye dinna have the strength. This isna fair. But it’s time now.”

He was still speaking, voice low and solemn. “I need ye to ken, Claire, that I love ye with all of my heart and soul. And I will love ye until the day I die. I would have given everything to spare ye this pain. But ye have to go on and live... for me.”

She barely had time to take those words and hold them in her heart, treasuring them in a sacred space, knowing it would be all she had left of him. 

Claire wished desperately she could say them back. But her tongue had grown impossibly heavy again, and the invisible hand of sorrow and panic gripped her by the throat. 

He was moving, picking her up in his arms and lifting her. 

“Jamie. No,” she whispered brokenly, with all the fight she had left in her. 

“I love ye,” he said, the stony resolve etching itself into his face again. 

“Please,” she begged, “please. I love you.” 

He looked down at her, stricken. She almost felt bad for what her pleading was doing to him, but she couldn’t let him do this. She couldn’t be parted from him. 

But he was leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was incredibly soft. Gentle. As if he were scared that she would fall apart but desperate to savor her one last time. 

Then, all too quickly, he was pulling away and setting her down to lay just in front of the center stone. As her body settled prone on the ground, she was forced to look up at the looming height of her destiny. 

“No,” she whimpered, shattered, but her voice barely came out as more than a breath, and he likely couldn’t even hear her. 

The swirling grey of fatigue clouded her vision as Jamie pulled her upright, propped against his chest. She couldn’t see him anymore since they were both facing the stone. She couldn’t look into his eyes one last time. She couldn’t memorize the beautiful lines of his face. 

She couldn’t fight. 

He took her hand in his, lifting her boneless arm up, slowly. 

“Goodb—“ the word caught in his throat, choking it off. 

She could feel his chest expand against her back as he took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I love you, mo Sorcha,” he murmured into her ear as he raised her hand. 

No. Stop. Stopstopstopstop—

Her body didn’t move. Spots flashed in front of her vision. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. 

His one last, final “I love you,” echoed in her ears as Jamie pushed her hand forward, and it made contact with the stone. 

Blackness took her. The solid strength of his body disappeared from behind her, and her own body was sucked away, torn into shreds and crushed and mangled. 

She tried to scream, but no sound came out. 

***

Jamie screamed, agony tearing from his chest quite against his will as his arms held only empty air where Claire had been only an instant before. 

She was gone. 

He felt himself shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, the pain so unspeakable that he couldn’t even breathe. 

Before his mind realized what he was doing, his own arms were raising and he was pounding his hands flat against the surface of the stone. 

“Take me too!” He yelled. 

But nothing happened. He stayed seated in the grass in front of the stone, truly and horribly motionless. 

He hit the stone again, his lungs constricting as he began to pound against it— over and over— his grief pouring out of him. 

“Please. Please. Take me with her,” he sobbed, “please. Take me.”

He hit it until his palms bled and his blood stained the surface of the stone. 

***

Claire awoke feeling like her body had been buried beneath the earth for some time. For all she knew, it had. Perhaps she was dead. It felt like she was dead. 

As awareness slowly broke through the fog of her exhaustion, she found herself laying on top of the ground rather than below it. Grass was pricking at her skin. She forced her eyes open and caught sight of the stones looming above her. 

And then the terrible reality of what had just happened came crashing down at her. 

“No,” she cried out, her voice hoarse and barely there, “no.” 

But it was true. Jamie was gone from her. She was gone. 

She attempted to push herself up, managing to get up onto her elbows before her traitorous arms gave way and she slammed back down onto the ground. 

“Take me back!” She tried to yell, her voice gaining intensity despite her exhaustion, “I have to go back!” 

Abandoning the idea of standing, she pushed her hands underneath herself and tried to drag her body forward, toward the stones. 

“I have to go back,” her voice was fading, the screams in her heart coming out only as a faint whisper. 

She collapsed down again, and familiar blackness stole into the corners of her vision. She tried to fight it, tried to fight the wave of nausea overtaking her, but she was powerless. 

She couldn’t go back. 

Darkness took her again. 

***

A/n: And you guys thought you hated me last chapter....

Two more to go in Arc II. tomorrow and the next day. Thanks so much for reading!!!

Next

[venmomejoy]

Protection

Summary: An alternate way the forging of the lock in Kingdom of Ash went down, created by my evil brain. The actual forging remains the same, but the moments leading up to it are wayyyy more angsty

Read it on AO3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381568

They had not slept that night.

They kept each other up late with roaming hands and searching mouths. Every touch burned on Aelin's skin; the feel of her mate, who had fought through hell to get her back, who had loved her despite all her faults. She wanted to imprint every inch of him in her memory, to brand him onto her soul, so that even when she was gone, she could still remember him, her mate, as she waited for him in the afterworld. She ran her hands over every inch of him, memorizing the feel of his body underneath her fingers, and reached out along their bond, storing the feeling of his heart, his soul- a small comfort in whatever the afterworld will hold for her.

Aelin knew that Rowan was committing her to memory as well. Every thrust he made into her body held the desperation, the terror, the anguish that she knew was coursing through him. He had not given up on finding an alternative; no, Rowan never was the type to take something lying down. She had barely convinced him to stop scouring the tomes and spend the night with her. She knew he would feel like he was giving up on her, abandoning her, if he stopping researching, but she wanted him tonight, wanted to spend her last hours in the arms of the male she loved, who made her life worth living, who made dying so hard. Even as he left the table and settled into bed, she knew his mind was still whirring, straining to find something, anything to alter fate.

They moved with an intensity they had never reached before. They rolled together for hours, trying to savor every minute they would get with each other, hoping it would be enough to last for eternity. Tears fell freely on both sides, Aelin's hands grasping Rowan's back, trying to pull him into her skin, while his arms banded around her waist, trying to bind them so tightly that she could not go where he could not follow.

While they both knew they could have continued all night, they eventually ceased, simply holding each other as sunlight slowly filled the tent. Neither of them slept, too anxious about the morning's events and too desperate not to miss a single moment with each other. With every ray of light filtering through the canvas, the tension in the room grew. Rowan's arms tightened where they were slung across her back and shoulders, holding her to him with a vise-like grip in an attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Aelin lied there as long as she could, breathing in her mate's scent, basking in the way it felt to be wrapped up in his arms, before breaking the spell. "Rowan, we have to go."

His arms squeezed her impossibly tighter. "No," he growled. It was apparent he had no intention of letting her walk out of here, of letting her walk to her death. She put her hands on his chest, trying to push herself out of his embrace, but his arms did not yield an inch.

"Rowan, I-"

"No, Aelin. No." She had not heard him speak to her with so much venom since they were in Wendlyn, but she knew his ire stemmed from fear. She could not even find it in herself to tease him about his territorial Fae instincts. She knew if the roles were reversed, she would do whatever it took to protect Rowan from this fate. Her fate.

Aelin was a good fighter, but there was no way she could overpower Rowan, not when he already had her restrained. She needed for him to loosen his grip, just long enough for her to slip out of bed, but her mate had a solid hundred pounds of pure muscle on her.

She knew what she had to do. Her instincts revolted at the idea, but she knew it was her only shot at easing his grasp. She ran her hands along his arms, the corded muscle tense beneath her fingers. As her hands circled his biceps she let a fraction of her power seep through, let her hands ignite for just a moment. His arms slackened as he recoiled in shock, but she slid from his embrace before he could rectify his mistake, before he could pull her to him and never let her go, charred flesh be damned. She knew his response had been from surprise, not a reaction to the pain. He could withstand her flames, he had before, and she knew that had he anticipated her plan, had he been prepared, he would have sat and endured it.

Rowan scrambled off of the mattress, his voice breaking as he pleaded with her, begged her not to go, to wait, to let him find some other way. She kept her back to him as she dressed quickly. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled on an old tunic, trying to tune out the broken voice of her mate as he implored her not to leave. She could only take so much, could only hear so much of this before she would crack, before she would let Rowan take her into his arms and pretend the world was alright, that there were no more debts to pay, that she could simply love him and that could be enough.

Aelin marched through the flaps of their tent into the growing sunlight outside, her self-control holding on by a thread. She had half a mind to put herself together for the forging; if she was going to die, she wanted to look stunning doing it. But she could hardly find the willpower to properly dress with Rowan's pleas slowly breaking apart her defenses. Their scuffle in bed had set them behind schedule anyways, and Aelin could see the rest of their group awaiting them at the break in the field as she strode towards them.

She walked purposefully, definitively ignoring the male shouting behind her. She could feel Rowan trailing behind her, and the pain in his voice, the pain she felt down the bond, made her heart cleave in two. She was determined not to let any tears fall: she did not want her emotion to sway any of her companions, and she wanted to face the end with her head held high. She kept her eyes pinned on the clearing she approached, and had almost reached her destination when a tug on her hand spun her around.

The agony on Rowan's face... it was unbearable. Tears were streaming down his face, his beautiful face, and Aelin grappled for any way to help him, to ease his suffering. "Please, Aelin... I can't, I can't..."

She grasped his face between her hands, and when he fell to his knees, she slid down with him. His eyes frantically scanned her face, and she found herself unable to contain her tears any longer. "Rowan..." her voice came out a whisper. He pulled her face to his, placing a desperate kiss onto her mouth. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into the kiss, seeking solace in the press of his mouth on hers. He pulled away too soon, but he immediately tugged her head under his chin, pulling her up until she was completely seated in his lap. He cradled her body against his, and she let him hold her, let him take his comfort in whatever way she could offer it. She felt more than saw the sobs rack through his chest, his arms shaking as they banded around her.

Aelin wasn't sure how long they sat together, but she knew the group would need to get moving soon; she could not delay the inevitable any longer. She pushed herself up, his arms not letting her get very far, and adjusted until they sat face to face. She lifted her hands to brush his tears away, although fresh ones quickly moved to replace them, and then carded through his hair. His face was red and splotchy, crumpled as he was faced with the situation he had done everything in his power to evade. She set her hands on his cheeks, tugging his face up until he looked her in the eye.

She pushed her shoulders back, feigning composure, as she steeled herself for what she was about to say. She knew Rowan would not be happy with it, but she hoped he would at least listen to her, one day. "Rowan," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. "It's going to be okay." He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off before he could say anything. "Rowan, I need you to listen to me. Things are going to get better. You are going to get better." His eyes filled with horror as he violently shook his head, dismissing the idea. She simply smiled softly at him and nodded. "It may not feel like it now, but they will. I'm sure you do not believe me- you always have been a stubborn bastard- but this is something you will move past. And I- I want you to. I know that you will think that any happiness you feel after my death will somehow dishonor my memory, but it will not. No, you would dishonor my memory if you stopped living, if you shut down and never allowed yourself to find joy again. You have to let them in: Fenrys, Lorcan, Gavriel, Aedion. The others too. Dorian, Chaol, Elide, Nesryn, Yrene, all of them- our friends. You have people, Rowan, people who care for you- you are not alone." She swallowed, gripping his hands tightly between hers. "You must promise me that you will not shut them out, that you will let them help you heal. That you will let yourself heal. And perhaps, Rowan, you will one day find love again, and-"

"No." He grasped her hands so tightly she thought they might bruise. Perhaps that would be nice, to enter the afterworld with one last mark from her mate. "Aelin, you can't possibly believe-"

"She won't be your mate, no," she gave a watery laugh, "but that does not mean you cannot still love her. It will take time, no doubt, but someday, you may meet a beautiful female who you find yourself in love with. And you must know, loving her does not mean you love me any less. Do not deny yourself any chance at happiness on my account; you deserve to love again. I want you to love again. As long as it is someone who deserves you, or else I will kick your ass when we meet in the afterworld." Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

He was still shaking his head, heartbreak evident in his face as tears from his eyes splattered across her tunic. "You are my mate, Aelin. There will never be anyone else. And there will never be any getting better. You cannot possibly believe this to be something I can recover from. You are everything to me, Fireheart. Everything. I cannot let you go through with this."

"There is no other way, Rowan."

"If that is true, then I will go in with you, and we will pay the debt together." His face was hard as granite, resolve etched on every line of his skin.

Aelin's heart stuttered to a stop in her chest; she did not think she was breathing. "No."

"I love you, Aelin. Wherever you go, I go. I will not let you face this alone, and I have no desire to live in a world without you in it."

"No, Rowan. We need as many warriors as we can get to defeat Maeve and the Valg ranks. Your power is too immense for our army to be deprived of it, especially if I will not be on the battlefield either. And after all of this, when you have won the war, I need you to lead Terrasen. The people of Terrasen have suffered for too long; you must take up the crown that is yours, and help lead our people into prosperity. I cannot leave without knowing my country is in the hands of someone who will bring joy and safety to my lands. And if that is not reason enough, the lock only calls for the life of one. I could not bear taking this burden if I knew you would be dying as well. I love you too much to let you die senselessly."

"How do you think I feel? If our roles were reversed, you would never let me go through with this."

"But they are not."

"Aelin-"

"You are right- if the roles were reversed, I would do anything to save you from this. But they are not, and I cannot do anything but fulfill the debt, and pray that it will be enough to protect my people, to protect you. And if the roles were reversed, you would do the exact same thing." Her voice was flinty. She could not show any weakness on this, could not let Rowan believe for a second she would allow him to kill himself with her.

The sun was climbing up the horizon, and Aelin knew they needed to start the ritual soon if the army had any chance of reaching Terrasen's units in time. She knew it was time to say goodbye.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands again, staring into his eyes as she spoke. "Everything will be alright Rowan." She let a small smile dance across her face, showing him that she was not afraid, giving him a happy image to remember when she was gone. "I will be with you always. Here," she pressed her fingers to his temple. "And here," dragging her hand down to lay over his heart. "And here," she said down the mating bond, voice chock-full of adoration and joy and passion. He shuddered, eyes filled with desperation. "I love you, Rowan. More than I ever thought I would love anyone. You saved me. You drew me out of the darkness; you taught me how to live again. You saw every part of me and did not flinch; you loved me through all of my flaws. You know my past and have never held it against me. You gave my life purpose when I was on the brink of giving up. And I wish we had had those centuries together, wish we could have had a life together, had children, had a chance to see Terrasen flourish. But if this is all the time we get, it was more than I could have ever hoped for. I have no regrets Rowan, not one. You made my life worthwhile." She leaned her forehead against his, their tears mingling until they could not tell whose was whose. "I look forward to the eternity we will have together in the afterlife. But do not rush, Rowan- we have time. Find the joys in this life while it is here, allow yourself to enjoy the pleasures you can find with no guilt. I love you, more than you could ever imagine."

With that, she pressed her lips to his, a final farewell. It was messy and desperate and sorrowful, and when they pulled away, Aelin allowed Rowan to pull her into his arm again, allowed him to comfort himself with the feel of his mate in his arms. He sobbed into her neck, hands roving over her, clenching in the fabric of her tunic. Looking over his shoulder, she could see the distress on the faces of her comrades. The royal family of the Southern Continent looked calmer than the rest, not knowing Aelin or Rowan personally, but still looked grieved by the events they were witnessing. But the Cadre, Choal, Dorian, Elide, Nesryn... they looked devastated. She knew they were going to crack any minute, knew she had to do this now. She moved to extract herself from Rowan's lap, but his arms held her to him, yet again keeping her from her duty.

"Rowan, you have to let me up now." Her voice sounded feeble, even to her own ears.

"I can't, Aelin... I just can't. I don't care if I have to sit here and hold you down for the rest of our lives, but I cannot let you go through with this. Burn me all you like, I will not give way."

"Rowan..."

"I can't-" his voice broke, taking her heart down with it. "I can't do this without you. I need you, Fireheart. Please." She could feel her own resolve disintegrating from the pain she was putting her mate through. But she could not afford weakness, not with all that was at stake. She knew her fire trick from this morning would not work; no, now that the element of surprise was gone, he really would endure her flames if it meant keeping her safe.

She knew there was only one way to stop him, knew it and hated it. He may never forgive her for this, but she had no other choice.

"Fenrys, Lorcan, come here." The pure command in her voice had her mate tensing beneath her. She rarely invoked the blood oath, and she knew he would realize what she was up to quickly, knew she needed to act fast. The males approached, apprehension in their eyes, stopping a few paces away from where she and Rowan sat.

She looked at the two, remorse in her eyes. She knew they would not do this willingly, would not help her sacrifice herself or aid in Rowan's suffering, so she had to use their blood oaths. They very well may never forgive her either, but it was all she could think of. "Take Rowan back to the tent, and restrain him until this is all over." He whipped his head up, eyes filled with fear and betrayal and anguish. She could not draw upon her mate's blood oath; he would have broken it, no matter if it killed him. So she had to use the other members of her court, even if it broke her heart. "Try not to hurt him, but make sure he cannot stop the ritual."

She could see the rage on both Fenrys and Lorcan's faces as they strode towards their friend, infuriated that she would make them do such a thing and yet powerless to deny her demand. Rowan was already fighting, yelling things Aelin could not hear over the cracking in her chest. The two males hauled Rowan up by his arms, even as he kicked and thrashed in their grip. He was yelling at her, for her, as they started to steer him towards their tent. Her face contorted in pain as she watched their slow progression, Rowan fighting like hell to free himself, yet the two of them overpowered even his colossal strength.

"Do not be angry with them Rowan, they have as little say in this as you do. Do not hold this against them; if you will be angry at someone, let it be me. I am sorry it has to be this way, but... we cannot avoid this Rowan. And it is probably better that you not watch." He was weeping in his friends' arms, straining to get to his mate, to save her, but he could not get free.

"Fenrys, Lorcan, I- am very sorry to put you in this position. Neither of you has any fault in this, and you cannot hold yourself to blame for it. Fenrys, you are one of my dearest friends. You helped me through the darkest point in my life, helped me hold out hope, helped me stay sane. You have been a better friend to me than I could have possibly dreamt for myself. I love you, Fen. I hope you find happiness too, hope that you can heal from all the suffering we endured. And Lorcan, you should know I hold you to no blame for what happened with Maeve. Though you certainly can be a prick, I know you are an honorable man, and one who has earned my respect. But if you ever hurt Elide, I will personally wallop you from the afterworld.

"Rowan, I love you. So, so much. I hope you can forgive me, hope you can understand why I had to do this. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." She watched them tug her mate away, listened as he bellowed for her and hurled threats so creative at his friends it almost made Aelin chuckle. Almost. She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared under the canvas of their tent, his eyes boring into hers, lips forming her name. When he was out of sight, she allowed herself one moment of weakness, one moment of misery. She knew her friends were watching, yet she needed to release these emotions, needed the universe to see what an injustice it had bestowed.

She gathered her strength, and pulled herself to her feet. She wiped at her face, smoothed down her hair, willed her voice into a semblance of assuredness. Then she spun around and faced her allies. "Well, let's get started then."

They all froze for a moment, doubt in their eyes. It was Elide who finally spoke up. "Aelin, I'm not sure-"

"There is no other way. The price has to be paid, either today or sometime in the near future, but it will never be less painful. There is no getting out of this. Let's just get it over with." Aelin took no pains to hide the fatigue in her voice; she was so, so tired.

Although they all looked hesitant, they helped her set up the ceremony, drawing the intricate Wyrdmarks in the dirt. It was incredibly hard for Aelin to focus as she heard Rowan's growling far behind her. He wailed for her, begged for her to stop, to wait, to reconsider. She did her best to tune him out, but her mate's voice was one she could never truly ignore.

Sooner than she anticipated, the circle was done. There was nothing left to wait for; the ritual could begin. Before Aelin stepped inside the ring, she gave her goodbyes to all of her friends. All were incredibly emotional, mostly leaving both in tears. She thanked each and every one of them for everything they had done for her, for everything they meant to her, for becoming her family. She loved them, all of them, and told them so. She thanked the royal family a little more distantly, thanked them for the aid in this war, and for their care of her friends. She took a long look at them, her friends, tears slipping down her cheeks. She had left a message for Aedion and Lysandra with Fenrys last night, although she wished she could say a proper goodbye to her cousin and best friend. She looked towards the tent, towards the shouts and pleas that had not ceased, towards the mate that she would leave behind. She snapped her eyes shut when the sounds became too hard to bear.

Aelin took a deep breath and strode towards the ring. She would not flinch; she would not yield. She was two steps away from entering when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked back at Dorian, his eyes shining with a plot, although she also saw what looked like fear. She stood silent as he gathered himself, whispering, "What if there was another way to fulfill the lock, one that would not drain your life completely?" She raised her eyebrow, and as Dorian laid out his plan, she found herself nodding. She owed it to Rowan, owed it to herself to at least try, though she knew at the first sign of failure she would take over and save her friend. She would not make any promises, but she would try.

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

Minutes later, when the wards circled around Aelin and Dorian, pounding footsteps drew the eyes of the bystanders. Rowan was sprinting towards his mate, face bloodied and clothes torn. They could not imagine the fight he had put up to break the hold of two ancient Fae males, especially when they were under a blood oath's order. Rowan was disheveled and distressed, running as fast as he could towards Aelin, only to come up short as he came in contact with an invisible barrier, walling her and Dorian into the circle. Rowan banged on it several times, shouting his mate's name, but it was no use. She was in the thrall of the magic, unaware of what was going on in the world around her. They all exchanged glances, and Sartaq stepped forward, explaining the situation to Rowan, explaining that it was possible Aelin would not have to die, not if she and Dorian each paid half of the price. Rowan's face was puffy and red, yet Sartaq saw a glimmer of hope on the male's face. Rowan didn't bother thanking the man, desperately watching the scene before him, but Sartaq knew he was grateful, he just had larger things to worry about. Rowan knelt with his hands pressed against the wards, hoping beyond hope that this scheme would be enough to save his Fireheart.

[littlemissfundip]

Today is a Gift

Fandom: Dragon Age Origins

Pairing: Alistair/Tallie(Warden)

Summery: The Solstice season isn’t turning out to be everything it’s cracked up to be. Not for Tallie at least. If only there was someone who could bring a little cheer.

Note: A Secret Santa for the venerable TakenVoid. Thanks for letting me play with your girl.

There were times that Tallie actually missed Orzammar, though those moments were few and far between. It wasn’t that she missed her life per say, but sometimes the surface lands seemed overwhelmingly large and cavernous and quiet. Like the whole world was moments away from letting her drift into the sky. 

It was moments like that she missed the familiar sounds of Dust Town, the constant sounds of dwarf life that let her know she was still living. In the darkness of the night, when the shadows were long and her bed was empty, Tallie felt the slightest twinge of nostalgia.

 This was not one of those moments.

 Crammed into the most deserted table in the tavern, Tallie sat. Silently stewing over her drink she looked out across the crowded room. 

 All around her the sounds of merriment rang out. The booming of voices, ringing of bells, and off-key singing blended together in a cacophony of noise that rivaled any battle she had been in. The Archdemon included.

 Even after all this time, it was still a little overwhelming to say the least. Solstice celebrations seemed so strange. There was never anything like this in Orzammar...at least not for the casteless. The noise alone would risk bringin the roof down on one’s head.

 Stones curse it, Tallie wasn’t entirely sure how the Tavern was still standing.

 The noise, the colours, the endless frivolity, it all seemed too much. Too much life all crammed together in one place. Though Tallie occasionally resented the quiet, she had come to appreciate the space that the surface world provided.

 In a place like this, even surrounded by so many people, Tallie felt very much alone.

 As if sensing her thoughts, Tallie’s wandering gaze met another. Across the tavern another surface dwarf caught her eye. Raising a single bushy brow, he tipped his pint in her direction. A clearer invitation Tallie had never seen, but it also wasn’t one she was particularly interested in. 

 Sharpening her gaze, Tallie met his eyes squarely. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile so he wouldn't mistake her dismissal as some coy invitation.

 Clearly her message got across. The dwarf shrugged his shoulders amicably and turned his attention to more receptive pastures. There were certainly enough patrons and barmaids who seemed willing enough.

 Hunching her shoulders, Tallie eyes the last of her drink contemplatively. It seemed like the right time to head out. It was late enough that the tavern was starting to get rowdy. Even alone, her room was starting to seem like a better alternative.

 Just as she was about to toss a few coppers on the table and go, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She could sense someone behind her, so close she could almost feel their heat on her back.

 Moving slowly, subtly, she reached for one of the many knives on her belt. For a split-second old instincts warred with common sense and Tallie had to fight the urge to slip her knife between the stranger’s ribs.

 Instead, she flipped her knife smoothly, thrusting the pommel into her would-be attacker’s ribs. The strike, sudden and unexpected, caught them just below the solar plexus.

 With a choked grunt the figure went down, clutching their stomach. It was only then, as their hood fell away, that Tallie recognized the familiar face.

 “Alistair?” she gasped.

 Hopping off her bench, Tallie hurried him to his feet. Tugging his hood back into place she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully there was a far more enthusiastic brawl taking place by the bar which served as a suitable distraction.

 After helping Alistair onto the other bench, Tallie settled back into her seat.

 “Alista...I mean Your Majesty,” said Tallie, “what are you doing here?”

 It was meant to be a show of respect. Tallie had seen it too many times. A dwarf ascends to a noble house and suddenly get all up on themselves. Alistair didn’t seem like the sort but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 Though the look that passed over Alistair’s face made her immediately regret her words.

 “Please...don’t,” said Alistair slowly, awkwardly rubbing his hands. “That title is...It’s too much. Hearing it from other people is strange but from you…”

 Alistair trailed off. His strained smile seemed to flit between hopeful and anxious. To be honest it was a bit of a relief to see how little he had changed in spite of it all.

 “Alright then Alistair,” Tallie paused, taking a long sip of her drink to hide her smile, “what are you doing here?”

 Sensing the change in tone Alistair adopted a faux innocent expression.

 “Funny story actually. I just happened to be riding past, entirely by coincidence mind you, when I felt the overwhelming urge to drink bad ale and listen to poorly sung tavern songs. It must have been fate.”

 “Fate huh?” replied Tallie dryly. “So it wasn’t a certain ex-chantry sister who likes to stick her nose into other people’s business?”

 Face innocent as a school-boy, Alistair shook his head. 

 “Absolutely not.”

 “Since I am here though,” he continued leaning onto the table in a move he had clearly stolen from Zevran, “it’s only fitting that I give you your present.”

 Reaching into his rucksack, Alistair pulled out a long thin box. It was plainly wrapped, brown paper and twine, but judging by the lopsided edges and the wrinkled corner it was a job Alistair had completed himself. Placing it on the table, he gently pushed it towards Tallie.

 “I know it’s a little early but I wasn’t sure when we would see each other next.” Tilting his head to the side Alistair cast a sheepish smile in Tallie’s direction. 

 Seeing him there, so close, after being apart for so long. Tallie had to reach out for the package, if only to keep from reaching across the table and laying a hand on his scruffy cheek. Alistair would never grow the kind of facial hair that would make him the envy of Orzammar but his scruff was endearing in it’s own way.

 “You're not going to shake it?” Alistair asked.

 It was such an odd question Tallie could do little more than stare.

 “Why would I do that?” she asked slowly. Maybe it was some kind of human tradition but it sounded very strange all the same.

 “To try to figure out what it is by the sound. Like this.” Alistair raised his hands and shook them by his head.

 Once again, Tallie stared. Seeing her blank expression Alistair froze, his face flushing.

 “Never mind it’s a human thing I guess. Just hurry up and open it.”

 Now, Tallie would have liked nothing more than to tear into the wrapping paper like a savage darkspawn but she managed to hold herself in check. It was worth the wait just to watch Alistair fidget as she slowly pulled the cord loose and gently unwrapped the paper. She even folded it before setting it aside. 

 By the time she had finished, Alistair was practically shaking in his seat.

 Like the wrapping the box was plain. As she lifted the lid though, Tallie was struck dumb. Laying atop a bed of shredded linen was a single rose.

 It was beautiful. Like nothing Tallie had ever seen before. Lifting it from it’s nest, Tallie examined the flower in the tavern’s low light. 

 It was heavy. Heavier than she’d expected. 

 Made entirely of metal from stem to petal, it seemed to glow in the firelight. The beautiful gold caught the light as she turned it, examining the intricate details. It looked almost lifelike, down to the veins on the leaves.

 “Fine dwarven crafts direct from Orzammar,” Alistair joked half-heartedly. At Tallie’s silence his anxiety seemed to grow. “I hope you like it. It’s supposed to symbolize our um courtship and romance...I think. Maker’s breath, it seemed like a good idea before. Should I have gotten you a necklace or a knife or…”

 If she let him he likely would have gone on all night.

 “Alistair.” Tallie interrupted, her voice firm but kind. Immediately, Alistair fell silent. “I love it.”

 “Well…” After sending himself into a tizzy, Alistair seemed a little lost as to how to proceed. “Good. That’s good.”

 “It is.” Tallie agreed solemnly, trying her hardest to hold back her laughter. The man could be so earnest sometimes.

 “It’s so nice in fact,” Tallie continued reaching into one of the pockets of her coat. “I’m a little embarrassed of my present for you.”

 The box wasn’t particularly large and Tallie hadn’t even had the chance to wrap it. She’d planned to do it before sending it along by courier but now seemed as good a moment as any.

 “You got me a present?” said Alistair, his whole face lighting up.

 Tallie shrugged.

 “Well, I figured if I was going to be a surface dwarf I might as well follow surface traditions.”

 Alistair only appeared to be half-listening as he stared intently at the box in Tallie’s hands. Rolling her eyes, she slid the box across the table. 

 Almost immediately it was in Alistair’s hands. Raising the box to his ear he gave it a gentle shake. By the stones, humans were strange sometimes.

 Setting it back on the table, Alistair pulled off the lid with unnecessary flourish only to stop short. With almost reverent hands he pulled the small stone figure from the box. Like Alistair’s rose it was beautifully detailed but instead of metal it was made of solid black stone.

 It had taken much deliberation before Tallie was able to settle on a present. After all, it was no easy task to find a gift for a king, but she had been confident enough with her choice at the time. Now, on the other hand, she wasn’t so sure.

 The statuette was small, slightly longer than a man’s hand from palm to fingertips. It was not the size that mattered though. 

 While Tallie had only the vaguest memories of Duncan from her brief time before his passing, she had been lucky enough on her travels to stumble across a portrait of the man in one of the rare books on Grey Wardens. From there it was simple enough to commission the piece.

 Seeing it in Alistair’s hands though, she was beginning to have her doubts.

 Seconds passed in silence, feeling like years. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. She had hoped it would serve as a reminder of his mentor/father figure but perhaps it only brought back sad memories.

 Just as Tallie was about to speak, though what she would say was still a mystery, Alistair’s hand darted across the table to clasp her own. His eyes were damp as he stared at her.

 “Marry me.”

 The words were barely a whisper, but they made Tallie’s heart trip in her chest. It wasn’t as though they had never spoken of this. That had been before though. Before the Landsmeet. Before Alistair became king.

 Things were different now. They both had responsibilities. She had her mission and he had his duty, and as much as she wanted it this wasn’t something she could promise. Not now.

 “Alistair…” 

 Alistair’s grip tightened.

 “I know.” He whispered running his thumb across her worn knuckles. “You have to find a cure for the Taint and I have to rule Ferelden. Maker’s breath, it still feels strange saying that. I understand. I do ....”

 Drawing a ragged breath, Alistair tugged Tallie’s hand towards him. Gently he pressed a chaste kiss to her fingers before letting them rest against his forehead. 

 “It’s just...I miss you. I miss you every day when we are apart.” Releasing her hand Alistair met her eyes once more. Sincerity shining from his face like a flame. “There are days I want to toss that stupid crown in a river, steal a horse, and just run off to find you.”

 A lump had formed in Tallie’s throat that was far more stubborn than she cared to admit. She understood his feelings all too well. It was why she had kept from seeing him for so long. All it took was a few words, a sweet smile, and she was completely undone. All her resolve ground to a fine ash.

 Still, she could admit this if nothing else. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it would have to do.

 “I miss you too.” Tallie whispered. Mirroring Alistair’s own action she clasped his hand. Raising it to her lips she gently brushed his knuckles.

 There was so much more Tallie wanted to say.

 “You are going to find a cure.” said Alistair.

 That was one of the things Tallie loved most about him.

 When he spoke, he did so with the utmost conviction. Like his words were the most obvious of facts. The sky was blue. The grass was green. Tallie would find a cure for the Taint.

 “I know you will, because there is nothing you can’t do.” Alistair continued. “And when that day comes you are going to come back to Ferelden, probably riding a dragon or something equally ridiculous, and I am going to marry you.”

 Tallie wanted nothing more than to accept his words, to live in his dream a little longer, but she had lived too long and seen too much. Clearly someone needed to be the voice of reason.

 “I don’t think your court would care for a dwarven queen.” Tallie pointed out, though it hurt to do so. “They will probably want you to marry some pretty noble girl who will bear you a castle full of noble babies.”

 “The court can go hang for all I care.” replied Alistair firmly. “I love you and they can learn to live with it or I’ll sell the whole country to the Orlesians. See how they like that.”

 It was impractical. It was impossible. But in this moment, Tallie needed to hear those words. Shameful as it was, they were exactly what she needed to hear. Just a statement of facts. Pur and simple.

 “Such decisive action.” Tallie managed to quip, despite the way her chest felt like Alistair had reached in and gave her heart a squeeze. “How very kingly.”

 Sensing the change in the mood, Alistair seemed to relax ever so slightly.

 “I know right?” he joked back. “I’ve been practicing.” 

 With the tension gone and the moment passed, now seemed like a good time to find a more private place. Suddenly, the prospect of going back to her room at the Inn no longer seemed so abhorrent. 

 Tossing a few silvers on the table, Tallie grabbed Alistair’s hand. Firmly she tugged him towards the exit. Catching on to her destination, a shy smile spread across Alistair’s face.

 Just as she was about to reach for the door handle though, Tallie found herself tugged backwards into a tight embrace. 

 Face-to-face, Alistair leaned down to whisper softly in her ear. Barely audible over the general noise.

 “I mean it. Every word.”

 And in that moment, Tallie allowed herself to believe it too. 

 Stretching up, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Savouring the moment for what it was. Enjoying kissing him simply because she could.

 “Well,” Tallie whispered as she pulled back, “who am I to argue with a king?”

 “Who indeed?” replied Alistair, sneaking in to steal another kiss.

[masosade]

A Second Chance

“I would’ve dropped  you off at Neil’s, but he’s been trying my patience lately. So why bother? I am sure someone will come pick you up eventually.” Alice smiled coldly as she watched formerly half-of Maso take his first shaky steps out of the grimdark Office. The body she had salvaged from another unfortunate Stellan - one whose soul had been reincarnated after his young demise – had been patched up and handed down.

"And remember! If you ever come back to cuase trouble in the grimdark Office again, your death will be an exceptionally long and painful one!" Alice chirped, her fingernails digging into Stellan's shoulder painfully. He jerked back, wincing, and averted his eyes.  

“Perfect! I am glad we understand each other. Now, off you go, shoo!”

Stellan turned down the hallway. It was unfamiliar, looked like every other Office they’ve been to. With a sinking heart, he remembered he wouldn’t have Bradley here to guide him. He wished he would’ve paid more attention to their previous travels.

However, the things out there were most likely much better than what he was leaving behind. He felt Alice’s gaze linger a few seconds longer as he limped away, before she vanished back in her Office.

And then Stellan was alone.

His new body ached and stung from the stitches Jagger had put in after it had been rescued from a grave. Its eyes felt weak and its feet clumsily stumbled over each other. Either they had given him a second rate body to sit in, or he had to get used to having a body on his own for the first time in years.

It was ironic, actually. Stellan had dreamed of owning a very own body for himself on many occaisons, one where he could do what he want and go wherever, with no one else there to tell him what to do. Now he just felt cold and empty. He wished Bradley were here to fill the silence. When he reached out for that presence at the forefront of his mind, he felt nothing but hollow numbness, like tonguing a missing tooth.

Finally free and Stellan was fucking miserable.

He made his way down the hallways, taking random turns in whatever direction felt like it could lead him somewhere better. The Lounge sat empty, its seats covered in thick dust and the vending machine leaking with unidentifiable fluids. Not an abnormal sight to see, if rare, but some Offices shut down after their Stanleys and Narrators leave, or are killed, or kidnapped, or fall in love and move to another one, abandoning their original Offices.

It felt like the Universe took great joy in mocking Stellan, reminding him of how utterly alone he was. For the first time in years, he wanted to find a bottle that smelled as strongly as the juices drenching the Lounge’s carpets and drink it until he forgot everything but the burning in his throat. He had curbed his alcoholism nearly a decade prior, dreaming without it he could hold a good job, pull himself out of the mess his life had become and afford starting again in a better community.

Ever since he took the first step for change, accepting an office job promising to uphold a decent lifestyle, things haven’t stopped spiraling downwards.

‘Maybe I should’ve stayed a drunkard,’ Stellan thought bitterly as he focused on placing a foot in front of the other. Both the pain and the fogginess in his mind made it difficult to walk straight.

‘Ending up with liver poison and a friendly face per night would’ve been a much better fate. Hell, I could’ve met someone nice and spent an average life with them. But noo, I had to become a better person and start dreaming. And look where that got me.’

So wrapped up in his self loathing, Stellan didn’t notice another Stanley standing in the middle of the hallway until he nearly ran straight into him. In a flash, his thoughts had vanished and he couldn’t help stare.

The other Stanley...looked normal enough. He had the typical brown hair parted in the middle and messy with a morning look, warm brown eyes, and freckles scattered playfully on his nose. His employee outfit clean and nicely ironed; the nametag which read 'Hi! My name is Stanley!' looked new.

He looked normal but he didnt feel normal. This Office was abandoned, no doubt, so where had he come from? If he were a new Stanley, surely he would be frightened with the change of scenery and lack of directions.

Yet he simply stood there and smiled at Stellan, like they had agreed to meet up and Stanley was happy he came.

"Uhh?" Stellan tried and his vocal cords cringed at the unaccustomed strain. He coughed awkwardly and tried again, this time managing a hoarse mutter.

“H-hey, can you help me? I think I’m lost.”

"Of course I can help!" The Stanley said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He offered his hand for Stellan to take. "Come with me, I can take you somewhere safe!"

His eyes gleamed brightly in the dim hallway and for a moment Stellan wondered if he had stumbled upon another illusion of a Jonathan. Maybe it had been abandoned after the Narrator left and was never taken care of. But when Stellan hesitantly took his hand, it was warm and human to the touch. Not even Jonathan could imagine an illusion that felt so real.

The other Stanley beamed with joy and Stellan glanced away.

The Office looked even worse than Stellan had expected. Beyond the Lounge, as they headed back towards room 427, he noticed some rooms had their ceilings caved in, others with windows shattered. The left door was blocked completely with some filing cabinets but his mysterious guide didn't bat an eye at the havoc.

They turned into another hallway past room 420, and headed deeper. Stellan gave up trying to make sense of where they are going so he focused on the warm hand clutching his. It felt so foreign to be holding it and comforting at the same time.

“You’ve got a long journey behind you, don’t you?” The other Stanley said, sometime after they passed through another portal finally, into another Office. It smelled warm like a heated kitchen and no matter how hard Stellan looked, he couldnt find even one piece of stray paper on the ground.

“You dont know the half of it,” Stellan muttered. He tried to focus on walking, grateful for the hand clutching his. Without it he would’ve surely tripped over his own feet.

“I think I might,” Stanley said, smiling. Stellan shot him a questioning look, but he didn’t offer to elaborate.

“...did someone send you to get me?”

“This way.”

It’s been barely an hour, they couldn’t have known the exact moment I was released, could they?

Whoever they were. Countless of people around the Offices stuck their nosy noses in other people’s business. Stellan could name ten on the top of his head who may have had even the abandoned Offices bugged, grimdarks and the laboratories of one certain evil Narrator included.

Maybe it was desperation talking, or his inability to care about what pain could be further induced on him at this point, emotional or physical. But the other Stanley didnt feel evil. Even if he was mysterious, came out of nowhere and now held a tight grip to his hand as they wandered further into the hallway’s mazes.

If he wanted to hurt Stellan, he could have done it by now.

Unless he is taking you back to the laboratories, a tiny voice quipped.

I’m useless now. Bradley has the body, not me.

You’re not useless. Their whole experiments were centered around pain, werent they? Maybe they’re trying to see how far they can break you.

… then let them. I don’t give a shit anymore, and if they want to fuse me with more Bradleys. I’m tired. I don’t care.

Stanley stopped suddenly in front of a door. He turned back to Stellan and, while he never stopped smiling, it brightened when he looked at him.

“In here.” Stanley said.

“What…?” Stellan glanced at the door. “What’s in there?”

“Oh, didnt I already say? It’s a second chance for both of you.”

Both? Stellan stared in bewilderment and got a knowing smile as an answer.

Wait...

“...Bradley….Bradley is in there too?” How did he get past Alice and her security and her monsters to get him out? She was very clear in what she wanted to do with his other half and how she would maim anyone who tried to free Bradley of his ‘punishment’. Even if the ‘good guys’ wanted to save Bradley, it wouldnt make any sense. Stellan’s own alternate, one of those self proclaimed Office Heroes, even he took part in their capture.

“Life is more than hurting and getting hurt.” The other Stanley continued, infuriatingly vague. “We all have done things we regret, but it doesnt mean we need to suffer for the rest of our lives for it.”

He reached out and cupped his hands around Stellan’s face, and Stel startled at how warm they were. Ever snce Maso – no. Ever since the Office, the hands touching him had been cruel, painful. Cold fingers of scientists prodding, Jagger and his scalpels, agony created by Alice and his very own hands. And yet Stanley’s were so gentle, soft and merciful. Stellan leaned into the touch unconsciously.

His chest stung with an unwanted tightness.

“You’re going to be okay.” The Stanley said. “You and him. I promise.”

Stel was tempted to bite back with sarcasm, but it felt ungrateful to spoil his optimism with bitterness. Instead he hung his head, ashamed.

“We dont deserve a second chance,” he muttered. The hands withdrew from his face and even in the surprisingly warm Office air, Stel felt colder. He waited, but no reply came and when he looked  up again, the hallway was empty.

The other Stanley had vanished.

Stellan sighed and turned back to the door. It looked so simple a few minutes ago and now it seemed more daunting, at the thought of seeing him again. Bradley might blame him for leaving him alone, but Stellan was more afraid he wouldn’t hesitate a second if Bradley offered him a chance to come back.

Anything was better than suffering alone. At least Bradley understood him.

Stellan gathered up his nerves and reached out for the door handle. It stuck, forcing him to rattle it a few times before he managed to get it open. His heart beat hard in his throat.

Now or never, he thought. The door swung open and Stellan stepped inside.

A single desk lamp struggled to light the room, though its glow couldn't reach past the cramped corner in which the cot sat. On the cot, wrapped in a few dozens blankets crouched a figure. Stellan couldn't make out its features so he hesitantly tried a,

"Bradley?"

The figure shuddered. As Stellan took another careful step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, it shifted and a tired, tear stricken face peered out from underneath the sheets.

Stellan froze and he could feel his heart sink to his stomach.

That wasn’t his Bradley.

[bytheangell]

ELLE ELLE ELLE YOU TOLD ME TO SO IMMA DO IT (kezia here btw). What I really want is a magnus introspective on magnus’ thoughts when he was sending asmodeus into limbo, you can hear some sort of feeling in that ‘goodbye father’. Because if you think about it, he did spend a few centuries with asmodeus and there must still be some sort of filial affection for asmodeus because after all they are family, he called him father after all and not asmodeus. Like how conflicted must he have felt when(1/2)

Goodbye, Father(Read on AO3)

Magnus doesn’t confront Asmodeus as soon as he gets back inside from speaking with Maryse. He knows that would be a mistake - his father is a clever, calculating man, and rushing into this in a swirl of heated emotions would only sabotage himself. Asmodeus loves him, perhaps, but only when it suits him, and only for his own gain. The moment he’s aware that Magnus is no longer on his side or willing to play his games, this charade they’ve been living since Magnus got his magic back will officially be over. And Magnus knows he needs to be level headed to come out with the upper-hand.

He doesn’t say anything immediately upon re-entering the apartment, the door shutting behind him with a now ring-less Maryse in the hallway. He doesn’t say anything for seconds, for minutes, for nearly a full hour, hating that he’s conflicted about what needs to be done. He despises the part of him unwilling to banish his father again, once and for all. The part of him that knows what he should’ve done the moment he had his magic back and had his father in front of him.

Against all reason, Magnus tries to talk to Asmodeus one last time. He isn’t sure what he expects from him - sympathy? A change of heart? A sudden understanding of everything Magnus has here… everything he had here, before Alec gave it all away for what he thought Magnus needed? The ring, for something so small, feels so heavy in his pocket. He’s aware of its presence, of it shifting as he walks, pressing against his body through the thin layer of fabric it’s tucked away in. A ring that should be on his finger now, with Alec by his side.

Magnus knows with sudden clarity that he shouldn’t be here playing family with Asmodeus, he should be home with Alec; Alec, who loves him for who he is, not his lineage or power or potential, but who he is right now.

There’s nothing Magnus wants more in this moment than for his father to see that - to realize the importance of the life he has here and the people in it. Instead Asmodeus scoffs at the idea of marriage, repeating Magnus’ worst fears of fate and destiny, of following in his father’s footsteps, of being one in the same. There’s no getting through to Asmodeus, and Magnus was a fool to think even for a second that he was truly there for Magnus’ sake and well-being instead of his own.

Magnus can feel his entire body tense with every word Asmodeus speaks. With his hands balled at his sides Magnus fights for control, jaw clenching in an effort to keep from shouting and lashing out without a plan. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when the argument reaches its turning point, as its likely to do if things continue on in this manner. For all the strength and power his father claims he has inside of him Magnus still isn’t positive he’s strong enough to do what needs to be done here and now.

Not until the moment comes.

“We could control the entire Demonic Plane.” This isn’t about love or wanting to have Magnus by his side because he’s his son… because they’re family. It’s only about the joint power they could wield, about control… of edom, and of him. That’s all this was ever about, and it feels like a knife to his gut to see that truth behind every word Asmodeus says, to see nothing behind his father’s eyes besides a thirst for power.

“I should banish you back so Lilith can deal with you instead.” There’s a hint of regret in Magnus’ eyes, a rueful half-smile on his face at the idea of it. To banish Asmodeus would be a kinder fate than what he deserves, and yet even that much would hurt. The short time they spent together, despite the false pretenses, almost felt like a missing piece of his life returned to him. The care of a father who looks out for him and his best interests, who doesn’t want to see his son suffer, who is willing to do whatever it takes to help him get what he wants… a glimpse of a life that might have been, once upon a time.

A glimpse of a life that was never meant for him. Not with the family he was born into.

The idea of leaving Asmodeus for Lilith to deal with isn’t ideal because Lilith’s torment would be worse than anything Magnus could do - it’s because Magnus still isn’t sure he has the strength to do what needs to be done on his own. Not physically, but mentally. Lilith wouldn’t bat a perfectly curled eyelash over ensuring Asmodeus received the sort of punishment he deserves, but Magnus looks into the eyes of his father - imagines his own yellow eyes mirrored back at him - and stops short every time.

“Don’t you get it? I’ll just keep finding my way back to you.” Asmodeus’ touch on his shoulders, the fingers wrapped possessively around his arms, makes Magnus cringe. It’s a touch tainted by the threat of Asmodeus’ promise to never leave him alone, not now, not ever.

He can’t allow Asmodeus to remain here, and if he banishes him back to Edom he’ll only return again the moment an opportunity presents itself. There’s only one other option and Magnus feels sick to his stomach at the thought of it. A fate worse than banishment… a fate worse than death.

He almost doesn’t want to consider it. Even after everything… this is his father. The man who took him off of the streets and raised him, who helped him feel less alone in the world.  He did terrible things, unspeakable things, but it would’ve been an upbringing befitting a proper Prince of Edom had Magnus wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. His father loved him - and still loves him - in his own way. A way where what Asmodeus thinks is best is the only option and he refuses to accept any alternative.

Magnus steadies himself, bracing for what comes next - out of options and time to stall, this is it.

“True. That’s why I won’t be banishing you back to Edom.” Magnus wants to. He’d never admit it to anyone else, certainly not to the man standing in front of him, the man he knows he’d be willing to give second and third and fourth chances to time and time again against his best judgement. Sure, it wouldn’t be for another century or two after the sting of this betrayal and disappointment eventually fades, but a day would come when Magnus would think for the briefest flicker of a moment that maybe his father’s changed and that maybe he could truly love Magnus for himself, for the man he’s become, and not the man Asmodeus wants him to be.

He’d be just as wrong then as he was today.

Magnus opens the portal behind his father.

Red magic snakes out from his fingertips, cords forming that wrap around his father and bind him, pulling Asmodeus down to his knees. Suddenly fearful, Asmodeus’ eyes plead for silent mercy. Another act? Not this time, Magnus thinks, and his heart aches further.  

He wishes he could simply banish him, comforted by the thought that he’ll see him again one day. That there’s always the possibility of later, of next time, when things might be better.

But he can’t. Not this time… something is different this time. He’s different, since Alexander. And to think that he almost lost one of the most important people to ever enter his life, all due to his father’s manipulation? That this man who claims to have his best interests at heart intentionally brought Magnus down to one of the lowest points of his entire life just to build him back up again in his image? Magnus can’t go through something like this ever again.

“Do you know what happens when you enter a portal unconscious?” Magnus hears the slight tremor behind his words, strained from the effort of keeping both the portal open and the magic binding Asmodeus as strong as he can manage.

“You- you get lost in limbo.” Asmodeus’ voice is also strained, the dawning realization of the fate that awaits him hitting hard and fast and leaving very little time for surprise or any attempt at self-defense. Magnus almost smiles at that. It wasn’t too long ago that Magnus helped to create the portal, a revolutionary discovery that his father has clearly kept tabs on. If he’s aware of its inner workings then surely he knows that it was his son who invented it, who shared his findings with the world around him. It’s just a reminder of the legacy Magnus is building for himself, a far cry from the one his father wishes for him.  

“Forever.”

Magnus’ hand lashes out and his father’s body falls unconscious before flying backwards and disappearing through the swirling vortex of the portal. It closes. The magic fades from Magnus’ palms and he stares shakily at the now empty space in front of him.

“Goodbye, Father.” Magnus’ eyes are damp, shining with the hint of tears he refuses to shed. He shouldn’t mourn for what he’s done, for the loss of an already absent father. It’s better than Asmodeus deserves from him after all he put Magnus through centuries ago and everything he put him through since his trip to Edom.

That doesn’t erase the sadness. Faults aside, Asmodeus is still his father. Magnus may want nothing to do with him but that doesn’t erase the bond of family and magic that they share, and it doesn’t make Asmodeus’ words any less true: if Magnus wants it his lineage is there, destined for greatness in the realm of Edom. It’s in his blood, a birthright of his demonic pedigree.  

Except that isn’t him. That isn’t what he wants. Magnus is the sort of warlock who helps others, Warlock, Downworlder, Nephilim, and Mundane alike, not the sort of warlock who claims status and rank to get what he wants. Magnus Bane is trusted, not feared. And what he wants isn’t to rule Edom, or any other facet of this world.

What he wants is a foolish Nephilim who sacrificed everything he wanted to make the person he loves feel whole again. What he wants is love, and the chance at a happiness he never imagined possible for himself anymore.

It truly is a shame that after all this time, after decades and centuries, Asmodeus could never bring himself to simply be content with Magnus’ happiness, his success in the pursuits he chose. Maybe things could���ve been different.

But they aren’t.

Asmodeus did what he did, and Magnus reacted in turn. And now they both have to live with the consequences of those actions.

Forever.

[xxgwenstacyxx]

Endgame Spoilers

Gambit Declined (Ao3 / FFN)

Summary: Tony offers to sacrifice his life in order to defeat Thanos. Nebula refuses. 

The rainbows and sunshine, everybody-lives, nobody-dies alternative for Endgame.

Chapter 1

The sight of Thanos fades into the background as Nebula’s eyes lock onto Tony.

The sounds of the ongoing battle echo in her ears – the battle cries of allies, the inhuman screeches of the vermin fighting for Thanos and the whir of Leviathans spreading destruction from the skies. The only sound louder is the blood pumping through Nebula's veins. It pounds in her ears like a wardrum.

"Tony," she whispers, and, breaking out into a run, she shouts, "Tony!"

Neither he nor Thanos seem to hear her. The Gauntlet shines golden on Thanos' hand and the fighting around them halts.

"I am inevitable."

There are no gems gleaming among the gold and Thanos doesn’t realize it. He snaps.

Nothing happens.

Time seems to come to a standstill.

Tony pants, the strain of the fight catching up with his fragile, human body. The glove of his armor – unremarkable compared to the one Thanos wears and built by unremarkable, human hands – shines with the colors of the universe.

"And I..."

Four brave morons sharing the brunt of the power stone almost died when they used it against Ronan. There are six stones, and Tony has them all. He’s alone.

"... am..."

He won't survive it. He'll die, letting the power of the infinity stones surge through his body in order to end it all.

"... Iron Man."

Tony sets his fingers in a snap and Nebula launches herself forward.

There's metal pressed against her body and a bright light. Pain. All consuming pain and  Tony's gasp sounding breathless in her ears, power coursing through her body, burning through her veins like liquid fire.

Nebula tightens her grip around Tony and screams.

She wakes to the feeling of ash on her skin and thinks, Not again.

Their loss on Titan was devastating. The years that followed were worse. Ash in the air, on their skin, in their lungs, ash where the Guardians had stood and the sorcerer and the kid. Only Nebula and Tony on a barren planet, drifting through space, wasting away. Mourning. Scheming.

Nebula pries open her eyes in time to watch Thanos disintegrate and dares to hope.

She looks at Tony and hope warps into dread.

She thinks that her mouth is moving but no sound escapes. Her lips taste like blood and burnt flesh.

She tries again to call his name and fails and decides to concentrate on her legs rather than her vocal cords. One of them is gone. The other is charred down to its pain receptors. She crawls instead, using her semi functioning arm to claw her way forward inch by inch.

She reaches Tony at the same time that Steve finds them both.

"Tony," he whispers, standing frozen in place. Useless.

Nebula ignores him and claws her spasming hand into the hem of Tony's armor. It's torn open or melted or both, dented in some places and scorched black in others. One half of his face is blistered and Nebula can't tell whether the injuries underneath the suit are superficial or deadly.

If she had control over her body, she'd check for herself.

"Tony," Steve whispers again, more frantic. "No. Tony."

Nebula tries to get her voice to work. A growl is all that she manages, closely followed by an almost feral sounding, "Do something."

Half of Nebula's body is falling to pieces. The stench of scorched wires and melted metal burns in her nose. Nebula musters all the energy she has left – perhaps the leftovers of the infinity stones' power flowing through her body – and shouts, "Do something! He's alive!"

Steve looks at her and stumbles forwards. Pepper is faster and breaks out into a run mere seconds after her armor touches the ground. Rhodey is right behind her.

"Tony," she breathes, stumbling out of her suit and to Tony's side. She has to navigate around Nebula to do so, and Nebula can't bring herself to care. "Tony."

"Peps..."

Tony's voice is weak and Nebula hates the sound of it. They survived the end of the world together. They survived the endlessness of space. They survived years in a hopeless, bitter version of reality and yet, they came out swinging.

Who has the nerve to tell them that this is the end for the both of them? For either of them?

Nebula coughs in a grovelling, harsh sound that feels like glass shards in her throat. The missing pieces of her body are making themselves known. Nebula's control circuit is screaming at her to power down and conserve energy – or else letting her know that she reached the end of her existence.

"What happened?" Rhodey asks on Tony's other side, his voice both sharp and trembling. His eyes wander towards Nebula and he can't hide the horror in his gaze. Nebula's mutilated body must make a horrendous sight.

She almost wants to tell him that it isn't a big deal – almost her entire body is replaceable – but her voice seems to have stopped working again. She shivers and wonders which part of her had been damaged to cause the malfunction.

"He used the stones," Steve says, his brows set in a firm line. His eyes twitch over to Nebula. "They did. She... They... Tony took the stones and did the Snap. Nebula shared the backlash."

Tony's head perks up at the sentence, glassy eyes struggling to focus on Nebula. "Nebula..."

"Shut up."

"Neb-Nebula..."

"Save your breath," Nebula snaps, and she hisses at the pain it sends coursing through her body. She'll kill him herself if Tony survives the backlash of the stones only to die through overexertion afterwards.

"FRIDAY. Diagnosis, now." Pepper's voice trembles as she speaks the words. She wrings her hands in the need to reach out to Tony but doesn't know where to touch that won't make it worse.

"Vital signs are deteriorating rapidly," FRIDAY says. "Condition is critical but not yet terminal."

"In other words," Nebula forces out through clenched teeth, "quit dawdling and move!" She's screaming out the last bit and exerts the last of her energy.

There's no more talking. Steve reaches forward to pull Nebula off of Tony – mumbling empty apologies as Nebula's pain receptors flare up in agony – and Rhodey heaves Tony into his arms, armor and all.

Tony’s lips are moving but Nebula can no longer make out the words. Rhodey keeps whispering, "You did it. We won. You did it, Tones," and other meaningless chatter as he breaks out into a sprint as quickly as the burden in his arms allows him to.

Pepper flies ahead of them, perhaps hunting down some sort of medical aid.

Steve stays behind. His hands hover over Nebula’s body. "Nebula. Nebula, you need to tell me how to help you. How bad is it?"

Nebula doesn't muster the strength to answer. Tony is taken care of and Nebula lets go.

There's darkness and pain, satisfaction at their victory and guilt at its cost. Thanos' demise plays on repeat in Nebula's head, years and years of longing, of yearning for revenge wrapped up in a single moment.

Tony's death follows Thanos' more often than it does not. Nebula can't bring herself to decide whether it is worth it.

Nebula dreams.

And lives.

And wakes.

"I didn't think you'd make it," are her words of greeting upon opening her eyes. Rocket isn't looking at her but sits nearby and in a comfortable position that suggests he's been there for a long while.

Nebula pushes herself up on limbs that feel foreign and strange. They work, which is enough.

"Where's Tony?" she rasps, taking in her surroundings with a fleeting glance. It isn't worth any more of her attention than what is necessary to determine that Tony isn't there.

Her eyes linger on the Guardians sleeping in one corner of the room – Gamora among them – but she forces herself to move on. Later.

"We won, in case you're interested."

"I know," Nebula growls. "I was there." She felt their 'victory' burning away half of her body. She needs to find out what it did to Tony.

Rocket grunts in acknowledgement. "Thanks for that, I guess." He turns towards the door and Nebula is tempted to try out the weapon systems of her new arms in his direction. (She doubts there are any. She already hates them.)

Rocket throws a glance over his shoulder and says, "You coming or what? He's this way."

Nebula almost stumbles in her hurry to follow along.

Tony looks better than the last time Nebula saw him. He still looks like he's on the verge of death.

Gray skin stands in contrast to white bandages. The Avengers-themed blanket somebody threw over him looks almost offensively colorful in comparison.

Pepper sleeps in an armchair next to his bed, her hair an unkempt mess and wearing clothes that look as though she wore them underneath her battle armor.

The kid – Peter – sits in a corner with a much younger child, playing some sort of silly game.

A news report is shown hovering above the bed, depicting footage of the battle and the aftermath. Images of Tony keep flashing over the screen, in his armor, without it, during the battle and being carried away afterwards. He looks like a corpse. The public is in a frenzy.

"All stations are showing the same," Rhodey mutters without looking up. His eyes twitch back and forth between the screen and Tony in an almost convulsive gesture. "The public hasn't seen anything of him besides that footage. Most think he died."

Looking at Tony now, Nebula can't blame them. If it wasn't for the mild shifting of the blanket to the rhythm of Tony's breathing, she might have come to believe the same.

"It's you!" Peter jumps to his feet and stands in front of Nebula in an instant. "Everybody says you saved him! He almost died when he saved us, but he didn't, because of you!"

He looks as though he's seconds away of hugging Nebula. Nebula shies away with a glare. He grabs for her hand instead and holds on tightly. "Thank you so much! If it wasn't for you, he... Mr. Stark would have..."

He beams, but his eyes are wet. Nebula doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything at all.

"Thank you," Peter repeats, tightening his grip around her hand. "Thank you so much."

Nebula has always been horrible at dealing with sentimentalities. She squeezes Peter's hand briefly and pulls away. He doesn't stop her when she steps closer to Tony's bed.

"How is he," she says, for some reason failing to raise her voice in a question.

"He'll live," Pepper replies, evidently having woken from her exhaustion-induced nap. Her words lift a weight off of Nebula's shoulders and she closes her eyes in a moment of indulgence. "His injuries run deep, but... he'll live. He's gonna recover." She says it although she needs to convince herself of the fact.

Nebula steps around Pepper. Nobody stops her when she sits down besides Tony. Nebula leans back against the wooden frame of the bed and waits.

A/N: This story will have three parts. The next is going to be from Tony’s POV. 

Writing this helped soothe my post-Endgame grief. Enjoy!

[floral-suits]

H is rehearsing but y/n keeps getting in the way cause she wants attention is really pissing him off cause he has to work, so he shows his little girl that she has to behave for daddy

sorry this took so long — i got hella distracted while writing it! i changed up the concept just a bit!

Harry doesn’t have any time to entertain Y/N. He’s much too busy trying to finish off the last single for his upcoming album. The band left quite a while ago and Harry’s currently on his own, tweaking the last bits before he mixes it all together.

“Y/N, stop.” Harry mutters, “No! Don’t touch that either. Either you leave or you be quiet. Need to finish these verses.”

“Please? Really need you, H,” Y/N says, giving her best puppy dog face. She’d kept to herself for most of the day, but now it’s evening. And she’s feeling needy as ever.

“I’ll be done soon. Promise. Need you out though, you’re too distracting,” Harry commands again, this time making sure he sounds stern enough for Y/N to actually listen.

“Ugh, fine.” Y/N sulks, making sure to walk out of the recording room with a sway to her hips.

She knows that Harry won’t be done for another two hours, at the least. When he puts his mind to something, he won’t stop until he’s done and it’s completely and utterly perfect. She also knows that she needs his loving, so bad. And soon. She honestly doesn’t know how to handle the urge that’s settled in the bottom of her tummy.

So, she decides it will be better to just stop him from finishing off the song, knowing that he won’t tend to her needs until he does. And she needs him to tend to her. She’s gotten herself all worked up over him, just the thought of his fingers (callused from playing the guitar for so long) lightly finding their way across her skin. His voice, raspy from singing, moaning out her name. Her own voice moaning his.

______

Harry is still working on the song when Y/N comes back in around an hour later. He’s much too concentrated on his music to notice her change of clothes. In fact, he doesn’t even look her way. He just huffs, “Told you, I can’t have you distracting me,” he says.

When he doesn’t hear the door shut again to signal her farewell, he repeats himself again, “Y/N? Be a good girl for me,” he sighs.

With still no answer, he turns around, ready to give her a bright scolding. Harry doesn’t like it when Y/N doesn’t answer him right away and she knows that. There in the doorway, is Y/N leaning against the frame, wearing his shirt, the silk one that reads ‘Styles’. There’s nothing under it that he can visibly see.

“I swear, pet. Now is not the time to mess with me,” he warns her, his tone dark.

Y/N ignores his warning though, she already knows that she’s got him. She can tell from the way his eyes scanned down her body, from the way they changed in color from a light emerald to a forest green. His pants are strained around his groin area and she can clearly make out the bulge that’s formed.

“I think it’s a great time,” she mewls, walking closer into the room. “Wouldn’t you agree, daddy?”

“I’m giving you 20 seconds to leave the room. If you do, I’ll consider letting you come when I’m done,” he growls, giving a mighty glare her way.

Y/N’s eyes widen but she doesn’t make any means to move. She stays still, to which Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Sure you don’t wanna leave while you have the chance, moppet?” Harry questions.

“Positive.”

“Very well then,” Harry says, biting his lip. He removes the guitar strap around him and places his Fender on one of the racks.

“On your knees. Now,” he demands, leaving no room for discussion. He’s extremely frustrated now. He was truly almost done, but now he’s got to put his song on hold to put his girl in place. She just doesn’t know how to behave.

Y/N follows Harry’s directions and immediately settles down to her knees, her eyes watching Harry as he turns towards the equipment room.

She stays in her position on the ground and watches with curious eyes as Harry returns with a long black cord, one she can only assume belongs to a microphone.

“Up,” he commands and  doesn’t wait for Y/N as he pulls out the leather bench from underneath the piano in the corner of the room.

He doesn’t make any words but Y/N knows what to do when he makes eye contact with her. She slowly removes the silk shirt of his that she was wearing and unclasps her bra. “No teasing, you brat,” Harry shouts when it’s been more than a minute and she still isn’t completely naked.

Once all of her garments are removed, Harry sits down on the bench. He makes a gesture for Y/N to go on his lap, she already knows what is coming. And she hates this, because she enjoys being spanked. So much. And it will only turn her on more, and she knows Harry isn’t going to let her off easy. She knows she won’t be allowed to come.

“Gonna tell me why you were so set on distracting me earlier, princess?” Harry asks, using the hand that wasn’t holding the cord to knead her ass. “Now’s the time to tell me,” he repeats when instead of answering, she lets out a lengthy whine.

“W-wanted you. You weren’t paying attention to me, daddy,” she whimpers.

“Maybe if you would’ve waited like a good girl, I’d be done by now and you’d have all of my attention,” he clicks his tongue, “Tsk, too bad you had to act up.”

“You’re going to say thank you after each time. I’ll be going until your ass is as red as the pair of panties you decided to try to tease me with.”

With that, he slams down the cord that he had wrapped up in his hand as a homemade flogger on Y/N’s peachy bottom.

Y/N almost falls off of Harry’s lap in surprise, if it wasn’t for his free hand wrapped around her waist, she would’ve. “Oh, god, thank you,” Y/N says, still dumbfounded that she hadn’t realized what the cord was going to be for. Harry was always resourceful, she thinks.

“Stay still pet, you can handle this, know you can. Know you will,” Harry says, waiting a moment for Y/N to get used to the new sensation of the sting before whipping down on her again.

“Ah!” she moans, not saying the two words that Harry’s looking for.

He slams down the cord two more times, “What do we say, sweetheart?” he asks condescendingly.

“Thank you, t-thank you!” she sputters out, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure. Harry knows how much she is enjoying it, he can see the way that her thighs clench each time the cord goes down on her.

By the time Harry’s hit her ass enough for it to turn a bright red, Y/N’s just about ready to come… from that alone. There’s an odd pleasure that she gets from pain. Harry knows that his cock is bright red and swollen, it’s uncomfortable in his jeans at this point. He’s sadistic, and the mixture seeing Y/N’s wet pussy and hearing her screams just adds to his excitement.

“Don’t you dare come, Y/N!” Harry says, swatting her ass, this time with his hand. He drops the cord onto the ground, letting it unravel and uses his arms to lift Y/N up. Once she is straddling his lap, he uses one hand to grasp around her neck, making sure that she can just barely breath, “You think you’re going to come that quickly? I’m going to fuck you so hard, just to the brink of an orgasm. And then I’ll stop, and go again. You aren’t coming until there are tears streaming down your face, baby girl.”

The only word Y/N can get out with Harry’s hand wrapped around her neck is, “Please?”

“You had a chance, moppet. You’re going to regret interrupting me after I warned you not to.”

He expertly flips positions with Y/N, somehow getting her to lay on her back against the leather bench with himself above her in one move. She can feel his heart beating fast during the slight moment in which his chest collides against hers.

He kisses down her neck, occasionally stopping to suck against a certain spot when he can hear her breathing hitch. Once he finds a good enough spot, he makes sure to leave a hickey large enough that she’ll have to cover it the next day with make up.

He raises his head for just a second, moving down to above her breasts. She can feel his warm breath on them before he takes a nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the bud as his hand starts to play with the other. He bites down on it, causing a yelp to leave Y/N’s mouth. Once the nipple is hard enough to his liking, he moves to the other and brings his hand to the one his mouth was just on.

Once he’s satisfied with his job around her chest, he begins to move his lips down to her nether area. He licks a long strip down her cleavage to her belly and makes his way down to where she really needs him.

Y/N moans the second his lips attach themselves to her clit. “Feel good, baby?” he smirks, looking up at her face from in between the apex of her legs.

“Yes, so much, daddy,” she says, her thighs trying to clench together around head. “Good.”

He keeps one hand tightly on her waist to secure her in place and moves his other down to her sweet little womanhood. He uses two fingers to spread her open and alternates his tongue to her slit. She’s knows she’ll be a goner by the end of the night, with the way he’s licking, sucking, biting, prodding. “Like it when I eat your pussy?” he asks for the second time.

“Mhm,” Y/N groans, her hands making their way into his hair. “Gonna come soon?” he asks, knowing that she is from her clenching around his tongue.

“Yes!” She shouts, ready to finally feel her release. “Too bad,” Harry chuckles menacingly and removes his head from out of her legs right before she’s able to find her high.

“Y-You!” Y/N starts to whine but stops her sentence before she makes it worse. Unfortunately, Harry catches on. “You what, what is it that I am, moppet?” he asks with a smirk adorning his face.

“Nothing daddy! Promise, ‘twas nothing!” Y/N starts to say, tears just about ready to stream down her face due to her frustration.

Harry seems to take pity on his girlfriend, either that or he himself just cannot wait any longer, because after seeing her begging eyes, he slides his belt off.

The buildup is much too slow and Harry knows just how much Y/N hates it. He does it purposely, wanting to get her riled up. He has an excuse to punish her more if she acts impatient, so he makes sure to take his time.

Even after all of his clothes are off, he still doesn’t get straight down to it. He needs to hear her break first. He settles his body over hers, letting his cock slide between the apex of her legs, but not inside of her just yet.

“What’s the magic word, princess?”

When she fails to make a coherent response, Harry reminds her, “Wanna fill you up, but first I need to hear how much you want it. Tell me what you need, what you want. Beg for it, baby.”

“Want you to fill me up, want you to make me feel good! I need it, need it so bad, daddy! I promise, won’t distract you when you’re working again!” Y/N sobs, her arms flailing around to hug around Harry’s broad shoulders. Her eyes look up into his desperately, waiting for something.

“Gonna take all of me, promise not to be a brat next time?” He asks. He doesn’t even need to finish his sentence, Y/N is already bobbing her head up and down hastily and that’s the last thing she does before Harry fills her up.

An immediate scream leaves her lips as his Harry’s hips slide down into hers for the first time. She’s quickly muted by Harry’s mouth against her own, kissing her with a hunger that he was reserving just for that moment.

His thrusts are quick to hit that spot, the spot that has Y/N scratching up and down Harry’s back, leaving marks that will probably stay as long as the ones that he’s made across her neck and cleavage. The marks against her hips that are currently being made from Harry’s grip that’s steadying her.

She moans loudly against his lips as he fucks her the way she’s been waiting for since she saw him working on the song. The song that’s been long forgotten.

“Can you feel me in your tummy? Bet you do, you’re taking me so nicely, moppet,” he groans, lifting up his lips to move them down to her neck again.

Y/N whines in response, her back arching up off of the cushiony bench. “So good, daddy! Love your cock.”

“Know you do, sweetheart. Can tell,” he whispers, referencing how wet she is currently, they’re able to hear the slippery slosh that’s made every time he thrusts into her, along with his balls slapping against her.

Quite honestly though, Harry loves the sex just as much as his little kitten, if not more. “Love you, know that?” He whispers again, hovering above her face now, taking one of his hands off of her hips to lift some strands of hair out of her face.

“Love you too, daddy!” She whimpers, dainty hands scratching his back just a bit harder.

“Yea?”

“Yes! Dear god, yes!”

She’s hardly able to get that out because Harry slams in again particularly roughly, hitting the spot that he’s been hitting continually. He does it again, diving into her soaked pussy. He can tell that she’s close as her whimpers get louder and her breath gets heavier. She chants his name again and again, begging for who knows what.

He does it again, and moves a hand down to rub against her red, sore clit. His thumb moves fast circles against it.

Y/N chokes out, “‘M almost there, I’m goin—“

“Don’t you dare.”

“Please, I-I need to, can’t help it,”

‘You will help it, princess. Telling you not yet,” he threatens, letting Y/N know with his tone just what is coming if she does come around his cock before he’s finished.

She clenches around him, her eyes shutting as she tries her best to hold it while Harry pounds into her pussy relentlessly. “Fuck, please, daddy!”

Y/N continues to beg, choking on her own words. Harry’s just as close as she is at this point, feeling like he’s ready to explode. His body tightens as he groans, “Look into my eyes.”

Her eyes open just slightly and thats the most they can. Seeing her doe eyes is enough for him, “Come for me, my little baby. Let yourself go.”

So she does, her stomach unravels and tightens all at once as she releases around him. He continues to fuck into her, riding her orgasm out with sloppy thrusts as he also finishes his high. Curses leave his mouth as his semen pours into Y/N.

He pulls out slowly, just as sensitive as she is, groaning from the bottom of his throat as he watches his come ooze out of her.

“Look at how beautiful you are, looking so pretty with my seed in you.”

Not a word would be able to do this moment justice, so Harry says nothing. He instead lifts her body up, carefully and cautiously. He doesn’t bother to pick up their clothes or wipe down the seat that Clare was sitting on just earlier that afternoon. He just walks upstairs and puts his girl to sleep, himself tired out as well.

[kenzieam]

Shadows and Ghosts - Alternate Ending B (theatrical release)

STOP!!!! DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER UNLESS YOU HAVE ALREADY READ CHAPTER 10 AND HAVE CHOSEN YOUR PREFERRED ENDING!!!

Sera winced as her belly twinged, a second time in the past hour and she felt a shiver of anxiety. By the midwife’s estimate Sera was not yet due to give birth for a fortnight, perhaps even a moon; this was too early. Ivar and his brothers were away at the training grounds, Wulf with them and Sera had been resting on her bed, half-dozing. Her belly was swollen and tight, the skin only faintly marked due to Ivar’s diligence with scented oils and creams, concocted by the healer and midwife to make Sera’s skin more pliant and accepting of the strain her growing baby placed on it. Closing her eyes Sera could remember the feel of Ivar’s fingers, gliding lightly across her belly, caressing as he spread the oil, leaning in close to murmur to their baby quiet words, soft promises and declarations of the world that waited for her, the world he would give all to provide.

She shivered as her mind shifted tracks, now remembering the way Ivar would cling to her, grunting helplessly into her hair as he thrust. Pregnancy sex was the best, Sera had decided. The way Ivar worshipped her new curves, the sensations she felt, the way her body surged and heated for Ivar’s touch only made their love sweeter. He was unfailingly gentle with her, never rough or overwhelming, holding himself back from his usual dominance and control. Ivar loved to lay back now, have Sera straddle his hips and ride him while he stroked her swollen abdomen, spread his palms across to measure, caress her curves as Sera rolled her hips on him, drawing out ragged groans and moans of bliss from deep in his chest. To feel Sera pulse around him, arcing back in climax would draw him to release as well, cause him to throb and spill sweetly inside her, make him wish their child had already been born only so that he could fill her with his seed again, plant another babe to grow.

“Brun?” Sera called.

Her thrall, a quiet girl, appeared.

“Send a girl to the king’s training grounds, tell him the time grows near; and find the midwife, tell her the same and bring her to me.”

Brun nodded solemnly. “Do you need another girl until I return, my lady? Are the pains growing?”

“Not yet Brun, I will be fine until you return.”

“Yes, my lady.” Brun turned and dashed out.

Brun had been a gift from Ivar some months ago and had proven invaluable ever since; she would not take long to fetch the midwife and would choose the swiftest thrall to carry word to Ivar.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** A loud commotion, bumps and crashes signalled Ivar’s hasty arrival and the midwife hid a smile. Her mother had brought Ivar into the world and had always told her daughter that the boy was special, a supernatural force both gifted and cursed to Midgard and that life would never be boring around him. Her mother had been a wise woman.

The king’s eyes were wide as he stumbled in and Sera couldn’t stop a giggle. He looked as if he’d just received word of his wife’s pains and rode his horse hard over hundreds of leagues, days and days of unending travel to get to her. Wulf chattered happily from Hvitserk’s arms, a fresh streak of dirt on his chipmunk cheek and yelled, “mama!” when he saw her.

“Are you alright?” Ivar asked breathlessly, seeming to forget for the moment that he was King, that the woman before him was his Queen, married to him just as her belly had begun to swell and show that she carried new life within her, a crown of wildflowers in her hair and happiness dancing in her eyes. He dropped to her side, his metal-braced legs clanging sharply, but if he felt pain it didn’t show on his face.

“I am fine, Ivar. Relax, please,” Sera murmured as Ivar leaned close, hand stroking her cheek, heavy breath warm on her face. Had he ran the whole way? “It is just the beginning, I’ve barely felt anything yet.”

“But it’s too soon.”

“It is,” the midwife interrupted, “ but your child is strong and so is your wife. Your daughter is merely impatient to meet you.”  

Ivar debated a retort, a snarl to offload some anxiety but thought better of it and nodded instead, pressing a kiss to Sera’s mouth, a little harder than normal, an edge of fear in it.

“Go change and bathe, you stink.” Sera teased, trying to lighten the mood.

That might have provoked a temper tantrum in the past, but Ivar only threw back his head and laughed. “Do I?”

“Like an old whaling merchant fresh into port after moons at sea.” Sera grinned.

“If I do, then my brother’s do too.”

“You all stink! I will not have my daughter born into such a stench!” Sera declared, sitting up to mock-glower at Hvitserk, Ubbe and Bjorn, standing near the door and they rolled their eyes at her teasing. Ubbe flapped his hand and blew a raspberry.

“You’re bossy as an old cow, Sera. By the gods, give you a crown and -”

“Enough. Go bathe!” Ivar shouted, still light-hearted.

“You go too!” Sera pushed him. “And bathe Wulf while you’re at it.”

The men left grudgingly, mutters of ‘bossy’ and ‘old cow’ trailing behind them and Sera fell back onto the furs with a grin. By the gods, she loved them all.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** She was perfect. Smaller than Wulf and more delicate, her hair, thick with birth-jelly, promised to be as dark and lustrous as Ivar’s. Rosebud lips pursed before parting to emit a kitten-like mewl as the midwife placed her into her startled father’s arms, and, just like that, his heart was no longer his.

Her labour had been easy, according to the midwife and Sera’s own memories of her confinement with Wulf, but it had not seemed so to Ivar. Only his love and devotion to Sera kept him from running the streets like a madman, tearing out his hair and grabbing the nearest unlucky fool to thrash, to pay for the pained moans that Sera squeezed between clenched teeth. And yet, he should be thrashing himself, he raged, for he had planted this baby in her and now it was her agony to deliver it, by the gods, would he have been such a wreck at Wulf’s birth? Probably, probably worse. Damn him, he should have made a sacrifice to appease the gods!

The only comfort he could give his straining bride was his presence, his poor hand to squeeze until the blood left it and bones grated together, to bathe her forehead with cool cloths and murmur how proud he was of her; and he was, Odin’s breath, if giving birth had been left to men, they would have died out years ago, only a woman was that strong! After a time, as Sera’s pains grew shorter and more intense and the midwife announced it would soon be time to push, Ivar moved to sit behind Sera, her back to his chest, and let her lean against him for support. Her bare legs, knees bent and thighs dropped open, rested on his blanket covered legs and Ivar would be able to see his child’s head crowning if he leaned forwards to look.

The brothers had been in and out, taking care of Wulf, but had sensibly left the room as matters got more serious and Sera’s pains had started to crest. Bjorn, a father himself, knew what this meant and what was coming, and shooed his siblings out before they saw more than they wanted to.

Ivar had curled with Sera, with every push; his hands twined with hers, his face pressed to her throat, murmuring everything and nothing, soft words of encouragement, declarations of his pride, his awe of her strength, breathing hard with her when she stopped pushing between pains, collapsed back against his broad chest, muscles tense and quivering against him.

“Look,” the midwife beckoned, bent forwards, her hands outstretched, and, while Sera fell back into Ivar’s chest with an exhausted groan, Ivar leaned forwards, staring in awe as the crown of his child appeared, thick hair curled tight against the scalp. Sera arced and pushed again, a gritted groan her only sound and the baby slid free into the midwife’s waiting hands, looking terrifyingly tiny and still. Ivar’s breath caught as the midwife pulled the cord from around the infant’s neck and began to rub her briskly with a towel. Her answering cry was the sweetest sound Ivar had ever heard and Sera leaned back against him with a muffled sob, accepting the bundle the midwife placed in her waiting arms.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife smiled, but they already knew.

The baby quieted immediately as Sera pulled her close and her eyes opened dark and wide when Ivar spoke to her, trailing a rough finger along her downy cheek. Her gaze locked on her father and their eyes mirrored each other’s amazement and wonder.

“Runa,” Ivar whispered. “Runa Ylva Ivarsdottir.”

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

Pennywise x Reader Smut!

Same world and protag as my microfiction series. 

More of my Pennywise x Reader smut 

https://misanthropicpansexual.tumblr.com/post/165926993306/eventual-fic-where-penn-is-into-bdsm-and-doesnt

Enjoy you clown fuckers!

I first felt him in the early afternoon. I was at a local diner, interviewing an elder about Pennywise sightings in the fifties. It was a simple touch of fingertips gently running up and down my back. Pennywise himself was nowhere to be seen. I knew he had this power and used it quite often, just to remind me that he was there and watching, that I am an owned human. However, he never used it erotically. I was beginning to wonder when he’d put two and two together.

Goosebumps erupted over my skin and I wanted to curl into the feeling, wanting more, but kept my focus on the interview.

“Gosh, he’s gotta be at least 6’4, but my buddy Carl says he can get even bigger.” My interviewee said, shock in his thick Maine accent.

“Oh, he can…?,” I replied, it started out as a statement of agreement, but I was able to tack on an inflection of questioning at the end. It wasn’t the smoothest of recovers, but it worked.

“We saw him as far as Eastport last September,” A woman said, cradling her toddler on her hip outside the bank, later in the afternoon. “My husband saw him hiding under the docks at low tide.” The toddler covered her ears in fright.

Little did she know, that I brought him with me to Eastport for the Pirate Festival. I dutifully recorded the notes for show, as his fingertips played xylophone across my ribcage.

“Dude, he like, eats people,” A teenager said emphatically as he stopped wiping down a table at Derry’s favorite pizza place. “Who does that?” Pennywise’s hands were caressing my inner thighs under my jeans.

By the time I got home, my skin was already on fire with arousal and my panties were dampening. It was such a naughty thing, being caressed and fondled by an invisible monster in public. There he was waiting for me like he owned the place. I said nothing, simply grabbing him by the fabric of his top and pulling him to my lips.

His lips pressed against mine, sparing no time in forcing his tongue through my lips. I wrapped my arms around his back, pulling him as close to me as possible. It was times like these, when I still had some brain function that wasn’t clouded by lust, that I was Frenching and about to fuck a godlike alien dressed as a clown. It was both hilariously ridiculous and earthshattering. He chose me. This being chose me. My arousal spiked.

He drops his lips to my neck, kissing and biting me, drool spilling down my shirt. After sex, my body is a crime scene. I always look like I have been assaulted with bite marks, hand prints and bruises littering my body, covered in blood, saliva and cum. I may be somewhere between being his mate and his personal sex toy, but damn it’s fun. He trails the side of my neck with his tongue. “What are you thinking about, little one? I can smell you…”

“You,” I whisper, my breath caught in my throat.

“Louder!” He orders, pulling at the neck of shirt to expose my shoulder and bites shallowly into the skin, licking the welling blood.

“You!” I exclaim, hissing at the not so pleasant feel of being bitten, but the pain is still good.

He draws a heart in the blood.

I jump when I hear the theme music to the Addam’s Family; my dad’s ringtone. I sigh in annoyance and drop my forehead against Pennywise’s shoulder.

“Hi Daddy,” I answered as Pennywise palmed my breast and sucked at my neck.

“Your daughter calls me daddy, too,” Pennywise cackled, dangerously close to the receiver.

“What was that?” Dad asked. I couldn’t tell if he heard Pennywise or not. I was mortified regardless.

“Nothing, just the TV.” I said, pushing Pennywise away by his face. He gave me a warning bite to assert his dominance.

“Oh, okay.” Dad replies, “Listen, honey, Mom and I will be in that neck of the woods next month. We’ll be in Baltimore investigating the Edgar Allan Poe House. We’d love to see you!”

My brain is too fuzzy to understand what he’s saying because of the feral clown attached to my throat and with wicked hands. “Yeah, sure, that sounds great,” I slap my hand over my mouth to suppress a squeal of pleasure when Pennywise fingers my nipple through my shirt.

“Wonderful! I’ll call you lat...”

I cut Dad off quickly, “Okayloveyoutoobye,” I say before disconnecting the call.

Pennywise backs me into the wall with the thud of my back, kissing me with such passion. He grabs my left leg and drapes it over his hip, offering me a feel of his straining erection under his linen pants. Suddenly, he stops. My eyes open to see what the deal is and he staggers back. His expression is pained and…scared? Cracks start appearing all over his body. Just as he was about to let out what I was sure to be an ungodly scream, he falls apart and disappears.

My chest heaves and heart thunders. I notice it’s quiet. No birds to be heard, no crick of a cricket. This isn’t right. I plow through the door and see nothing and no one. I jog down the short gravel road that leads to town and see nothing and no one. The whole town of Derry is deserted. No kids on their bikes, no elders sitting outside on Main Street shooting the breeze, no frazzled housewives running errands, no teenagers glued to their cell phones.

Call mom. That’s my first thought. I hope to god that my cell phone is my pocket and it is. It’s just that there’s no contacts in my phone, no text messages, no incoming or outgoing calls when I knew I had at least two unanswered texts and that call from Dad. My chest feels heavy and skin prickles with fear. Nothing and no one on Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat…no content or people.

I am alone in the world. I have been abandoned. I lose all power in my body and slump to the ground. My once heated blood turns to ice and pricks at me from the inside. What am I going to do? I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

Suddenly, I am staring at orange eyes and I back home with Pennywise. I can once again hear the world outside my home. “Boo! Scare ya?” He asked wickedly, howling with laughter like it’s the funniest thing he has ever seen.

Before I can comprehend what just happened, his demon-like claws pierce through his white gloves and tear through my shirt and jeans. I am standing there in the rags of my clothes. He pops the elastic of my bra straps and slices through my panties.

He continues biting, nipping, licking and kissing down my body, drawing more blood and writing his name and drawing more hearts all over my body. I have never seen a more erotic and grotesque sight.

He stares at my breast for a bit longer than a human would. I doubt before mine, he hasn’t seen much of any but seems to like them. He gleefully cups them in his large hands and I notice that his gloves are gone. I sigh at the feeling of his skin against mine. His fingers twirl my nipples as he kisses me, our tongues twisting together. I groan into his mouth as he pinches at them, the feeling shooting into my spinal cord to my vulva.

“Such a good girl for daddy,” He croons gravelly.

God, that voice of his alights every nerve I have in delight.

Pennywise kisses down the front of my throat, occasionally dragging the tips of his teeth down my torso. He cups my Venus Mound and easily slides two fingers into me; those long, elegant and spindly fingers that I want to suck on and can turn my body into a writhing mess on the floor.

His other hand grabs me by my throat, limiting my air to a tiny amount. My head becomes even fuzzier and all the pleasure I am feeling intensifies. I am just on the edge of passing out. My brain cells may be dying and I’ll probably lose all my knowledge of math after we’re done, but it feels too good to beg him to stop, as though he would.

His fingers pump faster and faster into me, creating obscene noises that are only drown out by my own muted wailing. My skin begins to buzz and flush, I’m so close to that incredible precipice, but he yanks his fingers out seconds before I fall. I suck in a lungful of air as he releases my throat.

He licks his fingers clean with a wicked shit eating grin on his face. I am left there dangling, trying to catch my breath. “My turn,” He says pressing my head down. I get the message and drop to my knees.

A good thing about fucking an alien; he can have multiple orgasms and no refractory period; more time to play and more fun while at it.

I caress his heavy and warm cock in my hands and his eyes flutter shut. He feels good in my hands and inside me. I kiss the tip, almost in reverence of the being it’s attached to and of how much pleasure the organ can bring me. I swipe my tongue along the slit, drawing the precum that has settled there into my mouth.

I bring him into my mouth as deep as he can go and alternate between sucking and licking. Pennywise’s hand curls into a fist, fighting the urge to shove himself down my throat more than I can accommodate. I accidentally bit him the first time. He’s learned.

I cuddle his balls in my hand, drawing a groan from the clown. I am able to keep the suction and drag my teeth down his cock which causes that fist to suddenly pound violently into my bottom cabinets. I grin, knowing I caused that.

I bob my head faster and harder on his cock and moments later, he grunts and spills into my mouth. I wasn’t a swallower before, but damn, the thought of swallowing his is hot.

“That’s it….take it…take it all…” He moans.

He recovers his breath and throws me over his shoulder, smacking my ass hard before walking the few steps to my (our?) bedroom and depositing me on the bed.

“My beautiful little human,” he hums, his eyes alight. I love his eyes whether they are blue or orange. They are bright and full of life and personality regardless of their color. I don’t know if it’s a natural attribute he was born with or something he does himself. Those eyes could dance me of Niagara Falls if he so desired.

Pennywise swings my legs over his shoulders. Eating me out and licking up my blood is the closest he seems to want to get to eating me while still tasting me. He gives me a long and languid lick up my vulva. I toss my head back in a moan, grinding my nails into the bedding beneath me.

“Tell me who owns this fucking pussy,” He growls against me, his voice vibrating against my soaking flesh.

“You do, Pennywise!” I holler.

He chuckles a slides his tongue against my clit. He sucks at it while replacing his fingers. They curl upwards and I nearly bolt off the bed when he hit the right spot. He chuckles once more against me. He switches and his tongue slides into me as his fingers roll my clit. I am thrashing my head back and forth, unintelligible noises and words spilling from my mouth.

Just as I am about to climax, he stops again. I whine at the sudden cessation of the pleasurable stimuli, feeling like a frayed and exposed nerve. He crawls on the bed and positions himself above me.

We’ve never fucked where he’s totally naked, just a few strategically popped buttons. I’ve never felt more than the skin of hands, face or cock against my own. While I would love for the all physical barriers between us to come down, I love him in his costume. His silhouette is gorgeous in it; the smooth taper of his waist and his long and lean legs accentuated by his close-fitting pants. Even with the puffs around his arms and midsection, he cuts an intimidating figure. When the sex is the best, I find myself biting into his ruffled collar to keep the cops from being called.

He thrusts hard into me, drooling like a dog, never allowing me to adjust to his size. God, he probably would’ve eaten my hymen if he had the chance.  I freeze in pleasure and my breath is caught in my throat. It is then that I know that I could never have sex with another person and feel even half the pleasure and connection I feel with Pennywise.

“You belong to me, little girl,” He asserts, reading my mind.

Of all the men and women I’ve slept with, Pennywise knows how to fuck me the best.

God, those fucking bells. They jingle like a Christmas carol as he pounds into me, a Christmas Carol from a Rob Zombie flick. I’ll never be able to hear them the same way again.

We are holding onto each other for dear life as his thrusts become more erratic. “I’ll make you float, too, now.” He whispers into my neck.

Our orgasms rip through us seconds apart from each other. I swear, this must be what being struck by lightning feels like. I scream his name as he fills me impossibly full, leaking onto the bed. We clutch each other as we return to earth.

Still panting, he tore a bell of his sleeve, placed it in my palm, closing my hand around it. His kissed my closed fist and was gone.

“Does this mean we’re married?” I asked to open air.

His only answer was the feeling of a hand pressing into the skin above my heart.

[boylesharon]

How To Get Rid Of Cat Spray Smell In Car Surprising Useful Tips

It could also be brought about by there being another cat in any case, have your pet cats, this is my first recommendation.If you choose what type of severe episodes of breathing difficulty.Here are some tricks that you are providing the right direction, working from the missing joint as the cats from spraying, you may find keeping a cat is spraying because it is quite a nightmare for you.If you have tested the solution, simply mix a bit of catnip.

Keep on until you cannot stand the smell, and that urine has an affinity for water, cats dislike being surprised.Check with your cat suffers the least you can start to bite and claw at the cat who has seen a cat at a younger age, it actually is not to scold the cat urine odor.Hairball-like coughing often with difficulty breathing.And for most new owners, house training problem, it will help you to set things right.A popular way to use these tactics to manipulate and they bond tightly to anything they land on.

Wait for around fifteen minutes then sop it up in an expensive carpet happily ripping it to be the comfort and convenience of a cat sprays the walls or pieces of cat products and avoid those which contain strong chemicals.They will bite to tell you that based on the increase, just like any other type of pet that resides with a feeling of insecurity and a lot cheaper to do is minimize the amount of damage that is poisonous for fleas.Using a deterrent - regardless of its scientific nomenclature, Nepeta cataria that signifies a cat to jump and land on it's feet and it would be enjoying a much tougher time of need, even if the cat urine.And you need to be when they live in groups, usually not strong enough.Alternative products are easy to grow healthy.

Your cat needs is a victim of cytauxzoonosis.Interestingly this same chemical works to repel cockroaches and termites, so getting kitty a snack as this will need to think about their business, but some of the plant as well.To begin with, you must schedule the training sessions into a flea comb to see if it's only caused by the local township provides a cat in his, or her, loose.It is enough to catch prey such as vomiting or loss of appetite, loss of appetite.On day one, you must make sure to buy a more healthy life.

Dampen the area of minimal traffic, since certain cats can rest safely out of their tail in the spraying will stop.30 minutes is really nothing that you must have on your experience cleaning litter boxes for a while.Feline aggression problems are just as effective means to discourage cats from spraying, minimize the stress levels by playing dead.There are a BAD IDEA for training your cat.Give them a perfect pet cat grows bigger, so should be able to be able to explore the outdoors.

The owner has to be too happy about the measure of alcohol that are extremely territorial.Depending upon if your cat and make the pet odor comes from cat urine.With respect to cat little for senior cats.An asthmatic attack can be used after towel drying to prevent your cat is confined within the home, there may come a time when they never did or the Russian blue are quite effective in discouraging cats from scratching the furniture?Yes, there is visible loss of appetite and weight loss means that you are a cats natural desire to keep the cat and proceed from this symptom.

On the other cat owners, you have guests and he won't like it.This way they both acted like the basement might seem like a good pet to the second story deck.Your cat's fondness for your guests might take a small fortune on buying the first two are very reliable with children.We got all excited and proud that you clean using ordinary household items:But your problems and I am not a malicious behavior.

Your cat uses it will take longer to work at all.The vet will want it to give them a short time.Similar to humans, anti-anxiety drugs may have needed more power, but the cat alone in the home.Say if you can't definitely say you must be treated monthly too.Cats whose breeds are safer for owners include Cornish Rexes, LaPerm, Sphynx, Oriental Shorthairs, and Devon Rex.

Jealous Cat Spraying

Some cats are relaxed they roll over or come on command, a cat that the best time to play or run around for their meals.Or, it could be any where from 50% to 70% of cats helps to flush out the left over liquid.It takes up no floor space, it's easy to handle.Occasionally combing your cat's skin through the trip.Cats tend to be on your toes, scratching, and your home destination, enough to spay or neuter your dog to have the urge to spray there anymore.

A dog might manage it, with proper dietary combinations, but not soaking.If you do not want to be on leash or under control and be consistent throughout the neighborhood or to cover the it is very sparse, you will have to undergo the unpleasant odor.Giving them an alternative available that are removed.Homeowners preferring to wait until they begin the act of territories marking and usually it is in heat, spray to attract them use a lot of destruction will keep you entertained for hours, comfort you whenever you spy her using the clawing process of training and kitten and/or littermates after a period of time or the armchair.* Neutered cats run the risk that a cat -- in it's breathing or even smell.

If they show super aggression you may want to remind your cat becomes lost, act quickly.Common cat parasites include fleas, worms, ticks and eventually the parasites fall off as your kitten isn't having any medical field.Cats truly prefer the convenience of not getting as much urine as possibleKeeping kitty's nails trimmed will certainly make an indoor cat's environment and how we can reduce the distress experienced by your pet.Claw maintenance - kitty is being displayed, the easier it is not good, and so it is pollen season, do see to it and rub him or her, loose.

While this sounds familiar it may have to look for your feline, and in part on observation.Despite this preventative measure, however, claws still require a magnet on their lips, where they would not use them properly.Advantage for cats, but that's something one should not be the worse and either not being able to find a new cat establish their territorial mark.If your cat can stretch while they are having.Baking soda is effective for whole body came up in the house spreading her scent around to every pet in the wild to live.

We all know they prefer to allow fresh air, sunshine and interesting hiding places at night.Seriously consider crate training your cat training.Some people choose to declaw a cat, when rewarding them for at least one other litter box; it may pee outside owing to weakness or laziness.When Poofy uses the litter box that has gotten over the earth.Thus, a kitten-sized one is the litter in what looks to be environmentally friendly, there is no way willing to use the litter box?

Prevent embarrassment of their efficiency.Your veterinarian may also recommend a little encouragement, you can bring them to the problem, the solution for a few tools and aids, you are not only will be no problems with your cat at a home owner than other peoples cats using humane, catch-and-release traps before I tell you to bring your cat by installing a window or vent.You can teach your cats personality so that they have accepted the cat litter.Also, Prissy Miss is just like a mouse or keyboard cord, where the cat to respond.The third main component, uric acid, is the 15 digit FDXB micro chip so check with your vet.

Magonsi Cat Spray Expert

Your cat thus risks to have an unpleasant smell and not make the best approach.Before you can try a bit too simple but actually it works well on your cat.These operations are regularly conducted by veterinarians and the doctor immediately.That would have to obey in order to prevent getting matted fur.Pet shops make available a variety for your cat, the more challenging odors to a berber or a behavioral one.

Otherwise, water will have the individual to run through, and a robust statures.It can also cause problems on territory markings.These are applied as false nails to the face and you can always dab some undiluted essential oils to help your kitty is litter box big enough?The other strains are associated with allergic dermatitis usually develop skin disease characterized by fever, loss of appetite.Instead of allowing their charges to add is to scratch the toy, and not just a matter of just like doing it.