#and always being there be it to balm his aching body or his aching despair is so... cant be understated

[recitedemise]

∗ 9o﹕ sender  helps  receiver  patch  up  a  wound . // local paladin heals squishy wizard (tavriel)

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺: still accepting. / 90: sender  helps  receiver patch up a wound.

Everything hurts. Then again, he's a bit of a glass cannon, Gale supposes. After all, had he the presence of mind to, he can summon down the fury and the venom of the gods. He'll raise corpses from the marshes and immolate -- reduce -- both Elder brains and cultists and their armies to ash. As it were, to come upon Gale was to spy ever wide-eyed at the frothing of a storm, for all his devastation twined foully with his rotting? Troubled thing. He's all the parts a fury as he crumbles to the floor.

But at least it's over, he breathes, as he catches Tavriel scampering desperately his way. It'd been a dicey maneuver, he'd confess, but if asked, he'd staunchly argue that it was well worth the risk. With where he'd been standing at the time, not a soul but the wizard could have done what he had. It had to have been him, there with his casting as he summoned down hail. It'd slain their enemy, after all, if only at the cost of an arrow to his arm, but with the worry in her brow and the cut of her shoulders, Gale, brows furrowing, could almost be fooled.

It looks worse than it is. Really, he swears. He grabs at his arm, the one spilling blood too black and thick like treacle. She sees it now, doesn't she, the mess of his body beneath all those bandages? To be but a corpse half ready for the graveyard... Damned fool. Orb unsteady, he must think himself expendable.

"You are a sight for sore eyes — and, well, my sore everything else, actually," Gale sucks in, still trying for casual. Tavriel... She looks all a hero, stood there healing him as she blocks out the sun. She's never far when he's lonely and always there when he's aching... Half amused, he watches the glow off her hand glow her eyes with starlight. "Never far, are you?" Never, never, ever. "Forgive me for sharing a controversial turn of phrase, but I could be led to believe you've sworn your oath to me." Jester! Smiling, he aims to calm the knot in her brow.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

you know what's delicious? yn who started wearing flavored lip balm/lip tint because of suguru — so that every time suguru ate a curse, he could just easily pull the man into a kiss to get rid of the disgusting taste suguru hates so much ((bonus points if yn also pops in a candy/sweet/chocolate in his mouth before feeding it to suguru through a kiss — anything to help suguru forget the taste of curses)) yeah... just... suguruyn for the win man 😋🫶

((even more bonus points when satoru finds out later and he gets all jelly because 1. he doesn't know the lip balm/lip tint can come with a flavor so he felt blindsided and of course, he humphs and puffs because of it and 2. he wanted a chocolatey sweetness kissies too!!!! and of course lastly, 3. he felt left out because he never knows that suguruyn always makes out every single time suguru ate a curse so he's all pouty about it — ask him to join in next time!!!))

❝ He's just like candy, he's so sweet ❞

polycule (Satoru x r! x Suguru)) | alternate universes (Suguru is not a cult-reader), fluff, NSFW | vers. bottom. reader (AMAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.6k

warnings: foodplay, threesomes, pouty satoru & smug suguru, semi-public sex, d/s dynamics

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

author's note: in this au, they slayed the links that made me lose my mind (thank you @xuxitheii for making me squeal and kick my feet): geto suguru : gojo satoru : gojo satoru being a big baby

Curses. Ugly as sin and tastes just as foul. Suguru remembers the first time he discovered he could devour them; how awful it felt as it went down his throat, bulging out and staying there — blocking his airway as he struggled to find it in himself to swallow.

The way his teeth ached. His throat convulsed and his instincts forced it back up but his fingers blocked it from doing so. It warbled in the back of his mouth, begging to be let out and 7-year-old Suguru just knew he couldn’t bear for it to disturb him again. He couldn’t handle it speaking nonsensically into his ear, slinking under his bed or even staring right at him as it grinned so wide Suguru swore he could see his reflection in its yellow, wicked-sharp, teeth.

The pills his parents (his poor, non-sorcerer, parents) had given him to help with his “hallucinations” made him feel as though a thick fog was obscuring his brain. His thoughts faded and his movement groggy, his emotions caged while his body still felt the anxious tremors that ran through him when he saw them.

The curses made him feel like he was constantly in a deep pit of despair. Everything wrong in the world, the depravity and impulses of humanity that manifested into these grotesque creatures in the palm of his hands made his nose sting, till this day, as an 18-year-old; it made his eyes well with tears.

Suguru can't describe it in a way people could understand. But if asked, he’d used the viscera of a vomit rag being forced down your throat.

But the strong protect the weak. While your lips protect them from his ire. This one goes down with a loud gulp, his fingers blocking his lips as he tosses his head back. The worst is almost over, the aftertaste will linger but not for long. Because then, he feels your weight on his chest and Suguru is pliant as you gently pry his fingers away.

“You did a good job, baby.” Suguru flutters his eyes open and he can’t help the way his lips twitch eagerly. Your lips are glossier than usual, he can smell the cherry flavour on them. His hands wrap themselves around your waist. It’s a firm grip.

Mine, he says without speaking, mine — all mine.

He pulls and a huff of air escapes you in a series of chuckles. “I know we haven’t been out in a while, but did you miss me that much, Su-Su?” Suguru frowns at your jest. It’s rare for him to pout. That role is often delegated to your boyfriend, Satoru. So this must truly upset him.

Because, yes, he did.

You’d been called overseas to complete a mission. It was the norm for sorcerers considering the population of sorcerers in Japan; outsourcing they called it. Your curse technique was needed for this mission and truly, it didn’t take long but Suguru had done solo missions and he missed you.

Three solo missions. Three disgusting, dog-shit, vomit-stained rags, down his throat. Three days without you by his side.

He hated it.

“Don’t ask a silly question like that ever again,” he mumbles. Silly. The way he scolds you always makes you smile. Never crass or rude — his voice reminds you of the symphony of leaves singing with the wind as they danced and speckled light onto the forest floors and cool water bubbling over rocks.

“Why? Why can’t I ask silly questions?” You tease, placing your elbows on his shoulder and hanging your hands behind him. Purposefully lax despite the coquettish smile on your face.

“You already know the answer.” He speaks with such sincerity. Every word is heavy with nothing but candour and adoration. It makes your eyes soften and Suguru squeezes you closer.

“I do?” He nods at your words, the tip of his nose brushing over yours and his tan skin so flushed on the apples of his cheeks.

“Kiss me like you miss me, baby.”

Suguru’s lips land on yours like a feather. Supple as always he begins it with a long-lasting peck. Pouty lip against pouty lip. His hands climb up your back and he presses between your shoulder blades to somehow hold you closer; his jaw opens and yours does the same. There it is — that heaven that’s your mouth. Suguru groans and you feel his tongue sneaking in, devouring you like a starved man.

The cherry flavour on your lips, the sweetness of the candy you let melt on your tongue, the way your fingers grip his hair, the way he can feel your breath on his cheek as you try to breathe. He wishes that the two of you never needed air. Suguru wants nothing more than to kiss you forever and ever and ever —

“Hey!”

You part with a gasp, cheeks warm and lips almost bruised as the line of spit between the two of you breaks. At the mouth of the alleyway was your boyfriend; Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed and he taps his foot in a cartoonish fashion. Despite that, both of you know that the frown on his face is very much real. “What gives? I exorcised the other curses and I came back to the two of you making out. So unfair!”

Suguru parts with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the side and pouting his lips to the side as he muttered about Satoru having FOMO. It makes you giggle and he smiles when you lean forward to place your face right under his jaw.

“S’toru, you’re being a baby. Suguru did a lot of work and I was just thanking him.” Satoru unfolds his arms and flaps them around in protest.

“I did work too!”

And it has begun — Satoru’s famous little tantrums. Oh, he could go for a full hour if he was really worked up but there is a saving grace in him having them. He closes his eyes when he’s yappering. Suguru is listening to his huffy boyfriend but then you kiss his chin and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Hm?” your teeth brush over his lower lips, then plant firmly on his. “Baby?” he smiles in the lip-locking and you whine about it because his lips should not stretch into that handsome smile, they should be pursed outward and part to let you in.

He tastes chocolate on your tongue. The creaminess of the chocolate makes him groan along with the citrusy notes. That combined with the fruitiness of the cherry tint on your lips makes the taste of the curses he’d ingested (exorcised) all but disappear. Your hands climb to the lobe of his ears and his breath hitches when your fingers trail the curve of it, he protests a bit as you undo his bun; then you whisper his name and Suguru tightens his grip on your waist.

“Hey!”

Satoru is whining again but this time he’s closer. Close enough for Suguru to grab a fistful of Satoru’s white button-up and pull him in. As his face turns you giggle, wiping away some smeared gloss as you watch Satoru turn red from Suguru’s heated kiss.

Satoru groans with his eyebrows twitching. Listless in his attempt to remain angry at Suguru. He pounds his fist against Suguru’s shoulder and attempts to crane his neck away. When he turns, he gasps as you steal his breath.

Satoru’s graceful legs tumble over themselves as his boyfriends press him to the rough wall of the alleyway. There’s a constant hum of an A/C machine and the noises from the pipes keep the intimate noises between the three of you contained. Suguru’s blunt nails drag onto the faded plastered-on advertisements — yours grip onto the bars of the window that had been covered up by old newspapers.

Satoru’s grip onto the front of both of your shirts. His glasses go askew as he struggles to keep up with his boyfriends. Suguru misses Satoru so much. He’d been away too, the Higher Ups sending him overseas at the same time as you and Shoko had to deal with a depressed Suguru for those 3 days.

“Mah, Satoru,” you drag your lips to Satoru’s sensitive neck. His hands don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It grips and pushes and stutters. “I always give Suguru special kisses after a job well done, you’ve just always been too busy to notice.”

“S’not fair,” Satoru retorts with no real venom in his words. “I deserve special kisses too, don’t I?” Suguru chuckles, forcing Satoru to look his way and shut him up. Satoru glares over the rim of his crooked glasses as Suguru’s thumb presses down on his canines.

“What a jealous brat.”

“Can’t even handle a little teasing.”

Satoru would heavily disagree with that. A little teasing? You called being pushed to a wall, groped, kissed, and bitten by your handsome and powerful boyfriends a little teasing?

Satoru was a sign of change, his birth instantly tipped the scales of the sorcerer world, but he was still human!

Suguru grins that irritatingly pleased grin when Satoru’s protests die out thanks to your hands slipping down his pants. “Oh shit,” he hisses. His speech is odd with Suguru’s thumb in his mouth, casually inspecting it. But you laugh anyway.

“You know, since he has been away too, maybe he does deserve a bit of sugar from you, (Y/N).” You glance at Suguru, your cock chubbing up in your pants as he pointedly motions his gaze to the ground. You kneel in front of Satoru and drool slips down his chin as his pupils chase after you. Suguru chuckles, wiping it away and wiping it off on Satoru’s shirt — to which he hears no complaint. Suguru stands behind you, bending at his waist to peer down. It’s unfair how pretty he is from any angle. The Gods took their time making him. Of that, you are certain.

“Ready, sweetheart?” you nod, opening your saccharine-sweet mouth; Suguru pats your cheek as praise and undoes Satoru’s pants for you. His cock springs out, nearly bumping into your nose as it strains and twitches in the open air. When Suguru holds it, Satoru grunts and raises his hips. Fucking into his fist like a dog in heat. Suguru regards this with a shake of his head and guides Satoru to your mouth. You form a fist around your thumb, looking up at Satoru through your lashes as you wrap your lips around him.

Suguru straightens his composure. He takes in the sight.

Satoru and you know better than to be handsy. The pale-haired man grabs onto the bars of the window behind him, breathing through his nose as the toe of his shoes dig into the floors. You slip your eyelids close and languish in the taste of Satoru’s cock — breathing through your nose as well as you bob your head.

Fuck, Suguru missed this. He really did. He could get off on this alone. Just watched as both of you enjoyed the other. His darling boyfriends, who so obediently listen to his whims even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Who could ask for more?

Suguru strokes over your eyebrow and barely stifles a laugh when you tilt your head so Satoru’s tip pokes your cheeks.

“Good boy. My sweet boy.”

His voice alone makes you want to give in to whatever it is he asks of you — it’s insane how much power and sway he has. Your charming Suguru.

Satoru moans, swiftly reaching out and gripping onto the collar of Suguru’s top. They kiss. Fighting for dominance because Satoru needs to be pushed into submission. He relishes being put in his place — smacked around a little.

You could pinpoint this kink originating from his frivolous childhood and naturally talented self needing some sort of edge to sink down into a more fuzzy headspace.

Or perhaps Satoru was just a brat and he trusted his lovers enough to relinquish that control. Both theories worked.

Suguru grunts as Satoru tugs at his hair, the pleasant tinge of pain making his dick strain against his loose pants. You spot it from the corner of your eyes, an obscene slurping sound coming from you as you attempt to not make this blowjob too messy. An impossible task, really. But a worthy effort.

“Your lips taste like cherry, why?” Satoru’s question catches Suguru off-guard. He expected Satoru’s usual quips and huffiness. He indulges.

“(Y/N) wore cherry-flavoured lipgloss.”

The proof is in the coloured streaks on his dick. You feel it twitch on your tongue and pull away, your hot breath on his cockhead making precum leak out of his blushing tip. You rest it on your velvet tongue, unabashedly pouting to kiss the tip and then taking him inside again. Those slightly shimmery streaks made Satoru grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know those came in flavours,” Satoru moans. “How come you don’t wear that for me too?”

“Because it’s for me, you little shithead,” Suguru growls lowly. Their foreheads touch as he tightens his grip on Satoru’s neck, the pressure making Satoru’s eyelids flutter for a second. “It’s my prize for exorcising curses.”

“You jealous?” you wonder out loud. The answer was clear but there was a rush to make Satoru admit it.

“Yes, I am!” He curses for a moment as you descend further down to lick at his balls, looking up at him still as if this conversation was taking place over a dinner table and not in an alleyway with society just a few meters away. As if his dick wasn't on your face while you feel his balls tightening up on your tongue.

Seriously, if somebody peered down long enough they would most definitely catch sight of the three of you here.

“I just – just...fuck, I missed the two of you too. It’s completely unfair you’ve been keeping this from me too! I’ll never forgive you.”

Suguru grabs the back of your neck and pulls you backward. His large hands effectively push your head down further and further until your nose is at the neat patch of pubic hair Satoru has. You relax your throat and jaw, eyes watering while you brace your hands on Satoru’s thighs.

“So why didn’t you just tell us that, darling?" Suguru purrs. "Instead, you chose to be a brat and stomp around. You’re better than that, Satoru. Aren’t you? Hm?”

You gag but Suguru holds you in place. His hand barely has any real strength behind it. If you jerked backward, he would not hold you in place. No, no. Suguru’s power comes from the lack of strength he needs to exhibit. His dominance is in the ease Suguru commands it.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed him inside of you.

“Screw you, Suguru,” Satoru chokes out.

He pulls you off. You cough, spit staining your chin as you smile loosely at them. Suguru then pulls you onto your feet, pushes you to the wall, and undoes your pants. You bite down on your lower lip, staring at Satoru as you brace your hands onto the wall just next to him. Satoru watches on, trying to keep himself strong by pretending he isn’t affected by the sight before him.

Suguru gathers spit in his mouth but pauses as he feels the candy wrapper in your pockets. The chocolate brand makes his brows raise. It’s expensive. No doubt Satoru’s influence had rubbed off on you. Only one company in the world made this chocolate, its pink colour is a dead giveaway. No wonder your cherry-flavoured gloss tasted so strong, it was complimented nicely by the leftover taste of this ruby chocolate.

He lets your pants pool around your ankles while he takes a bite. It wasn’t disgustingly soft, but your body heat made it melt quickly on his tongue. He spreads your ass apart and spits a thick glob of his spit and pink chocolate. The sensation sends shivers up your back and you arch your back further, unsure about the new sensation.

“Suguru, that was expensive — ngh!”

Your eyes widen as he presses his cock inside. You were thankful for your morning romp with them. It loosened you up enough that Suguru’s impatience didn’t cause pain and only mild discomfort — he reaches forward to jerk your cock off to ebb it away and you moan out his name.

“Shh, shh, not so loud. We’re still outside, baby.”

Satoru groans, reaching to toss his glasses away as he turns his back to the entrance and gives you his full attention. He’s craving touch. To taste or to mark you up. To do anything, really. He is goddamn hypnotized by the way Suguru’s dick thrusts in and out of you. Suguru gives you a good fucking for too short of a time — pounding into you like a jackhammer and making you nearly bite your tongue off in an attempt to keep quiet before he pulls out.

Your knees buckle, thighs twitching as you try to keep yourself upright. Satoru’s knees thud onto the floor and he greedily laps at Suguru’s cock, moaning at the creamy taste. The same flavour leaks out of you while you catch your breath. The mouth of the alleyway is quiet but there are still the faint noises of the city just there. A few big strides away. But there. It excites you. You imagine it’s exciting your equally perverted boyfriends too.

"Satoru," Suguru groans at the sight of him. You peel yourself from the wall. Shoulders thudding onto the hard surface while your pants drop to your ankles. Shakily, you use your feet to push it all the way off, eyes trained on Satoru savouring the flavour of Suguru and the ruby chocolate. He pulls away with a breathy 'pwah!' and strokes Suguru's creamy dick.

You're tempted to join Satoru. Just sharing Suguru's cock, kissing Satoru with his cockhead between your lips. Fuck, just the thought has your dick slapping lightly against your navel. Suguru plants a hand near your head, turning his head to kiss you while the other is tugging on the roots of Satoru's head. a

"Both of my boys are being so obedient," he says after a deliciously deep groan of Satoru's name. "We missed you," you reply in a whiny whisper.

"Missed you so much, S'guru..."

Satoru moans, pulling away as he catches his breath and shares a heated gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you so badly. Missed this dick too," Satoru turns to your crotch and kisses the underside of your dick. It makes your breath hitch, hips jerking forward. The wetness of your precum smears on Satoru's cheek a bit but he doesn't even mind. Nor does he seem to notice.

"These cocks are the only ones that make me this hungry."

Suguru glances at the alleyway. You're not loud enough to draw attention. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure." You throw your head back to laugh. A veil was meant to conceal, protect those outside of it, and maintain secrecy. To use it so improperly.

The three of you were truly perverted.

"What's got you all giggly?" Suguru speaks against your lips. Tilting your chin upwards then squeezing the sides of your neck just to relish in the way you bare your neck to him.

"You used a veil," Satoru speaks for you. He raises, ignoring Suguru's pointed glance in favour of unbuttoning your shirt and kissing down your chest. His lips are sticky, smears of pink tainting you but you find it hard to care. "He's laughing because he thinks we're perverts."

"What are you? A mind reader now, Satoru?" You huff.

"I might as well be, huh?" Satoru smirks. He's so handsome that it makes your chest hurt sometimes. You're against the wall, exits blocked by Suguru and Satoru and you wouldn't have it any other way. "You know, I missed you too. It's been weeks — "

"Three days," Suguru and you corrected.

"Weeks. And this morning wasn't enough. We did such a good job, those wrinkle bags can't complain if we just so happened to work overtime, right?"

Ijichi can't stop his cheek from heating up. It's painfully, painfully, obvious why the three of you took your time for this mission. He had waited in the car for the first hour, then occupied himself with some coffee at a nearby cafe but by the third hour, Ijichi almost called Principal Yaga.

Three Special Grade Sorcerers took that long to exorcise an abandoned building. Surely, something must have happened!

Yet, seeing you sleeping on Suguru's lap with your legs across Satoru's lap confirms the real reason why it took the three of you that long.

Satoru has a weighted eye mask, head tossed back as he recuperates. This gives Ijichi a clear sight of his marked-up neck. Your shirt is wrinkled, hitched up from the bend of your waist, and giving him the whispers of handmarks. Suguru met his gaze from the rearview and Ijichi whispered out an apology.

"No, please. We're sorry for keeping you waiting." Suguru is brushing your bangs back, gently wiping down some residual stickiness on your cheeks with wet wipes (that Ijichi had made a point to stock up on in the car after earlier missions involving you three).

"No, I understand," he says with a shaky voice. Sighing a little he laughed awkwardly from the driver's seat.

"You must've been missing them a lot for those three days they've been gone, Mr Geto."

Suguru's expression softens, leaning one shoulder down when Satoru leans to place his head on his shoulders.

"It's hard not to. I love them."

[frostdayz]

Kings expectations

Aegon x reader (f! reader)

Genre: fluff once again LOL!!

summary: Aegon has recently become king and with the overwhelmingly large shoes he has to fill he tries to find comfort in his loving wife.

wrds: 804

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grandeur of the Red Keep had always been imposing, but now, with Aegon on the throne, it felt even more overwhelming. The days since his coronation had been a whirlwind of responsibilities, decisions, and the weight of expectations pressing heavily upon him. As I wandered through the echoing halls, I thought of the man I married, not the king he had to become.

I found Aegon in his chambers, slumped over his desk, a sea of parchments spread out before him. His shoulders were tense, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the endless reports and decrees that demanded his attention. My heart ached at the sight. This was not the carefree man I had fallen in love with; this was someone burdened by the crown he wore.

"Aegon," I called softly, stepping into the room. He glanced up, and the exhaustion in his eyes was evident. "You've been at this for hours. You need rest."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't afford to rest, Y/N. There's too much to do, too much expected of me."

I walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can't pour from an empty cup, my love. You need to take care of yourself too."

He reached up, covering my hand with his. "I know , but... I'm trying to be the king my mother wants, the king the realm needs. It's just... ever since I was a kid this cloud has been over my head and now its finally covered me whole." He sighed and looked at me with his sunken eyes.

I moved around to face him, kneeling so that our eyes were level. "Aegon, you're doing your best, and that's all anyone can ask of you. There is no need for you to be perfect. You just have to be you."

He looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and despair in his gaze" Y/N. I feel like I'm drowning."

I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You are not alone in this. You have me, and together, we can face anything. You are stronger than you think, my love. And I believe in you."

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without..." He takes a deep breath and smiles at me.

"I thank the gods for making you for me every waking hour."

I smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "And I thank them for you."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I were his anchor in a storm. I could feel the tension slowly leave his body as he took comfort in my presence. For a while, we simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace in the quiet moments away from the demands of the crown.

Eventually, I pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air will do you good."

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "That sounds wonderful."

We left the burdens of the throne behind as we wandered through the gardens, the evening air cool and refreshing. The flowers were in full bloom, their fragrance a soothing balm to the soul. Aegon laced his fingers with mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of the man I had married.

"Do you remember our wedding day?" he asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with the memory.

I laughed softly. "How could I forget? You were so nervous, you nearly tripped over your own feet while standing still"

He chuckled, a genuine sound that warmed my heart. "And you looked so beautiful, I forgot how to speak."

I blushed, nudging him playfully. "It was a perfect day. And despite everything, we still have each other." I chuckled and gave him a playful push.

As we continued our walk, the pressures of the throne seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being together. We talked about everything and nothing, finding comfort in each other's presence. The stars began to twinkle in the night sky, casting a gentle glow over the gardens, and I felt a sense of peace settle over us.

Not knowing what would come tomorrow, next month, or year I knew I'd want to be by his side no matter what. To others, he is King Aegon but to me, he is so much more.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Shroud

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Elze'ith struggles to find equilibrium. His Lord helps him along.

Contains: Intimate whump, aftermath of noncon, manipulation, dissociation, mind control, implied drugging

~~~

“I wanted this to be good for you, my light. You know that, don’t you? That’s all I ever want.”

“No matter what happens, I will always be willing to make you feel just like this.”

“So good for me, so perfect, just like you were always meant to be.”

His Lord’s words swirled around his mind like phantoms in the night, dark and covetous and cloying. There was comfort in those beautiful, terrible words, and he clung to them as desperately as he clung to his Lord’s hand. They made more sense than the maelstrom in his mind, were easier to focus on than the defiled agony that wracked his body.

Maybe, if he soaked in his Lord’s promises for long enough, they would come true. Maybe he would believe them. Maybe he would be able to reconcile the love that his Lord professed, the care that he showed, with the hurt he inflicted, the way he used him like a toy, the dread and despair he still sometimes inspired. Nothing about this was good, nothing about this was right, but he needed to find peace with it anyway.

What else could he do? Altair was all but lost to him now after all he had done and all he had failed to do. He had nothing left but this.

Everything ached. The pain went deep, past his muscles and bones to his very being. It was inescapable; as much as he tried to sink into the sensation of gentle fingers carding through his hair, the agony didn’t fade. He didn't think it ever would. There was no ignoring what had been done to him, with how it was written in blood across his skin, carved so deliberately into his mind.

The cascading words in his mind were joined by voices in the air around him, blurry and indistinct. The air shifted with magic, and though he was likely imagining things, he could have sworn he felt a familiar presence. Summoning his strength was the most difficult thing in the world, but he tried anyway, anxious to see who was there, what was happening.

The hand in his hair carded through more earnestly, steady and calming. There might have been a low shushing sound, or there might not have been, but he felt the quiet wash across his consciousness nonetheless. He sank into it readily, eager for the peace it offered, even as his urgent thoughts of someone else were delicately teased away from him. Within moments, he was utterly relaxed again, all memory of what had been troubling him gone like smoke on the wind.

He drifted for a while, serene and suffering, all sense of time utterly beyond his grasp. It wasn’t quite restful, but something close to it; a chance to breathe, perhaps. Regardless, he was grateful for the fleeting moment of tranquility. Grateful enough that when he was jolted back to himself by firm hands gently pulling him upright, he barely flinched, only the softest of whines leaving his throat. The movement sent fresh agony rippling through him, made his heart leap with fear of new miseries and violations, but the last thing he wanted to do was protest too much.

Something pressed up against his lips. He parted them dutifully; he knew his role. “That’s it, my light. Drink.” His Lord’s voice washed over him, deep and rumbling and impossible to disobey. The liquid was warm and hearty, and he drank it slowly but readily. The warmth was a welcome solace, a balm as it spread through him and eased the eternal chill of the castle and his Lord’s hands. Such a simple gesture of care, and he was so wretchedly thankful for it. 

“There you go.” Affection permeated his Lord’s voice as the bowl was pulled away. “Isn’t that better?”

Somehow, he found the strength to nod. At least, he thought he did. The movement might have been too small to see, might not have been there at all.

“Good.” He could feel the rumble of his Lord’s voice in his chest as he spoke. “Would you like to sleep now, my light? You must be exhausted.”

And he was. Weariness weighed on him heavily, and all he wanted was to slip away into a restful oblivion. The pull only grew with each beat of his heart, as though the mere suggestion had made his body all the more susceptible to the call. He tried to nod, or make some sound of affirmation, but even that was impossibly difficult between the pain still flowing through him and the exhaustion that he wanted so desperately to yield to. 

He was so tired. 

He was always so tired.

But even without his words, without any sort of response at all, his Lord understood, just as he always did. Strong arms enveloped him in a steady, unyielding embrace that he sunk into easily. “Oh, I thought so. Sleep, my light. I will be right here with you.”

Somehow that reassurance still sent a slight chill down his spine. But there was no resisting his Lord’s request, especially when it was one he wanted so earnestly to follow. His last fleeting hope as oblivion took him was for everything to be less painful when he awoke.

[chickenparm]

@no-i-will-not-shut-up idk if this is what you meant or what you were looking for but here, hold this anyway

---

Pain is something that Childe is used to. 

A master of weaponry cannot be called as such if he doesn’t hold the capacity for making tools of war out of anything at his disposal. Fear can be honed nicely, anger is sharpened by its own nature, and pain has the capacity for so much utility if one knows how to use it. 

And oh, does he know how to forge pain into something devastating. It fuels him, propels him in battle into a higher fervor. Taking a blow is a victory, not a misstep, and he lives for the feeling of blooming bruises and aching bones, because victory is assured. 

Ruin Guards fall to pieces around him, sparks and detritus falling like the snow from his homeland. The breaths leaving his lungs are withered and rasping, twisted into something inhuman and vicious, as if he had a vendetta against the very air itself. Somewhere at his back is Teucer’s counting, reaching dangerously close to zero. One delay was already pushing it - another won’t fly. 

Months ago, he came here to meet with Dottore. If Childe remembers correctly, there’s a little room just to the side where he can tuck himself into a corner and fully comprehend the consequences of his actions. 

Pain is a weapon, but there’s something to be said about the cloying feeling of dread and despair in his chest when the armor starts to melt away and his skin burns where the chilled air of the factory brushes past it. Every nerve is firing, sending screeching signals through every cell in his body that he’s in incredible danger. 

In his ears, his heartbeat pounds and a high-pitched whine nearly drowns out the sounds of Teucer’s excitement, Paimon’s astonishment, and the Traveler’s footsteps as they look for him. The wall is excruciating against his back, his body feeling every sensation at a magnitude he’s always had trouble comprehending. 

Using the transformation when he wasn’t ready again… it’s torture of the worst kind. 

It’s hard to breathe when the expanding of his ribs feels as if they’re being cracked open. Every alveolus in Childe’s lungs threaten to rupture if he takes in too much air. Breaths are kept short and shallow, just enough to keep the darkness from creeping in at the edges. His spine protests as Childe slides to the floor, limbs curled wherever they please, if only because his muscles no longer wish to cooperate. 

It’s never felt good to use the transformation, but it’s always been for a good cause. At least, he thinks it is. 

The numerous times in the Abyss, when Skirk pushed and pushed and pushed his limits. 

I might die if I use it again. 

You will die if you don’t use it again. 

Skirk saved him, kept him sane, guided him on the right path to survival, but it had been hell. As his eyes feel as if they’re going to pound from their sockets with each heartbeat, Childe can’t help but remember the comforting chill of Skirk’s tone as she forced that child to stay alive. 

For his own good, she’d said, because death is useless in the Abyss. Pain is useful.

Except the agony is useless to him now. An aftereffect of fighting for something he believed so strongly in that he’s willing to put himself through hell just to preserve it. But then he’s left with an abundance of unusable pain, and a little brother calling for him. Childe doesn’t have the strength to answer. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. The Traveler comes around the corner, looking concerned for his well-being. That’s nice, at least, and it’s a minor balm to the way his body screams and screams that it’s going to die. It always gets worse before it gets better, and he’s on the cusp of passing out when the Traveler pulls him back to reality with a few quiet words and a promise to cover for him. 

At the very least, no one will bother him here while he recovers enough to get back. Once the Traveler takes Teucer, then it will be nothing but the latent sparking of broken Ruin Machines and his own slowing heartbeat to keep him company. 

[sasorikigai]

your name: Wanda Maximoff

A night in or dinner out or an activity?: I have no preference for either, but a night in would be lovely.

Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: chocolate covered strawberries!

What's your perfect date?: My perfect date is having a picnic dinner under the stars and we stargaze together afterwards.

Would you cook for me?: Yes of course! Anything you want, I’ll make it for you!

Would you let me cook for you?: Yes! You know I’d love to try your cooking!

Can we make-out?: Hell yes!

make out in private or in public?: Private, I don’t think you’re the type that would want to make out in public.

Do you like to cuddle?: yes, yes I do.

Blankets or no blankets for cuddling?: No blankets, you’re super warm

Couch or bed?: It doesn’t matter, I’m game for either.

What are at least 3 hobbies of yours?: Reading, playing music, watching plays.

Tell me something about you no else knows: Sometimes, I’m tired of being the strongest. I just want to be protected once in a while.

why do you want to be my valentine?: I want to be your valentine because we have a connection that I’ve never had with anyone before. We understand each other better than anyone, I want to make you feel loved.

What makes you a good Valentine?: I’m a good Valentine because I’m caring, loyal, and attentive partner, and I can be that for you on this special day and all the time for you.

(Any verse!)

RP MUSE VALENTINE’S APPLICATION. || @hexsreality || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Visions of different worlds slip through Hanzo Hasashi's mind; landscapes that gravely affected his heart, verses he would pass through with every dearest intention held in his unyielding heart and soul. Perhaps he is lost amidst the graceless citiscapes of modern day, or the mystical pull of the sacred Shirai Ryu which will always ensorcel him with such eternal longing. Even amidst the resplendence of the beauteous scenery of early spring, how his profound eyes remain smeared luminous with the balm of mystery. The threshold of his strength may seem limitless, but he seldom could feel himself surpass the limitations he himself had set upon as inhuman strength and power could render his hellfire akin celestial explosion. All in all, Hanzo has learned to be flexible and adaptive, because this world, in any given direction, will intend to break him asunder.

"Strength and grace are prerequisite to survive and endure in this unstable, merciless world; both essential, existing in every place. I hope to become an indomitable warrior with shoulders broad and strong, mind like rivers deep and long, carving my path with force and might, as my presence fills the room with light," Hanzo wishes his world to become a gentle stream that will wash away his profound mistakes, to clear him of all ugly blemishes and aches. Maybe the resurrected life itself is a manifestation of heavy soil that chokes him and buries his lungs until he coughs up something alive. It is an incessant burning; one that spreads from a heavy heart to a muddled head, molten regret that eats away at the weariness and apathy. Grandmaster Hasashi becomes renewed in the very fire and passion lit by the lone thought.

In his limited mortality will he serve as the crackling hearthfire and emanating lantern; providing warmth and guidance towards all the wounded and lost souls struggling to find their way out of dark tunnels, as Shirai Ryu Fire Gardens will serve as the sanctuary for those in desperate need. For love is what had anchored him all along. Despite being jaded and heartbroken, haunted by the past he and the world both created for him, he will relish in the impassioned fervor and tenderness of love. Perhaps it is all these truth that combine to save him from his demise and despair, and he is grateful. Grateful with gratitude that Wanda Maximoff fills his heart, which was once hollowed out by his unspeakable sins. How his mind, emotions, and body become instruments and the way he aligns and tunes them in life, as he cants his head, with smoldering warmth embedded in his gaze as his extended arm becomes woven into this tapestry of theirs.

"How beautiful it has been to have found you, who went through similar pain as I have and you offer me comfort as I have towards you. How tender and remarkable it is to treat someone with love and kindness, as your reciprocation becomes the staunched wall, withstanding familiar agony and despair. The chrysalis of my eternal darkness may continue to haunt and affect me, but my form and power have been renewed in their entirety as my everburning embers burn." Hanzo Hasashi may be far from being the most strongest or the proverbial hero with the most pure intentions, but the genuine and impassioned truth of his fire will continue to burn, incessantly with truth and purpose. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[elriel-oblivion]

So I started this in the last week of 2020, and I'm ready to post it 😊 I've still got a couple other wips I'd started before this one but I haven't been bothered to finish those lol so I'm putting this one out first. Anyway, this'll be 6 parts long; I'll prob put up the next part in three or four days.

I'll put word counts so you can gauge how long each part is and if you wanna read it 😅 Also lemme know if you'd like to be tagged

Word count: 2.2K

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part I

__

The shadows were colder than usual tonight. On better days, their chill wrapped Azriel's bones in an icy embrace, a comforting freeze numbing any semblance of feeling in his wasted heart.

But this miserable night, they were searing cold, the kind of cold piercing the highest of mountain peaks; the kind of cold that penetrated the brain itself. He shivered as he travelled through those shadows, dark mists and wisps coiling like vines about his head.

Maybe he was deliberately searching for the coldest areas. Maybe he wanted a complete absence of feeling: physical, emotional, spiritual. It would certainly be easier to feel nothing than trying to quell the frigid rage inside. How could an avalanche be stopped once it started?

Further and further he moved through his shadows, dawn chasing him from a few hours away. Mountains and villages surged past through those charcoal mists, making way to depthless forests and ravines. He clenched his jaw tight against the cold, memory guiding him home.

But the fresh blood he'd seen earlier, and the mutilated remains of that little girl, one wing torn off and lying bent at the edge of the dirt path ... Her unseeing eyes were glazed, that shine as bright and true on his mind as the glint of moonlight on the blade of Death. And her scream. Cauldron, it curdled his own blood.

He'd been but a minute late. A matter of seconds were all that stood between him and the sadistic bastard who'd brutalised that child. Barely a heartbeat in his lifetime.

He blinked once to rid himself of her stare. Twice.

The image remained, muddying with his path home. His hands clenched and unclenched, nails biting into his skin, but the girl's hazel eyes and her ashen skin and the fingers outstretched for that severed wing remained an imprint on his vision.

Why was this affecting him so much? It wasn't the first time he'd seen horrors like this. But if Azriel wanted to be honest with himself, some days were harder than others simply because they were. Some days, the despair rattled his core and tossed him far out - because he was a person and emotions, feelings, these things were too abstract to be boxed in.

Everything had a limit. Had Azriel ever truly reached his?

Sometimes Azriel himself didn't understand how he kept it all in. How he didn't react or display any sign of having seen or heard the things he did. Sometimes he was repulsed by himself because of it. At least Cassian and his rare vomiting showed some of the humanity inside.

Azriel gave away nothing. Was there even humanity in himself? Everyone but his family looked at him like he was an unhinged monster imprisoned by his Illyrian skin. Like he was moments from escape and they would be his first victims.

Or - not just his family. Her. Elain. Did he consider he family? Perhaps it was too early, or even too inappropriate to do so.

Either way, how could he stain the sudden image of her with himself, with the horrors he'd just seen, had always had the displeasure of seeing? She was lovely and warm and beautiful and he was dark and cold and hideous.

Elain. Something inexplicable stirred in him at the thought of her.

He tried to calm it, this heat, this single star in his midnight sky. But it remained. And it grew.

And he was disgusted. Ashamed. He was not worthy of her.

And it ached. Another unrequited love.

That word snapped something in him. Mocked him.

Love.

A choking sound ripped from his throat and he welcomed it, let it mount into a scream, let it tear through his body and soul. Like that monster was finally breaking free. It was invigorating yet scorching. It burned him from the inside out but the cold of those shadows permeated his mind so heavily, he forgot the essence of corporeality and only his soul seemed to drift.

His ragged breathing sounded, throat parched. Where was he? Through the shadows, all around him, there seemed only darkness. Was he flying? No, the shadows sang their usual baritone thrum as opposed to the high harmony of the wind.

Above, no stars glistened. His eyes strained but nothing peeked through. It wasn't often that his shadows became this thick; usually thin and wispy, they now shrouded his being, coalescing over, in him. He became the cold, a shadow, darkness itself, floating through the ether, higher and higher like ashes on the wind.

But even ashes settled down at some point.

Unless his soul truly were ascending, unless this truly were death. It almost seemed too easy. All the battles, those two great wars, the poison that shot through his veins and stole his breath as per Hybern's whim. Poison that sometimes woke him up in cold sweats, a phantom memory of its iciness picking through his body as though he were being cut up by the sharpest blade ...

Sometimes it even felt like his own blade.

No, this couldn't be death. A mere scream, the image of lives lost, a bloody fight - he hated to admit that these were commonplace among his memories, his life. But in doing so, he knew death was too easy an aftermath for what had happened tonight.

Death, an ascent. But he was sure when his time came, his stained soul would descend like the demon he was.

So he grounded, drifting down weightlessly until the solidity of rock steadied him. He would not go to that darkest of places yet. But he was still exhausted. So damn tired of everything. He feared that if he dropped into a slumber right now, he'd not get up for a lifetime. As it was, his legs almost gave out, but he forced some remaining strength back into them. All he had to do was get home now.

He stepped out of his shadows; Devlon's camp was quiet around him. A fire to his far right sputtered in the harsh winds and Azriel swept himself back into his shadows.

This time he travelled faster, composing himself, locking his muscles and bones up, clenching his jaw. He let that familiar cool comfort drain his rage, cleaning it through his veins before it settled in the frozen lake of his heart where the rest of his darkness lay, inescapable through the impenetrable foot of icy wrath and sorrow. He savoured his shadows, a confidant in their own right, thanked them for their understanding and the escape he found within them.

But they were growing warmer now. Azriel squinted through them as they shifted him across land and water - the scape of Velaris and its brilliant lights greeted him. Closer to home now, he could breathe with a looser chest but this was still unusual; his shadows shouldn't be warmer, they should be cool and refreshing, like the autumn night breeze beyond.

His wings rustled, body reacting to his shadows' autonomy before his thawing mind caught up. 'Where are you taking me?' he murmured.

Mist swirled about him and the shadows deposited him at the far edge of the dimly lit back garden at his High Lord and Lady's riverfront estate. Why would they bring him here? Rhysand and Feyre were at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were together in Illyria and Mor was at the Winter Court. As far as he knew, Amren was at her own apartment so the only person left was -

'Azriel!' came Elain's voice. It was distant in a way it shouldn't be.

Azriel leaned against a tree, pretending to fiddle with the Siphon atop his left hand. Breathing was difficult but he swallowed and exhaled in a shudder.

He needed to fully compose himself before anyone saw him like this. If only his damn shadows hadn't taken control for those last few moments, he'd be in his own home and lying in that swirling darkness in peace. Though, he supposed, it was his own fatigue that had yielded that control.

'Azriel!' Elain cried, stopping in front of him. Her face was caught between a frown and a wince and her arm was raised slightly. 'You don't look okay.'

As always, he was momentarily stunned by how unafraid this small female was of him. Here he was in his full armour, every bit the monstrous warrior that sent his people scurrying into their homes and locking their doors, and yet Elain stood strong before him. Like she saw not a killing machine but a person.

She never even commented on how his shadows made to disappear around her. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

He swallowed before he let out what he thought was a light laugh. 'I'm fine, don't worry.' But he could hear the hoarseness of his voice, now facing the consequences of that scathing scream. And his limbs felt even heavier than before, like someone had injected liquid lead into them.

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she whispered, lowering both her gaze and arm.

He paused, trying to catch her gaze. The constant light in her eyes whenever she looked at him was a balm to his soul. He could use some of that right now.

He reached out an arm, so impossibly leaden right now - if he could just get to sit down -

'Can I wash your hair, please?'

He started. 'You want to wash my hair?'

Elain's eyes flicked back up to skirt over his, up to his hair, where they stayed pinned. 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

Shit. He hadn't even thought of his appearance after that bloody fight earlier. How that had slipped his mind? He ran a hand through his hair, and surely enough, crumbs of dirt rained down.

Although, he really hadn't expected to turn up here of all places. In the privacy of his own home, he wouldn't have cared if he were missing a whole damn limb, if only it meant he could sleep like the dead.

Not to mention that sleeping with a little mud was the least an Illyrian warrior's problems. But Elain's care was something of a punch to his gut. When was the last time someone had truly tended to him for reasons that weren't battle or holiday related?

'You've managed to get some on your face, too,' she said, brow furrowed as she stared at his cheek.

Her eyes were so deep and focused, he wished they would just meet his once. But of course, that level of scrutiny he'd come to learn from Elain meant shyness. Just shyness. She was so endearing, he could've laughed with such fondness if he weren't so damn tired. He wished this whole damn night would be over already.

His leg faltered slightly and he stumbled forward.

'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

He raised his brows at her, but she simply took his arm and began leading him towards the house. She looked so small before him but didn't slow despite dragging his bulk behind her.

Halfway across the garden, he pulled her to him with his free arm, his shadows saving the both of them the energy of walking through that mansion of a home.

'My bathroom,' she murmured. Elain didn't balk through the five seconds of that darkness, didn't even look surprised. She showed no sign of hearing the spike in his pulse either. Thank the Mother.

He set them in her bathroom, and she didn't look at him once as she flitted around the chamber, pulling a chair from her bedroom to the sink and grabbing a towel, soap and a jug from the cupboard. Standing there, his breathing began to smooth out.

The window was open, a chill breeze sweeping in. The faelights were dim and their placid light sent a dusky illumination over Elain's features. Some bottles of oils and herbs sat on the edge of the bathtub. Azriel had heard of people using oils for bathing, but herbs? Perhaps they were like flower petals, used for their scent.

Towel in hand, Elain waited at the sink, placing the soap and jug down. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this.'

Azriel nodded, tapping his Siphon. Within seconds, that second skin of cold scales and gleaming wrath was safely stored away. Just his plain black trousers and tunic were left.

Elain's eyes caught every moment of the transformation. 'It's beautiful, all of it.'

He didn't even know if she was speaking of his armour or the basic clothes underneath or what, but his face warmed slightly, wings rustling.

'Please sit,' she said, gesturing to the chair. As he did, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, fingers hovering above his forehead for a few seconds.

Those seconds felt perennial. He almost shuddered as her fingers made contact with his skin. Her hands were so gentle as they pushed his head back, and he shifted in the seat. He lowered his wings, and she stepped into the space he provided. She was still as he got comfortable, only turning the tap once he was settled. There was a slight crease between her brows, and he clenched his fists to keep from smoothing it out.

Sounding so much like his own mother that his throat tightened, she whispered, 'You can close your eyes.'

So he did.

__

Feedback is welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 20

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Hot streams of water running down his body. The cold despair in his heart. The hollow void, the numbing feeling spreading, conquering, overwhelming whatever was left of him. Her words echoed in his mind, louder with each passing minute. 

 “And even if I was single, I could never be with you. Our history—I can’t fully trust you, Adrien, and no relationship can work without trust. We can never be together!”

 His head hung low, Adrien let the water wash over him. Months of preparations and hard work had paid off for Marinette. She was the star of the show. Her career was practically guaranteed after tonight. He, on the other hand, had miserably failed. All of his attempts to coax her to like his civilian self had been for nothing because years ago he’d broken her trust, effectively ruining all of his chances with her in the future. 

One mistake. 

A lifetime to pay. 

Adrien closed his eyes, succumbing to the gripping pain in his chest. His fists clenched, his knuckles white. He'd tried so hard. He'd pulled all the tricks he could think of, and the only thing he'd achieved was to push her away even more. Two weeks ago, she'd tolerated him enough to agree to lunch. Now, she didn’t even want his friendship. 

Where did he go wrong? 

Or maybe that shouldn’t be the question. Perhaps, he should consider if all of his attempts were trivial in the first place? Was the hurt he’d caused Marinette too deep for her to ever fully forgive him?

He swallowed back the knot in his throat and shut off the water. Heartbreak aside, Adrien couldn’t spend an hour in the shower. He had a promise to keep.

“Trying to kiss her was a mistake, you know,” Plagg yawned, lounging on the vanity counter. “You’re two different people to her, or did you forget that? You were basically pushing her to cheat on her beloved cat."

"Don't rub it in," Adrien seethed through his teeth. "I didn't plan to do that. It just… just happened. I got caught up in the moment and… nothing happened. She pushed me away, so… Just drop it."

“Yeah, yeah. You’re attention-starved. Feeling too guilty to touch her as Chat, but can't do anything as Adrien, and it’s getting really hard to stay away. Right?”

“Do you really need to bring this up?” 

“Just pointing out the obvious, in case you missed it. That was the perfect recipe for a disaster! And now, she hates your guts again. Congratulations.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, Adrien glared at his kwami. Sometimes, Plagg really got on his nerves. Was there even a shred of empathy in that little body of his? Hadn't he witnessed all of Adrien’s struggles these last few weeks with his own eyes? Because staying away from Marinette as Chat Noir was one of the hardest things Adrien had ever had to do. Yet, giving her what she wanted from him was out of the question. Adrien would never forgive himself for taking advantage of her, and being with her as Chat Noir without her knowing his identity would be just that—taking advantage.

 “Are you sure you still want to go over there tonight?” Plagg had the decency to ask. “It’s been a long day. Don’t you want to relax at home with a nice movie and a snack?”

Adrien grabbed the towel from the bar and started to dry himself. “Chat Noir promised Marinette he’d come to celebrate her big day. We’re still going.” 

“I bet she won’t even be home. She’s probably still partying. You know, having fun like a normal person? Not sneaking away before everyone else to lick his wounds in private. If you wanted to help her celebrate, you should’ve stayed there.” 

Adrien shook his head. “She doesn’t want Adrien to celebrate with her. She wants Chat Noir.”

“And what do you want?”

Adrien stilled. Leaning on his arms onto the vanity, he met his own gaze in a mirror.

Him? His wishes? His desires? Did he even dare? And if he did find the bravery for that… 

What did he want? 

Love. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be forgiven. He wanted to be accepted… All of him, not just his superhero side. He wanted to be with the woman he loved, to cherish and protect her, to hold her in his arms and kiss her breathless. He wanted to share his life with her. To wake up and fall asleep in her arms. He’d enjoy caring for her. To be by her side, to have her by his. He’d be the luckiest man alive if she’d just let him love her and love him back.

He wanted Marinette. 

Despite everything, despite his better judgement and Plagg’s nagging, he still wanted Marinette.

But he supposed it was too selfish of a desire for him. Not after what he’d done to her. 

Plagg hovered in front of him, his face unusually serious. “She either wants all of you or she gets none, kid. Don’t go there. It’s not going to end well.”

Adrien swallowed and shook his head, looking away. “We’re going. I promised I’d come, and I’m not failing her again, not even in something so small.”

“Even if it hurts you?”

Adrien didn’t answer, grabbing a bottle of hair balm and starting to work it into his hair. 

“I’ve hurt her worse,” he mumbled a short while later. “It’s only fair for me to hurt some too.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Plagg scoffed. “Like she didn’t hurt you enough in return! Kid, I usually don’t care, but you’re going overboard. You have to let her go. She said she’s never giving you another chance, so stop this. Stop destroying yourself.”

Adrien ignored him, brushing his teeth and relocating to his bedroom to finish dressing. He didn’t bother with what he wore much. He didn’t plan on de-transforming in front of Marinette anytime soon. A black t-shirt and dark green lounge pants, something comfortable in which he could plop into his bed upon returning. He checked up on the sleeping Nooroo and Duusu, refilling their food supplies, and only then turned to Plagg. “Ready?”

The kwami frowned, crossing his tiny arms over his chest. “When did you become a masochist, kid?”

“I’m not a masochist. I just want to finish what I’ve started. That’s all.”

Plagg groaned, throwing his paws into the air. “Do what you want, but you’re just setting yourself up for more hurt. What are you going to do when she finds out who you are? Because she will find out sooner or later.”

Adrien looked away, a dull ache gripping at his chest. 

Marinette couldn’t know. 

Not after he’d learned that there would never be a chance for him. Not after he’d gone behind her back again in something that directly concerned her. He hadn’t learned his lesson at all, no matter how much he claimed he did. She’d probably hate him even more if she were to find out. She’d probably assume he didn’t think she could do things on her own, which wasn’t true because he did believe in her and he knew how strong and capable and independent she was. She wasn’t Ladybug for nothing. 

He just didn’t want her to kill herself while she was at it. 

He only wanted to help, which was something she’d asked for herself. Only, Marinette would’ve never accepted help from Adrien, so he had no choice but to improvise. Would she still hate him? Most likely. Given their history and current relationship, Adrien didn’t expect anything less. 

“Adrien, please,” Plagg continued to nag. “You wanted to help her. You did it. Now, let her go. Don’t wait for her to kick your ass into oblivion for being stupid.”

He ran his hands through his hair. He hated the idea, but perhaps Plagg was right. If Adrien wanted to prevent his reveal and spare them both unnecessary hurt, he had to let her go. And now, while Marinette was distracted by her success, was perhaps the best time to do so. She was sure to be thrown into a whirlwind of events, work and new experiences quite soon. New people, new connections, new opportunities… She’d hardly miss him, if at all. 

He didn’t want to simply vanish on her like he did the last time, though. The least Marinette deserved was some kind of an explanation. Perhaps, he could say he was moving away due to his work. Or he could claim he’d always wanted to travel the world and now was his only chance. Ideally, he’d slowly fade away and she’d forget all about him soon thereafter. He’d think of something… 

He would have to break up with her. 

His breath stumbled in his chest. Legs giving out on him, Adrien collapsed into a nearby chair. They’d just started dating… Though, it was hard to even call it dating. Not with the way things were between them. And yet he’d have to break up with her before he could vanish. He’d have to break Marinette’s heart no matter what he did—let her go, or stay and reveal himself. He closed his eyes, gripping his head with his hands. 

He didn’t want to do that. 

He didn’t want to hurt her more.

He’d already lived through losing everyone important to him. His mother. His father. His friends.

He couldn’t lose his Lady as well.

He loved her.

“Kid, are you alright?” Plagg carefully touched his arm. “Don’t worry. There are other fish in the—“

“Shut up, Plagg! Can you, please, just shut up for just a moment?”

The kwami grumbled and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just trying to be optimistic.”

Adrien closed his eyes and inhaled. 

In. 

Out. 

Breathe.

Let it all out. 

Repeat.

There had to be another way. He had to be able to do something to avoid hurting Marinette again. 

His eyes caught a glimpse of the clock. 

He’d have to think about it later because now he was morbidly late to their dinner, and Marinette was probably worrying over his tardiness. Without a second thought, he stood up and called for his transformation. Grabbing a package of wine and chocolates he’d prepared for her as a present, Chat jumped out the window and headed to her apartment. 

All pain and worries aside, today was her big day and he had to put her first, which meant her boyfriend had to be on his best behaviour and make her happy… even if his own heart was breaking with every passing minute because he couldn’t love her the way she deserved to be loved. 

Because she couldn't love him the way he wished she would.

***

Judging by the lack of lights in the windows, Marinette was most likely still out. She must have gotten held up at the after-party—nothing unusual for the industry and someone in her position, especially today. The balcony door he always used to get in was open, clearly signalling that she wasn't against him waiting for her inside.

He wasn’t hungry himself, but Marinette would probably appreciate a warm meal upon her return. There were two marinated steaks she’d prepared for them for tonight in the fridge. Perhaps, too heavy of a meal at this hour, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to cook them properly anyway. Cheese would do. Grapes and bread too. Some wine to finish the meal off.

Chat got all the ingredients he needed, cutting cheese and bread into slices and arranging them on a plate. He put the wine he’d brought in a chiller and washed grapes, taking them off the vine and putting them into one of his mother’s crystal bowls. She used to collect them back in the day. He chose the best one he could find.

Setting the table, Chat went through the trouble of finding candles and lighting a few in the centre of the dining table. Two plates at each end, two wine glasses and silverware. Food prepared and stored in the fridge, he was ready for his Lady’s return. To kill some time, he settled on a couch in the living room and turned on the TV just so he wouldn’t slip back into thinking about the inevitable break-up he’d have to mastermind.

Marinette came an hour later, stumbling on her high heels and sweetly grinning at him upon entering. “My Kitty. You came.”

Her face flushed, lips trembled, a sparkle in her half-lidded eyes, and messy hairdo… There was no denying it.

“You’re drunk.”

“I am not.” Marinette pulled off her shoes and threw them in a corner, immediately after pulling all the pins out of her hair and shaking her head. “Just a little tipsy. Nothing serious. But I had to. After that…" She bit her lower lip, looking away. “…celebrate. Yes, I had to celebrate. That’s it. My show was a blast so a few drinks were in order. Sorry, I'm late. Couldn't get out sooner. Ugh. I’m exhausted.”

“Congratulations on your success. You’ve definitely earned it.”

“Too bad Felix bailed on me,” she grumbled. “He would’ve loved the show, and he deserved to be there for all the ovations. I’ll give him an earful about it next time I see him.”

“I’m sure he’d love that.” Chat couldn't help a smile. One of the reasons he loved Marinette was just that—she cared for those she considered friends with her whole heart. Too bad Adrien wasn’t on her list anymore. He had to push through, though. He’d figure out what to do with his broken heart later. “Would you like something to eat or to bed we go?”

Marinette’s lips stretched in the most seductive grin she could manage at the moment as she wiggled her eyebrows and leaned closer. “We?”

Chat shook his head. “No, M’Lady. You need actual sleep. I’ll go home.”

She pursed her lips in a pout. “You’re no fun, Chaton. Food it is, then.”

“Alright. Just keep in mind I’m no chef, so it’ll be more like snacks.”

She stepped closer, her fingers dancing across his chest as she looked up at him from under those long eyelashes. “Say, Chat. Did anyone ever tell you you look like a snack?”

His heart was not strong enough for this. He almost responded when the scent of alcohol hit his nose. Chat swallowed, trying to get a grip on his own emotions, and pulled back. Maybe he was a masochist after all—letting this woman break him over and over again, yet still coming back for more. Did he secretly enjoy this torture?  

What was wrong with him? 

But… what a persistent woman she was! Stubborn and determined, confidently walking to her goals no matter what. Just the way he liked her. 

“Not today, Marinette. You need to sober up first.”

“I’m perfectly fineee.” She batted her eyes at him, pulling him closer. “Just taste and you’ll see—” 

Kwamis give me strength!

“I guess this means you’re off to bed and I’m going home?”

That seemed to do the trick. Marinette pursed her lips and withdrew, heading for the kitchen. “You promised me snacks. Don’t you dare to leave without feeding me first.”

“Would never dream of it.” 

Once at the dining table, he motioned for Marinette to sit while he brought out the food he’d prepared. Marinette settled in a chair and put her hands on the table, resting her chin on them. Her eyes focused on the candles’ flame. 

"Pretty. You're so thoughtful, Chaton. I love watching fire.”

“I thought you’d want something relaxing to look at after a hard day of work.” He sat across the table in his seat. “Enjoy the food. I’m sorry it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect," Marinette whispered, watching him with half-lidded eyes. She popped a grape into her mouth and chewed. “You’re perfect, Chaton. Way more perfect than I am.”

He wanted to smile, yet the dull ache that gripped his heart kept him grounded in the reality of the situation. If only she knew who she was saying these words to she’d take them back. A lump at the back of his throat, Chat focused his eyes on his plate. “You’re overestimating me. The real—” 

He sucked in a gasp at an unexpected touch. Somehow, Marinette was a breath away from him, his face cradled in her hands as she raised it to look at him. 

“Don’t you dare to object,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “You are perfect. I don’t deserve you. I never did, but I love you so much. Please, why won’t you accept me?”

“I love you too, Marinette,” he whispered, gripped with throbbing pain. 

“Then prove it.” 

She leaned up, her eyes fluttering close, her lips aiming for his. 

Chat tensed and pulled back. 

He couldn’t. 

No matter how damn hard he wanted to kiss her, he couldn’t do that because she would hate him even more if he kissed her. She’d never want to kiss Adrien. 

He couldn’t do that to her. 

He couldn’t do that to himself.  

“I think you’ve had one too many drinks,” he whispered instead. “You should go to bed and we’ll celebrate some other time.”

Her whole body stiffened. Eyes closed, lips pressed together, Marinette pulled back, turning away. When she spoke, her voice was sharp enough to cut steel. 

“Just admit it. You don’t love me. You never did.”

“What? No!” He protested without a second thought. Even knowing that a break-up was coming, Chat still hated the idea of her doubting his feelings. “Of course, I love you, Marinette, but you need to rest now. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“I just had a few drinks. I’m not drunk!”

“You’ve got a tiny body, and you barely drink, if ever. A few drinks for someone else might not be an issue, but for you—” 

Groaning, she jerked around and stomped away. “Don’t patronize me! All I wanted was to kiss my boyfriend. How is that not thinking clearly?”

He looked away in desperation. Pathetic. He couldn’t even explain this to her. He’d only make it worse if he did. 

Then… could it be any worse than it already was?  

“Marinette, I’m sorry but—” 

“You can’t kiss me until you solve your issues, right?”

He nodded. 

“And when will that happen?”

“I don’t know.” 

Marinette huffed, throwing her arms into the air. “Do you want to know what I know? I know you don’t love me, Chat—” 

“Mari—” 

“Don’t you dare!” She swung around and pointed her finger at him. “Don’t you even dare to say I’m wrong because you know I’m right. You don’t love me. You don’t love Ladybug anymore and you never loved Marinette to start with. Why do you even bother with me at all?”

Something stirred in the pit of his stomach, coursed through his veins and ignited a fire in his chest. He might be a jerk and he might have withheld information and deceived her—mind you with good intentions—but he had never lied about his feelings! 

“You’re wrong! I do love you—"

“You refused to confess your feelings to Ladybug, and the minute you found out I was her, you distanced yourself from me! Tell me I’m wrong.”

“There’s a good reason—” 

"A good reason of not loving me!”

“No! It’s not that.”

“Explain then! Because I’m sick and tired of you keeping it vague. What issues do you have to deal with? Why are they stopping you from kissing the person you claim to love? Tell me, Chat! Why?”

His fists clenched at his sides, Adrien pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. 

He couldn’t. 

Not yet. 

Maybe he could come up with another crazy idea to fix this?

He just had to ignore the fire rapidly spreading through his veins. 

He would resist.

He would contain it.

“Thought so,” Marinette whispered bitterly and turned around. “Leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”

“Marinette, listen—"

“Leave, Chat!” She hugged herself, the skin on her arms under her fingertips turning white. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies and excuses.”

“I’m not lying!"

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me at least the reason you refuse to kiss me?”

“I can’t. Not yet…”

“Then come back when you’re ready to talk.” 

Chat clenched his jaw, fighting the tears gathering in his eyes. His breathing ragged, he closed his eyes, struggling to restrain the resentment and anger boiling inside his chest. 

It hurt. 

So much.

It tore him apart, ripped through his heart, destroying the last bits of caring he had. 

What was even the point now? 

She hated him. 

Not just the Adrien part of him anymore. 

She hated both sides of him now. Perhaps, it was his chance then? He didn't have to orchestrate anything. Marinette had already done all the work.

“So, this is it? Is this the end?”

“Only if you want it to be,” she said, her back to him. “I love you, Chat. I really do, but this hurts. I’m giving you my whole self every single day, and you keep pushing me away without an explanation. Why? Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you… I just can’t tell you some things. Not yet, at least.  If I did, it’ll hurt you more than this.”

“So you’re, what? Protecting me?” 

He could see the anger in her eyes, could feel the spite in her words as she glared at him over her shoulder.

“I don’t need protection, Chat. I handled monsters on a daily basis for years. Sometimes, I even had to fight them and you! I can deal with whatever you’re keeping a secret from me. Don’t you see it hurts me more when I don’t know what’s going on?”

Chat clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white inside his gloves. 

It hurt her more when he kept his identity a secret? He doubted she’d think the same if she knew. 

“Why can’t you trust me? I’m not a weakling.”

He had never thought her to be one!

“Please, Chat. Just tell me what’s going on. I can handle ”

He had nothing to lose anymore. He had to let her go anyway, so maybe he should tell her everything. Fulfil one last wish of hers before closing this chapter of his life.

Right here. 

Right now. 

Cut it clean and be done with it. 

“You want the truth?” 

He didn’t care anymore. Too tired. Too weak to stop the words that avalanched out of his mouth. 

“The truth, Marinette, is that you are the one who doesn’t love me! You’re the one who pushes me away. You. Not me. And why? Because of one mistake I made years ago? One! And only because I was trying to be a good friend and wanted what’s best for you!” 

He shook his head, struggling to form a coherent thought. “I should’ve stayed away. It wasn’t my business. I should’ve let you make your own mistakes. But no! I had to help. I had to protect you. How stupid of me! You’re right. You’re strong enough to handle everything on your own. You don’t need me.

“You say this hurts? But do you know how much losing your friends, being cut off and cast away like you’re the biggest jerk in the universe hurts? Do you? And all because you tried to help a friend! You didn’t even let me explain!”

His hands gripped his head, he pressed his lips in a thin line for a few seconds, taking a quick breath before continuing. “But you know, I deserved this. I should've been smarter than to help you again as soon as I saw you struggling. And here’s the funny part—you’ll get a real kick out of it—I rushed to help you while you despised me so much you couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me for more than five minutes! Really. I should win a Nobel Prize for being the dumbest person on this planet. Stupid, brainless, and pathetic because despite knowing everything, knowing you hated me and knowing you’d never forgive me… I still managed to fall in love with you. That, Marinette, is what really hurts.”

“What are you talking about?” Marinette whispered, her eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

He didn’t hear, though, all the pent-up, suppressed resentment spilling over, his voice cracking with every word. “I’ve tried Marinette. I’ve tried so hard to get you to like me. Like, not even love. I’d be happy if you just thought of me as a friend. I gave you my all, but it was useless. It was all for nothing. Because of one mistake. Because you’ll never trust me again and there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing! I tried! And I failed.”

Marinette grabbed his hand, her eyes frantic. “What are you talking about? Chat, I love you. Of course, I trust you. We’ve been partners for years. I trust you with my life. How can you even think I don’t trust you?” 

Adrien laughed. Bitterly. Resentfully. Almost insanely. “Oh really? Can you look me in my eyes without this mask on and repeat that?”

“Of course I can! I love the man underneath the mask, the man I know you truly are.”

He didn’t think twice. He didn’t think at all. He just commanded.

“Plagg, claws in.”

The moment the mask disappeared from his face, Marinette took a step back, covering her mouth with her hands. 

“Can you say you love me now, Marinette?” Adrien repeated, keeping his eyes on her.

Her eyes wide, she stared at him in silence.

Adrien closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat away. 

This was a mistake. 

This whole thing was a mistake. 

He should’ve stayed away from her just as Plagg had insisted. 

"Claws out," he whispered and, turning around, walked towards the balcony. He didn't look back as he opened the door. No one called for him to come back or at least to wait, so he jumped out of the window and vanished into the darkness, leaving Marinette behind. 

***

His legs heavy, Chat ran. Ran as fast as he could, as far away as he was able to, stopping only when there was nowhere else to go. His vision blurring, he collapsed on his knees and leaned into his arms, letting a devastating cry out into the night from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

She didn’t answer his question which meant it was probably a no. 

She didn’t call for him when he was leaving. 

She didn’t follow him here. 

She really did hate him now.

Chat curled in on himself, hiding behind one of the beams. Numb and broken, streams of tears poured down his face. He hugged his knees. His head hung low, only one question violating his thoughts.

Why?

Why was he so stupid? 

Why couldn’t he be smarter and avoid repeating his own mistakes?

Why did she hate him so much?

Why? 

Was he so unlovable? 

Was it that impossible to forgive him even after everything he had done to apologize?

Why couldn’t he change anything?

Why did all of his efforts bring nothing but more complications and hurt?

Why did he still care in the first place? 

Why did he have to fall in love with the only woman who hated his guts? 

Why?

Why couldn’t it all just end? 

The pain. 

The despair. 

The throbbing, burning wound on his bleeding heart. 

He wrapped his arms around his body and tried to stop thinking. Thoughts were painful. They hurt. It would get better eventually. He might be all alone again, but it would change one day. He hoped it would. He just had to get through this.

Somehow.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time his tears ceased, the city was starting to wake up. The eastern corner of the sky coloured yellow, chasing away the dark clouds above him. Dawn of a new day. A promise of light after the darkness. Chat used to love sunrises. Now, he looked at the first rays peeking from behind the horizon and felt nothing.

Tears ceased. The pain dulled or maybe he just got used to it. He wasn’t sure. He blindly starred in front of himself, releasing his transformation.

“Kid, what are you doing?! Get away from the ledge!” Plagg yelled, forgetting all about his usual request for cheese.

Adrien sadly chuckled. “Don’t worry, Plagg. I’m not suicidal. I… I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

Plagg understood without further explanation. He silently crawled into Adrien’s hands, nestling in his lap. They sat in silence for a few moments before Adrien spoke again. 

“Plagg?”

“Yeah?”

“Why was I chosen to be your wielder?”

“Why do you suddenly want to know that after all these years?”

“I don’t know.” He fell quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Maybe because if I know that there is something inside me that would always lead to destruction and failure, it’d be easier to stop wanting stuff, stop wishing for something wholesome in my life. You know, like if you know that you’re destined to be a villain, it’s easier to accept that and stop trying to be the good guy, someone you weren’t born to be. You can’t fight destiny, right?”

“What do you mean?” Plagg frowned, flying up to look at Adrien closer. “You weren’t destined for anything like that, kid. There isn't such a thing as destiny at all. And even if there was, you choose your destiny yourself.”

“Well, what about all those ‘they were destined to be this and that’ or ‘they are destined to be together’? There is something. People can feel it.”

"There are people who have specific talents and qualities to be something others can't because they lack said traits. And some people work better with each other than with others because they share similar values, goals and have compatible characters. It's not destiny. You're the owner of your life, kid, and you can choose to be whoever and with whomever you want. Easy. Don't complicate stuff that shouldn't be complicated."

“Then, tell me, what do we share for me to be chosen to be your wielder? Do we share values or goals? Or maybe I’m just so naturally good at destroying everything around me, Master Fu deemed me to be a fitting partner to the kwami of destruction.”

"Now you're talking nonsense. You need to rest."

Adrien shook his head. “No. There is obviously something and I want to know what it is. Do we share some kind of negative energy or bad luck tendencies? Tell me. Why was I chosen?”

Plagg sighed, looking straight into Adrien’s eyes. “Kid, the wielders of the Black Cat miraculous are chosen based on the purity of their hearts. Kindness, selflessness, compassion. Those are the qualities the Guardian is looking for because, believe me, it takes a whole lot of good in a person to counterbalance my destruction and control the chaos I embody. You weren’t chosen because of some negative energy voodoo or destiny’s cruel joke. You were chosen because, despite your circumstances, you were strong enough to preserve a pure, kind and selfless heart. 

“So, there,” Plagg grumbled. “You were chosen because you have so much good in you that only you could counterbalance me. That’s all it is. But don’t you start assuming you’re taking on some of my bad luck in return. That’s not how it works. I do not affect you in any way apart from draining your wallet for my Camembert.”

Adrien stared at Plagg, dumbfounded. “Then why does this keep happening to me? Why do I keep screwing up? If I’m such a great person, why can’t I be happy for once?”

“Because you’re human,” Plagg shrugged. “Humans do tons of shit all the time and sometimes, it’s just harder to get out of one particular pile of shit than out of another. That’s all.”

Adrien sadly chuckled. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Sucks to be human then.”

“Sucks to think there is something more to this life than a good wheel of Camembert.”

Adrien laughed. “You’re right, Plagg. You were right all along, and you know what? From now on, I’m listening only to you. You did manage to keep ‘Felix’ in line, so I’m sure you can keep Adrien out of trouble as well.”

“About time you recognized my talents. And since I’m the boss now, I say we should go home. It’s late and you’re shivering.”

He was cold. And sleepy. His eyes were practically closing on their own. He didn’t even notice. But Plagg did. He cared. Someone did care. Then, maybe Adrien should return the favour and care only for those who did the same for him?

“Your wish is my command, Boss.” He smiled, standing up.

“I like the sound of that,” Plagg smirked. “The Boss also says we’ll buy more Camembert from now on.”

Adrien petted his kwami’s head. “Absolutely. Especially since I’m also switching to the Camembert-obsessed way of life starting today. We’ll definitely need more of it now that you have to share.”

Plagg's eyes blew round. "Share? Who said anything about sharing? You get your own stack. You can afford it."

“And here I thought you liked me enough to share your precious cheese with me.”

“You really need to sleep. Transform and let's go already.”

Adrien took one last look at the rising sun and inhaled the morning breeze. For better or for worse, there were no more secrets between Marinette and him, apart from the ‘Felix’ part, perhaps. As always, he didn’t let it all out in the best of ways, but he did tell her everything. Now, all he could do was to wait and see what she decided to do with this mess. If she cut him off again… Well, that wouldn’t be surprising. They didn’t even have much between them this time around, to begin with. Why would she want him around? However, if by some miracle she understood and forgave and accepted him… 

Adrien bitterly chuckled, shaking his head. He really did need some sleep. Only a severely exhausted, delusional, sleep-deprived mess of a human would hope that Marinette could give him another chance after everything. 

Pushing the thought away, he called for his transformation and headed home, falling into the blissful oblivion of sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Things wouldn't seem so grave in the morning. He wasn't completely alone. He had never been.

He had Plagg.  

Next >

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: “Lesson learned.” part 2 to

Pairing: dom! Yoongi x sub! brat! Reader ft. Jin

Warnings: smut, fluff if you squint (really hard, like really hard), established relationship, semi- public sex, fire play, oral (m) receiving, rough sex, spanking, orgasm denial (f), degradation speak, slight aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Rating: 18 and over

You can hardly take it any longer. You swayed your hips side to side to the music playing and could barely maintain any semblance of humanity as the handsome stranger in the club gripped your hips tightly and proceeded to grind his growing erection against your backside. Tomorrow would officially be three weeks since your enforced punishment and you were bursting at the seams with lust and need. You feel your dance partner nibble on your neck and your body seizes in response. “No,” you shove him off of you, heading back to the VIP area. “Girl! That guy is hot! You need to take him home.” Your best friend goaded you as you drink back a shot of vodka. You shrug in response pouring yourself another shot. “Okay, spill it. You have been a moody bitch since that fucking party forever ago. What’s got your panties in a bunch?” She waits for your response.

“Not what, who?” You kill another drink. “Please don’t tell me that we are talking about that fuck boy Min Yoongi?” She spits. You smirk, taking a deep breath while biting your inner cheek. “He's not a fuck boy.” You manage to say, feeling the painful ache of your lesson between your thighs. She practically cackles. “let’s examine the evidence shall we,” she yanks out her phone, “I heard he fucked Lisa two weeks ago.” She shows you picture of Yoongi and Lisa together on Lisa's Instagram and your stomach turns. She pulls her phone away and begins to click and scroll some more. “Then I heard he fucked Jess just last week.” She shows you a different photo now of Yoongi with Jess and your blood boils. How dare he get his rocks off while you wait around yearning for release?

“So, in my eyes and everyone else around you, he’s a fuck boy. I will say what I always say. Get over him girl.” She throws back a shot now, seemingly pleased with herself. “I have to go.” You tell her now, ordering an Uber, and grabbing your purse. She rolls her eyes but asks if you want her to go with you. You tell her to stay and go out to meet your driver. You are seething in the back of the car, trying your best to keep calm, playing Yoongi's words over and over again in your head. “You’re always so good for me baby. Are you gonna keep being a good girl?” You growl a little at the thought, catching the driver glancing at you from the rear-view mirror.

You type and delete 7 different messages. “Is this it?” The driver grunts. You look up from your phone. “Yes, thank you.” “Be safe, pretty girl like you, shouldn't be alone this late.” You exit the vehicle and make your way up the side alley and around the enclosed house and up a set of stairs. Be brave, you whisper continuously to yourself. You stare at the black front door marked 33 and begin to slam your fist on it over and over until you feel it may bruise. It yanks open suddenly and before you stands, “Jin, hi, is Yoongi here?” He smirks at you. “The real question is, why are you here?” You sense movement inside and can hear music as your adrenaline slows and your surroundings come into play. “Are you guys having a party?” He gives you the old up and down and shakes his head. “Why don’t you come in and find out?” You swallow hard and enter the house.

The house is full of people and you immediately regret your decision to pop up. “No turning back now little birdie,” Jin whispers in your ear, “I think I saw him head to that master bedroom with some female. Perhaps you should go check.” You turn to look at Jin and nod. “I think I will. You think I’m afraid of your brother. He doesn’t own me.” Jin laughs and leans in close to whisper in your ear. “No, he doesn’t own you, just your cunt I imagine.” You shove him hard and head to the back room feeling your face flush. You shove the unlocked door open to find Yoongi sitting up in bed opening and closing a Zippo lighter as a random girl dances seductively for him in her underwear. He stares at her unimpressed but seems to light up at your presence. You are fuming, so much so that you grab her clothes from the ground and toss them at the shocked girl. “Get the fuck out.” You shout at her. She looks at Yoongi who nods for her to leave. She sucks her teeth and flips him the bird as she exits.

The room fills with tension as you and Yoongi stare at each other, neither saying a word. The only sound in the room is your labored breath as your chest rises and falls with your anger and the sound of Yoongi's lighter. “You’re an asshole.” You spew. A smirk slowly spreads across his face. “You forget your place, whore.” He mumbles, slamming the lighter shut and rising to his feet. You go to speak but Yoongi grabs you across the mouth with his hand. You moan at his tight grip as his shoves you down to your knees. “You show up here, uninvited, in an outfit fit for a whore. You kicked out my guest and call me out of my name. What ever should I do with my disobedient little cock whore?” He releases his grip from your mouth. “Speak whore.” He commands. “Punish me.” You whisper so softly, its barely audible. Yoongi takes you by your hair and yanks back hard causing you to cry out. Your swollen pussy soaking itself with need. “Punish me, please, I need release.” You beg.

Yoongi pouts at you and begins running his hand from your hair down your cheek. He kisses you softly before standing upright. “Take your dress off.” He says. You stand quickly, removing the tight fabric from your body. Yoongi walks to his closet and returns with a small duffle bag that he places on the hard wood floor. “Time to see just how good my whore has been.” “I’ve been so good for you sir.” You moan, resisting the urge to reach out for him. He tilts his head, “Who gave you permission to speak?” You swallow hard as he begins to remove his belt. You turn now and lie flat on your stomach on the bed. “So good, so eager.” Yoongi praises and you a soft mewl escapes your lips as your cunt throbs in need. “On your back, let me see that gorgeous cunt.” Yoongi states. You flip over eagerly and spread your legs for him. He moans at the sight. “Already soaked and fuck how swollen she is.” He walks over to you now. You bite your lip and shift your cunt closer to him. He looks down at your dripping sex, sucking in a deep breath before slapping it hard, eliciting a loud animalistic cry from you. You arch your back as he gazes upon you with lust in his eyes. “You’re such a sexy little whore. Are you gonna be a good girl for me? I have the best surprise for you tonight.” You nod excited as he lands another open-handed slap on your pussy before sliding two finger inside you. “Yoongi, fuck, God.” Your toes curl as he rubs your g spot and your orgasm quickly begins to build. “Please, I need this so bad.” You plead with him. He growls at your remarks adding his thumb to your clit to continue his assault on your pussy. “Your pussy feels so good, so tight around my fingers baby.” He pants, hungrily fucking you. “Is my pussy better than Lisa or Jess?” You ask as you feel that familiar coil tightens and you clench down around Yoongi's long fingers. Your head drops back as you feel your walls shake. “Yes, don’t stop.” You cry but to no avail as Yoongi yanks his fingers from you just as your high begins to hasten.

You cry out in despair, covering your mouth with your hand. As you go to sit up and protest, Yoongi enters you with his massive cock, stretching you wide. You wrap your arms around his neck as he grabs you by the waist and begins to glide you back and forth with ease along his cock. You feel your climax rising slowly from the pit of your stomach one again as you nuzzle close to Yoongi’s neck. “You’re so fucking tight, is my cock slut ready to cum already?” Yoongi moans into your ear. You try your best to stifle your moans but your so close to sweet release you can barely contain yourself. You begin rocking your hips so hard into Yoongi's cock he’s fearing his own climax rising. “Fuck.” You whisper as your coil snaps. Yoongi feels your walls clench and tosses you back on the bed before you can cum. You cry out in frustration as Yoongi licks his lips watching you squirm. “You fuck.” You growl. “Let that be a lesson to never mention any other women to me again.” He smirks. He looks over to the duffle bag.

“On the floor, now.” You barely manage to get there, as your legs feel like putty but you decide not to give push back. Only this man has that much power. Only he commands you, only he can have you do the things you do. So, you lie back on the cool hardwood floor like a good girl. Like his good girl. He kneels beside you and opens his duffle bag. “Do you trust me?” He asks. “Yes.” You respond without a second though. He leans down and kisses you gently. He takes out a bottle of ethanol, a rag, a blanket, some balm, and his zippo. Your body shivers at the sight of these items. “You know what to say if it’s all too much?” You nod. “Say it.” “Yellow, sir.” You respond. “Arms up and keep them there. Bend your legs. No moving, no matter how much you want to.” He instructs as he sits on your feet. You nod again. You watch Yoongi as he wets the rag in the ethanol and glides it across your belly, the cold path causing your skin to goose. He immediately snaps open his Zippo and ignites the ethanol. You gasp at the sight, feeling the warmth from the flame cause your pussy to soak down to the floor while Yoongi quickly snuffs it out with his free hand.

You release a breath you didn’t know you had in you as Yoongi begins to glide the wet rag across your body again. You moan as your core tightens with the ignition and snuffing of the flames. Yoongi repeats this pattern three more times and you cannot control how your adrenaline builds and your juices flow or the way your cunt tenses. All you know is you’ve never experienced such pleasure in your life as Yoongi sets the ethanol on your belly ablaze one final time and snuffs it out, feeling your whole body shake as your coil shatters cumming so violently you scream Yoongi’s name into the room.

Your body continues to shake as small tremors pulse through your body. Yoongi takes you into his arms and begins to caress your back and pepper your face with kisses. “Happy birthday baby.” He whispers. You moan softly before straddling his waist and lining his cock up with your entrance. He moans as you take him fully. You need more of him and now. “My greedy little whore. You gonna swallow up all my cum like a good girl?” “Yes, sir.” You grunt riding him wildly, digging your nails into his back. He licks his lips as he takes you by the thighs slamming you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He warns. You ride him faster and faster. “Now baby. Fuck.” You jump off of him and quickly take him into your mouth swallowing down his cock to the root as he shoots his seed into your throat. He cries out as your Bob up and down on his now sensitive member. Finally coming up for air, he pulls you close to him again. “Such a good girl for me. Has my sweet girl learned her lesson?” “Yes, sir, Lesson learned.” You whisper, resting your head against his chest.

[xhanisai]

Phantom Pain

Read on AO3 and FFN

A/N: *Dumps remaining coursework and essay crap to one side* So! Chat! Fucking! Blanc! EH? I think it's my favourite episode of miraculous of all time lel~ An idea popped up in my head and I won't be able to sleep till I've got it out of my system. It's been a long time since I've written some decent angst despite it being my favourite genre. Enjoy the drabble and my ten minute doodle along with it~~~

(WARNING: Mentions of child abuse is in this fic)

Inspired by this MV "Phantom Pain" (collaboration of Rahwia and Luz of their Royal Scandal collection) It's wonderful~!

~(x)~

.

.

.

"Tch!"

Again.

The familiar yet foreign stab of pain resonated through the teen's body as he recoiled slightly and clutched his chest. This time, Adrien felt like he was smacked by something hard and heavy.

A cane perhaps...?

He inhaled sharply once more and then allowed himself to relax. The boy didn't dare to meet his kwami's pitiful gaze- he's had enough of everyone treating him like some wounded lamb.

"It's been weeks now kid..." Plagg murmured out with anguish, ears and tail drooping and his favourite pungent snack left uneaten. The God of destruction plopped himself on top of Adrien's shoulder, hoping he can comfort the boy. "You need to tell Ladybug-"

"No." Plagg felt his fur stand up to the ends at the hero's uncharacteristic harsh tone. Adrien realised it too, lowering his head down apologetically and used a finger to stroke his kwami's head. "No Plagg, not now."

"You've been saying that for a long time! You can't hide it forever. If you're not gonna see a doctor then at least see the Lady!" Plagg was met with another sigh whilst Adrien flopped back down on his bed. He pulled a pillow against his face, fingers close to digging holes into the few comforts he has in life.

"My Lady was literally thrown into Guardianship with little warning and zero training even though she's so exhausted from her civilian duties. I don't know how much you can see or hear whilst I'm transformed but one good glance at her and you can tell that she's about to burst. I'm supposed to help her out, not add to her burdens..."

"You'll only start burdening her once your pains elongate, especially during akuma attacks. Stupid!" Plagg scoffed, kicking one of Adrien's blonde locks that stuck out of his gelled hairstyle. His scowl only deepened when the model chuckled at his antics. "This isn't funny kid! Watch, when you start bending over in pain and crying and crawling on the floor, I will rub it into your face of how I told you so! Stupid kitten!" The God kicked the hair strands a few more times till Adrien rolled over and merrily flicked him away.

"That's not going to happen Plagg." A reassuring smile was set on Adrien's face. "These pains itself are kinda...I'm not sure how to word it...abstract?"

"What is that supposed to mean, Blondie?"

"It's like they're there but not there at the same time, do you understand? It's like taking a shot to the arm and getting that sting for a split second...only to feel nothing afterwards- excluding that horrible ache you get from injections. That's about it..."

"Hmmmm...interesting..."

"Do you have an idea of what it is?"

"The only thing I know is that human biology is weird and sucky."

"Wo-ooow. You're so helpful." Adrien commented dryly.

"I know~ I should absolutely win the most helpful being on Earth award!" Whether Plagg was being serious or not, Adrien couldn't tell. With another painful sigh, the boy forced himself to sleep.

He couldn't sleep that night.

Neither could Plagg.

~(x)~

Until the God commented on it, Adrien wasn't aware that he was unconsciously avoiding his father. The boy hadn't realised when he have made a habit of eating his meals in his room or when he stopped asking about his paternal figure in general. To no one's surprise, neither Nathalie nor Gabriel attempted to approach him about his new behaviour patterns.

"Huh...I didn't notice," Was all that Adrien muttered out before he shrugged and munched on his toast. Plagg narrowed his eyes at this and decided to pursue a new mission.

Keep his eyes open.

Even if this costs him his own sleep and relaxation.

Just as the teen was about to leave the bitter mansion for school, an authoritative voice from the top of the stairs halted him. Whether that was from habit, surprise or even fear, neither Plagg nor Adrien were able to pinpoint it.

"Yes Father?" As soon as the boy made eye contact with the man, excruciating pain bled through his body. Adrien's acting skills however are said to be immaculate so the only thing Gabriel caught was an eye twitch from his son.

"Nathalie has fallen sick again so I'm here to inform you that you have a photoshoot starting at twelve sharp till the rest of the afternoon. Make sure you're on time, or else." The pain only worsened when Gabriel's tone turned grave.

"U-Understood, Sir." It took everything for Adrien to let his voice out coherently rather than the anxious, scratchy feeling that built up instead. He couldn't bare to stand for another second so with a quick nod, the boy exited the building.

A walk turned out to be a speed walk.

A speed walk quickly changed to a jog.

A jog suddenly burst into a full blown sprint.

Adrien didn't stop until he was safe and secure inside the car with Gorilla. He gasped for a breath and clenched a fist against his chest till the pain and apprehension died down. Plagg's soothing purrs sent warmth through his body and Gorilla's presence was like a soothing balm to the mind.

"I haven't been this scared since..." Adrien immediately bit his tongue to say no more. He refused to let that memory resurface to his messed up mind. It took him months to stop flinching at his father's presence ever since that day and he would gladly chop off his arm than go through that again.

Finally, they've arrived at school, a good thirty minutes early. Just as Adrien was about to step out, Gorilla caught his attention with a soft grunt. Curious, Adrien paused with wonder.

The bodyguard moved his hands and arms into various gestures, his beady eyes softened with worry and kindness.

'I'm here for you, it will be okay. I will protect you.'

Adrien felt himself getting choked up from the exhilaration that spread through his body from head to toe. Blinking back his tears, he signed back a 'Thank you,' with a megawatt smile.

He's not alone.

~(x)~

She looked so much more tired today.

Not as in sleepy or anything like that- just exhausted and full of melancholy.

Her wonderful smiles were always something that Adrien looked forward to along with her energetic antics. Now? He hasn't seen that smile in weeks (he declines the outrageous idea of her fake smiles as an actual smile).

What happened to his Princess? She could give his Lady a run for her money right about now.

Adrien felt a heavy ache agonising his chest and his eyes pricking again. Only this time, it felt like his heart was mourning. Or that he was longing for something. He has long since gave up on identifying his emotions when it comes to the budding designer. Before, Adrien vowed that if anyone dared to hurt Marinette or make her cry, he wouldn't spare them.

Now, he's willing to destroy the world for her.

It scared him beyond conception but at the same time, he's accepted it as naturally as breathing. He didn't dare to tell Plagg this. Nor Ladybug.

"You alright there, Marinette?" Adrien placed a tentative hand on her forearm, face etched with worry. Marinette lifted her head off her hand, blinking slowly at the boy. Her desk was scattered with so much work, ranging from school work to commissions to student council work and- is that Mandarin?

"Hey you," For the first time in a long while, Marinette smiled. It was soft, slightly pained and her eyes twinkled ever so lightly. Yet, it was like a goldmine to Adrien. He let his lips mirror hers. "I'm fine, don't worry about me Adrien," Her voice was quiet and slow as she placed a hand over his.

"Telling me not to worry about you is like telling the weather to stop raining in England," He earned a delightful giggle from Marinette and he felt his body alleviate from the pain earlier on. Sometimes, he could swear that Marinette's smile is the cure to everything.

"I can assure you that there are better things to worry about. Like the Chemistry test we have this afternoon,"

"Eugh. For once I'm thankful for the shoot at twelve." He dramatically draped himself on the desk, the back of his hand against his forehead as he pretended to die. He caught laughter from not only Marinette but a few other students in class. "Also, sorry to burst your bubble but I can assure YOU that you're the only thing worth worrying about,"

He got a small gasp from her.

Marinette's cheeks pinkened beautifully and her lips were shaped in a perfect 'o'. She was about to gleefully retort back but suddenly, she seemed to have closed back in and her eyes turned downcast again.

A restraint.

But why?

Adrien didn't get the chance to ask; the bluetooth on her ear buzzed, alerting Marinette of some prior engagement and she was quick to excuse herself. The teen didn't want to let her go so easily.

Marinette felt her hand getting tugged backwards by a larger pair. Like a deer in headlights, she glanced at Adrien with despair. He only stared back with plea, tightening their interlocked fingers.

'Stay. Please.'

'I can't...'

Reluctantly, Adrien let her go. He memorised every movement and feeling as her fingers slipped away, taking away all the comfort and warmth with her without a word. The misery and irritating pain sounded their presence in his heart once more for a millisecond before droning away into a numbing buzz.

Is this...

Heartbreak?

"Hey dude," Nino's voice brought Adrien back to reality. "I know you're worried, we all are. But we have to give 'Nette some space. She's going through some personal shit right now."

"She is? I wasn't aware..." He clutched his shirt and twisted the fabric against his chest, staring at the door forlornly as if Marinette's going to magically appear.

"None of us were till I finally cracked her down after pestering for so long," Alya mused sadly. "She mentioned that she's really messed things up so badly that she has no choice but to fix it alone. Oh and she's taken on Chinese too which is like another clusterfuck."

"I saw some of the papers on her desk..." Adrien added.

"She literally lives in the library now with all this work she's doing. When was the last time she ate Alya?" Nino's innocent question set Cesaire off as she stormed out of the room.

"MARINETTE! YOU BETTER HAVE EATEN BREAKFAST TODAY OR ELSE I'LL SHOVE A MILLION CROISSANTS DOWN YOUR THROAT!"

Adrien bit his lip and shook his head, knuckles whitening as they gripped the desk with displeasure.

"Whoever turned Marinette into this must be the lowest of the low..." The model let out a violent curse afterwards, ignoring Nino's astonished look. It's rare for Adrien to swear but from what Nino has observed, whenever the boy does so, it's because he's absolutely pissed.

"Marinette must really care for them, whoever it is she claims she's hurt." Nino murmured. The pain in Adrien's chest only intensified after hearing this.

"If making her into a passive, depressive robot is what it takes to satisfy them, then they clearly need a wake up call,"

"...or maybe she isn't aware that she doesn't need to push everyone away and take on all of these responsibilities to redeem herself. Marinette is a perfectionist so whenever she falls, she falls hard."

"I-I never really thought of it like that..."

"You gotta come up with conclusions of both sides of the argument before jumping into the fray. Not everyone likes to dig their teeth in like an overprotective angry boyfriend." Nino cackled at Adrien's flushed complexion, digging his elbow into the model's torso fondly.

"Hey! I'm not her boyfriend!"

~(x)~

Ladybug and Chat Noir stood tall at the top of the Eiffel Tower, peering down at the citizens downbelow at the stroke of midnight. The lights of the tower gave the duo a superhuman glow, making them seem impenetrable and omnipotent.

The wall between them however made them so much more vulnerable and human than a Parisian could possibly fathom. The heroine was oddly knackered, silent and stoic whilst the hero was peculiarly submissive, tight lipped and detached. Their internal thoughts brought out their intimidating fronts, possibly fooling a foreigner that Ladybug and Chat Noir are mere strangers.

"So, when were you going to tell me?"

Chat Noir felt another strike of pain hit him but this time, in the head. His iron will and pride was what stopped him from staggering on the spot. His eyes did widen in surprise but knowing his partner, she caught that in her peripheral vision.

"Tell you what?"

"Don't act dumb, Chat Noir. Plagg snuck in this evening and told me everything." He would have melted at Ladybug's gentle tone had he not been busy muttering about how he's going to replace Plagg's camembert with the cheapest cheese in France. "Why didn't you tell me?" Ladybug's voice wavered with hurt and Noir was hit with deja vu.

"They're not serious bug, just...odd sensations that come and go."

"He claimed that you collapsed onto the floor once because you were in so much pain!" The boy winced at this, recalling the horrendous memory that surfaced. His mind wandered to his father's actions a few years back and suddenly, the belt wounds on his back felt raw again.

"But you've already got so much on your plate already..." He found his face cradled by her hands and her bluebell eyes turned icy. Chat couldn't help but shudder, shattering his aloof composure.

"Listen to me, those things are nothing compared to you. You will always take priority, do you understand? If you're hungry, we drop everything and get you food. If you're tired, my arms are open for you to sleep in. If you're in pain..." Tears were now pouring out of her eyes as she sniffed. "Then you should let me heal your wounds...and I can't do that if you don't tell me what's wrong, Chaton."

The sight of Ladybug's composure crumbling before him suddenly flashed to Marinette's despondent expression, causing a piercing pain to shoot through his head like a bullet to the brain. Chat didn't stop himself this time as he toppled into his Lady's arms, digging his claws through his hair with one hand and grasping Ladybug's waist like a lifeline with the other.

"If worrying about me is what makes you cry like this, then I'd rather die."

Chat pulled away from the embrace and clenched his teeth. Ladybug only paled, shaking her head. She didn't dare to let him go, gloved fingers digging into his shoulders.

"W-Why would you say something like that?" Ladybug sputtered before masking her raw feelings with anger. "Don't you DARE say something like that again! Do you understand!? There will be no dying or talk of death!" She banged a fist against his chest for good measures. Hard enough to send a message, gentle enough to afflict zero pain.

"I can't help what I feel," Chat Noir settled a hand on her cheek, thumb massaging the area below her eye. His face mellowed to the most tender expression Ladybug has ever seen. "You were already acting weird and skittish around me that evening when you placed your head on my shoulder," He let his hand trail to the back of her head. "And then when Fu gave up his memories and left you with everything, I always saw you with puffy eyes, tense muscles, no more of that beautiful smile..." He kissed her forehead so lightly, it was like a butterfly tickled her skin with its delicate wings. "It's like you've given up on happiness and I hate it. And if I'm just going cause more sadness then-"

"Stop. You're one of the few people out there in my entire life that keeps me going. You're one helps me keep fighting," Ladybug looked away again and then faced him with newly found determination. "But that's not what matters right now. What matters is this bizarre pain you're going through. Please, tell me everything."

Ladybug is a stubborn girl. This doesn't mean it's impossible to crack her down. However, Chat decided that it'll be easier to tackle on her overworking habit after they got his mundane problems out of the way.

He told her everything. Starting from waking up in the middle of the night, clutching his chest, the feeling of heartbreak whenever he sees his close friend, the deja vu and finally, his avoidance of his father.

"You...you fear your father?" Ladybug looked confused for a second as Chat looked sheepish. Abruptly, her face darkened with indignation, causing his heart to start throbbing. "Chat Noir...has your father ever hit you?"

The wind breezed past them in a howl.

Time seems to have stood still.

Chat felt the blood rushing through his ears like a hurricane and his body shook. Hugging himself, the boy quickly denied, shaking his head and stammering.

His teary eyes said otherwise.

~(x)~

Adrien collapsed back on his bed, the energy seeped out of his pores yet his eyes remained wide open. He played the memories of earlier on through his head.

Of how Ladybug refused to let him go.

Of how she cursed their secret identities.

Of how she threatened to mutilate his father for DARING to lay a hand on him despite it being a few years ago.

Or...

Has he recently done so but Adrien somehow wiped it away from his memories?

He didn't know anymore.

The model rubbed his chest, thankful that he's been relatively pain free after his meeting with Ladybug. Was opening up the cure to it? Did Ladybug put some sort of healing spell on him? Maybe talking about feelings isn't so bad after all. Yet, Adrien worried his lips with guilt- how is his Lady meant to cope now that she knows what a shitty Father he has?

Plagg has been strangely quiet, now that Adrien has realised. He prodded the Kwami a few times with his fingers, trying to get a reaction from him. He even waved a slice of camembert but that got nothing!

"Plagg...please talk to me..." As if the heavens have finally answered his prayers, Adrien grinned goofily when Plagg finally faced him. The God gave a little purr when his charge stroked his head.

"Get some sleep kid, I wanna see you, Glasses one and Glasses two bully Princess into eating breakfast tomorrow. M'kay?" Adrien felt his heart warm at the thought of the noir haired girl.

"First of all, stop calling Nino and Alya 'Glasses'. Second, 'Princess' is my nickname for Marinette, get your own." With that said and done, the teen was swept away into a blissful sleep for the first time in forever.

No more pain.

No more sadness.

Plagg's gentle smile was then eclipsed with the most demonic, dangerous expression a being could possibly have. His lime green eyes turned acidic and feral. His aura switched to one of bloodlust.

There are many things and secrets that kwamis keep away from their holders or be vague about.

For example, when the holders are transformed, the kwamis can see everything through their eyes and hear everything through their ears. It's like watching the world in someone else's body.

Consequently, it wasn't only Ladybug who found out that Adrien used to get hurt.

That's also not it, not even the slightest.

It took perhaps a week or longer for Tikki and Plagg to regain their memories from Oblivio. An adorable secret that they'd happily share with Adrien and Marinette once it's safe for them to share their identities.

It was only after Ladybug asked that question today when they regained their memories...

From the erased timeline.

Plagg phased through Gabriel's door robotically, his aura growing larger and larger and so much more dangerous.

This is the man who hurt Adrien...

This is the man who forced Marinette to leave Adrien or else he'd take away his freedom...

This is the man who did this just to create akuma fodder...

This is the man who broke Adrien's mind with his mother's corpse in the basement...

This is the man who BEAT the ever loving SHIT out of his own son...

This is the man who MANIPULATED Adrien and kept on BREAKING him...

This is the man who CAUSED his kitten's and Ladybug's world its DEMISE.

And ALL of this is just for a SELFISH wish which can only be granted at the price of ADRIEN'S LIFE.

Much to Plagg's chagrin, Gabriel was wide awake, ready to step inside a strange circle with Nooroo hovering miserably by his side. The dark God knocked over something to grab the man's attention.

Gabriel Agreste turned around with anger at being disturbed and caught (probably was expecting Adrien and more than ready to lash out at the poor boy) only to gawk like a dead fish. Plagg paid no mind at the villain's rambles, piecing together that his suspicions were true of Adrien being Chat Noir. As expected, Gabriel had a psychotic grin plastered on his face, ready to steal Adrien's ring.

"Nooroo," Plagg finally spoke. "Take the brooch and hide in my kitten's bag. You'll meet up with our lovely Guardian tomorrow." Tears of joy escaped the lilac kwami's eyes, nodding and easily phased through his ex-master's chest to grab the brooch, making way to the door.

"What!? Nooroo what are you doing! Obey your master now this instant!" Gabriel's thunderous roar was left unheard and soon, it was just him and Plagg. "What the hell did you do to my servant you despicable rodent!?"

"That's the God of Destruction to you, scum." The aura around Plagg suddenly took shape, distorting into the most monstrous being one could ever imagine.

"And I will show you what we do to those who misuse the power of the Miraculous and mistreats their offsprings..."

~(x)~

Marinette and Adrien burst out laughing as they witnessed Nino get whammed by a hoard of snowballs from not only Alya but the rest of the girls as well. Something to do with revenge of his earlier comment about how the latest Marvel film sucked. The duo sipped on some of the delicious Dupain Cheng hot chocolate, savouring every drop.

"How are you not freezing your butt off?" Marinette whined, blowing some air into her hands with a shudder. "I can't feel my fingers..." This caused the boy to blurt out into snickers again.

"Not all of us are cold blooded like you, Mari." The girl in question simply stuck her tongue out at him. "Wow, very mature." He poked her cheek with his ungloved hand, earning a squeal in protest.

"Don't touch me! You're so cold what the hell!?"

"But the best way to warm up is to cuddle! Come one~"

"Noooooooo-"

Marinette didn't make it two steps as she found herself enveloped in a pair of arms and her untimely clumsiness caused them both to trip and fall into a blanket of snow. The two glanced at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles.

"Ah~ it's been a while since I've laughed like that." Marinette quipped. Adrien helped lift her to her feet, brushing off any snow on her body like a gentleman. "I missed it, letting loose like that."

Adrien smiled warmly in return when she fixed his scarf. "I missed it too, your laugh," Marinette's eyes widened with awe, that beautiful shade of pink sprinkled on her cheeks before she ducked down shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Deja vu swept over them both as they made eye contact again.

Adrien tucked a strand behind her other ear before trailing his hand down her arm and reaching her hand. He gave it an encouraging squeeze so that she can let her fingers curl with his. Their eyes darted between each others lips to their eyes, a silent question left in the air.

The model didn't get a chance to lean in as soon as he felt a large hand place itself on his shoulder. He turned around only to see a grave looking Damocles.

~(x)~

Dead.

His father is dead.

Police has swarmed the mansion, searching for clues and leads in how the man managed to die.

The details weren't pretty.

Apparently when Nathalie went to Gabriel's room with his schedule in hand, she found a grotesque looking corpse staring back at her on his chair. The room was filled with black soot, vines and extraterrestrial things. Things beyond human understanding. Adrien had an idea of who exactly did it.

He surprisingly didn't care. In fact, it's like a weight has been lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe.

"Monsieur Agreste? I know it's a lot to take in but do you need a minute to clear your head? Anything?" Sabrina's father asked considerately, a fatherly tone used in order to coax him.

Adrien didn't say anything for a while, touching his shoulder with one hand and staring off into space.

Plagg's purrs in his pocket gave him a sense of reality and finally,

The dams broke.

"He can't hurt me anymore...I'm free..."

.

.

.

~(x)~

A/N: Tfw you say you're gonna do a drabble but sit down four hours straight instead and go crazy hurr durr...

[beerecordings]

AND FOR MY SECOND TRICK: Desmond!Jackie has activated the Eye and saved the world. And then he wakes up again. (Immediately after, some years after, back-in-time after, you pick. Bonus points for figuring out how Jameson Jackson, soon-to-be-Mentor of the London Brotherhood and Marvin Kazmarek, Animus Subject 16 might play into this. :D)

They think they can catch him.

He hears the laugh bubble from his mouth, breathy and bright in the chill London air. He leaps forward like a stag over rivers, feeling the world give out and drop away beneath his feet before he tuck, rolls, leaps up again and keeps running. Someone screams behind him, shuddering to a stop before the edge of the building, forced to step back and gain speed again before they can leap over.

They think they can catch him. Ha! He laughs without noise and races, just as silent, across the cold pavement of the rooftops. No one can catch him. This is his home, London his kingdom! This is his fierce little body, with hands that have known the blood of tyrants and legs to carry him for miles, swift as a bird! This is Jameson Jackson, assassin, monster-slayer, the quickest and most blood-thirsty little messenger in all of England. Nothing stops him. Nothing catches him. He is the courier, the Assassin, and right now he has a message to carry.

“Stop!” someone is screaming behind him. “Stop, come back! Please, please!”

Come to think of it, he isn't exactly sure what message he is carrying.

Something important, wasn't it? It must have been. It always is, and he is the deliverer.

Where is he going?

This almost pauses him in his tracks, his sneakers skidding a little on the concrete.

Sneakers? He glances down again, hearing the air puff out of him. No, no, not sneakers, of course not. He doesn't even know what sneakers would be. He's wearing his boots. He's always wearing his boots. He doesn't remember them being red.

“You're going to get hurt!” shrieks his pursuer. “Please stop and listen to me!”

Despite their words, remembering that they're behind him only spurs him on to greater speed. Still, he can't recall where he's going. Or even... how he got here.

Or even where this is.

A shaky breath parts from his mouth. He turns sharply and races over the edge of another building. He's beginning to be afraid, but no matter. No one ever catches him. He'll run until he's gotten away, and then he'll gather his bearings, find his allies, deliver the message. Might be he has a head injury. He just needs to keep running.

A huge gap separates the buildings in front of him. He can't jumps it and land on his feet, but his arms are strong too, and his aim is perfect. He leaps, his arm reaching out –

His arm.

Oh, oh.

His right arm is completely gone.

For a second, the Bleeding Effect is gone with it, and London disappears. He doesn't know what this city is – doesn't know where he is or why – but it isn't London, and it isn't 1868.

And he's not... he's not...

“Jackie!” someone howls behind him.

The empty space where his right arm should be threatens his life. He chokes on a gasp and lets out a small scream – what? I can't scream! My voicebox is torn through! – and scrabbles out with his left arm, barely catching the ledge of the building, wrenching his shoulder hard.

Someone crashes into the side of the wall beside him and pulls themselves up on two strong arms, hurrying to grab his wrist and the stump of his right arm, dragging him up. Maybe they aren't an enemy after all. He's too shaken to protest, anyway, letting himself be hauled up over the ledge.

Cool wind rushes past his hair – hair longer than he remembers it. He grabs at what remains of his arm, whimpering.

Burn scars coat his puckered flesh, ugly and red against white. Tears well in his eyes. His arm... this... this isn't right... what's happened to him?

“It's you, it's you,” the stranger is sobbing behind him, clutching him by the shoulders and burying his face against his back. “I thought you were going to fucking fall, Jackie, Jackie...”

His vision flickers. On the streets below, horses and petticoats, top hats and the stink of iron – and then, a moment later, cars and passers-by in leather jackets or puffy coats, phones in their hands, the world racing on around him, surviving, alive...

“What's happening?” he signs desperately, feeling warm hands rubbing at his shoulders as the stranger cries. “I'm dreaming! I'm dead!”

“You're not Jameson, Jackie,” the stranger whispers, voice broken and tired. “Jackie, it's you. It's me, it's Marv. We're in America. It's 2013. You saved the world, Jackie. You saved us. It's you.”

“This isn't real,” he signs, frantic, lost. “My friends! My family! I have to go home! I have to go back to London!”

“You can talk, Jackie, you can talk,” begs Marv, clinging to him. “Please, darling, find yourself again. Here, look at me. Look at me.”

Long brown hair curls around a round face with huge blue eyes. A soft mouth is down-turned in fear, thick eyebrows drawn back in despair. Earrings and a cloak around his shoulders.

He doesn't even remember him, not really, but the sight of him is like a balm to him.

“Say something for me,” murmurs Marv. “You have to start coming back to me. This was a bad one, Jackie... when you got away, I thought maybe... I'm so glad I caught up with you, fuck...”

He stares at him, reaching tentatively out to touch his hair.

“Marvin?”

Marvin's face melts with relief. He hides his face between Jackie's shoulderblades once again and rocks them together on the roof of the building.

“Jackie, my Jackie, my friend... you're not him. You're you. You're here. You're alive.”

“Oh, no,” he whispers, beginning to grasp the situation. “I'm Bleeding again... enough that I forgot who I was... forgot about...”

He grabs his own amputated arm, breathing through his teeth. Shaken. Exhausted.

“It's okay. All that matters is that you're here. That you remember now. That you survived. She couldn't kill you.”

“Couldn't she?” croaks Jackie, beginning to feel his whole body tremble. He stares down at his one remaining hand.

That's the thing he remembers more often than anything. Jameson's hands.

Waking up from the machine, he would see his palms flex the way Jameson's flexed. Reaching out for help, he would see the long and graceful fingers they both share. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the great, bright sun of the world reborn, he sees Jameson's hand upraised before him.

The ghost of him seems to reside within Jackie's skin. Ancestral.

You are in the curves of my jaw, he thinks to the image of himself. The cut of my chin, the flash of my eyes. You are in my bones and flesh.

Dividing the image of himself from Jameson? Impossible.

But it doesn't matter, because he died on the 21st of December.

It happened. He remembers. He was there. And his flesh burnt away and his heart overloaded and electricity and power and light filled him up like a vessel meant for nothing else, and in a second the stress severed parts of his brain and killed him.

Dead.

But they came back for him in time, his friends. Don't ask him how Schneep saved him. He doesn't understand it, and, secondly, he doesn't like to think about his friend sawing his arm off in the back of a van on the way to the hospital.

And since then?

Recovery has been – fuck, if not for the healing in what remains of his arm, he wouldn't call it recovery at all.

Jameson Bleeds through every moment of consciousness. London rises up like a ghost from the city around him. Technology becomes incomprehensible at random moments, the people JJ loved make his heart ache with longing and grief, and most of the time, everything is terrifying and large, and he wakes up from nightmares believing he's Jameson, and comes so close to death he thinks maybe he'll have the chance to truly meet his great-great-great-grandfather after all.

Tears are slipping down his cheeks.

“She did kill me,” he sobs. “It's just still happening.”

“No, Jackie, no,” pleads Marvin, gripping his shoulders. “No. You're here with me. You came back to me. That's all that matters.”

“One day I'll die like this!” He grips his friend's arms in return, pulling them to his chest, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut against flowing water. “I can't even remember who I am! Even if I am alive, I'm dead!”

“Jackie – ”

He tears out of Marvin's arms, leaping to his feet, hanging halfway over the edge of that precipice.

“I'm dead!” he repeats, shrieking, tearing at his hair. “I'm dead, I'm dead! I'm gone! Jackie's gone! There's just memory and loss left! I don't know why Henrik brought me back! I let myself die in that fucking machine and now – !”

“Jackie!”

Marvin tears him back from the edge and they crash to the ground together, panting.

Cold stars overhead. Cold wind through his hair. Cold people moving far below.

Alive because of him.

And this... this was the cost.

His shoulder aches. His body strains from the exercise, weak after weeks in hospital, excruciating and endless. He wants to go back to London. Back to people who never even knew his name. He wants to go home to JJ's daughter and sweep her into his arms. She should be his. She is his. Why isn't she his?

He slumps back against Marvin's body, trembling. Aching. Lost.

He's crying into Marvin's shoulder.

Marvin holds him closer and doesn't move.

“Jackie,” he says, again and again, soft, in his ear. “Jackie. Jackie. Jackie.”

An anchor for this ship, rocking on a hateful sea.

He clutches to Marvin and doesn't let go.

.

In his dreams, he is Jameson, and the world is right around him. The sun gleams. He throws his daughter into the air and catches her in two arms.

Jackie opens his eyes.

“Hey,” murmurs Chase, shifting from his guard duty, reaching out to touch Jackie’s wrist.

Jackie stares back at him, feeling like a dead thing. He doesn’t want to think today. He doesn’t think he can.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” says Chase. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But you have to keep fighting. We’re going to make this right again. Okay?”

Going to make the world right again. Going to make this right.

He hears the laugh bubble from his mouth. Chase sits back, surprised.

Nah. No way. He doesn’t buy that shit. Yeah, he saved the world. For everybody but him.

“Can’t fix shit for dead men,” he mutters, and rolls over, and goes back to his dreams.

[shieldofgod]

Saying Goodbye

Castiel (scarrd-wings) and Samandriel ( @actually-my-name-is-samandriel​) sing for their almost extinct species, in After the End.  They’re two of the last angels left alive in all Creation, and God is dead.

Samandriel: Samandriel nodded. "Yes. I think that'd be the best way to do it. We should do that last then so that we don't have to carry them around." He grinned at his brother. "Ready to go?"

Castiel: Cas nodded, setting his empty mug aside, and got to his feet. "So long as you don't fly too fast, I can stay close enough to fly myself." And it would feel good to stretch his wings as an angel, as well. It had been quite a long time since he had relatively unfettered flight.

Samandriel: Samandriel nodded again. "I can definitely do that, brother." He petted him gently. He stood watching him.

Castiel: "All right. You lead, I'll follow," Cas said, stretching ethereal wings behind his back and letting himself really enjoy the lack of distortion prickling across his metaphysical senses. Mostly, he tuned it out, both the presence and lack thereof, but right now, he just let himself feel it. "It'll be pre-dawn over there."

Samandriel: The angel called down the hall for Adam to let him know that he was going out with his brother for a few hours and not to worry and then, making sure Castiel was ready, took off slowly for Greece, careful that his brother could keep up.

Castiel: Cas was quick enough to follow, stretching out his wings to hook feathers into the ethereal planes and even if it wasn't fast, it felt incredibly good to fly without the weight and static of Father's body hindering him. The last time he'd flown any real distance like this had been in the last universe, and the stretch and beat of wings, angelic flight, was like a balm.

Samandriel: Samandriel hadn't done much flying in a long time. He'd taken off for a mountain top when he'd been still struggling intensely with the loss of his species, but beyond that, he hadn't done much that didn't involve errands, flying for flying's sake. He reveled in it and relished every bit of wind that whipped through his vessel's hair.

Castiel: Being lighter than anything was good. They aimed for Greece and drew it out as long as possible; Cas basked in the sensation of being as insubstantial as he could ever be, tied to a vessel, feeling each new hook for his feathers and bending the metaphysical currents around himself in an elegant sort of way that predated man, or war. When they landed in Greece, on the top of a cliff, it was the depth of pre-twilight and with no moon, the stars above brilliant and numerous with no manmade light to dull or blot them out.

Samandriel: Samandriel was grinning ear to ear by the time they landed. It was wonderful to fly like that and he had not felt so angelic in a long time. It was very liberating. He giggled a little as they landed, letting his wings still remain unfurled and present. It was a beautiful night, very dark, but with his own eyes, he could still see quite well. Every part of him felt light and full of joy. It reminded him of the day he and Castiel had sung together on a mountain top.

Castiel: Cas looked up, taking in the stars and the drifting trails of the energies of creation, not yet spent. Father's thumbprints. Looked out over the sea and the healthy plethora of elementals, dancing along shore and water, playing freely, shifting their forms between wisps of light and the forms of animals. Took a deep breath and hummed out a few notes in his own voice, drifting harmony, and again felt the keen and aching realization that for that moment, there was only one angel's voice.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt a tiny jolt in his heart when he heard those notes and joined in in his own voice. The stars seems so bright and the sky so vast, like eternity was spilling out before them.

Castiel

Cas huffed a laugh at that, with his borrowed lungs, but mentally shrugged to himself and sat down on the rock towards the edge by the sea, high up. And sang. Soft, at first, just notes instead of words, shivering down his frame both physical and metaphysical for hearing his brother's voice, the melody to his harmony. And then went from notes to sing higher, two songs at once but both perfectly matched, half the layers of his voice for one, and half for the other; above, the song of the first light Father created. Below, as ever, ​Holy holy holy, the Lord God Almighty,​ who was, and is...

...and is to come.

No longer. God was gone, and the last of His power resided beside of him in the form of his brother and near-twin. Out to sea, the elementals slowed, stopped and listened; all around, all of the things only angels could see slowed, stopped and listened.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt a surge of feeling overwhelm him as his own voice swelled, answering his brother's and singing with it, both voices twining as though one voice, the music of one, unimaginable instrument that none had heard of or seen. Among the last of their kind, nearly all others and gone, and here they were, singing, continuing to exist and be what angels were. The muse couldn't help but wonder if there were any others but then who might here them. Together in the beginning, together in the end. He wove more songs with his brother, of the stars and of things that were new and green.

Castiel: It was an aching sort of feeling; poignant. Pleasure and pain, exaltation and lamentation as only music could ever be, something ethereal and beautiful. Cas didn't have to whisper, not singing with his brother, and so he didn't; sang out loud enough to reach the heavens above. Not his universe or his Heaven, but raised his voice enough to swirl with his brother's around the wreckage of Father's throne, around the silent ash of the Host, stirring sweet and joyful and sorrowful, all at once. He let his brother choose the direction of their songs, all while maintaining the reverent call to worship God, even if God couldn't hear them anymore.

Samandriel: Samandriel sang loud and fiercely, as if to let all things in creation know that the time of the angels was not over yet, not even if they were among the last remaining. It reminded him of the days of the war, how he'd sung on his own on Earth, for all to hear as the battle raged on upstairs. It had been difficult at times, to keep his strength, to still let his voice be heard, to try to drown out the din and let some part of the universe still sound as angels were meent to sound, joyful. Now he had his brother to sing with him, to be strong for and to keep him strong. Heaven's hosts may have fallen into silence, but he was less alone than he had been then, and though it was devastating, it was not time for despair. Perhaps now was time for rebirth and growth. He continued to sing, loud and true, weaving melodies that lamented and remembered and rejoiced and expressed admiration for all that had been. He thought on what he'd said to Adam about discovering what it truly meant to be an angel outside of the act of simply being of that species. This was what it meant. There was no question now.

Castiel: Samandriel was alternately making him smile and breaking his heart, all at the same time. Where his voice was the brighter, fiercer and clearer one, Cas's was always the one under it, nuanced and layered, the undertones of grief and regret, of joy and what it meant to sing before war. Of watching stars being born, of fish on shorelines, of species beginnings and endings. Wove the undernotes and sometimes matched the overnotes, soaring crescendo and softened decrescendo. He sang along, vessel's eyes sliding closed at the rush of feeling, made no less intense by having a physical form to feel it through, as well as the pure emotion of simply being what they were. This part which no one but another angel could understand, what it meant to sing and feel creation hum back on bands only the Host could ever hear, glorifying Father's creation with their voices. And singing for all of the voices silenced.

Samandriel: Note upon note in a song that made the universe and all that was in it want to stop and listen. It was eerie and mystical and almost alien all at once, and beyond measure, it was beautiful. Samandriel's heart sored with the music, though there was pain and longing too, coupled with great loneliness, far greater than most could understand. He felt all of it in his soul. He was overwhelmed by so many emotions at once, grief, joy, pain, elation, most of all he felt free. As his thoughts wandered while he sang, he found himself wondering if his daughter would be able to hear his true voice without pain, as Adam could, whether it was something one could be learn or adapt to or whether it was simply a genetic capability.

Castiel

Cas wove in more notes as Samandriel let his heart soar; that was the thing about angelic voices, he could hear every emotion in his brother's voice, and knew every single one of his were on display. There was no hiding the joy of singing again, as he was made to do long before he became a soldier. Nor any of the ambivalent ache of no longer being a soldier. Nor any of the aching sorrow, for the loss of a Father he did not ever really know the heart of. Nor the loneliness and grief, for the loss of all of those voices he sang and fought and loved alongside of. Nor any of the wistfulness, the gentle hopes, the great fears.

Nor the exquisite understanding of the beauty of all things.

He wove the undernotes and with it their names, one by one, starting with Michael's, then Lucifer's. Raphael. Gabriel, and an echoing cry of the Messenger's perfect call they once responded to with ​gloria!​, long ago. In their creation order, one by one, no thought to time at all; the names of angels, even their fallen, who were all once one Host.

Saying goodbye.

Samandriel: As they sang, the pain of the emotions he'd been going through with the loss of the Host was easing. It felt good to have so much of what he was feeling on display without having to say a word. That was the wonderful thing about his true voice. He couldn't hide how he was feeling in it. He joined in the remembering of names with his brother. It was a relief to be giving them a proper lamentation and the pain actually felt good.

Castiel: Cas did not leave any out. Not the ones who cut him in battle, not the ones who fought by his side, and not the ones who never fought at all. And even though he had not resolved all of his feelings, he didn't leave Naomi out, either. Not so much for what she became, but for who she once had been, with two siblings she had not asked to be pulled from the sides of no more than he had asked to be pulled from his brother's. Named each, one at a time; some, his tones warmed and ached harder. Some were more ethereal and distant. But all of them were once one choir singing, joyful, for love of God and all things which God made.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt his heart ache too as the names were listed, as for his brother, some more than others. He felt strange when Naomi's name came up. He still hadn't forgiven her, nor was he necessarily over wanting revenge, even with their numbers being so few now. But he was glad to still have her in the list. It helped though, to include her, to see her as just another angel like all the others, not as some kind of horrible being with so much power over him still. It was the first time he'd really felt like he was taking back the power she had over him.

Castiel: Twilight bled into the sky, and still the angels sang; thousands of names, to go through. Sang as the sky brightened and shifted, another day in Father's garden; birds awoke and the nocturnal animals moved to sleep, and still they sang and sang, each name. Castiel left out only the living; Balthazar's name, not in the list. But he left in his native-universe counterpart's name, who even if he did not agree with him on many things, deserved marking there as well. And wondered again, some, that his Samandriel had been left behind and how much that must sometimes ache.

Samandriel: It didn't seem like a lot of time had passed, yet soon the sky was growing light and morning was coming, yet still, Samandriel felt the need to continue to sing. He, too, felt some strange emotions for Castiel's name, wondering how much that must hurt for his native-verse twin. His heart felt lighter than it had when they'd begun, as if he's sung some of the pain away.

Castiel: The light had come almost full force, by the time they finished the last name, which was this universe's Castiel. From there, this Cas slipped from singing to humming, winding down to something softer and more ethereal, feeling more emotionally drained than anything physical at the moment. Not a bad feeling, though. Just a sort of settling, of the weight in his borrowed chest, acceptance of a quiet sort. Completely unaware of the tear tracks left behind. The tones of his voice softened, but brightened from their mix of lamentation and celebration, sometimes more or less, to something meandering which called to mind the dawn and the break of light and color into the sky.

Samandriel: Samandriel followed suit, gradually letting his voice wind down as well. He'd been crying too, though he hadn't been any more aware of it than Castiel had been. The brightening song, lifted the other angel's spirits some, from the heaviness of the lamentation and remembrance of names. He sang now of the coming of light to the sky, of creation, and of Father.

Castiel: Cas kept accompaniment, though not with words, letting his voice hum notes instead, a softer sort of compliment. Watching the Mediterranean sky burn gold and the seas turn slowly blue; little wonder he had felt so comfortable here, where the bandwidths of colors were close to his own, and soothing just the same. He didn't stop humming to pull off his shirt and let loose his wings, letting the new sunlight from the east hit them and warm them some.

Samandriel: Samandriel spread his wings too and went to the shores, where he undressed, still singing and danced in the waves and let the sand spread through his toes. He danced amongst the waves, starting to feel giddy and joyous. The water felt good on his wings and he was feeling very free.

Castiel: That made Cas laugh in his borrowed voice, even as he kept humming along in his own. Rubbing his salt-tracked face, and watching his brother play, still just barely in range.

[loriendragonqueen]

New Dawn - Chapter Four

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Words: 2.742

Warnings: bad language; blood; fight; magic; explicit; pain; 

Notes: So, again, the things are getting deeper and in this chapter you guys will see a side of both Ivar and Isa that not everybody have seen.

Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three

____________________________________________________

They woke up when the sun was about to reach the highest spot in the sky, for the queen's servants has made an improvised tent above them two. The other Ragnarssons had already returned to their boats, leaving Ivar behind.

"Sons of bitches!" he said noticing that they were ahead in their boat.

"Who cares? Here, at least, you can practice what I have taught you!" she spoke rubbing her eyes yawning.

"I understand what you say in your tongue since Kattegat!" he then sat properly.

"One thing is understand. Speak is harder!" and her female servants brought her diverse fruits in a silver tray "Sas efcharistoúme! Thank you!"

"Eán léte étsi... If you say so..." he said surprising her.

"Huum..." and she took an apricot from the tray "Fáo! Eat!"

"What is this?" he asked.

"Fáte aftó to veríkoko! Eat this apricot!" and she put it in his mouth.

And he chewed enjoying the sweetness of the fruit.

They ate and drank speaking only in her mother tongue until the high noon. Then, Isa showed him her boat from inside out, explaining about many of her people and how did they build everything there. In the end, Ivar preferred travel in the trireme with Isa than with his brothers.

A few weeks later, they finally arrived in Northumberland. It was cold and rainy, more than in the Scandinavia. Isa then ordered to her first man in command to take ten boats and leave to Mercia, just as settled in the meeting - they would occupy the realm in a silence complete.

"Anxious?" she asked to him while they were about to ashore.

"I don't know. And what about you?" and he looked to the valleys.

"I am terrified." and she laughed, "I have never fought in such way. Yes, I have killed before, but nothing compares to fight in a battlefield. I kill from the shadows; I have never faced an army before. It is terrifying but exciting!"

"I hope you doesn't die today!" he said turning his face towards her.

"Keep your crippled arse safe today, Ivar!" she smiled "Eíthe oi theoí parakolouthoún páno mas símera! May the gods watch over us today!"

The men and women then landed and started to march while the English King was in the church praying for his god. The great heathen army then settled and waited.

"Símera agonizómaste sti gi poté den eínai gnostó sto laó mas. Símera tha xekinísoume to taxídi mas stin aioniótita. Óti o thánatos gínontai dektés próthyma ólous ekeínous pou stélnoume stin diéfthynsi sas. Óti ta onómata mas antichoún gia tin aioniótita!" she yelled to her men rising her sword to the sky.

"What is she saying?" Sigurd asked to Ubbe while they watched her speak to her one thousand and five hundred men.

"I don't know. She is strange!" Ubbe said frowning.

"She said 'Today we fight on lands never known by our people. Today we begin our journey towards eternity. May death willingly accept all those whom we send to their abode. May our names echo for eternity!" Ivar said in a haughty tone, grinning satisfied.

His brothers looked at him with wide eyes.

"How do you know?" Hvitserk questioned.

"Why do you think I have set her free, brother?"

"I thought she has bewitched you. Or, maybe, that you had lost your mind!" Hvitserk said mocking.

"What else did she taught you?" Ubbe asked.

"You will know at the right time, brother!"

Isa then kissed the blade of her sword and her men cried out loud:

"Gia ti Vasílissa! Gia Isanthya! Ahu! Ahu! Ahu! For the Queen! For Isanthya!"

Isa then bowed to them and knelt as a sign of respect. After that, she swung her sword and sheathed the blade. She remained silent.

The king's army did not take long to appear. It wasn't much than three thousand men.

"Shame!" Isa thought sighing "Párte to kástro! Take the castle!" she yelled to half of her men who obeyed instantly.

In less than expected, the sea of heathens wiped out the christian army. The frontline was capable to decimate them all, spilling their blood on the muddy soil. With the christian king subdued, they settled the camp.

"Shame!" she said to King Aelle in his tongue while cleaning her sword under her left arm.

"What?" he asked frightened while a norse man tied him.

"I thought that a man like you would be a fair challenge. I was wrong. You hide yourself behind your god while act like one. I was expecting ten thousand men ready to fight to death for their land and the love of their king. I was wrong once more!" and she put her sword on her belt.

"Spare me. You are not like them. I can pay you much more than they are!" he begged in despair.

"You cannot pay me the price of loyalty and respect, for you has none of it. Quia Deus miserere animae tuae, christian man! May your god have mercy of your soul!" and she made the sign of the cross in the air towards him.

Aelle wided his eyes and before he could say a word, he was dragged by the rocky ground until the place he tortured and killed King Ragnar.

With a long whistle, a horse rode to her coming from afar. She mounted and followed Ivar's chariot. They went to the pit of snakes.

"Here is where father died!" Ivar said crawling to the pit now open.

King Aelle then tried to bargain his life, but it was useless. The ritual of the blood eagle then begun.

Isa stood in the back, almost beside Ubbe while Floki pinned the king's hand with long dowels like his christian god in a wooden trap. Bjorn then opened the king's back with a glowing knife, making him scream like a pig about to be killed. When the oldest of the Ragnarssons begun to break Aelle's ribs, an eagle cried from the sky and flew right through the bleeding man and landed on the shoulder of the young queen. Everybody thought it was an omen from the gods.

The eagle stood perched upon her shoulder until the death take the king. Isa knew that it was a good sign of her men from Mercia. She grinned cunningly.

"We shall go to the castle!" she said to the eagle and it took flight.

Isa whistled again and mounted the horse.

"The castle is ours, we shall feast there tonight!" she said loud and about to take the path to the camp.

She rode like the wind to gather her men and go to the taken palace. So they went.

"To domátió sas eínai étoimo, kyría mou! Your room is ready, my lady!" the female servant said.

"Sas efcharistoúme! Thank you!" she said being led by the servant.

A bath was ready and waiting for her. Warm and perfumed water. It was a balm to her nerves. Isa then bathed slowly and took her time to get ready to the feast.

After put a red dress on and let her hair loose, she went to the outside of the castle. She was glowing like a goddess when the north men cruised the gates. They went astonished by her beauty.

"Come, my brethren, let’s drink the life!" she said with open arms.

All the men were served. They ate and drank like always while the greek musicians played many songs. Isa danced like always and everybody went to sleep almost in the first’s sunbeams.

Before the darkest hour of the dawn, Isa awoke with some painful moans. She got concerned, for she knew the owner of that tone.

"Ivar?" she called for him after walking bare feet down the halls of the castle and find him in one of the distant bedrooms. He was clearly in pain.

When Isa touched him, she felt all the ache in her waist down. It was excruciating.

"Oh..." she said touching his face "Show me your legs!"

He shook his head as a no.

"I can help, please!" and he pulled his furs out, leaving his legs at sight by the first time "Take a deep breath!"

And he obeyed.

Isa then warmed her hands and touched his lower limbs, massaging one leg at time, intoning old chants while still feeling his pain torture her own body. After moments, his pain got lighter, but it was strong still.

"Come with me, I have herb balms in my chamber that are capable of easing your pain entirely!" she whispered while covering his legs with the fur again "Can you follow me?"

He nodded and then they went to her room. She helped him to lay in the bed and then she got the balms and oils.

"Take your clothes off, please!" she asked after a deep breath.

He obeyed.

She warmed her hands once more before taking part of the balm and part of the menthol oil to spread all over his legs. She was careful not to hurt him while strongly massaging his muscles.

"Now I need you to turn on your belly. I have to take care of you entirely!" and he did what she said, allowing her to almost mount him from the back.

Isa worked on his muscles for a while until she felt that his pain was gone.

"Better?" she asked seeing him relaxed.

"Much. Thank you!" and he turned his back on the bed and saw her smiling.

"Good!" and she leant on him ready to kiss his lips.

Ivar pulled her closer, hugging her and making her lay upon him. His hands traveled across her skin and she knew that he wanted her.

"I won't fuck you yet, Ivar, you know that!" she said touching their foreheads.

"Then let me sleep here. Just sleep!" he asked while kissing her neck.

"You rascal. I help you and all you want is to take me under you!" she giggled.

"I promise I will not try anything!" he kissed her cheek.

"Therefore, you can sleep here with me. I know that you cannot sleep well far from my body!" and she kissed his lips before lean to his side to lie on the bed.

"Oh you smug pet!" he turned to her side and passed his arm on her waist.

"You're welcome, Ivar!" she said while threading her fingers in between his.

He spooned her and then slept smelling the sweet perfume of her hair.

The two sleeping in the large bed close to the fireplace woke up with the sound of the rain in the early morning. They remained in each other's arms during the whole sleep. It has become sort of a habit since the night at the barn although she has left him for months after that. Ivar would never admit, but since she was gone his nights wasn't the same. Watch her sleep every night were soothing for him. Their strange bond also affected him in many ways.

Sleepy, Isa closed her eyes unable to get off the bed and face the cold. It was cozy to have Ivar grabbed on her body, breathing calmly in the gap of her neck. She could get used to that for the rest of her life.

"We need to get up!" he whispered tightening his arms around her.

She shook her head and hummed a negative answer.

"Since when you became so lazy, monster?" he teased after yawn.

"It is not laziness. I just do not want to face the world right now. I am close to paradise here with you. It would be a shame to let it go so easily because we have to continue the raid!" she spoke in a tender voice with eyes still shut.

"Why you always do this to me, Isa?" and he hugged her even more.

"It is because I know that you worth my sweetness and the pain that may come with it. You deserve to see me as I am when I am alone with you and you not try to be tough!" and she slid her fingers through his hair after touching his cheek.

His heart went fast.

"You are waking up things inside me that I did not know that existed. It might be dangerous!" and he brought his hand up to her neck, gripping it with a little strength.

"No worries, brat, I will not tell the world that Ivar the Boneless has a soft side. What would I gain if the women know that you are more up to being Ivar the Tenderness? I rather to have you sweet just for me!" she giggled.

"Look what you do to me, witch!" he giggled too before pressing his hard manhood in her arse.

"It is because your body already knows that you love me!" she said and turned around just to see him flush.

He swallowed in silence, what made her smile.

Isa kissed him softly in the beginning, rolling to be upon him, ready to intensify her act. But, suddenly, someone knocked at the door. She growled before getting up and see who was the inconvenient. It was Hvitserk.

"We are leaving before the noon." he said looking at her transparent raiment.

"I know." she said drawing his attention to her lips.

"We know, brother!" Ivar yelled from the bed.

Hvitserk then entered the room without ceremony just to see Ivar laying naked with his hands on the back of his head.

"I am sorry to frustrate your plans of fucking her this morning, brother, but, as you see, she is claimed!" Ivar said sitting.

"Claimed... Right... I am not a slave to be claimed by none of you. Bite your tongues the both of you!" and she frown a bit angry.

Hvitserk choked a laugh while Ivar shown confusion.

"But I would not fuck you, Hvitserk. You are not worthy. Not until now, not the way I cherish!" she completed.

Then Ivar laughed aloud.

"Maybe some day, big boy. Maybe you change the way I see you!" and she showed him the door so he could leave.

Ivar stop laughing.

"I thought you were mine!" he said when his brother left and she closed the door.

"I am mine until the day I give myself to someone else!" she grinned "Where was I?"

Isa walked towards the bed like a wild cat, crawling upon the furs, ready to kiss him with greed.

"You are fickle. Unbelievable!" he said.

"Hate me then!" she whispered in his right ear making him shiver.

"Do not play with me, woman!" and he grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back.

"Or what?" and she licked his lips.

"You are the evil, Isa, the pure evil!" he said while she sat on his lap.

"And you are harder than before. I really wish you inside me, making me scream your name louder than never. But not before we fight against Ecbert's army." and she bit his lower lip.

"You are going to drive me insane, you fucking monster!" he growled about to bite her neck.

She laughed like a kid.

"Please, Ivar, not my neck. Your beard... I have tickles!" she begged between the giggles.

"Oh, now you say please?" and he continued to bite her slightly while rubbing his morning beard on her skin.

Ivar then put her on the bed and laid on top of her, holding her hands upon her head. At that moment, his member started to touch her in her entrance.

"By the gods, Ivar..." she said still laughing "I want you to fuck me so hard! Fuck!"

"You only have to ask..." he rustled close to her mouth.

Her eyes then went white and her laugh stopped abruptly.

She saw herself losing blood in the battlefield, surrounded by men and women. And from far, she saw Ivar being hit by a spear. Her heart stopped in the moment he fell from his chariot. She came back to herself bursting in tears.

"Ivar!" she sighed and embraced him as strong as possible.

"What did you saw?" he asked worried.

"We shall respect my gods’ will, please!" she said sobbing, hugging him harder, afraid of losing him.

"Isa, what did you saw?" he asked again even more concerned.

"Just lay here with me a little longer, please!" she begged with a clumsy voice.

Then he laid his head in her bust until her calm returns.

[colorful-alien]

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10771929/chapters/23890662

Summary: Death can change a man, how he sees the world and its people, yet he can do nothing for he's no longer part of it. But death is not always so permanent as one has been made to believe, neither is one's predetermined fate.

Especially in the presence of Gods.

Chapter 1: This is not the end    

"...Amen," Athelstan trailed off as he finished the prayer. He felt the looming present before he even saw him among the shadows. But there was no fear only that of peace so he turned with a slight smile at the other. The boatmaker. His end.

"Floki."

"Priest."

The gleam of murderous intent glowed in the viking's coal smeard eyes, glowed like that of the candles surrouding them. The purpouse was clear yet Athelstan felt no need to fight, there was only acceptence and he was ready to meet his end so to begin his beginning.

With the present of his God, whom covered him in warmth and safety, the re-newed Christain turned back to his makeshift cross. "Lord, recive my soul," armed stretched out and head lifted towards the heavens. Athelstan closed his eyes for the final time.

They would meet again, he assured himself, not in their afterlives but as long as Ragnar Lothbrok lived Athelstan would watch him and guide him in the likes of angels.

It does not matter where I go, what matters to me is where you're going.

A roar of wrath broke the silence and an axe swong swiftly and quickly through the air. It all ended and turned eternally black at the sound of a body hitting the ground with a thud.

-

The final grains of dirt fell upon the grave, covering the once vessel of a beloved while the rain cried from above. A shovel plummet into the ground before the man slumped down beside it with a stick in hand, eyes wet with tears to come and chest heavy with unsolvable sorrow.

The christian grave was almost finished, made by supportive and loving hands of a pagan. A heathen in the eyes of the christain faith. Only it's grave mark was momentary absent but the cross was moments away from being made.

But unknown to the grief stricken pagan, a foreign yet known God looked on with approval at the empathetic act of another's religion and wishes.

Such an action was to be rewarded.

As the pagan's lips parted with purpose to speak to the kindred spirit who no longer could hear his words, the heavily being reached out, setting the words on course to be carried to the intended's ears.

-

 "I never knew what a martyr was,"

Eyes open as if waking from heavy sleep. White. At first he flinched harsly and threw up his hands in an attempt to protect his eyes from such overwhelming brightness... yet no pain came. Slowly they dropped and he took in the sight before him.

There was nothing but endless heavenly light, it shone brightly and surrounded him, engulfed him completely. It should leave the observer blind yet he was only left with a feeling of utter bliss.

 "I still don't."

In the distance he heard muffled sounds but they were nothing to the deafening present of the God before him. This was not heaven, he was somewhere else.. In between.. waiting. How such knowledge was bestowed upon him, he did not know. Yet he did not despair at his current placement for he was not alone, his lord, his God was embracing him at this very moment with his grace.

Nothing more could he wish or desire.

Then shadows move over him, above him, leaving trails of coldness where it touches him. The cold is shocking and biting compared to the warm and peaceful caress from his savior. It should leave him shivering but instead it was welcoming and filled him with comfort as from an old friend. He lifted his head high and watched them move through his lord's being. Angling their shapes to gracefully fly passed and around him, to circle him like prey. Their sleek and shiney black feathers contrasting starkly against the whiteness and the beady eyes were wise and knowing.

Odin.

Laughter spilles out of him and it clang joyfully through the air while his eyes grew misty with tears. Beloved gods, one time or another he could feel in his soul that he've abandoned both yet they seem to have never abandoned him in return.

 "You're a brave man Athelstan..."

The muffled sounds in the background broke through and formed words but only one registered.. Athelstan.

His soul is as an empty chamber being filled, bringing him back to who he was... is. It all flooding in like a broken dam, reminding him. Athelstan. His chosen name. He blinked rapidly as if to clear any fog from his sight and in the process lets his tears roll freely down his smiling cheeks.

His lord shines brighter and the ravens caws and beat their wings faster as he fully understand the deep root of his happiness, devotion and love for the gods that surround him. The familiar sounds return to a muffled state and his mind drifted away from it's purpose and towards the Gods.

The blissfulness and loving light shined upon him are the peaceful days of him praying and working to paint words of God into beautiful images. The sharp coldness of the ravens' wings are the comfort of home in the Northlands, where winter is harsh but the crisp air fills his lungs with new refreshing life and the comfort of being pulled back inside by rough and gentle hands which are toasty warm from the heat of the fire.

Clasping togther his hand as to pray Athelstan was unable to keep himself from gazing in awe "My lord," was the breathless words that exhaled from his lips, the very first sound made from him of what felt like years "Odin," Two Gods whom he loved deeply and which he struggled to choice between now stood before him in their godlike glory.

One he choice to no longer acknowledge for that of his later God before meeting his final end.

"I- I'm unworthy of your present," he confessed with guilt and flicked his eyes away in shame but wherever he looked, the black birds were there and were not interested in being ignored. A big raven finally flew at his face causing him to move away in shock before looking up with wide eyes in surprise. It circled above him, his eyes followed as it flew and it's calming movment was as a balm for his guilt. The ever present light of God remain upon him and graced him still with heavinly bliss.

He was forgiven, and eternal peace was within his grasp.

Eyelids dropping, he slowly fell into an adrift. Any questions upon his mind for the Gods fell silent, for time was nothing in this place...

 "Aah Athelstan, I hope you can hear me Athelstan..."

Those sounds again. Coming through the mist of his mind, scratching to get in and be heard even among powerful beings. These were not the words of his Gods..

 "And I'm not just talking to myself."

There was a tug, something inside was feeling a pull. An emotional pull for something he did not know or understand yet yearned to follow. Athelstan's eyes flutter open, the Gods were still around him but he could now hear the noises more closely and clearly. Hear the words being spoken.

 "What?.... Do you think I went too far with Floki?"

There was an echo of a bitter chuckle that followed, filling his ears and making Athelstan's chest tighten in discomfort at hearing such a tone.

 "Can you actually believe, that he thought I would let him lead without my having an agenda?"

Athelstan started glancing around himself in hope of finding the location or direction that this voice was coming from. This voice with such bitterness. But he saw only light and the dark birds within the big vast of emty space that went on endlessly with no end in sight, at least none his mortal eyes could see or even imagen.

 "If I was him, I would worry less about the Gods and more about the.. fury of a patient man. And as well you know, I can be very patient."

There was a sharp throb in Athelstan's tempel and he lifted up a palm to soothe the discomfort only for it to diminish but the voice now groaned and coughed with it's own pain. Athelstan's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and questions formed in his mind.

Who's voice was this? Why did it fill him with such longing, ache and devotion? Such love and need to follow. Why did it feel as if he knew this voice? Someone or something that was immensely important to him. Yet he could not place it? And that in itself felt like a betrayal of trust for forgetting in the first place!

Emotions were rallying inside and he knew not which to feel. The Gods could not hold him, for he was drifting away from them now nor could they soothe his turmoil to reaching whatever was calling him.

Athelstan was slowly floating downwards until his feet meet with the ground. He had not notice before that he'd been extended up into the middle of the air until his soles stood firmly upon something solid once again.

"I wish you were here,"

Body turned cold and Athelstan could hear his own heart beating loudly in his ears, so loud that it felt as if he'd lose his hearing. This voice, he knew this voice. Eyes grew wide and his breath stutter as he spoke the name of his beloved friend "Ragnar," feet started moving, the pull making him walk forward to- what he did not know but he needed to go there.

 "Paris is everything you told me it would be.... And I'm bound and determined to conquer it."

-

Ragnar grew silent after that but the pull inside Athelstan was ever present in both heart and soul, and it encouraged him to keep on walking and to never stop. Luckily he never grew tired or hungry, his feet did not become sore or blistered and time did not effect him for he did not feel it moving.

The Gods thought did not shine nor fly around him as strongly and they weren't as close either but instead behind him a few steps away. Following and watching Athelstan at a distance. He could still feel the warmth of God's holiness and Odin's welcoming cold at his back. Yet he was determined to carry on towards Ragnar and held faith that they would not abandon him for the Gods should know of his devotion to the pagan and that of the bond between them.

While his lord's light remains behind him, it started to dimm before him and the path grew darker for ever step he took.

The ravens flew passed him and into the darkness and soon Athelstan started feeling the breeze against his cheeks, the air around him foggy while it rained and the ground soft with grass. It was night and he realized he was in a forest he have never seen or could not recall visiting.

The pull was stronger than ever before and Athelstan could see a figure on it's hands and knees, groaning and crawling in the distance. It's head turned towards him when he walked through the mist and drizzle. It was Ragnar, who looked sickly and pale with harsh shivers running through the man's body and sweat coating his face.

And Athelstan's cross hung around his neck, swinging with each movement the viking took.

Joy inside Athelstan grew larger and a gentle smile spread across his face at the sight of his friend. When Athelstan came close he offered out a hand for the norseman to take and Ragnar with a smile of his own reached out to take the offered hand. They did not speak for it was not needed, they'll be together once again, side by side.

But before their hands could ever touch Athelstan felt the suddenly present of the Gods appearing behind him, causing both of their actions to come to a halt.

They both watched as Ragnar's lifted hand started dripping blood and a pool of the same red substance appeared underneath the viking, causing Ragnar to then snatched his hand back in shock before curling in on himself upon the ground while shaking and shivering.

Athelstan then felt himself starting to mindlessly walk backwards although he did not wish to move away yet his feet moved against his will. He was being taken back by the Gods. He could do nothing but helplessly be pulled back through the mist and into the light while Ragnar watched him go with a look of anguish and a shaky whisper that called out to him.

"Don't abandon me."

-

In a blink of an eye, Athelstan no longer stood in the living world with Ragnar but instead was back in the vast empty space, only he could feel something was very diffrent this time around. Something in the very air which he knew must be coming from the celestial beings. For what else could be causing it? It was tense with purpose and Athelstan could almost hear the crackling of power around him, it made him instinctively move into a fighting position like Ragnar drilled into him.

Thought his stand didn't last long once he turned to glance around him and eyes landed on a shape a few steps away. Body slacked in shock and he was left speechless. The figure had an uncanny resemblance to Jesus Christ himself, God's son who died for all their sins. Only his face was obscured by the bright light of God that showered down from up above, bathing his son in his grace.

Nothing could have made him tear his gaze away from God's son, he barely even registered the flock of black birds flashing by but what they left in their wake did managed to break the spell and get Athelstan's attention away from Christ. A man, an old looking man with a long white/grey braided beard that reminded Athelstan of the Norsemen. Dressed in dark clothing and a wide-brimmed hat, the man held a tall cane and upon the shoulders were two big ravens that cawed from their seats. And he wore an eyepatch- No, this was not a man but a god.

It was Odin!

Athelstan's eyes flicker between them in wonder and slight disbelief. Previously he had merely felt Odin's present like that of his lord but now faced with the All-father he knew not what to say or do, the same went about God's son. Was this the Odin whom Ragnar had told him the viking had often seen? For the description was very similar to what he've been told by his friend.

Before he could even regain his ability to speak both took a step forward, their steps causing a sharp spike of power in the air and suddenly it grew unbearably bright and the cawing from the ravens turned deafening.

It was unbearable!

Hand flew up and Athelstan griped at his chest in agony as he suddenly felt his heart beating, only it drummed beneath his ribcase without mercy. The intense pain brought him down to his knees and forced him to bend over and making his face almost touched the ground, had he not caught himself with the opposite hand. Although it prove pointless when next it felt as if his head was being crack open forcing him to use the hand holding him up to palm at the newest source of pain.

"Please the pain- Agh!"

Amidst the whitness, red broke through and filled his vision and Athelstan could feel it dripping off him. A puddle had been forming around him in similiar fashion to what he witness happen to Ragnar. He didn't know when it had started but it looked as if a whole person had been drained for the purpous of painting him and the ground in blood. It spread out infront of him and it felt as if he was sinking into it, either that or the blood was rising. He struggled to gain balance and stand up, for his body was like a rock thrown into the ocean, bound to sink.

Finally he slumped to his side, he didn't have the strenght nor the power to stand. The pain was still pulsing through him unmercifully. Warm liquid sloshed around him as Athelstan lifted his head up in hope to see, to understand why he was in such pain and bading in blood but the world around him was a blur of bright white and dark red. Barely making out the two figures a few feet away and the shadows of ravens above were mere black smears without true forms.

There was deep chanting and heavy drums growing in the distance while a cane repeatedly hit the ground, metal clanging from each 'thub' upon the ground. And amist it there was choirs of hymns with voices as light and high as angels' singing.

Then the liquid around Athelstan started to drain away and lessen in amounth, drawing him to look upon the blood which to his shock was moving back to him. He watched as trails of red on his arm retreated from whens it came, leaving no trace of the blood ever begin there. It was as if his body was calling it to itself until there was nothing remaining, no stain nor drops left behind.

And along it the spliting pain upon Athelstan's scalp disappeared just like the blood but in exchange his heart picked up and began beating harsher than previously. Felt as if it was trying to tear itself through bone and flesh, and from beneath breast.

Now it was Athelstan's turn to curl in on himself as Ragnar had done.

The last thing the former-monk did was cry out in agony as his eyes and ears pulsed with pain from the overpowering Gods that never seem to end.

Snapping awake with a loud and desperate gasp for air, hand flying to clung at his chest as Athelstan wrestled to take a breath.

(If you wish to continue reading, please go to link above~)

[valireaupreux-blog]

Solace of Water

Such a strange wood was this; once it had covered nearly half the continent, but now . . . Now it was but a shadow of its former self. Well did Valireau recall that glorious wood, for he had oft slept beneath its boughs, listening to the mirthful voices of the trees in their youth. How the world had changed since those happier days, now as vague and hazy as a passing dream. No longer did the trees sing with joyful voices, no longer did they dance merrily beneath the starlight; now their hearts were stained with bitterness and hostility, made dark by misuse and ill-treatment. Yet it was here, beneath the darkened branches of those ancient and forbidding trees, that Valireau felt most at peace. Perhaps he felt a connection of kindred spirits with those ancient giants, so dark and twisted now by years of torment, betrayal and loss; for was he not also but a darkened shadow of his former self?

Silently the warrior made his way through the winding paths of the dark forest, his tall, elegant figure shining with an ethereal beauty as he moved beneath the shadowed branches, unimpeded by the malice of the trees. Perhaps they sensed in him a creature not unlike themselves; a being who had suffered immeasurable loss and agony throughout the ages and had thus been stained by his torment. One who was not a being of evil will, not truly, but rather one of sorrow. Yes . . . Surely the ancient sentinels of this ancient wood could sense what was in his heart, for they hindered him not, nor attempted to lead him astray. Knowing this granted Valireau a small measure of comfort, for in this forest, so dark and forbidding, he was not alone. Here there was companionship and peace. Here . . . there was acceptance. In the darkness of the forest he felt at home, felt that he belonged. After so many years of wandering in loneliness and grief, unable to call any place home for the way his mere presence unnerved others, it was a blessing to have at least one place where he was not forsaken.

He heard the fall before he saw it, the loud pounding of the water as it beat against the rocks a sweet balm to his tormented soul. As he stepped through the last of the trees in his path Valireau beheld a small pond sheltered in the heart of a secluded glade and fed by a flowing waterfall. It was beautiful. Often did he come to this place, for it soothed his anguished heart. Without hesitation he stripped down to nothing but his leggings and boots, leaving his upper body completely bare, and strode with confidence towards the powerful falls. From the corner of his eye Valireau noticed a faint flicker of gold and green before it vanished amidst the trees.

Her . . .

He was not the only one who came often to this place; frequently would he spy a lovely young lass, golden of hair and clad in green, dancing merrily before the majestic waters, but she always fled upon his approach, no doubt frightened away by the darkness which clung about him like a second skin. He did not care. Let her flee. Better that he be alone, his thoughts undisturbed by the lighthearted capering of a mere girl. Rare were his moments of peace and he would not have them intruded upon; and certainly not by a capricious female. Yes . . . Better that she flee from him, leaving him to dwell upon times gone by in solitude.

Without sparing another thought for the fey lass Valireau leapt agilely atop a large pile of rocks which lined the western side of the waterfall - his favorite spot. There the cool waters flowed over him like a refreshing shower, washing away his misery if only for a moment. As the invigorating spray of water poured over him, soaking his long silver hair and streaming down his bared chest, Valireau recalled a time when he had bathed beneath a different waterfall . . . So many years had passed since last he laid eyes upon his home of old, yet he could remember it well. How glorious were those ancient gardens, long since fallen into ruin, with their shining, silver willows whose branches swayed and danced to the sweet singing of Émilienne as she serenaded them. He could see them yet, so clearly, the flowers . . . Émilienne's heart, her pride and joy; blossoms of every color imaginable blooming across the emerald grass, covering the Garden floor like a blanket and filling the air with their rich, hypnotic fragrance. With perfect clarity he recalled the spirits who dwelled therein and the way they had laughed and danced, flitting merrily beneath the golden boughs of the trees in their play, so joyous and carefree. And the waters . . . ! Ai, how their memory brought a pang of melancholy to his heart, even now . . . So beautiful were the waters of that most ancient of gardens; crystalline and clear, shimmering with the reflected light of the heavens in all their glory. Indeed, so brilliantly did they shine that to Valireau it had always seemed as though the very heavens had descended upon the earth, eager to behold the wonders of the garden for themselves.

Was she there? Did a part of her dance still within that blessed place, beneath the Garden trees, singing for him? Did she wait for him there? Oh, how the memory made his heart ache. How glorious she had been, his beloved Émilienne, within that most cherished of places. Yet all the beauty of the world was made dull in the light of her radiance, so beautiful was she that surely even the Gods wept to behold her. ''Ai, benevolent Twelve,'' Valireau silently prayed, ''if thou wouldst yet grant kindness upon one as tainted and unworthy as I, please . . . Let her wait for me still. Let she who is mine own heart and soul wait for me until I am made whole once again, until the day the Shadow doth be cleansed from me and I am at long last worthy of her. Let her not be lost, beyond my reach or ken, for surely there is chance yet for salvation.''

Did the Twelve hear his desperate plea? Would they answer the prayers of one as tainted as he? May it be so . . .

As the waters beat down upon him, soothing him and easing his torment, Valireau's mind drifted to thoughts of the corruption which stained his soul. This taint was not of his own will, for never would he submit willingly to the Shadow no matter how great the agony of his resistance. He would never yield.

Did she curse him? Was there yet any lingering trace of the woman he had known, or was she lost to the madness? ''Please, let it be not so,'' Valireau silently pleaded, ''Do not let me be forsaken . . .'' He could remember it all so clearly, that terrible day when his world had fallen into shadow and despair. Had she forgiven him for what he had had to do? He could feel her there, but amidst the many wails and cries which resounded inside of him he could no longer discern her voice from the rest. Had the insanity subsided? Was she his Émilienne again? Or had all that she once was been utterly devoured? Was she Émilienne no more? No! Surely it was not so. Surely she remained yet. He would find a way to spare her soul, if nothing else.

There had to be a way . . . He had but to find it. And he would. If it took him an eternity and stole the breath from his lungs, he would find it. All he need do was remember that beloved face as she had been and his resolve became stronger than ever. He would not fail again.

His sorrow eased at last by the fire of determination, his self-loathing fading in the light of Émilienne’s memory, Valireau smiled up at the heavens as the cool water washed over his noble countenance. His soul felt more at peace than it had in ages, the heavy burdens which bore him down seeming lighter. When the day finally came for him to fade from this world surely she would be there to welcome him with open arms and at last his sorrows would be no more.

[loriendragonqueen]

“Say My Name” - Part Two

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Words: 2.593 of 9.054

Warnings: explicit; blood; fight; (when I say it is explicit, man, I mean really explicit, like, almost +21!); bad language maybe; death;

Notes: Guys, I am posting it fast because it is already ready. I hope you enjoy it! And, again, english is my second language, pardon for any mistakes! - Oh, and the welsh lullaby “sung” almost by the end is called “Dinogad's Smock (Pais Dinogad)” and is from the 7th century if I’m not wrong.

  Part One

***

I woke up in a different place. Before I open my eyes, I heard a few voices and I knew I was in the palace. I was not dead after all.

"Arght..." was all I could say turning my head to my left side. I noticed I was alone and my arm was bandaged with pieces of cloth and herbs. I could not remember what happened in that field, but I knew I was changed somehow.

"Water..." I said finally, trying to get up and drink it by myself. Although I thought I was capable of it, I was not. My body was paralyzed from my neck down. I panicked and started to yell as high as possible, feeling the despair run through my core.

"What happened to me? Help! Help!" I said in tears.

Quickly I saw two women coming to my aid.

"Do not move, my lady!" one of them said trying to curb my possible blunt movements.

"What have you done to me?" and I cried even harder.

"The men found you in the open field, wet till the bones, when a lightening stroked you. They thought you were dead. Everybody thought. But you managed to live somehow and here you are, my lady!" the other woman said in a soothing but tremble voice.

"I can't feel my body!" I yelled looking at the ceiling.

"Please, my lady, it is just because of the mushrooms and herbs. Soon you will be normal again. Rest, please!" the first one said giving me what to drink.

"I cannot be a burden, please!" was all I said before I lose my consciousness.

I heard my name being called by many voices and I thought I was still dreaming, so I followed the sounds. I was walking with my bare feet under the moonlight so sweet and gentle, the same one that used to lull me through the windows when I was all alone in my chamber. The moon always made me feel like a fairy embraced by its silver light.

"I am coming, mother!" I said, holding out my hands to the sky to reach the silver ball in the velvety dark.

But, before I could touch it, I was dragged to the ground, so I woke up.

"What in the name of the gods are you doing?" Ubbe asked me almost breathless.

"What happened?" I asked confuse.

"You almost fell in the pit!" he said and I looked around.

We were lying on the floor at the edge of a pit.

"How I ended up here? And..." then I realized that I could feel my limbs, my whole body and I started to laugh with happiness.

"Why are you laughing, you crazy woman?" he asked me peeved.

"I am..." and I stood up "I am feeling my body. I can walk and run, I still can dance. I am not a burden! I am not a burden!" I chuckled, spinning on my own axis like a kid, feeling everything I could.

I felt the dew on the grass wetting my feet. I felt the cold air inflating my lungs and my blood rushing fast through my veins. I felt the pain on my left side, but nothing too bad, for I was not anyone’s burden.

"You are crazy, Elea." and I saw him smiling, perhaps amused at what he was seeing.

"Yes I am!" I said jumping a little in excitement.

"Come, you must rest. Tomorrow will be a good day for you, I wonder!" he said while getting on his feet.

"No, please, I want to be here and watch the sunrise. Please, Ubbe, grant me this wish. I am born again by the hands of the almighty Thor with his lightnings and thunders, allow me to see the sun for the very first time again!" I asked with my hands together as in a prayer, grinning sheer.

He meditated for a few moments and then spoke.

"Fine, you can do that as long as I am with you..."

"Of course!" and I interrupted him.

"Very well, then!" and he took off his furs and putted on my shoulders, for I was only using my sleeping dress.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Ubbe!" so I kissed his cheeks as a sign of gratitude, making him blush a little.

I walked to the place where I found the small shell in the day I died. That little fjord was definitely my favorite place on earth - it was the pillar of my spirit's strength and not even Ivar would change that for me.

"Why this place?" Ubbe asked me when we sat on the small shore.

“Because it is cozy and calm. I feel safe when I am here, like if I was in my true home. Not even my father’s castle used to make me feel like this. Here I am nothing and yet I am everything!” I answered after exhale a long breath.

“So you are finally thinking about here as your home?” he teased me.

“After what happened to me and what I saw in the other side of the veil, I may be compelled to think about your home as mine, indeed!”

“Good. Now you may be ready to be one of us properly. No more a prisoner or a slave, as you used to say. You are our guest, at least mine, to be who you want to be!” he said to me with the moonshining in his clear blue eyes.

“I want to weave my own fate. I want to fight and prove myself. I don’t want to be a weak damsel anymore!”

“Be a shield maiden then!” he said as simple as possible.

“Me? A shield maiden?” and I laughed nervous, embracing my knees “A noble lady from Britain? What a joke I would be!”

“You are brave and strong. I bet you can become one of the best if you practice really hard!”

Ubbe was a good man, the perfect balance between kindness and bravery. He was wise as an old man but intense and, sometimes, imprudent as the young lad he was.

“Are you sure?” I insisted one-step closer to be convinced of that.

“Or you can continue to be the fair lady in distress that you have always been. It is all on you, princess!” he mocked.

“Very well, then!” I just said leaning back to lie on the sand to watch the stars and the moon.

Ubbe did the same and the silence grew strong between us.

“Thank you!” I murmured to him after a long time when the day became to break.

He just nodded at me with a soothing smirk. He became my friend that day.

 "Shield up. Remember that above all!" Ubbe said to me in my first day training.

"My father..." I was about to say when Ivar interrupted from the bench he was in.

"You are losing your time with this christian woman, brother. She'll die soon enough whether you teach her or not." he said mocking acid.

"As I was saying, my father taught me a few things while I was growing. He taught me how to fight according to my size." I said a little ashamed.

"Show me, then!" he said wielding his sword.

"Okay." and I took the sword he gave me to train after I threw my shield on the ground.

He attacked me, at first, with some caution. Then, when he saw that I was able to handle his strength, he fought me as an equal.

My limbs were sore by the end of the training. In my entire life, I have never thought that I would be fighting a man twice my size in the way my father taught me. I was proud of myself. By the end of the day, my left arm was torturing me - the tattoo the lightening gave me was aching in a burning feel. I was only capable to get rid of the pain while I was bathing in a hidden spot in one of the many rivers there. The cold water was my balm and the tattoo stopped aching. From my neck to the tip of my fingers, the burning was gone.

"Look at this!" Hvitserk said to me when I reached the main road back to Kattegat. He was also coming back home from somewhere else when we met.

"What?" I asked confuse.

"Your tattoo." he said smiling "I've never seen a thing like this before!"

"Thor gave me his mark!" I joked chuckling.

"Yes, he gave you. Can I touch it?" he asked me like a curious child.

"Of course!" I said cordially, taking my arm out of my dress and showing him my bare skin.

He touched me from the tip of my fingers to my nape where the marks end. His hands were rough and had some callus from the sword and axe.

"So soft and warm..." and I heard him whisper to himself.

"Yes, soft and warm, thank you!" I said smiling at him, putting my arm back to the sleeve again.

He blushed.

"Who would imagine that you could survive after all your attempts of death?" he scoffed.

"I was a foolish and spoiled brat, but that life does not belong to me anymore. I lived, I died, and I lived again!" and I began to walk again.

"Now, who are you, then? Christian or heathen?" he taunted.

"I am me, prince. Nothing more and nothing less. Is that enough?" and my hands found my hair and started to braid it.

He nodded with a smile and we went back home side by side, talking like if we were old friends.

We arrived at the palace in the beginning of the night. We were laughing like two idiots, something I have never thought that would happen. Before my death, I was so blind, so lost.

"Tomorrow, then, prince. I will defeat you, remember my words!" I said giggling to something he said.

"Do not say that. You started your training today and now you think you are unbeatable. Slow down, Elea!" he laughed too.

"What is so funny?" Ivar asked from beside the hearth.

"Nothing in particular." I answered taking a deep breath to calm me down.

"She thinks that she can beat me!" Hvitserk said before taking some ale from the jug.

"That would be easy, brother, even more if you keep laughing like that. But she couldn't defeat me even in thousand years!" he teased me as a masked challenge.

"Are you trying to make me fight you, Ivar? If yes, you just need to ask!" and I sipped from Hvitserk's jug.

"You are pretty cocky, don't you think?" he said a little peeved.

"Maybe... Or maybe I just like to make you angry. You are really easy to tease, don't you think?" and I giggled before drink again.

His brothers laughed hard.

"It is settled then. Tomorrow we shall fight!" he said and I nodded, making a half obeisance as a sign of agreement.

Somehow I was confident. Something inside me was making me feel unbeatable indeed. I was strong and fast, and I was sure that I would even have a fair draw with him.

That night, I drank with the men and watched them find their way to some beds with fair women. The only one remaining with me at the end was my next day opponent.

"More ale?" I asked him a little dizzy.

He just handled me his cup and I filled it.

"You're welcome, grumpy boy!" I teased in a chuckle, drinking from my own cup.

I saw him frown as an answer.

Distracted by my own hair, I started to sing a song back from my home, the one my mother used to sing for me as a child. With my hair tangled in my fingers I started:

"Peis dinogat e vreith vreith. O grwyn balaot ban wreith. Chwit chwit chwidogeith. Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith. Pan elei dy dat ty e helya; llath ar y ysgwyd llory eny law. Ef gelwi gwn gogyhwc. Giff gaff. dhaly dhaly dhwg dhwg. Ef lledi bysc yng corwc. Mal ban llad. llew llywywg. Pan elei dy dat ty e vynyd. Dydygai ef penn ywrch penn gwythwch pen hyd. Penn grugyar vreith o venyd. Penn pysc o rayadyr derwennyd. Or sawl yt gyrhaedei dy dat ty ae gicwein o wythwch a llewyn a llwyuein. Nyt anghei oll ny uei oradein..."

"What was that?" the voice awoke me from my trance.

"What?"

"What did you sang? What language is this?" he asked me a bit curious.

"My mother used to sing me this lullaby. She was from the south of England, the first daughter of the first duke." I said looking down.

"And what the song says?" and I rose my eyes to find his curiosity.

"Let me think first so I can translate it for you..." and I sipped from my cup again.

I thought for awhile under his impatient gaze, so I finally began to sing again:

"Dinogad's shift is speckled, speckled, it was made from the pelts of martens. `Wee! Wee!', whistling. We call, they call, the eight in chains. When your father went out to hunt - a spear on his shoulder, a club in his hand - He called on his lively dogs, `Giff! Gaff! Take, take! Fetch, fetch!'. He killed fish from his coracle like the lion killing small animals. When your father went to the mountains he would bring back a roebuck, a boar, a stag. A speckled grouse from the mountain, and a fish from the Derwennydd falls. At whatever your father aimed his spear - be it a boar, a wild cat, or a fox - None would escape but that had strong wings."

There was a smile in my lips at the end of the song. Then I noticed that Ivar was almost asleep, so I saw how fragile he still was. A little child dwelling inside him – so vulnerable. Then I stood up and took the cup off his hand, putting it on the table so he could sleep. After that, I followed my path towards my own bed.

In my dreams that night, I saw many women as tall as the trees and as fair as the goddesses. They were wearing battle armor and fighting each other at the top of the mother of the mountains.

"Come, daughter of Thor, my sister!" one of them said to me and I walked towards her.

Then my sleeping gown became armor, as rigid as hers. Suddenly I was as tall as they were.

"I am Elea." I said in low tone.

"We know, kid of a foreign land, we know. I am Thrud, daughter of Thor!" she said handling me a sword.

"I am pleased to know you, my lady!" and I bowed politely. "If you allow me, my lady, what am I doing here in your world?"

"You are here to learn, sister, for you are necessary in the lives of many!" and she attacked me with all her strength, knocking me down to the ground.

"Okay then, my lady!" and I stood up to do as they wanted.

"You shall be great my sister, for the gods has spoken. For you have the blessings and protection of our father. For Odin himself is also looking after you!" she smiled and the golden light shone in her red and blond hair.

"So be it!" I nodded and we started my lessons.