#and WILL somehow believe that things are lurking anywhere and everywhere at all times

[enthblaze]

bye tell me why im watching a horror gameplay at 5am when i have debilitating paranoia and fear of the dark

[dekalko-mania]

Things That Lurk in the Dark (Pt. 1)

Amity changed the day the portal opened, in more ways than one.

....

As a young child, Danny had an immense fear of the dark, so severe that he had slept with his parents until they'd attached glowing stars to his ceiling and assured him there was nothing wrong. He'd assumed the problem was no longer there, pushed aside by the many other obstacles he'd faced in his past year of ghost-fighting.

He'd assumed wrong, it seemed, when he began to once again see the shadows in a sinister light.

Danny had first attributed it to his increasing paranoia, an overactive imagination fueled by being constantly alert. He was used to seeing things that were not there upon second glance, accustomed to jumping at any figure he saw from his peripheral vision. This was different, he knew, when he found himself knocking on Jazz's door more often, asking if he could sleep on her floor.

"This is the third night in a row, are you sure you're okay?"

His sister asked the question every night without fail, despite only ever receiving a lie as an answer. His nightmares were back, that was his response, knowing all too well that to get them he would have to have slept at all.

He lay awake that night, lulled into a rare sense of calm by Jazz's soft breaths. Maybe if he counted them, like one counted sheep, he could finally rest.

He planned on doing just that, when a familiar humming filled the room, coming from beside his sister's desk. He sat up, head snapping in the direction of the intrusion as tendrils of darkness formed into abstract shapes.

He stared, not daring to take a breath as he waited. Tonight, he would let it be for longer, observe first and then shoot after. As he watched, cold waves of terror creeping up his spine, the shadows formed into what looked like a door.

He had previously predicted they would become something outright threatening, a creature that lurked in pitch black, or a hand creeping out from beneath their wooden floors. This was somehow much worse, a gateway from who knows where, into their world.

Getting on all fours, he crawled forward, reaching out towards the handle. Before he could make contact, it began to jiggle, beginning as a gentle side to side, and rapidly shifting into an aggressive attempt to enter.

Without sparing a thought, he lit a fire on his palms, green and incredibly bright to ward the door away. That somehow always seemed to work, destroying whatever fragile arrangement had made its place near him.

Deciding that sleep was out of the picture, he shifted into a sitting position, keeping his eyes out for any more potential threats. The following morning, Jazz found him that way, both hands set ablaze and drooping eyes filled with apprehension.

....

It had been difficult explaining away Jazz’s worry, even more difficult to explain to Sam and Tucker why he was acting so strangely. He had grown as Phantom, realized that when facing his fears it was better to be strong and fight through them. If he let his guard down, people would be hurt. 

Yet, somehow, after literally facing death, he found himself once again fighting against a childhood fear. It was humiliating, having to admit it, so he kept it hidden as best as he could.  

"Daniel!"

Danny shot up, snatching the arm waving in front of him on instinct, earning a series of giggles from the class. He tightened his grip, realizing that the lights had been dimmed in the time he'd been nodding off. Already, in that short time frame, he was beginning to see the darkness curling into itself like smoke, caressing the walls in unnatural shades. Surely someone had to have noticed?

"What, he’s gonna fight the teacher now?"

"Loser."

Danny took a sharp intake of air, seeing who exactly the arm belonged to. With an apologetic expression, he released Mr. Lancer’s wrist, lowering his head and mustering the most sincere “sorry” he was capable of in his current state.

“It’s alright, I’ve faced worse at PTA meetings,” Lancer grunted, upset but with a kind tone. “I noticed you dozed off. I know educational movies aren’t preffered, but unless you pay attention, you’re going to fail the upcoming exam.” 

“I’m sorry,” Danny repeated. “It’s just, the lighting here is making it hard to stay awake. Could we maybe flip a switch?” 

Danny did his best to hide the tremor in his voice, all too aware that the gaze of Dash and co. were pinned onto him. Lancer, unaware, surveyed his student, face unreadable as he apparently didn’t like what he saw.

In a low mutter, he told Danny to grab his backpack and wait for him in his office. As someone who had been sent there countless times in the past, he needed no direction, quietly making his way out of the classroom with a mental groan at seeing Dash smirk in his direction.

Great, among his cryptic visions he would now have to deal with his long-time bully. 

Danny leaned against the lockers, running his hand along them for stability in the all too quiet hallway. The humming was everywhere, within the walls, under the cracks in empty classrooms. Anywhere scarce of light, they always lingered, the vague figures, never tangible except for the doors. The longer he stared at one spot, the more Danny noticed them.

They had always been there, waiting for him to spot, knobs twisting as the unknown tried to worm themselves inside of him. They appeared to him as Fenton the most, weak human Fenton, rendered useless with limited access to his ghost powers. He’d found himself growing bitter of this half of him more as of late, wishing that he could always carry the confidence of Phantom, the fearlessness. 

He pushed open the office door more aggressively than he’d intended, dumping himself onto a leather chair with a heavy sigh. He inspected the room in his wait for Lancer, fingers twitching with impatience. The man meant well, setting him aside from a situation that obviously made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it within himself to appreciate it just yet.

Maybe he would be more grateful if the humming would stop. He clasped his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the frustrating noise that never ceased to grate on his nerves. As if taunting him, the sound seemed to travel through the flimsy barrier his fingers provided, emanating from his right side.

Thump, thump, thump

He glanced over to the source, teeth clenching at the old storage cabinet that filled his vision. Its drawers rattled, forcing themselves open, before crashing closed. 

The surreal qualities of Amity were everywhere, strongest in the darkest places. Objects disappearing in the blink of an eye, room layouts changing completely on a daily basis, all things that the residents should’ve noticed. But no one did, not even his family or closest friends. 

He was alone, the only one who was aware of his bizarre surroundings, now stuck in a room with a seemingly haunted cabinet. Danny stood, shifting into a fighting position. 

“Whoever you are, get out of there right now!” 

The slamming stopped, relieving him for a minute, before restarting again with increasing vigor. It was like it was mocking him, the whole town was. 

“Cut it out! I can’t deal with this crap anymore!” He readied a blast, uncaring if he would get detention for the rest of the year. “I’ll give you until three-”

The rattling came to an end, leaving the room quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the wall. 

“I can’t believe that actually worked.” He relaxed his posture, though only by a margin as he’d learned to never underestimate his luck’s ability to run thin.

“Daniel?” 

He jumped, realizing Lancer must’ve walked in while his student was glaring at the cabinet. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, attempting to seem unfazed. 

“Was that you yelling? I could hear it from the hallway.” 

“Um, yeah sorry. I thought there was a ghost.”

“Is that what it is?” Lancer closed the door, gesturing for him to sit down. “I wanted to talk to you about your behavior lately. You’ve been more taciturn than usual, perhaps it’s due to the increase in ghost activity?”

Huh, so there were some who had noticed something odd, even though it wasn’t to the full extent. Danny thought for a moment, testing the waters. Maybe Lancer saw more than he let on, noted the gradual changes to their city. 

Quietly, uncertain with his teacher’s response, Danny spoke. “I’m fine. Things have just been a little odd lately, besides the ghosts.”

“Well, I have an hour until my next class. Perhaps you can explain it to me,” Lancer leaned forward, showing his undivided attention. “You’ve been doing well this semester, I don’t want us going back to square one.”

Danny thought back to his freshmen year, bombarded with the change of his lifetime, having absolutely no time for his assignments or anything else in between. It was an arduous effort adjusting to his new life, or half life, and he wasn’t keen on losing control of everything he’d worked so hard for. 

“No, I don’t want to either. It’s the changes that are bothering me, I think. Amity.” He glanced over at Lancer’s face, eyeing any changes in expression. 

“I don’t think I follow.” He looked slightly confused. 

At this point, Danny would’ve usually given up, swept the issue under the rug and moved on with his day. He didn’t enjoy sharing his emotions, his burdens, but he just needed to know that there wasn’t something wrong with him, that someone else could see it too. 

“Don’t you ever see...I don’t know, weird things that shouldn’t be happening? Maybe hear noise and see light under a door, but walk in and there’s nothing there?” He steeled himself, looking up to meet Lancer directly in the eye, hoping that the man saw that he was speaking with clarity. “Or have you ever been behind a locked door and felt that someone was trying to get in? Or the dark...that’s where it’s the worst. Do you see any of that?”

“I can’t say I do, Daniel.” Lancer frowned. “And if that was the case, I would say it was the ghosts.” 

“But it’s not the ghosts. I know it’s not them.” His ghost sense would’ve gone off by now. “Entire buildings shift positions at night, there’s this dark fog everywhere. I know it sounds crazy-”

Lancer held up a hand. “I’ll have to stop you there. Nothing is ever too far fetched in this place, and I don’t like my students discrediting themselves before they get a chance to fully speak.” He paused, considering, before continuing with a grim tone. “Look, I know you won’t particularly like this answer, but do you think it possible you’re being haunted? It’s not unheard of for ghosts to become attached to a host here.”

“I don’t...” It wasn’t possible for ghosts to haunt other ghosts, was it?

“Before you decide, I suggest you talk to your parents. I know people your age don’t like to approach them for help, but they’re the biggest paranormal experts in town. You’ll find a solution there.”

Realizing that was the best response he was going to get, Danny slumped into his seat, disillusioned. “Alright, I’ll try bringing it up to them tonight.” 

“Good, and in the meantime, you know my office hours. I’m always open to helping you catch up.”

....

Danny had absolutely no intention of approaching his parents about his findings, confronting them was his very last resort. He remembered the incident with Youngblud, how their first instinct was to scare the crazy out of him, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it. 

Still, Lancer had unintentionally given him an idea, one he was surprised he hadn’t thought of before. If by any chance something was going on in Amity and his parents knew about it, they were sure to have kept data, information that the entire Fenton family was privy to. His parents were unconventional in the sense that their work was not kept secret from their children, all security activated by fingerprints or face recognition. 

It was, he knew, done with the hope that their kids would become just as interested in the study of the paranormal as they were. It was also, what they did not know, partly responsible for contributing to his accident. 

After double checking that his parents were not home, he snuck down to the lab, beelining his way to their work computer. As expected, it was easy as usual to log in, endless arrays of information at his disposal. To an untrained eye, his parent’s work was disorganized, even Vlad had said so. But he knew better, knew his way around their strangely named folders like he was reading the table of contents in a nonfiction novel. 

Ghost profiles, weaponry charts, data on present, past, and future projects, new developments...there. 

He clicked on the folder, apprehensive as it took a moment to load. Once it did, it took only a glance to tell that something was very, very wrong.

Unnatural levels of ectoplasm in the air, measurements at a high of-

Cognitive dissonance experienced by a reported 1 in 10 Amity citizens, signs of-

Missing teen, Ross Lucas, 16 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Polluted lake at Amity Central Park, no side effects reported, but water glows green-

Missing woman, 37 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Reported disorientation, home layout changed. Upon further questioning, memory loss is reported, no reminder of filing the report-

Minor detail: green tint to sky at certain points of the day-

Missing man, 22 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in Amity Forest Reserve-

Poltergeist activity, Amity Police Station-

Missing teen, Jenny Lee, 15 years old-

Missing-

Missing-

-last seen in Amity Forest Reserve

From above, Danny heard the telltale rattle of the front door opening, lumbering footsteps and daintier ones tapping along the tile.

Acting on impulse, Danny shut down the computer, turning invisible and keeping quiet in case his parents approached. Sure enough, he heard them nearing the lab after a minute of rustling. He stood, holding his breath, while the Fenton’s chatter got nearer as they appeared. He noted that his dad carried a briefcase, unusual for a man who preferred his casual attire, one with the Amity Police Department seal along the bottom corner.

After what he had seen, he could only stare at the case in apprehension.

“Let’s handle this before the kids are home, Jack. I don’t want to scare them.”

“Why can’t we tell them? It’s dangerous right now, Mads. Vladdie wouldn’t risk the safety of his god kids for this.”

His mom sighed, plopping onto the desk chair and booting up the computer. “I want to as well. Especially Danny, he’s always sneaking off somewhere. I can’t imagine him leaving, seeing his name among the victims.”

“We don’t have to ask him for permission...”

“You’re right, we don’t. The kids know how to keep quiet.” Maddie went silent, gesturing over for the case. Jack laid it on the table, unlocking it with a quick passcode and handing her a series of documents. She placed them beside her, pulling up a series of weaponry profiles. 

“What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is why he was so adamant about them not knowing. Danny more than Jazz. What could possibly be the issue of keeping them safe?”

“Vladdie thinks ahead. Maybe he was worried they would try solving this themselves. Do you want me to ready the vault?” Upon his wife’s nod, Jack made his way over to the section of the wall behind Danny, waving a hand over a sensor to reveal hidden sliding metal doors. From behind them, hundreds of weapons resided, all of various types. He grabbed two, planting them beside Maddie. “Anyhow, this is one of those rare times I admit I disagree with him. Let’s tell them tonight.”

His wife chuckled, amused at the prospect of Jack disobeying his dear Vlad. 

“That’s rare to hear.” She bit her lip, eyeing the sheet. “What a tragedy. There’s a group that’s gone missing, we haven’t had so many at one time.”

“That’s five people! What were they doing in there?”

“I don’t know, the forest is rumored to have more ghosts than usual. You know how teens are, maybe it was a dare. The question is, how is it possible that our devices state the victims are in the vicinity, but none of them have come out?”

“Perhaps they’re being held captive, or maybe, maybe they’ve become...”

Jack didn’t dare finish the sentence, but Danny knew what he meant to say. If something evil lurked within the reserve, a being that wouldn’t allow a human to live, it’s possible their spirit hadn’t moved on.

Trapped within its confines as a ghost.

“I’m holding onto hope that’s not the case. We’ll get them out Jack, we’ve got Amity’s biggest experts joining us in the raid tonight. Vlad himself will be there, it’ll be alright.”

Deciding he’d heard enough, Danny kicked off, uncaring of the clatter of beakers he left in his wake. There was someone he needed to see, a person who owed him an explanation and who deserved the sucker punch of their afterlife.

His parent’s were optimistic, and whatever raid they spoke of obviously included thorough planning, but if there was anything he’d learned about fighting the paranormal, it was that one was not sure if those on the front lines would make it out alive.

He couldn’t allow that, he had placed that responsibility onto himself, and he would be damned if someone else would have to bear it.

[starlight-lost]

Need help following the "Guardians of Chaldea" plotline? I've got you covered!

Blog Post Timeline:

Several hints are made at Carina having mystical powers unheard of from normal mages.

This doesn't go anywhere, primarily because no one questions it, for the longest time. But eventually, someone gifts her with several knives, which awakens an old memory and unleashes something that had been laying dormant deep within her.

She takes Jeanne out to go slaughter some fairies, and when they get back, Jeanne is found with trace amounts of Carina's energy all over and potentially within her.

Not long later, a mishap in the Summoning Room causes half of Chaldea to be lit ablaze, with Da Vinci, Roman, Kagetora, and Carina suddenly disappearing.

Tamamo Cat suddenly awakens her own ancient power, and calls upon Hokusai to go look for the missing staff of Chaldea.

Everyone comes home safely, with a new member in tow: the Avenger of Ame-no-Ukihashi.

She is quiet, at first. Most of her words are to the Architects (readers; "higher beings" who exist outside of the written world), though she has gone on record having one full conversation with Jeanne about the concept of being an "Avenger".

Eventually she learns to open up, revealing her true personality (or perhaps a façade of the real thing) to be that of a perky young girl with an interest in the arts (mostly musical performances, but occasionally pottery and bladesmithing).

However, the guilt of her identity, her powers, what she brings with her, and the lack of positive reception leads her to believe that she does more harm than good, so she eventually disappears without a trace.

In her absence, multiple posts are made hinting at a greater overarching backstory to the world's circumstances; in particular, it is implied that no part of Chaldea is truly "real", with Aya and Carina being the sole true entities that inhabit it. Another post details what seems to be Carina before Chaldea, saying goodbye to a world she knew in favor of what's implied to be the world Chaldea is held within. These two posts reveal entities known as the Ennead, the Gardener, and the Winnower; all beings from the video game "Destiny".

In between all this are multiple shenanigans involving Pokémon, which establishes that Aya is more than capable of materializing an endless amount of assets from other fictional worlds. I'm so proud of you, sweetie, you're doing amazing.

The light of Chaldeas suddenly goes out. A new threat lurks on the horizon.

Avenger returns, claiming to be connected to this threat. A discussion is had, but cuts short when Carina and Aya realize just what exactly it is that awaits them.

Carina begins to train with Mash more and more, taking a very sudden interest in Mash's potential as a fighter rather than a protector.

This pushes Mash to her limit, and even starts to break her. She begins having nightmares and flashbacks to...

...the death of Da Vinci.

In this Chaldea, she is a Rider. But the Lostbelts never happened.

It is implied that something happened to Carina, long ago. Something that briefly dragged her into darkness and made her lash out against Chaldea.

Carina did something. Something to Caster Da Vinci that tore her to shreds and spattered her innards across a burning field of death and decay, and Mash was forced to bear witness to it.

Somehow, she's not being held accountable for it.

Jeanne eventually drags Mash into her room and reveals that she's been keeping track of all the strange things Carina is hiding about herself. She leaves to go look for something, asking Mash to go over her findings and look for anything familiar.

Mash begins to realize that maybe Carina is nothing like the girl she thought she knew, and that is when she comes across the Beast of the Dreaming City.

The last Ahamkara, Riven.

A god-level reality-warper, whose only limits are her prey's desires and imagination.

She plants further seeds of doubt in Mash's mind, and convinces her to make a wish.

This results in Mash being sent to another timeline; one that is fully canon-compliant to the base game of Fate/Grand Order, and all Riven had to do was find a timeline without Aya.

However, this sends that timeline's Mash to the blog's timeline. The timeline where Da Vinci is a Rider, Roman is back from the dead, and everyone is happy.

This new Mash openly wonders how the old Mash didn't see what she had, and so willingly gave it away just for some short-term relief.

Meanwhile, Riven follows Mash into the new timeline, where the Kouhai keeps notes of everything that is different. At first, she was happy, but over time, everything began to feel... empty. Lifeless. Wrong.

Eventually the new timeline's Carina confronts her, revealing that she knows about the timeline shenanigans.

In every timeline, Carina is the monster Mash fears.

Yet in every timeline, Carina's heart is dedicated to making sure Mash is happy, despite the atrocities Carina has committed in the past.

With a power beyond that which has been hinted at, the old Carina breaches reality and finds a way into the new timeline.

A brief discussion occurs, in which it is decided that the new timeline shall have changes made to resemble the old timeline, mainly at the new Mash's request.

Everyone returns home, with the new timeline taking over the blog, freeing it from the curse of having an overarching story.

While all of this was happening, however, Riven has been chatting it up with the Architects, answering questions about herself, and about the universe.

It's revealed that "Chaldea" is a fabrication. A simulation slapped together by Aya in an attempt to appease Carina after the last world she inhabited crashed and burned and left her empty inside. For all intents and purposes, Aya is the god of Chaldea. With Riven's help, she built it from the ground up and created everyone within it.

It is also stated that there is a "world between worlds"; a place Carina and Aya hide away within when they tire of being anywhere else. Though this is Carina's true home, the world of "Destiny" was known to feel more like a home to her than anywhere else, in all her millennia jumping from universe to universe. Thus her attachment. Thus her sorrow in the aftermath of the still-unknown tragedy that occurred there.

Regardless, the story ends with Carina unleashing and embracing her power as the multidimensional abomination she is in order to bring Mash home. And realizing just how much Carina loves her, Mash willingly returns, ready to accept whatever danger may threaten her happy ending, because as long as it's an ending beside Carina, she'll be content no matter what.

...But just because the story ends here does not mean it ends everywhere.

But I'll go over that in the chronological timeline.

[measurelessdreamer]

Start And Never Stop II geralt x jaskier

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620474

For my dear friend and sister I chose @darknessyuu who is always there for me and keeps me sane <333333 

Summary:  Sometimes there are days when you bind yourself to someone else by Destiny even if you never believed in it. Sometimes there are days when you shout and push away that one person who deserves it the least. And sometimes there are days when you piss off a particularly skilled fae and end up being thrown into the future. Geralt of Rivia has indeed seen it all and fewer things could still surprise him. That is until he wakes up in Beauclair of all places in a bed that strangely feels like his, with a vineyard everyone keeps acting like is his and wedding preparations that Jaskier insists he gives his opinion on for reasons that make Geralt's head hurt and heart shatter at the implications of this whole mess. It shouldn't be like this and no matter how hard he tries he can't figure out why, after everything, it still is.

Additional tags: Time Travel, Post-Episode:S01E06 Rare Species, Fix-it, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Corvo Bianco

Based on this amazing superbat fic

Geralt woke up with a start, head pounding hard. This was definitely the last time he'd taken up a contract that the people refused to give him enough clues on to actually determine what he was facing. Just his damn luck that it had to be a fae, kidnapping people, out of all possible threats he'd learned to recognize. Even better, it was a fae powerful enough to send him only gods knew where before he could reach for any of his swords although he was fully aware that would do nothing to help.

But he supposed he should count himself lucky. He was still alive and still him after all.

His eyes flew over his surroundings. Walls decorated with paintings and trophies, a bed that was undoubtedly the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on, all of it was pointing toward the bizarre scenario that whoever owned this place had far more money than to just get by. He definitely was no longer in the village where he'd gotten that contract, then. Judging by the sun shining brightly through the windows, he wasn't even in fucking Temeria.

And yet... somehow it didn't exactly seem like he was out of place. It was hard to explain, but after so many decades venturing the Path, never really staying in one place for long, he knew what it was like to feel like a foreigner like he didn't belong. Over the years, he'd learned to mute it, to fully ignore it because it was just everywhere he went. But it wasn't here. He had no idea where he was but still felt like he should know because the place meant something to him. It wasn't exactly home per se, but it came incredibly close to resembling one. Just like Kaer Morhen always would but different.

He let out a huge exhale. It seemed like the fae didn't just teleport him away, she also must have done something to his head.

A gentle knock on the door startled him and made him sit up. Huh. That was odd. Most people would usually opt to pound hard or never bother to do anything else besides barging their way in. This knocking was resolutely different from everything he’d known, though.

"Yes?" he let out on instinct anyway. He didn't know what exactly he'd expected, but a man dressed in colors so bright that would put even some of Jaskier's clothes to shame and with a look that was anything but spiteful and threatening to kick him out at this instant, was definitely not it.

"Are you alright, Sir? I know how you value your privacy, but I was just passing by and I couldn't help overhearing the noise. You were shouting in your sleep, I’m afraid," the man said with an accent Geralt would recognize anywhere. Toussaint? Was that where the vile fae had sent him? Possible, but that still didn't explain the weird vibe he got from the place and why this man he'd never met before was looking at him as if Geralt's presence didn't bother him at all.

"I'm fine," he retorted when he realized he was still supposed to give the man an answer and cursed under his breath, hoping he wouldn't have to address him by name anytime soon lest he wanted to make a total fool of himself. Had he lost some memories along the way? Was that why he couldn't remember what his surroundings meant to him? Or was this merely a dream?

"Did I-" he cleared his throat, trying to sort out the mess his mind was, but the man didn't look put off or annoyed, just attentive and with patience Geralt thought he'd never get to see on anyone's face again after becoming a witcher. It was baffling. "Did I hurt my head recently?"

The man frowned in thought. "Not to my knowledge, Sir. It's been a while since your last injury, but it was of mild nature and had absolutely nothing to do with your head. But you did express you were feeling particularly tired today and decided to rest for a bit, which is how we got here."

"Hm," Geralt said, suppressing a curse. He definitely didn't have any recollection of that or even the slightest bit of idea how much time must have passed ever since he'd met the fae. Months? Years? How much had he actually missed of his life?

"I think I need some air," he pretty much rasped, feeling weaker than ever when he realized that for all he knew Ciri could have grown up or even died already and he didn't remember. Had he and Jaskier ever managed to patch things up? Is he dead now too? They couldn't be, Geralt reasoned, but time was rarely merciful on witchers. Much less when a fae was involved.

"Of course, Sir, I shan't keep you," the man said and stepped away to let Geralt pass. When Geralt did so gingerly as if outside the room awaited him nothing but a lurking monster, of course, the man noticed right away. "Are you sure you're alright, Sir? Shall I call for Master Jaskier?"

And Geralt froze and let out a gasp as the words dawned on him, partly in relief because Jaskier was alive and he was here, and partly in frustration because while it answered a few questions, it did cause another load of them to pop up in his pounding head. But never mind that when he didn't have to contemplate on missing the last moments of Jaskier's life, on missing earning the forgiveness he in no way deserved but yearned for regardless. Jaskier was here, alive and well. Judging by the house the bard apparently owned, he was more than well. And while the thought of seeing him again terrified Geralt more than anything, he found himself incapable of saying no.

The man, it turned out, didn't actually have to do anything because just at that moment they both heard footsteps and Geralt was met with a pair of cornflower blue eyes that were cheerful and full of hope and never failed to see right through him.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Jaskier beamed before going very serious in an instant. "We're in a very dire situation, Geralt. Lives depend on it and I need your honest opinion." The bard came up to him and held out two small rolls of blue cloth that looked identical to Geralt and asked: "Which do you think is better suited for the wedding?"

If Geralt had been of a weaker nature, he might have collapsed right then and there. But sometimes being a witcher did have its merit. At least in some areas anyway. "Aren't they the same?"

Jaskier gasped and pressed one of the rolls against his chest in indignation in such a him way that Geralt couldn't help but smile. "How dare you, witcher? All this talk about your superior senses and then you say these two completely different shades of blue are the same? Can you even see anything?" The tone in his voice was teasing and Geralt basked in hearing it again after months spent contemplating about the mountain and all he'd said, shouted, and wished so desperately he could take back. Jaskier's eyes now shone brightly with affection and happiness, nothing like the raw hurt he'd left in them when his own heart had been roaring under the weight of everything he'd regretted the most. Could it be that he'd managed to make it go away with time? Or was this merely a dream?

"You see what I have to put up with, Barnabas-Basil?" Jaskier asked the man but his smile was still playful as he rolled his eyes. "Maybe you could help us with this."

The man, Barnabas-Basil Geralt remarked for himself, offered a look of total understanding as if he too was wondering from which tree Geralt had managed to fall this time before he replied: "As much as it would please me to help, I'm afraid I might be running short on expertise when it comes to something as intimate and important as someone's wedding."

Jaskier accepted that without any hard feelings and thanked the man anyway before Barnabas-Basil excused himself to go tend to his duties. Jaskier looked deep in thought as his eyes roamed over the fabric in his hands before he gazed back at Geralt. "I know what you're going to say. Go ask Regis. He's already in charge of the wine and helped out in many different ways already, he surely has an answer to this too. And you might be right, but call me old-fashioned, I do actually agree with Barnabas-Basil on this. Other people are just running short on expertise. It's your wedding and your opinion I care about."

Geralt was absentmindedly wondering who the fuck Regis was, when all of a sudden he blurted out: "My wedding?!"

And Jaskier, honest to gods, actually laughed and beamed, completely oblivious that Geralt was quite possibly losing his mind. "I'm sorry, I know I keep saying this, but it's just less surreal telling it’s 'your' wedding. But you're right, it's not just yours. It's ours."

Geralt had only a split second of reminiscing how soft the last word sounded coming from Jaskier's mouth before the bard took a step right into his personal space and placed a chaste kiss on his lips as if it was the most trivial thing and not one of Geralt's deepest desires he'd never managed to believe would actually come true one day. But it happened and it was taking everything in him not to touch his lips as if that would make the sensation stay and engrave it in him for good. What had that damn fae done to him? What had she done to Jaskier? Brainwashed him into thinking that this was what he wanted when it couldn't possibly be further from it?

"Geralt," Jaskier said, frowning and reaching for Geralt's arm, "what's wrong?"

Geralt didn't flinch at the contact, but it was a very close thing and took away all the strength he got left to be able to look this man he'd hurt so much in the eye. "I- I just need some air."

He hurried out of the house, ignoring everyone he passed by even though they were smiling at him, calling him Master Witcher of all things as if the whole situation he was in couldn't get any more ludicrous and stopping only once he reached a tree on a hill overlooking the villa. He sat down, back leaning on the huge trunk and arms left dangling over his knees, and stared aimlessly ahead willing himself to wake up if this was a dream and to get ahold of himself if it wasn't. He'd never seen anything like this, never been fooled to this extent. Could it still be an illusion if his medallion wasn't even humming? On what ground was he supposed to reverse what the fae had done? Was there even a way to reverse it?

"Hey," he heard Jaskier's voice and forced his eyes to focus on the man sitting down on the grass before him and setting the two rolls of blue cloth aside before his eyes went back to Geralt. "This is going to sound weird and insane, but it's not like I made it up so I ask you to bear with me and take my word for it. Because if you don't, no one will. You said something similar to me a while back when we were at the same spot we're right now. But then again, you don't remember that... do you?"

"No," Geralt murmured so wistfully he almost winced.

Jaskier offered a sympathetic smile. "And what's the last thing you remember?"

"Running into a fae somewhere in northern Temeria."

"When was that?"

"In spring."

"And the year?"

"1264," Geralt replied and watched Jaskier gape at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "What?"

"It's the 12th of June. 1275. Your last memories are from eleven years ago."

This time, it was Geralt who openly gaped. Eleven years left out completely blank. Erased. Gone. How...

"Seems like you're one of the few who got to experience traveling through time," Jaskier finished and Geralt stopped breathing at once.

"That's-"

"Bizarre, I know. Believe me, I thought the same thing when you told me."

"I told you?" Geralt asked as if that was the most insane part about the whole thing.

"The future you did. Obviously not in many words because you avoid details like the plague, but you did explain the basics. I may not have known which year you got sucked out of, but I do know this is not permanent. You'll get back to your time before this day ends and it'll be like you never left."

Except he had left, gotten a glimpse of his own future, and discovered what it felt like to be kissed by Jaskier. All that being a result of those eleven years that would be waiting for him once he got back. And as much as it did put his mind at ease that his stay here wasn't permanent, it also reminded him how many things had gone wrong and how many more could still follow. There was no way this was set in stone. And he could ask so many questions, hope that at least half of them got answered, about Ciri, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir, why they were in fucking Beauclair of all places, but then he looked at Jaskier and was once again reminded of how everything his actions on the mountain and before had left on Jaskier seemed like it wasn't even there anymore when he knew Jaskier remembered. Geralt had fucked up hard, had been given shit about it continuously by everyone who knew, but none of that had ever come close to actually seeing Jaskier walk away and all the remnants of the dangerous hope he'd been harboring despite knowing better crushing down on him once he'd come back from the mountaintop and found Roach alone with Jaskier and his things long gone.

But now they were here, eleven years later, Jaskier looking at him as if he had nowhere else to be even though Geralt wasn't the one Jaskier had forgiven and found it possible to fall in love with. Instead, he was the one who had sent the bard away. In the harshest way, there was.

Which was why when the next time his mouth opened, the only thing that came out was: "You're here."

"Of course, I'm here," Jaskier said and scowled before his eyes momentarily widened. "Wait. When was the last time you remember seeing me?"

"The mountain."

Jaskier blinked and his whole face turned red. "The mountain? For fuck's sake, Geralt, the last thing you remember of me is that and you still let me kiss you?"

"Not like I knew that was about to happen."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Gods, I wish the future you would've given me some kind of heads-up so I would actually know how to deal with this. But the horse's arse said no. Leave it to me to make a total fool of myself by kissing the man who wants to have nothing to do with me."

"That's not true," Geralt emphasized. "It’s not how I feel."

"I know that now. It took some time, but... wait. You telling me about this whole mess means that you will remember what happens here, which... You absolute delinquent fool. I can't believe you made me wait for so long before you let me experience for myself what it was like to kiss you while you already knew! You're so lucky most of the wedding preparations are already sorted and paid for or we would be having a completely different conversation right now."

Geralt sighed. Lucky didn't even begin to cover it. All this talk about the future him, weddings, and kissing didn't sound like the world he'd gotten used to through all the hardships that had come with it. It sounded like one of those fairytales he'd stopped believing in the moment he'd realized he would never see his mother again. Where was he supposed to fit in all that?

"You don't believe..." Jaskier trailed off and waved with his hands around, "all of this is real. I know it's a lot to take in. Especially since... here you are, probably still in love with Yennefer, and looking right into your future and seeing... me instead."

"Yennefer has nothing to do with this," Geralt cut him off, not even surprised that most of what usually held him back from speaking his mind had no power here where there was no such thing as consequences since none of this had happened yet. Jaskier could read him perfectly regardless and if this was a way how to give him the truth he rightly deserved after so many rounds of lies littered with indifference, then Geralt was going to give it to him.

"You're saying... that you don't love her like that anymore?" When Geralt nodded, Jaskier let out a soft chuckle. "I guess that makes sense. Even after over three decades, you can still find ways to surprise me."

"The last time I saw you, I hurt you and forced you to leave. So none of this makes any sense to me."

"Knowing you it will take those eleven years for all of it to make sense. But it will take much less for me to forgive you."

Geralt swallowed and looked away. "How?"

"Since when am I someone who gives away the ending before its due time?"

"This isn't one of your tales you sing for money, Jaskier."

"You're right. It's so much more than that because it's our tale that my heart sings for me. It's the most special tale of all and it's worth to see it through to the very end, Geralt."

"I don't even know where to look for you," Geralt said, voice wavering. "Can't you-"

"Give you a hint?" Jaskier asked and sighed. "Believe me, it's taking everything within me not to tell you exactly where I am in your time so you could come and sweep me off my feet because, in spite of everything, that is what I still want you to do. But that's not how it works, Geralt. It works in ballads and tales because they're meant to give people hope, to make them see beyond reality. To imagine and dream. It's why I could never make them accurate the way you want me to. Because that would just defeat the purpose of them."

But Geralt didn't want accurate. Accurate meant realistic and realistic meant hurt. And he hated the irony more than anything. "And this is the tale you decided needed to be accurate?"

"In all its glory," Jaskier said and smiled. "Not all of it was perfect, but looking back at it now, I know it was right."

"What if I change something and prevent this future?"

"You won't."

"You can't know that."

"You're missing the point, witcher. Out of the two of us, I have the memories of how this happened. I'm the only one who knows that," Jaskier claimed and shifted so he was now sitting next to Geralt. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" Geralt asked but gave it anyway.

"So I can read your future to you and for once be able to say that I was right about everything," Jaskier scoffed as if that had been obvious right from the start before he grew serious again and locked their eyes, not wasting even a second to look at Geralt's hand and "read" from it and just holding it between his own. "You are going to find me. It will take a while, but you will. And when you do, just have patience with me and I promise I will have patience with you too."

"You shouldn't."

"And that's supposed to mean something because I'm the epitome of doing what others tell me to do?" Jaskier deadpanned but ended up giggling before swatting him. "Geralt! I'm telling you I am happy. With you. Why are you trying to ruin that?"

"Because I know you also hardly ever do what's good for you."

"True, but this is different. And I'll keep saying it until you believe me. Reaching this point won't be easy for you, but it's worth it. It really is. And you deserve it, Geralt. As for my forgiveness, you just have to start. And never stop."

Geralt didn't need any clarification on what exactly that entailed. In his own heart, he knew where he had done completely wrong by Jaskier, and even if despite all this Jaskier was telling him he wouldn't earn forgiveness in the end, it didn't mean he shouldn't try. Not because this was the future he wanted to have, but simply because he owed so much to the one person who had refused to leave him alone until he himself had given them no other choice. It could never be repaid, but starting and never stopping sounded like he would be on the right track and even if that track turned out to be never-ending, he wouldn't mind one bit.

"This is the part where you say something," Jaskier said, still looking right into his eyes. "Preferably not those grunts that sometimes can barely be called human, but as you know, I'm not particularly picky."

And because Geralt wasn't the epitome of doing what others told him to do either, he leaned in and kissed the bard instead. Jaskier let him and reciprocated just as enthusiastically as he did everything else, carrying it out for as long as their lungs could take, and even when their lips parted, the two of them barely moved, leaving their foreheads pressed against each other in embrace Geralt didn't wish to see end.

"I take it that was meant to be a yes," Jaskier broke the silence with a smile. "Starting and never stopping?"

"Something like that," Geralt agreed and mirrored the smile. Out of the corner of his right eye, he managed to spot the two rolls of blue cloth Jaskier had left behind and relished the irony that he now knew why they were indeed completely different. One was the color of Jaskier's eyes, while the other one was shamefully not.

"Cornflower blue," he said and smiled even wider when Jaskier just gaped at him. "For the wedding."

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "Bold of you to make that decision since we aren't practically engaged."

"You did ask me and I know he will say the same thing."

"That's fair. I wish you didn't have to wait eleven years to see the result, though."

“Hm,” Geralt dismissed, remembering eleven was only a number that normally wouldn’t count for much since time was a fleeting thing anyway. It would never stop just because he wanted it and his prolonged life wasn’t making that truth any easier. If anything, those eleven years would fly by just like the rest and make him feel even more yearning for something no magic or power could grant him. It was something he would always know, but the promise of those eleven years with Jaskier being part of it, of the most special tale of all playing right in front of his eyes, did bring a sense of closure he’d never sought but was glad beyond measure he had now. Those eleven years were yet to pass and even when they did, he would make sure they had countless more.

Nothing that odd when you were a witcher, but when you were a human, the same rules refused to apply. Or did they? "You haven't changed. Even after more than three decades, you still look the same."

"That’s… true," Jaskier admitted awkwardly. "It will be explained in due time too. As much to you as to me. So I’m afraid my lips are sealed."

"And I assume you won't tell me why Beauclair either?"

"It's not like I picked it. That's all on you, though you won't see me complaining. But don't worry, if two higher vampires who wear nothing but dark and gloomy clothes can be happy here, so can an old brooding witcher like you."

"Now that I think about it, I do see some of your hair going grey," Geralt teased and laughed when Jaskier swatted him in retribution. Even if he was meant to disappear from this time right in that moment, there would be no regrets on his end. Jaskier was happy and Geralt could question it all he wanted, but there was no erasing that from his memory now that he'd seen it so openly.

They ended up kissing a few more times after that and when the sun was setting and shining on Jaskier in the angle that was just about right, Geralt admitted that living in Beauclair of all places did have its benefits.

Jaskier didn't stray from his side the whole time. Not even when Geralt asked him to sing something, the bard resolutely said it would have to be without the lute since he had no idea when Geralt was meant to return to his own time and Jaskier didn't wish to miss his last moments here. Geralt remained completely speechless after that, but Jaskier just smiled at him and begin to sing.

Somewhere along the way, when the light was dying out, Geralt felt his eyes closing and the last thing he remembered was the gentle squeeze of his right hand and softly whispered words that would serve as his anchor for the near future awaiting him.

"See you soon, dear heart."

*******************************************************************************************

He wasn't surprised when he managed to find Jaskier only a few months later. Time had always been a relative concept when it came to the bard and "a while" could mean only a few days just as much as it could mean years. Jaskier was resolute on ignoring him the first few weeks, but Geralt vowed to leave only if Jaskier asked him to. No such thing happened even after a few rounds of shouting he rightfully deserved, though. Geralt started and never stopped. Just like he'd promised.

When it was time to return on the Path and Jaskier said he was coming with, Geralt used proper words to thank him.

That same year, Geralt asked him to come to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter. It took some time for it to truly sink in when the bard said yes.

They shared their first kiss in the library of all places since they were completely alone and the light of the candles illuminated Jaskier so perfectly that Geralt could no longer help it. It only took a few more minutes before Jaskier called him "dear heart" for the very first time. And when he received a handful of comments from both Lambert and Eskel about it the next day, it was with a warm smile that he rolled his eyes at them.

He found out Jaskier was part fae a year later when the bard ended up kidnapped by another fae that seemed far too familiar once Geralt got closer and saw her smirk at him.

"Still kidnapping people, I see," he said.

"Please, they're far too boring for me to stick with them. I stopped right after you."

"Then why did you kidnap him?"

"Because I happen to know he's not completely human."

Words weren't enough to describe how he felt after that even though he'd known Jaskier's mortality wouldn't be a problem for decades to come. Words were rarely enough most of the time, but he used them anyway. Especially, when he knew that Jaskier needed to hear them.

They still had moments of weaknesses when stress took over and they ended up fighting, but throughout it all, they stayed and figured it out. Together.

They headed to the coast to get away for a while and it worked just like Jaskier had said it would.

Geralt eventually lost count of how many times Jaskier made him a chaplet, but he never turned any of them down. Ciri caught up fairly quickly and always made one for Jaskier too so they would match.

It was Jaskier who proposed. If blurting out the idea right after performing for a wedding they happened to attend since it was in the village where they decided to spend the night could count as a proper proposal, that is. No Beauclair or Toussaint in sight, but that had never been a factor in this decision anyway. Geralt said yes in a heartbeat and completely ravished the bard the same night.

Even years after, there were still times Geralt would dream of being back on that mountain, but the place no longer haunted him like it used to. It was merely a reminder of something he wished never to repeat.

And it didn't. Because he'd started. And never stopped.

Those eleven years passed and more followed. The most special tale of all indeed turned out to be worth seeing it through to the very end.

 -The End

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thank you so much for reading!

[softjeon]

Here there be beasts | Pt.3

• Pairing: Jimin x Wolf!Namjoon • Genre: Angst, Fluff | Rating: Mature | RedRidingHood!AU / Fairytale!AU → Gifset Trailer • Words: 7,6k | AO3 • Disclaimer: nsfw-content, smut, mentioning of blood, abuse, violence, weapons, dark themes, anxiety

written with @cassiavioletblue​

↳  Fear was a strange feeling. People feared the unknown, the dark and witchcraft. The shadows that were lurking through the forest at night. The same fear that made the folks in the village keep their distance from the forest at night; that locked their doors on nights when there was a full moon, or no moon at all.

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Maybe what they said was true after all. And maybe it was his time to realize that his world was turning upside-down, crashing into a million pieces and ripping the beautifully painted images and what he believed in. The evil existed and he was staring right back into its eyes, claws about to rip into his flesh. He felt sick from the metallic smell of his own blood that was trickling down his chest, that was dissolving into the water, tinting it red. Maybe he would drown. Maybe he would bleed out.

The wolf; the nightmare. 

Jimin had barely made it into the water, arms extended as he tried to keep the wolf at arm’s length when he realized that the wolf wasn’t moving, instead he was only staring at him. And Jimin was holding its gaze. 

The human kept on paddling, not really getting anywhere so he would have been easy to rip into or just drown and drag ashore. Still he waited, trying to see if he would yell that strange word again. His anger was gone, eaten by his curiosity as to why his prey was making him suddenly feel all fuzzy inside.

Jimin completely stilled as he blinked up at the unmoving wolf. Did he recognize him? His smell? Just like Namjoon told him he would? It was nothing and yet, it was the only chance he had.

Carefully, Jimin reached out with shaking fingers. There was still blood on them but tried to focus on the task at hand as he slowly put his hand by the wolf’s mouth and by his jaw. He waited for a moment, when the wolf growled low and it send a shiver down his spine. Closing his eyes, Jimin reached further and then softly pushed his fingers into its fur. “I…It’s me,” Jimin’s voice sounded so thin and broken. “T-the one with the red hood? J-jimin,” There were tears falling down his eyes and into the shallow water beneath, when he opened them again 

He almost snapped at the hand that was coming close to him but then he smelled the blood and because he didn’t want to kill this strange prey just yet, but he was hungry and there was blood he did the first thing that popped up: he started to lick the blood off. Pushing his snout roughly into the youngers hand he licked his fingers clean and.. it didn’t taste like he wanted. There was blood, yes but was even more delicious was the boys smell. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He paddled closer and even though the younger kept talking, saying things he couldn’t quite grasp he pushed his snout into his face, licking his face too, then his neck, everywhere he could reach without lapping up water.

Jimin couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, one that sounded a little too desperate to be cheerful but when the wolf licked him, he knew he wasn’t in danger anymore. He recognized him. “Wolf, please.” Jimin whispered, soothing over his soft but wet fur. Never had he been so close to the other before and here in the water it was still dangerous with how the wolf was leaning against him. “Can you listen to me, wolfie?” Jimin coughed a little to get rid of the croaky sound and then tried again, “I need you to let me go, because I have to visit someone. Namjoon,...you know him, right? I need you to go further east and...and please hunt a wild boar for me. Only that, do you understand?” Jimin search the wolf's eyes and kept still. They still weren’t right, a little too dark, except from the sparkle and reflection of the moon light. “A wild boar,” He whispered again, hoping that the wolf would understand him enough to do as he said or at least run the other direction from where he had sent the old man. “Please.” He was pleading softly, moving back to see if the wolf would let go off him. 

The wolf had no idea what the other was saying but he liked the sound of the others voice. He still smelled delicious and a great part of him wanted to rip into that soft, plump flesh and swallow him whole - but there was still that part that was curious and enjoyed their encounter. He had the boys scent now. He could hunt him again if he got hungry or eat him for dinner another time Something told him that he would see their encounter differently in a few hours and that it would be a pity to kill him, like a lingering thought at the back of his head that he couldn’t quite grasp. As he was so close to the boy and paddling right in front of him his hind leg brushed him under water in a way that nicked the boy’s skin. The other made a face and somehow the wolf didn’t like that. He didn’t like the other hurt. But he was hungry. He knew he wouldn’t eat that prey, not tonight. So, he sniffed him one last time, pushing his snout against the boys neck because it was warm and comfortable there - and then he turned, swimming back on land to hunt for something delicious that wouldn’t confuse him that much.

Jimin didn’t think twice, he turned around and swam until his arms were hurting. Luckily the cold water made the new wound not as painful, cooling it down and the adrenaline was still so high that he didn’t even flinch, when he walked out of the water on the other side, shivering and lips looking pale and blue.

There were tears falling down his cheeks and Jimin wrapped his arms around his body as he stumbled forward until finally the small cottage came in sight. For the last time, Jimin sped up a little, calling out for Namjoon - but there was no answer. His heart was drumming so loudly that it was the only thing Jimin could hear, when a thought crossed his mind that he’d rather not dwell on. He pushed the door open, calling out for him again but there was no one. The cottage was empty. 

And Jimin was too tired. 

With shaking hands, trembling limbs and lips he closed the door and got rid of the wet clothes on his body. A sob broke from him and Jimin almost fell when it shook him so badly, but he managed to pull himself into Namjoon’s bed, where his scent was still lingering and embracing him, making him hold onto the cushion as if it was the only safety he had left. 

...

Namjoon had ran the whole night. He had found something to eat, something leftover that some other predator had killed and then not finished for some reason. Apart from that his night was pretty uneventful. The noise the humans and then his little prey had made had chased any real prey into hiding so he was glad he had found the leftovers or else he would have started to hunt for squirrels out of frustration. When his paws started to feel heavy and his mind dizzy it drew him closer to the home he lived in when he was human. Each step had him feeling more and more tired until he collapsed into a dirty, furry heap, ready to go to sleep until the next transformation or the next full moon.

When Namjoon awoke he had a headache - or rather a body aching practically everywhere but worst his head - and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth because it was so dry. His throat felt sore as if he had yelled too much. Probably a bit too much growling and howling throughout the night. He tried to remember what he had done but the taste of stale meat had him almost throwing up, so he decided to go home, clean himself up, drink a nice, strong herbal tea and then decipher the images in his head. He could already see his little house and he ached for its warmth and comfort and humanness so that he would be able to feel like himself again in a little while.

Jimin had fallen into a deep slumber, his body so tired and exhausted that he didn’t wake at the faint noise of the door opening. Maybe his subconsciousness knew that it wasn’t anything dangerous or evil that came closer. So instead of hiding away, Jimin turned, revealing his rosy and very dirty cheeks to Namjoon, mumbling something with a sleepy pout on his lips.

“J..Jimin?!” Namjoon stood in the doorway, all sickness forgotten at the shock of seeing Jimin in his bed. He stumbled towards him, naked as he was, ripping the covers off to see if he was fine. There was blood and for a second his heart felt like it had stopped right in his chest before he realized that there was no bite wound. He had scratches. Just scratches. And he was absolutely, fully naked.

Namjoon stared at him in confusion but then covered him up again because it didn’t feel right to stare. Not now, not when the other was sleeping so peacefully. He sank down besides the bed in relief, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the whole situation. Jimin, on a full moon night in his home. Anything could have happened. Thankfully they had apparently both been very, very lucky. Now the only thing he had to do was find an excuse why he hadn’t been home instead of burying a body (or teaching a new werewolf).

The younger reacted to the touches and noises, only slowly coming to and when he blinked his eyes open to see the shadow hovering before him turning to be Namjoon he immediately reached out for him. “Where have you been? I thought...I thought,” Jimin’s voice still sounded a little croaky and he pulled Namjoon in to hug him tightly, “Oh god, you’re alive…,” Jimin couldn’t help but feel relief wash over him, holding Namjoon just a little tighter, before he pulled back hastily and examined his (just as naked) body. 

“I..I slipped and got stuck so.. I couldn’t get back in time and.. just stayed in the caves.” He stuttered awfully unconvincingly. That Jimin had just pressed his naked body against him wasn’t helping. “How did you get here? I mean, I’m so glad you’re safe but.. where you here all night? Don’t tell me you actually walked through the forest during a full moons night! That like.. completely suicidal!” He hastily wiped over his mouth, remembering now that there could be blood or dirt or probably both giving away what he had been doing.

Jimin traced down a few new bruises Namjoon was sporting, humming in response. He wasn’t so sure if he believed it, but he did see the wounds on his body.  “I told you to be careful,” He whined, tracing them carefully as he bit down his lip trying to come up with something himself – but in the end, he settled on the truth.

“They wanted to sacrifice someone, and I couldn’t let it happen, Joon. I just couldn’t. I know it was crazy…but I had to!” Jimin blinked up but he wasn’t able to hold his gaze, averting it quickly, “I got him out of there and then…there was the wolf.”

 “A.. what?” Namjoon’s head was spinning. A sacrifice? And he killed it? In front of Jimin? “So, you saw.. the wolf killing that person - and ran here to safety? Did he hurt you?” His grip on the other’s shoulders tightened a little. He still didn’t know why Jimin was naked but now it made sense that he got rid of his clothes when they had blood on them. Oh god, had Jimin really been so close? He felt like he had to throw up at the thought of almost eating Jimin tonight. He didn’t let himself think any further and that he might have killed someone else instead. Even though he tried to stay calm his hands started shaking a little and soon the shudder ran all over his body, bringing his exhausted muscles to the brink of collapse. “Let’s… let’s sit down, please..” 

Jimin nodded and lifted the blanket up to pull Namjoon in closer and make sure he was embraced from the warmth and heat underneath. Carefully, he soothed over his cheeks and smiled at him apologetically. “Don’t worry, I told the wolf to hunt somewhere else.” Jimin said so nonchalantly, completely leaving out the fact of the wolf wanting to attack him at first. He shook his head, trying to sort out his thoughts, but Namjoon wasn’t making it much easier for him to concentrate. “F-first I freed the man and I told him to go north, up the hills to the caves to hide. I thought it was the beast coming but then I saw the wolf…but it was still different. He was so different, Namjoon. His eyes…they were pitch black. I was so scared and…and then I threw my hood at the wolf to irritate it and made sure it followed me instead of the man. And I thought maybe if I come close enough to your home then you would hear me, but the wolf caught me the moment I jumped into the water. I tried calling for you, but…,” A smile formed at his lips, “But then the wolf remembered me, just like you said. He remembered my scent. You were right, Namjoon. He just sniffed me and when I told him to hunt somewhere else and that I would come and visit him he let go off me. And then I swam across the lake and seeked shelter here.” His voice dropped, “But you were gone and I…”

“This… this can’t be true!” Namjoon was sitting there frozen, listening to what Jimin told him. “You were close to the wolf and it... it listened to you? Are you sure it didn’t get scared because of.. hunters or anything?” His voice was so weak it broke, but he just ignored it and pushed through. He didn’t understand it, nothing could keep the wolf from taking what he wanted, not Namjoon, not anything else he tried. And Jimin, someone sweet and delicate should be able to make the wolf listen? By talking to him? Namjoon couldn't believe it. “But... the blood...” 

“There were no hunters. Believe me, he recognized me, and he licked and sniffed me before he let go off me. I just kept talking to him and it seemed to calm him?” Jimin shrugged his shoulders, “What blood are you talking about? My wounds? It’s not as bad. They don’t hurt, but the wolf just came too close when he jumped me and his claws…but it’s fine. I am fine, Namjoon.” He took the others hand and squeezed it lightly, trying to make the other realize that he was in fact alright, because he looked awfully like he was spiraling. “Come here, come…” Jimin’s voice was a whisper, when he shifted a little more down and pulled Namjoon in so he could lean against him and would be fully covered by the blanket. The other was shaking and Jimin had no clue why. “It’s okay, shh, please…”

“He.. he jumped you.. the wolf...” Namjoon couldn’t process any of this. It didn’t make sense. Luckily Jimin noticed his state and pulled him in, grounded him with his warmth and his kindness while whispering sweet reassurances into his ear. When Namjoon finally had enough control over himself to make decisions again he gently loosened himself from Jimin’s embrace. “Thank you... for this... just now. I really have to shower and... brush my teeth but when I’m back I can make you breakfast, or we can just get back into bed and cuddle and forget what happened this night.” He would need Jimin to tell him everything again, in detail, to understand why the wolf could listen to him when it didn't even listen to Namjoon. But not now. Now all he wanted and needed right now was comfort.

And Jimin gave him everything and more. He stood no chance, when he felt two familiar hands on his back joining him under the stream of water, soothing over his muscles as if Jimin knew right where he needed him to relax just a little more. He had done everything to feel like himself again and yet, only when Jimin’s touch lingered on his skin could he let out the breath he was holding.

“I can’t stay for long,” He whispered into Namjoon’s skin, leaving a kiss on his shoulder blade. He had thought about staying for breakfast and even longer, but Honsung was angry and he initially locked him in and would get even more furious the moment he would find out he wasn’t there. And now, in the broad daylight, with no adrenaline chasing through his veins he didn’t feel as brave. He would rather face a furious wolf again instead of Honsung. 

“I wish I could…I so badly do, but if he comes home and doesn’t find me there.” Jimin was leaving a trail of kisses behind until he stood in front of Namjoon. His eyes were glistening with uncertainty and fear, more than he ever feared the wolf. But he knew where he needed to be more than ever, because no matter what path he would take in the forest it would lead him back to Namjoon. And he wanted to follow its aching pull, the need, the love he felt. “I want to be yours, please make me yours tonight.”

Namjoon didn’t know what to say, the sudden confession had hit him unprepared and it had taken the breath from his lungs to hear Jimin say those words without hesitation, words that he seemed to mean with all his heart. As an answer he hugged Jimin tight, nakedness be damned and kissed him heavily right where they were. He didn’t pay the rainwater reservoir on his roof that would soon be empty and leave them without shower water any mind. Only Jimin was important right now, Jimin who even called to his most feral being and could tame him with just a few words. How could he stand a chance against a bond like that.

Jimin knew this was where his heart belonged, because the moment Namjoon’s lips enclosed his, it calmed and maybe it even skipped a few beats making him breathless, falling against his lover.

Fear had always been a weird feeling to Jimin, but Love was something he understood even less. At least as long as he had been within the village. If what Honsung was giving him was love, then he didn’t want to experience it in any way. But Namjoon had tipped his world over with a single touch, lured him in and make him lose his heart. Maybe he was the evil after all, but if he was – then Jimin should be damned. He didn’t care anymore.

Jimin promised him again to be back tonight, hands wrapping around Namjoon’s neck for a final kiss, before they finally had parted from one another and found clothes to wear that weren’t ripped or still wet. At the door, Jimin held onto Namjoon’s hand for as long as he could. “I’ll be here tonight, before dawn after I’ve seen the wolf. I promised him.” Before Namjoon could tell him again that he should be careful or ask to come along with him (at least that’s what Jimin thought he would do), he turned around and walked deeper into the forest and back to the path. 

When Jimin was gone Namjoon actually felt a little nerves at the prospect of having Jimin tonight. It would be the first time that there was an actual chance of being with the person he slept with again because Jimin was close by. And he also had feelings for him but that was something that made him even more nervous. Because in his ‘condition’ letting someone close to you could be very, very dangerous for everyone involved. Everyone would pick up the pattern if their partner mysteriously vanished every month at night to come back naked and bloody and with more bruises than before. Also, he couldn’t keep his wolfish nature for long when he got very angry he liked to burn off that energy in a good, long run through the woods - in his wolf form.

Namjoon sighed and shook his head to get rid of those thoughts that were leading somewhere way, way ahead of time. Tonight, was what he should concentrate on. Because tonight was going to happen, and he wanted it to. He wanted to make it special for Jimin, as best as he could so he brought all his candles to the tables, all that he had - which turned out to be five and half. It was funny that when he thought about it they indirectly came from Jimin, because Jimin brought his grandma the candles which gave some to Namjoon in exchange for herbs and berries that she couldn’t get herself because of her eyesight. He had wondered before why she hadn’t just taught her knowledge to Jimin but now that he had met Jimin again he knew: Jimin was rebellious enough to go to the forest as it was; if he had more knowledge than he would probably spend whole days outside the village, collecting everything that could be useful to his grandma and the villagers. Which would probably get him killed in the end because people who were fearless and well versed in herbal medicine were always a witch. To stupid villagers at least. Namjoon grieved for all that lost potential that people had to bury just to appear ‘normal’ and stay alive when they could be so much more, do so much more, for themselves as well as others.

But apparently stupidity was what always won in the end.

…

Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, when the door unlocked again, and his gaze flickered up to meet Honsungs. Without a word, he opened the door a little wider and Jimin pushed himself through as if he hadn’t spent all night in the forest instead of being locked in. Keeping his mouth shut, Jimin was tidying up his little home, glad when the other just vanished outside again. The spot where he had kissed him on his cheek was still burning like a mark and Jimin wiped over it aggressively, turning his skin red.

With the other gone, Jimin could finally relax a little more and because he had already taken a shower with Namjoon this morning, he was taking his time to look through his clothes. He hadn’t much fancy things, most of it too obvious that the people in the village would notice so despite wanting to, he chose the inconspicuous outfit. Jimin was nervously biting on his lip, when he thought about his confession and what had happened. Opening the heavy wooden box by his bed, Jimin took out the last red cloak he owned. Mumbling an apology under his breath for ruining his other one last night, Jimin wondered if his grandma would show him how to sow another one. With a smile, he made a note to visit her soon again but today he had someone else to visit.

The wolf.

And Namjoon.

It was second nature to Jimin to slip right through the village gates without being seen even in the broad daylight. Some didn’t even dare to look the way into the forest and the few that did always stayed close to the path and the village. Jimin didn’t.

The moment he couldn’t hear the faint noises from the market anymore, Jimin took a left turn, pulling his hood a little more into his face as he walked through the thicket. Jimin was walking for a while, before he stopped and the only thing he could hear was his heart beating roughly and the birds chirping around. This was the spot where he’d seen the wolf the most whenever he had crossed paths, but right now there was nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling beneath his feet whenever he moved. From where he stood, Jimin could see the path he usually walked on to get to his grandmother’s house and he smiled, thinking of how the wolf had seen him from here. Turning around, Jimin walked in a little deeper again, his hands nervously fiddling with his cloak. He couldn’t deny that he was still fearing that the wolf was maybe mad at him or wouldn’t want him to come back. He had been so furious last night, something that made Jimin shiver. Was it because of the full moon? Did it’s magic make him lose his mind? Could he be the beast after all? But then who attacked on every other night if it was only the full moon making the wolf rage? Jimin had so many questions and he feared that the wolf wouldn’t be able to answer them for him. And somewhere in the back, he was nervous to meet Namjoon a little later.

...

When he had everything prepared Namjoon decided to go search for some more berries for dessert because even though he had some potted fruits the freshest were always the best and he wanted the best for Jimin tonight. So, he took his little basket and a knife in case he found some mushrooms too and then went out to get some food for the both. Even though he could have smelled them better with a snout picking berries and collecting mushrooms was definitely a job for a human job - not considering the fact that he hated turning right after a full moon’s night because he was still aching. Probably not the best time to have sex with someone but he wouldn’t complain.

Meanwhile, Jimin was tired of searching, so instead of going deeper and potentially getting lost he just plopped down onto the meadow. With his red hood, he would be seen by the wolf quickly either way and since he knew who Jimin was he would come over.

Jimin was sure of that.

So, he waited, pulling his knees in and staring into the distance. Then he leaned back a little, bathing his face in the warmth of the sun rays peeking through the trees, before simply laying back down. A whine left his lips, when the wolf still hadn’t showed up anywhere near. 

Namjoon had good ears no matter what form he was in so when he heard something like whining he immediately stood still and listened to find out who was making that noise. When he had made sure that he hadn’t misheard he followed the sound that seemed to grow louder by the minute, especially when he left the small pathways and got closer to a clearing. He saw red blinking through the last leaves shielding him from the clearing and his heart beat faster at the thought of a very special person that tended to wear red.

“J...Jimin?” The younger was laying on the grass, splayed out like a starfish and looked very unhappy. He didn’t look hurt but Namjoon couldn’t think of any other reason why he was laying down like this, so he carefully approach while asking, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Jimin startled a little, but the moment he recognized the voice his heart calmed, and he propped himself up on his elbows, before turning to look at Namjoon.

“You’re not the wolf,” Jimin whined with pursed lips, not being able to deny that his heart nonetheless jumped a little at the prospect of seeing Namjoon earlier than expected. “I’m fine. I was just waiting…and I don’t like waiting.”

That statement was absolutely wrong and yet it had Namjoon holding his breath.

 “That’s...uhm, very perceptive of you?” He answered insecurely and then sat down beside him while putting the basket behind his back so Jimin couldn’t see what he had already gathered. “That sounds like you two had a date. Did he stood you up, the wolf?” He teased him lightly. He wondered why Jimin would think that the wolf would be here now.

Jimin shrugged his shoulders, suddenly feeling a little childish to think that the wolf might have understood him. But he had been so sure last night, when their gazes met that he did. That he knew that Jimin was talking to him and that he understood him – somehow.

“Maybe I did.” A grin appeared on his lips and Jimin nudged Namjoon’s side, “Are you jealous?”

Namjoon leaned in with a smile as if he was sharing a secret. “Do I have to be? Did you kiss him too? Did you get wet, fishy snout kisses from the wolf?”

Jimin cocked up an eyebrow at Namjoon’s teasing, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “It’s your lucky day, since I only kiss handsome strangers living in the forest.” He leaned in, breath fanning over Namjoon’s lips right before he pulled away again with a giggle, leaving the other to almost fall over. “If the wolf doesn’t want me, will you take me with you then?” 

“Of course! You can come with me, but I need to pick a few more berries and mushrooms or else we will have a very small dinner tonight. I didn’t want you to see but if it means that I can take you home sooner than expected I’ll even share my favorite spots with you.”

Jimin’s eyes widened and something pulled at his heartstrings. “You prepared dinner?” When Namjoon nodded and held out his hand, Jimin almost fell over his own feet as he stumbled forward to intertwine their fingers. Once again, noticing how perfectly his small hand fitted into his – like a lock into a keyhole.

The wolf was long forgotten while he was with Namjoon, listening attentively whenever he told him something about poisonous berries and helping him pick as much as he could. He sneakily ate a few, tinting his lips a little more red but the berries were just too sweet to resist. Namjoon could understand the notion. To him, Jimin was just too sweet too resist as well so in the end both their lips were tinted red. They were happy and giggly when he opened the door to his home where they put their edible treasures on the table. Despite them being a distraction to each other they had gathered a full course meal and Namjoon couldn’t wait to prepare it and then share it with his lovely visitor. “Do you want something to drink? I have tea, I have elderberry juice, I even have some self-made liquors if you want to go there.” He mainly did them for fun or to exchange them for other goods because he lost control enough every month he didn't need to soften his control at other times through alcohol, but he didn’t mind others enjoying it.

Jimin was getting more and more nervous, trying to hide it with a smile but somehow it was making him a lot shyer than usually was. So, he nodded as an answer, quickly realizing that Namjoon had given him multiple options. “J-just water, please.” He bit his lip, glad when he handed him the cup and he could pretend to be busy with drinking. While preparing the meal, Jimin was quiet, humming his responses and avoiding Namjoon’s gazes a few more times than he usually did but he was just so god damn nervous and whenever he looked at him from this closely his heart did this thing and Jimin felt absolutely breathless.

So, he quickly took the opportunity to gather some flowers from outside, leaving the rest to Namjoon, so he could take a deep breath and his time with picking the most beautiful ones. Jimin hadn’t known about the candles or anything else that Namjoon had prepared, so when he stood by the door again, flowers in hand, he was just staring blankly ahead with his mouth open. 

It was Namjoon’s time to get a little shy. He had no practice with decorating so when Jimin stared he wasn’t sure if it was a good surprise or if the other was just weirded out by it.

He had lit all the candles, but the candle holders didn’t match and for the last one he had just stuck it to a piece of wood with melted wax to keep it from falling over. He had kept some of the branchlets and pretty berries to place them around the candles and had braided some plant stems into some sort of pleated wreath to finish it off. “I know it’s not like.. how you’re used to it, in the village. I know they have much more pretty stuff, but I hope it’s nice and you like it.. a little. If not I can take it off the table it’s not like it’s special or anything I just.. wanted it to be …something nice for you.” He awkwardly managed to say, waiting tensely for Jimin’s reply.

 “H-how I am used to it?” Jimin came closer, reaching out for Namjoon to hug him tight and hide his face with it. “It is special to me, more than that…no one has ever…,” He whispered, hugging Namjoon a little tighter before he turned in his hold and placed the flowers in the small vase. He didn’t need to tell Namjoon about how he had never been on a date before, nor how Honsung had never cooked and if he did something wrong was most likely punished with a slap to his face. It wasn’t often anymore that Jimin did something for Honsung either. He had tried to make his day a little brighter, to cheer him up and make him less agitated and with that wanted to make his own evening less stressful. But Honsung hadn’t even glanced at the flowers, giving them an uncaring shrug before taking the food. Jimin had stopped caring either. Just sometimes for himself he brought a few fresh flowers and placed them onto his table.

Seeing Jimin happy was definitely worth it to feel insecure and so he prepared the plates with equal creativity, arranging the hot mushrooms and the herbal salad and the berries in a way he hoped Jimin would like. When they sat down it was quiet for a while, Jimin savoring the taste of his meal and Namjoon watching Jimin while almost forgetting to eat himself. Only the growling of his stomach reminded him to fill it before his cocked meal got cold. No matter how much he liked mushrooms though Jimin was like the tastier thing in his sight right now.

Jimin couldn’t help but giggle, when he noticed how Namjoon took a small bite from his meal, when he clearly wanted to dive in. It was obvious that usually Namjoon didn’t have to care about manners at all but with him around he wanted to try. Jimin felt touched and the nervousness only grew.

Did it mean as much to Namjoon as it did for him? Jimin peeked over to him when he had finished, hands folded in his lap as he nervously tugged at his shirt. He felt awkwardly out of his depth right now, not really sure what he should do next and his heart was beating so loudly that he was sure Namjoon could hear it. 

Jimin finished his plate and ate the whole dessert that he had prepared so Namjoon took that as a good sign that Jimin wasn't just smiling from politeness but because he actually enjoyed the food. After he had offered him another glass of water and juice that the other declined there was nothing left to do but the dishes - and what Jimin had initially come for. “If you want to you can take a breath of fresh air outside while I do the dishes and see if you can watch some bats hunting for moths. Or you can rest if you’d prefer that.”

Jimin just nodded a little dazed and stumbled outside of the cottage. He hadn’t taken his coat with him, nor anything else, so he was shivering the moment he stepped outside. The sun was setting low over the lake, dipping it into beautiful colors but Jimin couldn’t really enjoy it while his mind was spiraling, and his nervousness was only heightening. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the sudden hands rubbing up and down his arms were making him jump in surprise and Jimin blinked out of his stupor. The sun was gone and there were actually bats circling the early night air. “He will kill me,” It was so quickly spoken that Jimin wasn’t sure if Namjoon even understood what he had just said. “If he finds out, he will kill me and yet, I want to be so selfish and be with you. I want him to see I was yours and if only for a night.” Jimin leaned against Namjoon, knowing that he would be safe to do so. He wouldn’t get pushed away, like so many times Honsung had done. “It feels so right to be with you.”

Namjoon immediately took his hands off Jimin, stumbling back. “What did you just say?” He had no idea what Jimin was talking about but ‘killing’ was understandably a sore spot for him. At first he thought Jimin might be talking about the wolf - that he was scared after all after meeting him during a full moon - but then Jimin spoke further and it didn’t make any sense anymore before it finally clicked. “Are you talking about.. your fiancé? Is he a violent person?”

Jimin averted his gaze and bit down his lip as he tried to avoid to spill too much or make Namjoon worry about him, but his silence told Namjoon enough. “I am just scared about so many things that I don’t understand,” He took a step closer to Namjoon, hoping he wouldn’t back off. Slowly, Jimin reached out for Namjoon, letting his hand soothe up Namjoon’s chest. “What’s the worst he can do? He doesn’t care about me and he will take the first opportunity to throw me out into the forest on a full moon anyways. I don’t belong to him anyways.”

“So - throwing you out would be his method of killing? You are sure he wouldn’t do anything else? Like hurt you. Or kill you himself? Shouldn’t he... I mean... why are you promised to each other if he would push you away that easily?” He couldn’t just let it go that easily. If what they were doing put Jimin at risk of dying then he wasn’t up for it!

Jimin was nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he shrugged his shoulders. “He does it all the time when I don’t listen to the rules of the village. Hurt me, I mean. And Honsung, we’ve been promised the day my mother…” Jimin sighed, taking in a deep breath before he spilled it all, “She was condemned of being a witch and to be in contact with the wolf and it’s evil. My mother had cried at the wolf’s death, while others celebrated but she couldn’t stop it. I tried to calm her, but she cried as if she had lost a friend…a lover…and people turned it against her.” There were no tears in his eyes when Jimin told Namjoon everything, just his fingers were trembling, “They said I would be promised as the only one who survived the wolf’s and witches fangs to be forever in the care of the hunter and therefore his son. So, no evil could spread within me. As they would protect me.” Jimin chuckled low, “Maybe I am the beast?”

Namjoons eyes widened. “No...” His voice gave out as he turned his head away to not let Jimin see how he was fighting the tears. He knew that his mum had been close to someone from the village and he had been pretty sure that it had been Jimin’s mum because - like Jimin - she had a reason to visit the forest. But he had thought that after his mum died she didn’t want to come and now learning that they killed her for being kindhearted enough to cry for his mum broke his heart. Quickly he wiped over his eyes, trying not to show how much it hurt him to learn the truth. This wasn’t about him, it was Jimin’s story and he would deal with his pain another time. He took the boy’s hands in his and squeezed them gently. “I’m so sorry, Jimin, so very sorry that fear and stupidity made the villagers do those… horrible things and hurt you like this.”

“I’m okay. I remember her lovingly,” The words were over his lips a lot easier than he would have thought, but seeing Namjoon aching and feeling his pain, was only making this harder for him and it was still the truth. Jimin didn’t want to remember the pain, but all the good things she had given him.

“I want to be yours, Namjoon.” Jimin stepped closer, hands wandering up his neck and his fingertips were soothing over his soft skin. “I don’t want anyone else to have me but you, because…” A smile played at his lips and his heart was beating so hard against his chest, that he knew Namjoon must feel it with the way he was leaning against him. “This is where I need to be. She told me not to be afraid of the wolf, so I strayed away from the path and found you. Don’t let me go, please.”

“I’m… I’m not planning to.” His throat still felt constricted as he hugged Jimin back, trying to keep the younger from hurting even though he knew that there were already scars on Jimin’s heart that he couldn’t heal. “You don’t have to go back, you know? You could just... stay in the forest. They might think the wolf killed you. Why did you never move in with your grandma before?”

Jimin blinked at Namjoon unbelieving of what he offered him. “I…I wanted to, but she told me not to leave until I knew.” With a chuckle, he traced a finger over Namjoon’s cheeks softly admiring his features under the moonlight. “I don’t know what she means by that and no matter how many times I asked she just told me the same thing again. She refused to let me stay until I do.” He smiled, thinking of his loving grandma, who was the kindest person he’d ever met and although she had pushed him out each day to be back by dawn in the village, Jimin loved her dearly. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Until you know?” He was thankful to Jimin’s grandma to keep his secret because he was certain that she knew who he was even though they didn’t talk much. She wouldn’t make her grandson find out and get him in danger, would she? Sometimes the truth was the most dangerous thing you could get. “I... I do. But I don’t want to go against your grandma’s wishes. She must have a reason why she thinks you’re safer in the village, right?”

Or to be more honest: He wanted Jimin to stay but was scared about him finding out if he would. 

Jimin shivered and although he stayed close to Namjoon right now, it wasn’t close enough to keep him entirely warm in the cold night’s air. “But what about what I want?” He couldn’t help but feel teary-eyed, when Namjoon told him to go back and crashing the hope that had just gleamed within him that he could stay with him. “M-maybe if she knows that I could be with you?” Jimin asked with a shaky voice, “Then she would know that I am safe. And…and I don’t want to be with him. I love you, Namjoon. I want to be yours, please.”

The last thing he wanted was to make Jimin cry, so he gave in. “Okay then... let’s just ask her, okay? We can go there, together and I can officially ask her for your hand. Like... you villagers do right? And if she’s okay with you living with me then you won’t ever have to worry about your fiancé again. We can make something up. You were eaten by the wolf. Or drowned in the lake. Whatever works best. You just… can’t go back to the village then. So, you might want to think about it. About all the people you won’t meet again or the things you love that you can’t get here. I can only provide you with what the forest gives me.”

“M-my hand?” Jimin’s heart took a leap and with it (and a joyful giggle), he jumped right into Namjoon’s arms, kissing him. It was like his mind and heart were through a storm and now it had calmed down, because with Namjoon it was where he wanted to be. “I belong to you, Namjoon. I don’t need to think about it. It’s you that I want. My path leads to you and only you.” He smiled against his lips and with another little jump, Jimin wrapped his legs around Namjoon’s waist, knowing that he would catch him. 

“Don’t jump me like that - who knows if I’ll catch you.” Namjoon teased him lightly, while the wolf in him enjoyed the playfulness. He wanted to playfight with Jimin, roll in the sheets, see who would be able to get the upper hand but he would try and be gentle with Jimin this time.

Because he wasn’t sure if the younger could handle his wolfishness just yet.

A/N: Oh, someone is in love and ready to give up everything ;) But is it the right thing to do? To trust the big bad wolf ;) 

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[ferarum]

𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖗 "𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞" 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈

𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓼.

BASICS:

FULL NAME: Briar Jane Rose

NICKNAME/ALIAS: Briar Beauty, Beauty, BB

DOB/AGE: Aug 19, 23 years old

PLACE OF BIRTH: Kingdom of Auroria, the United Kingdoms of Auradon

SPECIES: Human (cursed)

GENDER: Cis female

ORIENTATION: bisexual (leaning towards girls)

MENTAL:

JOB: heir, princess, party hostess & DJ

EDUCATION: High School at Auradon Prep.

CURRENT LOCATION: Auradon City

PREVIOUS LOCATIONS: Auroria, Auradon.

ALIGNMENT: Lawful neutral

HEALTH: she’s physically healthy, but she carries the same curse her mother had. Not only she’ll fall asleep in random places and times, but one day she’ll fall into a 100-year sleep.

PHYSIQUE:

FACECLAIMS: Vanessa Morgan

HEIGHT: 1,6m (5′3ft)

EYES: warm chocolate brown

HAIR: medium brown with hot pink streaks

SCARS:  just a small one on her bottom lip from when she fell asleep out of nowhere when she was riding a horse.

NOTICEABLE FEATURE: She’s a small rose tattoo on the underside of her left breast. Usually she dresses fashion & expensive, mixing traditional dresses with modern fashion to build up her closet.

FAMILY:

PARENTS: Aurora & Phillip

SIBLINGS: Audrey Rose (younger sister)

OTHER FAMILY: Queen Leah (grandmother), King Stefan (grandfather) & King Hubert (grandfather)

ANIMALS: a Pomeranian named Thorne.

𝓑𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂.

Briar is the first child of Queen Aurora and King Phillip, known as Sleeping Beauty and her Prince. She was born soon after Phillip woke Aurora from the 100-year-sleep. She's just one year older than Audrey but isn't considered the heir to their family because of her curse.

No one could see that coming. The curse that was put upon Sleeping Beauty by Maleficent was more than magic, it was a genetic issue. For Briar's first years, her parents weren't worried. They were just blessed with a quiet kid that slept a lot. Queen Leah, however, didn't trust that judgment. She called Fauna, Flora and Merryweather for a visit and the fairies confirmed: the same curse that Aurora once had now lurked upon her young daughter.

From that day on, Briar grew up knowing that, one day, she'd go to sleep and only wake up a hundred years later, with a true love's kiss from her soulmate. 

Brought up to firmly believe in the power of love and soulmates, she was, as a kid, in love with the idea of true love and, if she had to lose a hundred years of her life to find her other-half, she'd gladly do it. After all, it worked fine for her parents.

Her crisis came during her teenager years. More and more the curse felt like a cruel destiny hovering over head. Briar grew afraid of her destiny. She didn't want to lose all her loved ones, that'd be sure dead after her 100-years sleep.

The recklessness (that she calls adventures) started around her 15th birthday. She figured that if she's losing all those years sleeping, she needed to enjoy her life now and do all the things she wanted while she can. 

When the VKS came to Auradon, Briar was naturally afraid of them, specially of Mal, being the daughter of the women that ruined her life without even knowing it. As a princess, she was raised to believe that the villains and their kids were pure evil, so it wasn't a surprise that she'd act antagonizing to the VKS, if she bothered talking to them at all.

However, Briar has a friendly nature and slowly softened around them. And, when she officially freaked out about her curse, she started seeking them out. She figured that, if auradorians were too afraid of magic to try to help her with her curse, she'd seek help among the isle kids.

Briar is a kind and loving girl, and a hyperactive girl who loves adventure, despite the fact that she can fall asleep everywhere and anywhere at any given time, which is strongly due to the curse & her chaotic sleeping schedule (since Briar is used to party & pulling all-nighters). Briar is kind, sensitive about her destiny, and a loving friend. She is fierce and loyal, and once someone wins her trust, it's forever after.

𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓼.

ISLE RAISED:

Everyone was shocked when Aurora and Philip’s first child was born. What should be a celebration, turned into fear when they first looked at the girl. She wasn’t human. Somehow, Maleficent’s curse on Aurora left her fair share of residual magic -or was it another plan of the dark fae to ruin their lives?- and Briar was born with fairy-like features. She was a beautiful baby, just like her mother once was, but it was impossible to ignore the two small horns on her head. It wasn’t that big of a problem, until she was three and the first sign of dark magic made its way into their life. Now there was no denial: Briar was a dark fairy. She was sent to the Isle by Auradon’s law. Thinking that it was one more opportunity to win over her nemesis, Maleficent adopted the young princess. After all, she could be useful. It would hurt Aurora and her family even more if, when they took over their kingdom, Briar were at Maleficent’s side.

She was raised as Maleficent’s daughter. Albeit the barrier blocked her magic, Briar still has a couple of pitch black horns, born out of her hairline and curling at the points. When she’s mad or performing magic, her eyes glow neon pink. 

MODERN VERSE:

Briar couldn’t find a way out of her curse and fell into the inevitable 100-years-sleep. As usual for her, it was a dreamless sleep. Now it’s the 21th century and, after a kiss from her destined true love, princes Briar Rose, from the long gone kingdom of Rosewood, has to learn how to live in the modern world. Everything is an adventure for her and she didn’t quite understand the technology. However, after losing a hundred years, she is willing to make it worth. She ran from her ‘true love’ to find herself in this new world, to learn and experiment everything that she never could when she was born. She misses her family and might cry when talking about them, but she’s excited and trying to see the positive side.

[victoodles]

Heaven’s Gates

reviewed and edited by the absolute angel that is @verai-marcel​! find it and all my work on AO3!

A celebration for the ages. 

The Braithwaite’s legacy was now nothing more than ashes in the wind. One less inbred stain on Rhodes’ history - Dutch vehemently made sure of that. 

It was a bloody affair, bordering on barbaric. But Dutch insisted, as he is want to do, that it was necessary. Had to be done. And because of his spontaneous action fueled by a restless trigger finger, the youngest Van der Linde found himself home, nestled safely in his mother’s arms. 

The pain of past failures, grieving and loss are forgotten for the time being. There would be time to nurse those wounds later, but now is time for merriments! 

More importantly, drinking. 

Lots and lots of drinking. 

Crates of beer and whiskey are unboxed and passed around generously from one eager hand to the next as songs of victory begin to drift into the starry night. A choir so bombastic and jovial even the alligators lurking beyond the swampy underbrush seem entertained.

The party is shy a voice, however. Two to be exact. 

It seems Arthur had favored abandoning the festivities, tired of receiving the praise he adamantly believes he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t need kind words in return for doing the right thing - something that needed to be done. 

If he is to be rewarded, Arthur yearns for something sweeter, honeyed and intoxicating. 

A craving he aimed to satiate with you. 

He wordlessly leads you from the campfire’s glow back to the imposing homestead that is Shady Belle, a faded scar against the skyline of Lemoyne.

From the way he grips your hand, firm and insistent, you know he needs you. Now. It’s a familiar hold. And again, again, again you comply, answering his every beck and call with the same silent affirmation and tender smile.     

Some of the men hoot and holler profanities in response to his intentions, lascivious but harmless in nature; Arthur will deal with them later.  

For now, he focuses on escorting you up the weathered staircase, so briskly the wood barely has time to creak under you. He’s ever chivalrous though despite his hurried pace, a hand on the small of your back as he makes sure you mount each step before himself. It’s endearing in its simplicity - at how it comes so naturally. 

The gossamer of said chivalry is soon pulled back before you even reach the door to his quarters. It’s replaced with rough hands on your cheeks as he pulls you in for a hungry kiss; silk and lace turn to leather and calloused palms.

You’re pressed immodestly against the wall as Arthur moves his lips against you with fervor. It’s a song and dance you’ve become well accustomed to thanks to his teachings, and you respond in kind. Lips soft against his, sighing in blissful content with each pass of his mouth. Pleasured elation transitions into surprise when you feel his tongue tracing your bottom lip, accompanied by a fervent hand palming your rear through layers of skirts.

Your relationship with Arthur was still relatively new, fresh, only engaging in kissing and occasional heavy petting. You had never been with another man before, not so much as a chaste kiss on the cheek in contrast to this emblazoned act of passion against a dirty, peeling wall in an outlaw camp. He had been considerate in that regard, gently easing you into physicality at a leisured pace. 

Arthur would never overstep himself, not with you; despite his incessant denial to the contrary, Arthur Morgan is a gentleman at heart. He’s patient, the tip of his tongue barely grazing your lips now as he awaits your consent, verbal or otherwise. 

He doesn’t wait long.

Timidly, you part your lips for him and he spares no time deepening the connection. Arthur revels at how sweet you taste and your head is reeling at the hint of whiskey on his tongue. It’s, again, all so new for you, another first for Arthur to claim. And you’d gladly give them all to him. 

You whine in response when he pulls away, but it’s shushed with a gentler kiss and a soft hand on your hip. 

“Hush now, darlin’.” His voice has a teasing lilt to it; you can’t help but smile. He kisses you again, with slightly more intensity before he leads you (finally) to his room. 

It’s as neat as it can be, considering the circumstances. You notice his bed is made, albeit with a single worn blanket and pillow, but it’s the thought that counts. A coy smile graces your lips and Arthur can’t help the tinge of pink that dusts his cheeks ever so slightly. 

“W-was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to - I mean I would be honored if ya-” he struggles to find the right words while still maintaining his composure. Arthur has spoken to women of high society before, courted one in particular. And he’s trying his best to show you the same respect, to remind you of home. Your smile only widens.

“Christ,” his words are becoming a jumbled mess and his face is growing hotter. “What I’m tryin’ to say is-”

Now it’s your turn to hush him up with a kiss. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with his same intensity. Arthur is momentarily caught by surprise, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the bed. It doesn’t take him long to recover, his hands finding purchase on your waist as he returns your affections in kind. 

“Yes,” is all you whisper against the shell of his ear. Arthur is a big man, as tough and tumble as they come. But feeling him shiver against you has a satisfaction surging through you, as well as a newfound sense of confidence as you dare to place one of Arthur’s large palms over your breast. He gawks at you, eyes going comically wide at this shift in dynamics. 

The other girls had teased you incessantly for your lack of...experience as they so ineloquently put it. It seems they had all had their fair share of romps in the hay, some even happening within the confines of camp! (Karen doesn’t have the decency to blush at the very easily proven accusations.) 

However, you were raised differently than them, proper as some might call it. A woman’s body was meant only children, any act of intimacy outside of a lawful marriage would bring damnation. Fire and brimstone and all the other horribly dreadful words your mother would caterwaul anytime you glanced at the opposite sex.

But now? There’s no mother hissing in your ear, no manor walls acting as the cold bars of a gilded cage. 

It’s just Arthur.

And the promise of something glorious.  

Arthur looks to you again. 

Are you sure...with me?  

You offer him a coy smile and a squeeze of his hand for reassurance - doubt has no place between the two of you. He can’t respond with anything but a shaky sigh as he starts to undo the buttons of your blouse with trembling hands. Your nervousness stems from a place of complete naivety, his comes from a long drought of knowing a woman’s touch. 

It’s a fresh experience for the both of you, but Arthur doesn’t plan on using you for a refresher of how man and woman lay together. 

The top buttons come loose slowly but surely. And it doesn’t take long for Arthur’s yearning to be sparked like flint and he picks up his pace, impatient. The skin of your collarbone is soon exposed to him and he hungrily latches on, making you keen. He sucks on it feverishly, not being able to help or stop himself from creating small red blossoms just shy of where is considered modest or decent. They’re a naughty secret, a reminder for the both of you. 

Your hands find purchase in his hair, soft under your fingertips from a recent bath. Arthur is exploring, his lips and tongue roaming new territory not even traversed by you. Fear had kept you from knowing your own body, an apprehension that quickly burns away from Arthur’s heated touches.

Let those wretched emotions join what’s left of the Braithwaite manor.

Arthur frees you from your blouse, leaving your chest fully bare to him. You can’t help the attempt to cover your indecency, face red with shame; how foolish of you to think you could overcome years of conditioning. 

You’re no nymph. 

You’re just a scared little girl playing at some semblance of confidence. 

Mother was right. 

Mother was right. 

Tears threaten to spill but Arthur doesn’t let them. With a reserved gentleness, he takes your hands and brings them up to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the inside of each palm. 

“You’re beautiful,” is all he says. It’s all you need. 

Again you kiss him - you just can’t help yourself. It seems Arthur can’t help himself either as he rolls his hips against your own. 

In that moment you feel him, truly feel him, warm, eager, and hard against you. 

It sets your body aflame. 

You hurriedly go to work rescuing Arthur from the burden of his own clothing, fingers deft as if they’ve done this before. Who ever said sewing and removing mens’ shirts couldn’t be one in the same?  Arthur mimics you, albeit a bit more clumsy in his motions as he works you out of your skirt and onto the bed. He’s getting greedy now, roaming and touching everywhere, anywhere he can. Timidness no longer rears its ugly head in your mind and you welcome each and every sensation, traveling further and further downward. 

Arthur somehow manages to shimmy out of his pants, leaving you both in nothing but undergarments. Your nervous flush is still heavily apparent but you barely notice it, too enamored by Arthur’s half naked physique. Karen and Mary-Beth had shared with you lewd cigarette cards from their “private” collection (you’d hardly call the piss poor hiding spot under Karen’s pillow private). 

But seeing Arthur undressed and on top of you: chest heaving, hair disheveled, and cheeks a deep crimson? It paints an entirely different picture than those glorified Adonises on flimsy cards. He’s real, adorned with scars from an unkind life but each with its own story to tell. 

You want to know them all, you muse as his mouth trails over your breast to capture a nipple between his lips. Gasps and sighs escape you, all melodic and decadent to Arthur’s ear. Such beautiful symphonies he aims to compose with your voice alone. 

You arch your back, desperate for more, more, more. 

Arthur was never one to deny a lady in waiting. 

He licks a circle around the tender flesh with the tip of his tongue, breath hot on your skin while his free hand dares to traverse to the hem of your drawers, toying idly with the linen as he sucks and nips as he pleases. 

Your blush turns into an unbearable heat all across your body, practically singeing the tips of your fingers and toes from its intensity. You feel the pulsing need for him in the pit of your stomach, begging to be satiated however he sees fit. However he’ll have you.

How lewd, you humor the thought for a moment.

It soon turns to oblivion within Hell’s second circle.  

Who cares? Who cares. Who cares!   

“A-Arthur,” you manage to pant. He never thought his name could sound so heavenly falling from your lips. 

He looks at you, expectantly, waiting to answer your every beck and call. Fingers dip beneath the fabric and your already ragged breathing hitches in your throat. 

“What is it darlin’?” It’s a rhetorical question, he’s fully aware. Arthur knows the cure to your incessant longing.

“Please,” you all but beg, voice trembling as you grip the sheet beneath you with white knuckles. You raise your hips, needing more contact. 

How could Arthur deny you of that - of anything?

In one fluid motion, your drawers are pulled off and discarded only God knows where. And again Arthur’s fingers move lower, brushing over your hip bones and leaving goosebumps in their wake until they reach the apex of your womanhood. The rough pad of his thumb ghosts over a spot so decadent you turn into a quivering mess. 

“You like that?” Arthur’s voice is smooth like the whiskey he was sampling, laced with the same warmth. It’s enveloping. All you can manage is a nod as he applies more pressure, tracing circles around your clit as his index finger rubs languidly at your entrance. 

A white hot electricity shoots through you as he slips a finger into you with ease, caressing it against your soft inner walls. It’s a foreign intrusion, one that takes a minute to acclimate to, but the discomfort is assuaged by Arthur’s skilled hand as he starts moving and curling not one, but two fingers at a steady pace.

“More.”

Arthur is no stranger following orders, dropping everything to do as he is bid or told. On occasion it’s both. It’s cumbersome, tiring even. But if you’re the one cracking the whip...

Your wish is his command. 

You can’t contain the cry of protest that wracks you as he withdraws his hand, leaving you terribly, horribly empty. But when you see him through half lidded eyes licking his fingers clean, the feeling is replaced with a white hot need. And a rapidly building pressure buried in the pit of your stomach that is ready to burst. 

The pearly glow of Heaven’s gate is tantalizingly close.

Arthur sits up on his knees, breathing labored as he looks at you. His eyes are a raging storm, calm seas long since lost, and every muscle is coiled and taught. He offers nothing except a rough moan of your name, taking himself in his hands to seek his own pleasure while you prepare yourself for what’s next.

The fear comes back, gnarled and ugly. 

“Arthur, I...I’ve never-“ The words refuse to come out and Arthur distracts you with a kiss as he climbs back on top of you. 

“I know, it’s okay,” he smiles at you so sweetly, “I’ll be gentle.” 

Arthur would never dream of hurting you. 

He inches into you as slowly as he can, grunting profanities at how tight you feel around him. The stretch is uncomfortable, bordering on painful, and you hold onto Arthur’s shoulders as he sinks deeper within you. 

“Are you-”

“I’m o-okay,” you reassure him. Arthur can’t help his concern, blatantly apparent on his face, but he trusts your judgement more than to let his worries hinder him. However, he still manages to practice some self restraint, pausing to allow you more time for pain to evolve into pleasure. 

He’s inside you now, completely. The clouds don’t turn black and the ground doesn’t crumble beneath your feet. There’s just a dull ache.

And an insatiable need for more.

Should there be a cacophony of chaos and hellhounds growling at your heels in your wake, so be it. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, silently urging him on. Arthur notices your readiness and begins to move slowly within you. Each roll of his hips has you writhing beneath him, gasps and moans escaping out the window to join the music of the night.

His composure is ironclad for your sake, careful to not overwhelm or hurt you in any capacity. But he’s far from perfect, and his resolve cracks with every moan of his name and pleasure induced beg. 

More, God please more!

Arthur’s steady pace breaks, devolving into a rapid, hard cadence as he indulges himself for the first time in what feels like years. You’re giving him an insurmountable amount of trust - you’re giving him everything there is to give. Arthur is by no means a selfish man but God does he want it all. 

Mine.

Dutch can take all the gold and Tahitian sand the world has to offer, leave Arthur with you in this god forsaken swamp on this rickety bed until his day of reckoning undoubtedly comes.  

You stand on the precipice of something glorious. You were close to something, close to unraveling. 

Arthur’s thrusts become forceful, erratic. One hand finds your clit while the other threatens to tear the pillow behind your head to shreds. And the world outside becomes overly acquainted with the sound of your lover’s name.

The pearl inlaid handle of Heaven’s gate unhinges. Angels reach out to lead you to rapture. 

Take me now.

You come undone, spectacularly so: synapses firing, nerve endings singing, and a beautiful array of colors blooming behind closed eyes. It’s a glorious symphony that crescendos to a grand finale as you feel Arthur release himself onto your stomach, his heavy grunts matching your cries of ecstasy. 

Basking in post orgasm opalescence, you suppose tomorrow the girls will have a new reason to tease you.

But who cares. 

Certainly not you, now that you’ve found your own key to Heaven.

[hekate1308]

Owe No One Anything, Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight

How could he ever have supposed this thing to be his beloved serpent, Aziraphale wondered as he uselessly struggled against his grip. The spite in his face was almost too much to behold.

“Now you’ll stay right here” he was saying “Just need something to tie you up with, and then I’ll deal –“

“ANGEL!” Crowley burst through the door, clearly surprised when he saw himself. “What –“

“Crowley, be careful!” Aziraphale called out.

“When have I ever been that?” he asked, moving to intervene.

Not-Crowley was strong, but there were two of them, and so they managed to wrestle Aziraphale pout of his arms.

“I am so glad to see you” the angel wheezed.

“And you’ve no idea what a sight for sore eyes you are” Crowley said, just staring at him for a few moments.

“You two are breaking my heart, but I am afraid I can’t allow the angel to leave.”

Crowley turned to his doppelganger and hissed. “Too bad, because he is coming with me.”

“Is he now?”

“Yes” he said, moving so he stood between Aziraphale and… himself.

“Well, you’ll have to deal with the fact that I’m always lurking about then” he said.

And was gone.

“What the –“

Aziraphale quickly explained his theory to him.

“Oh God. We have to find me – him – me then,”

“He’s not you” Aziraphale said firmly and reached out to him to greet him properly.

Crowley, apparently, was much too glad to have him back in his arms to resist. “So what do we do now, angel?” he asked eventually, pulling back.

“We have to find him, and we have to make sure nothing the other angels placed into my mind remains here” Aziraphale said anxiously. “What if I try and hurt you again?”

“You didn’t” Crowley said, reaching out and stroking his cheek with his thumb. “You warned me in time.”

“It was difficult” Aziraphale sighed, leaning into his touch. How he had missed him. “I was panicked that you would drink the holy water and…”

Crowley flinched. “Say what you want about Heaven, but they are much more creative when it comes to torturing someone than Hell.”

Aziraphale nodded miserably.

“Hey” Crowley pressed another quick kiss on his lips. “We’ll figure it out. Now, where is this handsome devil…”

“It’s my mind. There are infinite possibilities.”

“Not in your memories, though. They remain as clear and unchanged as they have ever been. I’ve been through a few when I was trying to find you.”

“What did you see?”

“Mostly us.”

“The important things, then.”

Crowley swallowed, and when he answered, he sounded thick with emotions. “Yes. The important stuff.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand and smiled. “I wish you could tell me all about it this very second, dear, but we have to deal with him first.”

“Alright, then. He is partly based on your recollection of me, so we should probably be looking for places where I would hide from you…” A pause. “Not that I’d ever do that again.”

Again because, when Crowley took his century-long nap, Azirpahale was eventually worried enough to come looking for him. He didn’t wake him but made sure he was safe and comfortable, he’d admitted to him a few months back.

“I know, dear.”

Crowley grinned, “Let’s go then. We survived an Apocalypyse, hellfire and holy water; how difficult can it be?”

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

“Do you have any idea how big this place is?” Crowley asked not long afterwards. They’d been strolling through the streets of London. “I mean is it like the real city, or…”

“I don’t know. So far I’ve only been by the London Eye” Azirapahle admitted.

“Ah, angel, you’re always so sentimental.”

“I needed a high vantage point to figure out what was going on.”

“How did you realize that this wasn’t real anyway?” Crowley asked, genuinely corpus. He was rather impressed  – Aziraphale’s mind had produced the London they knew and loved almost perfectly.

“Well, I – he wasn’t quite right.”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I – well – there was a certain – you weren’t all there, and I could feel that. Oh, he was perfectly accommodating, but –“

“You like me being a bit snake-y” he said, grinning.

“Exactly. And then I looked into his eyes and knew.”      

Crowley took his hand. “Well done, angel.”

“Not good enough” he sighed. “I couldn’t find a way out.”

“Well, that’s what you have me for” Crowley pressed a kiss against his hand. “I was always going to come for you, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through –“

“Doesn’t matter” he said curtly, not wishing to remember that empty look in his love’s eyes. “We deal with this, and then we’ll see.”

And so they moved on.

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

“I think we should go to the London Eye” Crowley said then.

“Why?”

“Because it’s high up. He probably hopes he can throw one or the other of us from it. He must know that there has to be confrontation sometime, so why not there?”

Aziraphale thought about for a moment, the nodded. “We’ll have to be careful, dear.”

“Because we always are” Crowley replied sarcastically, but didn’t let go of his hand.

He wasn’t ready to yet. He doubted he would be in the next century or so.

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

“When this is over we should have dinner here again” Aziraphale said to his demon, “It was rather beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“You know I’m always ready to have dinner with you, angel” Crowley agreed, “but this time, you take over the catering. It took some time to convince that cook to bring the food here…”

Azirpahale nodded happily, his heart singing at Crowley asking him to do things again after way too long spent with a fake version of him.

“Ah. There he is” Crowley pointed. “In the highest booth, of course.”

“We need to get up there.”

“Well then, it’s your turn, angel. Your mind. Just imagine us up there, that should do the trick.”

“Alright” he said, feeling somewhat sheepish that he hadn’t thought of it before, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were looking at not-Crowley.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d find me so fast.”

“You were speculating we would, and you know it” Crowley said matter-of-factly.

“You should know.”

“I know just enough about you that I know I need to get you out of my angel’s noggin.”

“He’s not your angel.”

“Yes” Aziraphale said quietly, “he is.”

“Well, if you want to service a demon…”

“Oh trust me, it goes both ways” Crowley smirked. “Plenty of servicing everywhere.”

Not-Crowley hissed and it was clear that this was something the angels had implanted in his mind – the disdain at the relationship between him and Crowley. And Aziraphale wouldn’t allow it to stay. That could never be.

And then he remembered the Not-Apocalypse and acted.

“Ahm, angel?” Crowley asked in the next moment. “Overdramatic much?”

He wasn’t one to say, if you asked Aziraphale, but he still looked at him and laughed. “I thought, since this is where we had por greatest triumph…”

“Well, triumph” Crowley said, studying the mind-version of the sands of time, “You threatened never to talk to me again and I freaked out.”

“It’s the same thing, dear.”

“What exactly do you plan on doing now?” fake Crowley snarled. “I am not going anywhere. And if you think that abomination can help you –”

And Aziraphle looked at him and saw nothing of the demon he loved anymore. Suddenly, separating and eliminating the parts that didn’t come from his mind seemed like the easiest thing in the world, except for one objection. “Crowley, my dearest” he said softly. “What I am about to do is most likely going to be very unpleasant, and if you don’t feel…”

“Don’t worry about me. Just tell me what to do.”

“I just don’t want you to look at me any differently than before.”

“That will never happen” he promised. “This was done to you, and now we have to fix it. Together. Like we always do.”

“Oh my God, you two are so sappy it’s not even –“

And that was where not-Crowley was wrong. Because, yes, they could be sappy, and ridiculously in love, and Aziraphale loved both of those facts; but when they had to act –

A moment later, they both attacked him, using their wings (which fake Crowley apparently didn’t have – typically angels; probably thought that demons shouldn’t have any in the first place) as leverage.

It wasn’t easy. The non-serpent writhed and screamed in pretend-agony that nonetheless pierced Aziraphale’s heart: he had to take glances at Crowley all the time to ensure his love was actually safe and well – or at least as safe and well as he could be under the circumstances.

“Alright” Crowley said, holding him down, “What do we do?”

“I’ve done my research, and I think I knew what they did. We have to… split him up so to speak. What’s mine and what’s theirs.”

“Ah” Crowley said, “That won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t see –“

“Angel, I can feel what’s yours and what’s theirs. I’ve known you for a long time.” Crowley looked at him and somehow, even with his glasses on, Aziraphale could tell that his eyes had softened. “We can do this.”

“Thank God” he breathed, “I was so worried that we wouldn’t –“

“Hey, I wouldn’t have given up until we found a resolution, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Of course he worried, because Crowley not giving up would have put him in harm’s way, as the demon was very aware, but there was no in pointing it out.

“Alright” Aziraphale said and imagined the instruments he’d seen in Sandalphon’s hands.

Crowley studied them with obvious displeasure. “Those feathered –“

“We should concentrate, dear” he interrupted him. “This won’t be as easy as you think –“

“For you, maybe not. But I am very aware that this isn’t me.”

A pause.

“You should wait outside” Crowley then said quietly.

“No. I won’t let you go through this alone.”

“Alright, but let me know if you start to feel overwhelmed. This is after all your mind, angel.”

“I promise”.

Crowley gave him a quick kiss. “To work, then.”

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

It was neither as easy as Crowley had believed nor as difficult as Aziraphale had feared.

Mostly his job was to keep not-Crowley down while the demon worked on him.

The worst parts where when he tried to plead with Aziraphale and despite the fact that his lover was working diligently, muttering to himself as he went through his ribcage – at least there were no blood or guts, it rather looked like this playdoh thing human children adored to form things with – now and then, Aziraphale flinched.

He never wanted to hear that tone from Crowley – so much like his please that had first alerted him that something was going on – ever again.

“Got it!” he called out triumphantly and used the instrument to pull a –

Small snake out of not-Crowley who promptly disintegrated back into Aziraphale’s mind.

“These – these” Crowley snarled.

“Fuckers” Aziraphale provided.

Crowley stared at him, then laughed. “I really needed that, angel.”

He snapped his fingers and incinerated the snake. “There.”

“You had to come get me” Aziraphale admitted, “Because I couldn’t have done that. Not to someone who looked like you.”

“Well, I did come and get you, so how about we get out of here?”

“Yes. I want to go home.”

It felt like he hadn’t been there in ages, although Crowley had told him it had only been a few weeks. He couldn’t wait and repair his bookshop and their flat.

Crowley kissed him. “See you there, angel.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes – his real eyes in the physical world – a few moments later, Crowley standing over him, still looking a bit worried. “Aziraphale – do you know who I am –“

“Yes” he breathed, pulling him down on the bed, “I know exactly who are you, dear.”

“Oh thank God – thank Sa- thank somebody” Crowley sighed against his neck. “You’ve no idea how much I missed you.”

“I would imagine” Aziraphale said quietly, “About as much as I missed you.”

Chapter Ten

[despairforme]

What would you do if your coworkers found out about your relationship with Grimmjow?

     Talk about a fucking stressful scenario. Nnoitra didn’t even WANT to think about this shit. What? Was he supposed to have some sort of plan or something? Actually - that would probably be a good idea… Too bad he was fucking SHIT at planning, and especially this sort of stuff, though he wasn’t sure what kind of category this thing would fit into. Emergency plans? Something like that. Seriously though - what WOULD he do? It all depended on how his co-workers would react. Nnoitra didn’t think they were the sort of open-minded people who would be like: oh cool, you have a boyfriend. No, that definitely wouldn’t happen. If he could somehow get his co-workers to KEEP his secret, then it wouldn’t be so bad… He didn’t think they would DO anything to Grimmjow ( they would know what would happen to them if they tried anything ). His co-workers were people he had worked together with for years. They weren’t exactly friends, but Nnoitra didn’t think they would hate him if they found out he was in a same-sex relationship. Neither would they underestimate him. A much BIGGER fear of his, was that once his co-workers knew, they would let the rest of the community know. Then, it was only a matter of time before someone decided that Nnoitra couldn’t be so tough after all - if he was gay. And, Nnoitra couldn’t exactly blame people for thinking like that. Personally, he despised the stereotypical gay man. He did NOT want to be associated with people like that. If people started thinking he was gay, they would start to question his masculinity, and ultimately - his strength. While Nnoitra was FINE with people challenging him, he didn’t want to drag Grimmjow into something like that. The sort of people that lurked around in the community where Nnoitra worked, were the sort of people who would commit hate-crimes for sure. He would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to Grimmjow. With how many enemies Nnoitra made in his line of work, it was fairly plausible that someone might try to get to him through Grimmjow. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. He simply HAD to protect him.

     This was the ONE thing he hated about his job. It would’ve been so much nicer if those people were accepting. If they WOULDN’T care of Nnoitra was dating a guy or whatever. Nnoitra would’ve loved to feel confident about holding Grimmjow’s hand in public. He would’ve loved to be able to kiss him when they were at the store, or flirt with him at the bar. But NO. As big as the temptation was, the voice in his head saying; yer gonna regret this, was so loud that Nnoitra did manage to control himself. The thought of something happening to Grimmjow was scary. Nnoitra could feel that tight knot of anxiety form in his chest just by thinking about it. With how Grimmjow was acting - wanting to hold his hand at the busiest hours out on the street, it was obvious that his boyfriend didn’t share his paranoia. One thing was for sure - their time together had tought him that Grimmjow COULD NOT be trusted to take care of himself. Nnoitra would have to be the responsible one. How fucked up was that? 

     When he finally spoke, it was with a casual voice. Like none of this was a ‘ big deal ‘. Nnoitra didn’t WANT to show how stressed out this shit made him. But, the fact that he was clenching his fists might give him away a little bit. Oh, if anyone dared lay one finger on his boyfriend, he was going to fucking rip them to shreds.  ❝ I’d tell ‘em ‘ta keep it ‘ta ‘em’selves. They’d know what would happen ‘ta ‘em if they started runnin’ their mouths. My relationship with Grimmjow ain’t nobody’s business. ❞ He didn’t believe a single word he just said. Yeah, he WOULD tell them to not say anything, IF they found out. But the chances of the secret staying secret? Close to zero. Not to mention that honestly, he didn’t WANT their relationship to be secret! He just wanted to be able to act like any other couple! Hell, he wanted people to tell them to get a room! But Grimmjow’s safety was the number one priority. It HAD to be.

     Nnoitra couldn’t help but imagine the panicked state he would be in if people found out about them. He would be so stressed out about letting Grimmjow go anywhere on his own, and he knew it would look like he thought Grimmjow couldn’t handle himself, and that was probably not something his boyfriend would appreciate. In order to keep him safe, Nnoitra would have to step on his pride. Oh, and even if he DID go with him everywhere, there was no guarantee that that would mean Grimmjow was safe. In the end, Nnoitra was just ONE man, and there was a limit to how many people he could fight off. It would’ve been a lot easier if Grimmjow understood this shit. Him trying to take his hand in public and shit like that made it incredibly hard for Nnoitra to resist him. Add the fact that he felt like he was acting cold towards his boyfriend, when ALL he wanted to do was hug him. Yeah, Nnoitra was in deep waters. The worst thing was that... He somehow just knew that there was only a matter of time before his fears became reality. Because these fears of his weren’t just him being paranoid and stupid, they were legitimate. They were LIKELY. The only thing he could do was... Protect Grimmjow to the best of his abilities. At least he had done a pretty good job at that last time. That was the one thing he kept telling himself to cheer up about this whole subject. He was prepared to do anything - anything at all - to keep Grimmjow safe.

[uv-ray-writes]

Last Words (Soulmate au)

How are you? Don't close your eyes. Save me. Goodbye. Don't leave me. Can I have your phone number? Kill me first.

Everyone has a sentence, or a phrase and sometimes, just a word somewhere on their body. We don't know how they got there, but they're there. Scientists all over the world baffled by them. They often have heated debates over the origin of those words, but when and how they appeared doesn't really matter to me, it's why they appear that truly appeals to me.

These strings of letters, meaningless when apart but everything when together, can define how you live your life. These strings of letters are the last words directed at you that will ever come out of a person’s mouth, or more specifically, your soulmate’s. The person who was meant for you, who you were created for… Their last words... Whatever they say to you right before the light in their eyes fades away forever… Those are what these strings of letters are.

There are all sorts of last words.

Did you get the mail? I’ll be down in a minute. Have you seen my cell phone? What do you want to eat?

These are the generic last words. The ones that people speak all the time. The ones that you hear practically everywhere. Every single time you hear these words, your blood runs cold. You get scared. You wonder whether your soulmate is going to die. And then, you realize that no, it's not your soulmate dying. It's just someone who happens to still be breathing saying those exact words and almost sending you into a cardiac arrest. You take a deep breath in attempt to calm yourself and you thank whoever is out there for sparing you the heartbreak. Eventually, you start to get used to these words. You still go still whenever you hear them, but your heart no longer races and your mind no longer runs through scenarios of ‘what happened’s.

Then one day, you hear them again, and you have this gut feeling, something that tells you this time it's different, that this is it, but you brush it off, you ignore it. This has happened before, you convince yourself, nothing bad is going to happen. The feeling starts to grow, and it becomes so strong that you're compelled to go look for the one person you believe is your soulmate. You shout for them, but no one answers. As your heart starts racing, your footsteps go faster. You finally find them and your eyes go wide. Your soulmate… Those eyes that once held galaxies in them… That smile that told you everything was okay… All of that is now gone as your soulmate lays limp in your arms. Your heart doesn't want to believe it, but your mind knows better. Your soulmate is dead, never to breathe again. You hug them close to your chest as your vision blurs and tears start to fall.

Don't close your eyes! Didn't you lock the door? He's coming for us. Don't kill her!

These are the horrifying ones. You don't know what's going to happen, but you know it will be something bad. One day, something horrible will happen and your soulmate is going to be a victim of it.

All your life you prepare for what's to come. You take up self-defense classes, you make sure to keep your guard up, you try to be as careful as possible when you go out, you don't go looking for trouble, you stay in as often as you can and you never forget to lock the doors. Whenever you do go out to have a day of fun, the possible danger always lurks in your mind. The question ‘is this it?’ keeps on bouncing around your mind and paranoia slowly eats you up. Even when you're in an amusement park and on a ride, screaming your heart out, letting loose of your frustrations, adrenaline in your veins, having the time of your life, the fear never leaves. It might be pushed into the corner of your mind, you might have built a wall around it, but it's always looking for a weak spot, waiting to breakout, and when it does, it goes on a rampage and floods your mind until your body is paralyzed with fear. That feeling leaves as time passes, but you'll never truly feel safe anywhere. The word ‘safe’ simply does not exist to you anymore. You know that you and your soulmate will be present for a dreadful event, and there isn't really a way to prepare yourself for that.

Did you do the homework? When is the project due? My mum said no. The exam’s tomorrow and I've not studied yet!

You're a parent, and your child has these words. When you see these words, you'll know that it'll happen young, and there's nothing you can do to protect them. You're tempted not to send your kid to school, to isolate them, hoping that you can somehow thwart Fate, but you know that it's inevitable, no matter what you do.

You send you child to school. You know that one of these days, your child will come home crying over the loss of someone meant for them who they never had the chance to truly appreciate. You get nervous every time your child brings a friend home. You don't know if this friend is your child's soulmate. You don't know if that friend will die today, in your house, just because he or she was destined to.

There's nothing you can do to shield your child from this impending heartbreak. The only thing you can do, is try to help them on the road of recovery. It won't be easy, no. It will be filled with all sorts of obstacles preventing your child from having any hopes of recovering but you'll help them through it. You will, and you'll make sure that your child finishes that journey with success.

You're better than this. How could you? I don't even know you anymore. I hate you!

When you see these words, you'll know that right before your soulmate dies, you have done something terrible and unforgivable. You don't know what it is that you might have do, but you know it's bad. Therefore, you do everything in your power to make sure you never offend anyone, that your actions can only lead to good. You're polite, you take extra care of other’s feelings, you're everyone's favourite person. You don't voice out your feelings for fear of offending somebody.

Then, everything goes downhill.

Things go wrong. You make mistakes. You do things you've sworn never to do. Your life spirals down. Everything just starts to crash and burn, but you don't realize it. You don't think that anything is wrong, and by the time you do, it's too late. That person who you were supposed to cherish forever? That person you were never supposed to hurt? Yeah, that person is now laying on the ground, skin cold to the touch and unresponsive to the world because of you. You realize that you were wrong, that you were a monster. You wish you could turn back time and take back everything, but you can't. Your soulmate is dead, and it's your fault. Every mistake leading to this moment, you regret all of them. Your life is exploding with ‘if only’s. If only you had done something about it, if only you'd listen, if only they were still alive. If only, if only, if only…

What's your name? Do you have a facebook? Can I have your number?

When you grow old enough to understand these words, you'll know that you'll never get a chance to really know them. You'll never be able to say what their favourite colour is. You'll never be able to say who their first crush was. You'll never be able to tell them that you love them, because all of this will be taken from you.

You'll be afraid to meet new people, because every time someone asks you those questions, your heart freezes up and you're afraid that they are your soulmate, and you'll never know who they truly were. Every time you make a new friend, you'll be putting your heart on the line, you'll be putting your soulmate on the line, due to the fact that you'll never know whether the next person you meet is your soulmate or not. You're scared that as they ask you what your name is, or as they ask you for your number, something unbelievable will happen, something so great that it'll take the person in front of you away, right before your eyes.

By the time you realize that the person standing in front of you is the one destined for you, the one who would always cherish you, it's too late. They're gone forever. The is has become a was.It's one thing to lose someone you know and find out that they're your soulmate too late, but it's something much crueler to never know them at all.

This… system is flawed. It's unfair that you'll never be able to find out if the person who's always been with you, who's always cared for you, is your soulmate, not until they die, but by then it would be too late. You love that person, you really do, but you don't give that relationship your all, not because you won't, but because you can't. There is a voice constantly nagging you that that person might not be your soulmate. You can give them your whole heart because there will always be a small space reserved for whoever your soulmate might be. You can't fully commit yourself to one person when you don't know if that person is your soulmate or not. You're afraid that you'll become too attached to this person, and it turns out that your soulmate is someone else. What if you actually know that someone else and feel something, but you never give them a chance because you are too wrapped up in a different person? However, you are also afraid that this person who you've always been with is your soulmate, but because of not knowing, you've never been able to give that person your whole heart. You've never truly opened up, and now it's too late. You'll live with regret for the rest of your life, no matter what you do. You’ll forever be torn to two not knowing what to do. You'll live with fear until the day your soulmate dies, until the day you find out who they are. You'll never be able to choose which course of action to take. Your head will always be plagued with ‘what if’s. You'll never be able to alter it, because this is Fate, and Fate doesn't care about your plans. It decides who comes into your life, but your heart decides who stays, and you'll eternally fear making the wrong decisions.

This isn't fair to us, but this is life, and life isn't fair. Life is a journey, we have to make it to the end of the road before we get to see the picturesque scenery. It won't be easy and you'll always feel like giving up. The road will seem endless, but it's not. It's difficult, but it's not impossible. There will be people and things stopping you from reaching your destination, but you can make it, as long as you put your heart into it. A journey is an act of traveling from one place to another. Finding somebody then losing them is a journey in a way. That’s because your mind has travelled from one place to another. You're no longer the same person you were before. You've matured, and you've learnt from your mistakes. That's what a journey does, it changes your perception and changes you for the better.

Everything is a journey, and life is the ultimate journey. It's a journey with little adventures hidden within, a road with little pathways of its own. It is unbelievably exhausting, but it will all be worth it in the end, I promise.

[teamkaiforever]

Give Me A Chance

(requested by @selma-prq) BONKAI word count : 1 824 summary : (after Damon leaves 1994) Kai has feelings for Bonnie and she has some feelings for him too , but she keeps trying to deny them. * not my gif __________________

Ever since the first time Kai saw Bonnie there had been something about her that drew him in. He didn’t know if it was because she was the very first person he had seen in 18 years or because of her personality or because she was his ticket out of the Prison world. He just knew he liked her. Being a sociopath , emotions rarely bothered him but things with Bonnie were different. She was brave , loyal … Kai liked that about her. He had never had anyone like her in his life. After the officially met , he tried flirting with her and it was all going perfectly fine until she found out what he had done. For some reason she couldn’t forgive him for that the same way she had forgiven Damon’s many sins. Yet the more she resisted the more he wanted to get her to like him. Even after she had killed him and crossed him not once but twice , he still wanted that.

Kai hadn’t seen coming Bonnie giving up her magic. Part of him had hoped they’d get out , maybe somehow he’d get her to go out on a date with him or something. Instead things never seemed to work out in the way he wanted them to. He had spend so much time alone in the Prison World , his human interraction skills have gone into a deep slumber. Kai couldn’t understand why Bonnie didn’t like him. He was nice … ish. When they had first met he had felt something and he rarely felt anything towards anyone , specially strangers. Kai found himself unexplicably drawn to her , thinking about her all the time even when he didn’t want to. “I can’t believe you chose to send away your magic. That has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. ” said Kai , his hand holding onto Bonnie’s arm practically pulling her after him in the direction of the Salvatore house. “You spent 4 months trying to get it back only to give it away …” “It’s a small price to pay too keep you from getting out.” said Bonnie , wriggling her hand out of Kai’s grasp. “I’d do it all over again in a heart beat.” Kai clenched his jaw for a moment , his eyes piercing into hers. Then he started laughing. ‘Or maybe ’ he thought. ‘she is finally starting to like me and just wanted to be all alone with me.’ Bonnie looked at him confused , unable to figure out what was so funny. She had basically doomed both of them to spend eternity alone together … and then it hit her. Maybe Kai was right. By dooming him , she doomed herself, but there had to be another way out , right ? If such a thing existed , she planned on finding it and getting out on her own. “Ugh … You are unbelievable.” she said turning on her heels and walking away from him. The less time Bonnie spent around Kai , the easier it was for her to shove all those feelings she had for him. Sometimes she wondered if she had gone crazy spending four months only with Damon because before that , she never would’ve fallen for a person like Kai…even if he was one the hottest guys she had met. Bonnie got to the house first , walked upstairs into Damon’s room , tossing herself onto the bed. “Never thought I’d say this … but I miss you , Damon.” she muttered to herself.

-

“Morning.” Kai said hovering over Bonnie who had fallen asleep on the sofa the night before after she and Kai had been playing monopoly because Kai kept insisting ‘it will be fun’. “I made you breakfast.” he said , pulling her up and dragging her towards the kitchen. “Pancakes ! You will love them , they are much better than Damon’s.” Bonnie sat on the table , a plate with pancakes landing in front of her alongside a glass with orange juice and a cup with coffee. “Why are you doing all this ? I will never like you or enjoy your company … ” “Can’t you see I am trying to be nice ? We will be stuck here for all eterntiy , I just want us to get along.” he said , sitting on the opposite side of the table , digging in his pancakes. Bonnie just stared at him. “Oh come on , Bon Bon. You can’t hate me forever. What would you have done in my place ? Let your only chance to go home slip away ? ” Bonnie sighed , glancing at the pancakes. She was hungry and the pancakes looked incredible - fluffy , the perfect shade of golden brown and very appetising. Kai looked at her expectantly. There was something about his eyes this morning that was different and for a moment she actually considered their etenity together. ‘Maybe it won’t be that bad.’ she thought.

“Only because I am hungry.” she said taking a bite from her pancakes. “MMm those are … awful absolutely awful.” Kai squinted his eyes for moment , knowing fully well Bonnie is lying. “Whatever , I know you like them.” he said. “You don’t have to pretend , Bonnie. I see everything that’s going on here…” Bonnie glanced at him , took a few sips from her juice and without a word walked out of the kitchen. “Where are you going ?” “To pick my half of the world..” she called out. “…so I don’t have to listen to you for another second.” she muttered to herself as she walked out the Salvatore Boarding House. It was really hard hating Kai when he was doing gestures like this but it also wasn’t enough to get her to forgive him for shooting an arrow in her abdomen or chasing her in the hospital , nearly choking her afterwards. A minute passed before Kai got up and ran after her , quickly catching up with Bonnie. “Slow down. It’s not like the world is going anywhere.” “Ugh.” “Oh , come on Bonnie. Damon is gone , you don’t have to pretend you don’t like me anymore.” “Who’s pretending?” Bonnie kept walking towards town with Kai at her tail , not slowing down for a second. He took a few steps ahead and blocked her way. “It’s OK I like you too… you are not the ‘most annoying person in the world’ as Damon said. You can teach me to be good.” Bonnie rolled her eyes. Even if what Kai said was true , he was still a psychopath who at any moment might turn on her and kill her without anyone realising it had even happened. “You don’t like me. You are just afraid I’ll find a way out and ditch you behind.” “Oh-kay. That may be partially true but ..” “No 'but’s , Kai. You are not getting out of here , I am not getting out of here. The fact we will both be stuck in this 'wonderful magical world’ doesn’t mean we have to talk or see each other. ” “Ouch.” “Yeah. Ouch. Now move out of my way.” Kai didn’t move an inch and Bonnie pushed her way past him. He grabbed her wrist making her turn around towards him. “You can deny it all you want Bon Bon… but I know the truth. So do you.” Bonnie wriggled her wrist out of Kai’s hands and continued on her way to Mystic Falls , fighting off the butterflies in her stomach and the feeling she had gotten having Kai look at her the way he had.

The next few days were hard to say the least. Kai was annoying as hell , never shutting up. A few times Bonnie actually found herself enjoying his company. When that happened she usually just up and left wherever they were just to stop herself from showing him that he is starting to win her over. He was acting more charming by the minute making it harder for her to deny how his smile was able to make her heart flutter , how his blue eyes could send butterflies in her stomach with one look. That night she went to sleep thinking about him.

-

Kai smiled to himself. He hadn’t had a clue how interesting and fun it could be watching someone sleep. “Morning sleepyhead.” Bonnie opened her eyes , widening in shock at seeing Kai laying on the bed next to her , his hands behind his head. “Sleep well?” “What the hell are you doing in my bed ?! Get out !” “You were drooling in your sleep. Were you dreaming about me ? That would explain the drool.” said Kai grinning , reaching to touch her face. For a moment Bonnie didn’t pull away , then she grabbed his wrist squeezing tight making Kai flinch in pain before pushing him off the bed and onto the floor. Kai got up , a slight smirk on his face as he got onto her bed again. “You like me.” Bonnie sighed in frustration , rolling her eyes.Heart skipped a beat at his words but she quickly shoved all the feelings away. “No , I don’t. What do you even hear when I speak to you ? I DON’T LIKE YOU.” “But you were dreaming about me. I know you were. You said my name in your sleep.” Bonnie froze for a moment , clenching her jaw. She had been in fact dreaming about him. He had been lurking in her dreams a lot the past few days but she didnt plan on sharing that with him. “No , I haven’t. Why would I dream about you ? Find something else to obsess about.” she got up from the bed , briskly walking to the door. Kai got up after Bonnie quickly catching up with her , gripping her wrist making her turn around. He quickly backed her against the wall , his hands on either side of her boxing her in. He was breathing heavily , not because he had been running , but because he wanted to kiss her. “Kai …” Bonnie’s heart racing , her eyes trying to avoid his. He was standing too close to her , so close she could feel his breath on her face. He was leaning in and a part of her (she was no longer sure how dominant that part had gotten) wanted him to. “Give me a chance Bon Bon.” he whispered slowly backing away from her. “It is all I ask. We can be friends , I know we can.” It took her more than few seconds to recover , for her breathing to stop being shallow and for the sound of her heart pounding to disappear. “If I do , will you stop following me everywhere ?” she said crossing her hands on her chest. All she wanted was to get him to stop with all the sneaking behind her back and if she had to pretend , she would. Though she wondered if thats what she’d actually be doing. A moment ago she had nearly thrown herself at him. Kai put his hands in his pockets and winked at her. “It is possible , yes.” “Okay then.” she said heading downstairs towards the kitchen. “What are you making me for breakfast ?”

MASTERLIST March / April 2017 MASTERLIST MAY 2017

[clarenecessities]

The Dread Pirate Ladybug, Ch 10

Chapters: 10/13 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Implied death, may contain horses

Chapter Summary: have you ever gotten the impression that everything around you is trying to kill you? if you’re not australian, you may be in a fire swamp Chapter Warnings: Actual violence, blood tw, blade tw, attempted murder, animal death, fire cw, poorly written romance

AO3

Marinette held her sword in one hand, and Adrien’s clammy palm in the other. She tightened her grip in reassurance as she peered into the twisting maze of the fire swamp.

The trees were everywhere, massive and gnarled and growing so close together that walking beneath them felt like descending physically into night. The vegetation was scant, but a thousand varieties of fungi curled and sliced from every surface, and lichen draped itself from the cathedral of branches overhead. A reek of sulfur and smoke lingered in the air. The ground wasn’t very swampy at all, hard and dry and carpeted with fallen leaves and an inauspicious bramble or two. A faint orange glow suffused the entire forest, but it grew more concentrated beneath this crust of debris.

Marinette pushed a small patch of blackened and decaying leaves away, revealing a network of phosphorescent fungus that seemed to pulse under the toe of her boot.

“Foxfire,” she said aloud, looking to Adrien. He was watching the ground with fascination, his bright green eyes shining in the reflected light. The eager curiosity on his face, which had been reluctant and heavy with fear mere minutes ago, filled Marinette with a fresh rush of affection.

“There’s an oxidative enzyme in the fungus,” she explained softly when he turned to her, unable to restrain her smile as he watched her with undisguised interest. “It’s the same process as fireflies. Don’t eat any of them though; a crewmate of mine did once thinking they were chanterelles, and regretted it… rather fiercely.”

Adrien pushed at the leaves with his own foot to expose a larger swath of the underlying variegation. The patterns shifted as he swept his sole across them, dancing like light reflected off of water. He gave a small laugh of delight, beaming at her.

“You’re right,” he told Marinette, a little breathlessly. “We can do this.”

“And what makes you say that, all of a sudden?”

“We’re standing in the middle of the Guilderian Fire Swamp, surrounded by poisonous fungus, and, quite likely, snow sand, spurts of flame, and smoke cats.”

“So we are,” she said cautiously, more than a little concerned about where he was going with this.

“In less than a minute, you’ve not only rendered the fungus harmless,” said Adrien, stepping closer to her, “you’ve made it beautiful. I don’t know how long we’ll be in here, and I honestly don’t think it’s going to be much fun, but we can at least survive. You, evidently, can survive anything.”

“Death cannot stop true love,” she repeated, with a wry smile. “And if I survive, I’m damn well taking you with me.”

He chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead that warmed Marinette to the tips of her toes. She’d never get tired of those kisses, of these moments. She felt as though she’d been in a blizzard for five years, frozen and frostbitten, and she’d finally been welcomed back inside. The small and tender gesture was a warm drink pressed into thawing fingers, and her earlier rush of affection became a torrent.

He loved her.

He loved her and he hadn’t forgotten her, he hadn’t given up on her or found someone he preferred. He had been swept up by circumstances outside his control, as she had been, but he still loved her. In spite of—well—everything. Just about everything. She was honestly having a hard time understanding what she’d done to deserve it, given her behavior in the past 24 hours alone.

“I love you,” she told him, because it was the most important thing in the world that he know that. She couldn’t remember if she had said it earlier—she certainly hoped the kissing had been a clue—but even if she had just finished saying it, it wouldn’t have been soon enough. So she said it again, for good measure. “Adrien, I love you.”

He drew back from her forehead and looked at her with so much raw emotion that she wondered how she could ever have doubted his feelings for her.

“I love you too,” he whispered, “Let’s kick the fire swamp’s ass.”

They set off at a slow pace, Marinette slightly ahead as she was the one with the sword, their hands still tangled between them. Adrien wove as he walked, stepping on the patches where the foxfire glowed brightest, still excited by the phenomenon and the caustic ripples he could elicit. Marinette swept lichen and vines from their path with the flat of her blade, watching carefully for movement ahead. She sawed through an especially long and sturdy vine with the knife at her side, winding it around herself like a rope. It seemed a handy thing to have, given the circumstances.

Almost immediately, they discovered the flame spurts. Preceded by a low rumbling, the ground would break apart from below, and instantly erupt into a blazing column of fire, spewed from the crack for anywhere from a few seconds to longer than Marinette and Adrien waited around to see. The sulfurous smell intensified as these spurts roared to temporary life, revealing the flammable gasses that were their source.

Skirting one of these pyrophoric vents, Adrien began to look nervous again. His eyes watched the flickering geyser and he strayed a little closer to Marinette’s side, his free hand reaching out to clutch at her forearm.

“So,” he began, in a failed attempt to sound casual, “Dread Pirate Ladybug, huh?”

She smiled at him, the same smile she’d given him when he’d first made that connection.

“The one, if not the only.”

“…You lost me.”

“Pop quiz,” said Marinette, “how long has Ladybug been sailing?”

“Twenty years, give or take a few—” Adrien paused mid-sentence, frowning. “Wait a minute.”

She continued to smile, letting him work the timeline out on his own.

“So you’re… not Ladybug?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, I am,” said Marinette. She released his hand to wave her own through the air, gesticulating vaguely. “Let’s start at the beginning, I guess. I did promise you an explanation.”

Adrien kept one hand on her elbow, his eyes fixed on her with burning curiosity instead of watching where he was going.

“What I told you earlier—that was all true. And at first it didn’t really make a difference.” Marinette continued to sweep and slash the lichen and vines from their path as she spoke, watching where they were going so Adrien wouldn’t have to. “Ladybug was fairly apologetic, but still very firm: I had to die. Matter of principle, you know.”

“What changed?”

“I started talking about you,” she told him. “I don’t know that she felt guilty so much as she wanted to hear more, to be quite honest. She didn’t really believe me. Although I can’t blame her: You are a bit too good to be true.

“She had me go on describing you bit by bit—‘Eyes the color of summer,’ I said, ‘and hair like the autumn sun.’ I mean, you know me, I’ve no great gift for words, but I could wax poetic about your face for years.”

“See, I could probably, uh—wax pathetic about it. It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Adrien good-naturedly, tossing his short hair as dramatically as he could.  “Wait! Wane pathetic. Final answer.”

Marinette laughed, curling her wrist so they walked just a bit closer together. Even this, simply talking, felt somehow more complete with him at her side. There were no awkward little gaps in the conversation, no haltingly explaining a joke that had failed to land—he encouraged her to speak the way he did everything, gently and earnestly, and what she had been sure ten minutes ago was the strongest love she’d ever felt now seemed only a vague fondness compared to the depths of her current affections.

“Anyway,” she continued, rolling her eyes at him, cramming her emotions away for a more appropriate time and venue, “she was interested now, at least a little, and by the end I knew I had her. She was unfortunately still pretty set on murdering me, as a pirate really can’t afford to let people think they’ve gone soft—particularly a pirate whose whole spiel is ‘No Survivors.’

“So I said, ‘I swear I won’t tell, that seems a pretty fair price for the whole not dying thing,’ or something to that effect, ‘and if you let me live, I will be your personal valet for five full years, and if I ever once complain or cause you anger, you can chop my head off then and there and I’ll die with praise for your fairness on my lips.’ And, you know, she seemed pretty interested. I don’t think anyone could frame five years of captivity and servitude as soft. She didn’t give in immediately, of course—she said, ‘Go below, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’”

Marinette stopped talking abruptly, and pretended to clear her throat to cover it up, not wanting to alarm Adrien or alert him to the enormous smoke cat she had just spotted following them.

Smoke cats, while rumored to be incorporeal and thought by some to be a will-o’-the-wisp variety of apparition, were unfortunately very real. They were named as much for their exclusive habitat—fire swamps—as for their coloration. With dusky fur that paled to silver at the roots, and a coal black marbling along the lengths of their bodies, they haunted the fire swamps like living shadows. Though it was often said they grew to be as large as lions, most were only the size of an especially big dog. They were principally ambush predators, drifting across the flickering forest floor or lurking high in the treetops as they stalked their prey. They almost exclusively had bright yellow eyes, and it was these that alerted Marinette to their presence as they watched she and Adrien pick their way through the swamp.

They glowed like embers, intent on their quarry, as the smoke cat sat perched on the bough of massive tree, its tail—the same length as the rest of its body—swinging like a pendulum beneath it. Though solitary creatures by nature, smoke cats had a deep partiality to fresh blood, and a tendency to frenzy. Marinette looked at Adrien, inspecting the healing wound on his temple to insure it had scabbed enough to keep him safe. Her wrist had stopped bleeding, and would be safe for a while, but she could protect it more easily than someone else’s head.

“Go on; what happened in the morning?” he urged, meeting her eyes.

“I cooked the crew breakfast,” she said simply, pulling him along so that she was in between him and the smoke cat, but still leading. “Their previous chef had been using pepper instead of salt, so they were thrilled with some reasonable pancakes. Ladybug ate seven of them and thanked me, said she’d most likely kill me in the evening.”

“But she didn’t,” said Adrien, smiling again.

“No,” she confirmed, smiling back. God, he was adorable. He was so excited. “By evening I had found ways to make myself useful. I reorganized their storage room, and fixed up a very poorly patched sail, and had a talk with the chef about seasonings. I worked out a plan for cleaning the whole ship, so the rest of the crew could cut back on time spent doing chores.”

“And that’s when she decided to let you live?”

“Honestly, I think she decided that the minute she didn’t kill me outright. But she kept saying that to me for years—‘good work Marinette, delicious pancakes, I’ll most likely kill you tomorrow.’ Except eventually I ran out of things to do to improve the ship, so she started me on ways to improve myself. Taught me how to fence, and sail, and somewhere along the way, we became friends.

“And then one day, she called me into her cabin. I was half-convinced my luck had run out and she was finally going to kill me, but instead she told me there was something about her that no one knew yet: She had a secret.”

Adrien squeezed her hand, his eyes sparkling and wide as dinner plates. “What was it?” he whispered, as if the fire swamp was full of eavesdroppers.

“’I am not the Dread Pirate Ladybug,’” Marinette told him, biting back a giggle at his enormous gasp. He clapped both hands over his mouth, and she thought it was only half theatrics—he seemed as genuinely shocked as she had been.

“She said, ‘My name is Bridgette. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Ladybug. She wasn’t the real Ladybug either; her name was Jeanne, and she’d inherited it from a woman named Hippolyta. The real Dread Pirate Ladybug has been retired fifteen years and is living like a Queen in Kaokoland.’”

“But—why?” asked Adrien, lowering his fingers from his face only slightly.

“The thing about piracy—for-profit piracy anyway—is if you’re good at what you do, and you don’t get caught, it’s a very lucrative business. I mean, I barely keep anything, and I’m richer than our whole hometown combined. Bridgette went after a different class of ship than I did, and she got even richer even faster. And once you’ve made your fortune, why bother, you know?” She shrugged as she walked ahead, peering contemplatively up into the dense branches overhead. “They were all fairly eager to enjoy their spoils, but a reputation’s a difficult thing to come by. No one is going to surrender to the Dread Pirate Marinette.”

“I mean, I might,” said Adrien, chuckling at her heels.

“You’re biased,” she told him with a laugh. “You’d surrender just for a shot at flirting with me.”

“Well, true,” he agreed, a crooked grin splitting his face, “but I’d just as soon surrender out of blind terror. You’ve quite a temper, my lady, and…”

“And?” she prompted, tilting her head expectantly.

He didn’t answer.

“Adrien?” she asked, turning around to look at him.

Where he’d been standing a moment before, there was a blank expanse of sand.

Marinette swore loudly, ripping the vine off of her shoulders and tying a swift knot around a tree, wrapping the other end around her wrist and clenched hand, springing immediately into the bare earth.

Snow sand, a variety of dry quicksand, is found only under very specific conditions.

The Guilderian Fire Swamp has these conditions in abundance.

The finest grains of sand, silky and innumerable, were tossed and tumbled by the jets of marsh gas that wove under the hardened crust that composed the majority of the surface. Anywhere the ground was looser or lighter, it was fluffed up by these vents—anywhere it was thicker, they tended to result in flame spurts.

Moving through the snow sand didn’t feel like swimming, or even falling; it felt like floating. Eyes squeezed shut, a sailor’s lungful of air to hold, vine wrapped around her wrist, Marinette moved blindly through the powder. She’d dived in like an arrow, and though Adrien had doubtless been vertical while entering, he would know to spread himself flat as quickly as possible—or at least, she hoped he knew.

She swept her arms wide, feeling desperately for the slightest hint of her beloved. Did he have enough air? Had he kept his eyes shut? What if she found him and he couldn’t be saved? Had she come so far just to lose him now?

Her fingers brushed something hard and smooth, and she reflexively snatched it up, only to drop it as though scalded.

It was a hand, distinctly human, desiccated and detached from whatever pour soul had fallen into the snow sand’s pitiless grasp.

Gross. Gross, gross, gross gross gross.

She had to find Adrien. Immediately.

As though summoned by her renewed resolve, Marinette’s searching hands found something soft and warm, heavy and familiar. She drew him to her chest, pulling the vine in her other hand taut, wrapping it around her forearm as she hauled them both to the surface.

She broke into the open air with a dry gasp, Adrien’s head slightly ahead of hers. She pushed him onto solid ground as her legs kicked uselessly for traction, eventually flipping herself onto the mulch beside him. She brushed the sand impatiently from her eyelashes, breathing hard through her nose to dispel what had accumulated around her nostrils.

Adrien was lying still, his entire face caked in snow sand.

Marinette swore again, swiping what she could from his eyes and nose with one hand, while the other felt for a pulse at his throat. She sagged in relief when she found one, and felt the ragged breath in his chest.

She opened his mouth to check for any sand, finding it mercifully empty, though she could see a few grains in the back of his throat. He must have inhaled through his nose at some point, which explained the sound of his breathing.

She bent his left knee, drawing his left arm up towards his face, and rolled him gently onto his side, thumping him between the shoulder blades with the heel of her hand.

Adrien came awake with a deep cough, a plume of sand blossoming from his mouth as he hacked and convulsed with the effort. He opened his eyes as it subsided, a sliver of green amidst crusty blond lashes, a muddy tongue flicking over his chapped lips.

“Marinette?” he croaked, reaching for her automatically, his hand shaking as it curled into hers.

“Shh,” she hushed him, brushing the hair away from his face. “You’re alright. I’ve got you. Can you close your eyes for a minute?”

He did as she bade, probably more out of exhaustion than compliance, and she drew the canteen from her belt, pouring a slow trickle across his face. His expression screwed up as it passed over his eyes, and he licked his lips again on instinct. Without the sand in the way, his face was pale as a sheet, and Marinette rubbed comforting circles on his back as he wheezed on the ground.

“Thirsty,” he managed after she had finished cleaning his face. She helped him sit up, and after having him gargle and rinse, he took a long draught of water.

“Alright?” she murmured as he lowered the canteen. He nodded in response, dull eyes flickering to hers. He lifted his hands to her face, brushing the sand from her cheeks with shaking fingers. She laughed at him for being worried about her when he’d almost died, but closed her eyes obligingly beneath his ministrations.

“Thought I’d lost you,” she told him while he swept at her jaw, pressing her forehead against his with a small sigh. Her heart rate was only just beginning to slow.

“Doesn’t feel too great, huh?” he rasped, his voice still raw from the sand and coughing.

She felt a fresh wave of remorse for her actions over the past few years. “I’m so sorry I put you through that,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “I thought… I thought you loved her. I thought you were happier without me. Marquis of Carabas, free of his childhood fling, off to conquer the world. I couldn’t begrudge you that, no matter how much it hurt.”

“Chloé came to me and said I could either marry her or die,” said Adrien. “Honestly at that point I was pretty ready to die, but she set your parents up with a castle in Carabas, and I never had to pretend I cared about her or anything, so I figured hell, why not? Just because I’d never be happy again didn’t mean I had to take everyone else down with me.”

“I had my parents moved yesterday,” Marinette confided with a small smile. “I sent some of my crew to pick them up. They’re all set up with a little house in Guilder, never have to work a day in their lives again. Provided they believed I was alive, I guess.”

“I’m sure they did,” said Adrien, returning her smile. “They never really accepted it. We got the news and I just sort of… shut down, but they didn’t buy it. Your mother especially.”

“We’re a stubborn sort,” she said softly. She didn’t like the way he was talking; he was blaming himself for believing she had died. “Adrien, listen: It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. You did the best you could, you stayed alive—I’m the one who jumped to conclusions and left you all to fend for yourselves while I was off gallivanting across the seven seas.”

“You say that like it was easy,” he whispered, “but I can’t even imagine… if I had been in your place, and—and I came back to find you’d all moved on, that you were engaged to someone else—”

His voice broke, and she pressed her forehead into his more firmly.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, because he needed to know that she cared. That she hadn’t just run off and abandoned him like his father, or gotten over him as quickly as she’d assumed he’d gotten over her. “When we got the news, I… it felt like I might as well have died, like what was the point? If I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, if no one needed me, if I was just existing to be forgotten—”

“No one could forget you,” he broke in.

“That’s sweet,” she told him with a smile, “but grossly overestimates my significance. Not everyone is as aware of me as you are, you know.”

“They should be,” said Adrien, unapologetic, “but I’m sorry, I interrupted.”

“Well, I decided I was just going to be the best pirate I could be.” She shrugged, trying to play it off in spite of herself. He needed to hear it, and she probably needed to say it, but—it was hard to talk about. Just thinking about it had put a weight in her chest. “It was really the only way forward I could see. I’d… if I was never going to be with you, then I’d just take whatever road was at my feet. I had informants keep an eye on you, and my parents. I did what I could to make sure you were all safe. I hadn’t needed to get involved personally until yesterday.”

“You didn’t give up,” he murmured.

“On you? Of course I did,” she disagreed with a small, bitter laugh.

“No,” said Adrien, “on… living. On finding a way for yourself. I just did what other people told me, but you kept moving and learning and getting better and better. I only got prettier, and sadder.”

“It helped that I could still look out for you,” Marinette admitted quietly. “That I could still do things for you. Even when I was hurting, when I was so mad I wanted to turn up at the palace and scream at you—it helped that I knew I could. You didn’t have that.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes, swallowing thickly. They were so close she could hear the rasp in his throat.

“Besides,” she went on, voice growing a little stronger, “from what I hear, you were learning quite a lot. You weren’t just getting prettier and sadder. They were teaching you etiquette and politics and all that.”

“It’s not like I cared about it,” he laughed. “I know like six different ways to bow. It’s useless.”

“I certainly didn’t care about the things I was learning,” she told him. “I think we both did our best with our worst case scenario. We believed terrible things of each other, and—well—went a little off the rails, emotionally speaking, but we did our best. We tried our hardest. Sometimes all that meant was getting up in the morning, or eating enough, but… we did it. We made it, and now we have each other.”

The smile he gave her was radiant.

“We have each other,” he echoed breathlessly, returning her earlier pressure on his forehead. His eyes were half-closed, and Marinette’s own were having a hard time remaining open. Her blinks were slow and languid, lids heavy simply from his proximity.

The second kiss since their reunion was unlike the first, which had ultimately been a joyous affair, overflowing with emotion and affection and a fair amount of tears.

The second was slow, and sad, and carried the weight of what they had been through, the sharing of a burden they could never fully express.

Remorse heavy on the back of her tongue, Marinette pressed against Adrien’s chapped lips with a wordless catalogue of her every transgression. The years she’d spent doubting him, or cursing his name, or even wishing they had never met at all. The lies she had told him through her silence, the fate she’d led him to believe she’d met, the blindness she’d inflicted on him under the hands of his kidnappers.

This kiss was a question, an appeal for forgiveness she knew she didn’t deserve.

Forgiveness she received anyway.

Adrien sighed into the kiss like he was the one who needed absolution, so ready to welcome her back with open arms and an open heart that still showed the scars she had left. Her guilt beat into her with each thrum of her pulse, eating away at her, pulling her away from the beautiful creature before her. He deserved so much better than what she had put him through on the basis of an assumption—she left him with his own assumptions, to believe her dead and gone.

She began to draw away, opening eyes that had fallen shut and meeting Adrien’s gaze. She stilled at the weight of it, at the guilt she saw mirrored there, the desperation for her understanding, the strangled adoration he could never suppress. He followed after her, asking his own questions, seeking his own forgiveness.

She was only too ready to give it.

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               “I’ve had it,” Chloé announced, reigning in the great white horse beneath her.

“Had what, Your Highness?” asked the Countess, almost absently. Her eyes were trained on her hounds, milling about the corpse they’d discovered.

“It,” said Chloé, throwing her hands in the air. “We’ve been at this for hours. Do they have the scent or not, Lila? We’ll never find him at this rate!”

“They have the scent,” said the Countess. She dismounted to inspect the body alongside her dogs, pulling off the silver cowl to reveal a shock of silver hair, and blue eyes clouded by death. “So this is the great Papillon. He’s not much in person, is he?”

“He looks to have been awfully tall,” said one of their guards, when she looked to him for an answer. He seemed nervous to even speak in the presence of the Countess and Princess Chloé.

“No one’s tall when they’re laid out,” said Countess Rossi with a disinterested sigh. “It’s a pity. I would have liked to take at least one for questioning.”

“There’s still whoever’s got my fiancé,” Chloé supplied with a sour pout.

“True,” the Countess agreed, brightening. “And if the forensics are to be believed, they’re even better than those we’ve passed. We might be in for a truly glorious bout of scientific discovery, Your Highness.”

“Let’s focus on catching them first, shall we?”

The Countess hummed thoughtfully.

“They’re heading into the fire swamp,” she said, pointing ahead of her baying hounds where they whined and paced to resume the chase. “Take a portion of the guard around to the other end.”

“Excuse me?” said the Princess, voice dangerously sweet. While the Countess was the closest thing she had to a friend, station was not to be forgotten, and she was not to be spoken to that way.

“I humbly suggest,” said the Countess, with a bow a little too elaborate to be anything but sarcastic, “that Your Highness and the most dedicated of her retinue move to cut off the escape of the fiend which has most recently stolen her beloved.”

“You should learn to curtsey,” said the Princess, signaling the guard to accompany her as she wheeled around to face the far end of the Fire Swamp. The Countess smiled. The Princess tended to criticize that sort of thing only when she had nothing else to complain about.

“I know how to curtsey,” said the Countess, “but it’s rather difficult when one’s not wearing skirts.”

“Perhaps I’ll have some better dresses made for you,” said the Princess.

The Countess stayed a while with her hounds, sousing out the order of events. Whoever they were tracking, whatever their motive: They were a fearsome warrior.

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“Ow!” said Marinette, clutching at her forehead where it had banged painfully into a low-hanging branch.

“Are you okay?” asked Adrien from behind her, chuckling. She turned a half-hearted scowl his way, sticking out her tongue.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, “just got a bit distracted, is all.”

“By?”

“I was… checking for snow sand.”

The look he gave her was deeply skeptical. “Be honest: Were you thinking about me?”

She blushed in spite of herself. “No.”

“Oh my god, you were,” he said delightedly, brightening.

“Nope! No!”

“My lady, I’m flattered, but do watch where you’re going, won’t you? You can’t very well kiss me if you’ve knocked yourself unconscious.”

“Can’t very well kiss you if I’ve knocked you unconscious either,” she threatened weakly, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against his chest, looking up at him over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he grinned unapologetically in her face, “I didn’t think you were really thinking about me. I was curious.”

“You know what they say about curiosity,” she muttered, poking his nose with her own.

“Well hey, if it can kill smoke cats, we’ve got it made.”

“Maybe we won’t see any smoke cats,” Marinette suggested hopefully. The one she’d seen earlier could have been a fluke. “Maybe they’ll know better than to bother with us.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky!” said Adrien, almost as if he believed it.

“When have we ever gotten lucky,” she groaned.

“We’re together again, aren’t we?” he pointed out with a grin. “That’s all the evidence I need.”

“Well, if that’s luck, I think it’s safe to say we’ve taken more than our fair share,” said Marinette. She stretched up, kissing his chin before wriggling free of his arms, walking a few steps ahead of him.

“Considering all the bad luck, I’d say we’ve yet to break even,” he disagreed with a faint chuckle. “I suppose meeting each other at all was quite a stroke of fortune, but the things we’ve had to put up with…! It’s ridiculous. We’re owed a bit of a respite from bloodthirsty wildcats, don’t you think?”

“The way we’re talking, it’s more likely we’ve jinxed it,” said Marinette, laughing.

“What, like I’m just going to turn around and there’ll be a smoke cat?” he scoffed, spinning on his heel and swinging his arms in an exaggerated double take. He then paused, doing an actual double take. “Oh. Uh.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“We might have a, uh—problem.”

Marinette sighed, turning back, find Adrien locked in a staring contest with a reasonably small smoke cat, the former grimacing, the latter bristling.

“Shit, are—are you not supposed to look them in the eye? Is it like a dominance thing?” he asked Marinette, taking a nervous step back but not breaking the stare.

“I don’t know!” she groaned. “It doesn’t seem to be attacking, so maybe it’s just gonna let us pass? I’m sure it doesn’t want trouble any more than we do.”

“It’s so little… It’s like actually cat-sized. I thought they were supposed to be as big as lions,” murmured Adrien, edging back closer to her side.

“Yes, it’s adorable, now let’s get out of here before—”

Marinette’s words broke off in a startled yelp as she was suddenly pitched forward, twisting awkwardly mid-fall so that she landed on her left shoulder instead of her sword. Her back erupted in pain as something hooked and long and sharp sliced through her shirt and skin. Hot blood ran down her spine like sweat. She skidded across the crust of leaves and fungus, leaving a trail of smooth orange foxfire to illuminate her assailant: A colossal smoke cat, as long as Marinette was tall, with blazing yellow eyes and a furious snarl contorting its face.

Adrien squeaked, half a step closer to Marinette than he had been. The smoke cat’s glare flickered to him, and then back.

“Okay,” Marinette breathed, now locked in a staring contest of her own. Very, very slowly, she began to lift herself up with her free hand, turning so her saber was between her and the smoke cat. “Don’t move.”

The smoke cat hissed and spat, swiping at the toe of her boot. Every piece of fur on its body was standing on end, its bottlebrush tail out stiff behind it.

“Are you okay? What do we do?” Adrien whispered, frozen as he awaited instructions.

“Check and make sure your face isn’t bleeding.”

“What?”

“Please!” she pleaded, rocking slowly onto the balls of her feet, her knees resting against the ground with the barest pressure.

He obliged, his fingers coming away a little sandy, but dry. “Okay, I’m not bleeding. Now what?”

“Now go stand by that tree,” breathed Marinette, pulling a dagger about the length of her forearm from her baldric with her left hand. It glistened in the light of the foxfire too, much cleaner than her saber, which was coated in grime from their journey. Her back burned as she moved, muscles stinging where claws had torn through. “And maybe cover your ears.”

“What—” he started to ask, but Marinette lunged before he could finish, slashing the smoke cat’s parrying swipe with a backhanded twist of the dagger, what would have been a clean slice turning ragged at its recoil. Screaming in pain and fury, the smoke cat reared backwards, momentarily bipedal as it lurched away from a low thrust of the saber. Marinette swore as, having committed to the attack, she stumbled forward, losing precious seconds regaining her balance.

She struck again with the dagger, carving another piece of the smoke cat’s forelimb away. Tatters of bloodied skin and flesh dangled like ribbons from the joint of its wrist, and Marinette saw the white flash of sinew as it continued to hammer feverishly against her. She rolled her own wrist, securing her grip on the saber for another attack, eyes flicking to Adrien to make sure he was safe.

He hadn’t moved to the tree.

…She had gotten a little too used to people following her orders.

She let out a frustrated huff of breath as she rammed the saber forward and upwards, into what would have been the smoke cat’s ribcage—if it hadn’t sprung over her head.

It twisted acrobatically in the air above her, dripping gore across her outstretched arms, and landed on all four paws, only for its front right to collapse under the strain. It didn’t cry out, but the dulling of its eyes betrayed the pain. Marinette flashed it a fierce, victorious grin, daring it to attack again.

The smaller smoke cat, the one they had first seen, was now at the larger’s back, and was watching with wide yellow eyes, kneading at the branch it was perched on with eager claws that looked more like talons against the pale wood.

Marinette swore again, taking a pace to the right to get between the smoke cats and Adrien, who was watching somewhat anxiously, unwilling to cower but unsure how to help.

“There’s too much blood,” she told him, voice strained. “There’ll be more.”

“More blood?” asked Adrien, audibly gulping.

“More smoke cats,” she corrected. “Any of them that can smell it. They frenzy. Like sharks.”

“At least they’re not like eels,” he muttered. She heard him shift behind her, but couldn’t afford to turn around and see what he was doing.

Her shirt was sticking to her back as the blood soaked through the fabric, and her baldric sat heavily against the edge of one wound, chafing the broken skin. It’s just pain, Marinette reminded herself, settling lower into her fighting stance, it’s just your body complaining. She buried the sensation in the back of her mind, focusing instead on the memory of Adrien’s touch, gentle and soothing. Her heart was still beating frantically in her chest, but her breathing was deep and even. Panic and adrenaline made for clumsy mistakes, which she could ill afford.

The smoke cat tried to circle her, but as it moved she lunged once again, unwilling to make Adrien a closer target, even if the smoke cat wouldn’t attack him. It leapt onto its hind legs as she approached, surging forward with its claws splayed wide.

They met over the bare patch of foxfire where its initial pounce had landed her, the already disturbed leaf litter flying under their feet as they collided. Rather than using her saber, she pressed her advantage, slamming into the smoke cat with the full weight of her body. It yowled at the unexpected move, and they tumbled to the ground with their arms on either side of one another.

Marinette’s saber was jarred from her grip as her elbow hit the ground, but she kept a hold of the dagger, which had buried itself partway in the ground. As she yanked it free a spurt of flame burst into life, and she and the smoke cat instinctively rolled away from it, putting her saber out of her reach.

The smoke cat was slashing uselessly at her shoulder with its ruined paw, its left pinioned between them. As they rolled it managed to work it free, immediately scouring the side of her arm. Marinette bit down on the scream, forcing the pain away again; her left arm still worked, that was all that mattered. They stopped rolling as the flame spurt died, the smoke cat pinning her with its weight, snapping awkwardly as it tried to work its neck into a manageable position to rip out her throat.

With all the strength she could muster lying on her back, Marinette slammed the dagger in her hand into the smoke cat’s stomach.

It choked above her, yellow eyes widening as it wrenched away, taking the dagger with it. She struggled under its weight, still pinned, her right arm burning and numb all at once, her left still free. She pounded its side with a fist, trying to find the hilt of her dagger without being able to see it. The smoke cat reared its head back like a serpent poised to strike, and Marinette reached up to squeeze its ruined forearm, trying to loosen its hold as its teeth flashed above her.

There was a horribly wet tearing sound, and suddenly everything was hot and coppery and dark, and she couldn’t breathe—

“Marinette!” Adrien’s voice broke through, hoarse from stress and their earlier misadventures in the snow sand. The weight of the smoke cat vanished abruptly, and suddenly she could breathe again, and see again, and Adrien was kneeling over her and his hands were covered in blood, and he looked so distressed that it might well have been his.

“Please,” he was saying, begging, and she blinked up at him, “please, Marinette—”

“What?” she whispered, struggling into a sitting position, pushing herself up with her left hand, mindful of her wounded back. “What is it? Are you alright?”

He relaxed immediately, closing his eyes as he let out a shuddering breath. He bowed his head to press against her hand, which he clutched with both of his, and through the icy coldness of her fingers she felt the warmth of his breath.

“Am I hurt,” he murmured into her palm. “You’re lying on the ground, half ripped to shreds, and you ask if I’m hurt.”

“Are you?” she pressed, anxiously, fingers flexing weakly against him. She could feel the agonizing burn in her upper arm, but if she compartmentalized it, she wouldn’t be able to feel his hands around hers.

“I’m fine,” said Adrien, a little miserably. “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, but I’m not actually injured.”

She looked around, piecing together what had happened as she scooped up a handful of dirt and began rubbing it vigorously into her wounds. The smoke cat lay a few feet away, her saber buried in its ribs, the smaller smoke cat cautiously circling as it tried to decide whether or not to approach the carcass.

Adrien had recovered the saber while she was pinned.

Adrien had saved her.

“Thank you,” she told him, looking back to find him frowning at her arm.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, ignoring her gratitude. She grabbed another fistful of mulch and rubbed it into the fabric of her shirt itself. “You’re going to get an infection!”

“Better than bleeding to death,” she countered with a breathy laugh. “Besides—we can’t walk around here reeking of blood.”

“Oh,” said Adrien, releasing her hand and getting to his feet, moving behind her, “the frenzying.”

“Right,” she said, fighting not to twitch as he began to press dirt into the wounds at her back. “That smoke cat should distract them for now.”

Adrien made an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat, dusting off his hands as best he could and standing back up. He helped Marinette to her feet more delicately than strictly necessary, steadying her with a hand against the small of her back. She rolled her eyes at him fondly, earning a broad wink in return.

Adrien set about dislodging her saber and dagger while Marinette scrounged up some lichen from a nearby tree, scrubbing halfheartedly at the drying blood on her uninjured skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Adrien asked softly, returning to her side with blades in hand. He’d wiped them somewhat clumsily on the fur of the dead smoke cat, but it was enough that she could clean them with the lichen and sheathe the dagger. “We can rest a while.”

“I’ll be alright,” she promised, smiling up at him as reassuringly as she could. “Besides, I don’t want to wait around and watch them cannibalize each other—or be stuck here when it gets dark. We should keep going.”

“Alright,” he murmured, eyes lingering on her injuries. His eyes were duller than usual, though not as dull as they had been when she’d first seen him that morning. He looked sick and scared and haunted, and it pulled at Marinette’s heart in unexpected ways.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” she said, stepping in closer and wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing in the smell of him, avoiding his eyes with renewed guilt. Was she ever going to stop breaking his heart?

He leaned his forehead against the top of her head, arms hovering carefully over hers to avoid her injuries. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—that I didn’t—I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

“Could too,” she mumbled into his shirt, rubbing her nose playfully under his vest. “That would have gone much worse without you, Adrien.”

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

They walked in silence for a time, Adrien taking the lead now that Marinette was injured, following her directions through the swamp. They were filthy and exhausted, but Marinette hadn’t been so optimistic in years; they were together again. Nothing could stop them if they were together.

They reached the edge of the fire swamp in the early evening, before the sky darkened but after the temperature had cooled, and together breathed a sigh of relief. The trees began to thin, and the reek of the marsh gas dissipated, and the world seemed somehow lighter in the balmy air.

“My ship is waiting in the bay,” said Marinette with a weary smile. “Admittedly I was planning on going around, but we did alright, all things considered. Didn’t we?”

“We lived,” he acceded, laughing faintly. He was swaying on his feet, still staring at her like she was the only thing he wanted to look at. Her smile widened, and she leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek.

“Excuse me!”

They sprang apart at the sharp shriek, Marinette pointing her saber automatically at the shrill sound, Adrien reaching instinctively for a sword at his empty belt. Marinette, searching for the source of the noise, found herself facing a small army, headed by two very fine women, in very fine dress, on very fine horses.

The first, evidently the originator of the scream, was sitting sidesaddle on an enormous white stallion, and looked absolutely furious. Her long blonde hair was pulled into an elegant braid, her blue eyes were flashing with rage and indignation, and her lily pale hands were clutching the reins so hard her knuckles were white as bone. She wore a dress of loose, flowing gold that accented the color of her hair, and shone in the sunlight against her horse’s fur. Even in this alien setting, she looked like the princess she was.

The second was significantly calmer; the only indication of displeasure was her pursed, painted lips, and a disdainful light in her eyes. Where the first woman’s face was soft and even naïve under her fury, this second woman was sharp and keen and intelligent. Marinette perceived more of her countenance than her outfit, registering only that she wore browns and reds, practical breeches, and leather gloves over six-fingered hands.

“You’re excused,” said Marinette to the first woman with a genial smile. She did not lower her blade. Her free arm (the injured one) snaked around Adrien’s waist, drawing him closer to her side protectively.

The Princess’s eyes bulged. “That happens to be my fiancé you’ve got your grubby little hands on!”

“Oh, really?” drawled Marinette. “And here I’d scooped him off a bloodthirsty crowd of criminals. I would expect one to keep a better eye on their fiancé than that, wouldn’t you?”

“Surrender,” hissed Chloé from her seat, face beginning to turn red. “Or prepare to die.”

Marinette laughed. “Die,” she said back, her left hand flexing around the saber’s hilt, “Or prepare to surrender.”

She heard more than saw the archers taking up a flanking position; the sound of crossbows cocking was unmistakable, even over the distant sounds of the fire swamp. Beside her, Adrien was looking around wildly, but Marinette kept her eyes trained on the Princess, watching the Countess in her peripheral vision.

“I will not repeat myself again,” said the Princess, in her shrill, angry voice, “Surrender!”

“Nor will I,” said Marinette, “Die!”

“Wait!” yelled Adrien beside her, his voice cracking at the sudden volume. Everyone—Pirate, Princess, and Countess alike—stopped and looked at him. His face was drawn with anxiety, his scab from the eels crusting over, particles of sand still dusting his scalp—and, as ever, he was beautiful.

“For what?” demanded the Princess, scowling down at him.

“Will you—will you promise not to hurt her?” croaked Adrien.

“What?” asked Chloé.

“What?” asked the Countess.

“What?” asked Marinette.

“If we surrender,” he clarified, licking his lips, “if I go back with you, will you promise not to hurt her?”

“She kidnapped you!” said Chloé, gaping between them.

“She rescued me,” he corrected. He leaned further against Marinette’s side, his warmth radiating throughout her—almost enough to thaw the chill of her disbelief. “Please, Your Highness—we were children together, and she means a great deal to me, and I ask your mercy. As—as thanks, for my safe return.”

Chloé frowned down at him, looking Marinette over as if trying to come up with a way to articulate her disgust.

“The Princess is not renowned for her mercy,” said the Countess, raising one eyebrow.

“All the more reason to exercise it here,” said Adrien. The desperation in his voice was palpable. “It’s—it’s a great story, isn’t it? The noble princess following her fiancé across the channel, rewarding his rescuer? The commoners would think so highly of you, Your Highness.”

Chloé looked pensive. “They would love that,” she mused, smiling faintly.

“There’s a hitch,” Marinette interjected, heart pounding in her chest. “You can’t very well bring me along, Adrien. I’m a pirate.” To say nothing of the romantic competition she so obviously posed.

“You’ll be safe,” said Adrien. “They’ll get you some medical attention. You will, won’t you?” He turned pleading green eyes to Chloé, swallowing thickly. “Promise?”

“Of course,” she said primly. “We wouldn’t want our dashing friend here to succumb to her injuries.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“They’ll take you back to your ship, and—and grant you a pardon,” Adrien continued, looking back to Marinette. He looked so scared. “You’ll be safe.”

“And what about you?” she asked softly. “You’ll go back to Florin City and marry the Princess? We’re speaking of love, here.”

“I can live without love,” said Adrien. He pulled away from her grip, crossing the short gap to Chloé’s side. She helped him climb in the saddle behind her, smiling primly, her earlier rage vanished.

“See to it that her wounds are tended immediately,” she bade the Countess.

“Of course, Your Highness,” said the Countess, bowing her head respectfully.

“I thank you for the return of my fiancé,” said Chloé to Marinette, her eyes flashing so smugly and victoriously that Marinette felt like the smoke cat she and Adrien had defeated earlier. “You are of course invited to the wedding.”

They rode away, most of the horsemen following in their wake.

Adrien didn’t look back.

Marinette’s shoulders slumped as she watched them go, all the fight running out of her, her heart chasing after the fading silhouette of everything she’d ever wanted.

“Well now,” said the Countess, her sharp voice piercing Marinette’s reverie like a blade. “Come along. We must return you to your ship.”

“Spare me at least your lies,” said Marinette, rolling her eyes. “You’ve about as little intention to return me as I have to buy them a wedding present.”

“Truth, then,” said the Countess, spurring her horse forward a few paces, so that Marinette had to tilt her head back to keep her eye. The black and tan hounds swarmed around them, some whimpering excitedly. “I hope you enjoyed your time in the Guilderian Fire Swamp. I guarantee you that you’ll soon look back on it fondly as a deeply relaxing experience.”

“Are nobles naturally this dramatic, or do you have to take a class?” Marinette asked innocently.

The Countess gave an audible sigh, and clubbed Marinette with the pommel of her sword.

Her vision swam, and Marinette swayed on her feet and crumbled backwards into darkness.

[love-in-nature]

Once Upon A Dream Chapter 64: Though Darkness Closes

Read on AO3.

All easy banter had been chased away, the fragility of the light playfulness obvious now.  It had been a way of coping with the situation, but there was no way to cope easier with what they had just seen.  Even Dorian was lost in his thoughts.  Hopefully, those little jewels of plans he had spoken of, would get them back to where they should be.

For Emma’s part, she couldn’t get the image of the red lyrium crawling up Fiona’s body out of her mind.  The woman consumed by the hard unfeeling crystal substance was bad enough.  Add to that the nature of lyrium, and there were few fates she could think of that would be worse.  This had made her think that they couldn’t run into anything worse than that, but she had been so wrong.  

They had crossed back through the area with the bridges and entered the only door available to them.  Much to her dismay, it led them down once more.  Their feet echoing in a strange chorus with the water that seemed to drip down everywhere.  Everything sounded magnified now, the noise making her want to wince as it bombarded her.

Then another sound.  Words spoken in a way that would have been rehearsed sounding if not for the feeling behind them.  Even so, they sounded like something that had been spoken millions of times before.  The voice, one she recognized, even through the thick wood of the dungeon’s door.

There was a brief glance between her and Ivy, a stealing of nerves as they both listened to the words spoken into the unfeeling stone.  

“The lights shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

When they were in front of the bars, Emma saw her on the floor.  Cassandra was sitting cross legged, an oddly childlike gesture from this woman who she had only just begun to know.  Her shoulders were hunched forward, knuckles resting on the cold stone as she recited the words to herself.  She looked exhausted, malnourished, sickly, and she was glowing a hazy red from the lyrium she’d been so exposed to.  Cassandra’s reactions were slowed, so it took a moment for her to look up.

For a beat there was nothing.  Cassandra’s eyes remaining listless.  Then they widened, and she stood walking closer to the bars, “You’ve returned to us.  Can it be?  Has Andraste given us another chance?  Maker forgive me.  I failed you.  I failed everyone.  The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

Ivy walked up the bars and pulled the guard’s keys from her pocket.  As she worked to find the right one, she spoke in a low voice, “You failed no one Cass and we never died.  We…”  She gave a small shake of her head, unsure how to go on.

Emma spoke, “We went forward in time somehow the magic did something to us.  Dorian is going to go get us back so we can make this right.”

“Dorian is going to try and get you back.”  Dorian spoke from behind her, “As I have said, it could work, or we could end up torn apart along with the fabric of time itself.”

Ivy shot him a glance, “Thank you, Dorian.  That’s helpful.”

It ended up not mattering.  Cassandra had focused only on the parts she found important, ”Go back in time?  Then can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

The lock clicked.  Ivy swung the door open stepping back, “That’s the plan.  What happened Cass?”

Cassandra took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, ”Alexius’ master, after you died we could not stop the Elder One from rising.  Empress Celene was murdered, the army that swept in afterwards --- it was a horde of demons.  Nothing stopped them.  Nothing.”

“Horde of demons that sounds---”

“Solas.”  The thought hit her with a suddenness that felt like a punch in the gut.  Her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest, while her stomach flipped.  On the one hand, it might be better not to know.  To just go back and make it so none of it happened at all, but she had to know.  Her voice cracked once as she spoke, “Is he… what happened to him?”

Cassandra looked at her and gave a soft shake of her head, “I’m unsure.  He was captured along with me, but after I have not seen him again.”

So he could be here then.  Suffering alone and cold in one of these lyrium infested dungeons.  He could be like Fiona.  If he was she didn’t know…

She was turning to flee to the door, “I have to look.  I’ll meet y--”

Ivy spoke, taking quick strides after her, “No you don’t.”

Cassandra followed, “The Herald is right, we’ll all go to find him.”

There was only a half beat where she paused, before the thought of Solas drove her forward again, “But you guys need to…”

“We aren’t going anywhere without you.”  Ivy’s voice was firm, “And if Solas is here we aren’t just leaving him in a dungeon.  Even if we are going to make it so none of this bullshit happened.”

She picked up her pace, “Thank you.”  

It turned out Solas was in the last dungeon they could get to.  At that point, she had begun alternating between worrying that he had died, thinking it would be better, and irrationally hoping that he had somehow escaped after all and was hiding out somewhere safe.

When she did see him, her heart went in her throat.  His back was to them and he was completely still, but she could tell he was in pain.  It was clear in the way he was holding himself, not his usual regal posture but slumped ever so slightly as though a great weight had pushed him down for far too long.  The red haze around him was even stronger than Cassandra’s.

Emma tried to find words, but couldn’t.  Her legs felt weak, knees wobbling as she stared at him.  He must have expected some of Alexius men because, although she knew he would have heard their approach, he still took his time turning.  

The moment he did turn, their eyes locked.  There was a beat where she saw the cold flint of him, the resolve, the acceptance of this fate.  Then he registered her, and his eyes went wide, lips parted.  

“Emma.”

They both moved forward at the same time.  Emma pushing herself against the bars to try and reach him but he halted short.  The stopping of his footsteps taking clear force on his part.  He shook his head and took a half step back.

Her voice came out a pleading whimper, “Solas.”

His eyes caught hers again, sadness and relief warring inside them, “You’re alive.  I--- we saw you die.”

Ivy came next to her and began unlocking the gate.  Dorian spoke from behind them, “We were sent forward in time.”

Solas’ eyes remained locked with Emma even as Ivy swung the gate open, Emma hurried towards him.  He held up both his hands and backed away from her.  “Do not touch me.  The lyrium, I am unsure what it would do to you if you came in contact.”

She halted, but her body still seemed to lean towards him, pleading to touch him, “I can help.  Maybe I can heal you, ease the---”

He shook his head, “I am dying, there is nothing to be done unless,”  He looked up to Dorian now, “Can you reverse the process?”

“I believe so.”

His words came out in a rush, “You could return and obviate the events of the past year.  It may not be too late!  If you can undo this they can all be saved, but you know nothing of this world.  It is far worse than you understand.  This world is an abomination.  It must never come to pass.”  He started past them and spoke as he walked, “We have to go up.  I heard the guards say Alexius barricaded himself in the throne room.”

As she stood there watching him walk away, she felt nauseous, every muscle in her body stiff.  She wanted to hit the walls, cry out, beg some greater being for help.  Beg for him to be saved, and she would do anything.  But there was no greater being.  They would have to be the ones to save him.  Whatever it took, she would.

Even if they reversed all this though, he had still suffered.  Some version of him had suffered horribly at the hands of these bastards.  

She could feel a wash of adrenaline through her body.  For the first time, she wanted a fight.  She wanted to run into as many of these fuckers as possible, so she could kill them all for what they’d done to him, to everyone.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait long.  When they came to the area with the bridges another one had been lowered and more guards waited.   She didn’t hesitate.  Immediately she pulled on the Fade, bringing forth a large stone fist that swung towards the unsuspecting group.  It hit two of them sending them flying over the edge of the bridge.  The one it had hit more center was flung so far his body hit the wall with a crack before it fell.

Ivy’s voice was heard through the pounding in her ears, “Sissy?”

With little effort she brought up barriers around her companions, only taking her eyes of the remaining guards long enough to do so.  Then she said, “The others are coming.  Focus on them.”

They fought through the remaining guards.  This time Emma attacked with both offensive and defensive spells.  Once even lighting a man on fire, before using a gust to push the screaming guard over the edge.  

None of it helped.  She was still numb, and Solas was still…

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she startled, pulled away, turned with her staff ready to attack, only to find Ivy with hands up, “It’s done Sissy.  They’re all dead.  Are you---”

“Fine.”  She took a breath and put her staff away, “I’m fine.  Looks like that way leads up.  Let’s go.”

Emma hurried up the steps taking two at a time.  Eventually she heard the others behind her, but by then she was already almost to the door at the top of the steps.  Without waiting, she flung it open prepared to kill who ever lurked on the other side.

Turns out it was a large empty dining area of some sort.  It was mostly covered in cobwebs and scattered remnants of a time when things were normal, including a couple skeletons sitting in chairs as though waiting for their food.  What a fucked up place.

Emma opened another door the the side just as the others were walking up.  This one was just a bedroom with a desk.  Probably some kind of guard captain's quarters, or something.  She shut the door uninterested in anything but finding Alexius so they could reverse all this.

As she turned back to the main room, Solas was standing near watching her with his hands gripped behind his back.  The others were already headed around a corner.  She looked from them back to Solas and frowned.

Before she could say anything he spoke, “We will catch up with them, but you and I need to speak.”

“There isn’t time for---”

“Emma.”  He took a half step towards her, his hand coming out before he caught himself.  

She felt the corners of her eyes sting and her chest clenched.  Everything hurt.  “I can’t bare to see you like this.  I need to fix it.”

“When you,”  He paused and moved his hands behind his back again, shoulders stiff, “When I thought you had... died I was,”  He stopped again, shook his head and took a deep breath, “It made me realize certain things, but as time went on others came to light.”  He walked forward again, this time only stopping a few inches from her, his eyes intent, “Emma whatever I say, whatever happens after this, you must go back to your home.”

She blinked and forced a swallow, “You stopped us here to tell me you want me to---”

“No.  I do not want it.  That is the part of the problem.  Don’t you see, letting you go will…”  A beat as he looked from her, “But you must go, even if I lose my resolve.”

Fuck the lyrium.  Fuck all of this.  She needed to touch him and, more importantly, he needed it.  To him she had been dead for a year.  Even seeing him like this, knowing she had a chance to reverse it, the situation was unbearable.  She couldn’t imagine thinking him dead for good.

She closed the distance between them swiftly.  Before he could react, her hands reached up to his face, and she pulled him down to her.  As her lips met his, she eased on her tip toes so her body could press against him, as she held him firm to her.

He jerked, and managed to pull away from her, just enough to look at her face, “Emma.”  The name was said like a reproach, but then, as his eyes searched her face in almost frantic glances, his brows softened and he spoke again, “Emma.”

This time her name came out pleading, a breath of need against her skin.  She felt him began to tremble beneath her fingertips, and then his mouth found hers, hard and hungry.  She welcomed it with a soft mewl and parting of her lips.  The moment her mouth opened to his, he sought her out with his tongue.  As they tasted each other, his hands gripped her firmly to his body.

He pulled from her mouth only far enough to move his lips to the other parts of her exposed skin.  Between the caress of his kisses, he spoke her name onto her flesh, murmured again and again like a prayer.  She held onto him, fingers digging into the cloth at his shoulders as she let him explore her.

When his lips had caressed every bit of her they could reach, he traced his way back to her mouth.  This time, he brushed feather light against her before he deepened the kiss.  He took it slow, but no less devouring.

By the time he pulled from her, they were both breathing heavy, and he spoke hushed as his thumb traced her jaw, “I am sorry.  What I asked of you that night and what I said in the end, I did not truly---”

“I know.  You don’t need to say it.”

He rested his brow to hers, and breathed her in, “I do and I will again, once you are back where you should be, and all of this has been prevented.  I will tell you that and other things I should have said long before.”

“Solas…”

“I found the poem.  The one you tucked away like a little hidden treasure for me.”  He pulled his brow from hers so he could see her better, and reached forward taking one of her curls between his fingers, “I read it over and over, till it started to become crumpled and stained.  Then I tucked it away safely with a protection spell.  I should thank you, for it was often the only light in an increasingly darkening world.”

She blushed before mumbling, “Had I known that I would have tried to write it neater… and better.”

He chuckled softly, moving to kiss her brow, “It was perfect.  Besides, it would not have been so much of you had the writing been easily legible.”  She snorted and gave him a half hearted shove.  He grabbed her wrist, kissing the palm of her hand before releasing her and taking a step back, “We should join the others.”

Once they had caught up to the group, Leliana had already joined them.  The spymaster had endured torture.  The year was one she wore as though it had been twenty.  She remained unreadable, a determined force of will, even after what she must have been put through.  

Shortly after meeting up with the group, they stumbled into a courtyard.  The sky turned green from the Breach, and multiple demon rifts open that they had to fight through.  This was the fate of the world should Ivy fail.   Ivy would now have these consequences sitting on her shoulders, until Corypheus was stopped for good, and the Breach sealed.

The more they ventured in, the more Emma’s anger flared.  

She was angered that she could feel her lover faltering for the first time she’d known him.  Sometimes, after they finished a fight, he would be so exhausted he would stumble.  She was always near, reaching to him, offering him support for as long as he needed.

She was angry about what had been done to Leliana, Cassandra, and the world as a whole.  Angry at the fact this would likely haunt Ivy’s dreams for months to come.   Angry for Fiona, and all those other bodies who had been consumed by red lyrium, simply so they could be harvested for the power they offered.

They fought and fought.  Through demons and red templars, with seemingly no end in site.  Then, finally, they made it to the throne room.  There they found Alexius.  There they learned that this had all been in some twisted effort to save his son.  A son who was now something far worse than dead, until Leliana gave him mercy with a knife across the throat.

Another Emma would have felt some pity for Alexius.  A father driven by a desperate need to save his son, but when she saw what he had done she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything even close to that.  All she felt was a desire to kill him and fix what he had done.

The fight with him was difficult.  He was powerful, and would put himself behind a shield before calling demons forth.  In the end, they persevered as they always had.  Though every muscle in her body ached, and her head pounded.  They were all drenched in blood, demon and human.  So much blood, she was sure she’d never get it all off her skin.  So much blood, she could even taste it metallic on her tongue.

They had won though.  As much as anyone could win something like this.  Now Dorian would take them back, and everything would be as it should be.  

Nothing was ever so simple.  She should have known that by now.  There were sounds approaching.  The sounds of claws, fire, and clanking armor.  The whole ground seemed to rumble with it.  More coming.  More fighting, but they were all so tired.  She didn’t think they could survive another wave.

Then she watched as Solas and Cassandra exchanged a glance, then a gentle nod to each other.  She knew what it meant even before the words left Cassandra’s mouth, “We will hold the main door for as long as we can.  Once they break through it is all you, Leliana.”

Dread fell heavy in her stomach, and she started forward, “No you can’t just commit suicide like this we…”

Leliana spoke, “Look at us.  We’re already dead.  The only way we live is if this day never comes.”

Emma felt herself trembling.  Her mouth opened, but no words came out.  

Solas walked towards her, brushed his fingers to catch a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen.  Now it was her body that trembled.  “She is right.  You will fix this.  Ma’ melana’i’ma emen usul’ema on’el shasha ar sil elana.  Ar ju’itha ma.  Ar lath ma.”

She didn’t know what any of the elvhen was, but it still was like a wash of warmth trying to penetrate the layers of cold that had fallen over her.  She whispered, pressing her cheek against his fingers, “I love you.”

He gave her a soft smile as he moved his fingers from her face.  Then he turned, and walked out the door with Cassandra.  He looked back once, and the glimpse of fear on his face was enough for Emma to start towards him again.  

A firm hand on her arm stopped her.  She looked back to find Ivy giving her a small shake of the head.  Now she was shaking so badly it was a wonder her legs held her, as Ivy said, “This is the only way.”

Leliana moved from them to stand in front of the door, just as Cassandra and Solas closed it behind them.  “Cast your spell.  You have as much time as I have arrows.”

If anyone spoke again after, she was deaf to it.  Even as she let herself be pulled numbly by Ivy, her eyes never left the door.  She could hear the fighting on the other side.  She could feel his magic as it waned, and then… nothing.

The doors were broken open with a loud crack as their enemies swarmed in.   One snapping Cassandra’s neck.  The other tossing Solas’ body to the side like a rag doll.   There was a wail.  It took her a moment to realize it came from her throat.  Tears burned the corner of her eyes, but then she felt it again.  The smallest hint of life, but fading.

He was going to die out there.  Alone except for the bastards that had killed him.  She glanced quickly at Dorian who was somehow managing to stay focused on his magic.  Ivy must have seen something in her eyes, because she started towards her, but too late.  

Emma focused and fade stepped to him.  A trick she had yet to try, but had watched, and sensed, him do many times before.  It seemed to come naturally to her, and in a moment she had her arms around him.  A demon turned to her, she fade stepped with him, but not soon enough to avoid the burning of claws across her upper arm.

It didn’t matter.  In a flash she was back with Solas where she’d started.  She leaned over him, cradled him to her.  She let her brow touch his, and her hand rest on his chest as he tried to take in breath.

He spoke so she could barely hear, “Emma, you… shouldn’t…”

“Hush.  I couldn’t let you die out there alone.”  

His body stopped trembling beneath her as he let out a shaky breath, the fingers of one hand coming up to weakly brush her cheek before dropping again.  She let her mouth touch lightly to his.  Then she stayed kissing him like that until the rise and fall of his chest stopped.

Everything felt cold and empty.  Her body was aching now, not only from physical exertion, but from her emotional pain also.  She tenderly laid him on the ground, and stood just in time to see Leliana loose one last arrow before she was lifted from the ground.  

Emma made herself watch as Leliana’s throat was clawed open.  She had to remember this.  She couldn’t forget what they had done, even if it never happened.  She couldn’t forget what was at stake.  This was what she fought against.  This was the world she was in now.

Ivy’s hand was firm on her arm, “Now Emma.”  

Then there was a flash of green light.  It pulled her once again, forcing the air from her lungs for a moment before it was gone.  

They were once more in the throne room.  She looked down at her shaking hands and the blood that had covered them so thoroughly was completely gone.  Though she still swore she could feel it there, caked on her knuckles, stuck beneath her fingernails.

She curled her fingers into a fist, and as Ivy confronted Alexius with Dorian, Emma’s eyes searched Solas out.  When they found him, they locked with his, and both of them moved forward.  

No one paid them any mind.  She got close enough to reach up and touch his face.  She had to feel him for herself, to know that he was really here and safe.  Her fingertips ended on the little notched scar on his brow.  They lingered for a moment before she moved to stand beside him.  Her hand went to grip his, fingers twining tightly with his own.

For her part, the proceedings went mostly unregistered.  All she wanted was to touch him.  She needed to feel more of his skin on hers.  She needed nothing between them.  As soon as this was done, she’d find a way to do that.  Even if they had to go into the woods somewhere for it.  She was done waiting.  She needed him with a desperation that was a physical ache.  Her love and respect for Ivy the only thing grounding her and keeping her from pulling him away now.

Both of them had been trembling at first, but now, as they stood there, they began to still together.  She could feel his eyes still on the top of her head as she watched the events unfold in front of her.  The brush of his lips against her hair.  Then he looked to watch as they offered the mages an alliance.  

[norfolkrp]

Congratulations Jen, you’ve been accepted as original character Amelia Roslyn Copeland! Go ahead and set up your account, be sure to message the main from it.

Also, be sure to:

Make sure your ask and submit are open.

Follow everyone on the masterlist.

Track the tag norfolk: starter for open dash convos.

And tell us your initial reaction to Norfolk in the tag norfolk: talk!

Name/Alias: jen

Age: 21

Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: cst

Personal tumblr: already linked in my previous app!

Activity level: hopefully you guys have a good idea of my activity level & find it  good

Triggers: none!

What’s the secret password?: Removed.

What character are you applying for?: an original character

Anything else?: gotta link a playlist of course, i’m making it my trademark

WRITING:

Grandma offered them protection always sent them home with little trinkets and promises to cast spells for them. Her sister treated it as some game left over from childhood, the kind that she went along with only because it made grandma’s eyes light up to know she was doing some good in the world. But Mia believed. She could feel the difference when her grandma stayed true to her word, it was as though she was covered in a warm glow, undisturbed by the darker forces trying to find their way into her life. She knew that for all the eyerolls, her sister must have felt something too- something that went away the moment their grandmother passed. After that moment there was no protection, there was only the sinister world around them, the one that their parents tried so hard to stay blind from. Had her grandmother still been alive, she knows nothing bad would have ever happened to her sister, she knows that the family image could have stayed perfectly intact.

She can still remember listening to her sister’s footsteps as she crept out the front door and into the night, some party that a younger sister simply couldn’t attend. Mia avoided the forest at all costs anyways, she couldn’t see the thrill in running to it with a group of friends to drink warm beer. She was always, a little different. But it was what the quintessential daughter did, especially when she lived with the quintessential family, so Mia’s sister left the house late at night with music playing in the distance and a fire crackling. If only she had returned. If only there hadn’t been search parties spanning the town, ending at the mouth of that vast forest- people calling for another bright lost girl who would never return. She could imagine a world where her sister came home alright, where there was still an enormous shadow cast over her, the bar set as her sister went on to college. But instead Mia only has herself; her own beliefs, and her own fears, waiting to see when the secrets of the town finally comes for her.

2. ORIGINAL CHARACTER

Full name: amelia “mia” roslyn copeland

Age: twenty

Sexuality: demiromantic pansexual

Species: witch

Claimed Power: dark manipulation

Occupation: psychology major at norfolk university, administrative intern at the norfolk police department

Address: 36 rue avenue, edgewater

Quote: the first horror is there’s horror. the second is you accommodate it.

MBTI: INTJ

Positive traits: introspective, adaptable, impressionable

Negative traits: deceitful, reactive, melancholic

Face claim: kacey rohl (act surprised!!!)

BIO:

Mia Copeland was destined for trouble from the moment she was born. A thunderstorm raged outside while the youngest girl of the family was born, a baby with dark hair and clear eyes, already searching for her family. She didn’t wail when she was born; or if she did it was disguised by the crack of lightning that shook the building. They’d never seen a storm like the one that hit the town of Norfolk on the day she was born. Any superstitious family would have seen it as a sign, kept an eye on her as she got older. But the Copelands hardly cared about such things, they were already planning their future as the quintessential American family. Two perfect daughters, a house in Edgewater. There was a future for the family that shined with photos on the mantle and white picket fences. They didn’t know at the time that it was the beginning of the end, they only thought that they were lucky the storm missed the hospital.

Of course the family pretended they didn’t come from magic, said it was better to ignore what happened in the town. Only the Copeland grandmother claimed to know more, whispered she was a witch with knobby hands and little potions to give her granddaughters. Her paper skin aged with wisdom as she’d seen what could happen to young girls and wide eyes when they got too close to the forest. She told them never to get to close, insisted they listen to her stories. Mia’s parents laughed, patting their daughter on the head and saying they would have to ignore her. And while her older sister listened to the adults, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that her grandmother was right. Not only did her little spells keep them safe, but there was something to be discovered, a secret running in the veins of the town. The imagination of a child faded over time, but somehow her faith in her grandmother’s stories never did. It was her guiding star as missing persons posters went up, as whispers ran through the town; even as her parents tried to convince her to stop listening to the ramblings of an old woman. There were no witches in the family they insisted, there were no witches anywhere. The last time she saw her grandmother, sitting on a hospital bed, the old woman grasped her hand and said they don’t understand, they never will. Her mother patted her head gently again as if she was a small child and ushered her out of the room; she never said goodbye.

If there was something separating Mia from her family before, now there was a canyon keeping her from seeing the rose colored world they wanted to create. She couldn’t help it; her grandmother’s voice rang in her ears whenever silence was present. There was something wrong, she knew it. Something was coursing through the town, through her. Without any magic left in the world, there was only a looming darkness that slowly crept in and started to overtake her. And then her sister disappeared. Her perfect, dean’s list, class treasurer sister went to a party one night and never returned. The police gave it the same amount of attention as they had every other case that came through. There were too many people missing, too many unsolved crimes to let another girl, no matter how important to her family, receive any extra attention. And after that- the Copeland parents stopped trying to force perfection on their family. No matter how many times they had scoffed away the rumors, they couldn’t have protected their eldest daughter from what always happened. And after that it hardly mattered what happened to their thunderstorm child, sullen and withdrawn, frightened as a deer in the headlights.

Being claimed at eighteen was just the final straw, She couldn’t tell her parents what happened, how the darkness crept in when she wanted it, how she could keep it away, order it around with just a thought. How all her grandma’s stories of little girls chanting at midnight and brewing potions became her reality; even as improbable as it seemed. It seemed improbable that they would listen, given that they were beginning a prolonged divorce settlement, one that would last into her college years. Magic may have skipped a generation, but it ran in her family, her grandmother reaching out one last time, a comforting memory. If she of all people was a witch, then the questions were starting to creep to the forefront of her mind. She wasn’t alone here in town, in fact it seemed more and more people had powers everywhere she turned, but if that was the case, then what else lurked underneath Norfolk’s perfect surface; and what actually happened to her sister.

[texasthegreatdestroyer]

One Heart, Two Souls: FFX Fan fic

Chapter 1: Part 1.

Cold… That was just one of the things I felt. It was certainly an improvement from five minutes ago.

Then, my lungs had filled with salt water. I remember vomiting it up with what I presumed to be blood, as it left an iron flavor in my mouth.

What a fabulous combination. Blood and seawater. At some point, I must have hit my stomach really hard, that would probably explain the mix of blood and bile.

But what did I have in me to care? My feelings had been washed with a majority of my blood in the sea. The same blood that poured out of my wounds.

The wounds that reminded me of my poor decisions, my failures, and of course, my death. Dying came to me fast, but ended so slowly. I can still feel the sick irony, as the god of the corrupt religion laughs in my face. Waiting, regenerating, plotting which of it's followers to kill next. I felt bitter, but that bitterness turned to sweet salvation and sugar coated numbness, well mentally that was.

The right side of me hurt like hell. Something around the wounds made me hurt. Seawater maybe? No, this felt grainy. My wounds stung and my body ached.

It seemed like every time I tried to move a muscle, it felt like the limb attached to it was being severed from the rest of my body.

I wasn't sure what was worse, my increasing body aches? My inability to open my eyes? Or the the slight but selfish contempt I had for two people I called my best friends?

My eyes, I need to open them. I can hate myself later. I did eventually tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my right one wouldn't open.

The blood on my eye started to clot and eventually scabbed up enough to keep me from forcing it open.

I did manage to get my left eye open though. What I saw was… sort of dark. My good eye and bad eye stung. Using what I knew so far, it was sand that was irritating my eye and wounds.

Somehow, I had face planted into sand. When I figured this out, I lifted my head up quickly. I had finally made it to shore.

I wasn't sure how I ended up here, or in the middle of the ocean for that matter.

I found myself on the beach of a coastal city. It was a big city, but it couldn't have been Bevelle.

I had been all over that city, and knew every landmark, but none of the knees around me looked familiar.

It didn't take me long to figure out where I was, as I noticed that it was busy with machina.

Could this be what I think this could be? Is this Jecht's Zanarkand?

This meant I was able to fulfill my promise to Jecht, but worth how I was feeling, I spat at the idea of fulfilling the promise, as I still felt contempt him and Braska leaving me behind.  Leaving me alone.

As I looked around, I noticed somehow staring at me. It was a child. He looked to be six or seven, but that was not the key thing that stood out about him. He looked like Jecht.

The only thing I could mutter out to him was, “Who… are you?”

The boy looked at me horrified before he ran screaming. “Maaaaa!”. Instinctively, I got up quickly and grabbed his wrist, but that just made him scream more.

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Wait! I think I know your father!”

At hearing this, the boy kept quiet.

“Is your name Tidus?”

The boy was about to answer, but someone came out of their home. An elder looking woman she was. She shouted at us from afar.

The whole beach was made up from boat houses, and she lived in one.

“What's going on over there!?”

We made the mistake of looking over there, it just her yell at us.

“Are you alright young boy?”

She stared at me, then decided it was fit to yell at me next. I didn't really appreciate the attention.

“You! You leave that poor little boy alone! I'll call the police!”

I had no idea what she was talking about. What was a police, or the police? I didn't stay to find out. With the little energy I had, I got up and ran.

To my surprise, the boy followed. We eventually made it somewhere where we'd be safe to talk in private.

“You're Jecht's son, are you not?”

The boy flinched at my question. I could tell that just his father's name made him sick.

“Everyone knows my stupid old man, what makes you special?”

“I knew him on a personal level. I spent three months traveling with him. We were friends. He asked me to find you and your mother.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I'm only here to bear news off your father to you and your mother, and to help out with you as needed.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Look, it's hard to explain. I just need you to trust me.”

There was silence among us. The boy did finally reply after a couple minutes. All though it was monotone, out was the answer I hoped for.

“Fine.”

I followed him as he guided me to his home. He lived in a fancy little boat house, perfect for a small family of three.

Despite it being a nice, sunny day, there seemed to be something dark and unbecoming of the bright, little house.

The sound of the child's voice snapped me out of my daze.

“I'm going to go get my mom, wait here.”

He opened the door, the inside looked unwelcoming. The boy continued into the dark pit of despair called a doorway. I had to advert my attention to something else to keep myself from running in after him, as I was terrified of what may have been lurking in abyss.

I caught the eyes of the neighbors next door. They were a young, attractive couple. Looks of terror formed on their faces, so like Tidus.

Was my condition really that revolting? As I continued to think about it, the smell of rotten flesh wafted from my body.

I looked down at my decomposing wounds to see that I was squirting blood everywhere as that people next door were watching and reacting. It had occurred to me that my condition was that bad.

My focus was interrupted with Tidus’s return. He walked over to me, but I kept my eyes glued to the dark corridor, waiting, expecting a beautiful woman to illuminate the dark vibes I was getting from interior. Besides, Jecht was supposedly the best blitzer in Zanarkand, and maybe even the world, he would have to have a wife prettier than any of the gorgeous women who flocked to him at the end of the game, or anywhere he was seen.

Finally, a wisp appeared in the doorway. What I saw left me in shock and aww. It was a woman, she would have been beautiful if it wasn't for a couple issues.

Unlike a normal person who emerges in order of a silhouette to a full human body. She starred as a wisp and came out a silhouette.

She was freakishly skinny, her skin stretched across her body like tight clothing. From a literal standpoint, she looked like flesh and bones.

You could see every curve of her skeletal system. The woman was as pale as a ghost. She looked very sickly, almost as if you even slightly touched her, she would shatter.

However, what stood out about her the most was her eyes. They were a shiny, bright, blue, yet appeared to be incredibly dull.

She had darkly outlined bags under her eyes as if she never slept. She looked like the creation made by a depressed artist who felt like spilling their feelings onto the paper.

Her eyes were glazed over like freshly cut glass. She looked like someone who would smile a lot, but not as of now. The one thing the glimmer in her eyes and her smile had in common other than being beautiful. Gone.

Disappeared with Jecht himself, kept in the pocket of his chaos torn pants, as he walked to his demise in the hands of the culprit himself, as he would turn a small family of three into a smaller family of two, leaving it in shambles.

It was very clear she herself was lying on a deathbed, created by her husband's absence and her inability to go on. Her death would be by her own weak, trembling hands. The woman in her frail state spoke.

“I'm sorry, I can't help you. We don't have any medical supplies to take care of you with.”

“That's not why I'm here ma’am.”

“Oh? My son said differently.”

We both stared at the boy. He replied to his unwanted attention.

“Hey, someone had to say it. You look like a walking corpse.”

His mother of course didn't approve of his comment.

“Tidus! That's impolite, apologize.”

He hung his head low in reaction to the unwanted reaction before he spoke again.

“... Sorry.”

“It's not a problem.”

His mother's focus shifted back towards me now.

“Why are you here then?”

My heart dropped. I wasn't  ready to make things worse, but I made a promise.

“I've come bearing unfortunate news… I'm here to inform you that your husband's death has been confirmed… I'm sorry for your

loss.”

She fell to the ground shrieking.

“I knew he was gone, but no one ever found his body! Knowing this, I believed he wasn't dead, that he'd come back to us, my sweet, sweet Jecht! That's been my only hope for months!”

I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't sure what I could do for her. She had just lost her husband. Although I was also grieving his death, I didn't have it in me to cry.

Looking down at Jecht's wife, I could tell deep down, her heart bleed sorrow, rage, and love. Love that was clearly not reserved for her son.

He tried to go comfort his mother, but when bee did, she just about snapped his head off clean.

“Mommy, it'll be alright-”

“DON'T TOUCH ME!”

She harshly ripped her hands from her son's gentle grasp. I was stunned to see how she treated him. Tidus began to cry, but it only managed to make matters worse for him. She replied with venomous words.

“Grow up and stop crying! You're being pathetic! You HATE him! You said son yourself, so why are you crying!?”

She clearly had a short fuse. The boy cowered. He wiped his tears at his mother's command. He stayed long enough to glare at me, then stomped into the house and slammed the door behind him.

I wanted to tell her the way she was treating her son was wrong, but I couldn't risk her taking offence to what I would say and not let me see him again, so I kept quiet.

Yet again, I kept my eyes attached to the door, while recognizing the so called fruits of my labor.

They were rotten and stunk of failure. A sad and emotionally abused son and a distant mother, that's what was gained.

His mother whispered random words, they sounded of suicide. I looked to find het skin even more tightly stretched across her skull as her eyes got big.

Suddenly the air begun to fill with a bad smell, something other than rotten flesh. It was urine.

I looked below the woman to find a dark yellow puddle under her feet, and a wet spot on her jeans. You could tell she didn't drink much by the discoloration of her… nevermind, too much detail.

I was shocked at the site, and also disgusted. I've had to bear news of fallen comrades to their families numerous times in the past, but I've never gotten this kind of reaction before.

I didn't think grief pissing one's self was anything more than a tale the higher ups told the cadets to disturb them in the warrior monks, but she did so.

I find it funny that this had to happen with the wife of my goner of a best friend. I guess life decided since it was a special occasion, that the reaction had to be equally special. Simply put, a godly, almighty, “Fuck you” from the world to me.

I'm horrible with emotions, I always have been. I watched as wet comps of years ran down her face powerless.

Not too long afterwards, she had passed out. I hadn't noticed, but when I looked away earlier, Tidus had pulled up a stool and watched us from the window of the door.

It took him awhile to move the stool and come outside, but he finally did. He came at me, pushing, hitting, and screaming.

“GET AWAY FROM MOMMY!”

Hee growled at me as I restrained him. I got him inside and locked him in his room long enough to get his mother inside.

I couldn't just leave her to lay in a puddle of her own filth, so I picked her up and took her to the bathroom.

I let Tidus out, asked him if he could help me get his mother cleaned up. After enough fussing, he agreed to help.

There were many weird contraption in the bathroom, but I got her unclothed, and put her in the one that looked closer to a bath.

I wasn't surprised to see that she loomed entirely like a skeleton. However, I couldn't help but stare at her bony structure.

Of course, when Tidus came in, he took my intentions to be impure.

“Stop staring at mommies chest, you creep.”

“That wasn't what I was looking at, I swear!”

“Uh Huh… sure.”

“I promise! She's just… really skinny.”

“Mommy doesn't eat like she used to. She doesn't really eat at all. The doctor told her she needed to start eating more, or she would get sicker, but she never listened. I try to get her to eat, but she won't eat for me!”

He sounds like a mother himself, complaining about trying to get the children to eat right. He stared at me quietly as if he was waiting for something. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me.

“Aren't you going to turn the water on?” He said snarkily.

I wasn't sure how this thing worked, I turned the left knob hesitantly. His mother began to shiver uncontrollably. The boy put his hand in the water.

“It's cold genius! No wonder she's freezing!”

I turn the left knob back to its starting point, turning the water off, then I turn the right knob. I saw steam coming up, so I automatically thought a win for me, but then she flinched in discomfort.

He sticks his hand in a second time, but pulls back immediately.

“Ow!”

He looked up at me and scowled.

“Are you trying to cook her?! You're hurting Mommy!”

“I'm really sorry!”

“No! Just get out!”

I fulfill his wishes and go out to look around for a fresh towel and a set of clothing. It doesn't take Tidus long to call me back in there. He has me watch over her long enough to go grab some things. Tidus comes back with some rubbing alcohol, duct tape and some napkins.

“Stay still!”

“Why?”

“Well, I have to patch you up! I can't just have you bleeding everywhere! You're cleaning the blood up by the way, especially on the carpet, if you don't, mom will be maaaad!”

“That's noted, but are you sure using duct tape and napkins is a good idea?”

“Are you being ungrateful?”

I kept quiet. Duct tape and napkins were at least something. That and probably a better alternative than the local hospitals. Them trying to get my medical records would have been one giant headache all together.

I watch him and cringe at the sting of him stumping a lot of rubbing alcohol on my wounds. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from cursing up a storm. Seriously? Did this kid have no restraint? No idea how painful rubbing alcohol is?

He eventually moved on to putting the fanfic napkins on me and tapping the wounds up.

“You're very lucky mom was talking about throwing these out, or else I would have used paper napkins... But still, keep those hidden just in case.”

“Duly noted.”

He finally did finish, and to my surprise, his method wasn't all that shabby. The bleeding stopped, and the wounds were cleaned. My only issue is that he taped my bread entirely to keep the napkin concealed, this is going to hurt to pull off later.

I continued looking around for what I needed. I didn't take me long, I found her clothes in her dresser, I avoided the panty and bra drawer entirely, I already had taken her out of her clothes and had to put her back in them, I wasn't about to be the guy to look through her potentially sexually arousing undergarments.

I was making my way down the hall to the bathroom when Tidus comes running my direction. I knew something had to be wrong.

“Quick! Help me! Mommies head went under the water and I can't get het up!”

I run into the bathroom quickly and pull her up from the water. If I'd waited any longer, she would have drown. I sit her up long enough to put the towel and clothes down, then hold onto her and kept her head above the water long enough for Tidus to finish cleaning her up.

Afterwards, Tidus grabbed her forty clothes and stuck them in one of the two matching machina. I would later find out that they were a clothe washer and dryer.

I drained the automatic bath and took my time drying her off properly, then put her clothes back on her and carried her to her bed, then I tucked her in.

By the end of this, I stunk of not only rancid flesh and body odor, but a touch of urine. I considered using the bath, but it wasn't my place to do so without permission, so I just left it alone.

Tidus and I sat on the deck quietly. It was an hour before he went in to check on his mother. I could tell he was worried.

When he came back out, we spoke briefly, but the awkwardness turned to silence after the following conversation.

“Is your mother alright?”

“Why do you care?”

His words were cold and untrustworthy. What I said next probably didn't help matters any.

“I wouldn't know what to do if she dies.”

“Don't say she's going to die!”

After a while, we went back inside. There, he spoke to me for a second time. I wasn't off the hook just yet. I was to be thoroughly investigated by a seven-year old. First a doctor, next a detective. This kid has quite the future ahead of him.

“Why were you sent here by my father?”

“I was sent here to bear news off your father's passing, also to help out with you if necessary, in other words, your father's will.”

“... How did he die?”

“He died a hero's death-”

“Don't call my father a hero! He's not!”

There was a pause of silence between us. A few seconds later, I heard shuffling coming down the hallway. I watched as the thin lining of his mother appeared from within the shadows. Instantly, I got up, my first instinct being to guide her back to her room.

When we got back to her room, she said she wanted to talk to me in private, so I shut the door. That was a big mistake.

- To be continued.

[castoninspo-blog]

There were very few people in the world who would believe you if you told them that the entire world could change in less than a minute, and Ella Devereaux was one of those people, for it happened not once but twice for her.

It happened so suddenly that it almost didn’t seem real. One moment, she was singing loudly to the radio with an off-key little boy, both of them bouncing around and laughing. Ella had taken Sven’s nephew, Sander, to a museum in the next town over that was showing an exhibit of ancient Egyptian artifacts. They were having a “boys” day, while Sven waited at home. It had been a perfect day. They slept in, waking up to the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, the radio playing softly in the background. They matched, both wearing an old shirt of the resident male and too-big pants. Sven’s shirt was far too big on his nephew, and it was almost a dress on him, but on Ella, the shirt stopped around mid-thigh. It was a normal occurrence for them, they usually wore his shirts more than he did. Ella took her usual place on the stool by the breakfast bar, pulling little Sander up into her lap. They feasted on chocolate chips straight from the bag and teased their chef. Once Sven had completed the pancakes, they ate and laughed and planned for the day ahead. They would leave around noon, stop at their favourite restaurant for lunch, and then drive the two hours to the museum to see the exhibit. After dinner, they would do some light shopping and head home around sundown. Sure, they spent longer than expected shopping, but it just added to the beauty of the day.

Just as they had on the ride down, they cranked the radio and plugged in Ella’s iPod to jam out to their favourite songs. It was about an hour and a half into the drive and the sun had completely set, and they had put the windows down so that they could enjoy the beautiful night breeze. The streetlights flashed overhead, illuminating the highway in small patches. Forestry lined both sides of the road, a deep ditch marking the earth on either side. The darkness made it hard to see what was lurking in the trees, which was why it was impossible to see the deer until it was in their headlights, and at that point, it was too late to steer away. The only options were hit it head on and risk the little boy’s life, or veer for the ditch and pray the car didn’t flip. At the speed they were going, if Ella aimed for the ditch on the opposite side of the road, Sander would have the greater chance of survival. So she yanked the wheel, the tires squealing as the deer impacted the back corner of the car. This added impact caused the car to flip, and it was like all time slowed down. Her arm flew out, trying to protect as much of the young boy as possible as the car rolled and flipped until it finally skidded into the ditch on its roof. By the time the car stopped moving, black teased the edge of her vision and the only thing keeping her from being impaled on the broken steering column was the seatbelt that kept her suspended. She looked over, grateful to see that, while bruised and a little scratched up and very scared, the little boy seemed otherwise unharmed. With that weight off of her chest, a blanket of drowsiness fell over her. She was so tired. Sander was okay, he would be okay. A little nap couldn’t hurt now, right? She let her eyes drift shut, her head going limp against the now-deflating airbag.

She wasn’t sure how long it was after that that the screaming woke her. It sounded so muffled, like her head was underwater, but she could recognize that voice anywhere. Her head felt like it was made of lead as she lifted it, rolling it to face the passenger seat. Sander had freed himself from the seatbelt. Good. His arm was twisted funny, bent the wrong way, but the little one didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was shaking Ella, begging her to stay awake. She was numb everywhere, and so, so tired. Her left eye was swollen badly and her right eye was stuck closed somehow. As Sander struggled to crawl out the window, Ella worked on getting herself disentangled from the wreckage. If she rolled on her side, she could unbuckle the seatbelt and miss the steering column. She would crawl out backwards and be safe. But as she began to turn to the side, she found her body wouldn’t move, and a searing pain shot through her abdomen. She looked, straining her head to see the source of the pain. How had she missed that? A large chunk of the metal guard rail had punctured the roof of the car and impaled itself in her side. It was soaked with blood, but that couldn’t be hers. It didn’t feel like she was bleeding. She felt very tired again, her previous plan of escape now forgotten. She let her head rest against the wall of the destroyed car, her eyes fluttering shut again.

This time it was little hands on her face that brought her back to consciousness. Little hands trying to pull her out of the car. Sander. She couldn’t leave the boy here. She couldn’t do that. She had to fight the cement in her veins and free herself. She pulled of the seatbelt, dropping another inch or two onto the metal spike. The blood from before now looked dry, and she couldn’t help but reach out and touch it to see if it were real. It was sticky to the touch, leaving darker red blotches on the tips of her fingers, which mingled with the fresh red that had somehow managed to smear itself across her hand. She noticed a faint scar across the palm of her hand and briefly wondered if that was caused by the accident. How had it healed that quickly? Why wasn’t the rest of her healing? The pain was spreading quickly now, her whole body on fire as every nerve ending in her body hummed with pain. She knew she had to get herself off of this spike and crawl out of the now-shattered windshield to safety. The little boy needed her. A faint voice cut through her pain, a voice she hadn’t heard since she was young. A soft, soothing voice telling her that it was okay, that the boy was safe and would be okay and that Ella could sleep now. If she slept, it wouldn’t hurt. “Nanny?” Her voice was cracked and so quiet that not even Ella was sure if she said it. The voice continued to whisper soothing words in her ear, telling her how peaceful it would be if she let herself fall asleep. Just go to sleep, it won’t hurt anymore. It won’t hurt again.

It didn’t always hurt, did it, El? We made it okay, right Ella? It just hurts now, but we’ll make it okay again. Just stay awake for me, Ella, kjære. It wasn’t her grandmothers voice anymore, but a more familiar one, begging her to stay awake. A voice she had heard just this morning, scolding her for filling up on chocolate chips before the pancakes were even done. He wasn’t serious, he never was. Come home. The voice begged, and she wanted so badly to. She had found a home, she couldn’t lose it now. She didn’t want to lose it. Her grandmother was still trying to convince her to go to sleep and end the pain, but now her love was here, her Superman was going to save her. Superman? Why was he Superman? She much preferred Captain America over Superman. But he didn’t look like Captain America, did he? He looked like…Clark Kent. Oh. Superman. She needed her Superman. The busted clock on the dash read ten at night. If they left the city at eight, that would put them at nine thirty when–…when what? Why did everything hurt? Why was she so tired? Why was there broken glass everywhere? Oh, right. The deer.

Sander. She had to find Sander. She grabbed the spike with both hands, pulling hard. She could feel it leave her body with a searing pain that caused her to cry out. She was almost thankful for her own scream, as the wet sound of the way the spike squished as it was being pulled out would have made her gag otherwise. Once she was free of the metal, she dropped down, narrowly missing the broken steering wheel. She was then able to drag herself out through Sander’s window and onto the embankment, but that was all of the energy she could muster. She rolled onto her side, and little hands helped her to a sitting position, her back resting against what was once the passenger side door of the car. She could see the wheels sticking up in the air, and for some reason, that seemed strange to her. Weren’t they supposed to be on the ground? Her head was really foggy. She struggled to focus her eyes on the little face in front of her own. “Sander?” She asked, using all of her energy to cup the boy’s cheek. She smiled weakly as the young boy leaned his face into her hand, assuring her that he would be okay. A strange man’s voice in her other ear told her that help was on the way and that she had to stay awake for a little bit, but a few minutes later he was gone, and Sander told her it was to check for the ambulance and direct them, but the words barely registered with her. She was so tired, and her head really hurt. She pulled the small child into her lap, and she didn’t even realize she was humming until the boy commented. He asked what song it was, but the words didn’t make sense to her. They were out of order and jumbled and she didn’t know what they meant anymore. She just wanted to sleep. Just a little nap.

She heard the voices again, the soft, gentle one telling her to sleep, that it would be okay, and the strong, masculine one begging her to stay awake. Why were they talking to her? Why weren’t they helping her? Why didn’t he want her to sleep? She just wanted to sleep. That’s all she wanted. Just sleep. If she just closed her eyes, just like this, she could sleep. She didn’t know if the loud wailing was in her head, but she wanted it to stop. She rested her head back against the car and let her eyes flutter shut again. Thoughts of her Superman entered her mind again, and she smiled to herself. She could see his dark hair, the way he grinned at her like she was the most beautiful thing on earth. He always said she was his miracle, his angel. Now she could be a real one for him, right? Isn’t that what he wanted? Her heart hurt at that. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be his angel. She wanted to be selfish just once. She wanted to be his wife, not his angel. Let her be selfish, just this once. Please. Just once. She drifted to sleep thinking of that. Thinking of angels and Superman and that little boy with his uncles’s smile and how maybe, just this once, she was allowed to be selfish.