#and I was left with this bitterness and anger ...feeling thoroughly betrayed

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

...//...

[eventideluminary-games]

I was talking about that word question you reblog, i fell upon your blog today so i thought you were doing the game :

https(://)www(.)tumblr(.)com/eventideluminary-games/739504938402643968?source=share

-sarah

Hi! Sorry I didn't realize that's what you meant! Haha, that's my bad! ^^'

Not-So-Nice Ask Game For The ROs (betrayal, bound, break, failure, fear, guilt, heartbreak, mistake, & torture)

Alceste

Betrayal - Alceste has definitely been betrayed by someone he thought he could trust. It's not often since he vets his company very thoroughly and regularly, but it happened once. On the other hand, Alceste does Quite A Bit of betraying. It's not personal, babe, just business.

Bound - Alceste has never been in jail. He's a Nepo Baby sdkjfnsdf

Break - I think Alceste would have a total break down if anything happened to his whole family and he couldn't prevent it/knew about it beforehand or if he found out everything he was doing was for nothing. He wouldn't take it well and would probably turn into a Major Asshole. The only people who've seen Alceste at his lowest so far are his mothers and Larisilla.

Failure - Alceste's competent enough to have not Majorly failed at anything so far. That being said, he does have a few failures that required his mothers to step in, but nothing he'd have a guilty conscious over.

Fear - Serious answer, losing his friends and family. He's maybe just a little too codependent. A more lighthearted answer, snakes and Larisilla when she's mad. He's very open about the snakes and Larisilla part. Not so much about the other.

Guilt - Alceste doesn't feel guilty for doing any of the questionable things he's been doing since he believes them to be right. He may hold a bit of guilt over the relationship that ended terribly, but that's it.

Heartbreak - Oh, all the time. Alceste is a chronic never-single person. He's never gone longer than a month without dating someone and he's always the one who decides to end it. That being said, there is only one person who's break up left a bit of a stain on him, so to speak. They're still awkward and a bit bitter around each other.

Mistake - Alceste's human, so he's made a ton of mistakes, but none I would say that would stand out as important or long lasting. Except maybe his one relationship that totally crashed and burned Badly. It was one of his first relationships and probably his longest and he Fucked It Up real bad.

Torture - Alceste has never been tortured, but he would do it to someone else if he needed to. It's not his first option, though, preferring to use words rather than actions.

Larisilla

Betrayal - Larisilla's absolutely been betrayed. The Dustlands is like a viper's pit. It's every family, and sometimes person, for themselves. Larisilla learned this the hard way. It's why Alceste, Dionys, Somnia, and Enyo are her only friends and none of them are from the Dustlands. Larisilla, however, is not one to do the betraying. She finds it tasteless and cowardly.

Bound - Larisilla has been arrested multiple times for inciting violence and starting fights. She's never stayed in prison/jail, though. Her mother and father always bail her out.

Break - Ironically, being betrayed would cause her to break down. Especially by someone who she'd consider a friend or even a lover. The best way I could describe what would happen is that she'd probably go in a stuporous state. So far, only her mother, Eunomia, and Alceste have seen her at her lowest.

Failure - She's made several failures on her end regarding both her training and diplomacy attempts. She just takes them in stride and learns from them.

Fear - Being forced into the little world her father made for her. She's terrified of not being able to roam freely and train and being forced into bureaucratic/diplomatic work. That and being emotionally vulnerable. She covers her fears with anger and by pushing people away.

Guilt - Larisilla also doesn't have any guilt. She, like Alceste, believe that everything she's doing is justified. She does feel a bit bad about her thoughts regarding Lachesis and the Temple, but that's it. She doesn't feel Guilty, perse, just Bad.

Heartbreak - Larisilla doesn't Do romantic relationships. The idea of being emotionally open scares her, so she doesn't do them. That being said, she's had physical relationships before,

Mistake - Although she'd never say it out loud, she believes it was a big mistake to encourage her sister, Lachesis, to pursue a career in the Temple of Astrea. Before starting her priestess training, Lachesis was the subject of most of their father's ambitions (i.e. becoming the next First Head of the Council, marrying well, etc). When Lachesis entered the temple, their father turned his attention to Larisilla, which causes her quite a bit of grief.

Torture - Larisilla has never been tortured and hasn't tortured anyone either. That being said, she would volunteer to be the torturer, if needed.

Dionys

Betrayal - Oh, absolutely. The Hall of Scholars (Scholar's Hall) is a place full of betrayal and backstabbing to see who can get ahead. Dionys has been the victim of backstabbing and has dealt his own to other people. Most of his relationships have to be clearly transactional now since he's never been a fan of the backstabbing.

Bound - Once. Dionys has been arrested once for stealing a restricted book from the library. This was while his parents were still Head Scholar and Professor, so he was bailed out quickly.

Break - Getting kicked out of the Hall of Scholars or losing his little sister. Dionys has done quite a bit of questionable things to become Head Scholar of the Hall of Scholars. If he is ever kicked out, he will have no idea what to do. As for his little sister, Galatea is 6 years old so much of what he does is for her benefit. The only people who have seen him breakdown so far are his parents, Erato (his maternal aunt), and Orithyia.

Failure - He plagiarized a whole theory submission once. It nearly got him kicked out of the Hall, but he's a Nepo Baby. Most people have forgotten about it by now, and if they haven't and bring it up, they'll forget soon enough (ominous).

Fear - Same as Break.

Guilt - Dionys doesn't really like how much backstabbing he had to do to get where he is and feels a bit bad over it. But he accepts it as part of what he did, so he doesn't wallow in it. He does feel guilty for taking Rhodope in as his protégé, though, and feels responsible for her horrible personality. His idea of fixing it is to just ignore her unless necessary.

Heartbreak - Not really. Dionys has dated several peers before, but the relationship always ends before it gets too serious or ends very abruptly and they always leave the Hall afterwards.

Mistake - Taking on Rhodope as his protégé. When he met her about 3 year ago, she was 13 and a very shy and studious trainee. He saw himself in her and took her under his wing, but now she's arrogant and Frankly, A Bitch. He thinks that if he didn't take her as his protégé then she wouldn't have become awful. He also doesn't like the fact that she's obvious about her feelings for him.

Torture - Dionys has not been tortured, unless you count that one time when he was about 22 where he was awake for 96 hours straight. It was his Final Thesis Presentation week and he nearly missed it. Dionys would not torture anyone else.

Somnia

Betrayal - Somnia hasn't really... betrayed anyone, so to speak. Just... manipulated them enough. She hasn't personally been betrayed, but due to *plot spoilers*, she considers it to be a betrayal to her as well.

Bound - No. Somnia's too valuable in her village to be arrested.

Break - Similar to Alceste, if she found out everything she was doing was for nothing. She wouldn't handle it well since her whole world view has been crafted around this situation. The only person who's seen her break own is her mother, Ianassa.

Failure - Similar to Guilt, but she views her father's death as her failure, despite being 13 years old. It shaped her whole future and caused her to pursue healer training.

Fear - Same as Break, but also losing her friends or her mother. She's similar to Alceste in this way.

Guilt - Somnia is the one RO who I think doesn't feel guilt at all. She thinks everything she's done or is doing is completely justified, even if shown it wasn't justified at all, she'll still convince herself it was.

Heartbreak - Not really. Somnia's a bit too busy for relationships, but those that she had have always ended cordially.

Mistake - She doesn't really have any major mistakes she would consider major. This could count as Failure too, but Somnia did accidentally kill someone while in training by administering the wrong dosage of a medication and poisoned them. While it wasn't good, obviously, it did spark her interest in poisons.

Torture - Somnia's never been tortured, personally as in one-on-one, before. She has tortured someone before, though, and that's all I'm saying on that.

Enyo

Betrayal - Mmm... this is a bit tricky, but I'm going to have to say no. Enyo's very clear about their intentions, so is it really betrayal if they gave you a warning? That being said, Enyo has not betrayed any of the Assassin and Thieves Guild in the Floelands.

Bound - Yes. It was one of Enyo's first missions and they were caught. They were sent on the mission with Bella, who snuck in and stole the keys from the guard to free them. They've never been arrested or caught since.

Break - There isn't much that would cause Enyo to break down majorly. Their mental health is either well enough or low enough to where not much will phase them. No one has seen them break down before.

Failure - Enyo failed one mission before. They weren't able to move past it and when they returned empty handed, they suffered for it. They're still glad they never went through with it and has never failed another mission.

Fear - Meliae Enstat, their foster mother. To a lesser degree, Phonus Sanntite, their foster father. They don't make their fear known, but it's also not really a secret.

Guilt - Surprisingly, Enyo doesn't feel much guilt over the assassinations they've done. They view it in a more practical light, as in 'this is just a job', so they're not emotionally invested. They also try to complete the job as fast as possible and not look into the targets too much.

Heartbreak - Enyo hasn't been in a relationship before. They've had physical relationships before, but never true romantic ones.

Mistake - The only Bad Mistake Enyo made was failing that one mission. It shaped who they were quite a bit.

Torture - Enyo has been tortured and they have done the torturing too. They don't really like doing it, but they're, unfortunately, good at it.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Begin Again | Thranduil

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

Genre: Fluffy new beginnings

Warnings: ---

Words: ~2k

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page 💕 Also, I’m big dummy and lost the original request, so I couldn’t remember what all you wanted in this one-shot. So requester, whoever you are, I’m so sorry! And if you’d like another part to expand on your full request, please let me know!

  It’s strange.

  You’re whole life, you’ve always heard about how horrible it is for an elf to lose the one they love. It’s been described as feeling as though you’ve been ripped into two pieces, forced to live on without your second half. You’ve heard it feels like tiny needles stabbing into your heart until you can’t feel anything but a stifling anguish that seeps into your bones, poisoning your body from within until you eventually fade away.

  Yet you feel none of that. You feel nothing at all, like a soul wandering aimlessly for the rest of eternity, cursed with never finding a purpose or reason to stick around. But being forced to endure, none-the-less. You can sail, as an elf that’s your right, and perhaps you would find peace, wrapped in the warm embrace of Valinor as you forget all your fears and pain.

  But you don’t want to be happy, because being happy means you forget, and you're not ready to forget your beloved yet.

  The forest floor beneath you is damp from the rain that blessed Eryn Galen a few days ago. The mud sinks in between your toes as you nearly melt into the soft ground. The forest around you is lush and green, wrapping you in its warm embrace that allows for a moment of respite from your thoughts.

  The forest is empty, only the gentle sway of the trees and emerald leaves falling to the ground your company. You stare up at the sky that peaks through the canopy of leaves, the stars are out tonight and they burn brighter than you’ve ever seen them. And you wished to climb to the tops of the trees if only to feel the soft glow of moonlight on your skin.

  But that would be a foolish thing to do, a whimsy only a child would fulfill. So you simply stand in the clearing, selfishly hoarding the only spot you’ve discovered that the sky is visible.

  You thought yourself alone, something you covet more often than not. 

  And yet.

  “Forgive me, I did not realize this spot was currently occupied,” a baritone voice sounds behind you.

  Your heart pounds against your chest, the owner of the voice easily recognizable through your deep daydreams. Whirling around quicker than you’ve ever moved, you see King Thranduil standing at the edge of the clearing. He’s lacking the usual extravagant attire he usually dons, instead opting for a slightly more casual outfit. But he still wears clothes that could’ve been woven from silver and gold, the cloth glittering in the dim light.

  “My king,” you say, immediately bowing your head down in respect, thoroughly inspecting your dirtied feet. “I will take my leave.”

  “There is no need, it was I who interrupted you,” he moves further into the clearing and closer to you. His movements are smooth like a cat, his icy blue eyes lazily focusing on you.

  “Yet you are the king,” you reply, voice hardly above a whisper.

  King Thranduil is an intimidating figure, anyone within five feet of him would agree. Not in the way that lady Galadriel of Lothlorien is - her power so great you can’t help but feel suffocated, yet it is her kind smile that soothes even the most skittish. Lord Elrond carries himself with a warm presence, like a father he is kind and caring, but stern as well.

  No, King Thranduil carries a sense of tragedy with him that can’t be masked by his cold eyes or looming figure. He is the shining example of how horrible things could get for an elf when their other half passes. So far gone is he, they whisper, that not even his son can pull him from his melancholy.

  “Then as king, I order you to stay. It would be nice to have some company,” he responds, leaving no room for argument. So you nod your head in agreeance, but keep your head lowered, tracing every speck of mud covering your toes.

  “Would you not even look at your monarch?” he asks, but his voice isn’t laced with anger or malice and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there’s a hint of humor in it.

  “I apologize, My King,” you say, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes meet his and for a second, you jolt, a sensation filling your body, something you haven’t felt in years.

  “I have never seen you before. How have I never seen you?” he questions, thick brows furrowing in frustration and confusion, but his eyes remain locked on you, as do yours.

  “Y/N, My King. I just arrived here a few moons ago from the Lorien,” you respond. He says nothing for a few moments, keeping his intense gaze locked on you. And for a brief second, you swear that he could read each and every thought that passes your brain, that’s he seen every memory you have.

  “Well then, allow me to formally welcome you to Eryn Galen, Lady Y/N. Tell me how have you found my kingdom, thus far?” he asks, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture as he welcomes you.

  “It is very beautiful, My King. The trees are so tall and the leaves so green,” you say, glancing up towards the sky, enraptured by the emerald canopy above you.

  “Do they not have trees this tall in the Lorien? I was under the impression their forest was quite beautiful,” he replies, sharp eyes locked on you.

  “They do but not quite like here. Do not misunderstand me, the Lorien possesses great beauty, the mallorn tree is magnificent to look upon, but Eryn Galen offers a different beauty. I find myself in great need of change these days, it would seem.”

  “Perhaps one day you could humor me and tell me of what would need to warrant such a drastic change?” You turn to look at him, meeting his steely gaze, and he raises a single eyebrow at you. However before you can open your mouth to speak, he turns and leaves. Leaving you behind in the small clearing, and for a moment, your heart starts fluttering in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

  And you turn back around, watching the leaves dance through the sky, free from the confining grasp of the branches. A small smile rests on your face, losing yourself in daydreams you never thought you’d see again.

  “Lady Y/N, how lovely of you to join me,” King Thranduil's voice is crisp and clear, perfectly projecting across the large room. He sits languidly at a chair, carved from wood with delicate engraving dancing on the tops of them. A glass of wine in one hand and the other slung over the top of his chair, he is the picture of ease.

  “It is my pleasure to join you, My King,” you reply, lowering your gaze to the floor once he meets yours. With slow and tentative steps, you move towards the open space to his right, where a glass of wine already poured. Your heart is racing, sweat building up in the palms of your hands as you open and close them. What feels like a lifetime later, you reach the chair, a guard so still he could’ve been a statue, pulling it out for you as you sit in it. 

  “Thank you,” you quietly say as the guard pushes your chair forward.

  “Please, leave us” Thranduil’s voice is commanding and firm, not allowing any room for questions he does not wish to answer. Silently and quickly, every guard in the room filters out. And as their light footsteps disappear, you and Thranduil are left in the room...alone.

  A small burst of courage surges through you, your gaze leaving the fine china it was tracing over and over again to meet his gaze. His eyes are just as icy blue as you remember, but somehow they seem softer than they had been in the forest. Or perhaps the light is playing tricks on you.

  Everyone knows that elves only truly love once.

  Your mouth is dry, nerves suddenly overtaking you. What are you supposed to say; to do? You’ve never spent much time in the presence of royalty, often preferring to stay in the shadows, content with a simple life. Yet fate seems to have other plans for you. Or is this just simply Thranduil, and the gods have nothing to do with his intentions - whatever they may be?

  “Do not be so nervous. Please, drink. The food will be ready momentarily,” Thranduil says, motioning towards you with a wine goblet in hand. You nod, still silent as ever.

  With a shaky, damp hand, you reach towards your wine goblet, grasping the cold metal in your warm hands. Taking a deep breath, you pick it up, bringing it towards your lips. The wine is smooth as it pours down your throat, cool and soothing to the dessert inside your mouth. It’s slightly sweet, not at all holding the bitter aftertaste the wine of Man possesses.

  You set the glass down, turning your attention to Thranduil. He watches you with sharp eyes, an expectant look on his face.

  “It is very good, Your Grace,” you mutter, and in exchange for speaking so quietly, you manage to keep your voice steady.

  “Excellent.”

  You smile, and it’s all nerves and anxiety, closely resembling a grimace rather than a beaming grin. Your heart is fierce against your chest, and you fear in that moment he will hear it. But if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.

  “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, might I enquire as to why you’ve called me here?” Your voice is louder this time, but there’s a slight waver towards the end, betraying everything you feel.

  He’s silent for a moment as if he’s gathering his thoughts, figuring out a way to deliver whatever is running in his mind. You nearly crack, the apology for overstepping your boundaries on the tip of your tongue when he finally speaks.

  "Am I not allowed to simply get to know my subjects?" Thranduil asks, a sly smirk resting on his lips. He brings the goblet of wine to his lips, slowly sipping it. He lowers it slightly so that it rests just below his chin. 

"Of course, but I suppose I'm just curious as to why you've invited me to a private meal with you. Am I correct to assume you don't do this with every one of your subjects?" you say, your eyes wide like a doe, with hands in your lap. Your fingers intertwine with each other, a way to distract you from the anxiety in you. 

  Thranduil continues to watch you, an unreadable expression in his ocean eyes. He inhales deeply, leaning farther back into his chair. After a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth. 

  “I find myself wanting to get to know you better. I find you intriguing.” Your mind turns blank, all sense and reason leaving it. For a moment you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly, not grasping that a king would be so curious about you.

  “I do not understand, what about me is so interesting? We’ve only met once, hardly having a full conversation,” you say. Your voice is firmer than before, drowning with disbelief.

  “Then it would seem you’ve made an impression.”

  You open your mouth, and then promptly close it, not sure how to proceed. Your heart is fluttering, though due to anxiety. Not this is something… different, a type of nervousness, but not due to fear. A light feeling that also leaves you light with giddiness and not weighed down by dread.

  But it can’t be.

  Elves only love once. Yet the mantra you’ve repeated over and over again seems to be losing its weight, the words no longer feeling as true as before.

  “Would it be alright, if I were to get to know you better, My Lady?” he asks, his voice softer than before, his fair face still neutral, yet less austere than it had been the first time you met.

  Elves only love once.

  And yet.

  “I would like that very much, Your Grace.” Your smile widens, less unsure than before, your eyes shining like starlight. The prospect of something new is exciting yet also terrifying at the same time. You should run and hide, fiercely guarding your already fragile heart like a dragon watches over its treasure hoard.

 Elves only love once. And yet.

  You push aside those fears, in favor of welcoming a chance at a new beginning.

  And yet.

o0o0o

Tags: 

@lunatichaotiche​ | @aearonnin​ | @emiliessketches​ | @vibratingbones​ | @moony-artnstuff​ | @ranhanabi777​ | @kenobiguacamole​ | @ceinelee​ | @thranduil​ | @samnblack​ | @abbiesthings​ | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit​ | @keijibum​ | @lifestylesleep​ | @lilith15000 | 

[cupcakemolotov]

Far From the Shallow Now

Synopsis: Caroline needs to get her head on straight after the ball and is still awake when Klaus drops by.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Pre-Relationship × Technically Tyler and Caroline Are Still Together × No cheating × Still Mostly Tyler Friendly × A Moment After the Ball × a what if × Domestic Fluff × Sort Of ×

A tiny pieces would be part of the random snippet series. Just a bit of a what if Caroline had been up when Klaus dropped off the drawing. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                       -

The kitchen smelled like her childhood. Warm brown sugar and melting chocolate, the memory of afternoons spent baking with her dad were precious moments that still ached. Pre-vampire Caroline has really hated cooking, and she’d found her opinion hadn’t changed much over the past few months. But baking? With its necessary precision and attention to detail, even the most finicky of recipes soothed her. It had been her dad that had first put a wooden spoon in her hand, who had sighed at her scrunched nose and red face and smoothed her bangs.

“Come on, Care Bear. Let’s try a new recipe today. I’ll let you pick.”

But those memories had been filled with afternoon sunshine and the blare of a radio, and they had been a long time ago. Long before the silence between her parents had grown cold and Bill’s business trips had taken longer and longer. Her childhood was bittersweet and it clogged her throat to think of all the things she’d lost.

But that was for another night.

Tonight, all she had was the silence of her home and the shadows of the neighborhood around her. With her mom working the graveyard shift, she had the house to herself. It had been a relief to come home to shadows and silence after the noise and color of the ball. A chance to process and detox, push away the memory of Klaus’ hands on her skin, the boyish, curling smile on his face and the anger as she’d walked away from him. Breath shuddering in her throat, she stirred the cookie dough a little more thoroughly.

A little pre-baking cleaning had helped calm her juggling nerves and here she was, getting worked up again. The fridge was stuffed with sympathy casseroles, and she’d thrown out dozens of wilting flower arrangements. The cards were neatly stacked and organized in piles alphabetically and according to whom she still needed to reply to.

Her mom probably wouldn’t even notice.

Tomorrow’s project would involve freezing what was left of the food that her mom would eat, she’d already packed the leftovers into Tupperware so she could return the pans to her neighbors. But her dad had taught her to never return a dish empty, so at least her midnight baking would have a purpose. Absently licking at a smear of cookie dough, Caroline watched the clock on the oven click over past 3 AM, and mentally counted her blood bags. She’d need an extra tomorrow, to offset her lack of sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop spinning.

Is it so hard to believe I fancy you?

She’d showered as soon as she’d gotten home, needing to remove Klaus’ lingering scent from her skin. She scrubbed herself pink with her favorite soap, and stood in the shower far longer than needed. The dress was already folded and packed in the box it had arrived in, her bra and underwear at the bottom of her dirty clothes hamper. Now she was sitting in her kitchen in old cheer sweats, and surrounded by two dozen cookies while she worked on the next batch.

And nothing had managed to stop the wheels spinning in her head.

Running a hand down her face, Caroline tried again to decide how she felt about the fiasco that had been her night. The dancing, the hunger and lust in his gaze, those falsely boyish smiles and the rage that had burned when she’d flung his diamonds back at his face.

Klaus had meant every word he’d said and none of it. That was the game he played. Perfection and coercion, falsely sweet words that clung like poisoned honey. It’d been easier to push aside her curiosity, that niggling fascination for how his brain worked before he’d turned his gaze towards her.

Klaus was a monster. But he was a smart one, always steps and steps ahead of his enemies. She didn’t want him, she needed to not want him, and she was pretty sure he didn’t want her either, and it stiffened her shoulders to think he saw her as the distraction Damon insisted she play or his very own potential Trojan horse.

She would never betray her friends.

But Caroline didn’t want to die.

Eyes closing at the thought, she took a careful breath. The games Damon played were dangerous. Esther, Bonnie, all his siblings were spinning on a course that could only lead to collateral damage, and she was sick of it.

Tyler too sometimes only saw her as useful. Her dad had died helping him and still the last time they’d talked he’d wanted her to play more games. As if she wasn’t drowning in grief and what if’s, as if her world hadn’t been twisted as violently as his, as if she wasn’t trapped in a spiderweb she had no idea how to escape. Her fingers tightened on the wooden spoon, and she exhaled slowly.

She and Tyler hadn’t chosen what had been done to them but they could choose how they responded and she was starting to feel less and less comfortable about the bitterness he carried. The hard edge of rage. Whatever had happened when he left and found Hayley had sharpened parts of Tyler she hadn’t known were there and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. If what he saw made him as uncomfortable as it made her.

Lips flattening at the thought, she reached for the bag of chocolate chips and froze at the sounds of her front door opening. Eyes snapping up, body going taut at the potential threat, her stomach knotted at the sight of Klaus stepping into her home.

For a long moment, they just studied each other.

In the hours since she’d left the ball, he’d ditched his jacket and bow tie, his white waistcoat nowhere to be found. His hair was no longer so perfectly arranged, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his forearms, and if that wasn’t enough to spike her blood pressure, he still wore his suspenders. Hidden behind the counter-top, her nails dug reflexively into her palm. He’d been stupidly good looking earlier at the ball with his sly smiles and dimpled promises, but this? Rumpled, lips bitten red, his gaze dragging along her body with a slow perusal that set her nerves of fire was something else entirely.

Klaus smiled slow, cheeks creasing, all of the anger from before tucked beneath charm and guile. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, love.”

“Your family is exhausting,” she agreed tartly, straightening her spine. “But of the two of us, I’m the only or who is expected to be here at all. Kind of rude, just bargaining in, don’t you think?”

He gave an elegant little shrug and strolled closer. Her jaw flexed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and setting it on an empty space on the counter. “I do have an invitation. And perhaps it is also just as rude, don’t you think, to return gifts?”

Shoving the wooden spoon back into the cookie dough before she was tempted to smack him with it, Caroline settled a hand on her hip and faked her bravado. “It’s way ruder to offer gifts with so many strings in the first place.”

An amused glance from beneath his lashes before he peered at her cooling racks of cookies. “Most women enjoy apology jewelry.”

“I must have missed the apology.”

One dimple peaked high on his smile and he snagged a cookie. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a bite, his clear dodge. This entire conversation felt surreal, a little bit domestic, and a lot concerning. Wasn’t she just thinking about how dangerous he was? This, this charm, only highlighted that danger. He slipped so easily from mood to mood, as mercurial as the wind and she needed to remember that.

Promises or no.

“It’s not like we really exchange small talk. And that’s the only cookie you get. I have a dozen dishes to fill and I need this done before mom gets home.” She tipped her chin towards the dining room table where the clean dishes and tinfoil were waiting for her. She was willing to bet he'd already noted the dishes, but so what. “So why don't you get to your point and leave?”

Klaus made a thoughtful noise as he finished the cooking, dusting his hands of crumbs. “Need help?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” The words slipped out before she could catch him and find something politer to say. This was her grief, her method of coping. He didn't get an opinion and he didn't get to pretend they were friends. Not when he wold kill all of them if he thought it necessary. This? This mess and this grief and this small thing to help her mom was hers.

The smile died on his face but she didn’t flinch. She didn't know what he read on his face, but his head tipped in a silent acknowledgement. Instead of baiting her more, his hand returned to his pocket, and this time he produced a rolled up piece of parchment.

Caroline looked at it warily. “What is that?”

“Part of the apology,” he murmured as he set it delicately on top of the box holding the diamonds. “The bracelet is yours love, no strings. Do with it what you will. As for the rest.” He paused, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, a hint of gold burning the edges of his iris. “The games my mother plays are not kind to her pawns. Be sure you don’t find yourself in over your head, Caroline.”

She lifted her chin to hide her tremble. “Threats?”

“Call it a warning.” Klaus said. “Likely the only one you’ll get.” Just as quickly, that sense of danger melted under another smile and he snagged a second cookie before turning and sauntering away at her protest.She slid her tongue between her teeth at the sight of just how well his pants were tailored and the way the suspenders highlighted the length of his back. The image was going to be burned behind her eyes for days.

As if he could sense her gaze dragging down his spine, he cast one more boyish smile at her as he opened her door. “The cookies were delicious, love. I do so look forward to learning what other secrets you're keeping.”

She watched him go, barely breathing, a mix of alarm and arousal mixing with adrenaline. So many layers. The hidden threat in his words, the reminder that he could walk into her home whenever he wished. The return of the bracelet, that little bit of claim he’d laid on her life.

An apology.

Swallowing, she wiped her shaking hands on her sweats and reached for the parchment. It unrolled to show the familiar lines of her face and the perfect image of a horse.

Thank you for your honesty.

Swallowing, she set the drawing down and didn’t know what to think.

[wylanvnneck]

“On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about nachos right now?” for Jurdan, please???? 🖤🖤🖤

Humorous Prompt #6: “On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about nachos right now?”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Send me a prompt

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“He’s not really picturing a Pork Cutlet Bowl for inspiration is he?” Cardan’s wry question is more of a rhetorical one, considering the fact that they both knew the answer to it, but Jude still felt the need to reply.

“Nope.”

The two of them were lying across the couch, Jude’s head tucked under Cardan’s chin and his arm loosely slung over her denim-clad hip, both their gazes riveted to the laptop screen on the low table in front of them. Vivienne had browbeat them into promising that they would watch the anime that she’d recommended whilst she and Heather were gone for one of Oak’s school meetings and she’d even gone so far as to threaten them with locking away the mini marshmallows so they’d have to suffer through marshmallow-less hot chocolate if they didn’t comply.

Jude wouldn’t really have minded that, but Cardan had a weakness for them and she had a weakness for the adorable look that would appear on his face whenever she brought him a mug with the confections floating within it, so that’s how they’d found themselves spooning on the couch together, watching an anime about an awkward Japanese Ice Skater Yuri and his delectable Russian coach Viktor.

As much as she hated to admit it, Vivi had good taste. The animation was beautiful, almost as beautiful as Elfhame, and the storyline was adorable and interesting, with a fantastic soundtrack to go along with it. The day was warm and tranquil and it felt good to be snuggled cozily in her husband’s arms, his heartbeat pressed against her spine and their thousands of responsibilities as High King and Queen nowhere near their little bubble.

They watch Yuri skate in comfortable silence, the whole performance captivating, and in between episodes she can feel Cardan making the tiniest of shifts in his position behind her, little movements, lightly stroking her hip over the fabric of her t-shirt, leaning down to smell her hair or to place a gentle kiss on the curve of her ear that marked her mortality and each time there’s a little burst of something inside her.

They’d made it about halfway through the 12 episode long series before Cardan reaches over to pause it, reluctantly detaching his body from hers and sitting up, making her do the same, turning to face him as she sits cross-legged. He stretches his arms up in the air and her eyes follow the movement, admiring him. His dark gaze catches her doing it, his eyes glittering and a grin spreading over his face and she merely raises her eyebrows at him in response, unapologetic.

“On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about nachos right now?” He asks, his voice light in a way that only happened when he was truly content.

She feels an answering smile curve her lips. “Eleven.”

He laughs, his raven locks flopping over his face messily and he leans forward to peck her lips before pushing himself off the couch and heading off to the kitchen. “Got it, two packets of Nachos coming right up.”

“Make sure they’re the spicy kind!” She calls out after him.

“Of course, only the best for My Queen,” comes his reply and it’s stupid, how sweet his words are.

Flopping back down on the sofa she distracts herself by studying the laptop screen, watching the seconds tick by on the clock at the bottom of the screen when silence is broken by an odd jingle, and a little square popping up at the bottom right hand corner of the screen. Written on that square is a name that makes Jude sit up straight. Taryn Duarte.

The jingle is still playing in the background but it sounds blurry, as though it was playing from somewhere far far away instead of right in front of her. Taryn. She hadn't spoken to her heavily pregnant twin sister in quite a while, and the last that she’d heard of her was that she had gone to visit Madoc and Oriana in the place where they lived in the mortal world, somewhere quite far away, thankfully. The thought of Taryn makes the subsequent feelings of anger and hurt and betrayal rise up within her, ruthlessly chasing away the contentment that had filled her just minutes ago.

Frantically, she searches for the red decline button with the cursor and attempts to click on it but she can’t quite bring herself to do it. She hates that she can’t, but thoughts of Taryn in distress whilst carrying a child, Taryn in danger and needing help flood her mind and that old protective instinct that had been instilled in her for so long compels her to click on the green accept button instead.

“Jude?” Taryn’s voice sounds the same, mixed in with surprise at seeing her twin answer the call instead of Vivi.

“Taryn.” Her throat is dry.

“I- I called because Madoc and Oriana wanted to speak to Oak, and Vivi has said they could call on this thing” she gestures at the screen, “called Skype when they wished to and they needed help to set it up.” Taryn looks the same as ever, almost a mirror image of Jude herself, except for the huge swell in her belly where Jude’s unborn niece or nephew resided. Locke’s child. That reminds her of the first time Taryn had ever betrayed her, allowing Locke to mess with her, knowing full well that he had been seeing the both of them at the same time, playing them against each other and she had let it happen. The memory makes her shutter, closing her expression and making it cold.

“Oak is at school with Vivi. Tell them to call later.” She moves the cursor and it hovers over the red button to end the call.

“Jude, I-” Her twin starts to speak.

“Don’t, Taryn. Not now. Not yet.”

She catches a glimpse of Taryn pursing her lips together and nodding imperceptibly before the call ends. Jude wasn’t ready to try and mend the bridge between them yet and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be. Her emotions are all over the place, roiling inside of her like the waves of the Undersea during a storm.

She punches the couch beneath her, hard, and the force barely makes an impact and she longs for the adrenaline rush of battle, the feeling of focused control that she gets when holding Nightfell in her hand. But Nightfell wasn’t here to help her distract herself and she was powerless against the pain.

Cardan is inordinately pleased with himself for managing to salvage two packs of spicy Nachos. It had taken quite a while for him to root them out from the back of the cupboard behind jars of condiments and Oak’s Skittles stash but he’d eventually proved victorious. Eager to return to Jude and their Yuri on Ice binge he strides into the room, nachos clutched in hand, expecting his wife to be impatiently awaiting him. Instead, the expression she turns on him when she sees him standing in the doorway is one full of anguish and the sight tears at Cardan’s excuse of a heart.

“Jude? Jude what’s wrong?” He’s by her side and wrapping his arms around her in the next moment and concern tugs at him when she simply rests her head against his neck, her breathing heavy.

“Taryn called.” Her voice is muffled against the fabric of his hoodie.

Cardan’s gaze flicks to the laptop. He’s not entirely sure how mortal devices worked, but he thinks he’s safe in making the assumption that Taryn had somehow attempted to call Vivi on her laptop and Jude had ended up answering instead. He now understands Jude’s behaviour. She and her twin had never been able to mend the differences that had erupted between them in the past few months and he doubts that his wife had been ready to speak to her twin so soon after everything that had happened.

And he definitely couldn’t blame her. Just thinking about the twin that Jude had once fought so hard to protect, from him as well, only to have her loyalty thrown back in her face by her sister’s treachery made him clutch Jude a little tighter to him. If it hadn’t been for Jude’s insistence that her pregnant twin be left alone, she would have faced punishment for her actions long before now.

“She called on behalf of Madoc and Oriana. They wanted to speak to Oak. I should have known she’d go running back to him. After all, she is his most loyal daughter.” Her words are painted with both bitterness and resignation.

He thinks carefully before starting to speak. “I know you and your sister are far from the relationship you once had and I know that it hurts you, Jude. But I also know that you are strong, unbelievably strong, and when the time is right I know you’ll make the right decision. Whether you want to try and mend your bond or move onwards, know that I will support you in whatever you choose.” He moves to press a kiss to her temple.

“How do you always know what to say?” she lets out a slow breath, pulling back to meet his gaze. “Do you think I should try talking to her?”

“I do think that you two will need to talk at some point. However, that day is not today. Come, my love, let’s not let her ruin one of our few days away from the palace. Put her out of your mind for now and have some nachos.”

“Kiss me?” Her request reminds him of a time that seemed to have been eons ago, a moment on her bed, the sheets silky beneath his drunken form looking up at her and wanting distraction, a cure. Kiss me until I am sick of it.

He gives her the distraction she needs.

She meets him halfway when he leans down to connect their lips and he moves his mouth against hers slowly but thoroughly, his heart thumping the way it always did around her. Only ever her.

Everything around them melts and they are oblivious to their surroundings as Jude’s hands card through his hair and he strokes a light path along her waist, which is why they are caught by surprise when they hear Vivi’s grinning voice sounding from the doorway.

“Alright, playtime’s over children, Oak and Heather will be here any second now and we don’t need the poor boy to see that.” She wiggles her tawny eyebrows suggestively and Jude pulls away from him, her face flushing despite her best efforts at hiding it. Ignoring the slight pang of loss at his wife moving out of his arms, he turns to give his favorite sister-in-law a mischievous grin to which she responds by rolling her cat’s eyes.

Sure enough Oak comes charging into the room seconds later and jumps right up onto the couch, wiggling between Jude and Cardan and tucking himself in next to his sister and chatting in her ears about his day at school and how he’d scored a goal at soccer practice and Jude is laughing and ruffling his chocolate hair, her agitation from earlier forgotten for now.

He watches his wife and her brother talking as he reaches for the forgotten packets of nachos from the table knowing that soon the entire family would be squished together on the couch watching movies and making hilarious commentary over snacks, and the whole thing is so domestic and comforting and it feels better than alcohol, better than drugs, better than losing himself in debauchery the way he used to. It feels like family.

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@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln I hope you like this one, Clueless Penguin™, thanks for sending in a prompt ❤

The fact that Taryn’s crimes seemed to largely go unanswered for and that she and Jude never really got closure has always niggled at me, but I have yet to read HTKOELTHS so maybe there’s something about it in there? Either ways here is some Jurdan fluff with some Jude angst mixed in. Also, the fact that Jude and Cardan watching YOI is canon still makes me squeal and if you wanna fangirl over that anime with me feel free to✨

Okay, on to tagging the lovely people on my taglist: @cupcakesandkittens, @thewickedkings, @kittkatandbooboo, @annabethjackson0001 and @fangirlprincess09

As always, please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my TFOTA taglist.

[yandere-sins]

I love your work! Mind if I may request Kokichi "punishing" a submissive darling who managed to find a small opening to escape and got caught again? (Kokichi let his guard down cause yknow, darling being submissive n all) Maybe Kokichi will be very harsh cause of his fear of abandonment but the intensity's up to you aaa, preferably a fem darling

Thank you for requesting! I did some tinkering on the request but I hope you still like it!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

Desperately, you tried to wring yourself out of the window frame, having gotten stuck just above your hips. You couldn’t even determine if it was your bone structure blocking you or your butt, but neither did you have the possibility to stick your hand in there and squeeze yourself out either. Your shoulders had been hard enough, but those you had been able to adjust, unlike your legs and hip, to go through with them one after the other.

You hadn’t planned for something like this at all. Ever since you had yourself be led into the Exisals’ hanger, you wanted to get out, but it’s not like you could plan an escape before even knowing you’d need it. How could you have been so stupid as to give Kokichi one chance after the other? He never did anything but betray you after all, getting you both in danger and life-endangering situations, and you still gave in when he asked to show you something, letting him direct you. You had thought it was something like a way out, something that would actually help all of you escape without having to meet Monokuma’s demands. Still, alas, Kokichi had turned on you the moment you stepped into the storage, closing the door the moment you were inside. You had been too fascinated with the Exisals standing around and the possibilities to use them, so you hadn’t even noticed him sprinting away. The sound of the lock clicking into place still remained in your head with a sour aftertaste, knowing no one even had made a move to approach this place yet besides Kokichi.

Still, for you of all people to search the place thoroughly was what you thought a helpless attempt - until you climbed into the docking stations of the robots and found the minimalistic window with grass shuffling behind it. Apparently, this was on ground level and was used to either get rid of steam from the machines or water after washing them. The only problem was just how small it was. Someone like Kokichi may have fit without a problem, but your body was a whole different level. But it had already calmed you to just be able to find tools to open up the window, fresh air pouring in much too your delight.

All the more bitter was it now that you were half out of and a half in more trouble than before.

The grass tickled your face as you laid down your head in exhaustion. Even if it was about twenty minutes of struggle now, you felt your anxiety bubble up in you. What if you didn’t get out? What if you died just here, just like this, without anyone ever knowing or finding your body? What if that caused even more problems for the others? You were close to tears when you thought about them getting punished for no other reason than to find out who killed you when in reality, it was your own stupidity that got you into this situation. You had definitely misjudged your own ability to trust into people and to fit through small windows, which were already costing you a lot of nerves and strength and maybe now your life.

Sobbing lightly, you tried it again, moving side to side, hoping something would maybe get loose. You didn’t care if you’d dislocate a joint or two, that was nothing against the agony of being stuck in that tiny window. But unlucky as you were, nothing moved. You focused intently on feeling your muscles move, the jammed feeling of your skin, and how it started to burn from the friction you created by moving. This wasn’t even the worst part about all of this, but it sure helped a great deal with you losing hope to ever get free again.

“Oh, oh. The mouse got stuck,” you heard it chime from your side suddenly, making you jump in surprise with your body heavily complaining about that movement.

“Ko… Kokichi.” You almost sighed his name in relief, feeling like it was a blessing to see anyone right in this moment. “I would say this is a tragedy, but really, it’s what you get for being so damn rude!”

Standing up from his squat, he moved in front of your head, holding his hands out for you to grip onto. Even if he was of weak stature, maybe two people’s strength would actually do something in your situation, so you gladly locked your hands with his. The moment he started to pull, you regretted it, feeling the rapid strokes of pain running through your spine from being in so much distress. “W-Wait, that hurts!”

“See, I was going to do you something good!” he changed the topic from your crying, huffing lightly as he took small steps backwards. “I was going to show you something cool, and what do you do? Search for a way out! You’re an unthankful cunt.”

Only when you started to twist and turn in his grip, trying to rip free from his nails that dug into your wrists mercilessly, he eventually let go, taking a deep breath. “And look what it did to you, you got yourself stuck like a mouse in a mousetrap. Is this what you call worth it?”

Rounding you, he walked up to your stuck waist, and it wasn’t long until you felt a painful kick to it, the heel of a shoe pressing into the flesh next to your spine. You let out a screech, but besides Kokichi’s chuckle, you couldn’t hear anyone else make a racket, to your misfortune. “Do you think I put you in there for fun? Do you think I showed you this awesome hanger just for you to break out of it?! You deserve every string of pain, little mousy! Squeeze yourself a little, will you?!”

With your mind so busy concerning the various pains in your body, you had a hard time hearing if this was his usual cheerfulness, or real anger swinging in his voice, neither being something you wanted to hear at the moment. “Please!” you cried as his shoe tried to dig itself between your body and the frame. “Please, Kokichi, it hurts! Please just stop!”

There was a long, disappointed sigh behind you, before he stopped his digging, slowly pulling his foot away again, and you breathed a breath of relief about not being tortured more than you already wear. He came back around to your head, squatting down next to you with his usual wide smile plastered over his lips. An outstretched hand wiped away some tears from your eyes, and patted your head, before he got up again, distancing himself from you until he was almost around the corner of the building.

“Kokichi?” you asked after him, and he gave you a giddy twirl.

“Don’t worry, I won’t just leave you there, [Name].”

Giggling, he made a few more jumpy steps forward before he seemed to remember something. Raising his pointer, he tapped his temple, advising you to think. “Either you find a way out of this situation, or I will come from the other side to pull you out. Perhaps I will have one of the Exisals flatten your legs, maybe that would help if they are already broken.”

Laughing loudly, he watched your face drain from color as he left, but just when you thought he was gone, he peaked back forth from the corner, grinning. “Tick tock, Mousy. You need to hurry if you want to keep these legs of yours,” he giggled before finally getting out of your sight, leaving you to start to panic, pulling and tearing yourself forward, no matter what pain it caused

You didn’t want to wait for him to start up one of those monster machines, the sound alone enough to make you pass out for sure.

[fanmoose12]

How about one where hanji has taken a job that seemed innocent enough but it turned out that her job were experimenting on criminals (trying to make like a superhuman or something). Hanji hated the revelation but they'll kill her if she leaves. She got really close to Levi who's one of the promising candidates. One day she heard they're going to kill him so she helped him escape. Her boss found out and was going to kill her until Levi saved her. They ran away together 💛

 thank you so much for your prompt, your idea was so cool!!!!

i hope i managed to write it equally cool :0

Hange should have known better. She should have known better than to trust a stranger in a rich three piece suit and round glasses, who looked both handsome and smart and who was waiting for her after her shift at that shitty restaurant. She should have known better than to accept his job proposition, which definitely sounded too good to be true. She should have known better than to blatantly ignore all of the warnings just because she thought that she had finally found a perfect job.

Hange should have known better.

But she didn’t.

In her defense, in the beginning, it all looked innocent enough. Sure, there were some very suspicious signs, like the fact that she had to work in an underground laboratory, or the fact that there was too much security around for it to be a simple science organization, or the fact that she was provided with her own personal bedroom, so she could work all day and not go home in the evenings. But the work was so fascinating, her research so thrilling, that Hange decided to ignore all of it.

Zeke, the man, who offered her this place, told her that she was hired to develop a formula, which could enhance human physical abilities and accelerate regeneration process. It would help save millions of lives, Zeke said.

And Hange, stupid and naïve Hange, believed him. Or, maybe, she just chose to believe, turning the blind eye on the suspicious occurrences inside the lab.

It was really her dream job, and Hange was happy, finally getting recognition for all of her talents.

And even after Zeke started bringing men in, telling her to test her formula on them, Hange still continued her work.

Those men were criminals, Zeke said, rapists and murderers, who didn’t deserve to live. And again, Hange believed him, and she didn’t care how much pain she brought these men. They probably deserved something way worse than what she did to them.

So she ignored their screams of pain, threats of revenge and pleas for release. She ignored it all and proceeded with her work.

But then one day, everything changed. Hange understood what a monster she had become, and how far she went in her pursuit of knowledge.

Everything changed the moment Hange laid her eyes on him.

                                                             ***

Levi Ackerman was just another filthy criminal, Zeke said. But this time, Hange didn’t believe him.

There was something different about him, Hange had felt it the moment she laid her eyes on him. Hange watched him for a long time, trying to pin point what exactly it was.

And then, as he raised his head to glare at her, it finally hit her.

His eyes.

They were beautiful, the intense anger behind them hypnotizing Hange.

But that was not why he was so different from Hange’s previous test subjects. Even though he was glaring furiously, murderously, at everything and everyone around him, there was no malevolence in that gaze.

He wanted to escape, but he had no desire to kill them. His eyes didn’t show the need for power or hunger for violence. Even though, Hange just met him, even though they did not exchange a single word between them, somehow she knew. The man in front of her was cruel, but he didn’t enjoy it. Maybe, he stole and hurt and killed, but it was out of necessity, a way to survive. He didn’t enjoy what he did, didn’t like causing other people pain.

And then Hange understood another thing – neither did she.

“I’ll leave you to your work, Doctor Zoe.” Zeke walked past her, but Hange paid no mind to him.

Her eyes were still focused on Levi Ackerman, Hange couldn’t look away from his angry eyes. If looks could kill, Hange was sure she would be a dead woman ten times already.

Slowly, with her legs shaking, she made her way towards him.

She stopped right in front of him, not knowing what to do.

Of course, she knew what she had to do, as she had done it a dozen times already.

She had to take the man’s hand in hers, inject her serum into his vein, and then monitor the results, writing every little reaction of his body in her journal.

But looking at this man, Hange couldn’t find it in herself to do it. She was sick of just the thought of hurting him.

“What are you waiting for, four-eyes?” the man hissed, baring his teeth at her.

“I don’t know,” Hange let out a bitter laugh, surprising even herself. “I just don’t want to do it.”

And Levi raised his eyes, studying her face. “Are you new around here?”

“No,” Hange’s knees continued to shake, so she sat down on the cold floor. She studied her fingernails, avoiding Levi’s confused eyes. “I’ve done this to a dozen of men, but for some reason… I can’t bring myself to do it to you.”

“And how am I different?”

Hange shrugged. “Don’t know. But you… you don’t look like a person, who deserves this. You don’t look like a person, who likes hurting innocent people.”

“And neither do you.”

Hange snapped her eyes to stare at the man. He stared right back.

“What’s your name?” Levi asked suddenly.

“Hange… Hange Zoe.”

Levi nodded. “Alright, Hange Zoe. Just do your thing already. I know that if you won’t, Zeke will still make you do it by threatening or hurting you.”

“This thing,” Hange nodded at the syringe with her compound, which she held tightly in her hands. “This thing will hurt you. A lot.”

Levi shook his head. “I’ve had worse, I can take it. Besides, I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

“You seem to be incredibly kind for a criminal,” Hange regarded him with wide, surprised eyes.

“And you seem too soft for a scientist, who experiments on people.”

“Touché,” and despite herself, Hange grinned at Levi.

With a deep breath, she grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. She clenched the syringe. Her hands trembled.

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking up at Levi beneath her fringe.

“Just fucking do it already, four-eyes.”

And Hange injected the syringe into his vein.

She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see Levi’s face contorted in pain.

However, ten seconds passed, and then another ten, but she didn’t hear Levi’s screams of pain even grunts of discomfort.

Hange slowly opened her eyes, and was shocked to see that Levi remained completely calm in his seat, his posture relaxed and unfazed.

“Are you…” Hange began slowly, not believing her eyes. “Are you alright?”

Levi nodded.

Hange looked at the syringe in her hands, she was sure it was the right one, but why hadn’t it worked? All the men, she had tested it on before, immediately began to convulse violently and scream in unbearable pain the moment her compound entered their bloodstream.

But Levi didn’t even break a sweat.

“Do you feel something?”

Levi nodded again. “I feel… weird, as though… some kind of power is cursing through me. And,” Levi lifted his shirt, searching for something there. “There was a cut. One of Zeke’s men cut me, when they tried to capture me. But look at it now.”

Hange stared at it with wide eyes. There was actually a wound on Levi’s stomach, but it was rapidly closing in. In seconds, it was completely gone, not a trace of it left. It didn’t even leave a scar!

Hange’s head was reeling.

“It worked…” she whispered fervently. “My serum actually worked…”

                                                      ***

When he found out about the news, Zeke was beyond himself with happiness.

So glad her work had finally produced results, Zeke gave Hange her own office, and even provided her with her personal assistant. Moblit Berner was a nice, quiet man, who was just a victim of circumstances, the same as Hange was. She took immediate liking to him. He listened to her carefully and obeyed her every command. They made a great team.

Hange expected to continue her experiments with other test subjects, but Zeke told her to focus on Levi.

He was their first success, and Zeke needed Hange to understand why. What was so special about him, what part of his organism made him so susceptible to Hange’s formula? What did he have that others lacked?

And Hange studied him thoroughly, searching for something abnormal in his system, but she couldn’t find it. Even without her compound, Levi seemed to be stronger, quicker and more adept at survival than ordinary people. But Hange couldn’t find an explanation to this.

She spent almost every waking moment with Levi. She studied him, she checked the changes in his body, which were induced by her compound, she pushed him to his limits to see just how strong he was and she trained him to become even more powerful.

And during all of this, she unintentionally, accidentally, completely unwillingly… fell in love with him.

                                                               ***

Levi was amazing.

Not just his physique or his quick reflexes, he himself, his mind, heart and soul were extraordinary.

At least to Hange.

He was such a hard person to understand. He rarely spoke, and even when he did he never said what was actually on his mind. His words seemed cryptic and inapprehensible. His face never betrayed his feelings.

But that didn’t stop Hange from trying to understand him. Levi was a mystery, an enigma and a challenge. And Hange was never the one to give up a good challenge.

So she studied his behavior, his quirks and habits just as thorough as she studied his organism.

She looked for the smallest changes in his eyes, face expressions and tones of voice. She learned to understand him. And the more she learned, the more she looked at him, the more Hange liked what she saw.

And then, Hange found out that Levi wasn’t difficult to read at all. He was hiding all of his true feelings, because he was afraid to get hurt. But deep down, he was one of the kindest, most caring person Hange ever knew.

Hange hated what she had to do to him. She hated poking him with needles and syringes, hated making him run a hundred laps, just to see how much it takes before he was utterly and completely exhausted, hated seeing him fighting with a dozen of Zeke’s men, testing his reflexes and strength. Hange’s heart broke every time she saw his sweat-covered face, his trembling limbs and the cuts and bruises on his body.

But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help him.

She knew that she was a prisoner here, just as Levi was. She knew that if she dared to disobey then Zeke would kill her, and then assign someone new to Levi, someone, who will be much crueler and less considerate to him.

So she continued her work, proceeded with her research and against all odds hoped that Levi would be merciful enough to forgive her.

                                                             ***

“Why haven’t you tried to escape yet?” Hange asked him one time.

She made sure there was no security around. The only people in the room were her and Levi. Even Moblit was absent, since Hange knew that Levi didn’t trust her assistant the way Hange did.

Well, she hoped he trusted her.

“Are you encouraging me to escape, four-eyes?” Levi looked up at her, and Hange saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“No!” Hange protested. “I just…” she waved her hand uncertainly in the air, thinking about her next words. “I was just thinking about it for a while now. I know you’re strong, I know exactly how strong you are, and I’m sure that if you tried, you have big chances to escape unnoticed. So why are you still here?”

“You’re my watcher,” Levi told her seriously, staring deeply into her eyes.

Hange gasped, understanding everything Levi left unsaid.

“Are you saying that—”

Levi turned his head to the side, facing away from Hange. His voice was almost angry, as he spoke. “I’m saying that if I escape, the blame will fall on you, four-eyes. And Zeke will make you pay. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Levi…” Hange took a step towards him, but he turned to look at her and the fierceness of his gaze paralyzed Hange.

“I know it’s stupid,” Levi said. His fists visibly trembled. “I know that you’re one of them, and I should hate you, but. I can’t. I’ve tried, but you’re so fucking nice to me! Ever since our first meeting, you’ve been nothing but kind. You looked at me – a thief and a murderer, who could kill you with his bare hands, — and you still chose to be kind to me. You were afraid to hurt me! What the fuck, Hange?” Levi crossed the distance between them swiftly and gripped Hange’s shoulders. He stared into her face, searching for something there. “Why don’t you hate me, Hange?” he whispered. “Why aren’t you disgusted by me?”

“Because I know you,” Hange laid her hand on his cheek, smiling warmly at him. “I see you, Levi. I know you’re a good person, and that’s why… that’s why I want to help you.”

Levi’s gaze turned confused, he opened his mouth to ask Hange to elaborate, but she beat him to it.

“I know how you can escape.” Hange began, turning away from Levi. His beautiful grey eyes, which looked at her so intently and with so much emotion, were distracting her. The way he still gripped her shoulders tightly was even worse, and Hange took a step back, getting away from his warm and strong hands. “Zeke told me that he wants you to go on a mission to test your skills in practice. I don’t know yet what this is going to be, and there is going to be a lot of security with you, but I think… I think it can work. I’m sure you can deal with all the guards, and that way the blame wouldn’t be on me. If that concerns you so much.”

“It does.” Levi told her quietly, but fiercely.

“A-alright!” Hange said and hurried to get out of that room.

Being so close to Levi, listening to his words and looking into his eyes, Hange felt confused. She simultaneously wanted Levi to stop and at the same she wanted him to continue, wanted to hold him in her arms and never let go, protecting him from the world around them.

“We’ll think of a plan some other time!” Hange put on a forceful smile and then exited the room, closing the door behind herself.

She leaned her back against the door and took a deep, calming breath.

Just what kind of a mess she was getting into?

                                                       ***

Hange anxiously checked her phone for the tenth time, waiting for a signal from Levi.

His mission had begun three hours ago, and he promised to call Hange once he successfully managed to escape from Zeke.

Three hours. And still no phone call.

Despite herself, Hange was starting to get nervous.

“Is everything alright?” Moblit asked, looking at her strangely.

“Yes!” Hange smiled way too widely. “Of course, everything is great!”

“Are you worried about Levi Ackerman?”

Hange sighed. Nothing was getting past her assistant.

“A bit.” She gave Moblit a crooked grin.

“You…” Moblit began tentatively. “You are not worried about the mission, right? You were planning something else with him. Right?”

Hange widened her eyes, staring at her assistant in shock. How did he—?

“Didn’t know you were so observant, Moblit.”

He smiled warmly. “I’ve learned from the best.” Then looking at Hange’s still nervous face, he added. “You shouldn’t worry, though. Levi is strong and smart. He’ll be fine.”

Moblit placed a hand onto Hange’s shoulder, and squeezed it gently. Hange replied him with a small, but sincere and grateful smile.

“Another coffee?” he gestured at Hange’s empty cup.

“Yes please.”

Before Moblit had returned with her coffee, though, Hange heard a loud commotion in the main hall. She ran outside, dying to see an angry and pissed-off Zeke, who would inform her that he managed to lose their only test subject.

She threw the door open and was immediately met with Zeke’s furious face.

A victorious smile almost appeared on Hange’s lips.

But then she noticed a body, lying next to Zeke’s feet. Levi’s body.

Hange ran to him without a second thought.

“What happened to him?” Hange asked, as she turned Levi’s prone body around to take a look on his face.

“That son of a bitch tried to escape. He killed almost every member of my personal guard, before they managed to calm him down. I would have shot him like a dog,” Zeke spat angrily. “But, unfortunately, we still need him.”

Hange’s hands shook as she looked over Levi’s face. It was covered in bruises and cuts. Hange guessed it looked much worse before, as she could see that regeneration process had already started, even though it was slower than usual. That was probably caused by a sedative Zeke had injected him with.

“We won’t need him for much longer,” Zeke continued, breaking Hange out of her thoughts. She snapped her head up to look at Zeke, her heart racing wildly.

“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked slowly, willing her voice not to shake.

“Prepare him for an operation. As soon as we’ll find another candidate, you’ll transplant all of his organs.”

“What!” Hange exclaimed, completely shocked by Zeke’s plan. “It will never work! We still don’t know which part of his body makes him so susceptible to the formula, and if we transplant all of the organs, they’ll get rejected by the recipient’s organism!”

“It won’t work?” Zeke leaned in, staring dangerously at Hange. “You have to make it work, Doctor Zoe. Or I’ll find myself a better scientist. Do you understand what I’m implying?”

Hange nodded, swallowing heavily.

“Great!” Zeke straightened and clasped his hands. “Then start working immediately!”

Before he walked away, Zeke turned back to Hange.

“Here,” he extended a gun towards Hange. “I cannot provide you with security, so use this to defend yourself. In case, he wakes up and tries to attack you. Although, I’m sure it won’t happen. He seems to be weirdly fond of you.” Zeke looked at Hange knowingly. He gave her one last smile before leaving the room.

Hange exhaled shakily when Zeke closed the door after himself. This was much more nerve-wrecking than she expected.

Looking back at Levi, Hange felt her heart skip a beat. It was her fault he was like this. It was her plan, and it didn’t work, and Levi had to suffer for it.

Hange shook her head, getting rid of such thoughts. Now was not the time to become depressed.  She needed to concentrate on finding a way to save Levi.

She wouldn’t let him get hurt this time and she was ready to do anything to save him.

                                                         ***

Hange was carefully tending to Levi’s wounds. Superhuman or not, but due to a sedative, his wounds were healing slowly, and Hange didn’t want to risk an infection.

Besides, it gave her hands something to do, and it helped her bring her thoughts into order.

Just as Hange was wiping blood from a nasty cut on Levi’s left cheek, his eyes fluttered open.

“Hange?” he whispered, as he focused his gaze on her.

Hange nodded, avoiding Levi’s eyes.

“So I fucked up, huh?” he asked hoarsely.

Hange bowed her head, clutching Levi’s shirt tightly in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Levi. If it weren’t for my stupid plan, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Levi roughly grabbed her hand. “Look at me, Hange.” His voice was deep and commanding. Hange slowly raised her eyes. Levi was glaring furiously at her, his mouth set in a hard line. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this shit! It was my own fucking fault, so shut your stupid mouth.”

Hange freed her hand out of Levi’s grasp and took a few steps away from him. “Zeke wants to kill you.” She said quietly, her voice shaking. “He wants to find another candidate, and then transplant all of your organs to him. He hopes that this way, the new test subject will be able to receive my compound.”

“Oh,” Levi’s voice was strangely quiet. “Will that work?”

“No!” Hange shouted. “I won’t let that happen.” She promised him fiercely, her eyes burning with intense fire. “You’re getting out of here. Right fucking now.”

And then she took Levi by the hand, dragging him out of the room.

“Oi, Hange,” Levi tried to free himself, but Hange held him tightly. “Stop, goddamn it! We don’t even have a plan, what the fuck are you doing?!”

“Do you trust me?” Hange asked, not stopping and turning around to stare at Levi.

“With my life.” Levi answered.

“G-good,” Hange stammered, looking away. Levi’s earnest and passionate gaze confused her. “Then follow me. And quietly, please. You managed to get rid of most Zeke’s security, but there still may be some guards around. I’ll lead you to the back door. There shouldn’t be any soldiers there, and you will be able to escape unnoticed. Run until the end of the alley, my friend Erwin will be waiting there for you. I called him, while you were unconscious, and he agreed to help you with finding a hiding place. With Erwin’s help, I don’t think Zeke would be able to find you.”

Hange stopped in front of a corridor, leading to the back door of the laboratory.

Levi stared at her, his eyes wide.

One more step, and he will have his freedom. But Levi wasn’t keen on getting there, he didn’t want to say goodbye to Hange just yet.

“Go with me,” he blurted out suddenly. He didn’t mean to, but looking up at Hange, Levi knew that he really wanted that, he really wanted to run away with her. “I know you hate working here, so let’s escape together.”

Hange shook her head sadly. “I can’t leave just yet. Moblit is still here, and I can’t leave him all alone.” She smiled gently, but unhappily. “Maybe, we will meet again. I’m hoping we do.”

“Thank you,” he said, and for the first time in his life, Levi regretted his complete inability to express his feelings. He wanted to say so much more, Hange deserved to hear so much more, but he just couldn’t find the right words. So Levi hoped she would understand him.

The soft look in her eyes told Levi that Hange managed to read him as easily this time, as she always did.

“I need you to do one more thing,” Hange said before Levi turned to walk away. Slowly she reached behind her back and took out the gun. She extended it to Levi.

“Hange, I don’t—”

“Zeke will know if I just let you walk away,” she explained, cutting Levi off. “We need to make it more believable. Make it look like I’ve tried to stop you.”

“No.” Levi said resolutely, knowing exactly where this was going. “No, Hange, no fucking way. I’m not going to do it.”

“Levi.” Hange pressed, her voice serious. “I would have done it myself, but Zeke is smart and will know if I shoot myself. So,” she took Levi’s palm and closed it around the handle of a gun. “You have to do it.”

“Hange,” Levi whispered in desperation. “I’ve killed dozens of men and women, but I can’t. I can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hange promised with a soft smile. “If you don’t do this, Zeke will do something way worse to me.”

That seemed to convince Levi, as he focused on the gun in his hands. He raised it slowly. “Will that assistant of yours take care of you?”

“Of course,” a smile didn’t disappear from Hange’s lips. “Just do it, Levi. I trust you.”

“You really shouldn’t.” he muttered, shaking his head.

Without breaking an eye contact with her, Levi pressed the gun into Hange’s abdomen. His finger trembled on the trigger.

Levi took a deep breath and fired.

He dropped the gun immediately, as his hands clutched Hange’s stomach. He took off her lab coat and pressed it to the wound.

“You need to apply pressure to it.” He spoke urgently, feverishly. Levi carefully sat her down, so her back was leaning against the wall.

Hange’s face was contorted in pain, and she breathed heavily through her nose. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was shaking.

She put her bloodied hand onto Levi’s shoulder and weakly pushed him away. “You need to go, Levi. Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

Levi’s face paled as he watched her struggles. He wanted to help, to soothe her pain, but he knew it was his time to go. Hange risked her life for his chance of an escape. He couldn’t let her down.

But before he walked away, Levi leaned in and placed his hands on both of Hange’s cheeks.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He looked deeply into her eyes. He quickly pressed a kiss on her forehead.

It took all of his willpower to withdraw himself from Hange. He gave her one last look, and then disappeared behind the door.

Hange didn’t move from her place on the floor, her head spinning from all the pain. She clutched her wound tightly, counting the seconds in her head. She needed to wait for at least two minutes, to give Levi some time.

When two minutes passed, Hange took a deep breath, gathering all of her energy.

“Help!” she screamed at last.

And then, she passed out.

                                                          ***

Hange woke up in a hospital. She turned her head to the side and sighed in relief upon noticing Moblit sitting by her bed, a book in his hand.

“That was the most stupid thing you’ve ever done,” he said without putting his book down. Then he closed it with a bang and lowered it down, revealing to Hange his fierce glare.

“I didn’t manage to fool you?” Hange asked, honestly surprised. She thought her plan was so smart…

“I spend too much time around you. I know just how stupid you can be.” Moblit sighed, and then his eyes became a little softer. “Don’t worry, though. Zeke didn’t seem to suspect anything.”

“Thank god,” Hange breathed out.

“Why did you do this, Hange?” Moblit asked as he got up to pour Hange a glass of water. His back was facing her, when he asked his next question. “Are you in love with him, with that Levi Ackerman?”

Hange chuckled softly. “Nothing gets past you, eh, Moblit?”

“Why are you still here?” Moblit passed her a glass of water and studied her face intently. “Why didn’t you run away with him?”

“Oi,” Hange smacked his arm, feigning offence. “I can’t just leave you here. Besides,” Hange gazed in the window, her gaze becoming distant and wistful. “I have to destroy everything in that lab. I can’t let Zeke recreate my compound, I have to make sure that he would never hurt other people again.”

Moblit shook his head, staring at Hange softly. “You’re too righteous for your own good. But that’s why I admire you so much. Whatever you need, I’ll be there for you, Hange.”

Hange smiled at him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. “Thank you, Moblit. You are the best assistant in the world.”

                                                        ***

Through the next month, Hange tried to bury herself in her work. She tried to be as obedient as possible, following through Zeke’s every order and restricting herself from questioning his decisions. She tried to be as unsuspicious as possible. Zeke was a very smart man, and Hange knew that even the smallest mistake could lead to her downfall.

Zeke brought her new test subjects, and Hange focused her whole attention on them, making changes to her formula to make it work.

There wasn’t much success in her attempts, but Hange didn’t give up. She couldn’t allow herself to, because every time she wasn’t thinking about her work, every time she let her mind wonder, her thoughts were always about him.

It’s been a month since she last saw Levi, and since then she heard nothing about him. She was sure that Levi was safe with Erwin, she was sure that her friend was taking good care about him but… Hange wanted to hear his voice so much, wanted to talk him at least once. However, she didn’t dare to call Erwin and ask about Levi. Zeke might have wired her phone, and Hange didn’t want to put Levi’s safety on the line just to calm her nerves.

So she worked and worked, and then worked some more. She tried to completely exhaust herself, so every time she went to bed, she would immediately fall asleep, her mind blissfully empty from any kind of intrusive thoughts.

And it seemed to work, even though Moblit was looking at her strangely and hovering above her even more than usual. But Hange repeated to him again and again: she was fine.

Looking at herself in the mirror - skin pale, eyes bleak with dark circles underneath and cheeks thin – she repeated the same mantra. She was fine.

And with each passing day it became harder and harder to believe her own lie.

                                                           ***

Hange looked up from her notes, suddenly feeling strange. Something… something was wrong. Hange felt as though something, someone, important was missing.

She looked around the lab, the realization dawning on her.

Moblit!

For the past month her assistant didn’t leave her for a second, always following after Hange and making sure she was eating and drinking regularly. But Hange hadn’t seen him at all today.

She felt her stomach twist itself into knots.

Something was wrong.

Hange closed her journal and got to her feet. She pushed the door to the lab open and headed towards Zeke’s office.

Surely, he must know where Moblit was.

Maybe, he became ill or overslept. Surely, nothing bad could happen to him. Hange was just panicking over nothing. Perhaps, her sleep deprivation and crazy work schedule were to blame.

Hange walked up to Zeke’s office, opening the door and walking inside.

And she froze immediately, her eyes going wide in shock.

Two of Zeke’s men were holding the kneeling Moblit tightly in their arms, while Zeke was grabbing him by the hair, making him stare directly at him.

As he heard Hange walk in, Zeke looked up.

His lips immediately curled into a sweet smile.

“Doctor Zoe,” he drew out, releasing Moblit. “What a great timing you have! We were just talking about you.”

“What is going on here?” Hange asked, not taking her eyes away from Moblit’s back. She couldn’t see his face just yet, but she knew she wouldn’t like the look of it.

“I just told you. Mister Berner and I were having a very lovely conversation. You should join in.”

“Let Moblit go.” Hange demanded.

“Oh?” Zeke raised his eyebrow. “And what else should I do?” He swiftly walked up to Hange, gripping her elbow roughly. “You’re forgetting yourself, Doctor Zoe.” He hissed into her face. “One word from me, and your genius brain will be all over my wall. But we wouldn’t want that to happen, right?” Zeke straightened, fixing his tie. His face was back to normal, all signs of anger disappearing.

“Go on and kill me,” Hange told him in a low, dangerous voice. “And what will you do next? Do you think you will be able to find another scientist so quickly? Someone smart enough to work with my formula, but stupid enough to agree to work for you? Good luck.”  

“Ah, I have to admit you’re correct, Doctor Zoe. You are an exceptional woman. So smart, so bright. And all of it has gone to waste. Because of some dirty street rat!”

Hange’s eyes widened just a fraction. But it was enough to confirm every last one of Zeke’s suspicions.

“I knew something was up.” Zeke sighed, turning away from Hange. “I knew something was up from the very moment I saw the expression on your face, when you first met that beast, that monster, that Levi Ackerman. But your work had been as good as ever, and you even succeeded with your formula! I tried to ignore all the signs: how you spoke too gently with him, and how both of you stared for too long at each other, and how he lashed out at everyone around him, except for you. And then he escaped. Right from under your nose. But you got shot. Excellent idea, by the way. It really convinced me that you are innocent, that you just lost your focus for a moment, and that bastard took advantage of it. But that was a lie, right? A plan, carefully constructed by you, and perfectly executed by Levi Ackerman.”

Zeke shook his head, looking at Hange with disappointment.  “Do you know what gave you away?”

Hange didn’t reply to him, staring back at him defiantly.

“A few days ago, my people managed to find him. He disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He wasn’t alone, though. A man was with him, one Erwin Smith.” Zeke smiled at Hange. “Surely, a name rings a bell to you, right?”

“Never heard of him.” Hange said through gritted teeth.

Zeke tsked. “Just what kind of a person forgets her university friends, huh, Doctor Zoe?”

Hange cursed under her breath. “So you know everything. Then why didn’t you just kill me? Why all of this show? Why do you need Moblit? He is innocent in all of this!”

“Maybe, he is.” Zeke gestured to his men, and they led Moblit to him.

Hange was horrified at the sight of her friend’s bruised and bloodied face. Her loyal and dear assistant. All of his sufferings were on her.

“But you were right, Doctor,” Zeke grinned, as his eyes remained cruel and calculating, watching Hange’s every reaction. “Unfortunately, I do need you. I can’t kill you. But I don’t need him. Maybe, his death will teach you a lesson.”

“No!” Hange cried out desperately. “Please, don’t do this. He has done nothing wrong! I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt him!”

“Anything I want?” Zeke’s grin turned feral, as he looked up at the ceiling, considering his answer. “Alright, I won’t kill him. I’ll even let him go. On one condition,” Zeke’s pleased expression made a chill ran through Hange’s spine. “He will bring Levi Ackerman to me. I’m sure that if Mister Berner tells him that you’re in trouble, he’ll come running here, hurrying to your rescue.”

Hange looked up at him. She was having a hard time believing that this man could be so cruel. And so smart. He had played her like a damn fool, managing to twist everything to his favor.

“Gentlemen,” Zeke turned to his guards. “Escort Doctor Zoe to her room. And make sure to lock it. She’ll be waiting for her knight in shining armor there. And Mister Berner,” Zeke flashed him a brilliant smile. “I hope you won’t disappoint me. And if you do, know that your dear superior will die in horrible pain. Understood?”

Moblit nodded, swallowing heavily.

With one last look at her friend’s anguished face, Hange was led out of the room.

                                                              ***

Hange stared at the cracks on the white ceiling in her bedroom. She scoffed at the thought. Her bedroom. It was nothing more than her cage, and she was nothing more than a prisoner.

She was a prisoner, and a fool, a goddamn idiot. To be caught so easily…

If she wasn’t so naïve, if she was content with her work at that shitty restaurant, if she didn’t strive to be something more… None of it would have happened.

She would have been living a boring, but safe life. Moblit and Levi wouldn’t have suffered for her mistakes.

And now she even got Erwin involved in her mess.

She was such an idiot!

Hange grabbed the pillow underneath her head and punched it in frustration. She raised it high above her and then smashed it into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

It hit the wall with a loud ‘pouf’ and then landed softly on the floor.

In the next moment, a door to her room opened.

Hange tensed, raising her head in alarm. Was she behaving too loudly?

However, her heart stopped beating inside her chest as she took a better look at the person on the threshold. Her heart stopped for a moment and then started beating with twice its usual speed.

Levi was standing right in front of her.

It couldn’t be.

Had she not noticed how she fell asleep? Was it just a dream?

“The fuck you’re still sitting there, four-eyes?” It was his voice, deep and husky, just as Hange remembered it. Just as she heard it so many times in her dreams.

“Levi?” Hange asked, still not quite believing it was actually him.

“Who else could it be?” Levi huffed in annoyance. He walked inside the room and took Hange by the hand. His touch was soft and gentle. “Come on, get up and let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

And while Hange agreed completely with him - if Levi actually came to rescue her, then they needed to run, and fast. But… Hange just couldn’t stop herself.

She launched herself onto Levi, holding him tightly in her arms.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, laying her cheek on top of Levi’s hair.

“Hange, we don’t have time for this,” Levi replied in an unusually soft voice. Despite his words, however, he laid his hands onto her back, pressing himself even closer to her.

“Alright, let’s go,” Hange said after a few seconds. She let go of Levi, returning her posture and grinning at him.

Before she could turn around and start walking, though, Levi grabbed her wrist.

“Wait,” he said, taking her face in his hands and inspecting it carefully. “Did he hurt you?”

Hange shook her head, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Levi’s worried gaze.

“I’m fine,” she reassured Levi.

He nodded and let go of her. In the next moment, he took her hand into his, intertwining their fingers.

“Let’s go then                                             

                                                       ***

As they ran together through the dark corridors, Hange couldn’t get one particular thought out of her head.

“Is Moblit fine?” she asked Levi finally.

“He is. Erwin will look after him, don’t worry.”

Hange breathed out in relief. “Thank the goodness,” she whispered. “It’s my fault he got hurt.”

Levi tugged harshly on her hand. “Stop this shit, Hange. None of it is your fault. That son of a bitch Zeke is to blame.”

Hange said nothing, just stared at Levi with grateful and gentle smile. She squeezed his hand tighter.

                                                     ***

Soon they reached the stairwell, and Hange stopped.

“You should go now,” Hange said, nodding to the stairwell. “I need to finish something first.”

She tried to free her hand out of Levi’s grasp, but he held on tight.

“Jesus Christ,” Levi hissed angrily. “Just how much of a shithead you are, Hange? I came here to save your sorry ass, and I’m not going to let you go. I’ve done it one time and I’m not repeating this mistake ever again,” Levi’s eyes bored into hers with fierce intensity. Hange couldn’t look away. “If you need something done, then I’m going with you. And then we get out. Together.”

“But it could be dangerous…” Hange protested weakly.

“That’s why I’m going with you.”

Levi didn’t let her say anything else, and pushed Hange forward, following after her to the laboratory.

As they descended down the long stairwell, another thought popped into Hange’s mind.

They ran through the whole complex, passed through a dozens of rooms. And they saw not a single guard.

It couldn’t be possible. Zeke should have known that Levi wasn’t going to surrender so easily. He should have known that Levi would try and save her.

Zeke should have known.

“Levi, wait!” Hange tried to stop him, but it was too late. They already reached the doors to the laboratory.

And Levi had already opened them.

                                                               ***

Hange looked inside the lab.

And just as she predicted, Zeke was already there, already waiting for them. Heavily armed guards stood behind him.

“You are so smart and yet so predictable, Doctor Zoe,” Zeke said as soon as Hange and Levi walked inside the lab. “I knew you would come here. Couldn’t leave your invention behind?”

“I came to destroy it.” Hange replied, holding her head high and staring at Zeke defiantly.

“A shame, really,” Zeke took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a handkerchief. “You could have changed the world,” he told Hange, smiling sadly at her. “But you chose to save one man instead.”

“Let us go, Zeke,” Levi stepped forward, partially covering Hange’s body with his. “You know you can’t fight me. And neither can your stupid lackeys. Let us go, and no one will get hurt.”

Zeke throw his head back and laughed.

“You think you can beat me?” Zeke put the glasses back on his face. He stared at Levi, his eyes cold and dangerous. “You may be stronger than me, Levi Ackerman, you may be quicker than me. But you are definitely not smarter than me.”

In the next moment, Levi started moving.

He ran so swiftly, Hange’s eyes couldn’t quite follow him.

He approached the closest soldier to him, and punched him. The man lost his balance, and Levi used this to disarm him. He grabbed the gun, shot the man and then aimed the gun at the next one. Before the other guard could react, Levi already shot him right in the face.

The rest of the guards came to stand in front of Zeke, hiding him behind their backs. Their guns were all trained on Levi.

They started shooting, and Levi moved, dodging all of their bullets. While they were busy recharging, Levi already killed three other soldiers.

Levi raised his gun to his next victim. However, before he was able to fire, a man in the middle dropped his gun and lifted his hands.

“Please stop,” he whispered shakily. “We surrender.”

“Good,” Levi nodded. “Then get the fuck out of here.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The other four men lowered their weapons as well and then followed after their friend, leaving Zeke all alone.

But he was far from surrendering.

Zeke held his own gun. But it wasn’t aimed at Levi.

It was aimed at Hange.

“Lower your weapon, please,” he told Levi, smirking victoriously. “Or I blow her brains out.”

Levi cursed, but slowly put his gun on the ground.

“What do you want from us?” Hange asked loudly, fearlessly taking a step towards Zeke. “You know we wouldn’t work for you anymore, then what’s the point? Just kill both of us and be done with it.”

“My dear Doctor Zoe,” Zeke shook his head. “You disobeyed me. You destroyed everything I’ve worked for. And you want me to just kill you? That’s too easy. I want you to suffer. I want you beg me to kill you.”

“I will never beg.” Hange’s voice was strong and confident. She made another step forward, her forehead almost touching the barrel of Zeke’s gun.

Levi wanted to shout, wanted to shake Hange and ask what the fuck was she doing. But then Hange glanced at him, for less than a second, but it was enough for Levi to understand.

Hange stood so close to Zeke, and now all of his attention was on her.

She was giving him a chance to attack. Levi didn’t waste another second.

He charged at Zeke, grabbing him by the waist and knocking him to the ground. Hange came to stand above Zeke. She stepped on his hand, which was still holding the gun.

“Surrender, Zeke,” Hange looked down on him. “Surrender, swear not to look for us anymore, and we’ll let you live.”

Zeke said nothing, his eyes darting from Hange above him to Levi, who was keeping him in place with a knee on his chest. He couldn’t escape.

“Fine,” he said finally. “I surrender.”

“Smart choice,” Hange grinned at him.

She kneeled next to Zeke. She grabbed him by his tie and then punched him in the face, still smiling happily.

Hange’s fist managed to broke Zeke’s nose, as his face immediately became covered in blood.

“That’s for Moblit.” Hange told him in a sweet voice.

Then she got to her feet and, extending her hand towards Levi, helped him get up as well.

“Let’s hope it was our last time seeing each other, Zeke!” Hange waved her hand, as she started walking, Levi following after her.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” Levi promised him darkly.

Hange giggled, as she saw the expression of pure terror on Zeke’s face.

Hand in hand, they walked out of Zeke’s laboratory, leaving all of its horrors behind.

                                                      ***

His fingers gently stroked the small scar on the otherwise smooth and warm skin.

“It didn’t hurt that much,” Hange whispered, noticing the troubled and painful expression on Levi’s face.

“But it did hurt.” Levi refused to raise his eyes to look at Hange, his gaze still focused on the mark on her abdomen.

“Levi,” Hange called him softly. She lifted his chin and gently kissed his lips. “That was my idea, and it was me who convinced you to do it. Besides, it had worked for a while.” Hange sighed. “It would have worked for a lot longer, if Zeke wasn’t a noisy asshole, who probably scrolled through my Instagram account until he found my picture with Erwin.”

A slight smirk graced Levi’s lips. “At least, he left us alone.”

“Mm, yeah,” Hange lazily kissed his chin. “That’s because you saved me. My knight in shining armor.” She added with a grin.

Levi flicked her nose. “You’re so stupid, Hange.” His voice was annoyed, but his eyes looked at Hange with softness he rarely shown to anyone else, but her.

“Besides,” he added, his hands coming to embrace her. “You saved me first.”

Hange smiled softly, and then gently kissed Levi’s forehead.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she mumbled quietly, laying her head on Levi’s chest.

Levi nodded, covering both of their bodies with a blanket.

Now that Hange was safe in his arms, he could finally sleep peacefully.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 19--Lion’s Den

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Newly a captive, Ienzo tries to learn what Xehanort wants from him, as well as his plans.

Read in on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo woke suddenly, flailing against the blankets draped over him. His breasts ached terribly and there were wet spots on his shirt; he must’ve been under for some time. He touched one, wincing.

Xehanort’s son. Strands of nothingness around his throat. Darkness.

Where was he?

He was in a small, narrow room. It was minimally furnished--the single wrought iron bed was against one corner, by a narrow window; a small, very old oak writing desk was against the other wall; a squat, two drawer dresser was next to it. The walls were painted a faint violet, adorned with a crown moulding. A cracked door opened to a tiny bathroom with a shower. Ienzo padded across to the other door and tried it; locked, of course. He reached for his magic and found it sluggish, deadened. He darted over to the window, looked outside, and his heart nearly stopped.

Ienzo knew where he was; the castle in what was once Radiant Garden. A strange, faint mist wreathed the city, vaguely sulfuric. Massive poles in the distance held floodlights, likely to defend the remaining populace against Heartless. He opened the window and tried to reach out, but a ward blocked him.

He was a captive.

Amalia.

Panic overtook him then, and he tried the door again in vain, pounding on the thick old wood. “Let me out!” No response; he suspected a muffling charm had been placed on the door.

He hadn’t realized how dependent he was on her presence, her aura until it was gone. He had to have been drugged somehow, or enchanted, for his magic to simply be sleeping like this. But he hoped more than anything that Amalia was safe back in Demyx’s arms. He found himself mouthing a fervent prayer to whatever was listening for that to be the case. He had no idea what Xehanort or his sons would do to his newborn daughter if they had her. Kill her? Mold her into a shiny tool to use? He had no idea which was worse.

The door opened, and he struggled to conceal the wetness on his shirt with his blanket. He saw a small old woman with a tray of food, water, tea, and of all things, a lily in a thin crystal vase. “Good, you’re finally awake,” she said. She had a kind smile. “You must be starved, poor thing.”

Ienzo was reeling, wondering how to react, what angle to play. Motionless, he watched her cross the room and set the tray down on the writing desk. He could physically overtake her, he knew, and bound out the open door--unless that was warded too. But how far would he reasonably get before he ran into a guard, or worse? He couldn’t defend himself from prowling Heartless without magic.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “I treated those scratches on your throat, the bruises. Just awful, in my opinion.”

“Who are…” he trailed off.

Another smile. She brushed off her skirt; she was wearing what had once been servants’ livery under Ansem’s reign, crisp, comfortable, and functional. “My name is Lydia,” she said. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me, your highness. I was once the castle librarian. You were always there, weren’t you?”

Ienzo blinked slowly; a veil of time and panic made it hard to remember. Lydia had looked much younger then, her hair brown instead of gray. She’d always been happy to give him the books that Even said were too mature for him. “I apologize, I--”

She smiled again. “I know, I haven’t aged well.” A wry laugh.

He swallowed. “Am I a… prisoner?” he asked cautiously.

“The word being used is “guest.”” She bit her lip. “I think that’s for you to determine, your highness.” She pulled the domed lid from the plate, revealing a breakfast--eggs, toast, hash browns. Ienzo struggled not to react; ever since he’d been breastfeeding, his appetite had been nearly insatiable. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes. Go on, eat.”

She left, and shut the door behind her; Ienzo heard the click of the tumblers as it locked. He approached the food warily, sniffed it. His magic could tell him if it was poisoned, or drugged--except it was dead.

The practical thing to do would be to wait out this sensation until he could sense if anything was in the food.

But the smell made him weak . He’d need food to be able to think clearly, to plan. He sipped the water timidly; it tasted normal, so did the tea. The flavor of the egg nearly brought tears to his eyes. Xehanort must’ve kept the castle’s chefs; it all was the same as he remembered.

Focus, Ienzo.

He was nearly finished when Lydia returned with a small cloth bundle. “Better?” she asked.

“...Quite.”

“Remy heard you were here and made it specially. He so rarely gets to cook the way he wants to anymore. Xeha--er. His Lordship prefers things sour, bitter.”

Specially. What did that mean? “Give him my regards,” Ienzo said in a neutral voice.

“...Of course.” She reached past him to take the tray. “I’m told someone will collect you in half an hour, if you’d like to shower and dress.”

Ienzo hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to appear like he was playing into Xehanort’s hands--but maybe he should? To find out what he could? Play innocent, naive, claim Even had been coddling him all this time.

Either way, he could not go wherever he was going covered in breastmilk. If they didn’t know about his daughter, he couldn’t risk letting them find out. Perhaps the rush of magic from her birth had been confused for a spell of his own creation. And if that were the case... why wait four weeks? To lull them into a false sense of security, he realized equally.

He showered--the water smelled vaguely like iron--and winced, his nipples twinging again as he touched them. Without magic, he couldn’t exactly strain it off into the sink or toilet, despite the relief it would give him. The soap smelled harsh, but at least it washed off the scent of the milk. He washed his stained shirt thoroughly and left it to dry on the towel rack.

The clothing he’d been left was simple, but rather formal--slacks, a neatly pressed button-up, a white sweater vest, a purple ascot. He combed his messy hair with his fingers.

And then Ienzo waited.

It didn’t take long before someone came for him. There was a gentle knock at the door, then the lock clicked open. Ienzo tried to keep his expression open, neutral, but it was difficult when he saw their face.

Xemnas. The man had the gall to smile. “Old friend,” he said, in a voice that had only deepened with age. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

Definitely medicated, Ienzo decided. “Quite. You’ll have to give your father my thanks.”

“You may do so yourself. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Ienzo smiled pleasantly. He followed Xemnas out of the open door. The man was dressed similarly smartly, in a well-tailored black suit with a red tie. He realized he was being kept in the old servants’ quarters, from before Ansem had given them the apartments; his suspicions were correct and a pair of armored guards were at both ends of the hall.

“Please do not take offense to this,” Xemnas began. “But when my brother brought you in… we were rather surprised. We were expecting…”

“A princess?” He made himself smile again. “I’m afraid that phase of my life was left behind long ago.”

“I’m sure it protected you quite well.”

“Quite.”

Xemnas paused. “No harm will come to you here,” he said. “Be sure of that.”

“That so?”

“My father seeks to earn your trust. I hope it will work in the other direction too.”

“All this talk… I have never actually had the pleasure of meeting your father.” He found himself infinitely glad of the etiquette lessons Even had given him when he was younger. Best be diplomatic for now, until he had more information.

“I’m afraid outside opinion may have tarnished your view of him.”

Ienzo had to bite his tongue. “...Perhaps.” They continued walking in silence for a while. Xemnas’s pace was sedate, even relaxed. The faint smell of sulfur was everywhere; Heartless dazedly wandered the halls, but did not come near them. “Our guards,” he explained calmly. “After all, they do not need breaks, nor they need to eat.”

“Practical,” Ienzo said, trying to swallow the horror.

The castle, to his surprise, was much the same, down to the decorations; the only thing that had been changed was all the crests, away from the violet he’d known under his father, replaced with a deep red with a large X. “The symbol “chi,”” Xemnas told him, “Though some pronounce it “key.””

“...I see.”

He saw a few human servants here and there; they paused to bow to Xemnas as he passed. All the while, Ienzo swallowed the bittersweet nostalgia that threatened to overtake him. Memories stabbed him behind the eyes--here, Braig teaching him to ride the stair bannister; hiding here from Even as he chased him for his lessons; riding Aeleus’s shoulders along this hallway on their way to the gardens. “...Is it good to be home?” Xemnas asked, cutting his gold eyes to Ienzo.

“It certainly is nostalgic.”

“It could be your home once more. Had I… my way, you’d have never been forced to leave.”

He struggled to come up with a response, anger scalding his veins. Had Xemnas kept him here, doubtless they would've used and abused his power. “It seems there was poor communication all around,” he said vaguely.

“Indeed.”

They reached the throne room at last. Ansem had hardly ever used it in his reign other than for public events; he was much more comfortable meeting dignitaries or the public in his labs, his studies. It makes us more approachable, less mythic, he’d told Ienzo. The last thing you want to do is foster a divide between yourself and your people. We are royal, but we are not superior.

Ienzo’s heart beat heavily in his chest. He tried to keep breathing steadily, aware Xemnas was watching every little twitch of his face.

A pair of guards opened the large, heavy double doors.

It was just as Ienzo remembered, yet it had been perverted, too. The high, Gothic ceilings with the stained glass, sunlight pouring through; the marble, carved and laid in the shapes of flowers, polished to a shine; the long marble columns, the mural painted on the back wall, of the gods’ first contact with what was considered Ienzo’s first ancestor. The three thrones were the same, too. The middle one, the most prominent and most ornate, was reserved for the ruler, the lesser two for their heir and their consort.

All three of these thrones were occupied, and the mural was partially covered with another large banner, but this one had a different symbol; a black and red heart with an X crossing through, its bottom flared into a strange parody of a fleur de lis.

And there they were. The youngest son who had kidnapped him; the eldest son, boredly reading a book. And Xehanort himself.

He was much older than Ienzo thought he would be, in his eighties most likely, his bald head wrinkled, the veins visible. When he stood and spread his arms in welcome, his back was slightly hunched, and his legs were spindly. He took slow, long steps towards Ienzo, and when he got closer, bowed deeply. “Might I say it is an honor to meet at last, your highness,” he began, in a low, scratchy voice that sounded like he’d gargled marbles his whole life.

“Please, call me Ienzo,” he said. He offered a polite smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Aren’t you a polite young man.” He stood back up. “Ienzo. Is that, perhaps, after the first archmage?”

“The very same.”

“Aren’t names so much more meaningful, when we can choose them?”

He nodded once. He noticed the youngest son was watching him with a wicked smirk; he was petting something. Ienzo thought at first that it may have been a black cat, but the thing lifted its head. A Heartless. A disconcertingly small Heartless. He wasn’t quite able to mask his fear. It wasn’t--not--

“Oh, did you see young Xehanort’s pet? Bring it here, would you, son?”

He obeyed. Ienzo tried to keep breathing. It had sharp, long antennae, but it seemed rather content in its master’s arms.

“My eldest made these,” Xehanort explained, giving the Heartless a stroke. “Pure shadow--and nothing else. We’re hoping to see if they develop sentience, the way our other Heartless have. You’re a man of science, aren’t you, Ienzo?”

“...Quite.”

“Darkness is not quite so evil as you’ve been taught your whole life. Rather… it is one side of a coin. That balance is crucial to all life; one can never hope to crush out all darkness.”

“Do you seek to crush the light, then?” he asked, without meaning to.

Xehanort chuckled. “Of course not,” he said. “Of course not.”

It was the repetition that put Ienzo ill-at-ease. Instead, he just nodded.

“Darkness gives power, stability, clarity . It’s never been fair that your kind has been able to utilize magic, whereas the common folk… cannot. Think of how many fewer people would die of sicknesses, injuries, starvation, dehydration, if they just had the means to… borrow power from the earth.”

“Can the darkness do that?”

“Quite, my dear prince. I’d be happy to show you. But alas, we are only new friends.” He smiled. “I want to make this world better . Your father… well meaning as he was, simply could not stop what has been brewing for years. People should be equal .”

“And magic is an equalizer?”

“ Power is an equalizer.” He paused, as thought to let that sink in.

“...I see.” Scarily, Xehanort had a point. But some bodies simply couldn’t handle magic--the entropy and energy alone could kill, or in Isa’s case, degrade. Was that worth it? Was there not another way?

“I hope you’ll come to understand what we’re doing here,” Xehanort said.

“Perhaps I will.”

---

For most of the rest of the first week, Ienzo was kept in that small room. He was allowed out once a day for a half-hour walk with Xemnas. Other than Lydia bringing Ienzo his meals three times a day… Ienzo was alone. He realized that even in their most desperate circumstances, with Even he’d never been alone . There was always someone to talk to, scheme with, fight with.

Ienzo kept trying to use his magic. For three days he flushed his meals down the toilet, hoping maybe it was some kind of drug that would wash out of his system, but nothing came of it and he was only making his own head cloudy.

His breasts still ached tremendously. He tried to squeeze the milk out, with his hands, but all he did was give himself bruises, his already too-pale flesh marking easily. The omni-present ache made him think of his daughter, the way she felt in his arms, the way she smelled. The way it felt when the three of them cuddled together, so perfect, like nothing was missing. Ienzo’s heart felt like it was on fire.

Demyx. Amalia. Their names echoed constantly in his head, and more than once he woke with tears in his eyes. Please let them be safe. Please. Please.

Ienzo could not fall apart. He couldn’t afford to. He had to keep his head on straight, to perform, to try to earn Xehanort and his sons’ trust so he could--

Could… what?

Ienzo sat up slowly. He hadn’t been sleeping well, hurting too much inside and out to get much rest. What did he plan on doing, exactly?

It came to him in a flash--the computer. If he could gain enough favor to get down to that lab, he could contact Tron, who could contact Cid, who could let the others know that he was alive and safe (relatively speaking), and that, more than anything, he had an in--even if it made him seem like a traitor.

Maybe it was time for the prince to come out of hiding.

---

He’d just fallen into an uncertain sleep, and dreamed about his daughter. Hefting her up in the air. Kissing the little pads of her feet. The joy, the love on Demyx’s face as he cared for her. When he woke his breasts were hurting more than ever, and again, milk had seeped through the thin pajamas he’d been given.

He heard the click of the lock at the door, and before he could adequately cover himself, Lydia came in with his next meal. “Oh,” she said softly, and for the first time she shut the door behind her. “You… poor dear. You’re nursing, aren’t you?”

Ienzo knew better than to lie. He could smell the milk, slightly sweet. He just pulled the blanket to his chest. One lie he could tell was that the baby had died, but as he tried to force the words past his lips, the tears ran over. “Don’t tell him.” Humiliation broke over Ienzo in a wave, along with more panic. “Please, don’t tell him.”

Lydia picked up the napkin from the breakfast tray and handed it to him. She locked eyes with him. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her dark eyes sharp and serious, and while there was complete honesty in her tone--and faint memories of her helping him in the library--Ienzo could not trust her.

He could barely eat that morning, in too much of an anxious haze. Xehanort could not know he’d had a child. He was not going to let Amalia and Demyx be doomed.

Didn’t you doom them simply by carrying her to term? An insidious voice asked in the back of his head. If you’d aborted her, she wouldn’t have ever been in any danger.

But what about the Forecast?

It took a lot of strength--almost all he had left--to clean himself up and wait to see if someone would retrieve him. Lydia came back several hours later with another tray, some cloth, and a book. The cloth wasn’t out of the ordinary--she brought him his laundered clothing--but the book was new. “Something to help with the leaking,” she said, and took the tray without another word.

Ienzo unfolded the bundle. It reminded him of a binder from years past, but thin cloth pads had been slipped into small pockets. She’d even left him some extra pads as well. He exhaled slowly and put it on. At least he no longer had to worry about this.

If he didn’t get back to her soon, the milk would dry up. Losing that connection before he was ready only made his eyes tear up further. He blinked it away. He had to be strong for her, to get through. Falling apart would only be self-indulgent. This taken care of, he picked up the book.

It was a simple volume of fairy stories, one he remembered well, one that had been taken from Ansem’s study. He sniffed the pages; old paper, leather, glue. The ribbon marked one of the pages towards the back of the book, and he flipped towards it.

Ienzo did not remember this story well. Perhaps Ansem had never let him read it, or he’d already moved on from fairy tales by then. The story was about Kingdom Hearts; that it was the gods’ paradise, and that one young god, unruly and rebellious, had gone against her parents’ wishes to visit man. She fell in love with a mortal, and when they married, their child could talk with the earth, could use that magic of the gods--Ienzo’s ancestor.

But there was more to the story than this, namely that Kingdom Hearts had thereafter been sealed to prevent more gods from giving mankind what they didn’t deserve. But the god that did the sealing was clumsy… and he dropped the key.

In a neat, firm pencil in the margins was “Keyblade.”

Suddenly the eradication of the seekers made a whole lot more sense.

Xehanort wasn’t looking to craft a Keyblade. He was looking to find one. To find one… he had to engineer a seeker or magic user, perhaps with the nothing, with the darkness…

Even’s replicas…

Ienzo’s breath caught. Of course. That was why he’d wanted them. If these “fake” bodies died from incompatible magic use, it wouldn’t be noticed--it wouldn’t matter. If they could not learn to wield Keyblades as Even had originally hypothesized… perhaps they could learn to seek those who could.

He had to get this message to them somehow.

A knock at the door. Hurriedly, Ienzo shoved it under the mattress before the lock clicked open. “Ienzo,” Xemnas said pleasantly. “My father was wondering if you might like to join us for tea.”

He swallowed. “Sounds wonderful.”

[kinghellcat]

Tales from the Burial Mounds, Part I

I wrote a little vignette! I think I want to make a short series of these, detailing the time Wei Wuxian and the Dafan-Wen family lived in Yiling. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and much longer since I shared my writing, so... be nice to me :x Thanks!

2k Rated G

Tags: Wei Wuxian & Wen Ning, feelings, a lot of feelings (dude idk how to tag)

The wind made hardly a sound as it rushed through the bare, brittle branches of the trees dotting the sides of the Burial Mounds. Though it was well into the summer, the trees remained gnarled and blackened, as though they’d been burned. Not one of them bore leaves, nor flowers, nor fruits. Indeed the only thing that grew well here were bitter wild herbs. Those and radishes. Wei Wuxian had never liked radishes, and couldn’t imagine why anyone else would. But they grew here, they fed the people here, and thus he would tend them. 

Wei Wuxian kneeled in the dirt, pulling weeds and inspecting the spindly leaves. Much of the work had already been done, but he wasn’t ready to rejoin the others yet. “Yiling Patriarch” is hardly the title he would’ve given himself -- how self-important it sounds! -- but he supposed it suited him after all. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’d already begun feeling the pressure of supporting and protecting the people here. He had brought the remnants of the Wen clan, the Dafan-Wen, to this dreary place, and thus he would protect them. 

Only, he felt that they deserved better. Better homes, better clothes, better food certainly. A better leader too. Someone who had more, or anything at all, to offer. Eventually, Wei Wuxian’s hands came to a stop and he found himself just sitting in the radish patch alone, feeling sorry for himself. He shook his head vigorously, like he could shake the negative thoughts from his mind. He stood and stretched his arms high to the waning sunlight. 

It was probably almost dinner time. If he didn’t return to the main compound -- if you could call it that -- Wen Qing would surely give him another lecture. Heaving a mighty sigh, he brushed off his robes and made his way back to their shabby dining room/main hall/everything else room. It was made from the ruins of a temple to the fallen, all those whose bodies were buried in these hills. The irony was not lost on him; the fearsome Yiling Patriarch, the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation making his home on a literal mound of corpses and sharing meals with criminals in a desecrated temple was probably exactly what the world had expected of him. 

In reality, it was just a bunch of poor, scared people who wanted nothing more than to live in peace. The world would never get to see that, they wouldn’t even try. And why should they? Wei Wuxian thought wryly, It’s not like this is a place worth visiting. He shook his head again. Now was not the time for complaints. If the Burial Mounds weren’t worth visiting, he would at least try to make it a place worth living in. And if that meant he had to eat radish soup every night for the rest of his life, well, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

He arrived with enough time to spare that Wen Qing didn’t go off on him, but she did lightly scold him for getting so dirty. Wei Wuxian just laughed it off; he had realized by now that she scolded people to show that she cared. It was sort of touching to think he was included among the people she cared for, if only she could express it more kindly… With a sharp breath, Wei Wuxian once again cut off his train of thought. If he let his mind wander toward Jiang Yanli, he might actually cry. Instead he forced himself to focus on the present, on the people around him now. 

Wen Ning had helped Granny Wen make dinner tonight, and though it was still mostly radishes, it was almost tasty. Wen Ning had apparently been quite skilled in the kitchen since he was very young. “Well, see, my sister was always busy with her studies, and after our parents died, it was only natural that it’d fall to me, right?” He had reasoned when Wei Wuxian remarked on his cooking. Underselling himself, as usual, Wei Wuxian thought. But he knew that trying to force praise on Wen Ning only made him uncomfortable, so he let it be. He settled for giving his hand a warm squeeze. 

Wen Ning shuffled his feet shyly, but squeezed Wei Wuxian’s hand in return, ever so lightly. “Thanks…” he mumbled. He withdrew his hand and returned to serving up the others, with a very small smile. Even when he was alive, Wen Ning hadn’t been the most expressive person, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel deeply. On the contrary, it was the strength and breadth of the feelings he left unexpressed that had allowed Wei Wuxian to return him to life, or something close to it. All his leftover resentment and fury at the abuse he and his family suffered before his death, on top of a lifetime of being looked down on and ignored, had turned him into a frighteningly powerful fierce corpse. 

But that rage was tempered by an even greater kindness. For all his anger at the injustices of the world, Wen Ning was a gentle young man. Sweet, even. Juxtaposed with his ferocity on the battlefield, one might assume he was two different people. Wei Wuxian laughed, thinking that if only people could see the great and terrible Ghost General serving soup to his aunties and cousins, they couldn’t possibly find him so frightening. They couldn’t possibly hate him. Wei Wuxian had already cursed himself a thousand times for turning such a good, kind person into a weapon, to be feared and reviled by the rest of the cultivation world. But what else could he have done? Let him die? He could never have forgiven himself for doing nothing. 

Wei Wuxian sighed. He wasn’t doing a very good job at staying positive tonight. He finished his soup, down to the last wretched radish, and excused himself. Wen Qing side-eyed him as he slunk away, but if she was suspicious or concerned for him, she didn’t say so. She returned her attention to her family, and reached across the table to wipe a dribble of soup from Wen Yuan’s chin. “A-Yuan, slow down or you’ll make a mess.” The little boy nodded, but continued to slurp loudly and messily. Wen Qing shook her head, but she smiled fondly. 

Wei Wuxian’s mind threatened to wander to his sister again. How he wished to see her again! But how could he, after his unceremonious departure from the Jiang sect? Jiang Cheng would never allow it, and frankly, he wouldn’t want Yanli to see this sorry place. He wanted nothing more than to taste her cooking again, to rest his head on her shoulder while she comforted him… His fingers curled into fists at his sides and he squeezed his eyes shut. It wouldn’t do to start crying while anyone was still awake. 

The inside of the Demon-Subdue Cave was just as shabby as the rest of the settlement, worse maybe, considering that it was literally a dark, creepy cave. But Wei Wuxian had claimed the spot for his own, and the Wens knew better than to bother him here. There was plenty of space to tinker, which meant there was plenty of space to make messes. There were crumpled papers, faulty talismans, and half-finished inventions littered all across the floor and on the flat, raised stones that functioned as tables. Wei Wuxian stepped carefully around them as he made his way to the back of the cave where his bed stood. It was another raised stone platform, just long enough to lay on, with a moth-eaten blanket thrown haphazardly over it. He stretched out lazily, his shoulders popping and spine cracking loudly. Though it seemed almost pointless to try, he got as comfortable as he could and tried to sleep.

Sure enough, sleep evaded him. He tried over and over again to clear his mind and relax, but failed every time. Waves of melancholy lapped at him, shot through with deep regret. Why did I do this? How could I leave Yunmeng? How could I betray Jiang Cheng and shijie? One half of him lamented, desperately wishing for his soft bed in his nice clean room back at Lotus Pier. The other half tried to reason with him: I had to do something. I couldn’t let the Wens die! My dream has always been to stand on the side of justice. Isn’t that what I’m doing? It was a solid argument but still he had trouble convincing himself. 

He got up and surveyed his many abandoned projects. Maybe he could distract himself with his inventions. He’d been meaning to work on improving his Compass of Evil. Scooping up his prototypes and sitting at his makeshift desk, he examined the parts and the enchantments he’d placed on them. He took the latest version apart and put it back together, but couldn’t think of what to add, what to do differently. Frustration mounting, he gripped the compass and hurled it across the cave with all his might.

It hit the wall and broke into pieces. A yelp from the darkness startled Wei Wuxian from his seething. Wen Ning took a step into the dim candlelight. “Master Wei… are you well?” He asked. Since his resurrection he had lost his stutter and most of his nervous twitches, but he was still shy, and polite to a fault. His long, dark hair was loose around his shoulders, nearly blending in with the darkness, making his ghostly pale face stand out among the gloom. “You left dinner much earlier than usual… I wanted to check on you sooner, but Wen Qing kept stopping me.” 

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian lied. “Thanks for worrying, though.” He tried to smile but must have failed; Wen Ning looked thoroughly unconvinced.

“Forgive me, Master Wei, but I’m not stupid. I can tell something is bothering you… I want to help you if I can.” He took a few steps forward, but stayed out of reach, like he was afraid to approach Wei Wuxian. Was his poor mood so obvious? Wei Wuxian stood and closed the gap between them, ignoring the flash of panic in Wen Ning’s eyes. 

“Oh Wen Ning. I know you’re not stupid.” He started, laying a hand on Wen Ning’s arm. Wen Ning’s posture relaxed a little. “But really, it’s fine. You help me with so much already! You don’t have to worry about a bad day.” 

“Master Wei--” Wen Ning tried to argue, but Wei Wuxian cut him off.

“Haven’t I told you to stop calling me that?” He laughed. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Wen Ning stared for a moment, eyes wide. “Friends…” he echoed. “Right… Sorry Mas-- er… um.” He fumbled his words, eloquent as always. Suddenly he seemed very interested in the ground.

Wei Wuxian laughed for real this time. Maybe he was teasing him too much, but it really was a lot of fun. And at least he seemed distracted from trying to talk to Wei Wuxian about his feelings. Just to lay it on thick, he reached out for Wen Ning’s chin and tipped it up so they were looking each other in the eyes. “Repeat after me: Wei. Wu. Xian.” He said clearly.

If Wen Ning could still blush, he would surely have gone beet red by now. “Wei…” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Wei Wuxian.”

“Good!” Wei Wuxian smiled, patting Wen Ning’s cheek gently. It had actually felt a little nice for Wen Ning to drop some of his usual reverent formality. 

Wen Ning shifted his gaze to the ground again. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying to find the right words. After a few moments, he clenched his jaw and made eye contact with Wei Wuxian again. “Wei Wuxian,” he repeated, with more confidence than Wei Wuxian had ever heard from him. “As your friend, I am worried about you. Even if I can’t help… At least let me care.” His expression was subtle, but the knit of his eyebrows and the set of his jaw spoke volumes. He was serious. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t have a response to that. He simply blinked a few times before a single tear slipped out. With a gasp, he took a step away and turned his back. Stop it stop it stop it! He yelled at himself. A firm hand grasped his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to be alone with whatever is bothering you.” Wen Ning said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Wei Wuxian was still for a long time. At last, he nodded and turned back around. He mustered up a watery smile for his friend. “Thank you. I’m glad to have a friend like you.” They sat together quietly for a while and eventually Wei Wuxian couldn’t hold back his tears. He was just thankful he managed to keep the pitiful wailing to a minimum. When he finally felt as if he had run out of tears, Wei Wuxian was exhausted. He’d been tired for days now, unable to relax enough to get any rest, but now he could barely resist the thrall of sleep. He figured this must be his body finally giving up on him. His eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little. Immediately, Wen Ning reached out to steady him, and looked at him quizzically. He leaned into Wen Ning, resting his head on his shoulder, smiling vaguely before blacking out completely.

[kmseokjins]

Thunderlight (Chapter 8)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / OT7 x Reader Warnings: some mentions of blood, some light cursing, a lil suggestive scene *wiggles eyebrows*Word Count: 3.7k Chapter Summary: You had a feeling it was going to be one of those days...

Archive Of Our Own || Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Notes: Forgive any spelling mistakes cause ya girl lives life on the edge and doesn't proofread

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As soon as your feet hit the floor this morning, you had a bad feeling.

To be truthful, you’d had that feeling for the past week and a half since your meeting with Arshkia. The meeting with the witch had left an unpleasant taste in your mouth: bitter and unsavory. You couldn’t help the shudder of uneasiness that rippled through you whenever you thought back on the meeting. You had obviously rubbed her the wrong way, seemingly annoying her with your insistence that you wanted nothing to do with the soulbonds that you were apparently destined to be tied to.

You had been fighting your “destiny” for years now. You wanted to live your life the way you wanted, not stuck on some endless path that dictated what you could and couldn’t do. Escaping your family had been the first stepping stone and putting miles and miles between them and you had been your second. Muting your powers and living like a human had been your third. You had made such progress towards actually being able to say that you were free.

It’s what you really wanted. At least 99% sure you wanted. Denying what you really were irritated a part of you, the part that yearned to feel the rush of magic in your veins again, the connection to that power humming just beneath the surface. Even as a child, you had been thoroughly gifted in your ability, which immediately prompted daily lessons that focused solely on harnessing said abilities. For a long time, the power you wield controlled you rather than the other way around: bursts of anger or other strong emotions brought gale like wind gusts, wild displays of lightning streaking across the sky, and earth shattering rolls of thunder. It had taken years to perfect your control. Once you displayed mastery over your abilities, the lessons became less about focusing on your power.

That should have been your first warning sign, but then again, you had always been oblivious to possible danger closing in on you.

Just like now.

Would it be unprofessional to stab Jae-gyu in the hand with a make-up brush?

It’s not the first time in the last week you had entertained the thought about the man. He had a superiority complex and the need to be in your space whenever he got the opportunity. What really got your eye twitching was the ring on his finger, but it didn’t seem to phase him one bit, nor did it seem to bother some of the women in the building that he whisked way out of sight when he thought no one was looking.

He had never so much as batted an eyelash at you in the time you’d been working here, but that was to be expected since he didn’t work with stylists or make-up artists. He worked in the PR department, the same floor as Chan-ri, as a PR manager. His attention had abruptly switched to you last week when you had ventured to the HR floor to find Chan-ri. You had locked eyes (regrettably) when he’d been pulling one of the interns into one of the supply closets. After that, he had subtly been dropping you hints.

You ignored him; he thought you were playing hard to get.

“How about going out and celebrating with some drinks?” You groan inwardly at his offer. He’s leaning against your usual make-up desk, while you’re standing near your chair. You’ve been trying to discreetly move so you can put the chair between him and you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It's been a long day and I just want to go home.” You don’t address your pinch of curiosity at what he wanted to celebrate, offering him a sincere smile as much as you could muster, “Besides I don’t drink that often.” It was the truth; you refused to drink in case it could possibly interfere with the tonics you were taking. You bowed quickly and as little as you could get away with before moving to hightail it out of there, no intention of staying any longer. You would go hide somewhere for an hour before coming back to finish cleaning up.

You don’t get far before fingers are latching onto your elbow and tugging to pull you back around. You resist, snatching your arm back towards your chest as if he’d burned you, eyebrows raising at his boldness. “You can drop the act, jagiya,” he chuckles, taking a step towards you, his fingers brushing down your arm.

“I’m not acting.” You immediately take two steps back, wishing you could shock the hell out of him for his inability to know when a woman isn’t interested. His term of endearment really irks you, raising the hair on the back of your neck. You don’t notice that the man in question has went stock still, his attention no longer on you, but behind you.

You stiffen when your back bumps right into a warm body seconds later. A rumble vibrates against you, and it takes a moment for you to register it’s a growl .

“Get. Out.” Of all the people you figured it was, you never thought it would be Jungkook’s voice that bite out the words. Sweet, shy Jungkook? The boy could barely talk to you without his face turning red when you’d first met him, and even now, he was still a little on the shy side. A bit more bold, but his shyness was endearing, if you were honest.

Jae-gyu didn’t need to be told twice, swallowing thickly and power-walking as quick as he could towards the nearest exit, eyes locked on Jungkook, careful to keep as much space as he could between him and Jungkook’s seething form.

Once the door shuts behind Jae-gyu, you’re slowly turning to face the newest threat, eyes widening at the sight of the maknae. He’s easily taller than you, but you had never really been intimidated by that fact until this moment. He’s wearing his usual comfortable attire for when he’s been practicing, but you hadn’t thought they were practicing tonight; perhaps his attire was just to be comfortable. His eyes are what draws your attention with alarm: no longer their usual dark brown, instead they’re a vibrant, glowing yellow.

You are reeling with the knowledge that Jeon Jeongguk was most definitely not human.

“Jungkook-ssi,” You back away from him slowly as you address him, not able to tear your eyes away from his as you do, a hand raised in an attempt to keep him from advancing. Despite walking backwards blindly, you manage to avoid bumping into the chair or falling over in your heels.

Jungkook seems to ignore you, following after you step for step until you bump into the make-up station that Jae-gyu had just been half-sitting on moments ago. The maknae crowds you against the hard surface before you can think to dart away, effectively pinning you there.

You press your hands firmly against his chest (Chan-ri would be dying right now if she knew), applying a gentle pressure, “Jungkook-ssi, what are you doing?” You hate how your voice trembles, your brain frantically trying to figure out how you’re going to get away from him.

His head tilts at your question, reminding you of a dog hearing a high pitched noise, before his hands are brushing down your arms. Despite the glowing of his eyes and the rigid tension of his frame, Jungkook’s touch is soothing, distracting. Jungkook leans forward to close the distance between you both seconds later, “This.” You barely catch his growled answer before his lips are crashing into yours. There’s nothing gentle or shy about this kiss, nothing like you’d expected it to be: Soft and hesitant, maybe just a quick peck before he’s running away. No, the kid definitely knows what he’s doing; it’s rough and possessive.

You’re in a state of shock, half-sitting on the table like a limp noodle in his arms. At least you are until his hips rock forward into yours. Oh. Oh. A groan slips from your mouth at the action, lips parting against his as your own mouth betrays you and returns the kiss in kind. The maknae seems satisfied, hands sliding down to grasp the back of your thighs and plop you fully onto the table now, fingers hooking on the hem of your skirt to push it further up your thighs. His hips rock forward again, enabling him to push closer between your legs.

Fingers curl into the material of his shirt as you pull away from his mouth to breathe, “Jungkook, we...we shouldn’t be doing this,” It’s a half-hearted plea as he nuzzles along your jawline and down your neck. You would probably get fired for this, no doubt Iseul wouldn’t hesitate to kick you out the door, thinking you seduced the younger. A small part of you regrets saying those words, but the doe-eyed boy pays no mind. Jungkook has quick hands, his fingers making short work of unbuttoning your blouse, pushing the material over to expose your left shoulder.

He mumbles something against your neck as he inhales, a hand reaching up to gently tilt your head to expose your neck a little more. You’re a bit lost in the sensation now, distracted by his hips rolling into yours and now his lips brushing the curve of your neck. One of your own hands uncurl from his shirt to curl around the nape of his neck. His teeth nip your skin, and the sharpness to his teeth startles you, but you only realize too late what’s going to happen.

It’s a sharp, agonizing pain to the crook of your neck, and you can’t help the shriek that falls from your lips, nails digging into the skin at the back of his neck. Jungkook hadn’t used his human teeth to bite you; he’d used his canines . Such a detail should be important to you in what little you know about supernaturals, but you’re paralyzed from the pain and a sudden rush of new emotions. Anger. Jealousy. Elation. Possession. It makes your head hurt almost as much as the pain rolling through your neck from the bite.

The pressure on your neck releases a few seconds later as Jungkook pulls away, his eyes no longer glowing with the same intensity as before. A panic-stricken expression crosses his face when his attention settles on the mark he left, his hand immediately pressing to the bleeding wound he’s made. His eyes are frantic as they dart between your face and the mark.

Jungkook fumbles for his phone with his free hand seconds later, only tearing his eyes from you to look at his phone screen. “Hyungs will know what to do,” He says, although you’re not sure if he’s trying to reassure you or himself, gently pulling you forward to rest your head against his chest. You groan in response, fighting to keep your eyes open as black spots dance at the edge of your vision.

Try as you might, you can’t help it when you slump against Jungkook, plunging into darkness.

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Jungkook was in a panic. Full-blown panic. His thumb wasn’t working right to find Namjoon’s contact and he had to struggle to catch you as you suddenly slumped forward against him. The werewolf groaned at the ripple of alarm that rolled through him from his bond with his mates. They knew something was going on, even though some of them weren’t even in the vicinity.

It took great effort to dull the connection, to shut them out enough to be able to concentrate on the task at hand: getting help.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, hadn’t meant to mark you. He had only come down to see you, to talk to you. The werewolf had opened the door to simply peak in to see who you were talking to, especially at the distress he could smell. As soon as he had seen Jae-gyu grab you, his wolf had reacted instinctively. Jungkook hadn’t had time to react, control slipping right through his fingers.

Namjoon had always been there to guide him with the others, making sure something like this didn’t happen. Jungkook didn’t think you blacking out was a good sign; none of his other mates had done so, although that could be contributed to the fact that they were all supernaturals. God, he had hurt you and broken the rule that Namjoon had been hounding them all about the past few weeks. Namjoon was going to kill him.

The line only rings once before Namjoon answers, and Jungkook is immediately blurting, “Hyung, help.” He shifts slightly, eyes widening when you start to slip off the table at his movement. Cursing softly, he makes a grab for you, his phone slipping from his grasp as he slowly lowers you to the floor.

“Jungkook? What’s going on!?” Namjoon’s voice filters into the room, and Jungkook realizes he must have accidentally brushed the speakerphone button when the phone had slipped from his hand. The maknae glances towards his phone on the floor nearby before back to you. “We could feel your panic, are you alright? Where the hell did you go?”

Your eyes are closed, but you’re breathing. “I bit her,” He answers his hyung, thumb brushing back and forth on your cheek, “I...I marked her, hyung,”

“You…” There’s a shuffling and a bang on the other end of the phone before a new voice, Hoseok, filters in from the background, “ You marked her !?”

“I’m sorry! I...I couldn’t control myself before it happened, I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook whines, close to tears and he’s trembling, “I think I did it wrong, Namjoon-hyung.”

“Shit. Shitshitshit,” Namjoon curses, briefly mumbling away from the phone before he comes back, “Kookie, where are you?”

“The stylist rooms,” Jungkook answers, before he’s leaning over towards you, “I’m sorry, noona. I’m sorry,” He repeats it like a mantra several times, remaining hunched over your still form.

“Hobi and I are on our way,” Namjoon attempts to consoul the youngest, but Jungkook is barely aware of Namjoon continuing to speak, “Yoongi-hyung went to get a car to take us home.” Namjoon’s voice still filters into the room as they’re no doubt on their way.

Jungkook jerks suddenly when the door hits the wall with a loud bang.

The silver haired alpha is at Jungkook’s side in seconds, kneeling down beside you both. He pauses to look at your face and then his eyes trail down to the mark on your shoulder before he focuses on his youngest mate, “Jungkook, you can let her go. It’s alright.” Namjoon urges gently, reaching out to rest a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

The young werewolf snarls in response to Namjoon, baring his teeth and dragging your unconscious form towards him. If Namjoon is surprised by Jungkook’s reaction, he doesn’t show it. He waits a few moments before he abruptly straightens in his kneeled position, staring right back at Jungkook.

“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s own eyes glow vibrantly, his voice dropping an octave as he pushes power into the single word. While Namjoon normally wouldn’t need to push too much pressure into a command, he knows that protecting a newly marked mate can be hard to override, if not impossible. Luckily, Namjoon acknowledges, that fact that him and Jungkook are mates make it possible. Behind him, Hoseok shifts uncomfortably in response, eyes flashing gold. The room is thick with the pressure as Namjoon waits patiently for Jungkook to relinquish.

Jungkook shutters after a few moments at the pull of power from Namjoon, and a few heartbeats later, he’s releasing his hold on you.

“Baby boy, c’mere,” Hoseok immediately steps past Namjoon to pull Jungkook to his feet and towards the door, away from you and Namjoon. The hellhound presses his forehead against the younger, murmuring softly.

Once Jungkook is moved away, Namjoon reaches forward to quickly button up your blouse, not quite paying attention that some buttons don’t match up with the holes in the material. His fingers brush over the bite on your shoulder, frowning deeply as he buttons the last few buttons. Namjoon carefully gathers you into his arms before he gets back to his feet, your head resting against his shoulder.

The werewolf strides out of the room, sweeping past Hoseok and Jungkook, who are immediately right on his heels. Namjoon takes the stairs instead of the elevator, his pace quick, but surprisingly even. Minutes later, he’s stepping out into the night air.

“I called Jin-hyung and let him know.” Yoongi speaks as soon as he spots them emerging from the building nearby, straightening from his leaning against the black van with tinted windows behind him. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your appearance in Namjoon’s arms, “How bad is it?” He murmurs lowly to Namjoon, sliding the van door open to let him climb in with you.

Carefully maneuvering himself into the middle row of seats, Namjoon glances over at Yoongi as the dragon takes the seat beside him, forcing Jungkook and Hoseok into the back row of seats. “I don’t know, hyung.”

“Tell us what happened, baby,” Hoseok urges softly from the backseat to Jungkook, an arm wrapped around the boy, chin resting atop his mop of dark hair.  Once the van door closes and the vehicle is moving to join the evening traffic, Jungkook tells his hyungs what happened.

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

“They’re here.”

Jin immediately stops his pacing in the living room as Taehyung’s voice cuts through the tense silence of the room. The strained tone of the vampire’s voice brings Jin’s attention to the two sitting on the couch just feet away from him. The blue haired vampire has his head turned towards the door, nostrils flared, and fists clenched. His posture is rigid and coiled, reminding Jin of a snake ready to strike at any second. The vampire pays no mind to Jimin sitting beside him, the siren gently rubbing the back of Taehyung’s neck as his attention has also turned to the door.

Deciding it’s best if Taehyung isn’t the one to open the door for their mates, Jin only manages to take a few steps before the door they’ve been focused on is hastily shoved open.

Yoongi enters through the doorway first, followed by Namjoon carrying an unconscious you. Hoseok ushers Jungkook in next before closing the door behind them.

“What happened?”

“Is she okay?”

“I didn’t mean-,”

“Jin-hyung.” Namjoon ignores the questions, jerking his head in an indication for Jin to follow him down the hallway, although Jin doesn’t need any direction, he’s already hot on Namjoon’s heels.

“Taehyung, you have to stay right here.” Jin catches Yoongi murmur softly behind them in the living room.

Jin follows Namjoon into the werewolf’s room, moving to the opposite side of the bed as Namjoon carefully lays you on the bed. “What happened, Joonie?” Jin asks softly, watching the werewolf unbutton your blouse just enough to tug the material over to expose the mark on your shoulder.

“Jungkook went to visit her, to see if she was still working. One of the PR staff, Jae-gyu, was talking to her.” Namjoon’s jaw tensed as he straightened, “Jungkook looked in just as Jae-gyu grabbed her as she was trying to leave. Jungkook didn’t have any warning when his wolf took over. He’s not completely sure what happened, but when he finally got control back, his wolf had marked her.” Namjoon gestured towards the bite as Jin inspects it carefully, “He was too agitated and he bit too deep. You know he’s never done it alone before.”

Jin nods before he glances up at him, “Go comfort Kookie, I know you can feel how upset he is. No doubt he’s expecting you to be furious with him. I can take care of her.” The eldest makes a shooing motion with his hand, “If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”

Namjoon turns his attention from Jin to you for a moment before he nods and quickly leaves his room, closing the door softly behind him. The wolf stops at the sight of Jungkook hovering just down the hallway, watching him.

“Jungkook,” A smile curves Namjoon’s mouth, dimples on full display as he approaches his youngest mate, sliding an arm around him. Jungkook whines a little, practically curling into his alpha as Namjoon pulls him back towards the living room. “Let’s talk, yeah? You’re not in trouble.”

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A warmth and a feather light touch rouses you from your sleep, a groan slipping from your lips at the soreness in your left shoulder. Had you slammed into something with your shoulder? You want to look, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes just yet, lids too heavy with the need to succumb back to the embrace of sleep. Instinct tells you that there is a bright light that bathes the room, no doubt that would make it difficult to see anyway.

You settle with moving your right hand to reach up to inspect blindly, eyebrows furrowing as you brush skin that is definitely not your own. Upon further inspection, you realize it’s someone’s hands, clamped gently over your left shoulder were the soreness lies.

That’s odd. What’s going on?

Unable to stand it any longer, you slowly open your eyes, groaning again but this time at the light that seems to bathe the room. You can’t see any details of the room you’re in, only able to make out an odd wall of white consuming most of your vision.

Eyes fluttering, you seek out the persistent light and the owner of hands on your shoulder, blurry vision locking on Kim Seokjin sitting on the edge of the bed beside you.

You’re pretty sure it’s Seokjin; those shoulders are unmistakable. He seems to be literally glowing, his head bowed and eyes closed. The more remarkable thing seems to sprout of his back: a set of wings, feathers white as freshly fallen snow. You can’t help but reach out-

Sudden pain from your shoulder blurs your vision and you gasp at the sensation, the room suddenly spinning on you. Your hand drops before you can brush your fingers over the feathers.

For the second time today, black spots dance in your vision and you can’t find the energy to fight them, eyes slipping closed.

You’d be okay, you decide. Afterall,  there was an angel perched on the bed beside you.

[ TAGLIST: n/a

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[bellatrixobsessed1]

Hey, uhhh I know its been a while that you wrote something for them but could you please write something for Valtor/Icy where Valtor had been in love with her since he first saw her but thought it was unrequited? I die for the idea that he is despereatly in love and thinks he isnt good enough for her. In the final battle she stays with him, they lose anyway and are brought back to the Omega Dimension and Icy frees them again they stay there. Icy falls for him and after some time they confess.

Lmao this is a lot longer than I anticipated making it. It was gonna be a quick drabble. It is not lol.

The land is frigid and cruel, barren and devoid of sympathy. Harsh and merciless. Valtor shivers, it is not unlike the woman he is confined there with. It is no wonder she didn’t seem to mind when they proclaimed that she’d be going back to Omega. But he minded. He still minds. He has not been built for the cold. 

He can imagine that she is having the time of her life, even without the company of her sisters. The two traitors, he can’t help but feel bitter. And twice over that Icy hadn’t abandoned him in battle, but hasn’t sought him out in the Omega dimension. Perhaps it is that she only stayed because she thought that he would win. Now that he has lost, she has written him off completely. 

That she represents him for his miserable failure. 

He finds himself furious with him as well. He let her get too close. He let himself fall. What kind of evil sorcerer has he become, letting his heart run wild? He is a disgrace to himself and he hasn’t even her affections to soften the blow. 

Valtor longs to kick and beat on the ice. Beat on it as though it can knock his affections for the ice witch away.  But he is locked so tightly within it that all he can do is think. Think and wallow in his own brand of self pity. 

Perhaps he could have won if he had betrayed the three of them. Perhaps they had been dead weight with their constant bickering over him--the sort that hindered their progress. 

Perhaps he should have picked one of them to end the banter. 

Perhaps he should have told her.

But somehow he, the great and feared sorcerer, feared the ice witch. Feared the sting of her mockery. Feared a rejection as frigid as her name. 

In his mind he begins to blur the line between love and hate. He hates that he loves her. He hates her in general. But he loves her. He hates her because he loves her and she has left him to suffer while she played in the snow. 

He closes his eyes, it is the one physical action he can muster. He only opens them at the sound of his frosty cage cracking. 

“You truly are useless without me, aren’t you?” It is just the greeting he expects from her. 

“How many snowmen did you build before coming to find me?”

“Seven.” Icy answers dryly and he truly can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or not. 

“What do you want?” He tries to be as cold as she in his demeanor and tone. 

She quirks a brow, “a real man.” She looks around, “haven’t found one yet.” 

Valtor blinks. “I’m a real man.” He nearly sputters. 

“Questionable.” 

He can’t seem to think of a good comeback. Why is it that he never can with her. He thinks that it is because he hasn’t found anything he hates about her, save for her rejection. “Your attitude is questionable.” He mumbles lamely. 

“Pretty sure that one of my professors wrote that on my report card once.” Icy beckons for him to follow her. 

“Where are we going?” 

Icy shrugs. “They sealed the last spot we breached. I’ve been searching for a new one.” 

“And?”

“I have made just about as much progress as Darcy made in potions class.”

“Wow, you’ve accomplished nothing.” Valtor silently congratulates himself on the quip.

Icy shrugs. “I don’t particularly mind it here.” 

“Well I do and I’d love to get out of here so we can go our separate ways…” 

She whips a snowball at him. “I went down with your sinking ship and you want to part ways!?”

“You don’t?” He tries not to sound too hopeful. 

“Not particularly.” Her tone is once again infuriatingly nonchalant. 

Prying feelings from her is a painstaking task, maybe even an impossible one. But he pushes anyhow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to part ways?”

“I believe that we can still benefit from each other.”

His hopes shatter. “You can benefit from me!” He snaps. “Now that I am free again, I have all the power that I need. I don’t need your help.” For good measure he adds, “you’re the reason that I lost. If the three of you had any competence…” 

Her glare cuts his words short. The gesture she makes with her hands has him dreading a second frigid entrapment. But instead she turns and storms off. He can swear that the temperature had dropped a few degrees. He watches her go and hates the both of them that much more. 

That night there is a raging blizzard. One that chills him to the core. Either she hasn’t wandered off very far or her rage is simply this potent. Or maybe the weather is a coincidence. He doesn’t understand why his words angered her so. She has always been one to brush words off. He wanders his way through the blizzard, telling himself that he is only curious as to whether or not this is her storm. And curious as to how far she has wandered. 

His cheeks are red and stinging and his hands were growing numb. He finds no sign of the ice witch. He has nothing to do but keep pushing forward through the frost and the pelting hail. Valtor walks until the task is too much for him. He slumps forward. 

In waking, he is disoriented and infuriated. She has nearly killed him. He stands and scans his surroundings. 

And he sees her. 

Icy is sleeping rather peacefully for someone trapped with a man she’d thoroughly pissed off.

He stomps up, until he looms over her. She cracks an eyelid. “Oh, you’re awake.” 

“You almost killed me!”

Icy sits up, “I didn’t tell you to enter the blizzard, you did that yourself.” She speaks in a low and poisonous hiss. 

“Perhaps if you didn’t throw your tantrum…” 

“Perhaps,” she mocks, “I wouldn’t have ‘thrown my tantrum’ if you weren’t such an insufferable asshole.” 

He closes the remaining space between them.

“Ooo, scary man.” Icy rolls her eyes. 

He often forgets that she is taller than he. “Yes, I am.” He agrees. “And you will know that soon enough.” 

He didn’t expected her to laugh. “You are truly incredible, you know that?” She asks. “I’m literally in my element, I have all of this…” she gestures to the ice and snow. “You’re surrounded by my power source. But, I do admire your bravery.” 

“Do you happen to admire anything else?” It slips out. 

The question seems to take the witch aback. “Your great aptitude for evil.” She answers. 

“Anything else?” Valtor pushes. 

He is certain that she will say no. Instead, she trails her fingers through his locks, “I was always fond of your hair.”

The gesture is unusually intimate. Icy’s hand lingers there, as though she isn’t quite sure of what to do with it. 

It dawns upon him that the blizzard was born of a feeling of rejection. The very same one he had felt. He wishes that she would just come out with it, heaven knew that he couldn’t. She draws her hand away and turns her back on him. He knows that he is going to have to speak. 

“I care about you.” 

Icy halts. 

It isn’t enough. “I would have chosen you.” 

She turns around. 

“Over Darcy and Stormy, I would have chosen you.”

“Well, naturally.” That cocky smile is back. It is that sort of bold self-confidence that has him allured in the first place. 

He tags along as she wanders away. “Would you have?”

She nods and he smiles. But she ruins the moment, “I would have certainly chosen me over Darcy and Stormy.” He frowns at the words. She gives a rather deep sigh. “I’m here aren’t I?” It takes him a moment to realize that, that is her way of saying that she would have...that she did choose him. 

Valtor’s body acts on its own accord. He pulls her into a tight hug and holds her there for a moment. 

“Alright, enough of this.” She half-heartedly tugs away. When he lets her go, her cheeks are a light shade of pink and he knows that he can’t credit that to the cold. 

“You do feel the same, don’t you?” He dares. 

Icy only offers him an indignant sniff. Yet she makes no denials. 

“You do.” He confirms to himself, feeling rather smug. He fixes his gaze on her. She is an elegant woman. He admires the confidence in her strides.

She casts a lazy glance back at him. “Perhaps I do.” 

He only has a moment to drink in the satisfaction before colliding with a mound of snow. He picks himself up and brushes the snow away. He knows that Icy finds humor in his bewilderment. Her expression flickers from amusement to realization and then to something else entirely.

“I worked hard on that.” She grumbles. 

“You have five more!” He states when he finally puts two and two together. He can’t quite believe that she had been serious. 

“Six.” She corrects. 

He hates it here, hates it as much as she loves it. Hates it with all of his soul. But here, he realizes, he will see different sides of her. The ones she keeps hidden. Perhaps, his imprisonment won’t be so horrid. 

He takes her hand.

[lotornomiko]

Drabble Six (Relatively Worksafe)

He stared at the half empty bottle, its cap and its cup tossed aside, to instead partake directly of its poison. That amber bitterness was currently burning a path down his throat, liquid resentment and festering desires settling low in his belly. It didn’t make for a happy drunk, Lezard this crackling live wire of raging fury and lusts, but made even more wild and dangerous than was the norm. With each and every swallow, the leash around his aggression, his few remaining inhibitions, frayed more, the man, the sinner, closer and closer to snapping.

It was exactly the reason why he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be indulging like this. That amber liquid only helped to destroy what little of his reason was left, and with it went his ability to tell right from wrong, all those wicked little impulses and depraved urges looking more and more like a good thing to do. Bolstered by that fool’s courage, Lezard was one mistake away from a complete and utter ruin.

Even knowing this, he had still reached for the bottle. The cold glass couldn’t contain the warmth inside, the powerful drink this potent heat that only blazed stronger once settled on his tongue. He should have spit it out immediately but that one taste had had a drugging effect, mouthful after mouthful being greedily guzzled down. Its sharp feel in his belly, couldn’t take away from the sting of that slap, the remembered violence a rejection Lezard had taken to black heart.

Lenneth. She had been so angry, the Goddess made furious and even more so than he could ever recall, her blues eyes alive with that mad emotion. With that feral rage, the woman had channeled it all into the strength of her hand against his cheek. She had been beautiful even then, her despair and her loathing a pale shade when placed next to the more volatile of her emotion. Lenneth hadn’t even tried to suppress it, that strong surge of hate and denial, all so thoroughly expressed in the moment, the Goddess actually feeling towards him. It was everything that Lezard could have hoped for, even if it was all wrong, the sentiments expressed, that animosity, the direct opposite of what the man had been wanting.

The bottle to his lips once again, Lezard sighed with his disappointment. Bitter sweet was the heart that felt so strongly, that anger and that fear, that hate and that denial, souring what could have been perceived as a victory. His triumph over her, the man at last so thoroughly in the Goddess’ head. It was his words that had colored her thoughts, that had inspired so violent a reaction. She had not only taken note of him, Lenneth had reacted, the woman unable to help herself. With every word, every snarled out protest and denial, she had lost herself completely in the moment. To HIM, Lezard all that she could see, all that the Valkyrie could hear, that unpleasant truth breathed in between them.

So thoroughly caught up by him, was it any wonder Lezard hadn’t been able to resist her? That he hadn’t even tried, sealing his win over her with that stolen touch, Lenneth’s lips this trembling softness that had parted in a moment of pure outrage. He had taken the kiss, and then some, a thorough taste sampled with tongue and teeth meshing together. It had been greedy, it had been sloppy, and most of all, it had been bloody, Lenneth biting at Lezard in an effort to dissuade him. Deviant that he was, the pain had only provoked his desire further, a wild sound having escaped him.

It had been intoxicating, all that power and unbridled fury and even that fear, all ignited inside her, his Goddess made sick with it, sick with him, Lenneth a captive to that uncontrollable emotion. Made wild in the moment, there had been no room for anything else, not even thoughts of him, of Lucian, or of that memory she had made to take his place. The world and it’s people, the hopes she had entertained, instead lost to Lezard’s own dreams and ambitions. With those desires, that sentiment thoroughly tasted, Lenneth had been made even more radiant, her eyes wild with every last bit of it.

It had left her shaken, the Goddess unable to shield herself from him. Gone had been the cold disinterest, Lezard reflected inside her a thousand times over. In her thoughts, and in her heart, that sliver of hate a poison that weakened her to him. She had not only took note of him, Lenneth had FELT, the woman colored by a passion that had been both his and hers, the push and pull clash of opposing sides a different shade of the same flavor, love and hate so closely intertwined that only the thinnest of lines divided them.

Love his passion, hate had now been hers, Lenneth having boiled over with it. That it had then practically personified her, the Goddess made livid with Lezard. Her blue eyes had sparked with it, Lenneth hissing and shouting at him. All that unabated fury at last taking an outlet, the man a glutton for every last ounce of it. Each slap, and every curse, months upon months of her anger, her disappointments, and even her private fears, unleashed. She had all but sobbed with it, racked with those violent shudders, and the persistent truth that had been forced on her.

Somehow, impossibly so, it had gone from that violent kiss, to them on their knees, Lezard’s arms still locked around hers. It hadn’t been quite comfort but neither had it been meant as a menace, Lezard just holding her. They had weathered through the storm of that inexhaustible emotion together, each and every thunder clap, Lenneth sagging in his embrace. Wilted like a flower, with all the fight and vitality having leeched out of her, the Goddess had been made almost pliant.

The occasional tremor had still shook through that slender frame of hers, a stuttered breath having caught in the throat of an otherwise silent Goddess. He should have been content with that much, the timing having been all wrong for anything more. Yet he had tried all the same, Lezard not so much discarding the signs, as having thought to give Lenneth one last push, a nudge in the only direction that made sense. With his hands having been on her, with his fingers having combed through the luxurious locks of her hair, he had went for one last truth.

“Now you can admit to it...” That husky whisper had seem to fill the room, somehow expanding to fit into each nook and cranny, so that the sound of his voice had echoed off the walls. “This world for the sham that it is…that it has always been.”

She had not made so much as a sound, the only sign of her comprehension had been that of Lenneth’s flinch against him. He had kept on petting over her hair, the touch meant to soothe, to calm the worst of the Goddess’ breaking heart.

“Such a lie, while pretty on the surface, can’t begin to placate the void left behind. That lonely feeling gnawing inside you, piece by jagged piece, the emptiness consuming you so that you are always searching, always looking for that elusive something that cannot be found in memories alone. Precious though they may be, those sweet recollections are flawed.”

“Flawed...” It had been the softest of whispers, only audible due to the close proximity that had been between them.

“People tend to idealize the past.” Lezard had explained. “They take all of the good, and choose to remember little of the bad. Often lamenting for a time that their minds recall as better than it had actually been, it’s not the years gone by that they are longing for, so much as their dreams for a better world...”

Again that sharp flinch, as though his words had scored a direct hit against her. Lezard had hid a smile against the top of the trembling Goddess’ hair, the sweet scent of it having been flavored with that of her misery. His hand had continued to pet over her, the Valkyrie almost docile in the moment, as she had knelt caught between the cage of his arms.

“No one is immune to that kind of longing.” Lezard had continued. “Not humans, not demons, and certainly not you!”

“We are ALL imperfect creatures, when it comes to emotion. Perhaps the other Gods had once been able to claim better than we, but those relics are no more. Made useless by their inability to grow, those stagnant beings were doomed not just by the trickster, but by their refusal to feel.”

Each flinch had been telling, painting to vivid life a great many things. Her pain, her heartbreak, a guilt and even an agreement, reluctant though it had been.

“You know as well as I do, how little they valued feelings. How they practically feared human emotion. Given how they tried to suppress yours, it is no wonder there was no love lost.  No love and no room for ones such as they, in this idyllic peace that you have created.”

She had lifted her head up at that, the striking cobalt color of her eyes piercing into him. The Goddess had tried and failed to contain her emotions, all that pain and uncertainty having swirled to vivid life inside her. The wet sheen of her gaze had betrayed even more, though no tear outright fell free.

“It can’t last.” The words had been firm where his voice had been soft, Lezard having tried to gentle that next blow. “Wonderful dream though it started as, that continued void inside you, that loneliness eating away at your insides, will mark it for the nightmare it is in truth. Those souls you have surrounded yourself with, those puppets whose memories help to placate that emptiness? Even those will eventually no longer be enough. Even HE will no longer be enough, none of them able to understand you. None of them to even want to try.”

His fingers had still been combing over her hair, Lezard having then bent his face over hers to breathe against her cheek. “I am different. I am the one being that exists in all of this creation, who not only understands, but has the free will to choose. I am the only one that can be your equal, your confidant, your port in this storm. I alone can give you what you need, what the others lack, what even HE falls short of.”

Her eyes had been gleaming, that wet sheen having held the tears but also that of a fading defiance. That tired anger hadn’t been capable of blazing any hotter, hers a spirit that had stood on the verge of breaking, the Goddess tired, and so wholly human in that moment. Vulnerable, that weakness’ fine quiver having run its course through her, Lenneth having been primed for that one final blow that could have shattered apart completely, or have healed that rift between them.

It had been a gamble, but then any mention of that man, always was. Lucian had long had such a strangle hold on the Goddess’ heart, HIS feelings having tried to shape and mold Lenneth’s in turn, the woman, the Goddess having been forced into yet another role, into becoming the living embodiment of a memory long dead. It had been as laughable as it had been infuriating, that man, that boy, trying to shape the Goddess with his own personal desires. It was the utmost in ironic, that Lezard could be accused of doing the same, but with one key difference. The mage, that sinner, that depraved madman, had seen and wanted Lenenth for who she really was, and not who she could have once been.

“I SEE you.” Lezard had breathed out loud. “I see the benevolent Goddess with the heart so capable and willing to love, who had broken free of her fate, the path that been carved out for her. I see the woman who had felt for the world, who had cried out at its loss. I see that noble and proud spirit, the warrior who had and still does fight to the bitter end, and that lonely soul who has tried to content herself with the memories. I see you for YOU, and not the girl, that single incarnation one out of so many, that HE would have had you be.”

“Lucian….”

“Yes, Lucian.” He had practically sneered with that name, Lezard absolutely furious. Angry over what that foolish boy had tried to do, and made even madder over what Lenneth had allowed of it. “It’s not YOU that he had loved, it’s that girl, that memory of a life taken too soon.”

“Platina only died when she did because Odin had had need of me!”

“So that then excuses the boy?” Lezard had demanded. “All his misdeeds and sins, every last one, forgiven so that you might play a memory for him? What kind of life would that have been? For you and for him?! IF he had lived, had actually survived the trickster’s treachery, would living that lie with him have made you happy?!”

“I...”

“That you even hesitate tells me enough. It wouldn’t, it couldn’t, no matter which version of Lucian you end with. So then tell me, Lenneth, why!? Why continue to live out this farce with the memory you have made to replace him!? Why Lenneth? When right before you is one just as devoted and ready to be with the TRUE you!”

A slap had then met with his cheek, Lenneth having managed enough force in that blow, to have turned him aside.

“How dare you!” She had seethed out at him.

“That’s right, I DARE!” Lezard had hissed back. “I am the only one who does, the only one who can, full of the truth and all of its unpleasant aspects that you don’t want to acknowledge, let alone hear! It is cold fact that I am armed with, all those niggling little worries and doubts inside you at last given voice! Hate me if you must, but stop surrounding yourself with those lies!”

“I already do hate you!” She had all but shouted in his face, attempting to then push herself free of him.  “For each and every thing that you have done and will do, for the one remaining happiness that you try to take from me!” Her wild, spastic struggles had then become violent, Lenneth repeatedly striking at him with both of her hands, attempting to slap her way to freedom. Her voice had then caught on a sob, the futility of what she had been attempting then proven to her by Lezard’s own strength. By the hands holding her down, that heavy weight atop her, Lenneth suddenly on her back.

Even then she had gleamed defiant, the bold blue of her eyes a challenge for Lezard to do his worst. Goddess help them both, but he had considered it, that temptation having betrayed itself in the fine tremor that had shuddered it’s way through him.

There would have been no going back had he truly snapped. Just as there would have been no moving forward at holding back. That indecision had warred inside him, the one dominant thought in all of this, that of how much simpler things would have been, if Lenneth would just say yes.

To Be Continued…

Iffy on how I ended it, just cause I have been working on this one bit by bit for just about short of forever and wanted it over and done with already. I had a lot of trouble with this one. I originally wanted the drabble to be about intoxication, between him getting drunks, and how intoxicating he finds her...was even going to title it intoxicate...but then drunken Lezard started rambling, and it felt like it was finished at 682 words, and nothing had truly been accomplished. It took a few days, to figure out how to use what I already had, and go into something else of what I had wanted in the harsh truths drabble...but at the cost of the intoxication theme….^^:;

Those who read and followed the original drabble series, might recognize a line from the part I am STILL undecided on. The part about things would be much simpler/easier if Lenneth would just say yes. I should really make a decision at this point...but I think instead I might jump over to the waking up in a homunculous body drabble...but we will see. Really I just want to spend the rest of the evening relaxing, maybe sneak in some game time with Berseria.

This sudden humidity and heat isn’t helping my creativity. X_X

---Michelle

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Vessel

Prompt: Pearl v/x? V. An abandoned/empty place. X. A flash of anger.

[prompt list]

Anon, you sent this prompt a while ago, and, well, you probably weren’t fishing for me venting my new episode feelings about half a year later, but here we are. Major spoilers for A Single Pale Rose. There is absolutely nothing happy about any of this. I got started on two ficlets, one of them was an attempt at a fixit-y “Rose makes sure to always ask, desperately trying to make up for the one time she didn’t” kinda thing, but that didn’t work at all and the mood was ultimately more like... this.

Summary: Rose is gone, but she’s left Pearl with something she may have forgotten to address. Set sometime after the flashback portion of Three Gems and a Baby. Pearl, Rose, and a pile of my suffering, ~1800 words.

---

Vessel

  The palanquin is the same as she left it last time, save for a bit more of the inevitable, oh-so-Earthly growth over and around it. It never changes much, the place Rose keeps-kept trying her best to very deliberately forget, like she does-did with so many other things. But Pearl remembers everything with hologram-perfect clarity, and has never been very good at the game of pretending something didn’t happen.

The thought makes her stop her approach and shuffle in place, restless fingers playing against the skirt of her recent regeneration, fresh grass playing against her shins. Is that why Rose-? Is that why all the humans, all the time, one after another- because they couldn’t possibly have known, and Pearl was only ever a reminder, dragging them both down, whatever she did?

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She goes to the Strawberry Fields to brood over their endless losses, and runs a wistful hand over the dulled edges of a halberd she remembers an old comrade wielding. Leaps up onto the floating islands to more easily recall the time when it seemed she and Rose were the only two Gems in all the world. When she feels like indulging in melancholy, she goes to the Galaxy Warp and sits on the edges of cold, cracked, eternally dim and lifeless warp pads, and looks up, up, up, into the now-unreachable.

And sometimes she comes here, where she knows she will never be anything but perfectly alone.

There is a breeze today, coming down the mountain, rustling those peculiar pink flowers. The sun sinking beneath the horizon casts it all into darker hues, purple and lavender in place of bright pink, just like- just like that night, when-

The words she’s never been able to speak are a bitter residue in the back of her throat. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, arms stiff and kept resolutely still, even as she knows that, should they decide to betray her, no amount of resistance would help. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Now that Rose is... gone, now that nothing will ever be the same again, perhaps this has changed, too. Pearl takes a deep, unnecessary breath, and attempts.

“I-!”

She barely manages to make a sound before her own hand flies up and clamps over her mouth, the force of it making her stumble to her knees in the dew-covered grass.

By the time the hand relents, after all thoughts of Pink Diamond and I struck her down and she was never shattered at all and Rose is- Rose was- are thoroughly suppressed once again, it is drenched with tears.

The mounting feeling is in turns hot and cold, stabbing through where Pearl staunchly refuses to shapeshift appropriate human organs, and bubbling up into a single searing thought.

How could she do this to me?

Oh, it helps from very little to not at all, but it feels awfully good, sometimes, to just allow herself to feel wronged. And so easy, too, every time Rose leaves, like she does, like she now did, possibly forever - and leaves Pearl wondering, questioning, wallowing in her own apparent inadequacy.

Was I not worthy of the trust?

Trust- trust is faith in another, and an exchange of power. A pearl have power over a diamond! A ridiculous thought - a dangerous, subversive, radical thought. A thought Rose would have - should have? - loved.

It crawls along her skin and up her spine, the unnameable - the anger. Because she would have! Because if she- if Rose had asked, she’d have happily gone down on one knee and sworn off speech forever, if needed. Bound herself in directives and imperatives and orders and divine oaths, had them seared into the very core of her gem. Sworn to keep all secrets, from the sweetly, smilingly whispered it’ll be our secret over an odd Earth flower smuggled into courts and council chambers, to the world-shattering truths that would make a diamond shudder.

But Rose hadn’t asked; she’d done, and taken, and gotten what she wanted, and that was it. No looking back, never to be spoken of again, and Pearl, despite that soft please- thrown in among the commands, was left without even the sweet illusion of choice.

We’ll both finally be free.

Another beautiful, dangerous thought. And so like Rose, to fail to at all acknowledge the vast chasm Homeworld struck between them, to focus on the unlikely things they shared and remain almost resolutely oblivious to what set them apart from one another.

Oh, and how Rose would wax poetic! How enchanted she had always been, even by the most mundane of things Pearl had to say. I love how outspoken you are! I love hearing your voice, I love hearing you speak your mind. That wonderful, brilliant mind.

Well, so much for that-! Pearl’s traitorous hands relinquish their duty, finally, and clench in the diaphanous material of her skirt. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

And then swirling, treacherous, waiting just under the surface, waiting to drag her down to depths she tries very hard to keep locked away, safe and very carefully, very deliberately not thought about.

Was it worth it?

So much she would never see again - so much she gladly gave up, for Rose, for her cause and all their companions, for freedom on this odd, wild planet. But Rose is gone, and so is most everyone else, and all that’s left is… this. There is Garnet, and there is Amethyst, and there is even… the child. Steven. But they all feel so very, very far away, and Pearl doesn’t know where to even begin, when all she seems capable of lately is remembering.

-

Rose’s tears have done their part. Pearl’s preferred sword-arm is whole and her legs, when she tries them despite Rose’s gesture to stay still and stay down, wobble only a little and hold her up.

Rose grabs her arm anyway, and palms her other shoulder as if to steady her. “You can’t keep doing this, Pearl.”

“No,” Pearl begins, hoarsely, “you can’t keep doing this.”

“What are you talking about? That axe almost went right through your gem! If Garnet hadn’t managed to stop that carnelian in time, you would have- you-” Rose draws her hands back, and tries to stifle a rush of sobs - a waste, now that there is nobody to heal. “I can’t have you risking yourself like that for me, Pearl. I don’t need you to! I thought we were over this, it’s been so long...”

And it has indeed been long. And Rose is many things, but particularly observant is not one of them - still, how could it have escaped her that it was the first real battle since Pink Diamond’s… shattering? How far the stakes have risen, and how much they have gambled on this one lie-

“Rose, you have to understand. If you make a mistake, if they dissipate your form, or- or capture your gem, they’ll-”

They’ll know, everyone will know-

The tingle is already running down her freshly healed arm, the constructed muscles of it tightening, twitching, preparing. And so she struggles to choose words that won’t make her own limbs turn against her.

“Pearl?”

Gentle hands fold over hers and still their trembling, and they are not those hands (but they are, they are, they are-), no, these are soft, bare, and battle-worn, and oddly warm, and would never hurt her. Not… not knowingly.

And does she even know what she’s done?

Pearl hasn’t shown her yet, these true effects of her last command, and she isn’t sure she wants to know if Rose knew all along what it entailed. She herself is only aware thanks to her endless curiosity and thirst for knowledge, and the experiment she conducted on her own, that left her feeling oddly hollow. But it is convenient, isn’t it, if, for example, she were to be captured and interrogated, she couldn’t-

Pearl pulls away.

Think of me, she wants to say, too, think of what I will lose.

If the truth were to come out, she would never again be anything but Pink Diamond’s pearl, tagging along, following her orders, no matter how absurd. Nothing she did, on Rose’s behalf or her own, would really matter.

There's no denying that being the Pearl Who Belongs To No One - or the Terrifying Renegade, depending on who it is you ask - feels… good. A delightful, dangerous rush. The mere thought of the way everyone would look at her differently if they were to find out, the condescending pity, or the casual disregard...

Intolerable.

Would anyone stop to listen to her, dare to believe her when she tries to explain that no, it’s not like that! It’s not like that at all, Rose would never treat her like- Rose would never-

Except for the one time she did.

“Pearl?” Rose, again, with mounting concern.

“It’s nothing,” Pearl sighs, defeated. “Just… please, be careful. We’re so close.”

“I know,” Rose grasps both her hands again with a wide, teary smile, excitement and anticipation quickly replacing worry, and Pearl stops herself from pulling away, fighting so very hard to focus on... before, when those hands over hers brought nothing but comfort. “It won’t be long now, not when there’s already rumours of a retreat.”

-

Pearl tries again, and is foiled before her lips can even finish closing around the p-.

She’s crying again - or still? - but what are a few tears compared to the veritable torrents over the past months of being faced with the horrible inevitability of a life without Rose and the anticipation-

Her hands relent once more.

The mixture of grief and anger and odd relief and relief denied all at once is heady and dizzying. Rose can’t be completely gone, can she, if her orders are still in place? Or if she is, but Pearl is still bound, then will Pearl ever be released from this? And then, creeping: does she even really want to be, if it means there are still things - awful, precious things - binding her and her alone to Rose?

But then, of course… this way, she realises, this way the child will never know, either. And so Rose has achieved what she has always wanted: the ultimate fresh start, true reinvention, and the pinnacle of forgetting, never, ever looking back.

And what, Pearl thinks, what does she even want anymore?

She plucks the flower closest to her knee, the bloom new and pink and drenched in eerie echoes of memories, but without a single answer for her. She moves to get up, straighten out her skirt, and return to the others at the Temple, hopefully to as few questions about her absence as possible.

By the time she’s made the long walk down the overgrown mountain path to the warp pad, all that’s left is pink petals crushed against her palm, and she lets the wind have them.

[starwarsnonsense]

The Sin of Hubris, and the Dangerous Myth of the Mighty Skywalker Bloodline

For many years, there was balance and then I saw Ben. My nephew with that mighty Skywalker blood. And in my hubris, I thought I could train him, I could pass on my strengths.

The Last Jedi is full of parallels and, in particular, parallel characters. You have Rey and Kylo Ren at the forefront, but you also have the pair of Luke and Snoke looming behind them. And while Luke may merely be bitter and tormented while Snoke is twisted and malevolent, both masters have walked shockingly similar paths with regards to Ben Solo. Luke openly admits to the sin of hubris - excessive pride or self-confidence - and is painfully aware of his failings. Snoke, by contrast, is all-too guilty of hubris but trips up by failing to be mindful of his pride. This lack of self-awareness is what, with delicious inevitability, results in his destruction. Luke is forced to confront his own hubris and pride when Ben Solo turns on him and destroys his temple, whereas Snoke receives no such lesson until it is too late - Kylo’s betrayal ends him definitively, and leaves no room for the reflection that Luke was permitted by his survival.

With regards to Ben Solo, Luke and Snoke both make the same mistake by perceiving the boy primarily in terms of his bloodline. In his nephew, Luke sees “mighty Skywalker blood” that signifies enormous potential in the Force - upon recognising this, Luke resolves that it is his duty to train the boy and allow him to realise his potential. Snoke tells an eerily similar story:

When I found you, I saw what all masters live to see. Raw, untamed power. And beyond that, something truly special. The potential of your bloodline. A new Vader.

Both Luke and Snoke, in this way, seem fixated on Ben’s lineage - they define him primarily in terms of his bloodline, so it should come as no shock that Ben eventually absorbs this in a thoroughly unhealthy way and finds it impossible to escape from the shadow of his monolithic grandfather. He is always told that his blood means he should achieve greatness, whether for the light or the dark, and this ultimately has the effect of robbing him of his agency. He is a figure in a galactic game of chess, being moved across a board by the same forces of destiny that dictated the movements of his grandfather and uncle. This concept of himself breeds many evils in Ben - entitlement, arrogance, pride and, most poignantly, crippling self-doubt. As long as he is being measured against the Skywalker precedent - by his masters and by himself - Ben always finds himself lacking, with this eternal lack breeding feelings of frustration and self-loathing.

We know little of Ben’s time under Luke, but we do know that he was already under Snoke’s influence and had had the seeds of darkness sown in his mind. When Luke looked into Ben’s mind he was filled with fear over his nephew’s potential for evil, and contemplated murdering the boy in his sleep - Ben waking to witness his uncle’s green lightsaber ignited above him is the precipitating event in his downfall. In relation to hubris, we must look at this event as Luke’s turning point - the moment he considered murdering the boy he had placed such hope in and devoted so much energy to training was the moment when his own self-belief and confidence were shattered. In this moment, Luke believed his nephew to be capable of tremendous harm and his faith in the Skywalker bloodline’s potential for good was shattered. Luke’s realisation of Ben’s potential for evil and the terrible aftermath of his moment of weakness do away with his pride and send him into exile.

Instead of guiding a beloved nephew to use his powers for good, Snoke seized upon the lost Ben Solo and exploited him as a weapon. He craved the “mighty Skywalker blood”, attracted to its potential just as Luke once was, and took the newly renamed Kylo Ren under his wing as his apprentice. Snoke picked up the dropped threads of Luke’s training by continuing to tell Kylo that he was special and worthy by dint of his blood, but he also used this knowledge as an instrument of cruelty and punishment. In The Last Jedi, we see Snoke humiliate Kylo, telling him:

Yes, there it is. You have too much of your father's heart in you, Young Solo.

Han Solo represents the complicated and messy elements of Ben Solo that neither Luke nor Snoke wished to confront. Han Solo was the antithesis to Anakin Skywalker, being resoundingly normal. Han was as mundane and ordinary as Anakin was unique and gifted. While invoking the name of Anakin Skywalker calls to mind high-flung concepts like destiny and fate, the name of Han Solo suggests fast ships and gambling tables. Conditioned to buy into the story of his own special destiny by both his masters, Ben has come to share in this distaste, even as a part of him continues to love his father and bitterly regrets killing him. For Ben, his father was emblematic of the human fragility and weakness that was keeping him from fulfilling his long-promised destiny as the last Skywalker. 

Snoke’s hubris meets a deliciously satisfying end when he pays the price for it with his murder. Snoke considers Kylo Ren his instrument, and his close control of his mind means he is arrogant enough to believe in his apprentice’s total loyalty. He considers Rey and Kylo his playthings, claiming authorship of the Force connection between Rey and Kylo in a move that clearly shocks and angers them both. The Force bond had facilitated intensely private and intimate moments between them, resulting in blossoming feelings of tenderness and trust, and to be told that it was merely an instrument of Snoke’s is clearly a violation that Rey and Kylo both reject. Regardless of how the bond came about, the feelings that emerged through it were palpably genuine. 

Snoke’s vanity means he cannot conceive of the possibility that Kylo may have surpassed him, and he seems to enter into a state of near-sexual ecstasy as he dives into Kylo’s mind and experiences his murderous mental calculations. Snoke takes pleasure in the prospect of Rey’s murder at Kylo’s hand, considering the annihilation of the light counterpart to his dark apprentice the ultimate display of loyalty. The great and glorious irony, of course, is that the murder he is taking such delight in is actually his own:

You think you can turn him? Pathetic child. I cannot be betrayed, I cannot be beaten. I see his mind, I see his every intent. Yes. I see him turning the lightsaber to strike true. And now, foolish child, he ignites it, and kills his true enemy!

Snoke pays the ultimate price for his hubris with his death, but Kylo Ren cannot escape from the vision of himself he has had built up in his mind for decades. He continues to envisage himself as a subject of fate and destiny - he may have been cut loose from Snoke, but he has not cut himself loose from the chains of his own past. One of Kylo’s many tragedies is that he urges Rey to “let the past die” without achieving this himself - he continues to believe in the myth of the “mighty Skywalker blood”, and this arrogance means it feels natural to him to claim his place as the ruler of the galaxy. The only real complication to his destiny is his intense feelings for Rey - a “nothing” child born to wastrel parents who abandoned her. She had no legends or prophecies preceding her, and has no pre-ordained place in the story as Kylo Ren does. Kylo’s passion for her, his overwhelming feelings of love and tenderness, means he likely perceives her as the Padme to his Anakin - the love that he has always lacked and has only just realised how much he longed for. In his hubris and short-sightedness, Kylo cannot recognise that this vision of the Skywalker destiny ended in tragedy before and will surely end in tragedy again. Padme was heartbroken and appalled by Anakin’s ambition, and Rey is similarly repelled by Kylo’s choice. Only at the very end of the film, when he has to look up upon Rey as she closes the door of his father’s beloved ship in his face, does the emptiness of the Skywalker myth truly strike him. Kylo fulfilled Anakin Skywalker’s dream of ruling the galaxy, finishing what he started, but is crippled by the knowledge that he will do so alone. At the end of the film, he is finally left to carve his own path for the first time with no scripted destiny to guide him - but what should have been a triumph is yet another tragedy.

While Kylo absorbs and is further wounded by his masters’ hubris, Luke ultimately learns from his own mistakes. I would argue that a key aspect of his redemption arc is that he learns from his hubris and moves forward with a new perspective founded on hope and openness. Luke condemns the Jedi for restricting ownership of the Force, and clearly considers the Skywalkers themselves a great evil - he includes himself in this estimation, having exiled himself to Ahch-To to die. Luke performs a sharp turn away from hubris by losing confidence and exhibiting no pride in his bloodline at all, which makes his journey throughout the film - which sees him recover hope for the future of the Jedi through his interactions with Rey - remarkably powerful. At first he’s frightened by Rey’s connection with Kylo, entering into an explosive rage in an attempt to drive the two young people apart. He pleads with Rey not to give into her visions of Ben Solo returning to the light, and briefly feels helpless upon witnessing her departure in the Falcon. But Yoda reminds Luke of the importance of allowing failure, and gives Luke the resolve he needs to trust that Rey will make the right choice when the moment comes. Rey’s faith and goodness must remind Luke of his own actions - rushing off to save his friends despite his master’s warning, insisting on the possibility of bringing his father back despite everyone else’s lack of faith - as a young man, and he clearly sees in her the hope that he once embodied. He is inspired by this and is given a new sense of inner peace and comfort. Rey’s hope gives him hope in turn, and allows him to achieve the peace and calm that we can presume had eluded him since Ben Solo’s turn. When Luke appears on Crait, he is a finely tooled instrument of the Light side, with his resolve and determination showing up Kylo’s chaotic and unfinished state. He has regained hope and confidence, telling his sister that “no one is ever truly lost” even as he admits that neither of them will be able to bring Ben Solo back. 

Hope for the future no longer lies in the older generation or the mythic blood that runs through their veins - it is instead embodied by Rey, and all the others like her who continue to struggle for what is right in the face of darkness and adversity. If Kylo is to escape his own past and break free from the poisonous Skywalker destiny, then he will have to learn the hardest lesson of them all for a man who was raised on the myth of his own inevitable greatness - humility.

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze.  Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

                                                          *** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.  

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.  

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

                                                         *** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord. 

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

                                                         *** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here. 

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black  ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

                                                        *** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis. 

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

                                                        *** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye. 

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high. 

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded. 

“Why?”, he demanded back. 

“None of your business.” she retorted. 

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore. 

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do. 

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.” 

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice. 

“Yes.” 

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.   

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know. 

But he thought about it the whole way home.

                                                       *** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian. 

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.  

[titaniasfics]

Fractured Light - A  Kalagang Oneshot

Okay, this is probably trash. But it wouldn’t leave me alone.

Rated M: Mature Situations

Note: I own nothing related to Sense8 or its characters, nor am I profiting from this writing.

Author’s Note:

This is my first foray into Kalagang fanfiction. Actually, this is my first Sense8 fanfiction ever.  

Fractured Light was inspired by the events at the end of Season 2 (where I think I might have died a little death). I don’t even try to speculate on how the cluster would have gotten Wolfgang out of BPO - that’s for another fanfic. Instead, I focus on the aftermath, in Paris, during what I imagine to be Wolfgang’s recover period.

XXXXX

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

You left me in the dark

No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight

In the shadow of your heart

from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine

Wolfgang’s chest still ached even after nearly a week from being rescued from the BPO facility in Berlin. There was also a general soreness to his muscles that still made it hard for him to get out of bed in the morning. But he never complained about the residual pain from the electric shock.  Kala knew these things only because it was in their special nature to know these things about each other. He couldn’t hide the pain from her, even when he tried.

Just as she couldn’t hide her longing from him.

Kala thought about her cluster, now scattered to their home countries except for Riley, Will, Nomi and Neets, who were still London, dealing with the aftermath of Wolfgang’s extraction. Sun was the last to leave Kala, her parting gesture a remarkable strong hand placed over Kala’s fist.

I take everything I'm feeling, everything that matters to me... I push all of it into my fist, and I fight for it.

Kala knew a fight was coming, and her biggest adversary lay, weak with torture and self-loathing in the master bedroom of her Parisian flat.

She sipped a cup of strong coffee on the paint-chipped balcony, shivering in her pajamas. The black silk pant-set was much more demure than what she would wear in the heat of Bombay, but she found Paris to be much colder than she’d imagined though it was already spring. She’d taken to wrapping herself in a bright pink comforter to keep away the early morning chill as she continued to hold her vigil over Wolfgang.

He was awake now but he neither called out to her nor made any attempts to move; in fact, he had barely spoken to her since they’d arrived. It was clear that he wanted to ease into the day on his own. She understood this. Privacy was an illusion with sensates, connected as they were but she could pretend to give him space. To let him be alone with the tumult of his feelings, as long as they did not carry him away. That she would not allow.

She rose when he was ready and went to the kitchen to fetch his coffee and fix a meal tray. She tried to arrange for a typical German breakfast - butter bretzeln und käse or even pfannkuchen but they were in Paris and so she opted for a crusty, buttered roll, dutch cheese and a tartine.  She carried the tray to the bedroom and set it down on the end table. He’d risen, making his way gingerly to the bathroom. She wanted to help him, support him in some way but Wolfgang was not the kind of man who asked for help, even if he needed it. And he wanted very much to stand on his own feet after what had happened, becoming stronger and stronger every day.

Kala smoothed out the soft, white blankets as he ran the water, and took in the airy room painted in pale yellow, bordered with a typical ornate balustrade in braided leaves of tinted gold. The floor was a mosaic of tile in colors that picked up the pale yellow, adding blues, pinks, purples and golds of the decor. The blue sky beyond the wide balcony was dotted with the thick, white clouds of a perfect spring morning, complementing the cheerful colors within. These were tones she would have chosen for herself and she was again reminded that Rajan had bought this apartment, decorated and prepared it for her comfort and to keep her safe.

Her husband, who had so considerately arranged for the perfect hideaway for his wife and her lover.

Why didn’t she feel more ashamed of herself?

“Because, you have something dark and wicked inside,” Wolfgang’s voice came from somewhere inside of her, startling her but only for a moment. He now stood behind her - she had sensed not only his approach, but the intention behind it.

She turned her head to find his face was only a few inches from hers. “Just as you have something good and beautiful hiding inside of you.” She made sure to speak the words out loud.

That familiar, dark feeling flowed through him again, nearly crippling him, and in consequence, her. Instead of closing the space between them, he sat heavily on the mattress. She took the chair near the bed, folding her hands on her lap. Everything tasted of bitterness and it was tied, irrevocably, to her.

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“You know why,” he said, turning his head away as if the sight of her pained him. It did, in fact, pain him. She was too aware of that fact.

“It means nothing to you that I disagree entirely?” she asked..

Wolfgang’s face became hard. There was still a drained look about him that was slowly improving, though the agony was the result of something that could not be seen. “It doesn’t matter if you agree or not. It’s the truth.”

Kala flipped the bangs that had fallen over her face.“You’re right. You betrayed me.”

His eyes went wide in surprise. “What?”

“You did,” she shrugged, numbering off her reasons as if she were reading from a delivery manifest. “You were tortured. You were drugged. And in your moment of greatest weakness, you betrayed me. Had you been held longer, you would have betrayed our entire cluster. They would have hunted us and either killed us or turned us into zombies. Did I leave anything out?”

“You’re crazy!” he said, the look of horror on his face bordering on the comical.

“This, I can agree with. In fact, I would propose that we are both crazy in the same way.”

She felt his struggle, the way he gnashed his teeth to keep from doing something embarrassing, like cry in front of her. She wanted to wrap herself around him, heal every wound that had ever been inflicted upon him but she could not make him forgive himself. This was one thing he had to do alone.

She reached for the blood pressure sleeve, the sound of velcro tearing itself apart resounded in the hollow space. Fumbling, she wrapped the black elastic material around his arm, receiving only his tortured silence. He said nothing still as she pressed the button on the machine, the pneumatic pump whirring to life. While the machine worked, she put the stethoscope over her ears, pressing the cool metal disc to his pulse. She was hardly a medic but she understood the fundamentals of human physiology.

“I think you are healing well despite the fact that the shocks put a great deal of strain on your heart.” She pulled a clip board from the end table, detaching the pen and updating the information on the pad. “You are very strong.”

He only stared at her, though he was a mass of conflicting emotions beneath the surface.

When the machine gave the digital reading, she made a notation on the chart, removed the sleeve, and set it aside. She picked up his coffee cup, offering it to him, her hands unsure but she willed themselves to be steady. Still he said nothing. Butterflies grew and spread throughout her body as she waited for him to take her offering.

“I think it’s gone cold,” she said finally.

He woke from his stupor and took the cup from her, placing it on the table next to them. Then he pulled her towards him and held her, a hug that said everything he couldn’t bring himself to say in words. Kala’s body gave itself up the contact, the press of skin against skin, the scrape of stubble as he dragged his chin across her shoulder. After a long while, he leaned back, his fingers curled in her dark hair.

“You should have stayed with Rajan,” he said finally.

Kala’s eyes narrowed until the muscles twitched. “Never say that to me again. This is not about Rajan. This is about you and me. Us.”

“BPO knows who you are now because of me,” he continued. She could barely sense anything beyond his self-loathing, like an opaque screening hiding him from her sight.

“None of us would have been able to withstand what you did for very long.” She dropped her eyes to her lap.  “You cannot be held responsible, for it is entirely my fault,” she whispered.

“How?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“If I had gone away with you instead of waiting for Rajan---”

“That’s not true.” He place a finger beneath her chin and gently lifted her face look at him. His eyes hungrily devouring every detail, a look of pain crossing his features. She felt that bottomless well of misery open within him, causing tears to spring involuntarily to her eyes. “I’ve given you nothing but trouble. It would be so much easier for you if they had ---“

“Would you stop it already!” she said, unable to separate her feelings from his, her anxiety and frustration with his guilt and and anger that was so old, it was an open artery that bled through his soul. “I told you, if something ever happened to you, my life would feel as if it were not worth living. You cannot use this argument with me any longer.”

“I could disappear.”

“You cannot!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I will not let you go.”

He sighed, the opaqueness of his sadness giving way to something more primitive, that thing she recognized as always burning between them. She clung to him but he pulled slowly back, his lips finding hers. A small gasp escaped her, an opening he took advantage of to taste her and kiss her thoroughly. She finally understood what Riley had meant by presence - Wolfgang was everywhere, his breath on her, inside of her. Her heart raced but there was an echo, a repeated cadence that told her she was not only experiencing herself, but also the sensation of his heart hammering inside of her chest. Everything was duplicated, multiplied until she thought she might overflow the boundaries of her body.

When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath nearly insufficient for words. “Do you know this is the first time we’ve ever kissed in person?”

Kala smiled in relief. “We should make this count.” She sought out his lips and kissed him, sinking in a sea of sensation with only a dim perception of the world beyond them. Voices of pedestrians from the street below blended with the sounds of traffic to form a background that faded before his light blue eyes which now stared back at her with undisguised need.

He slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt, electricity springing from the points of contact. She couldn’t stop kissing him while his hands traversed her skin. Her hands, his skin, the wanting they felt for each other became tangled up until she could not tell where his ended and hers began.

His large palms covered her breasts, kneading them beneath the thin material of the silk pajamas. She shuffled to straddle him, pressing herself down onto his erection, poorly hidden by the flimsy cotton of his sleeping shorts.  It was his turn to groan, his hands fumbling impatiently with the buttons of her pajama top. The sun-warmed breeze blew across her exposed skin from the open window, his hands following the material, caressing her shoulder and arms. Simple. Such simple touches were enough to make a fire burn throughout her body.

He pressed her down onto the bed, tugging her pants and underwear off of her, pausing to admire her. “I have imagined you naked so many times,” he said, running his hands over her shoulders, down the side of her ribcage, over her waist and hips until they chased down the long muscles of her legs.

“Here, I thought you loved me for my mind,” she stammered.

He smiled, his first smile since she’d visited him in Berlin the day of his capture. A sob left her lips and she pulled him down to kiss him ferociously, her legs winding themselves around his waist, clasping him to her. Unlike their shared fantasy, in which she experienced him surrounded by waves of water, here she was rooted firmly by gravity, pinned between his hips and their bed. Heavier, more solid than in the abstract. He licked her neck, a long taste that made tremors race across her body, tremors whose response came in an answering shiver of his own. She was no longer a virgin - not in the technical sense - but the newness of his every touch returned her to the uncertain days of her girlhood.

She reveled in the confounding sensations of having him and being him - of his hand ghosting over her breasts, his tongue swirling over her nipples before his lips descended over them, the path of his mouth over her ribcage and her belly, squeezing her legs to pressure him for what she most wanted. This was met with gentle denial as he undid the knot of her feet and opened her, putting his mouth there and making fireworks burst inside of them both.

As she came down from her high, he was flushed and panting. He had felt her climax and was teetering at the edge of his own precipice. Their hands became tangled as they worked his shorts off, their mouths colliding wildly. His length rose from the dark blond curls at the apex of his thighs, which she encircled with her hands, working him with slow deliberation. The noises he made mingled with nonsense words, German words that held no meaning.

He pulled away suddenly, eyes that were normally hooded with danger now dark blue with lust. Kala leaned back as he crawled over her body, leaving kisses as he went, every sensation he evoked now connected as if by a cord to the deepest place in her belly. She clung to him, kissing him as he pressed his hardness against her, rubbing against her slickness until, without warning, he froze.

His eyes were filled with uncharacteristic vulnerability. Even the slight quivering in his voice was not hidden from her because he was asking for something beyond that moment.

“Do you really want this?”

Kala tilted her head. “When I told you I loved you, I meant it.”

He dipped his forehead to touch hers. “That's a yes?”

She was breathless now with her need to have him inside of her. She lifted her hips, pressing against him.

“Yes.”

He nodded once and lunged, filling her in one, powerful thrust. She arched upwards, a loud cry exploding from her before his mouth smothered it. Locked together, he spared nothing as he rocked in and out of her, at first slowly, then more frenetically. She no longer felt the ever-present chill of this city which now belonged to them. Instead, sweat burst out in a damp sheen over them both.

Kala could only hold on as the tension rose, multiplying between them. She had a sudden vision of a lecture on the natural e function, heard her professor’s voice defining the number and its slope, describing how e goes to infinity in both x and y, how there was no natural end to the function at its limit. As they climbed together, she felt Wolfgang’s breath near her ear and thought they were approaching something without limit, something that could rise and rise, each coordinate driving the other toward eternity.

Then he whispered her name.

“Kala…”

Everything burst into a thousand shards of fractured light.

Light and dark, fire and water; the point where there were no longer distinct elements. Kala and Wolfgang disappeared.

And after, there was only peace.

XXXXX

Kala could not say she’d fallen asleep. That would have implied unconsciousness. And she was far from unconscious. She heard life bubbling up beneath the balcony. She felt the pressure of the bunched up blanket pressing insistently into her lower back. She smelled their sex hanging thick in the air.

But beyond that, she was completely surrounded by Wolfgang. His head lay on her breast, his chest rising and falling against her belly.  Kala wedged her toes between the mattress and his thigh. Presence. Kala was not simply with Wolfgang. She did not exist alongside him. She was submerged in his being, just as he was in hers. She also understood how the loss of such a thing might irrevocably damage a person, or a cluster, forever.

Wolfgang stirred, his cheek sweaty where it lay pressed against her. She didn’t mind it, even whining in protest when he tried to lift himself from her.

“Don’t,” she ordered, squeezing her arms around him.  His long sigh sent warm breath over her skin.

“I will crush you,” he murmured.

“I can handle it.”

He lay a while longer before lifting his head to look at her. “What do we do now?”

Kala ran a finger over his lips, indulging in memorizing his face. “The first priority is for you to heal completely. Then we wait for Will to tell us what the next steps are.”

He captured her finger between his teeth, nipping it before releasing it. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” She shifted when he rose to lay beside her, pulling her onto his chest. “We are in Paris! One of the most beautiful cities in the world. We enjoy it.”

She sensed the encroaching self-hatred steal over him again, the one she wanted to hold back forever. “I’ll never forgive myself, but I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”

Kala lifted herself on her elbow to look down on him with a smirk. “I believe this demonstrates a particular lack of good character on your part that should be of great concern.”

His eyes widened before crinkling in humor. “If this is the case than we are perfect for each other.”

fin