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anyca786 · 8 months ago

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"WE SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THIS."

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/ targcest (brother and sister), ( Rhaenyra x aunt!Targaryen) kissing, cuddles between Rhaenyra and Daenys) Daemon being Daemon.

Series

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto," greeted Prince Daemon with a smirk as the Hand approached.

Otto ascended the tedious steps with a simmering anger, his frustration mounting as he laid eyes upon Prince Daemon and his loyal Gold Cloaks. Mysaria, dressed in resplendent white, stood poised behind the Rogue Prince radiating confidence.

Daemon toyed with the dragon's egg in his hand, tauntingly tossing it back and forth before fixing his gaze mischievously upon the Hand,

"You're to relinquish the dragon's egg, disband your army, banish your whore, and leave Dragonstone by order of His Grace, King Viserys," Otto demanded firmly, his voice laced with authority.

Daemon's eyes flitted to Mysaria, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his gaze, before he surveyed the scene.

The Prince scoffed, 'Where is the King? I don't see him."

"His Grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer's farce," Otto retorted with a slightly annoying smile.

Daemon merely smirked before turning his attention to the knight. "Ser Crispin, was it?"

Ser Criston's expression soured slightly, unimpressed by the Rogue Prince's words. "Ser Criston, my Prince,"' he corrected firmly.

"Ahh, yes, my apologies. I couldn't recall,' Daemon replied dismissively.

Ser Criston's jaw clenched slightly before he retorted, "Perhaps, my Prince, you can recall the moment I unhorsed you."

"Or perhaps, Princess Daenys remembers me," Criston added.

Daemon chuckled," Very well," though his amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

He despised Ser Criston, mainly because the knight seemed to captivate the attention of Daenys and Rhaenyra.

Otto interjected sternly this time, addressing the Prince with a firm tone. "Are you so desperate for the King's attention that you've resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?"

'I'm simply upholding the traditions of my house, just as my brother did for his heir,' Daemon defended himself.

"Those traditions are reserved for the legitimate children of royalty, not for bastards sired on a common whore, Otto retorted, casting a disgusted glance toward Mysaria and sneering in Daemon's direction,

"Lady Mysaria is to be my wife,"' Daemon announced boldly.

Otto stepped forward, his eyes blazing with outrage. "This is an abomination! With every breath, you tarnish your name, your house, and your brother's reign."

"Our love knows no titles or traditions," Daemon countered defianty.

The Hand tilted his head, his expression incredulous. "And what of you, Men of the City Watch, aiding the Prince in his treason?" he demanded, addressing the Gold Cloaks behind the Rogue Prince.

"The King appointed me their commander. Their loyalty lies with me, Daemon asserted confidently. "If you've come for the egg, here it is." He dared the Hand to make a move stretching his arm out toward Otto tauntingly.

"Are you mad? You will never survive this,"Otto warned, his voice tinged with concern.

"Neither will you," Daemon replied calmly.

'To choose violence here is to declare war against your King,' Otto warned sternly.

"Wonderful," Daemon remarked with a smirk, undeterred. "Even if it endangers your unborn child and its mother," Otto added, trying to appeal to Daemon's sense of reason.

But Daemon drew his sword, followed by the Gold Cloaks and the King's guards, ready for confrontation. Suddenly, a deafening growl pierced the air, freezing everyone in place except for Daemon. A peculiar sound that could only belong to one dragon.

Caraxes soared over the castle, unleashing a mighty screech that reverberated through the air. He had come to protect his rider, and Daemon couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

"Lower your weapons, all of you!" Daemon commanded, his tone brooding with no place for argument.

Reluctantly, the guards sheathed their blades.

The sky darkened as Nyx's wings almost cut the sunlight. Nyx sensed her rider's fury as she descended through the clouds, letting out a thunderous roar that echoed across the bridge, alerting those nearby.

Rhaenyra followed behind Syrax, navigating through the thick fog and keeping pace with the much larger dragon.

As Nyx landed a few feet away from Otto, the guards bristled with aggression, but Caraxes 's presence stoked their fears. The two dragons seemed poised for battle until Syrax intervened with a commanding roar, quelling the tension but remaining on edge.

Daemon watched as Rhaenyra and Daenys gracefully dismounted their dragons and strode confidently through the men, making their way toward him and Otto.

Daenys looked irresistible in your tight armour dress.

"What are you doing here, Princesses?" Otto inquired softly, directing his question to Rhaenyra and Daenys, His eyes stayed on Daenys a bit too long. He reaches to grab her arm.

At the sight of this, Daemon narrowed this eyes, feeling a strange pang of possessiveness.

'We're here to prevent bloodshed. There's already enough of it, and drastic measures needn't be taken," Daenys retorted sharply, her gaze strong and calculating, removing the hand of the Hand from her arm.

Otto bowed his head, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Yes, Your Grace," he conceded through gritted teeth.

Daemon wore a small smirk, amused by Otto's discomfort at being rejected by Daenys.

"Ser Criston, please escort Princess Daenys and Princess Rhaenyra back to safety," Otto commanded, attempting to regain control of the situation.

Daenys exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra, bemused by Otto's oversight regarding their dragons

'Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She's rather protective of me." Rhaenyra said. "Nyx is known to be highly possessive of Princess Daenys. Do you wish to lay a hand on the Princess and be burned alive?" Rhaenyra interjected calmly, her tone matter-of-fact, as she passed by Otto and the knights coming face to face with Daemon.

Daenys mirrored Rhaenyra's stance, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she cast a wary eye over the men prepared to intervene if necessary and then to Daemon's, casting a challenging look.

'My father named me the Princess of Dragonstone. That is my castle you're living in, Uncle," Rhaenyra asserted firmly.

"Not until you come of age," Daemon countered dismissively, a smirk played on his face when Daenys rolled her eye.

"You have angered your King," Rhaenyra interjected, her fury evident in her tone.

Daenys stepped forward, her arms folded across her chest. "Indeed, He's quite angry," she added pointedly.

"Hm," Daemon responded nonchalantly.

Daenys's gaze then drifted to Mysaria, who stood nearby. The raven-haired woman exuded a captivating beauty, and Daenys found herself strangely insecure that Daemon chose Mysaria over her.

Caraxes roared happily when he sensed the presence of Daenys and Nyx, and in return, Nyx roared back at him.

Daemon concealed his smirk, thinking about how his dragon has a special bond with Daenys as well.

"Rhaenyra shared a cradle with a dragon. Rhaenyra's hatched.. although yours and mine did not. I want the same for my child to have an egg when he is born,"

Daemon stated, causing Daenys to step forward and address him sternly. "So, are you to have a child?" Daenys inquired in High Valyrian, her tone laced with jealousy.

Daemon looked at her, his gaze softening as if he were envisioning his future. His future was standing right in front of him. The only person he had always wanted to spend the rest of his life with was someone he couldn't have, not just yet.

"One day," he replied cryptically. Mysaria walked away and disappeared back into the castle.

'I'm right here, uncle. The object of your ire, the reason you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you'll have to kill me. So do it, and be done with all this bother,' Rhaenyra spat defiantly at her uncle, her words laden with bitterness, but that intrigued Daemon.

Daemon's shoulders slumped, and he tossed the egg toward Rhaenyra, who caught it before storming back inside the castle, shooting one last glance at Daenys.

The two princesses shared a knowing smile before eventually placing the egg in the care of the Dragon Keeper.

They mounted on their dragons and made their way back to King's Landing.

🥀

'I've decided to take a new wife,' he continued, glancing at Rhaenyra, who offered him an encouraging smile. However, the next words that left his lips sent shockwaves through Daenys, causing her to nearly lose her balance, with Rhaenyra hastily grabbing onto her for support.

"l intend to marry the Lady Alicent Hightower before spring's end." Viserys declared.

Rhaenyra snapped her head toward Alicent, who attempted to feign shock, but Daenys could see through her facade.

As Rhaenyra's gaze shifted to Daenys, she could see the shock mirrored in her aunt's expression, though it was quickly replaced by a tight mask of anger.

Daenys seethed, her eyes shooting daggers at Otto. The Hand's lips twisted into a barely noticeable upward grin.

Rhaenyra wasn't sure who to direct her anger towards, but when Alicent stared at her whilst Otto stared at Daenys with wavering emotions.

Rhaenyra's rage kicked in, prompting her to grab Daenys arm firmly. "Excuse both of us," she declared, her voice strained with anger and hurt.

"Rhaenyra! Daenys"' Viserys protested, while Corlys stood up from his chair, his voice rising in frustration.

Daenys stormed out of the room, with Rhaenyra following closely behind. Hot tears streamed down Rhaenyra's cheeks as she seethed with anger. Daenys attempted to calm the dragon princess as she gently wiped her eyes.

"Rhaenyra," she murmured, "Sweetheart, I didn't know any of this would happen," her voice filled with sadness for her niece.

"| know, you never lied to me. You're the only one in this fucking family who tells me the truth and cares about me" Rhaenyra spat, she was so angry.

Rhaenyra hugged Daenys, whilst Daenys placed a kiss on top of her head.

After confronting Alicent, Rhaenyra went straight to Daenys's bedchamber.

Rhaenyra entered Daenys' bedchamber, the dim candle light casting long shadows. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, feeling the weight of the day's stresses lift from her shoulders. The room was quiet, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the candles.

She took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of the home, the scent of Daenys.

Daenys stirred from her sleep. "Daemon?" Her voice was incredibly low, barely audible. "Who's that?" Her voice now louder.

"It's me," Rhaenyra replied.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Daenys' voice softened, laced with concern.

Rhaenyra walked towards her and sat on the bed, Daenys sitting up. Her gorgeous long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her thin nightgown barely covered anything beneath.

Rhaenyra's expression turned into lust as she eyed Daenys.

"What happened with Alicent?" Daenys inquired softly, pulling Rhaenyra out of her trance.

"I hate her," Rhaenyra replied simply, seeking comfort in Daenys' arms. Daenys welcomed her in, wrapping her arms around her.

"It's okay," Daenys whispered, stroking Rhaenyra's hair. "I'm here for you."

They sat in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's company. Then,Rhaenyra perked up and kissed Daenys softly on the cheek.

Her heart raced as she turned to face Daenys and leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Daenys as she closed her eyes, letting herself be swept away by the moment.

Their kiss deepened, and Rhaenyra's hands began to explore Daenys's body, pushing her nightgown off the shoulder, exposing her heavy breast.

"Nyra..." Daenys whispered, her voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra deepened their kiss, a wave of warmth spread through Daenys body as Rhaenyra massages her breast, slightly tugging her pink nipples.

Daenys felt a sense of connection with Rhaenyra that she had never experienced before.

Their hands moved instinctively, exploring each other's bodies. Daenys ran her fingers through Rhaenyra's hair while Rhaenyra traced circles on Daenys's bare back.

Their passion grew, and their kisses became more intense and sloppier.

When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless. They looked into each other's eyes, their hearts racing.

But then, a wave of doubt washed over Daenys. She had acted impulsively, and she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. She pulled away from Rhaenyra, her expression filled with regret.

"Nyra.. I'm sorry," she said. "We shouldn't have done this."

Rhaenyra's smile faded, replaced by a look of hurt. "Why not?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Daenys hesitated, searching for the right words. "I... I don't know. It's not right. You're a child, Rhaenyra"

Rhaenyra's heart ached,"We can talk about it later." She said as she reached out and wrapped her arms around Daenys.

Daenys stiffened at first, but then she slowly relaxed. Rhaenyra snuggled deeper into Daeny's embrace, feeling a sense of comfort wash over her.

They lay together for a long time, their bodies pressed close. Slowly, the tension began to melt away. Rhaenyra felt a sense of peace wash over her, a sense that everything was going to be okay. Eventually, both fell asleep.

A/N: Talk about having a bad week. I broke my glasses, my phone screen got damaged, and my charger exploded :((

Anyways, Daemon x Daenys x Rhaenyra?! I mean, Aegon the conqueror, had 2 wives 😏

Send ideas, having a writers block.

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd daemon #daemon targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #tumblr

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ratanslily · 3 months ago

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Just Ask.

Book: hsr. Pairing: AnnaLane. Ratings: G. Words: 782-ish. Warnings: none, just fluff. A/N: ooc to the max I'm sorryyy. Dmitry being a grumpy older brother. Tags: @rc-catalog Feb 7: only one bed | blanket-sharing, a gift for @agattthaa happy valentine's and fck aleksandra‼️

"Are you serious, General? No girl advice for me? You're a freaking general. Kira is literally all over you."

Anna fixes her brother with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. To which he just sighs and shrugs his shoulders.

"C'mon, Anna. I have more work than being a matchmaker for you. Just, I don't know. Kiss her or something. Get her to cuddle you. I've literally put you both in the same room, what else can I do for you?"

"Ugh, fine. I'll handle it myself."

And that's how Anna found herself in front of Lane's bed, cooking up all sorts of excuses to get into hers.

"You see, my bed's all wet. I dropped tea over it and I would appreciate it if you could just-"

"-Let you sleep in mine?"

"I- Yeah. Exactly. If that's fine by you, I suppose."

".."

Lane isn't exactly comfortable sharing her space with others, but.. it's Anna. She's been sharing her outfits with her selflessly, so why shouldn't she share her bed with her? It's just for one night, right?

Right.

She scoots over, making way for the scientist to slip under the heavy blanket, onto the warm bed, leaving enough space for her to fit in comfortably.

"Thanks."

Anna watches as Lane pulls the blanket over her, and traps them underneath it, a world of their own, cut off from everything. From Rotkov, from abominations, from heaven and hell. Their shared space, warm and comforting.. theirs alone.

Maybe she should initiate something?

"Kiss her or something. Get her to cuddle you."

Dmitry's words ring in her mind. But damnit, how the hell should she do that? She's right there in front of her, so close. Just one lean forward, and her nose will touch the mole on her face. So close, just one, oh one freaking step! But she only manages to say, over the beat of her heart pounding in her ears,

"It's cold."

"I know."

"Can I come closer?"

"Wait. Stay there, I'll do it."

Lane shrugs, and scoots closer to her nonchalantly.

"Better?"

Anna sees a chance, and grabs it. She responds by placing her arms on Lane's waist.

"Yes. Now, better."

Theres a certain satisfaction in seeing Lane's usually relaxed eyes widen that bit. Her usually composed body, now tensing up at the contact. Her cheeks turning red from brown. Her breathing turning deep, apparent by the way her chest heaves. It makes her feel oddly satisfied. She did.. that. She caused it.

She wonders how far can she go. How far she'll allow her to go. Will she allow her to cuddle her? To press herself onto her warm body? To rest her head on her heart? To feel it beating wildly, mirroring hers?

A kiss, maybe?

Only one way to test it out..

Anna musters her courage. Under the proximity of the blanket, she inches closer, and closer, like the first snowflake drifting through the misty air from the cloudy sky.

It feels like forever, it feels like time is stuck in place, as if watching them get closer herself.

And finally, the snowflake lands onto the warm ground, melting into it.

...Finally, her lips meet Lane's soft ones, her lipstick giving off a sweet scent.

At first, she's scared. What if she pushes her away? What if she gets disgusted? What if, she doesn't want to kiss her back?

BUT her fears were for nothing!

Lane blinks a very "what are you doing?" look, but kisses her back anyway, as if starving for this very moment since the moment she stepped into their lair. Her hands in her hair, Anna's bangs tousled from the action. From where does her body end, and from where does hers begin? She doesn't know. All she knows is the feel of her lips on Lane's and her tongue mingling with the latter's. Her hands go up her back, feeling her spine, feeling each curve, each bone, feeling her arch against her.

Sheets rustle, and Anna wraps her legs around her waist, drawing her even closer.

So hot, so intense.

maybe, even too hot.

Unfortunately, Anna's glass fog up, which is how their kisses stop, and they pull away from each other, Lane suppressing a chuckle at that.

It was a cute sight, Anna taking off her glasses, and frantically rubbing it against her shirt to clear it off.

"Why on earth would you wear glasses to bed?"

"To see you better, duh."

"Contact lens exist. And you like them."

"Eh. Uncomfortable while sleeping."

"And glasses are comfortable for that?"

To which Anna doesn't have an answer. She got her there. Why did she even not notice her glasses were still on? Maybe it slipped though her mind..

"And just so you know, I saw you dumping your tea over your bed.."

Uh, yikes. Awkward.

"Well."

"If you wanted us to share a bed.."

Lane continues, entwining her fingers with hers and looking into her eyes.

"You could just ask, you know."

And that was all Anna needed to hear.

#romance club #Rc anna #Rc hsr #heaven's secret: requiem #T fic tag #rc catalog vday #Agatha ��🏼‍♂️

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j-eryewrites · 9 months ago

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The Great Game (III)

Part 21 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: ~10.8k

Author's Note: Tensions rise, and the threat of M continues to loom over their heads. When pulled too tight, things are bound to break.

It's almost the end. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I finished it around midnight, so forgive any typos and whatnot. Without further ado, I present the second-to-last chapter of Arbitrary Lives.

Warnings: Supreme angst, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (but in the worst way), mentions of death, character death, mentions of gore, firearms, language, yandere relation themes, drugging (Let me know if I missed anything)

Case after case was how it seemed to go when Sherlock, John, and Y/N were racing against the mysterious M. Every time Sherlock would solve a puzzle given to him, the pink phone would ring moments later, presenting a new one. With each chime of the telephone, Y/N found herself getting more and more anxious. M was bigger than anything they'd ever seen; worst of all, they had no clue who they were. M seemed to operate from afar, offering their advice on cases of the illegal type, allowing M the anonymity to be anyone and be anywhere. For all Y/N knew, M could be some sick person stuck in their parent's basement on the other side of the world. Even so, M seemed one step ahead and knew every step they had taken.

Sitting upon a plush, gray, white striped couch beneath her served more comfort than she'd like to admit. Sherlock had sent her and John on another goose chase after, yet again, another call from their tormentor. While Y/N was lost in thought, petting the hairless cat on her lap, John took the lead in questioning Kenny, the brother of Connie Prince.

The two had done as much research as they could, which turned out to be a few newspaper articles, the bizarre gossip and facts they had gathered from Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, the Wikipedia pages on Connie. Once they put all their research together, they discovered they found a plethora of ways to tell which colors suited oneself and which ones brought out the sick in one's skin tone, but not much about Connie and her brother.

A loud and content purr vibrated from the naked cat as Y/N's hands caressed its head and neck. Upon hearing the meow, John raised his brow, trying to hide his concern. The creature sitting on Y/N's lap was not a cat. John had seen Bjørn, and Bjørn was a cat. Y/N's pet had fur and a bush-brown tail. If anything, the Prince's cat was an abomination in his mind.

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince sighed as he carefully placed his arm on the mantle behind him, leaning ever so slightly. As John withdrew his eyes from the fur-less animal, he found his brows pinching together as Kenny Price posed. "Of course we are." Kenny waved his hand and dramatically looked to the side with a somber expression.

To say the least, John was confused. First, there was the cat. He didn't want to give that thing another thought. Secondly was Kenny's posing. Why was Kenny posing unless he was trying to...His finger brushed against something hard, and John scolded himself. The camera. They had brought a camera. Y/N had proposed they be reporters to gain an interview with Kenny. John would be the reporter and Y/N the photographer. Kenny was posing for candid photos for their article.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" a voice spoke from behind John. It was Raoul, Kenny's staff member.

He whirled around and replied, shaking his head. "Er, no. No, thanks."

"And what about you, miss?" Raoul asked Y/N, who absently shook her head. Her fingers were still petting the cat.

"Raoul is my rock," Kenny admitted, still holding his position. "I don't think I could have managed. We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

A light pressure pushed down on John's thighs. Glancing down, he noticed the cat was no longer on Y/N's lap but his. A wave of disgust trembled through his body. With stiff fingers, he picked it up and dropped it on the other side of the couch where Y/N sat. The cat meowed in discontent, stepping back over to John. John shivered at the cat's relentless attempts and held out his arm as a barrier.

"And–," John said, trying to continue Kenny's conversation and retain the purity of his own lap as it was reserved for Bjørn. "-and to the public, Mr. Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," Kenny continued. Meanwhile, his cat pounced over John's barrier and clung onto his lap. With a wince, John placed a hand on the cat's back. It happily purred. "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

"Absolutely," John muttered, hiding his grimace. He flashed Y/N a look, but she found gazing at Kenny Prince's coffee table intriguing. He frowned as concern for his friend bubbled to the surface. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. Not just physically from all the running around they have been doing lately but also as exhaustion of the emotional sort. John was not blind to Sherlock's actions, and it didn't take a fool to see that Sherlock was cold. His mind was solely occupied with M and the puzzles that he was given, which meant he didn't have much concern for others. It was not that he usually did, but with Y/N, it was different. She meant something to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth to whisper something to Y/N when he noticed Kenny's voice was absent. Right, John corrected himself. He was here about the case. The sooner he was done with this, the faster he could help both of his friends.

"It's more common than people think," John began. "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...," Kenny Prince plopped down between Y/N and John. The sudden jolt of the couch awoke Y/N from her daze. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Kenny's as he leaned into John, invading his space even more than hers. "...treated..." John finished, scooting as far away from Kenny as he could.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny confessed, leaning even closer to John.

"Right," John said, biting the inside of his cheek. He peered over Kenny's shoulder and saw Y/N. They shared a look that screamed discomfort, but they could do nothing as Kenny pushed them into the sides of the sofa. As Kenny continued speaking, John and Y/N's eyes held a secret conversation, mainly curses and discontent with the situation.

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely....," Kenny's voice trailed off as his eyes never left John. "...but it's not the same without her."

Before replying, John took a deep breath and stared down at his notes. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny said.

"Right," John gulped.

"You fire away," Kenny uttered. His longing gaze not once left John. The longer the conversation continued, the more uncomfortable Y/N felt; she could only imagine how John felt. Here was Kenny Prince, after his sister's death, flirting with John. Y/N observed Kenny staring at John, making her feel like a forgotten third wheel to a nonconsensual flirting session. She had to come to his rescue. She'd done it before with lots of her friends back home. It would be easy, so long as she could get off the couch, which's cushions were sucking her in deeper.

Before John could ask any of his questions and Y/N could rescue him from unwanted attention, a buzzing echoed from her back pocket. Kenny turned over his shoulder to look at her as if she had interrupted a vital moment. She smiled awkwardly, shoved herself off the sofa, and answered her phone.

"Y/N," Sherlock's voice rang over the phone.

"You know, one usually starts a call with hello," Y/N muttered.

"Right, hello," Sherlock's voice oozed with sarcasm.

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. Y/N furrowed her brows. "Is there a reason you called Sherlock?"

On the other end, Sherlock struggled to find a response. He had practiced his excuse beforehand. Well, it wasn't much of an excuse, more of a warning. Even so, after hearing her voice, Sherlock had forgotten everything. He mentally reprimanded himself for falling back into his sentiment so quickly. Y/N needed to be safe, so he had to push her away. A task that only seemed to grow more impossible with each breath she took.

John's eyes widened upon hearing Sherlock's name, and his escape was revealed to him. Shooting out of his seat, he snatched the phone from Y/N, quickly apologized, and began speaking to Sherlock. "Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something," John breathed. Sherlock found himself missing Y/N's sweet voice. "You'll ne-" John was cut off by the loud footsteps barging into the room.

Confusion plastered onto his face, and he hung up the phone. After all, there was no need to speak through a phone when Sherlock stood in the same room as him.

"That'll be him," John said, pointing at Sherlock. Kenny Prince looked even more shaken than the consulting detective's friends were at his sudden appearance. However, the longer they pondered his arrival, the more John and Y/N realized this was normal for the great Sherlock Holmes.

"What?" Kenny asked, looking at the unwelcome guest in his home.

There was a calculated look on Sherlock's face before any trace of the consulting detective was washed away and replaced with a new persona. Y/N sighed as her legs lowered her body into an armchair nearby.

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock took out his hand for Kenny to shake.

"Yes," Kenny nodded, standing up to take Sherlock's hand.

"Very good to meet you," Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, thank you," Kenny said, still trying to figure out the situation.

"So sorry to hear about...," Sherlock continued, but Kenny cut him off.

Mr. Prince waved his hand, stopping Sherlock from offering false condolences about the situation. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Shall we, er..." John cleared his throat, stepping over to Sherlock. He motioned for Sherlock to lean down before whispering in Sherlock's ear, "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock couldn't help but notice the smirk that appeared on his face. "Oh yes?"

"Yes," John nodded.

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked, bringing his hands together.

John, Sherlock, and Y/N frowned and watched as Kenny pointed to the camera on the sofa. Y/N grabbed it and removed the protective lens, turning it on. "Um, yes. Can you...?" she said, twirling her finger in the air, pretending to be a journalistic photographer.

"Not too close," Kenny warned as he returned to his original stance by the mantle. "I'm raw from crying." Then he lifted his head and posed for the camera, letting Y/N take a few pictures.

Beneath Sherlock's feet, Kenny's cat meowed. It butted its head against his dark trousers causing Sherlock to frown. He tilted his head as he peered at the cat. He wasn't sure if that's what he should call it.

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock wondered as he motioned to the feline.

"Sekhmet," Kenny answered, finding a new pose for Y/N to capture. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How nice! Was she Connie's?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Kenny nodded, taking pride in his response. Little present from yours truly." Then John smelled it as Kenny picked up Sekhmet, and the ominous smell of disinfectant seeped from the hairless cat. John smiled as the piece clicked into place.

"Actually," John turned to Kenny, tapping Y/N on the shoulder. "I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us."

"What?" Kenny gasped as saw Y/N place the camera strap over her shoulders and return the protective lens to its place.

"Sherlock," John sternly stated, raising his brows to say he'd solved it.

"What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to interpret John's signal.

"We've got deadlines," John said, pushing his two closest friends out of Kenny Prince's living room. This left behind a puddle of confusion for Mr. Prince and his sister's cat.

_____

Once Raoul had closed the door behind them, John erupted in cheers. Triumphantly, John raised his fist in the air and then brought it down, doing a little happy dance. Y/N smiled and giggled at the sight.

“Yes! Ooh, yes!” John laughed. He turned to Sherlock and froze.

One look from Sherlock swiftly ended John's parade. “You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat,” Sherlock corrected.

John shook his head in disbelief. “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.” John whirled around to face Y/N, seeking backup, but found none.

“Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on,” Y/N admitted. “I just took pictures.”

A knowing smirk crept onto Sherlock’s face. “Lovely idea, John.”

“No,” John adamantly said. “He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have...”

“I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm,” Sherlock announced, “but it's too random and too clever for the brother.”

“He murdered his sister for her money,” John said as his smile was wiped from his face.

“Did he?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Didn't he?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. It was revenge.”

“Wait,” Y/N interjected. “Revenge? Who wanted revenge? I know his sister wasn’t the nicest to him, but even so, Kenny seemed…genuine?”

“Raoul, the houseboy,” Sherlock began explaining the case. He straightened his coat collar and stood taller, glancing down at his friends. “Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough and fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so...”

John shook his head, still in denial. “No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?”

“Raoul keeps a very clean house,” Sherlock noted. “You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's Internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.”

Sherlock peered up and down the street. There wasn’t a cab in sight.

“Well, we could always walk back to the station or hop on a bus-“ Y/N suggested. Then, as if by divine intervention, a cab pulled onto the street. The trio hastily hailed the cab and jumped inside.

It did not take them long to arrive at the station. Traffic was horrible on the streets, but with a hefty bribe to the cab driver, they were bursting through the door of Lestrade’s office faster than Mrs. Hudson could flick on the latest episode of her favorite soap opera.

A wave of black trickled majestically after Sherlock as he entered the office. “Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince. It was botulinum toxin.”

Lestrade sat up in his seat and sifted through the numerous papers on his desk. Finding the second autopsy report, his eyes scanned the results. His eyes widened. Sherlock was right.

“We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself,” Sherlock said.

“So how'd he do it?” Lestrade asked.

“Botox injection,” Sherlock answered.

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned, raising his brows. After all, it was not every day that someone was murdered with Botox.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,” Sherlock explained. “Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's Internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.” Sitting across Lestrade, Sherlock swiftly crossed his legs and dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“You sure about this?” Lestrade asked in confirmation.

Instead of Sherlock’s voice answering, Y/N spoke up. “He is,” Sherlock peered up at her and felt his cheeks heat up. “Connie was an avid Botox user. It was all on the blogs and magazines. No one would bat an eye at the injection sights or if Botox turned up in the autopsies.”

Lestrade nodded his head, “All right.”

“Sherlock,” John slowly said. “How long?”

“What?” Sherlock questioned as he snapped out of his daze.

“How long have you known?” There was hurt evident in John’s voice.

Y/N looked between the two of them. “Wait, you’re saying you sent John and I on a goose chase?”

Sherlock shrugged, letting John and Y/N’s confusion and hurt fly over his head. “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

“No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman,” John uttered. “She's been there all this time.”

“I knew I could save her,” Sherlock replied as he began to type on the small pink phone.

. “I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!“ Sherlock cheered.

Like clockwork, the phone rang, and Sherlock answered. “Hello?”

“Help me,” the old woman whispered.

“Tell us where you are. Address,” Sherlock looked over to Lestrade, who had his team on standby.

“He was so... His voice...,” the woman began to describe.

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened, and he grew pale. “No, no, no, no,” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.” There was a desperation in his voice that Y/N had only heard a few times.

Sherlock was rarely desperate unless something dangerous was happening. She recalled the terror that trembled from his chest during the night in the museum-the night Sulin died. It was the very voice he had when he clung to her after Hilton Cubitt was killed.

Panic coursed through Y/N’s body, constricting her lungs. Sherlock was scared, and so was she.

“He sounded so... soft-“ the caller was cut off and the horrifying sound of the dial tone screeched in Sherlock’s ear.

Lestrade furrowed his brow and approached the stunned consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“What's happened?” John questioned.

However, Sherlock couldn’t hear any of them. The pink phone was still glued to his ear, and his blue eyes began to fill with a salty ocean. Even in the blur, he found Y/N. She stood with her hands clutching her heart, her face in pain and shock. As he sought comfort in her presence, his fears were confirmed.

This was a game for monsters and freaks. M had made that clear. The woman over the phone was human. She cared enough to speak up. In turn, she died. She was a chess piece in a game ruled by freaks like him. M had made his move. The botulinum that killed Connie Prince wasn’t a mistake. It was a threat. M was going to take his queen. His most important player. It wasn’t a mistake that Carl Powers' shoes were found in her flat. It wasn’t a mistake. He was also killed by botulinum. Through his cloudy eyes, Sherlock saw clearly now.

Sherlock had to remove his queen from the chessboard before M could steal her from him forever.

______

Y/N should have found comfort in the worn leather of the sofa and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. Steam rose from her cup as the cold air of Sherlock’s flat cooled her tea.

Mrs. Hudson had made it for her, John, and Sherlock. The brown liquid swirled in her cup, with small herbs dancing around. Mrs. Hudson always made tea for them with the secret ingredient of love. Love was precisely what Y/N needed as the television echoed the horrific news.

“The explosion,” the reporter announced, “which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people. It is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”

“He certainly gets about,” John sighed, stirring the tiny spoon in his tea.

“Well,” Sherlock began. “Obviously, I lost that round.”

Y/N bit her tongue. Twelve people had died, and Sherlock was still playing the game. She fought back tears as anger boiled to the surface. Sherlock had a heart, but the more he spoke, the more she thought she’d been wrong.

“Although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him,” Sherlock explained. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d'you mean?” John asked.

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all,” Sherlock said, thinking back to all the cases M had given him so far. “He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?” John’s voice wavered. “So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?”

“Novel,” Sherlock muttered.

Y/N scoffed. “Sounds like a demented version of what you do.” Sherlock cocked his brow. “I mean, you’re a consulting detective. People come to you wanting their cases solved. Maybe he’s a consulting criminal?”

Sherlock nodded, feigning interest. “Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said as he checked the pink phone.

John cleared his throat. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied. “Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.”

“ Have you checked outside of his class?“ Y/N proposed. John and Sherlock looked at her with confusion.

“I doubt anyone outside of Carl Powers’ class would-“ Sherlock replied.

“But what if he was a bully? I know that victims of bullying will sometimes fight back and m-“ Y/N explained.

“Bully?” John repeated.

“Yeah, I just…,” Y/N said. “I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. There was a reason Carl died, and M brought it to our attention.”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed before asking Lestrade to expand his search on Carl Powers' schoolmates.

“So why's he doing this, then –” John asked Sherlock. “Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?”

“I think he wants to be distracted,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

“I hope you'll be very happy together,” John murmured.

Sherlock frowned and stepped towards John. “Sorry, what?”

“What I think John is trying to say is that there are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives...” Y/N softly spoke. “What if that was John. What if it was me?”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and winced at her comment. He wasn’t going to let it be her. He didn’t care how many pawns he lost. So long as his queen was safe and away from the game, he’d be alright.

“Just so I know,” John asked. “Do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock spat.

“No, but…,” Y/N replied.

“Then I'll continue not to make that mistake,” his voice rose, startling Y/N, and his heart broke. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to. This was the first step: convincing her he had no heart.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John growled, stepping up to Sherlock. Their chests puffed as they glared at each other.

“John, Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded. “Let’s not fight, please-“

“Yes, very,” Sherlock scowled. “Is that news to you?”

“No. No,” John shook his head and stepped back, pinching his brow.”

“I've disappointed you,” Sherlock observed.

“That's good,” John mumbled, “that's a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don't make people into heroes, John,” Sherlock coldly stated. “Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.”

John sighed. All hope he had for Sherlock fled his mind. John scolded himself for thinking Sherlock had some semblance of empathy. He was sure his and Y/N’s presence had some sort of effect on the consulting detective. Sherlock had begun to care. He’d seen it with his eyes as he rescued them from the tunnel during the Blind Banker case. There was no mistaking it. Sherlock cared for them, but his game with M made John even more concerned. With each task M gave them, John drew more and more connections. Sherlock and M were too similar, and John feared losing his best friend to the monster.

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaimed the moment the pink phone buzzed with their newest case.

Despite their flaming frustration with the detective, John and Y/N crowded around the phone, peering down at the photo.

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo,” Sherlock noted before turning to his friends. “You check the papers,” he instructed John. “I'll look online...”

“Oh, you're angry with me,” Sherlock paused, looking at John. “…so you won't help.”

John only sighed. Of course, he was going to help. People's lives were on the line, and he was a doctor. There was no way John wouldn’t do his best to save anyone he could. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Y/N before taking a newsletter.

“Archway suicide,” Y/N read.

Sherlock shrugged. “Ten a penny.”

Y/N bit her lip at Sherlock’s nonchalance.

“Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington,” John repeated as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slammed his computer shut. “Nothing,” he grumbled.

Y/N and John jolted at the sound, and within an instant, Sherlock had retrieved his phone and dialed Greg’s number.

“Gary, It's me,” Sherlock announced. “Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s face upon hearing Lestrade’s words. John and Y/N needed no warning. They reluctantly got to their feet and reached for their coats.

_____

“D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?” Lestrade asked, staring down at the drenched body on the ground.

“Must be. Odd, though...” Sherlock pulled out the pink phone. “He hasn't been in touch.”

Lestrade frowned. “But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. He tried not to notice the way Y/N shivered under her coat. He was tempted to hand her his scarf.

“Any ideas?” Lestrade wondered.

Sherlock tilted his head and bit his lip, counting all the ideas. “Seven... so far.”

Lestrade’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Seven?!”

Standing up from his crouch on the ground by the body, John relayed the information he had gathered. “He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked Lestrade.

Greg shrugged. “Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.”

John nodded at Lestrade’s answer. “Yes, I'd agree.” Then, stepping over to Sherlock and Y/N, John continued. “There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.”

Sherlock’s eyes followed where John had pointed out the injuries. Leaning down towards the body, he began to make his observations. “Fingertips,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Then Sherlock stood up and pulled out his phone. His feet swiftly began to trek away from the body. Greg, John, and Y/N followed along in confusion.

“In his late thirties, I'd say, not in the best condition. He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake,” Sherlock stated.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, with instructions readied. “We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates...”

Lestrade shook his hands and head at the same time. Quickly, he jumped in front of Sherlock, interrupting his path to the cab awaiting them. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?”

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance, and Sherlock pocketed his phone. “It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Okay,” Lestrade calmly said. His hands returned to his side. “So what has that got to do with the stiff?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a grin flashed across his face. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” He asked his companions.

“Golem?” Y/N repeated. “You mean the magical creature that-“

“No,” Sherlock said, shutting down her idea.

“It's a horror story, isn't it?” John guessed. Sherlock nodded.

“A horror story?” Y/N wondered. “What are you saying?”

“Jewish folk story,” Sherlock explained. “A gigantic man made of clay.”

“So I was right. Sort of…” Y/N interjected.

“It's also the name of an assassin,” Sherlock continued. “Real name: Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Lestrade questioned.

“Definitely,” Sherlock confidently said. “The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

Lestrade grimaced. “But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see...”

“You do see,” Sherlock hissed. “You just don't observe.”

“All right, all right, girls, calm down,” John began, but Y/N shot him a look. “Sorry, Sherlock calm down,” John corrected. “Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?”

Y/N placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and peered up at him. With a soft smile, she reassured him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began. “What do we know about this corpse?” He raised a brow and looked at the three of them. “The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal; maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Lestrade guessed.

“Construction worker?” Y/N wondered.

“Security guard?” John said, throwing his guess into the air.

“More likely,” Sherlock agreed. “That'll be borne out by his backside.”

“Backside?!” Lestrade’s mouth gaped open.

“Flabby,” Sherlock noted. “You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.”

“Why regular?” Lestrade questioned. “Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?”

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head. “The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.”

Sticking his hand into the man’s pant pocket, Sherlock pulled out a wad of small papers. “Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, awaiting a response from anyone.

“Tickets?” Y/N said after glancing at the papers.

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” Sherlock pointed to the dead man on the ground. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.”

“Fantastic,” John complimented.

“Meretricious,” Sherlock mused.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg blurted.

Y/N raised a brow as she looked between the three men, uncertain of what inside joke was going on between them.

“Poor sod,” John muttered, looking down at the deceased.

“I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character,” Greg said as the group picked up their pace back to where the cab awaited.

“Pointless,” Sherlock warned Greg. “You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

Sherlock whirled around and extended his arms out. “Me,” he proudly said before gracefully disappearing into the back of the cab. “Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?” He muttered to himself. Once John and Y/N were safely seated, Sherlock instructed the cab driver on their next destination. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John wondered.

“In a bit,” Sherlock replied.

“The Hickman's contemporary art,” Y/N questioned. “Why have they got hold of an old master?”

“Dunno,” Sherlock admitted. “Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data...” Sherlock’s eyes gazed out the window. The car had slowed underneath a bridge. Beside the car sat a homeless woman collecting change. “Stop!” Sherlock hollered. He leaned close to the driver's ear. “You wait here. I won't be a moment.”

“Sherlock?” John called after his friend, who walked up to the woman. They exchanged words, and Sherlock deposited a hefty sum into her cup.

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock once he got back into the cab.

“Investing,” Sherlock mysteriously replied. “Now we go to the Gallery.”

As luck would have it, the gallery was only a few minutes drive away from their detour. “Have you got any cash?” Sherlock asked John.

John sighed and paid the driver before stepping out after Sherlock. However, Sherlock pushed John back into the car, toppling into Y/N’s lap.

“No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address,” Sherlock said before closing the door in John’s face.

“Okay,” John grumbled. He quickly apologized to Y/N and then the two of them departed to Alex Woodbridge’s flat.

______

It was surprisingly easy to get into Alex Woodbridge’s apartment compared to Kenny Prince’s home. There was no need for a camera and fake personas.

Woodbridge’s apartment was a simplistic sight. The living space gave hardly any room for John, Y/N, and Julie, Alex’s roommate, to comfortably stand without brushing shoulders with one another.

Julie appeared to be a sweet woman with her gentle expression. She wrapped her black and white flannel around her body and led them deeper into the flat.

“We'd been sharing about a year,” Julie explained. She turned around to look back at John and Y/N. Her frizzy, short, brown hair stuck out oddly. “Just sharing.”

“Mmm,” John hummed to reassure Julie he didn’t assume otherwise.

Stepping into Alex’s room, Y/N peered around, John close behind. In the left corner sat the bed, still unmade. Besides, a small table held a lamp, a few empty wrappers, and books. A cloaked object sat underneath a skylight on the far right side of the room. Y/N stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she guessed what it could be.

“Is this a telescope?” Y/N asked, looking back at Julie, who nodded.

John raised his brows, a bit impressed. It was not every day you came across someone who owned their own telescope. Gently pulling off the sheet, John felt a soft smile growing on his lips. His mind began to recall a time when he was a boy. He had learned about the solar system and was fascinated by it, so much so that he wrote to Santa to bring him a telescope for Christmas. It never happened, but still, it was a wish from childhood, and John couldn’t help but be fond.

“May I?” He asked, motioning to the cloth covering the telescope.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded with a sadness in her voice.

“Sorry,” John and Y/N consoled.

“Stargazer, was he?” John questioned, and Julie’s face lit up with a caring light.

“God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time,” she chuckled. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” Then Julie quickly looked away to conceal the tears that bubbled up to the surface.

Y/N wanted to hug the woman but chose not to. Instead, she opted for her words: “Sorry for your loss.” Julie nodded in thanks.

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” John asked.

“It was just a job,” Julie shrugged, “you know?”

“Hmm. Has anyone else been around asking about Alex?” John pursed his lips in thought, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. It was a habit that helped him think.

Julie shook her head. “No…” Her voice trailed off as she realized something. “We had a break-in, though.”

“Hmm? When was that?” Y/N wondered as she peeked at the books on Alex’s bedside table. They were astronomy books of all sorts.

“Last night. There was nothing taken,” Julie assured them. “Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline,” she said, trying to note anything of importance to the two of them.

John raised his brows and strolled over to the phone beside Julie. “Who was it from?”

“Well, I can play it for you if you like,” Julie said before turning around to enter the message box. She typed a few buttons and the phone began to whirr to life.

Y/N and John stepped closer to hear.

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…,” the message repeated.

“Professor Cairns?” John mumbled, glancing up at Julie.

Shaking her head, Julie replied. “No, no idea, sorry.”

“Mmm,” Y/N bit her lip. “Can we try and ring back?”

“Well, that's no good,” Julie replied. “I mean, I've had other calls since—sympathy ones, you know.”

John and Y/N nodded, remembering Julie’s roommate’s death. Turning to each other, they nodded.

“Thanks again, Julie, for helping us,” Y/N thanked as the woman led John and her out of the flat.

Julie sniffled before replying. “Anything I can do to help you catch Alex’s murderer.”

The two friends waved goodbye as the door shut. Once the click and lock of the door were heard, Y/N turned to John.

“So,” she began. “Shall we go find Sherlock?”

For some odd reason, John felt a slight twinge in the back of his head appear. His frustration with Sherlock was still fresh, and John was not looking to reopen the wound any time soon. Sighing, he responded, “I’m sure Sherlock will find us when he needs us.”

Y/N chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Should we go to the gallery then? Do some snooping of our own?” She wiggled her brows, which made John snicker.

Before he could answer, the phone in his back pocket buzzed. Pulling it out, John frowned upon seeing the name, and his headache worsened. He bit back another sigh as the case Sherlock put on the back burner began to burn too hot. Mycroft was growing impatient and started to bother John about it.

“Actually,” John said. “We’ve got another job we can work on.”

Y/N’s face contorted with confusion. “What other-” she cut herself short. “Mycroft.” She linked her arm with John’s. “If Sherlock can have his little side-quests and detours, so can we.”

______

“He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.” The woman on the couch was inconsolable. It was not in the sense that her tears and sobs made questioning her difficult. In fact, she wasn’t crying at all. She solemnly sat on her sofa with her hands clenching tightly together. The tiny shard of sunlight peeked through her closed curtains, dimly lighting the room. While John and Y/N tried their best to sympathize and speak with her, Lucy refused to believe her boyfriend had anything to do with their case despite all the evidence against him.

“Well, stranger things have happened,” John tried to say.

“Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!” She glared at John as her hands turned white.

“I'm sorry, but you must understand that's…”

“That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?” Lucy questioned. If someone else had watched the scene, they would have thought Lucy was interrogating John and Y/N.

“He was a young man about to get married. He had debts…,” John softly listed off possible reasons, but Lucy was not having them.

She defended, “Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.”

“John, can you, erm...?” Y/N sent him a look to let her give it a go. He raised his hands and let Y/N take the reins. “Lucy, we're not here to accuse Westie. We’re here for answers, and you have them. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

Lucy nodded. Her shoulders relaxed, and the color returned to her hands. “We were having a night in. Just... watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“Do you know who?” Y/N asked. Lucy just shook her head and began to sob. Y/N peered over at John and whispered that it was time for them to leave. Any more questions and Y/N was afraid they’d leave Lucy in an even bigger puddle of tears and sorrow than she had been in before.

“I think it’s time we should go,” Y/N began to stand up. Lucy stood up and led John and Y/N back to the entrance. The cool light of the day momentarily blinded them, but their eyes quickly adjusted.

“Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?” A man rolling in a bike asked. He stared at John and Y/N as they stepped out of his way.

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded.

“Who's this?” the biker asked.

“John Watson. Hi,” John greeted.

“Y/N L/N,” Y/N replied, taking the man’s hand.

“This is my brother, Joe.” Lucy explained, “John and Y/N are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.”

Joe raised his brows. “You two with the police?”

“Uh…” John trailed off, looking over at Y/N, who hesitantly nodded. “...sort of, yeah.”

“Well,” Joe began, “tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.”

John nodded. “I'll do my best. Well, er, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.”

“He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson,” Lucy called out once John and Y/N stepped onto the street. “I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man.”

Y/N waved goodbye before turning her back to Lucy. She shivered and whispered to John. “It’d be nice if she was right.”

“Yeah…” John absently agreed. “It would be.”

______

Sherlock’s scowl grew the longer he stood outside 221 B Baker Street. Soon, his left foot was tapping on the stone steps. He was growing impatient. John and Y/N sure seemed to be taking their time to arrive.

Suddenly, a black cab rolled up to the street. It didn’t take a genius to spot the two figures inside. Sherlock jumped down the front steps and greeted the cab’s passengers.

John stepped out first and then helped Y/N out afterward. “Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art,” John told Sherlock.

“And?” Sherlock questioned. John furrowed his brow in response.”Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?”

“Sherlock, breathe. Give us a second,” Y/N blurted. Sherlock’s wide blue eyes locked onto Y/N and he felt his heart stutter, giving John ample time to appropriately respond.

“He was an amateur astronomer.”

A light went off in Sherlock’s mind. “Hold that cab,” he instructed them before running off to a homeless woman leaning against an iron fence.

“Spare change, sir?” She asked Sherlock.

“Don't mind if I do,” Sherlock stuck out his hand and retrieved the small slip of paper from the woman’s hands.

Y/N watched the interaction with curiosity. Her eyes trailed after Sherlock as he hopped into the cab. Soon, the three of them were tucked in the back seat once again.

It wasn’t long before they walked alongside industrial buildings and inside dark alleyways. Y/N found herself stepping closer to Sherlock as they passed from the light of the street lamps into the dark. Her hand brushed against his ever so softly. For a moment, her hand was all Sherlock could think about.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered. His eyes trailing up to the twinkling stars above.

Y/N’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. She paused before speaking. “I thought you didn’t care about stuff like that? Useless bits of information.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes moved down to hers, and his smile became a loving smile. “Doesn't mean I can't appreciate their beauty.” Time seemed to stand still as he gazed at Y/N under the starlight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes trickled to her lips.

John spoke, breaking Sherlock’s trance. “Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns?”

“This way,” Sherlock said, leading John and Y/N deeper into the dark tunnels.

“Nice! Nice part of town,” John sarcastically noted. “Er, any time you wanna explain.”

“Homeless network – really is indispensable,” Sherlock replied.

“Homeless network?” John questioned.

“My eyes and ears all over the city,” Sherlock elaborated.

“Ah, that's... clever. So you scratch their backs and...?”

“Yes, then I disinfect myself,” Sherlock finished before taking out three lights for them and handing them out.

“Flashlights?” Y/N wondered, turning hers on.

John and Sherlock shared an odd expression. “What did you just call it?” John asked.

“A flashlight.”

John shook his head. “It’s a torch.”

Y/N fought back a sigh. “Yeah, torch, whatever. You know, sometimes I think you two forget I’m from America.”

Sherlock chuckled at the interaction. “Let’s go,” he said, flicking on his torch.

The three of them entered the tunnel together. Small fires scattered between erected tents and cardboard boxes were the only light besides their own. As they whirled their lights around, Y/N stuck close to Sherlock. She felt as if she were more than three steps away from him; her lungs would constrict.

“Sherlock! Y/N!” John’s voice hissed. The three of them spotted the tall shadow casting onto a nearby wall.

Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand grasped Y/N’s arm. “Come on!” Sherlock whispered as he quickly pulled her by his side, pushed her against the brick wall, and placed his hands beside her head. Sherlock leaned in close, using his body as a shield. Y/N’s nose was filled with his scent. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sudden intrusion in her personal space.

“What's he doing sleeping rough?” John questioned.

Y/N shuddered as Sherlock’s warm breath brushed against her cheeks. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much.” Sherlock removed one of his hands from beside Y/N and reached into his pocket.

“Oh shi…” John muttered to himself as he felt up his coat. “I wish I'd…”

Sherlock revealed John’s gun and handed it to him. John gratefully took the weapon and readied it.

“Don't mention it,” Sherlock said, pushing off the wall to chase after the Golem. The three of them darted down the hallway after the giant man’s figure. By the time they reached the end, they caught sight of their killer entering a small black car. The door shut, and the car revved. Then Golem was gone.

“ No! No! No! No!” Sherlock cried, waving his fist in the air. “It'll take us weeks to find him again.”

Beside him, Y/N and John panted, looking at the exhaust the car had left behind.

“Actually…” Y/N interjected. “I think I know where he’s going—or at least who he’s going after.”

John’s eyes lit up with the same thought that occupied Y/N’s. “The Professor,” he muttered.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message,” John recalled. “There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.”

______

A bright light crept out from underneath two large metal doors. Beyond the doors, Y/N could hear the voiceover of a film. She furrowed her brows and peered at her friends as they quietly and stealthily approached the doors.

“Is that a–” Y/N began to ask when Sherlock cut her off.

“Y/N, you’re staying out here.”

Shock washed over Y/N’s face. “No, I am not staying behind.”

“No!” Sherlock hissed. “John and I will handle it. We’ll handle Golem, just stay here and-”

“And what? Look pretty? It’s just as dangerous staying out here in the dark than it is in the planetarium,” Y/N argued. She looked to John for assistance but was met with concerned eyes. “John?”

In an instant, Y/N was yanked away from the door. Sherlock’s firm hands grasped her shoulder and pulled her in close. “The Golem is dangerous and-”

“Oh my God!” A shrill cry echoed from inside the planetarium.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he removed his hands from Y/N. Motioning to John, he pushed open the door. “Stay here,” he commanded Y/N before the door slammed in her face.

Muttering an array of curses under her breath, Y/N charged in after them. Immediately, her eyes burned from the flashing lights. In the flickers of light, Y/N saw John and Sherlock dance around for any sight of Golem. The longer Y/N looked, the dizzier she felt. Her feet stumbled, and she toppled off the stage.

“Golem!”She heard Sherlock cry.

Y/N groaned and came to a crouch position. In the distance, she spotted a woman lying on the ground. The lights continued to flash as she crawled over to who she believed to be Professor Cairns. Behind her, John and Sherlock struggled to spot Golem.

“..many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas,” the film's narrator announced before the tape began to whir.

“I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!” John yelled.

Finger dug into the carpet as Y/N pulled herself closer to the professor. Her body was trembling, and her stomach began to churn. The light blared at her, and the volume of the film increased with each second. Y/N was sure that by the end, she’d come out blind and deaf.

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” She heard Sherlock taunt the assassin.

Finally, Y/N reached Professor Cairns. Suddenly, Y/N felt very cold. Sick climbed up her throat, and sweat clung to her forehead. Images of those dead, Hilton, the woman over the phone, and Soo Lin sparked in her mind. Feeling a sudden wave of determination, Y/N sat up and placed her hands on the professor’s chest. She wasn’t about to let someone else die, not if she could help it. Then she pushed down. Her shoulders pumped up and down, holding a steady pace. Up and down. Up and down.

“Golem!” John hollered, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. “Let him go... or I will kill you.”

Then, muffled grunts and cries reached Y/N’s ears. Her pace halted. Frightened eyes whirled around in a desperate search for John and Sherlock. The lights flickered on, and there they were. Under the spotlight, Sherlock swiftly twirled around Golem. The horror of a man towered over Sherlock, making him appear as miniscule as an ant. Nearby lay John, who struggled to get off the ground.

“Sherlock!” Y/N screamed as Golem’s giant hand swung at Sherlock. The force of the blow dragged Sherlock to the floor. Instantly, Golem jumped on him, placing his hands over Sherlock’s nose and mouth.

Jumping to her feet, Y/N ran as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. With each step, her mind went blank. She had to save Sherlock, but how? If Sherlock seemed tiny compared to the Golem, she was microscopic. Launching herself onto the stage, she slammed her body into the Golem. The sheer force momentarily knocked the Golem to the ground. However, he soon found himself back on his feet. A sickening grin inched onto Golem’s face as he stepped to Sherlock and Y/N. Y/N felt herself freeze over, unable to move, breathe, or blink. Golem stalked closer. Y/N shuddered before laying herself over Sherlock. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against a trained killer, but at the very least, she could give Sherlock time.

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide as Y/N placed herself in front of him. “No, run away,” he wanted to croak but found his voice gone. It had been choked from him, instantly stunning him. With a breathless gaze, he gazed up at her. The stars and planets zoomed overhead in a taunting manner.

Clenching her eyes shut, Y/N braced herself for Golem’s hand, but it never came. John had pounced on him, locking the assassin in a chokehold. Golem struggled to pull John off, but when he did, he disappeared–jumping off the stage and running out the door.

Y/N didn’t open her eyes until she felt Sherlock’s gentle touch on her cheek. It took her a moment to realize they were now sitting up. The film was playing overhead. With tears, she looked at him, and her voice was stolen. She wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words. Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her close. Carefully, Y/N tucked her head into Sherlock’s neck. She breathed him in, feeling his heartbeat on her cheek. He was alive. She was alive.

While Y/N clung to Sherlock, he found his mind in torment. He’d almost lost her. Sherlock tried so hard to keep her safe and close because, to him, Sherlock was the safest place around. However, it was a lie. Sherlock was dangerous, and being close to him was unsafe for her.

He knew that now. If he hadn’t dragged her from case to case, she’d be safe in her flat with her cat. If he hadn’t brought her on, she wouldn’t have seen so much death. She would be safe. She would be free to live an everyday life away from Sherlock. But Sherlock was selfish. Her presence was more potent than any drug he’d ever taken. Her lips were sweeter than any victory had been. Sherlock was greedy and wanted her to stay, to be close, and never leave. Most of all, he wanted to love her. He did love her. Sherlock loved Y/N more than anything.

A single tear fell from the pool in Sherlock’s eyes. He loved Y/N, so he had to keep safe, even if it meant he’d never see her again. She would be safe away from him, and so she had to go. Sherlock took one last moment to be selfish as they sat holding each other. His trembling lips met the crown of her head. His nose inhaled her scent one last time. His hands enveloped her body before tearing himself away.

_____

Moriarty. The name was whispered in Sherlock’s mind as he and John opened the door to 221B Baker Street. A bittersweet triumph latched onto their shoulders, dragging them up the stairs. They had solved the case and saved that little boy, but now they had more questions.

Warm light wrapped around Sherlock and John as they stepped into their flat. Their eyes fell onto Y/N’s sleeping figure. Sherlock had sent her home after their fight with Golem. Despite her protests, Sherlock and John’s insistence won. Both men’s eyes softened at the sight of Y/N.Her hair cascaded over her features, vaguely concealing the red skin around her eyes.

Sherlock took a step further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath his feet, alerting the woman from her sleep. She shot up but then relaxed at the sight.

“You’re back,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you-”

“We solved the case,” Sherlock coldly said. He removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto John’s armchair.

“Sherlock,” Y/N gently muttered. “Are you alright?”

“Just stop!” Sherlock hissed. Y/N froze, and her eyes widened with shock as Sherlock appeared in front of her. “Don’t you see nothing you do helps? You’re a liability, Y/N. I’ve known it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I found you in that cab with a gun to your head, you’ve been a liability to me.”

A new set of tears began to pour from Y/N’s eyes, too stunned to fight back.

“If it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way—your caring…oh, your caring. You care too much. Just as I said before, what good does caring do when people are going to die anyway? Soo Lin, Hilton Cubitt: They all died despite your cares. Sentiment is a weakness found on the losing side. You, Y/N, are on the losing side. The only reason you haven’t realized it was because I was there. My mind free from the poison of it all,” Sherlock took in a shaky breath. His voice grew quiet. “...or so I thought.”

Stifling a sob, Y/N pleaded with Sherlock. “So why bother keeping me around?

“I had to,” he uttered. “You are my liability! Your sentiment is contagious, and its effects are leaking onto me. You make me weak. You make me lose my mind when I am not near you. And when I am, all concepts of cunning and intelligence evade me. I become human. I fear. I feel things I have never felt before. You…you have ruined me!”

Silence filled the air. John stood against the wall and clenched his fist in fury. He had never wanted to hit Sherlock more than he did now. However, Y/N’s saddened scoff drew his attention. It was her turn to say her piece.

“I…” Y/N took in a quick breath to steady herself. “…I think I finally understand what’s going on in that mind. You say sentiment is on the losing side, that it’s weak, that I’m weak. Well, Sherlock, you’re wrong.”

Y/N stepped closer to Sherlock—a determined gleam reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I care about others, maybe too much, but that makes me stronger. I have people to love and who love me back. Can you say the same?”

Sherlock stared back at her, all thoughts and words fled in her presence.

“I doubt you can,” Y/N continued. Her words commanded the room and Sherlock’s attention. He could not ignore her. “You push everyone away and blame it all on your intellectual mind. Your brother has to pay others to ensure you’re okay because he cares about you, and you couldn't care less. John buys you milk even when he knows it’ll disappear within a day due to your insane experiments, yet you never say thank you or offer to buy it yourself. Auntie M makes you tea and occasionally helps tidy up even though she’s just your landlady, and you shoot holes into her walls. Greg brings you cases and lets you get away with many things, yet you can never get his name right. Molly lets you take body parts from Bart’s, something that could cost her her job. However, you shred her apart every chance you get. I stand up for you when others try to break you down, and here you are, breaking me. All because I care too much. Because I care too much for you. I get it. I’m just your neighbor and assistant. That’s all I’ll ever be, even though you kissed me that night. Even though I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.”

“But your intelligence? That’s not the real reason you push everyone away.” Y/N’s grew low. “You treat the people around you like shit because you’re afraid they’ll leave just like everyone else and it’ll be easier to unattach yourself from them if they were never really there in the first place. So I quit. I quit being your assistant. I quit being your neighbor. You win Sherlock. You want me gone? I’ll leave. I’ll find the first flight out of London. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again because I understand now…”

A sob broke out from Y/N. John gasped, staring between his two friends. Wiping her tears away, Y/N raised her chin up high. Her feet trekked to the open door of John and Sherlock’s flat and paused before leaving. “Goodbye, John,” she said to her friend with melancholy eyes. “Goodbye…Sherlock.” It was barely a whisper, and by the time Sherlock realized what Y/N had said, she was gone.

____

The sound of the lock on her front door was the consolation Y/N found once she entered her apartment. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed against the door. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything past her sobs, so when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, she jumped out of her skin.

Following the hand to its owner, she saw Jim standing above her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he lifted her to her feet and hugged her.

Mumbling into her boyfriend’s shoulder, she asked, “How’d you get here?”

“Your aunt let me in,” he replied. “But that’s not important. What’s wrong, love?”

Y/N was too caught up in her emotions to recall her aunt was out with a friend for the evening. Instead, she caved into her boyfriend's touch and sweet words.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted, leaning deeper into his comfort.

Jim nodded and raised his hand to rub circles on her back. “How ‘bout after tea? I find that tea always helps soothe the mind.” He pulled back and smiled at her.

Y/N quickly agreed, and before she knew it, she’d drunk two cups of the steaming hot liquid. Upon noticing her cup was empty again, Jim poured her another cup and urged her to drink up. Y/N swallowed it down, finding the herbs to numb her senses. After a moment's silence, Y/N found her strength returning.

Taking a deep breath, she peered over at her boyfriend, ready to speak. “It was Sherlock. He…” Tears bubbled back up to the surface. “He…he” Y/N furrowed her brow. Her tongue seemed to stop working, and her mind was growing blank. “Sherlock,” she whispered with much difficulty.

Jim groaned. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Each time he said the detective's name, a chilling animosity grew.

“Huh?” Y/N said through the fog of her mind. She knocked her hand against something hard. The teacup fell to the floor and shattered. The deafening sound provided Y/N with some momentary clarity. When Y/N tried to stand from her seat, she discovered her legs had failed her. Instead of standing upright, she was on the floor beside the shattered cup. A groan escaped her mouth.

“I was wondering when it’d take effect,” Jim said. Y/N dragged her head to look up at him. Confusion covered her features as she saw the grin on her boyfriend’s face. As if he sensed her gaze, Jim’s eyes turned empty. “ Oh! I love that look on your face. Utter confusion. It’s adorable. I could just…muaw!” He placed a wet kiss on her lips. The force pushed her to the ground, and the hard surface welcomed her. She felt herself growing weaker. Her breath slowed, and her eyes grew heavy.

“You made my job a whole lot easier, and I’m very grateful for that, my dear. But I’ll have to reward you later when you wake up. I’m going to take you far away from here—away from Sherlock, John…I’m taking you away from it all.”

With the last of her strength, her mind screamed at her. Terror filled her veins as the walls caved in on her. She whimpered.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Jim said, crouching down. His fingers brushed through her hair, luring her to sleep. “Just rest. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

_____

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phoebepheebsphibs · 2 months ago

Text

The Monster is No Longer Inside Us...

@tmntaucompetition @riseleon

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"Oh my god, WHAT DID YOU DO TO BISHOP?!" Donatello yelled, running over to the wounded agent. "Were you trying to kill him?!"

Blue growled and snapped in response.

"Oh wonderful, it's doing my work for me," Chaplin chuckled out with a hiss. "What a helpful little abomination."

"Shut up, blubber-gut!" Leo yelled, pointing one of his twin katanas at the alien hybrid beast. "We beat you before, we'll beat you again!"

The creature loomed over Leo, its grin turning into something more vile.

"Aaaaahhh, the persistent and sacrificial hero. I remember you."

Chaplin slithered closer to the group. The group took a collective step backwards.

"I remember how loudly you screamed after getting electrocuted. I remember your pathetic pleas of mercy when I had your precious baby brother attack your family. I remember the fear in your eyes when you first saw me in this form and I ordered Mikey to KILL YOU."

Blue saw Leo swallow hard, his hands trembled and his arms wavered ever so lightly. Had DM Mikey really done some of those things?

Donatello helped the injured Bishop to stand, his shirt and jacket were partially shredded and small amounts of red started to stain his chest and sleeves from where Blue had torn the skin. Even his perfect shades were askew, revealing a shell-shocked and battered expression. But once he saw the giant Krang looming over him, he stood up and straightened himself out. ...Before immediately crumbling to his knees again, clutching his chest and coughing profusely.

"Bissshhhhop!" DM Mikey yelled, scurrying over. "Issss frriend okay?"

"I-I'm fine," Bishop hissed. "Just a little... winded. I'll be okay, don't worry about me..."

Blue almost choked on his own air. FRIEND? Did Mikey say friend??

DM Mikey must be mistaken, Bishop is a bad guy! Always a bad guy! Mikey was probably brainwashed or confused... all these guys must be, if they all trusted him and cared for him.

But there were bigger fish to fry. Namely, the giant grotesque monster about to crush them all.

An arm the size of the other Raph raised itself high and suddenly came crashing down, splitting the group into two. Blue with the Raph and Mikey, while the other Leo and Donnie were saddled with the injured Bishop.

"Guys!" Raph yelled. "Are you okay--"

The big guy was sideswiped by the alien arm and thrown across the room. Blue and Mikey managed to duck just in time. Blue yelled at the monster, though he was hesitant to dig his claws into the putrid flesh again.

"Raph!!" Leo screamed, slicing the air to make a portal and jumping through. He was instantaneously by the eldest's side and helping him up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Raph exclaimed. "But we gotta get everyone outta here! Help Mikey and his friend--"

"You're not getting out of it THAT easily," Chaplin roared. "I AM MAKING YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING YOU DID TO ME."

"And what about what you did to us?!" Donnie screamed back. "What you did to my little brother?!"

'Wait, you're the youngest?' Blue signed to Mikey. 'I thought that I was --'

Another tentacle kept Blue from finishing his sentence as it slammed into the ground. Blue found himself momentarily floating in the air, thrown by the reverberations and repercussions of the crash. He stared down from fifteen feet, eyes wide and stomach flipping. The next thing he knew, a blue spark ignited below him and he fell through a portal, landing behind the monster. Leo was beside him, clutching his swords so tight his knuckles went white.

"Get outta here, kid!" he yelled, staring straight ahead at the monster. "Find your family, get somewhere safe! We'll deal with this guy..."

'But I want to help!' Blue signed frantically.

"You can help by getting Mikey as far away from here as possible!" Leo ordered. "NOW!"

Blue nodded and raced towards his friend, running top speed and dodging alien limbs. DM Mikey reappeared in his line of sight, the teen looked even more like a feral creature as he bounced back and forth, avoiding the alien man's clutches as he fought back. Mikey made a kick-spin, his tail whipping through the air with a whistle. Three large spikes released from his tail and soared just over Blue's head, striking the monster in the chest. He roared with pain and anger, pulling the spikes out and throwing them back at the pesky ninjas.

Somehow Blue managed to avoid the alien and the spikes and made it to Mikey's side, grabbing his arm as he tried to pull him away. He chittered and barked at him, turtle-speech for 'LET'S GET THE HECK OUTTA DODGE!'

Mikey turned on him, glaring and growling. His teeth were a lot longer and scarier than they had been just a moment before! Blue released and fell back. The big, round, and bright eyes were now thin slits of blood red, devoid of the kindness and timidity the owner of those eyes had shown before. Now the eyes were filled with rage, fury, violence, and death. The same kind of eyes the monster had...

DM Mikey blinked, shaking his head as if to clear away a bad dream. He stared at Blue, his pupils slowly dilating and returning to normal.

"S-s-sor-ry," he mumble-hissed. "Instinct."

Blue grimaced, unsure if he was going to accept the apology now that he'd seen what was hiding beneath the surface. Mikey was just as much a monster as that alien beast behind them... Still, he wanted to help his friend. And Blue was no stranger to angry outbursts when faced with danger. He grabbed Mikey by the hand and signed a single word to him.

'RUN'

The two boys started booking it, dashing away as the other mutant turtles did their best to distract and dispatch the monster. But it's hard to distract a monster with literal eyes in the back of its head.

"Oh, and where are you two going?" Chaplin roared. "The fun is just getting started!"

Blue managed to look up just in time to see an enormous fist come crashing down. Mikey leapt in between them and covered Blue, shielding him as best he could from the impact. The two were crushed, creating a crater beneath them in the arena floor. Blue's head spun, half-buried beneath the floor and half-buried underneath DM Mikey's chest. Blue struggled to lift himself up, he was so dizzy to begin with and it didn't help that this teenager was almost twice his size and weight. Mikey didn't move, his body was limp and his eyes were closed.

Blue chittered nervously, shaking the unconscious teen and trying to wake him up. He could hear yelling and shouting around them. Blue managed to move Mikey enough so that he could see past him. Mikey's shell had a few new cracks in it, his head was bruised and bleeding just a bit, and his tail looked crumpled. Overhead, the monster raised his fist again for the killing blow.

"HEY!" a voice rang out from far beyond.

Blue craned his neck to see his family running up, all four of his siblings, weapons at the ready and screaming loud and incompressible battlecries as they charged ahead.

"NOBODY MESSES WITH OUR FAMILY!!"

April, Donnie, Raph, and Mikey O'Neil-Hamato came bounding over, each one whacking at the monster with their weapons. Blue was stunned for a moment before remembering the unconscious kid on top of him. He slowly started to lift him up and drag him away from the scene. The other Leo showed up a second later, teleporting beside him and hoisting Mikey up into his arms.

"I got him, let's go," he said, running off with the two kids as the battle continued on behind them.

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#the monster inside #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au comp #propaganda #tmnt au competition #tmnt au propaganda 25 #dm mikey #double mutated mikey #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt leo #rottmnt chaplin #rottmnt bishop

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thenevarranaccord · 10 days ago

Text

“Glinting. Gleaming. Stealing us with steel. Splinters flying as they kick in the door to our home...”

Cato shivered involuntarily at the memory of Knight-Commander Meredith kicking down the mansion door.

He had half of a second to hope that Emmrich and Taash hadn’t noticed before he realized that they had. Already, they were turning to him with worried looks on their faces.

“Hey,” Taash said, their voice as soft as Cato had ever heard it, “you don’t have to do this. You can go back to the Lighthouse. Emmrich and I’ve got this.” Then, Taash realized something—probably that Emmrich was also a mage—and looked at him. “Unless you’d also like to go back? I can handle this on my own.” Cato could already see Taash steeling themself for a solo fight with a few more rounds of demons. “It’s a job for a Rivaini.”

“No,” Emmrich said quickly. “I’m fine to continue.”

“How?” the question was out of Cato’s mouth as soon as he thought it. He was surprised to hear it voiced.

Emmrich looked at Cato. For the first time, Cato saw the professor look stumped. Emmrich opened his mouth and drew in a breath, and Cato could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to craft an appropriate response where none existed.

Cato swallowed, with difficulty. He wanted to tell Emmrich, ‘Nevermind. You don’t have to answer that,’ but suddenly he was thirteen years old again and he’d lost control of his voice.

“The Mortalitasi are protected,” Emmrich admitted softly. “Templars only come when we ask for them, or to pay their respects like any other Nevarran. We didn’t join the mage rebellion. Although we felt for our brothers and sisters in the Circles, our quality of life in the Necropolis was always good. We had too much to lose. We couldn’t abandon Nevarra’s dead for an unknown amount of time. There was a vote and… I truly am sorry.” Cato believed that he was.

Cato hadn’t joined the mage rebellion either, even though he’d wanted to. He too had been protected by royalty, and by parents that most Templars would think twice before crossing. Even the Inquisition had protected him, if only accidentally at first.

He’d still joined the Inquisition even after they abandoned the mages and allied with the Templars. He still believed it was worth it to fight the Venatori, but part of him still felt like he’d betrayed his fellow mages, Anders, and maybe himself. The Inquisitor had married the Templar who made Cato’s phylactery.

Still unable to speak, he tried to tell Emmrich with his eyes that he understood. He nodded.

Taash approached him. A big Qunari hand squeezed Cato’s shoulder gently, and it felt like a hug. “Let’s get you back to the Lighthouse,” Taash said.

Cato stepped away from the touch and shook his head. “It’s fine.” It came out as a whisper, but it came out. He could do this. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to do this. Going home wasn’t even an option.

He led the way to the next spot Compassion had indicated. Taash and Emmrich hesitated, but followed.

“Baking in my armor. So much hotter here than back home in Ferelden. Kill on sight. But they don’t look like Abominations. They just look sad.”

The sick part was, Cato related to that. It was so much hotter here than in Ferelden; although Ferelden had not been Cato’s home for a very long time.

He thought about Cullen, and wished that he hadn’t.

He thought about a dark tunnel filled with scared apprentices, waiting out a long night to see if they’d be rescued or cut down when the door was opened.

This Templar, this dead Templar, hadn’t wanted to do it. Maybe that was why he was dead now. Maybe it wasn’t; maybe he’d done it anyway and died a well-deserved death.

Taash and Emmrich were watching for Cato’s reaction, but he felt more in control this time. He took a deep breath.

“Does Isabela ever talk about the Kirkwall rebellion?” he asked Taash.

Taash hesitated for a second, then said, “Sometimes. Mostly just when she’s asked about it.”

“What does she say?”

Taash glared, but not at Cato. “She says fuck the Chantry, the Templars were bastards, and the mages should be free.” Cato could hear the echo of Isabela’s anger in Taash’s voice.

He smiled a little. “She’s right about most of that.”

“You’re holding a sunburst staff,” Taash pointed out.

“Right.” Cato reached back and pressed a finger into the top of one of the sun rays, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to draw blood. “Most of that.” He didn’t really carry it out of loyalty to the Chantry. He carried it as a reminder of his time with the Inquisition. He knew what most people thought when they saw him with it, though.

He dropped his hand back to his side, and began walking to their next location.

After a few steps, he asked Taash about a subject he rarely brought up with people: “Does she ever talk about Anders?”

He heard the soft skids of two people stopping in their tracks behind him. He turned around to see Emmrich suddenly very interested in the horizon, and Taash biting their cheek.

“No,” Taash said, and Cato believed them. “She won’t talk about him. Last guy that asked got stabbed.”

“She stabbed him for asking a question?” Cato was smiling, despite himself. That did sound like Aunt Isabela. Cato even understood the impulse to stab anyone who asked about Anders, though personally he would never act on it.

Taash shrugged. “Just a little. He’s fine. The asshole deserved it, trust me. It wasn’t innocent curiosity.”

Cato nodded. He knew how loaded questions about Anders could be. Emmrich had relaxed a little too.

“We ran, but they chased us. We tried to surrender, but they killed us as we knelt. The spirits roar as the fire comes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“The wood will always be scorched, but the rain has washed away the fire and smoke. Thank you.”

Cato took a deep breath. It was done. The crime had been committed over a decade ago, and they had done all they could do now.

“Emmrich,” Cato said, “Do you think the dead know that we’re here? That at least we listened to them? Or is this all for the benefit for spirits?”

Emmrich considered the question. “I think that a soul is, essentially, a collection of memories,” he said. “If a spirit absorbs those memories, in a way, the soul lives on through that spirit. We see it quite frequently in the Necropolis. Spirits possess a body and they behave as if they were the original inhabitants of that body. Some of them don’t even realize they’re not the original inhabitants of the body until we explain it.”

“So are the spirits just confused, or do you think part of the soul stays with them?”

“I think part of the soul stays with them.” Now it was Emmrich’s turn to approach Cato and put a hand on his back. “I’ve tended to the dead after mass disasters. I’ve found that the dead like knowing that there were survivors. Although you survived a different annulment, I’m certain these souls were glad that you were here.”

“Thank you,” Cato said. “I wish there was a way of telling them that the Divine is a mage.”

“The mages still aren’t free, though,” Taash pointed out.

“I know,” Cato agreed with a sigh. “She took two years of my life for the crime of being a mage, and she acted like she was going me a favor.” He shook his head. At least his time in the Circle had been better than his grandfather’s. Divine Victoria was still on his Wintersend card list. She even replied, most years. “But at least I’m here now, and so is Emmrich, and the mages in the Circles are a lot safer than they used to be. It’s not nothing.”

“I was overjoyed when Divine Victoria was elected,” Emmrich said, injecting a bit more cheerfulness into the conversation. “I never thought I’d see such a thing in my lifetime. Johanna and I opened a bottle of—” he stopped himself. Cato knew that look: The realization that a once happy memory had been forever ruined by who the other person involved turned out to be.

Sometimes Cato still heard Anders’ voice in his head, guiding him through simple healing spells.

Emmrich squeezed Cato’s shoulder involuntarily. “Well,” he said, “there were many celebrations in the Necropolis that night. We shouldn’t overlook what Divine Victoria has done for the public image of mages in the south, nor the freedoms she’s granted to Circle mages.”

Cato nodded. “Justinia would have taken a lot more than two years.”

“Still,” Taash said, “they were your two years.”

“The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice,” Emmrich said, not unkindly. “Let the dead mages and the living ones have hope, Taash.”

Taash looked at Cato.

Cato shrugged. “It’s both, right?” He looked from one of them to the other and his mouth twitched into a smile out of genuine affection for both of them. “Emmrich’s right to have hope and Taash is right to be angry. One keeps us going and the other keeps us fighting.” He took another deep, cleansing breath, and he didn’t at all mind that his friends saw him do it. “Let’s go home. Lucanis is making paella.”

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edenesth · 2 years ago

Text

Undying Bonds (Part 15)

Pairing: Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: zombie apocalypse au

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: What could be worse than being separated from the love of your life in a zombie apocalypse? Hongjoong was forced to leave you behind with his friend, Seonghwa, as he ventures out alone to search for the rest of his missing group members. Will Hongjoong be successful in his solo mission to find his members? Will he be able to return to you unscathed? And what happens when you're stuck with his caring best friend, who is hopelessly in love with you, for too long?

Part 14 | Masterlist | Ending 1

The aftermath of the battle against their very own super zombie was a sombre one.

The gang had paid a heavy price for their actions, losing not only Jisung but also Minho, who had once been the closest thing to a brother to Chan. The weight of their deaths bore heavily on his shoulders, and he felt a profound sense of guilt and sorrow.

His mind was reeling with all sorts of thoughts and possibilities about how things could have ended differently if only he had been a better leader or even just a better person in the first place.

As the gang members gathered around the fallen super zombie, its grotesque and mangled body served as a haunting reminder of the horrors they had faced. Chan knew that they couldn't leave any trace of this abomination behind. It was essential to ensure the safety of everyone and put an official end to this nightmare once and for all.

He turned to Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin, his voice firm despite the turmoil within him.

"We can't leave any chance for this to happen again. We need to burn the zombie's corpse and every remaining super zombie in Seungmin's lab. We owe it to those we've lost and to all the innocent lives we've endangered and taken."

Changbin, who had once been ruthless in carrying out the gang's orders, nodded in agreement. He felt a deep sense of responsibility for the chaos they had been a part of, and this was a chance for redemption, "You're right, hyung. It's time to make things right."

Hyunjin, always known for his agility and quick thinking, added, "Burning them is the only way to be sure they won't come back. We can't risk another outbreak."

Felix, once a loyal enforcer of Stray Kids' reign of terror, now saw the importance of this task, "It's time to put an end to this nightmare."

Seungmin, the scientist who had unwittingly played a part in creating the super zombies, nodded solemnly, "I'll help with the disposal. It's the least I can do to make amends for my actions."

Hongjoong and Seonghwa shared a glance before offering to help, only for Chan to turn them both down firmly, "Thank you, guys, really. But this is something we must do ourselves, we have to take responsibility for our actions."

The gang leader's heart melted when he caught the small smile and nod you directed towards him. You didn't have to say the words out loud, but he could tell from your look that you were proud of him.

While you and your friends stayed back at the furniture store to clean up and catch up on some much-needed rest, Chan and his members gathered the bodies of their super zombies and brought them to the usual spot where the zombie executions take place, the loading bay.

Chan, holding a torch, took a deep breath before igniting the pile.

The flames roared to life, consuming the remnants of the abominations. As the fire crackled and burned, it was as if they were purging their past sins.

The gang leader couldn't help but think of Jisung and Minho as he watched the flames dance. They had paid the ultimate price for their mistakes. The pain of their loss would always linger, a reminder of the consequences of their actions.

But as the fire reduced the zombies to ashes, Chan knew that they were taking a step towards redemption. They couldn't change the past, but they could shape a better future. Their remorse and determination would be their guiding lights on this path of atonement.

As the flames consumed the remnants of the creatures, casting a flickering glow on the faces of the gang members, they stood in sombre reflection. The crackling fire seemed to echo the crackling of their old lives, burning away the remnants of their past.

Chan's eyes were fixed on the fire, his expression a mixture of determination and sorrow.

"Guys... what Minho said before about me wanting to change our direction, it's true. I won't force you to follow me down this path, but I just wanted you all to understand that... even if we can't change what we've done, we can still choose how we move forward. We owe it to ourselves and to those who suffered because of us. It's time we become protectors, not oppressors."

Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin nodded in agreement, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. The gravity of their decisions weighed on them, but they were resolute in their commitment to change.

Changbin's eyes focused on the burning zombies, "I'm in. We owe it to Jisung and all the innocent people we've hurt. This is our chance to make amends."

Hyunjin nodded along and added, "Me too. We'll probably have to lay low for a while, let things settle. But then, we can start working on the ground, making a real difference."

Seungmin, though still haunted by his past actions, felt a glimmer of hope, "Count me in. I'll dedicate myself to finding ways to heal and protect, rather than create monsters."

Felix, standing slightly apart, hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. His gaze met Chan's, revealing a blend of humility and determination in his eyes, "I know this might come as a shock, but hyung," He began tentatively, "I wish to join noona's group instead, if they'll have me."

The revelation drew immediate attention from the group.

Chan turned his gaze to Felix, a mixture of surprise and understanding dawning in his eyes, "Well, that is quite unexpected," He responded, "But I think I understand. You... you see a lot of your sister in her, don't you?"

Felix nodded, his eyes moistening with unshed tears, "Yes," He admitted, "I used to resent that, but now I don't want to carry any more regrets. But... if they won't accept me, you'll still take me in, right hyung?"

A warm, genuine laugh escaped Chan's lips, dispelling any tension that lingered, "Of course, Lix," He affirmed, "You're a part of us, no matter where you choose to go. We'll always have a place for you."

The leader's words resonated with the rest of the members, stirring a profound sense of fulfilment within them.

It became clear that their deepest longing had always been a sense of belonging and genuine care, rather than the frivolous pride they once held for their selfishness.

"Hyung, if you don't mind me asking... How did you meet noona, and what's your relationship with her?"

Felix couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He felt compelled to ask the question that had been gnawing at him since he witnessed Chan's emotional reaction upon your arrival.

With a faint smile, Chan replied, "She's my childhood friend and... my first love," The revelation instantly captured everyone's attention, "You all know how much I despised my life back in Australia..."

The other members nodded in agreement, their interest piqued as their leader began to recount the story of how you two had met and how it had led to the present day.

"I understand that things can't return to the way they were before, especially now that she's found Hongjoong and all her other friends," Chan spoke with sincerity, his voice filled with a sense of resolution, "All I can hope for now is her forgiveness, and more than anything else, I want her to be happy and safe. I trust Hongjoong and his boys to take care of her."

Felix nodded, determination in his eyes, "I'll protect her for you too, hyung, if she allows it."

Chan smiled warmly, his hand gently squeezing Felix's shoulder, "Thank you, Lix, I'm counting on you. She has a big heart, I know she'll accept you."

Through this intimate sharing, the Stray Kids members finally gained a deeper understanding of their leader beyond the tough exterior. They saw Chan as a fellow human being with his own vulnerabilities and experiences. It brought them closer together on a more personal level, revealing the bonds that had been waiting to form all along.

One by one, they shared their own stories, further cementing their newfound connection. They realised that this was how it should have been from the beginning, if only they hadn't started down the wrong path as gang members.

Perhaps then, Jisung would have had a happier ending, Minho wouldn't have been driven to such cruel intentions, and maybe Jeongin wouldn't have been so determined to leave.

But dwelling on the past served no purpose.

They were determined to turn over a new leaf, leaving their former lives behind and embracing the opportunity for a fresh start.

Back in the furniture store, Jeongin remained seated on the floor, his shoulders shaking with sobs as he clutched onto a piece of Jisung's torn clothing, a cherished memento of his fallen comrade. The loss of his friend weighed heavily on everyone's hearts, but it seemed to hit Jeongin the hardest.

Perhaps that was because, at the time, Jisung had been the only one who shared Jeongin's feelings and dreams. They had both been so close to achieving freedom together too.

Jeongin simply couldn't come to terms with the fact that Jisung's final moments had been spent confined to the timeout room, deprived of the chance to even taste the sweetness of freedom.

And now, he was gone forever.

It was a bitter pill for the youngest to swallow.

"Jisung hyung... why did you have to leave me so soon? We were supposed to be free together..."

You knelt down beside Jeongin, gently placing a comforting hand on his trembling back. His tear-filled eyes turned to you, seeking solace in your presence. The pain was evident in his gaze as he struggled to find words in the midst of his grief.

Pulling him into your arms, you pressed a kiss against his temple, "I'm so sorry for your loss. I could tell he was a good person." Jeongin squeezed his eyes shut, basking in the warmth of your embrace.

Finally, his voice quivered as he spoke, "He really was, noona... There's something I've been meaning to ask you, can I..." He paused, swallowing his sorrow before continuing, "Can I join your group? I really don't want to stay here anymore. I can't bear it."

Your gaze shifted to Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who had been observing the interaction with a mixture of empathy and understanding.

Jeongin had proven himself trustworthy since the moment he decided to help your group instead of warning his own gang of Minho's plans. This was a pivotal moment for the boy, a chance for redemption and a fresh start.

The captain and his best friend shared a look before nodding.

Hongjoong's voice carried the weight of his decision, "Alright, Jeongin," He replied softly, "You can join us. We'll look out for each other from now on."

Relief washed over the youngest's tear-stained face as he nodded in gratitude.

Your group understood that you were embarking on a new path, one that would be fraught with challenges and uncertainties. But in that moment, you found solace in the unity and compassion that had emerged from the chaos.

Out of sympathy for your newest group member, Wooyoung and Yunho approached the young boy to offer comfort before properly introducing themselves, eager to make Jeongin feel welcomed. In the meantime, Mingi and Yeosang shared a quiet chuckle, observing Jongho sulking in the corner as he came to terms with no longer being the youngest among them.

Realising that blood was once again seeping through Seonghwa's bandage, you immediately seated him on the nearest couch. You asked your boyfriend to retrieve the first aid kits that he helped you place aside earlier, which he complied with wordlessly.

Seonghwa gently covered your trembling hands with his own, "I'm fine, it doesn't hurt." He reassured you.

You huffed, shooting him a glare, "Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean you're fine, Hwa. You could've gotten seriously hurt out there earlier, or even worse. You never listen to me. What did I say about putting yourself first, hm?"

A lump formed in your throat as you looked away, tears welling up at the memory of the fear that had coursed through you when you saw the zombie charging towards him.

The thought of losing him again was almost unbearable.

This train of thought led you back to your internal struggle, a reminder that you would eventually need to decide who held a deeper place in your heart: Hongjoong or Seonghwa.

"You know I can never put myself first when it comes to you; I'll do whatever it takes to protect you," Seonghwa insisted. You shook your head at his stubbornness, "Even at the cost of your own life? Don't be ridiculous, Hwa."

He squeezed your hands gently, his intent to respond interrupted as Hongjoong returned with the requested supplies.

In the presence of your boyfriend, you cleared your throat, trying to conceal your flustered state. You pulled your hands from Seonghwa's grasp to focus on tending to his wounds once more.

Hongjoong remained faithfully by your side, providing you with whatever you needed while Seonghwa suffered in silence, accepting the unspoken truth that he would never be able to beat the captain.

You and Hongjoong were destined to be together, and Seonghwa couldn't bear to ruin that for you.

As Seonghwa observed the way Hongjoong looked at you, with so much love in his eyes, he realised that it had been wrong of him to come between the two of you. He shouldn't have allowed himself to hope for a chance with you in the first place.

Unbeknownst to both of you, Hongjoong had overheard the heart-fluttering words that his best friend had spoken to you. This only confirmed Seonghwa's romantic feelings for you. What had changed was that you were now aware of those feelings as well.

Just as before, your boyfriend remained committed to respecting your choice, should you eventually decide that Seonghwa was the one you truly loved.

For now, he would treasure every moment he still had as your beloved.

The tension among the three of you was thankfully short-lived as Chan and his members returned. Hongjoong took the opportunity to have a brief conversation with the leader, discussing the need for new arrangements given the drastically changed circumstances.

During their discussion, Chan proposed the idea of forming an alliance between your group and Stray Kids.

He generously offered that everything belonging to Stray Kids would now be at your disposal. You were granted unrestricted access to District 9, allowing you to return whenever necessary, whether for shelter, additional help, or replenishing supplies.

The leader and captain also established a method of contact for emergency situations.

Once the meeting concluded, Chan gained Hongjoong's permission to speak with you. Your childhood friend, standing nervously behind you, patiently waited as you finished tending to Seonghwa's wound.

Noticing the gang leader, Seonghwa tactfully excused himself to give you both some privacy.

Awkwardly, you and Chan settled down beside each other on the couch. However, as you both began to speak, you startled each other by starting at the same time.

"Thank you-"

"I'm sorry-"

You paused, gesturing for him to go first, "No, you should go first," He insisted, but you shook your head, "Chris, I insist."

With a sigh, he nodded and began, "I... I'm sorry about what happened, it's all my fault Minho got out of control. I should've handled things better, then none of this would have happened."

To his surprise, you reached out, gently placing your hand over his.

"Chris, you can't change the past, but you have control over your future," You reassured him, "I just... wanted to thank you, you saved my life back there. Lord knows I wouldn't be here now if it hadn't been for you."

His heart fluttered at the contact of your hand in his.

"You know, I was fully prepared to sacrifice myself for you, if that was what it took to earn your forgiveness." He admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You turned to face him, sincerity in your eyes.

"I do forgive you, Chris. I saw the change in you, and I'm so glad you were able to wake up and realise how wrong this all was. And I don't want anyone dying for me again. You matter to me too, alright?"

He appeared on the verge of tears, his emotions overwhelming him, "Really? I still do?" He questioned, his voice quivering.

You nodded, a tearful smile on your face.

The Chan in front of you right now reminded you so much of your old friend from Australia, "You'll always be Chris to me, no matter how much things have changed." You assured him, finally letting him draw you into a warm, heartfelt hug.

As he embraced you, his emotions swirled within him like a tempest finally finding calm waters. He held you close, feeling the warmth of your forgiveness, and he was overcome with a profound sense of relief and happiness.

In that moment, he realised how much he had missed your friendship, your presence in his life.

It wasn't about romantic feelings anymore; it was about having you back as a dear friend. The weight of his past mistakes seemed to lift off his shoulders, replaced by a renewed determination to be a better person.

He whispered softly, "I'm so glad to have you back in my life. I promise I'll make you proud. I'll be the person you once knew."

In your arms, Chan found solace and a chance for redemption.

It was the beginning of a new chapter, not just for him but for all of you, and he was ready to face it with a heart full of hope and a commitment to change for the better.

"Listen, there's something that Felix wanted to ask you," You furrowed your brows, gently pulling away from his hold, "Really, Felix? What could it be about?" He turned to wave the younger male over, "I'll let him ask you himself."

Felix approached you with a hint of shyness, a stark contrast to his previous self, who never concealed his disdain for you and your friends. He took over Chan's spot beside you, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he contemplated how to broach the subject of joining your group.

As he settled in beside you, you sensed a certain uneasiness in him. He cleared his throat and spoke hesitantly, "I... I wanted to talk to you about something and I hope you can find it in your heart to listen."

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

Felix's gaze remained fixed on his fidgeting fingers as he began, "I owe you an apology, noona. I've been rude and unfair to you and your friends since the beginning and I want to say that I'm genuinely sorry."

Surprised by his candid admission, you replied, "Thank you, Felix. I appreciate your honesty."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "The truth is, you remind me a lot of my late sister. She was kind-hearted and cared about people, just like you do. She always had this way of making people feel special."

You listened intently, sensing that there was more to his confession.

Felix's voice grew softer as he admitted, "I think... I secretly wished I could be on the receiving end of your affections, like your friends. I was jealous of them for being so lucky to have you around."

It was a surprising revelation, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes, "Felix, it's never too late to change and make amends."

He nodded and finally asked the question that had been weighing on him, "Noona, is there any chance I could join your group? I want to start over and learn from my mistakes, just like the others."

Glancing quickly over at your boyfriend, you find him giving you a thumbs up. Seeing Chan beside Hongjoong, you believe your friend has filled him in on what Felix had wanted to ask you about.

You smiled warmly back at Felix, touched by his sincerity, "Of course, Felix. We believe in giving people second chances and we'd be glad to have you with us."

Relief washed over Felix's face as he let out a sigh, "Thank you, noona. I promise I won't let you down."

As you welcomed Felix into your group, you couldn't help but feel that this was a new beginning for all of you, one filled with redemption and a chance for everyone to change for the better.

"That must be her, huh? The one you love."

Soyeon teased, her eyes fixed on you as you bustled around the place, making sure everyone had enough food. Hongjoong blushed slightly at the remark.

"That's her, the one and only."

The female leader nudged him playfully on the shoulder.

"I can see why you're so in love with her. You make a perfect couple. But tell me, why do you seem so bothered? I'm not dumb, I saw the ring. So, what's stopping you from proposing?"

Hongjoong tried to maintain a composed expression, not wanting anyone to see the turmoil he felt inside, "If you're observant enough, you'll see I'm not the only one in love with her."

Soyeon followed his gaze, noticing Seonghwa's eyes lingering on you with a deep longing. It all began to make sense.

She recalled Hongjoong mentioning a best friend he had left you with back in the convenience store. The situation had just become much more complicated and it reminded Soyeon of why she steered clear of matters of the heart.

She simply did not have the patience to deal with such emotions.

"Well, damn, I'm no expert in this area. I'm afraid you're on your own with this one, buddy," She said with a chuckle, "I know, that's why I didn't ask." Hongjoong replied with a smirk, earning a playful slap on the arm from her before she went over to help you.

It has only been a day since you've all left District 9 and found yourselves at Soyeon's apartment building for the time being.

You and your group, now including Jeongin and Felix, had settled in comfortably. The supplies provided by Stray Kids have been a lifeline, allowing you all to transition into this new chapter of your lives.

With Soyeon's assistance, you quickly finished checking on the boys before sitting down to enjoy a plate of your own food.

You expressed your gratitude, "Thank you, Soyeon, you've been an angel. Your generosity won't go unnoticed. I promise we'll find a way to repay you someday."

Soyeon shook her head with a warm smile.

"Nope, you're the angel here. I've only known you for less than a day and you're every bit as selfless as your boyfriend claims. I'm only helping because it's you guys. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't even get through the door."

You glanced over at Hongjoong at the mention of him and you caught him already looking at you with affection in his eyes.

Both you and Soyeon burst into laughter when you noticed Mingi and Wooyoung attempting to stealthily steal some of the captain's food while he was distracted by you. Your laughter drew Hongjoong's attention and he finally realised the boys' sneaky intentions, immediately giving the younger members each a smack on the back.

As the rest of the guys teased Mingi and Wooyoung for their failed attempt at stealing food, your gaze instinctively drifted toward Seonghwa.

Your heart warmed at the sight of him sharing his own meal with Jeongin and Felix, even though they were the ones indirectly involved in the injuries he had sustained.

In your heart, he was the real angel.

Seonghwa was the most selfless person you'd ever met.

Especially now that you know about his long-standing feelings for you, which he had kept hidden all this while just to safeguard your happiness with Hongjoong, even if it meant enduring his own heartbreak.

Feeling Soyeon's curious eyes on you, you forced yourself to tear your gaze away from Seonghwa.

You couldn't help but wonder if everyone around you had picked up on the underlying tension between you, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa, although you hoped that wasn't the case.

Throughout the rest of the night, you made an effort to divert your attention to your friends as well as befriend the girls in Soyeon's group. Lord knows how difficult it had been for you to ignore the persistent glances directed at you by two specific men.

You were determined to push those thoughts about them aside, at least for the time being.

After the hearty dinner, Soyeon and her group took their leave, leaving you all to your unit. Once everyone had cleaned up, you gathered in the living room to discuss your next steps.

Hongjoong, as the captain, brought up the topic.

"Alright, everyone," He began, "We can't expect Soyeon to house us forever. It's time we find a place to call our own. So, any ideas?"

Yeosang, Yunho and Jongho chimed in with a few suggestions, but it seemed like nobody was fully on board with any of the ideas. The room filled with the sound of brainstorming, but there was a hint of uncertainty in the air.

Amidst the various suggestions and growing uncertainty in the room, Seonghwa hesitated for a moment. He glanced around at his friends, his gaze eventually resting on you.

With a deep breath, he finally dared to speak.

"I... I have a suggestion," Seonghwa began, his voice trembling slightly, "What if we consider moving to the high school where San was buried?"

A hush fell over the room as Seonghwa's words sank in.

His suggestion was met with a mix of surprise and curiosity. He continued, his voice gaining more strength with every word.

"I know it might seem unconventional, but it's important to me," Seonghwa explained, "San was our friend and I miss him every day. Being close to where he rests would mean a lot to me and I believe it could also be a way for us to honour his memory."

His emotional speech tugged at the heartstrings of everyone in the room. Memories of San flooded your minds and you all couldn't help but grow emotional at the thought of your late friend. His absence had left a void in your lives, one that you all felt keenly.

As Seonghwa spoke about wanting to be near San, it resonated with each of the boys, especially Wooyoung.

They remembered the times they had shared with their friend, the laughter and the camaraderie. It was impossible to ignore the deep longing they all felt to be close to him once more.

One by one, the nods of agreement came and murmurs of approval filled the room. That included Jeongin and Felix, they didn't need to meet San to know he must have been an absolute sunshine.

Seonghwa's suggestion had touched your hearts and you were all willing to make the move not only for him but for San, the friend you all missed dearly.

The decision was made, and as you all wiped away tears, you knew that this new chapter in your lives would be filled with memories of your beloved friend.

It was a week later when your group moved to the high school.

It was a bittersweet transition, filled with mixed emotions. With the help of Soyeon's group and Stray Kids, you all managed to make the place suitable for living. However, it did take Chan and his members some apologising before Soyeon and her girls were finally willing to work together, leaving behind their past as victims of the gang.

The high school, once abandoned and overgrown with weeds, had been transformed into a livable space.

Stray Kids provided building materials, tools, and manpower to repair the damaged sections of the school building. The girls from Soyeon's group had contributed their expertise in cleaning and organising, turning classrooms into makeshift bedrooms and the cafeteria into a communal dining area.

As you all settled into your new surroundings, you couldn't help but feel a sense of solemnity and nostalgia.

San's burial site, located on the school grounds, served as a constant reminder of your friend's absence. The boys had erected a small memorial for him, a place where you could all pay your respects and keep his memory alive.

The boys had also gathered mementoes of your time with San, including photographs and personal belongings. These items were displayed in a common area, a tribute to the friend you had lost but would never forget.

Despite the melancholy atmosphere, there was a sense of unity and purpose among the group.

You were all determined to make this new place your home, a place where you could find solace in each other's company and continue to support one another through the challenges that lay ahead.

The high school had now become a place of healing.

As you looked out over the school grounds, now filled with life once more, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. It was a place where you could find hope and a sense of belonging, a place where you could all continue your lives together.

It's been nearly a month since then.

The boys of Stray Kids would come over every once in a while to spend some time together. Their group and yours had all become friends somewhere along the way.

Today was one of those days they decided to drop by the high school.

The place may have slowly begun to feel like home, but there were still many uncertainties in your heart. As you and your childhood friend sat on a bench overlooking the school grounds, Chan couldn't help but notice the weight of your emotions.

"Hey," He began gently, "I've been meaning to ask you, how are things with Hongjoong?"

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze wandering over the memorial site for your late friend San, "It's... complicated." You finally admitted, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Chan raised an eyebrow, sensing that there was more to the story, "Complicated? How so?"

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words, "It's just... I've been feeling torn lately. And it's not just because of what happened with Minho and the super zombie. It's because of Seonghwa."

Chan nodded, a knowing look in his eyes, "I see," You looked at him, surprised, "You see? What do you mean?" He sighed, deciding it was time to be honest, "We've all noticed the way Seonghwa looks at you, the way he cares for you. It's hard to miss."

Your eyes widened in shock.

You had tried so hard to hide the turmoil in your heart, thinking that no one else had noticed, "You... you all know?" Chan nodded again, "Yeah, we do. And I think it's time you talked to him about it."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally let your guard down, "I don't know what to do, Chris. I care about Seonghwa too, but I love Hongjoong. I don't want to hurt either of them."

Chan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Listen, I can't make this decision for you, but I can tell you this. No matter who you choose, we'll all understand. And I think you need to make a decision soon. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for both of them."

You wiped away your tears, feeling a mix of gratitude and anxiety, "I know you're right, Chris. I just need to find the courage to do it."

He gave you a supportive smile, "You will and it'll be okay. Just remember to follow your heart and everything will work out in the end."

As you watched Chan leave, you knew that you couldn't postpone this difficult conversation any longer. It was time to face your feelings and make a decision that would bring clarity to your heart and peace to the two men who meant so much to you.

The weight of your decision bore down on you like a heavy anchor.

You sat in the common area of the high school, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room.

On one side was Hongjoong, your boyfriend of many years, and on the other was Seonghwa, your guardian angel who had always been there for you since day one.

Memories flashed through your mind like a movie reel.

You remembered the first time Hongjoong had asked you out, his charming smile and the warmth of his embrace. You recalled all the adventures you had shared, the laughter, the late-night conversations, and the way he had held you when you needed comfort.

Then, your thoughts drifted to Seonghwa.

He had been your rock, your protector. From the moment you had met, he had stood by your side through thick and thin. You remembered the countless times he had comforted you, wiped away your tears, and made you feel safe. He was always there when you needed him, silently supporting you without asking for anything in return.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision settling in your chest. You couldn't keep hurting them both with your indecision.

It was time to choose, to be fair to them and to yourself.

You turned your gaze first to Hongjoong, who was watching you with a mixture of hope and anxiety in his eyes. You saw the love and devotion he had for you, and it tugged at your heart. He had been your partner for so long and you couldn't deny the deep connection you shared.

Then, you looked at Seonghwa, who met your gaze with understanding and patience. His eyes held a gentle warmth that had always been a source of comfort for you. He had been your silent protector and you knew that his feelings ran deep.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you whispered to yourself, "I can't keep hurting them like this. I have to choose."

As you opened your eyes, you knew what you had to do.

The decision was difficult, and it would undoubtedly bring heartache to one of them, but it was necessary to move forward. You owed it to yourself and to the two men who had your heart.

With determination in your eyes, you prepared yourself for the most important conversation of your life.

Annnnnd that's a wrap!

HAHA I'm kidding, just the two more endings left and we're done! Hope you've enjoyed and as usual, I'd love to hear all your thoughts about the story so please don't hesitate to leave as many replies as you want! <3

Tag list: @aurasblue @tmtxtf @park-simphwa @sunnyhokyu @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @marievllr-abg @yayaistime @kibs-and-bits

#edenesth #undying bonds #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #zombie apocalypse au #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x reader #ateez fic

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elric-art · 5 months ago

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Ed is parentified, here's why.

Everyone (on Twitter) is talking about how Ed is traumatized and can't tell anyone about his problems.

The boy is the definition of being parentified.

His dad walked out, his mom passed, he and Al only had like 5 years worth of actually knowing their parents and nobody seemed to look out for either of the boys as soon as Trisha died except maybe Pinako. But nobody really stepped up to take in the orphaned children. Why is that?

Were they not liked? Did they only show up to the funeral because they felt bad for the boys? Was Trisha judged for having kids out of wedlock hence the lack of support over her kids? I'm pretty sure I remember plenty of people showing up to pay their respects at her grave but I'm just speculating based on my poor memory of 03 (which I need to rewatch for the 5th time. We only stan 03 in this blog, sue me.)

He (and Al, at least in 03) desperately sent out letters to whoever sent letters addressed to Hohenheim in the hopes of being able to find their father who was supposed to be responsible for them.

When that became fruitless (sort of) he had to step up and take care of his brother, and decided "cooking mama" would be the better option. Not because they needed a parent but if only to "see her smile again" with the very arts that reminded her of her (very negligent) "husband".

Ed went through Hell and back for his little brother, not only because he felt guilty but because he knew he was guilty of almost losing everything he's got, that everything being Al.

By being the first to touch the array, he was responsible for everything that happened with only Hohenheim being the true catalyst (in this case, in regards to Brotherhood).

What would've happened if he never left? What would've become of the boys had he stayed? That's right, it was all his fault and this ugly story started with him and that damn dwarf pretending to be god. After all, Ed has to turn to the most unlikely source to get all the goddamn information he needed to right his wrongs.

Treachery after treachery, injustice after injustice and there was no one out there who can really understand you. Nobody to confide in because all there really was, was that old man behind the counter who talked in riddles and gave you his dirty work and said "thanks for handling it for me, now here's some scraps", then they preach at you about how you're just a kid, what could you really do?

Well this kid had his arm and leg ripped out by what could've been some eldritch diety and told you if you want to cross the bridge you have to pay the price. Who the Hell is going to understand that? Who the Hell going to believe you even if you told them?

Your teacher who went through the same? Tch, your problems are not hers.

Your brother who witnessed it all? Don't bet on venting to the reason you exist.

The girl next door? Best not to burden her with your crap.

At your age, you are nothing. Just a sad little boy with raging nightmares about how the abomination you created is going to eat you.

Even after being called a "hero" you nearly died several times lost in the woods, lost in the desert, lost in the literal belly of a beast and fighting for a goddamn life that you can barely call a life. All you have is your legs to stand on, and if you falter then what the Hell was it all for? What else will you be willing to give to save the only one who was the most innocent so that he wouldn't have to suffer because of your misguided attempts to play god?

You played your stupid game and you won your stupid prize, now deal with the consequence.

You might be asking yourself, why the Hell is Edmod talking like this? Congratulations, you caught a glimpse at how Ed must think. See how it's really not that hard to understand the thoughts of a 12 year old prodigy who had to put on his big boy pants and tighten his belt?

#fullmetal alchemist #speculation #edmod

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theanoninyourinbox · 1 year ago

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Skyclan's Rescue

The Scorching Sun and the Storming Rot

In the Recent Past

Skystar, once the too-proud leader and Founder of Skyclan, looks down from the edge of Starclan upon the gorge. Skywatcher is laying in the sun, blind eyes content and peaceful next to a kittypet tortoiseshell queen. Kits play with balls of moss, warriors bring prey to their elders, and queens share tongues with collared kittypets.

Disgusting.

How DARE Starclan do this to HIS Clan! First, they curse Skyclan’s tree to rot, then BANISH the BEST CLAN in the Territories, and now?! Now it’s all the dregs of felinehood – kittypets and loners, playing at being HIS CLAN because Starclan thought it was AMUSING!?! HOW DARE THEY!!!

Skyclan should be regimented and only Clanblood! Kits should be learning to hunt already! Elders should be working until their appointed deaths! Queens should be subservient to their leader, not BE ONE!! Warriors should be KILLING these DUNGFACED KITTYPETS!!!!! This is NOT HIS Skyclan, not a Proper Skyclan…if that blasted brother of his hadn’t stepped in, if those foolish Leaders hadn’t stepped in, if the STARS BE BLASTED Spirits hadn’t stepped in-

He tore at the ground beneath him in fury, hackles bristling and spittle flying as he raged. Not even his mate, his beautiful malicious Star Flower, could understand him…she wanted power, oh how she wanted it all, but she was unwilling to endanger the power that Starclan gave their residents…but what was this power if his legacy was so muddled?

Skystar sighed, and turned his gaze from the ABOMINATION of a Clan the Stars wanted, but a flash of ginger caught his eye. He turned back curiously – this was a familiar figure. The ragged cat often prowled the edge of the territory, staring hatefully at the so-called Leafstar. Skystar leaned in, hearing the tom rail against the group, clawing the turf as he screamed. How DARE they reject him – how DARE that MOLLY be in charge – how DARE they banish him for his schemes!! HE should be leader, pampered and protected! He, Harry, should be the one in control!

Oh, now this is promising…

Skystar saw himself, in the days after the Spirits descended – powerless, but deserving of all he wished. Now this cat – Half-Clanblooded at least – this cat had PROMISE. So Skystar leapt, bounding through a suddenly storming sky, and appeared before the maned cat.

I can give you power, said Skystar, I can give you that and more. All you have to do is get rid of that False Leader, and that Old Fool. I am Skystar, and together, we will turn these lands into the most powerful Clan the world will ever see! Harry, at first wildly afraid of the Literal Ghost that dropped from the stormclouds, smirked. How could a dead cat give me anything? Skystar’s face broke into a vicious grin – I will give your clever words Power, to ensnare and beguile and terrify – just take my paw.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before agreeing, and extended a paw. Skystar took it, and the wind howled around them, thunder rumbling a warning. The shadows surged as rain whipped around them, stop stop STOP!

Behold, intoned Skystar, the Sun who rules the Skies! Behold SOL! (his back bulged with eyes, starless and sightless, a Geist of wild power being born of pettiness and hate) Harry – no, Sol - grinned maniacally, with a golden glow hidden behind his teeth. He knew JUST who to talk to, just who to…Recruit…to take over the Clan…and now they All would Listen…

And in Starclan, Grey Wing looked down in horror. Oh brother, what have you done?

The Journey to the Gorge and The Crisis

The combined group of Clowder and Clan cats set out on a sunny Newleaf morning. Maguyver, as the one with the most Patrolling and Scouting experience, leads the group. Frostfur and Hollowback, the most mobile of the Clan Elders, are helped along by a prospective Seer named Echo. Loudbelly, who has gone nearly blind, is guided by Vespa, whose blindness has never stopped her before, and the hearty Bagel. Yewtail leans heavily on the massive tom Hassle, and Mudfur keeps company with Lavinia, a pretty young molly who wants to be a Healer, and Pasqual, who hides shyly behind Lavinia most of the time. Mutter the Scout keeps the younger cats Gorgon, Spatter, and Jangle in line. They make their way past Twolegs and thunderpaths, through old forests and over winding waters. And within a remarkable amount of time, the Rescue Patrol has arrived at the edge of a marked territory. Strangely, the sky is cloudy and the air heavy. The group settles into a hollow log for the night, and the next morning Mutter scouts ahead.

They return with news – there IS a group of cats in the Gorge ahead, but something is terribly wrong. There are cats forcing Elders to clean the camp, and kits barely old enough to eat solids are picking the prey clean! Queens are being intimidated by brutes, and the Rogues – they MUST be Rogues – are led by a ginger, brown and white Tom. Everyone is shocked and horrified – Frostfur moans at the thought of kittens in danger, and Bagel has to hold Loudbelly back from charging over and fighting the Rogues. Macguyver asks Echo, who has the clearest Visions of Skyclan, who the Leader was. She pauses, then points up to a nearby tree. Her, she says, and a mottled tortie drops from the branches, followed by a ginger tom and several other cats, all collared or harnessed.

The tortie glares at the Rescue Patrol – who are you, and how do you know me? Did Sol send you!? Macguyver steps in – no, Starclan sent us! Mudfur joins him, then Frostfur and Echo. We Saw you were in danger, Echo intones, and have come to offer our aid. Mudfur explains that he and the other Elders are from the Clans, and that they came to help of their own volition. The Tortie rears back, and looks over the group, finally seeing the Elders for what they were. Hope glinting in her eyes, she introduces herself as Leafdapple, and after calling over her allies, tells them what’s happened.

She had met Skywatcher, who had been gathering cats to form a Clan. She had become his right-paw cat, a deputy in all but name, as Skywatcher has refused to be named Leader. After some time, a tom named Harry had asked to join. They accepted him, but quickly understood something was wrong. He was a decent hunter, and somewhat interested in herbs, but would consistently try to sabotage other cats. He had led clanmates into rats and dogs, stolen prey from under the paws of others, and probably would have poisoned someone if not caught. But he was clever with his words, and it took him kitnapping Leafdapple litter, to “save” them, for him to be banished. But he had returned…changed somehow.

He had a group of Rogues and Loners behind him, all either blank-eyed or bloodthirsty, and had overrun camp. The kits had been taken, and their few elders forced into work. Leafdapple and her Daylight Warriors – kittypets who returned to their homes at night – had escaped…but they’d lost several Warriors. Skywatcher had been taken by some of the Rogues, and Sol, as he called himself now, paid them in prey that SHOULD have been feeding the Queens, kits, and Elders. And every time the survivors planned some rescue or communication, he saw them coming! They’d nearly lost several cats, and had been begging the stars for help. But, Leafdapple sniffled, she never expected help to come after this long. Had thought they had been forgotten.

And a voice rings out from above.

We did not forget you.

All look up, and a swirl of stars descend, and six starry cats materialize. Willowpelt greets the Hope Clowder cats, and then introduces herself and the other Starclan cats to the stunned Skyclan cats. Here, she says, is Cloudstar, who ruled Skyclan when it was wrongly Banished. This is Bumble and Turtle Tail, who helped found Thunderclan and redeem Skyclan in its early days. And these are Jagged Peak and Grey Wing, who helped found all the Clans, with their kindness and cleverness. I am Willowpelt of Thunderclan, and we know what has happened here – and we together, living and beyond, will defeat Sol.

And everyone has Reactions to this. Mudfur and the Clan cats nod sagely, with Frostfur delighted to meet the first Crafter. The Hope’s Rest Clowder cats are bouncing around, knowing Willowpelt from her frequent visits to the Clowder. And the Skyclan cats are…wary. Hopeful, but everything that has happened has made them hardened to any hope that comes. Grey Wing apologizes to Skyclan for taking so long, and for not stopping Sol from gaining his Cursed Blessing of controlling others with his words, but that the Storming Rot - a cat he once called brother but is now a Stargeist - had been blocking them from helping, but the Clan cats and Clowder cats had essentially carried them here. He then offers blessings to the cats – hiding them from the Stargeist and enhancing their senses until Sol and the Abomination are defeated, and Leafdapple is given her nine lives officially. Leafdapple is elbowed by Billystorm, and she agrees, with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart.

Loudbelly asks that if he is blessed, that he be given the joints and senses of his youth, that he might rescue the prisoners. The other Elders agree, with Hollowback noting that from Leafdapple’s description, Modern Skyclan has only Warriors, Queens, and Elders – no Camp Guards or Crafters or Herbalists or even a Healer, and simply asks for enough time to pass on his crafts, which the other Elders agree with as well. Bumble and Jagged Peak are all for this.

The air smells of ozone and fresh snow, of mossy stones, of petrichor and heathered fields; the air shines like Silverpelt on moonless nights; and the air flexes like claws in battle. The elders stretch and twist, like year-aged cats instead of well-lived elders. Vespa notes that she can hear even farther than before, and Spatter leaps up a tall tree in only a few seconds. Leafdapple laughs as her Daylight warriors bounce about like apprentices. Turtle Tail promises her that she will receive her lives after they rescue Skywatcher, as he deserves to see his Clan get the Leader it deserves.

And as the Starclan Cats return to the skies, the living begin to plan.

The Rescue

The next day, Frostfur wanders into a Rogue patrol, and feigns that she had been looking for a place to bring her grandkits to live. She toddles through camp, counting the prisoners, the blank-eyed and controlled, and the loyal Rogues. She never sees Sol, and leaves the Rogues with seemingly giddy promises to return with her family. The best lies are honesty, and she WILL be bringing cats she calls family there. The skies are a little clearer, and in the shadows, something twists unhappily.

Mudfur, Lavinia, Pasqual, and Echo start gathering herbs for the coming skirmishes. Pasqual and Lavinia are obviously mates, but had no issues in the Clowder. Mudfur admits to having had a mate before becoming a Healer, and that another Oracular Healer, Fireheart, had been working behind the scenes to make it that any Healer might take a mate. Echo, while preparing cobwebs, notes that she has never wanted a romantic relationship, and is assured that such a thing is absolutely fine.

Mutter and Harveymoon scout out where Skywatcher is kept – a small Twoleg nest kept by a Rogue named Dodger and his group. Late that night, Hollowback and Leafdapple sneak in while Maguyver and Hassle bother Dodger out front with Sharpclaw and Ebonyclaw. Skywatcher wakes to Leafdapple carrying him out, with Hollowback watching her tail. A clattering from a Twoleg Thing (which Macguyver calls a trash can) sends the distraction cats hurtling back to the makeshift camp, and the Skyclan cats welcome their old friend back. The full moon is but two nights away, and then Skywatcher will see his protégé become the Leader he Foresaw. The clouds let the sky peak through, and the air is lighter with the promises of new life.

The next morning, Yewtail, Hollowback, Bagel, and Gorgon start setting up traps for the Rogues. The invaders out to hunt found themselves stuck in pits, caught up in sticky honey and chased by bees, and every attempt at hunting thwarted. This went on as the time until the full moon came. The day of the full moon, Macguyver, Hassle, and Bagel stroll up to the captured camp, and loudly demand that Sol meet with them. The lanky Heretic oozes over, and Macguyver proclaims that he is represents the leader of a Clowder that wants the Gorge. Hassle quietly states that unless Sol meets with them the next morning, that the Clowder will attack. Bagel giddily purrs that maybe Sol can talk their leader into sharing instead of conquest. Sol sneers, and agrees, but demands the meeting be at a particular clearing. The deal is made, and the three cats trot off, content that the next step of the plan is complete.

The night came, and the free Skyclan cats and the Rescue Patrol gathered in a clearing. The sky was, for once, clear of the strange clouds that gathered, and the moon and stars shone clearly. Leafdapple and Skywatcher sit together, and Echo calls upon Starclan to bless this Leader with nine lives, and the Wisdom of the Stars to guide Starclan. The skies glitter and gleam, and six familiar Starclan spirits descend, followed by three unfamiliar spirits, that wait farther back from the rest. The other living cats watch in awe and wonder.

Nine Lives and Three Precedents

Cloudstar greets Leafdapple and Skywatcher, thanking the molly for her care and the Elder for his enduring faith in them. He then gives Leafdapple her first life, for having Enduring Faith in her Clan, the Stars, and herself. Willowpelt rubs her head companionably against Leafdapple’s shoulder and gives her a life for Second Chances. Jagged Peak makes her laugh at a particularly bad pun (don’t worry, your reign won’t be a Cat-astrophe!) and gives her a life for Good Humor In Bad Times. Turtle Tail compliments her cunning, and gives her a life for Defending The Defenseless. Bumble smiles sweetly and gives her a life for Finding Joy In The Small Things. And Grey Wing approaches, I’m so proud of you, keeping your Clan as safe as you could in these times; he bestows a life for Knowing When To Ask For Aid. And then he beckons the three spirits forward.

Three cat spirits wearing kittypet collars.

A grey tipped molly steps forward, introducing herself as Smoke. Her face twists sadly, as she tells of loving a clan cat who rejected her, and dying to protect her kit. Leafdapple apologizes for her having to go through such events, and Smoke smiles sadly. My son is happy now, with a better father than his sire ever could have been. Smoke then gives Leafdapple a life for Love and Affection, giving Billystorm a side-glance and a smile. He flushes, and several cats break the solemn air with hoots, cackles, and coos.

The next cat steps forward, introducing himself as Jake. He speaks of having an adventure with a Clan Cat, and falling in love with him. Even after they were parted, he remembered the strength and faith of that tom. He sighs, and remarks that his feelings for a cat he would never see again kept him from having any other relationships. Jake steps forward, and gives Leafdapple a life for Knowing When To Let Go, and hopes that she will be a better parent than he was in life.

The last cat steps up, a tortoiseshell as well, but with a flat face. I was named Wishkit at my birth, but was known as Nutmeg for the rest of my days. I was born a Clan Cat, lived as a Kittypet, and bore Kittypets, Clan Cats, and Hopeful Cats. I give you your final life for Balance and Adaptability – may you find a way no matter the obstacles. Welcome, Leafstar. Leafstar! The cry is raised, by the living and the dead. Leafstar! LEAFSTAR!! LEAFSTAR!!!

(elsewhere, the Stargeist shakes and writhes, its eyes multiplying and mind fracturing. something is wrong. something has gone terribly wrong)

The Confrontation

The dawn comes, and Sol approaches the meeting grounds, his loyal Rogues at his side. He left the controlled behind to guard the camp, knowing that Leafdapple would never be able to break the Power he holds over them – only the Stars could do that, and they cannot walk here. Sol scoffs, then looks up as the black and white cat from before appears. My leader will be here shortly, he says confidently, they wished to be prepared for negotiations.

At camp, the controlled cats and a few loyal Rogues guard the den where the prisoners are held. Suddenly, Loudbelly slams into the first Rogue, followed by Sharpclaw, Ebonyclaw, and Hassle. Leafstar leaps onto the first controlled cat – Patchfoot shakes his head, and the green bleeding back into his eyes. Petalnose embraces Rainfur as he comes back to himself, both weeping in relief. The Rogues scatter, and the apprentices and Elders cry out in joy. Leafstar, having freed Shortwhisker, calls out to them – come with me, we have a meeting to get to!

Sol spits angrily – time has passed, and the only cats to show are the black and white tom, an elderly brown tom, and a few hideous youngsters. Where is your leader, you dung faced freaks?!?

Here I am, Harry. Here we all are.

Sol spins in shock – Leafdapple stares him down, rage in her eyes. Next to her is that white cat he heard wanted to join. But behind her, behind her are his prisoners! And his Controlled Cats! Whu-how!? You have no power, Leafdapple! Sol sputters, and the dratted molly snarls at him – My Name Is Leafstar!

No.

NO!

A horrible noise echoes from the trees, and a twisted creature of eyes and wings and cat claws launches, bringing a stench of rot and illness. It leaps towards Leafstar, who dodges and screeches a war cry. Suddenly the trees are filled with cats, charging into the Rogues and scattering them. As the Stargeist twists to attack her, a pair of shapes slam into it like meteorites – Grey Wing and Turtle Tail. Sol does not stick around to find out how this goes, running at top speed away. The Starclan Cats batter and shred the former Founder, and Grey Wing tears the belly of the beast. With a sound like bones breaking and stars dying, the Stargeist faded away, with all the grace of a fish out of water. Clear Sky – Skystar – was dead.

The Rogues scattered, and Skyclan rejoiced. The gorge was retaken, the Elders enstated in honor, and the Clowder cats gladly joining up. The Cultures of the four Clans join with the Ancient Skyclan Culture. Echosong teaches Frecklepaw to heal, and Lavinia and Pasqual celebrate a litter. Hawkpaw and Pebblepaw fall in love, and Hawkwing and Pebbleshine watch the world go by.

Within a year, all the elders passed into Starclan, at peace that the future would hold wonders…even if it held pain as well.

(in the stars, a fading golden molly snarls and grieves. How dare someone take her mate from her)

Time passed.

(Rain seethed, his glorious leader had left him – but he would destroy the Clans himself. He would fall on them, like his namesake…)

(Late one night, Leafstar and Billystorm are awoken by Skywatcher’s spirit. She startles awake, as her old friend screams.

RUN! WAKE THE CLAN AND RUN!

More wails of danger shake the air, and Leafstar bolts from her den. Frostfur is loading Macguyver with kits, Mudfur is shaking Frecklepaw awake, Loudbelly is rallying the Brawlers and Warriors. Hollowback is shoving apprentices out of their dens with a frantic Jangle, and Yewtail is helping Echosong load up on herbs.

A cry splits the night. Followed by more and more and more.

Rogues pour into camp.

The Clan scatters.

Rain laughs wildly – Skyclan is no more! Scattered like leaves! Like prey!

But there will be five clans.

One Day.

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amazingmsme · 1 year ago

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i was wondering if you had any ler!tinky hcs 👀👀

For sure! I used to not be the biggest Tinky fan because the doll version was so unsettling, & he really was such a bastard, but then I saw Curt play him & let’s just say he skyrocketed to the top, right under Wiggly & probably tied with Nibbly. He gives a whole new meaning to the song Kiss the Go-Goat cause I’m gonna smooch that eldritch abomination!

Ok now that I’m done gushing, onto the headcanons!

He’s literally the definition of a switch! Like he’ll straight up ask to be wrecked & he’ll be having the time of his life laughing under one of his brothers then it’s like “ok I’m done now” & without any warning he’s got them pinned & is sporting the most wicked grin. & he’s just like “my turn!” & wastes no time making them scream. He especially loves doing this to Wiggly because he thinks he needs an “attitude adjustment”

If he’s got a lot of pent up energy, he’ll stick his lee in The Box & chase them down. His box is literally the backrooms, just endless empty rooms & halls all in that sickening hue that puts The Yellow Wallpaper to shame. Something about that color just adds just the right dose of lee panic in his victims that’s only intensified by his echoing taunts & cackles. For a fucking prey animal he sure is one hell of a predator!

Even tho he’s the literal worst he still wants his victims to have at least a little fun, so if he notices they’re not fighting back as much when he goes for a certain spot, he’ll target it for longer

He’s got golden retriever boy energy & no not just because he’s yellow! If you so much as flinch when he wiggles his fingers it triggers something deep inside him. Just like when a dog has something they’re not supposed to & you step towards them & they run off at the speed of sound. That except of running away he’s running toward you

The most fun ler out of all the lib please don’t tell them I said that

Just take a wild guess who his favorite lee is

Seriously Ted can never catch a damn break with this bitch. It’s either The Horrors™ or tickle torture. & depending on how pissed off he is with Tinky he’ll gladly pick the horrors. But Tinky doesn’t really care about what he wants, he just does whatever he feels like in the moment

Unrelated but the first time Ted saw him in his human form he kept having to tell himself “don’t fuck the monster, don’t fuck the monster” but he thinks the goat man is cuuuute & he’s trying hard not to let it show but he blushes so much when Tinky flirts or teases him

One time he was wrecking Ted & he was all red & giggly & he was too weak to really fight back anymore & the sight was just too cute & too much for Tinky to handle so he stopped right in the middle of it & ran to the corner, biting his shirt & screaming because wtf he’s literally just some guy he shouldn’t give him butterflies in his stomach & make him feel all giddy but he does & then Ted snuck up behind him & got revenge for who knows how long

Tinky is the type to wiggle his fingers at you before he ever even strikes. He just wants to make you nervous & build up anticipation & because he’s gotta live up to the bastard title, he will fake an attack just to make you scream he’s the woooorst

& since he controls time & space, he’s not very aware of how long he’s been tickling someone, so he’s probably the most likely to go overboard without realizing. But then he’ll rewind time so he can start all over again & “this time I won’t overdo it, I prommy!”

#asks #anon ask #npmd headcanons #lib headcanons #nightmare time headcanons #hatchetfield headcanon #tinky #t’noy karaxis #lords in black #ted spankoffski #nightmare time #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #tinkoffski

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sothera · 3 months ago

Text

The time had come...

The three of them, although invited to sit up front, decided on seats a little further back, for discretion's sake.

"You okay?" Joey asked.

Soth looked at both of them; he could see the concern in Brann's eyes, and Joey's too.

"I'm sorry... If I'd thought, I would've asked Rafe for some of his makeup." Soth said, remembering his early days when he had to resort to it to hide his Shaqarava.

It created some awkward moments...

Like now...

"I'm keeping my shirt as far from my chest as I can without being too obvious about it. "

"If you suck in any harder, you're gonna pass out." Joey said.

"Try to focus on the fact that it's staged." Brann suggested.

"I am, still, it's hard to watch, one of them is a Pack Brother, the other one is blood related, if either of them makes the slightest mistake... " Soth said, his hands clenching into fists.

"I'm sure Rafe coached him on every movement; Rafe is very good at what he does." Brann said.

"Which makes me think; why the sword and the armor, what does Rafe think he can do that a craftsman can't?" Joey asked.

Joey looked at Rafe from his vantage point; he looked to be about William's age, once you get past the comic book body and the G.Q. face, normal..all things considered.

Yet... there was something... the worldliness...

Rafe had mentioned a Dwarf... his "first" Handler...

"First?"

Joey's attention was diverted by the loudspeaker...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, The Rainbow Salamander Circus is pleased to announce a worthy opponent for our Wild Man Challenge. An heir to The Blue Eyed Throne; please welcome Sir William Stetman!"

There was applause as William stepped into the cage.

"And of course, our own blue demon, The Wildman..."

Freak!

Monster!

Abomination!

Shouldn't you be out eating your own kind?

Soth looked like he'd been slapped in the face by his best friend...

Luckily, two of his best friends were sitting next to him...

"Do you remember when we watched wrestling on TV?" Joey asked.

"Yes; I still don't understand how people think that's real." Soth answered, shaking his head.

Good, he's calm now Joey thought.

"All the people in the audience that booed the wrestlers?" Joey asked.

"I know there are... people... in the crowd, whose job it is to keep the audience riled up, still, for example, that last one is the man I bumped into earlier before we sat down to eat." Soth said.

"Good memory..." Joey said.

"My fear is that the... more easily lead...in the audience will believe these things, and create and spread fear of us." Soth said, looking at the crowd nervously.

Brann glanced at Joey, "Maybe we should discuss that with Rafe."

"It's starting..." Soth said.

"I see you got the full treatment too." Rafe said quietly as he entered the cage.

"It makes me look thuggish and brutal." William said, displeased with the effect.

"It's what the public wants; at least what Regina thinks the public wants." Rafe said.

A wisp of flame appeared along one of the walls, and fire started peeking out of the floor. William's sword began to glow.

"She's turned the gas on; time to shine, Sir Knight, any last questions?" Rafe asked.

"Do I really have to stab you?" William asked.

"I'm not welcoming it, but yeah, I don't have time to explain it now, but the closer it is to me, the better I will understand it." Rafe said.

"Understand?..." William asked too late...

Begin!!

The command came over the loudspeaker...

Rafe and William moved into the central part of the cage, circling each other. As rehearsed, William unsheathed the sword and passed it from hand to hand, occasionally flipping it in each hand.

Ten minutes William thought we need to get through ten minutes...

Hey, Stetman!, why don't you use that pig sticker and gut the Unholy Bastard!!??

Unconsciously, William turned his head to find the man that said it..

.. and Rafe slapped him .. or so it seemed..

To the crowd, it looked like Rafe had slapped him "silly"; reality was much different. It was almost like a soft caress...

Rafe's reaction, though...

"Do I have to remind you of The First Rule?" Rafe asked.

"Always keep eyes on the opponent.." William answered, eyeing Rafe oddly.

It was almost like he was back working with his old trainer...

Five Minutes!

Halfway there...

"Let's give them the Bloodsport they came here to see." Rafe said.

"Remember; small, shallow cuts, from a distance, they can't tell the difference."

"Rafe..." William said.

"Then The Big One, okay?" Rafe said.

With a sigh, William began swinging...

Rafe was easily as fast as Soth: sometimes, he would be in front of him, sometimes behind. Rafe hit him a few times, not hard, but hard enough to jar him and make loud metal on metal sounds as his fists impacted with the armour.

Several times, William's sword made contact with Rafe's bare torso, leaving long, shallow cuts on his back, chest, and a few on his legs.

Each time, they bled..

Each time, William felt worse.

Soth wanted to run from the room. It was all he could do to stay in his seat. The Flare raged, turning both blue and red, almost like a Yule time celebration.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice...

Soth focused inward...

Dammit boy, you are.. were.. a Hunter.. you've seen worse.. you've done worse. Quit acting like a child; be a man! They deserve that much!

The Shaqarava dimmed...

Brann smiled at him, quietly grateful to whatever Gods there were.

Joey grabbed his hand...his thoughts came...

They know what they're doing; they rehearsed it. Remember the cage matches on TV? They hit each other with ladders and metal chairs! They were bloody too; this is no different.

Soth looked at him and nodded...

Still...

Those people were unknown to him; these people were not...

Two Minutes!

"Just a little more blood to spill..." Rafe said.

An instant after he said it, he was behind William; Rafe grabbed William by the shoulders and opened his mouth as if to bite through William's jugular vein!

Instead...

Now... NOW, William... Came the voice...

William pivoted, brought the sword up...and...

Rafe grunted as the blade embedded itself in his right shoulder.. the pain was... impressive, but rather than shy away from it, he held it close.

And Time!

We have a winner!

The crowd was cheering...wildly... 😣

Finally met your match freak!

Woo-Hoo!

The missus and I will sleep well tonight!

Soth was at the front of the crowd, watching..

Rafe was.. listening.. he connected with the sword.

"I am your death, now come to life...

Here to end your mortal strife...

Struggle hard, struggle long...

Struggle deep, struggle strong...

Struggle now, with all your might..

Then surrender to eternal night.."

So far, so good, the enchantments are working Rafe thought

Then...

"Or..

Like a thief, with loot stole fresh..

Rip me from your jagged flesh..

Kill the Knight, with Me in hand..

Take from him his promised land..

With your great strength, with Me, alone..

Take from him his Blue Eyed Throne..

No... Rafe thought.. Never..

"Rafe..." came a gentle voice... William

"Let me help, my Gods, I'm sorry..." William said, crouching next to Rafe to pull the sword out.

"No!" Rafe said, wait for the stage hand, Tell him to give you a cloth to wrap around it. The sword is tainted; I don't know how, I don't know by whom, but it has been tampered with." Rafe said, the sword still protruding from his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine, Tait will come after the stage hand; he'll take Soth and the others to my house." Rafe said.

"You're not going to be that lucky... you'll have to meet with Regina to get your winnings." Rafe said.

#my half demon bestie #my neighbor is a monster hunter #fantasy fiction #my writing #creative writing #hollow earth #my roommate is a monster hunter #rainbow salamander circus #rafe nightshade

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winmance · 8 months ago

Text

Lies and Memories

“Do you trust him?”

The question is directed to Jord, Laurent’s personal guard. Not for long, though. In only a few days, Jord will be leaving his current position and leading a small army of men to the South. It is a great reward to be named captain, yet when he had been told the news, Jord had turned white and nodded. Rumor is that he and the Prince are intimate, though Damen doesn’t believe it himself. There are a lot of rumors surrounding the Prince’s bed partners.

“He was appointed by your Uncle,” Jord says, which isn’t an answer. Then, “I fought by his side. He’s one of the best.”

Damen should feel honored by such a statement, yet there’s something unreadable in Jord’s voice. He seems angry. Perhaps the rumor is true, then.

“Stand up.”

Damen stands with as much elegance as he can, knowing that all of this is a test and that he shouldn’t show the Prince that his knees are hurting. As his personal guard, it will be Damen’s job to protect him, and to do so, he needs to be strong. Hard marble shouldn’t be enough to make him wince.

If there’s one rumor that is true about the Prince of Vere, it is the one surrounding his beauty. Damen envies all the men who had the chance to share a bed with him.

“You look like an Akielon.”

“I’m a bastard, your Highness. My mother was from here, my father from Akielo, or so I was told.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In your beautiful kingdom. Thanks to your father’s generosity, I was raised in an orphanage and was then able to swear my life to you.”

“I am not the king. My brother is.”

That statement takes Damen by surprise, but he supposes it shouldn’t have. Even though no one even dares mention King Auguste’s name anymore, the man is still the King and would be until his death. But he isn’t the one ruling the Kingdom, nor is Laurent.

“I meant the crown, your Highness. Your family.”

“My family,” The Prince repeats. Then, he gets up and turns around, ready to leave. He’s even more stunning standing up, Damen notices. “Jord, show him his new room.”

------

All of Damen’s life fit into one trunk. There wasn’t much to take: a few clothes, his weapons, his books, and then he was ready to go. Starting today, his life would be much different. As an orphan, he had been allowed to enroll into the army at only fifteen, his muscular body certainly coming into play, and since then, he had been traveling the world, fighting under the Regent’s orders. He had been almost everywhere, save for Akielos, and had seen atrocity all around. His days had been rythmed by the pouring of blood, screams of agony, and the smell of death. There was also a lot of waiting, something that people outside of the army may not be aware of. It took days, weeks, even months sometimes, to reach the different cities. Death is quick, but the agony is long.

Damen has been good at war. He has been so good that it owes him his new position: as the best knight, it was only natural that his next duty would be to take care of the Prince. It’s something else entirely, Damen is aware of that. Looking after a Prince is one thing, but looking after Prince Laurent is another. The man is known for his vicious mind, his coldness, and, most of all, his relationship with his brother. It has never been confirmed, of course, though the lack of defense from the crown may be an indication, but the rumor is well-known in all kingdoms. How many times had Damen heard it when fighting on the field? Soldiers would throw the words at them, laughing through their teeth as they talked about their Prince spreading his legs for his brother. Not all of them laughed, though. Some yelled, anger filling their voices as they call Prince Laurent an abomination, a monster. Those are the ones that justified Damen’s new position. Prince Laurent is hated, in all kingdoms, even his own, and his safety is in danger every time he steps out of his room.

He’s getting older, too. He’ll be twenty-one soon, which means that he will be the ruler in the absence of King Auguste, forcing their uncle to step down from his position. Vere won’t allow it. Akielos even less. Prince Laurent may be entitled to the crown, but his loyalty and disgusting relationship with his brother make it impossible for him to rule. If anyone was hated more than the Prince, it would be the King himself.

King Auguste, the prince's killer.

------

Jord hadn’t given him a lot of information before he left. In fact, Damen has been told only one thing regarding his new position: Prince Laurent was the one in charge and therefore, Damen was to listen to his every order. He was, after all, his future King. Damen had stayed quiet to that, his real mission a secret to all.

So far, taking care of the Prince has been boring. There isn’t another word to describe it. Prince Laurent barely leaves his room and when he does, it’s either to go to the library, attend the council's meetings, or to go riding. His uncle insists that he eats dinner with him every night but the rest of his meal is spent in his own chambers, which Damen is not allowed to enter unless there’s an emergency. Prince Laurent barely talks to him and when he does, it’s only to give him orders such as “be quiet”, “wait here”, and “bring me my horse”. It seems like such a waste of Damen’s experience. He’s a knight, he has killed more men than he can even remember, his dreams fill with their screams and their cries, he can’t just stand there and be quiet until the moment comes. It gives him too much time to think and to remember things he doesn’t want to remember.

It’s two weeks into the job that something finally happens. From eleven to six, Damen is allowed to sleep in his room and has been placed next to the Prince’s own. He’s expected to still be aware of every move, of course, and so it’s not surprising that one night, his not-so-peaceful sleep is disturbed by noises coming from the Prince’s chamber.

Damen doesn’t wait. Sword in hand, he runs to the Prince’s room and enters without announcing himself. He half expected the Prince to be with a man, yet Prince Laurent is alone, looking at him with big, round eyes, and most importantly, he’s all dressed. A quick look outside the window indicates to Damen that it’s past midnight already. When he looks back at the prince, the young man is staring at his sword and Damen cannot understand the expression on his face. It’s not fear, nor anger, and that alone makes something drop into Damen’s stomach. He puts his sword down.

“Your Highness, are you going somewhere?”

“I am, yes.”

“Then you should have told me. I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Jord never came.”

“I am not Jord, your Highness. Your uncle asked me to take care of you.”

At this, the Prince stares at him, a challenge written in his eyes.

“Did he, Damen?”

“Yes, of course.”

The Prince is still looking at him with the same stare, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he finishes getting ready, putting on some shoes and then a cloak that covers his head. He’s dressed in all black, making it impossible for him to be seen or recognized, although given the hour it is, Damen is not sure from whom he is hiding. He doesn’t give him any explanation and when he walks past Damen and into the hallway, Damen follows.

They move like Moses inside the castle, hiding each time they hear noises coming their way. At some point, a servant comes to the other end of the corridor and the Prince takes Damen by the arm and pushes him behind a wall. They have to press one against the other to make sure not to be seen, but Damen forces his body not to react. The Prince is hot against him, his strong body fitting nicely against Damen’s. He smells like jasmine and it reminds him of something, but he can’t put his finger on it.

He doesn’t have time to think more about it before they’re walking again. After a while, they finally leave the castle, and if Damen is smiling from the excitement of the night, it’s no one’s business but his.

They enter the stable and the Prince starts to prepare his horse. Damen had heard a lot of rumors before meeting him and most present him like a spoiled rotten child, unable to take care of himself and prone to tantrums. So far, he hasn’t witnessed any of that, and looking at the Prince now, who’s capable of preparing his horse, he somehow doubts the Prince is as incompetent as he’s pictured.

“Where are we going?” Damen finally asks once the Prince has already mounted the horse.

“Didn’t Jord tell you to listen to me and keep quiet?”

“He only said the first part.”

The Prince’s mouth twists and for what seems to be the first time, he looks directly at Damen. He hadn’t noticed how beautiful his eyes were before but now they’re staring at each other and Damen cannot look away.

“I’m going to see my brother. I’m allowed to stay with him for one hour every month. You can check with my Uncle if that’s your concern.”

The mention of the prince-killer is enough to send a shiver down Damen’s spine. He did remember the Regent mentioning it when they met a few months ago.

“Your uncle is generous.”

There’s a flash of anger on Laurent’s face, one that Damen doesn’t understand. The King has been imprisoned for almost fifteen years now, yet the Regent, despite the awful crime that the King committed, still allowed his nephews to see each other. It’s unfair, Damen thinks, that King Auguste can benefit from such kindness when King Theomedes will never be able to see his little boy. Yet, he cannot blame the Regent’s kindness and it only proves how good of a King he would make.

They only take one horse to be more discreet, though the Prince agrees that it only draws more attention to them. Damen refuses to take the chance of the Prince running away and he suddenly realizes how stupid it is. The Prince isn’t captive, he’s free to go wherever he wants, isn’t he? Yet… Yet he knows the Regent wouldn’t be pleased with the news of his nephew's disappearance and that’s how they end up like this; on a horse, in the middle of the night, with the Prince’s back pressing against his chest.

King Auguste has been locked in a place unknown to anyone except a few chosen members of the council. Damen doesn’t have any memories from that time, having been too young himself, but the story is such a historical event that there is no soul who doesn’t know it. The royal family of Vere had been invited to celebrate the young Prince of Akielos's birthday, an offer of peace considering the difficult relationship between the two kingdoms. There were words of war, but nothing serious, nothing written. Damen often wonders how the story would have gone if the Prince hadn’t done what he did. In a way, the Prince’s action did avoid war, but it was thanks to the Regent's quick thinking.

They say that no one saw the exact moment the Little Prince went away. There are rumors, as always, that it was Prince Laurent who lured him away, as ordered by his brother.

The body of the Little prince was found by his wet nurse, cold and long gone. He was covered in blood and had been so badly beaten that his face was unrecognizable, yet there was no doubt about who it was. Nor was there doubt of who did it when one of the servants saw Prince Auguste covered in blood and his hands damaged. He had been trying to clean himself, frantically rubbing his skin but to no use, the blood having dried out on his skin. He tried to defend himself but no one heard his plea. War would start, vengeance for the Little Prince they had lost, their favorite child, the King had said. King Aleron had refused to believe that his son was guilty and he was ready to fight for him.

But Auguste's uncle had seen him. He had witnessed his nephew taking the life of the Little Prince and he said so to King Theomedes. Their Uncle made a deal, then: King Aleron’s head, for a father, is responsible for his son’s actions, and Prince Auguste is in prison for life. To prove that he wasn’t doing it for the throne, he then offered to have Prince Auguste crowned King, even though he wasn’t even close to being of age at that time, while he reigned until Prince Laurent was twenty-one. Once Vere had a King again, it would be up to King Theomedes and his remaining son to decide on Vere's fate.

The horse comes to a halt and the Prince jumps before they are fully stopped.

“Wait outside,” Prince Laurent says to him.

Damen nods, even though the prince was already gone. They are on a high hill, with nothing around them but this tall tower that seems to be abandoned. It isn’t, now Damen knows that: inside, is King Auguste and now Prince Laurent, doing…

It always bothered Damen, this one rumor. He couldn’t see where it was coming from, given that no one had seen King Auguste for years now. Yes, it was a known fact that Prince Laurent was still in contact with his brother, but how would anyone know if the King was bedding his brother? It seems absurd. Damen was never adopted and though he grew up with other children, he never had siblings of his own but sometimes, when he was younger, he would pretend to have a brother. He was older than him and would teach him how to fight. Sometimes, it felt real, and it left Damen with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. They said he was born an orphan, never loved or cared for, but Damen… Damen wasn’t sure it was true. He couldn’t prove it, of course, but he knew deep down that he had been loved, once. The few times he mentioned it, he had gotten beaten for spreading lies.

Prince Laurent emerges back from the tower before the sun comes out again. His face is closed off, but his eyes are red and swollen. He cried, Damen thought to himself.

“Are you alright?”

This takes Prince Laurent by surprise. He’s pale, paler than usual, and Damen needs to take him into his arms and reassure him. They’re almost the same age, the Prince and he. In another life, where Prince Laurent hadn't been born in Royalty and where Damen had a family, they could have been friends. But that’s not the reality. Here, they’re only a prince and an orphan.

“Do you care?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Prince Laurent looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t and simply mounts back on the horse.

“I’m alright. Let’s go home.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride and when Damen smells the Prince's hair, there’s another scent he doesn’t recognize on them.

----

The Regent keeps a child close to him.

He’s barely thirteen, pretty and smart. He’s also a monster who likes to stick a fork into other’s thighs, something that Damen experiences firsthand. He’s also friends with Prince Laurent.

It’s funny, their relationship. They throw insults at one another, yet Prince Laurent lets him drink from his glace when no one is looking and they have private jokes that Damen doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know who the boy is, only that his name is Nicaise and that Damen has a sweet spot for him, even if he won’t say it out loud. The child is wild but unlike all the other men and women in Vere, he’s true and smart. He thinks he may be an orphan but from someone of high rank. The Regent seems to love him, but there’s something about the way he touches him that makes Damen’s skin crawl.

Then one day, when they’re coming back from a visit with the King, Nicaise is in front of Laurent’s room. His eyes are swollen, his lips black and there’s blood down his legs. He’s wearing a nightgown that doesn’t belong to him.

The Prince is on him before Damen can react. He’s holding him close to his chest, his eyes shut, and Nicaise starts to cry.

“Should I call for the physician?”

“No,” the Prince quickly says. “I’ll deal with it. It’s nothing. Can you… I need water and tissues. Get them, but don’t let anyone see you.”

The Prince knows what he’s doing. When Damen comes back, Nicaise is lying on the bed and the Prince doesn’t wait one second before he starts to clean him. Damen turns around but stays in the room, guarding the door. They’re having a private conversation and though he cannot understand what they’re saying, he hears bits of it. The Prince is reassuring him, telling him sweet nothings and words of praise.

When he’s done cleaning him, Nicaise has already fallen asleep. The water is a dark shade of red but Damen doesn’t comment.

“I know you rapport to my uncle,” the Prince says. “But this one…this one thing, can you keep it to yourself?”

“Does he have something to do with what happened to him?”

There’s anger in his voice and he knows the Prince can hear him. Behind them, Nicaise moves, settling deeper under the cover.

“I won’t say anything,” Damen promises. “And tell Nicaise that I’ll protect him if he needs me to.”

----

Dinner with the Regent and Prince Laurent is particularly awkward. This doesn’t surprise Damen, given the lack of affection between the two, yet it never fails to make him uncomfortable. They’re sitting on each side of the table, so far away that they have to almost yell to talk to each other. It’s a good thing they do not talk, Damen thinks to himself.

Prince Laurent barely eats. He plays with his food, tears it apart and when the servant comes, he orders them to take his food away.

“And don’t eat it,” he says.

It makes Damen’s blood boil to hear him say those kinds of things, but he stays quiet. He’s standing against the wall, his hand on his sword, ready for action. There’s no action. Everything is quiet and boring, as usual.

“I heard Jord has been hurt,” The Regent says. “It’s such a pity, he was a good knight.”

The words barely register in Damen’s mind and when he looks at the Prince, he’s as stoic as ever. He briefly wonders if he even heard what his uncle said.

“That’s a shame, yes.”

“Do you want to know more?”

“I don’t see why I would want to. You do know I’m too weak to hear about bloody stories, Uncle.”

The Regent laughs, loud and deep, and then he turns to Damen. It takes him by surprise. They’ve talked in private, once, but since then, they had been careful not to be seen speaking to one another again.

“Damen, you must think this is silly, don’t you? What man on his right would be afraid of a little bloody story?”

Unable to find an answer, Damen stays quiet. The Regent continues.

“You know, my nephew wanted to join the group, not long ago. I told him no, of course. With such a delicate mind, he would have never lasted. Not to mention what those men would have done to him. Tell me, Damen, have you bed my nephew yet?”

The Prince is not looking at him. He’s staring at his plate as if waiting to be swallowed by it.

“No, I have not, and do not plan on changing that.”

If it was the right answer or not, Damen will never know for the dinner continues without another word. He still thinks about Jord and briefly wonders if he could ask the Regent, but this conversation left a bad taste in his mouth.

When he walks the Prince back to his chamber, they stay quiet, as often, yet he can tell the Prince wants to tell him something. It’s dangerous how he’s starting to recognize his behavior. Once they’re in front of their respective chambers, they wait, silently, until he’s comfortable enough to talk. There’s this thing the Prince always does when he’s stressed, which Damen has noticed happens a lot, though he knows how to hide it until they’re alone. He seems to be bitten the inside of his cheeks, his mouth doing weird movements as he does so. Sometimes, when he hits a big piece, Damen hears it crack under his teeth.

“Jord wasn’t my lover,” the Prince finally says. “He was my friend, but not… I don’t take lovers. If you see a man going in or out of my room, assume I’m dead.”

Damen smiles, he can’t help himself, and nods. This seems to put the Prince at ease. His chewing has stopped.

“Good night, Damen.”

“Good night, your Highness.”

----

Since he moved into the castle, Damen hasn’t been sleeping well. He's thinking about the Prince, more often than not. There’s something about him that bothers him, but not in a wrong way. He had such a clear picture of who he was before he started his mission, yet he seems so different from the way he is portrayed that Damen doesn’t know what to believe anymore. It shouldn’t be an issue if his job was only to protect him, but it’s not. He has been granted a mission that he has willingly agreed to, but now…now he doesn’t know what to do.

They took the horses today and went for a ride, only stopping once the Prince had found a spot he judged adequate for his reading. It’s another one of the funny things he does: several times a week, he will make them go on a ride and once they get there, he will just lie down on the bare ground, a book between his hands. He’s taking notes, more often than not, but Damen never prys. He just sits there, looking at the Prince, imagining a world where they’re not who they are. A world where he can lie down next to him and push the stray hair that is falling into his eyes. A world where he can talk to him, freely, and ask him all the things he wants to ask.

“Do you have memories of your parents?”

The Prince’s voice takes him out of his imaginary world. His mind ventured to his recurrent nightmares, where he can’t see anything but he feels scared and alone. Cold and hurt. But also to the ghosts of arms cuddling him, to the lips on his forehead, and a man’s voice, telling him that he loved him. He thinks of a child, around his age, with yellow hair and blue eyes. It’s not a child from the orphanage, it’s a child from before. But what before? Damen was a baby when he was abandoned.

“No.”

“Consider yourself lucky, then. Memories are the downfall of every man.”

“Do you think so? Many would say that memories are what keep us human.”

“Memories are not reliable. One will remember something, another one something else, yet they lived the same thing. Memories… If I didn’t have memories, I wouldn’t miss my brother.”

It’s the first time he mentions his brother. Once per month, Damen takes him to see him, but none of them talk about him after. The Prince is always in the same state after, and if Damen sometimes slides closer to him, holding him to his chest, they don’t talk about it.

“He didn’t do it,” he says. “You won’t believe me, but I’m telling you: he didn’t do it.”

“How can you be so sure? You were just a child, then.”

“Because I know my brother. See, memories, it all comes down to them. My brother wouldn’t have hurt a child, no matter if they were from royalty or not.”

Damen takes a flower from the ground and starts playing with it, keeping himself busy.

“Your uncle said he saw him.”

“Do you trust my uncle, Damen?”

Damen frowns. A few months ago, he would have said yes. The longer he’s with the Prince, the more he doubts himself.

“He’s the Regent.”

Laurent is still lying on the ground but he put his book back. The sun is hitting him on the face, forcing him to close one of his eyes to look at Damen. He’s so beautiful, like this. The moment he’s away from the castle, he becomes a different man. There seem to be invisible forces holding him hostage, but when he’s here, he’s just Laurent. No more royalty titles.

“If I tell you not to eat or drink anything that he offers you, will you do it?”

This time, the answer comes without him having to think about it, but he’s not sure of the reason behind it. Is it because he doesn’t trust the Regent, or is it because Laurent is the one asking him?

“Anyway,” Prince Laurent says. “I learned a magic trick, do you want to see it?”

Damen is smiling before he even realizes it.

---

Damen is deep asleep when he hears the Prince screaming. He’s out of bed before it even registers in his mind and he doesn’t even take his sword before bursting into the room.

The Prince is in his bed, wide awake, covered in sweat, and eyes going crazy. Damen’s body moves on his own and he’s kneeling in front of him, holding one of his hands while pushing his hair away from his face with the other.

“Your Highness, Laurent, what is it? What happened?”

Laurent is holding his hand tight.

“I had a nightmare. I- I’m ok. It’s ok. Go back to sleep.”

There’s a moment where Damen thinks about following the order and regaining his room, but it doesn’t last for long. Laurent doesn’t want him to, it’s clear by the way he’s holding onto him, afraid that he will disappear. And so Damen gets up and walks towards the door, closes it, and, under Laurent’s comprehensive stares, he sits on the bed next to Laurent. It’s a bold move, he knows that, but Laurent breathes out and it’s all the reassurance he needs.

“I’ll keep you safe, Laurent. Come, lay down.”

Instinctively, he opens his arms and Laurent slides into them. His head is on Damen’s chest, his hand once again in his, and Damen strokes his wet hair to calm him down.

“I know my Uncle asked you to kill me,” Laurent says after a while. Damen’s heart drops in his stomach and he stays silent. “I thought… I thought I could defeat him, but I cannot.”

“Laurent, I don’t-”

“Ush. No more lies. I can’t deal with lies. I’ve been dealing with them for far too long. I do… I do have a request. Before you kill me, can you let me see my brother one last time?”

“I won’t kill you.”

“Yes, you will, because if you don’t, he’ll still have me killed and you’ll die too. But I want to see Auguste one last time. Maybe… Maybe you could set us both free. August, it’s not - it’s not a life, living the way he does, captive in his own kingdom. He stays alive because of me. If you kill us both…”

“I won’t,” Damen says again, more to himself than to Laurent. “You’ll see your brother and Auguste will be free.”

He feels Laurent’s laugh against his skin, both of their bodies shaking with it.

“It’s a nice dream. Are you part of it, too?”

“If you want me, yes.”

Silence, and then, a whisper, barely audible.

“I think I would love to, yes.”

---

The Regent calls him in his personal chamber. Damen has never been there. When he asked him to kill Laurent, they met in a tavern, where no one could identify them. Then, he had made him the offer in front of the council, but that had been in another room, too. Being there should feel like an honor. It doesn’t.

He saw Nicaise leaving the room before he came in, his head down and his cheeks red. He knows what is going on behind those doors, now, and the disgust he’s feeling cannot be described. He doesn’t know if he believes Auguste’s innocence yet, but here’s sure of two things: he believes Laurent and he doesn’t trust the Regent.

“Damen, you do know why I called you, don’t you?”

“No.”

“You don’t? Well, I noticed my nephew is still alive. Would you care to tell me why?”

Damen had signed up for it. He had agreed to kill Laurent, but that was before he knew him. Before he knew the Regent, too. He was supposed to kill him his first month into the job but it has been six months already. In less than three, Laurent will be twenty-one. His time is counted.

“Didn’t find the right timing.”

The Regent stares at him with disbelief written all over his face. He’s an ugly man. A pig that Damen should beat to death right there and then. He doesn’t. Laurent has asked him to wait.

“Tonight is a good time, then. Make sure it’s done before morning.”

---

Four guards are protecting the prison Auguste lives in. They’re well trained, quiet, and most of all, loyal to the Regent. Damen doesn’t know them. They haven’t fought side by side and so he knows he won’t be able to gain their trust. There’s no point in trying: their time is limited and they need to act fast.

They have taken two horses tonight: one for Auguste, once he’ll be out, and one for them. They will ride north, where Jord has settled down after his injuries made it impossible for him to work anymore. He lost a leg, Laurent had told him. He almost seemed relieved by it. Laurent and he had been talking, using messengers and secret language to keep them both safe. Laurent had thought he wouldn’t be coming out of this, but he had taken the time to prepare a plan for Nicaise. After he left the Regent’s room earlier that day, provoking a fight on purpose, Laurent sneaked him out and sent him Jord’s way, accompanied by a redhead Damen hadn’t seen before, but that Laurent trusted enough to put his boy in his care.

They don’t have time to come up with a good plan for themselves. Laurent hadn’t thought of it, or more precisely, Damen suspects he failed to come up with a good plan, thinking he was alone, and so they go without more thought. Damen is ok with it. The plan, to him, is clear: get both Laurent and Auguste out of there. Protect Laurent, no matter what.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Laurent says once they’ve arrived. “We need to be quick. I… Auguste may not be willing to follow. If he resists, you’ll need to knock him out.”

“You’re asking me to kidnap your brother?”

Laurent rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t answer. They’re about to go in when Laurent stops. He turns towards him and, before Damen even comprehends what he’s doing, his lips are pressing against his. The kiss is chaste and quick, barely more than a smack, and yet, Damen can feel his face burning from it, the heat radiating through his whole body.

“Focus, now,” Laurent orders. His face is red, too.

Taking care of the guards is incredibly easy, both because Damen is strong and also because Laurent is, to his surprise, incredible with a sword in his hands. It’s like an out-of-body experience. Laurent is moving his sword as if it weighs nothing, his movements easy and fluid. When one of the men gets too close to him, Damen throws his sword at him, hitting him right in the chest. The man falls to the ground, his eyes wide open. Damen doesn’t spare him a second look and takes his sword back.

“You’re good?”

“Yes.”

Laurent is out of breath, but he’s looking at him with lust in his eyes and Damen has to hold himself back from kissing him again. Later, he thinks.

They quickly get rid of the men and Laurent runs into the stars. Auguste lives in a room, not in a cell, and the knowledge reassures Damen greatly. Still, he doesn’t let himself spy more inside the room, leaving the two brothers to have their moment as Laurent tries to convince Auguste to leave.

“Leave? To go where?”

Auguste’s voice makes Damen go still. He heard it before. He doesn’t know where, but he’s sure of it.

“Anywhere, Auguste! Not here, that’s all that matters. Please, come, we don’t have much time.”

“He’ll find us back. He’ll kill us. He’ll kill you.”

“But I’m already dead. If I stay, he’ll have me killed. Don’t you want us to try?”

“I want - Who are you?”

Two pairs of blue eyes are staring at him. Damen has entered the room, unable to settle his mind, but there’s no doubt, now. He knows Auguste. He had seen him before. He looks different: older, and malnourished, but his eyes are the ones Damen sees when he closes his eyes at night.

“I know you,” Damen says. “Why do I know you?”

“Damen, what are you talking about?”

“It's the Little Prince,” Auguste says. He looks scared, panicked even. “Laurent, can you see him? You can see him too, right?”

“Auguste, it’s not- he’s my guard, he’s from Vere. He’s not Damianos from Akielos. Please, come, we don’t have time!”

“You’re alive. I knew you were alive! I told him, I didn’t kill you! I saw them taking you and I tried to - I tried to save you, but I couldn’t, I was too young. You need to believe me, I tried!”

Auguste’s words don’t make sense and yet, Damen cannot move. Something is happening in his mind. It’s like there’s a wall, starting to fracture, and memories are trying to come out.

“It’s too late,” Laurent says. His voice snaps Damen back to reality. “He’s here. He followed us.”

By the windows, Damen can see them, too. Far away, the Regent and his men are coming to get them. It was a trap, of course. He knew exactly what Damen and Laurent were going to do.

“It’s over when I say it is,” Damen says. “Auguste, your Majesty, I believe you. We will talk about it more, but we both want Laurent to be safe and so we need to move.”

This is all it takes for Auguste to agree and then they’re running down the stairs. Despite the initial plan, Damen decides to get on the horse with Auguste, not trusting the King enough to leave him alone. If he’s anything like Laurent, he would be capable of giving himself up to protect his brother.

“We can’t ride fast enough,” Laurent says, panic in his voice.

“We’re not riding away from them, love. We’re riding towards them. There are six men, including your Uncle. We can take them together.”

Laurent registers what Damen just said, the words sinking in slowly. They don’t have any other choice; they’re too close to run away from them and if Damen has to die, he’ll die fighting for the man he loves.

“Don’t kill him. We need him alive,” Laurent says.

“Can’t promise anything.”

The men didn’t expect Laurent and Damen to move towards them, that was very obvious, and yet the men held their ground, ready to fight. It was a bolt move, six against three, two if he was being sincere, Auguste not being too much use, but Damen believes in them. He has to.

They work in synchronism, Laurent and him. They don’t even need to exchange any words, their bodies work together as if they were meant to be. Damen had fought with a lot of men in his life, but never one like Laurent.

Three men are down and the Regent is running away. He has not lifted his sword once and Damen isn’t even sure he knows how to use it.

“Go get him,” he tells Laurent. “You deserve it. I can take care of them.”

Laurent nodes and gallops after his uncle. Behind him, Damen feels Auguste holding his waist tighter.

“He can’t get hurt,” Auguste begs. “Hurry up, we need to help him.”

Damen does as he is told, swinging his swords around. It’s not easy. He had done that plenty of times, but never with such a big goal in mind and never in these conditions. The last man falls from his horse and Damen doesn’t even let the victory sink in before he orders his horse in Laurent’s direction. They have not yet reached them and he can see what happened: the Regent is on the ground, Laurent’s sword in his leg, holding him to the ground.

The weight behind him disappears and Damen watches as Auguste runs to his brother. They fall into each other's arms while Damen hurries to ensure that their uncle cannot move.

“You’re free, Auguste,” Laurent whispers, holding his brother as if his life depended on it. “You’re free.”

When the news that King Auguste has escaped his prison and is inside the castle breaks in, the people are not happy.

Damen had been expecting it, of course, but it doesn’t make it easier. Already, the words of King Theomedes and his son traveling to Vere have made their way over there. Once they get there with their army, Damen knows there’s nothing they will be able to do.

“Is Nicaise safe?” He asks, sitting in front of the Regent’s cell. They gagged, blindfolded, and restrained him, making it impossible for him to do anything, and yet, Damen doesn’t trust him to be left alone.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “Jord and Ancel are taking care of him.”

“Good.”

Damen extends his hand to hold Laurent’s. He’s making small movements with his thumb, offering him much-needed reassurance. There’s a lot of noise outside but they pretend not to hear it. They ask all the servants to leave. It’s only them, here.

“You didn’t tell me you had a husband.”

The voice takes him by surprise, yet Auguste has been there the whole time, like a ghost standing between them. Damen tries to react to his hand but Laurent holds him.

“He’s not my husband.”

“Yet,” Damen corrects him. Then, he turns toward Auguste and the same feeling hits him. He can see that it is the same for Auguste.

“You always got along fine when you were children. There was a discussion of a union between you two, back then. You were only eight, but it would have been a promise of peace.”

Laurent seems sad and Damen understands that he thinks his brother’s mind is slipping away. It is not the case, though. Damen thinks that Auguste may be the only one having all of his mind, actually.

“I-”

There’s a noise coming from outside. A siren, loud and shrill and although Damen never heard it himself, he knows who it is. The Akielons are here.

“Come,” Auguste says. “We need to explain all of it in front of the King.”

---

To their credit, the Akielons don’t come into the castle with their swords ready to strike. They are at least one hundred men, all dressed with the Akielon’s banner, and at the front, unmistakably, standing the King and Prince of Akielos.

Auguste asks Damen to wear a helmet covering his face before stepping outside, which he reluctantly agrees to. It helps that Laurent puts the thing on his face and, before Damen’s face is completely covered, kisses his lips again.

Auguste and Laurent stand outside side to side, unprotected, and Damen has to restrain himself from pushing them back inside. King Theomedes and his son are coming closer, ordering their soldiers to stay behind.

“King Theomedes, Prince Kastor. How was the journey?”

Even Laurent seems to be taken aback by his brother’s nonchalance but he stays still.

“Good. It’s easy to travel when you have a purpose, isn’t it?”

King Theomedes is tall, old, and grumpy, yet Damen feels his chest tightening when he sees him. When he looks at Prince Kastor, though, his mind orders him to run.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been a prisoner for the last fifteen years, for a crime I have not committed.”

“It’s still the same story, then, King Auguste? You killed my brother and yet you still cannot take the blame for it!”

Neither of the Kings seem happy to hear Kastor speak and for a moment, Damen even thinks his father is going to ask him to step out of the conversation. It is a well-known fact that the King is not too fond of his son. Kastor had been the one in charge of keeping the Little Prince safe that night, and his father never forgave him for his mistake.

“Have I, though?” Auguste says. “What if I told you that I have the Little Prince with me? That I can prove to you that I didn’t kill your son.”

All colors seem to leave the King’s face and when he regains his mind, he turns red and takes his sword out. Damen is quick to act and takes his own out, pointing it towards him. Auguste seems unfazed but Damen is starting to wonder if the King is truly right in his head. They should have talked about it more before going out. What if he’s wrong? What if Laurent dies because of them?

“Damianos, take your helmet off, please.”

He doesn’t register that Auguste is talking to him at first. It’s only when all eyes are turned to him that he understands.

“His name is Damen,” Laurent says, innocently. “Why… Auguste, I don’t understand what is happening.”

“Be still, my love. It’s alright.”

“So you do are fucking, then?” Kastor says with a laugh.

Unlike his father, Prince Kastor doesn’t seem to be waiting for any big reveal. His hand keeps flicking to his sword, as if ready to take it out, and Damen chooses not to take his sword away, even if it makes taking his helmet off more complicated.

He still manages to and when his face is free, available for all to see, the King puts his hand on his heart and Kastor’s smile disappears.

“It can’t be. Damianos is dead,” Kastor says.

“Your majesty, you once told me that your wife had a particular birthmark that she gave to your son. First, I’ll need you to confirm that you never told me what the mark was.”

“I confirm.”

“Then, Damianos, I would imagine that you do have a birthmark, don’t you?”

Damen nods. He has one, yes, on his forearm. A mark in the shape of a heart, something that gave him much trouble when he was younger. He shows it to the King whose eyes are becoming teary.

“You’re lying,” Kastor says again. His voice is weak now, trembling with fear.

“Damianos, you have a scar on your ribs, don’t you? Kastor, do you remember when you struck your six-year-old brother? I was there that day. I was the one who reassured your brother after you almost killed him.”

Damen lets his sword fall on the ground and lifts his shirt. He has a lot of scars now, but this one - this one he doesn’t remember getting, and yet it has always been there.

“My boy,” King Theomedes says.

Damen lifts his head and then he’s being held close to the King’s chest. Tears are running down both of their faces, but Damen cannot even feel himself crying. His mind is blurry but this, he remembers. Those are the arms of his father.

But then something happens behind them. Damen doesn’t see it, but someone is moving and suddenly Laurent is closer to them and he’s dropping on the ground. He gets up clicky and the next sound is the one of swords crashing one against the other. Prince Kastor has tried to attack them. Immediately, the King lets go of Damen.

“Kastor!” The King yells. “What is this?”

Laurent is holding the sword against Kastor’s throat, ready to take his life. It occurs to Damen, then, that the Regent’s words and the rumors against Laurent were nothing but lies. Laurent knows how to fight. Laurent has killed men, in just shy of two days, and hasn’t shown even a bit of remorse. He has killed before, Damen concludes. He feels nothing but pride.

“Kastor and my uncle worked together to frame me,” Auguste says. “I tried to protect the Little Prince, Your Majesty, and I thought I failed, but it turns out I was wrong. Damianos escaped and those two must have had another child killed, not even caring about what happened to the real one.”

“I had memories,” Damen says. “I… I remembered, but they kept… they thought I was lying and so I was punished for speaking about them. I eventually thought they were just lies I fed myself with.”

“Kastor. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t do that.”

Kastor’s stare is fixed on Laurent. He refuses to look at Damen or their father and when the words come out of his mouth, they’re full of hate.

“I’m the firstborn, father. You never see it this way, but I am! Damianos was all you thought about, but this was my crown. My title.”

“I spent my life in prison,’ Ausute says. “My father died because of this. My brother… You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Kastor.”

It happens quickly: one moment they’re standing, and the next Kastor is trying to run away, but Laurent is faster than him. With one smooth movement, he slides his sword into Kastor’s leg, sending him to the floor with a scream of pure agony.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Auguste says. “Let’s step inside, shall we?”

---

They’re lying down in the sand, Laurent’s head next to his, their fingers interlocked. They’re in Akielos, Damen’s home, even if the memories still have trouble coming back. They will, eventually, he’s sure of that. For now, it doesn’t matter. He remembers enough to know who to love and Laurent assures him that it’s all he needs to know.

“It’s too hot in your kingdom, your Highness,” Laurent says. His eyes are closed and Damen traces the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Laurent smiles.

“It will be your kingdom too, soon.”

Laurent laughs and it’s a sound so new yet so familiar, something that Damen wants to hear until his last moment on earth.

“Auguste needs me for the moment, Damen. He’s… he needs time.”

Auguste’s mental health hasn’t been an easy thing, Damen is well aware of that. If he has been strong and clear when standing face to face with his father, he knows that not everything is as it seems and that Auguste suffers greatly. He still needs to regain his people’s trust, too, something that Damen knows will take some time. Their wedding will help, though.

“Nicaise is coming, though,” Laurent says. “He’s tired of the cold. I think he just needs an excuse to be closer to you. He likes you a lot.”

“I like him too,” he admits. “He’s welcome here. You are all welcome here. We’re a big family now.”

He turns his head and kisses Laurent on the forehead before holding him closer to him. He can hear the waves of the sea, can feel the sun on his skin and most of all, the happiness growing in his chest. He wishes he could stop time and stay like this forever.

“Did you know?” Laurent asks after a while. “In the back of your mind, have you ever thought about it?”

“No,” Damen admits. “I… I remembered things, from time to time, but never… never enough. Never this.”

He remembers Auguste telling him to run that night. Blood was pouring from the prince’s face while he was fighting against Kastor and his men, and yet Auguste hadn’t cared for anything else but Damen’s safety. Not anything else, though. Damen remembers, now, the words that Auguste told him that night, right before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Run, Damianos! Run! Take care of Laurent when you’re back, I’m begging you, take care of my brother.”

#captive prince

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brewsterispunkk · 2 years ago

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crawl home to her

here’s a snippet from an upcoming chapter of my aemond targaryen x f!oc fic, crawl home to her. find it on ao3 !! hope you enjoy🖤🐉

-~-

“Hmm,” he hums, before tilting his head. “Still, I had hoped they were wrong.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s an abomination for a bastard to mount a dragon.”

Her lip curls.

“As I recall, all of my brothers mounted dragons before you,” she counters.

Aemond tilts his head and takes a step toward her. Instinctively, Laenora takes a step back, her spine hitting the bookshelf. Aemond runs his hand along the shelf to her opposite side as he approaches.

“And yet I am the one who mounted the Queen of the dragons.” He said, before pursing his lips. “But that is neither here nor there. When I saw the giant black beast descend into the dragon pit, I could hardly believe it. The rumors were true. Do you know what they began to call you, niece? Once you left here?”

Laenora is silent. Aemond takes her silence as an invitation to invade her space. He takes a step closer, so close that she can smell the leather of his training gear.

“The bastard heir.” His lips twitched into a smile. “Fitting.”

“And what is it you think they call you?” She raises her chin to meet his eye. She will not back down from him, no matter how intimidating he tries to be. “One-eye? Oh no. The ‘one-eyed prince.’”

He grasps her chin with one hand, his hand shooting up. His eyes burn as he forces her eyes to level with his one.

“Watch your tongue, lest you find it missing.”

“I would like to see you try.” She smiles. “Maiming an heir to the Iron Throne is treason.”

“Oh is it?” He tilts his head, grip tightening on her chin. “Members of our house have maimed each other with no consequences before, or don’t you remember?”

Her smile drops.

Ah yes, that. The elephant in the room. Driftmark. The last words Aemond had spoken to her were “bastard.” And now, this. Aemond, trying to blame her for what happened that night. She would not have it.

She shoves him away with all her upper body strength, but he barely moves an inch. She curses herself for spending more time in the water than training with her brothers, like Daemon insists. Aemond falls back a step.

“Yes,” Laenora spits. “I seem to remember your mother cutting mine with no repercussions suffered.”

Aemond scoffs.

“You know that is not to what I am referring.”

“And to what are you referring?”

He sneers and stares at her, icy eye piercing. No matter how much time has passed, he can still see right through her. No matter what kind of monster he has become, she cannot stop herself from seeing a bit of that boy that she grew up with, deep down.

She levels her gaze with his, eyes narrowed.

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head. “I knew you to be weak, niece, but I never took you for a craven.”

“A—craven?” Laenora spits, reeling. “You are the one who tried to murder a boy half your size!”

“And there she is,” his lips twist in a cruel smile. “As cruel as I remember. Need I remind you who walked away from that ordeal maimed?”

Laenora narrows her eyes.

“They were defending themselves.”

“Even you cannot be so naive as to believe that.”

“You should know something of naivety, uncle. Since you are so obviously gloating in what you suspect will be a victory tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Aemond huffs a humorless laugh. “The matter of succession.”

“You are fooling yourself if you believe anyone other than my brother will be named Lord of the Tides. The king will not allow it.”

“The king is ill,” Aemond all but interrupts her. “Weak. He does not know day from night. Most days he cannot recognize my mother. He will be no help to you.”

“We both believe twisted things, it seems.”

“Indeed,” he hums, eye holding hers.

They stay like that for longer than she can tell, eyes met, the air between them electric, before the faint ringing of bells causes her eyes to snap away.

By the time she looks back up, he has already turned away and begun to stride out of the library, his shoes echoing against the stones

#aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic rec #aemond targaryen ficrec #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon aemond

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hunterdadrius · 2 years ago

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Right by your side for as long as I can

Summary: When Darius and Eberwolf are assigned to find a magic glove from wild witches and things don’t go successfully.

Words: 1,393

Darius and Eberwolf where currently taking a ship to 'Island Azul' where Belos had assigned them to capture a wild witch and find a magic glove, apparently the scouts that were originally assigned to go in this mission failed so Belos decided two coven heads were more suited for this mission. They have been on the ship for 4 days now and have made multiple stops at other islands to recover other objects Belos had requested. Unfortunately, the beds on the lower deck aren’t the most comfortable and Darius had been complaining about it most mornings.

“Hey Eber, how long till we get there?” Darius asked as he sat on his bed reading his magazine. “Probably till morning” Eberwolf growled as he looked outside then at the map next to him (he had been given the map since he was "good at tracking" and mostly because Darius was too tired to try and find the island.) They both had waisted much of their energy on other witches when trying to recover the other objects and hope this last task isn’t going to be as hard as the others.

"In that case I’m going to sleep” Darius placed his magazine on the nightstand and got up to check on the abomination that was currently driving the ship, hopefully it will still be there when he wakes up and won’t melt during the night. “Can I sleep in your bed Darius?” Eberwolf asked as he jumped onto his shoulder when he made his way back from the top deck of the ship. “Why can’t you sleep in yours?” He walked over to the bed where Eberwolf jumped off his shoulder and onto the right side of the bed where the wall was. "Too uncomfortable” Eber responded then made himself comfortable in his bed. “Both beds are uncomfortable get used to it and move over.” Eberwolf didn’t respond or move, he knew his brother was only complaining for the fun of it and didn't really care. He placed the blanket on Eber and himself before closing his eyes and tried to get some sleep. Just his luck, the bed was just as uncomfortable as the night before and he kept turning trying to find a comfortable position, after about 20 minutes he finally found a "comfortable" spot which was just him hugging a pillow with his knees by his chest.

A few minutes passed and Eber still lacked sleep just like the nights before. He blamed his lack of sleep on the bed but he knew it was his thoughts mostly keeping him from getting sleep. “Hey Dar, you awake?" Eberwolf sat up and turned to look at Darius who was hugging a pillow tightly as if holding on for dear life, “No I’m asleep” Darius rolled his eyes before sitting up and turning around to look at Eber, “Is something wrong?” He shook his head, "Can't sleep my head hurts" “You want your headphones?” Another head shake. “What's on your mind?” Eber opened his mouth then closed it, “nothing my head just hurts from the mission” Darius laid back down on his side, still facing Eberwolf, and extended his arm up. Eber immediately understood what he was trying to say and quickly moved over to Darius before he could change his mind. He curled up next to Darius and let him lower his hand onto his mane and run his hand through it. He placed his head on Ebers head before quietly speaking, “you don’t have to talk but at least try to sleep okay Eber?” Eberwolf nodded and closed his eyes drifting off to sleep by the sound of Darius's heartbeat.

*****

Darius and Eberwolf stepped out of the woods where they had been walking in for almost 3 hours, "here we are!" Eber said pointing to the cave that was in front of them, "told you I could do it!" "Says the guy that led us in a circle for 2 hours" Darius said as he walked past him and into the cave "let's just get this over with"

They walked through the cave as carefully and quietly as possible, Darius in front, "Hey Eb look at this" He made his way over to what Darius was looking at, it appeared to be fresh blood. "You think you can track the witch?" Eber sniffing the ground and led the way, "Its more than just one wild witch." After what felt like forever, they could hear voices. "Careful you're ganna break it!" She whisper yelled at him as he put on the glove, "I'm not that careless unlike you, you almost dropped it into the boiling water!" They were in the back of the cave at a high point with boiling sea water beneath them. "Shut it!" "you can't just-" She placed her hand over his mouth and looked around the room. "Did you hear that" She whispered and looked to her right in time to see abomination goo, she quickly moved out of the way and avoided the attack.

"FUCK!" Darius placed his hands on his head clearly angry at himself for missing even though they had the advantage. "Go around from behind while I get their attention" Eber signed then made his way around the rocks getting into position. After a minute he launched himself onto the guy who was still wearing the glove.

"KEV MOVE!" She tried to help him but then was stopped by abomination goo covering her feet slowly making its way up her body. While she was stuck in goo Kevin was able to get Eberwolf off and use construction magic to separate him and Eber, Darius used his goo to teleport her farther from his reach, The next 35 minute consisted of several uses of magic like illusions, construction, plant, abomination, and beasts. At this point all 4 of them were tired and wanted all this to end.

Darius successfully got the glove and was able to get Kevin on the ground with abomination goo and kept his foot on his back to keep him down. "Let him go or I throw your companion into the boiling water!" Darius quickly turned his head and saw Eber hovering by the edge were Janet (The other wild witch) was keeping him in place with her magic. "How do I know it's not an illusion?" He really wished it was an illusion, his heart felt like it was going to come out his chest, he remembered how in college Eber once got splashed with boiling water as a "prank" from a group of young scouts leaving him with a few scars. He still remembered how much pain Eberwolf was in for the next few months.

"You wanna test it?!" She laughed and moved Eber closer to the edge and Darius could have sworn he felt his heart stop for a moment, "You throw him and I throw your companion!" They stood staring at one another for what felt like forever, Eber could see it in Darius's eyes that his magic was starting to fail him. Kevin seemed to notice and took the opportunity to get out and take the glove causing Darius to fall on his knee and Janet took the opportunity to drop Eberwolf and run. "NO!!!"

Eber closed his eyes waiting for the water to hit his body and kill him, the only thing on his mind was Darius and the regret of not being able to talk to him one last time.

Darius felt the world stop around him as he saw his brother fall to his death, without a second thought he ran to the edge and jumped. He wasn't going to leave his brother no matter what, that was a promise they made to each other when they first met.

Eberwolf opened his eyes and saw Darius, 'wait... DARIUS!!!' in a second he felt Darius hug him and he immediately hugged him back of course he wondered what the heck was wrong with him to jump right after him, but it didn't matter right now. Nothing did after all, they had each other and that's all they needed.

"I promise to stay right by your side " Darius said looking in Ebers eyes, "for as long as I can" Eber finished and they closed their eyes waiting to reach the water, their destination

their end...

---------

notes: There was originally going to be a happier ending but I decided to end it this way (also cause I just got lazy so sorry if some parts don't make sence)

#darius #darius deamonne #toh darius #toh eberwolf #eberwolf #eberwolf the huntsman

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countrymusiclover · 2 years ago

Text

107 - To Getting Elijah Back

Part 108

Gemini Runaway

@icefrye19 @secretdreamlandmentality

Shooting upright I gasped frantically looking around and seeing that we were back in our house or at least I thought so. Getting to my feet I called our daughters names. “Hope…Alina…Missy…Henrik!”

“Rae, what the hell is going on?” Turning my head I saw my twin brother running towards me.

Hayley was not long behind him where she sent me a confused look. “I can’t find Andrea anywhere. What is this place?”

“Raelyn. Jacob, Hayley. What the hell are we doing here?” I recognized my husband’s voice seeing him come over to us. He takes my hands in his searching my face. “Did you make this place, love?”

We all turned our heads seeing Elijah or whoever he claimed to be at this moment. “This is dangerous, you and I here together….Antoinette is dying from a werewolf bite.”

“We're not actually here together, are we? Not physically, at least….amd she deserves to die after what she did to my children.” My husband snapped at him with a smirk.

Lifting my head I raised a brow at him nudging his arm. “Nik, did you bite her last night?”

“Alina was right behind me until I found where she was living and I took my chance. I didn’t see any problem with slowly killing the person who took away Missy and Alina’s happiness.” He shrugs his shoulders at me not phased by what he had done.

Jacob took a hold of Hayley’s hand interrupting our conversation. “Sorry to stop murder fairness storytelling but can someone tell us where we are exactly?”

“It's called a Chambre de Chasse It's a magical mental prison designed to resemble our home. But don't worry. There's always a way out... A game or a riddle.” Klaus threw his hands away from his sides explaining to our group.

The man who looked like Elijah asked. “How do we solve this riddle?”

“We don't do anything. We're square, you and I.

You got my youngest daughter killed and then my second daughter triggered her werewolf curse, so Antoinette will die because of me.” The hybrid glared at his brother holding my hand while he threatened him, leading our group away and leaving Elijah there. “I would hate to upset that delicate balance. So I'm gonna find my way out, and you're on your own. Come on Rae, Jacob, Hayley.”

The four of us entered one of the rooms with some old Mikaelson paintings on the walls before we saw Rebekah and Kol were here too. “Suppose I'll ask the obvious: piss off any witches lately?” Kol asked, mocking.

Nik scolded him. “Actually, my current enemies are a group of hatemongers who see myself, my wife, my daughters and son as abominations to the vampire race.”

“The bigoted undead.” Rebekah spoke.

Kol suggested this was Elijah’s new girlfriend. “That's new. They must have a witch-for-hire. A witch that's spent enough time here to replicate every detail. This is Elijah's prized Cheval Blanc.”

Until we heard someone coming down the stairs and saw Freya was here too. “The culprit may be closer to home. A witch who knows the compound well and who doesn't trust you to stay away from Elijah. Someone who would risk everything to save New Orleans from plagues.”

Nik and I grumbled before Elijah showed us a door. “Vincent.”

The door was white and it had eight keys “It's representational magic. I expect there are keys, one for each of us, hidden somewhere meaningful. Somewhere connected to who we are.” Kol dropped one of the locks turning to our group.

Elijah said uneasy. “And for those of us who don't remember who we are?”

Klaus growled at him. “I'll give Antoinette your regards.”

“Door won't open unless all eight locks are released.” Freya glanced between everyone. “The only way out is together.”

Kol stepped forward giving a word of warning before we all went in search. “Elijah, if we're to get through this without bloodshed, I recommend that you go to the corner of the house furthest from Nik.”

Following my brother’s trail I paused standing in front of the Mikaelson’s crest on the garden wall. “How are we supposed to find keys that represent us here?”

“I think I might have an idea already. Do you remember the night that we first came to New Orleans and Klaus said that we officially became Mikaelson’s.” I pointed towards the crest smiling at the memory from sixteen years ago.

“Nik, where are we going? Don’t let me trip over my own feet please.” I chuckled while he walked behind me covering my eyes with one hand and his other was on my hip so that if I did fall he could catch me.

My brother had his eyes covered too where he followed us inside too. “Don’t hurt me for asking this but are you leading us into a trap?”

He whispered in my ear finally having us stop. “Don’t worry, Rae. And as for your brother's worries. You will both be fine now, open your eyes.”

He removes his hand from my eyes so that when I blinked through the light my eyes focused on a M crest on a wall of green plants behind it. “Nik, this is your former home. I…I don’t understand why are we here?” Turning to face him he was smiling at me.

“Because my heirs belong here. This was my home a thousand years ago.” He walked up to me resting a hand on my cheek where I leaned into his palm. “You and your brother are now a part of this family. You will always have a home here. This is your life, Raelyn.”

Jacob smiled in our direction staring up at the M. “I’ve never said this before, Klaus. But you are a good man for my sister. We weren’t accepted by our own family but you…”

“You gave me a love I never knew I could have. You are giving my daughters a place to know that they will always be loved.” Draping my arms over his shoulders I smiled at the hybrid kissing him softly.

He wrapped his arms around my waist nuzzling his nose against mine before he connected our lips together. “The night my father called us each abomination it broke my heart to see you believe him. From that day forward I swore that you and our daughters would never feel that pain anymore. You and your brother are always equals here.”

“I was born to be a Mikaelson. You can just say it, Nik.” I teased him leaning up, kissing him slowly.

He cupped my face in his hands kissing me back. “You have the heart of a Mikaelson.”

Raising my hand I used a bursting spell on the M crest on the wall. “Dissulta…ha I knew it. Two separate key’s with our initials on them.” Holding up two golden keys smiling.

“So I guess he considered me a Mikaelson before I thought he did.” Jacob smiled before we saw my husband and Freya stomping towards the locked door. Freya disappeared and so did one of the locks.

Klaus stomped up to me, seeing the key in my hand. “So you found your key then. Freya helped our daughters create this room while they took the Hollow magic out of us.”

“So why are we here if they’re already taken the power?” Jacob asked, confused.

My husband shrugs his shoulders in a huff. “I have no idea. I just need to find my key and get us the bloody hell out of here.”

“J, go help Hayley. I’ll help him.” Grabbing my husband’s hand I dragged him upstairs into our bedroom finally dropping his hand standing in the center of the room. “So Jacob and I had our keys in the M crest. Where in here would represent you and our kids?”

“I don’t know and this is ridiculous. Why would our daughters do this scheme? Especially when it endangers their lives!” He raised his voice, running his hands down his face in a huff.

Holding my hands up I stepped towards him putting my hands on his shoulders. “Look we can figure this all out and ground them later but we have to get out of here first ... .I can’t believe you kept this and framed it.”

Walking around him I picked up a drawing that I had done after the night he showed me his wolf form for the first time. “You said that you were never much of an artist. But I didn’t see it that way. You have always seen the light in me when I didn’t in myself.” He came behind me wrapping his arms around my waist resting his chin on my shoulder.

Laying on the bed in my room of the compound I attempted to move my pencil across the paper trying to concentrate and not mess up on it. I was focusing on the ears before someone knocked on the door making me lift my head up. “Here you are. I thought you were hiding from me on purpose.”

“Oh hey. No I’m not hiding from you, Nikky. I just needed a place to chill for a little bit.” I smiled sitting up on the bed tucking hair behind my ear looking at him.

Klaus slowly walked over making the bed dip down at his weight when he sat down. “What’s this you’re working on, Rae?”

“Oh uh nothing.” I blurted out trying to hide them half drawing from his view.

He snags my wrists seeing what I was trying to do. “What are you hiding from me, love? Come on, let me see it.” He took it from my hands holding up the drawing seeing that I was drawing his werewolf head yet I hadn’t drawn the shape of his eyes yet.

“Oh god it’s bad isn’t it. See I told you I am not good at this. Like I messed up on the ears like twice and I am not good with drawing your eyes which is really important cause they’re beautiful and…I’m rambling on too much aren’t I?” I covered my face with my hands falling back on the bed feeling embarrassed that I was so worried he wouldn’t like it.

Nik brushed hair out of my eyes crawling over to me and hovering there with his hands on either side of me. “Stop being embarrassed, Raelyn. Now look here we can finish this together you and I.”

“I just want it to be good enough. I’m not as good of an artist as you are.” I put my face in my hands when he pulls me up to sit up with him.

Nik tucked hair behind my ear then he turned my chin with his thumb and index finger so I’d look him in the eye. “You may not be able to draw like I can. Yet you are an artist in your mind, my siphon queen. For you can see the good in me that I thought was gone when I became a vampire.”

“There’s good in everyone, Klaus. But can you please help with this otherwise it will look weird.” I smiled, kissing his cheek before we laid on our stomachs and he intertwined his hand over mine moving the pencil perfectly to finish his eyes on the drawing.

Klaus turned the frame over in his hands once we separated from one another where we saw something sticking into the back of the picture frame. “The key to the man I became after the girls were born.” He tore a hole in the corner pulling out a key.

“Now let’s hope the others found their keys.” I intertwined his freehand with mine before we vamped downstairs seeing the others. Everyone put their keys and unlocked the white door only for us to enter a white hallway with a red door at the end.

“What the hell is this place. I thought we finished the maze.” Jacob questioned raising a brow at me.

Kol grumbled. “Oh, bloody hell. Now we're in Elijah's mental maze. Of all the hells I've had to endure…”

Elijah mumbles staring at the red door. “The door. What is this, Hope's revenge? Imprison me till I reclaim all of my memories, forcing me to accept accountability for all of this?”

Kol grabbed his door handle that had a K on it, opening it and leaving to the real world. “Well, as much as I love a cherry on top of a scheme......I have somewhere else to be.”

Klaus and I glanced at one another where I touched the door knob seeing a R on it right next to an N for Nik “Nik, we can't just leave him here.”

“He can find his own way out.” He raised his voice towards Rebekah’s words.

She fought back looking at me. “We made a vow….Raelyn please.”

“Bex, I once made him see himself hurting his nieces when we faced Dahlia. I wanted him to hurt so much for trying to take our daughters away from us without telling either one of us. I’m sorry but he has to face reality on his own and open the damn door!” I turned my head in Elijah’s direction hearing him just slamming into it with his body like an idiot.

Klaus agreed with me turning his head towards Elijah when he raised his index finger pointing at him. “I made a vow to my brother. That's just the man who made Missy become a heretic and then forced Alina to trigger her werewolf curse when we didn’t want her too yet!”

“I thought the same thing about you once. Do you remember our mother?” Rebekah walked over to my husband trying to reason with him. “Before all of the turmoil? Because I do. I remember when she would put flowers in my braid, and I remember when she would sing to us in the morning. And then you killed her.”

Nik shook his head confused. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

She declared to him. “Because we are capable of doing terrible things, but we are also capable of forgiveness.”

Nik rolled his eyes hearing Elijah still slamming his body into the door but he didn’t just turn the knob. “It's just a door, Elijah! Open it!”

“Do I need to hit him in the head to remember how to open a door!” I grumble wrapping my fingers around the doorknob.

Rebekah went back to her door about to leave with the both of us looking at Nik. “Go on, Rebekah, Raelyn. We'll be right behind you, both of us.” My husband said softly before we left the room.

Shooting upright I gasped seeing that Nik and Elijah were laying inside a drawn symbol on the floor. Getting to my feet slowly I saw that Hayley and Jacob had left too and we're back. “Nik….is he?” Nik gasped, lifting himself up before Elijah opened his eyes.

“Raelyn….I’m…I’m so…sorry.” Elijah sat up slowly before he just started sobbing and he didn’t stop remembering everything that he forgot and he saw what happened with the girls. Meaning that he was back to his old self.

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