#and the fucking relief... i am just awash with tears

[frecklystars]

THE LOVES OF MY LIFE OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it's been so long since I've rly felt love bursting in my chest for any F/Os and I am feeling so so so so much for my girlboss girlfriend and my horsegirl boyfriend 😭😭😭💖💞💓💓💗💖💕💕💕💟💝

Her smile!!! god!!!! HIS smile!!!! god!!! these two are fucking saving my life I can't believe how much these characters are helping me get through the worst time of my life. THESE TWO are helping me get back into self shipping and helping me feel safe again when I really thought I'd never ever recover. I'm collecting screenshots of these characters and sighing with hearts in my eyes every time... I haven't done that in over a year... I'm making gifsets and writing fics and doodling again... it's all because of them and I'm such a weepy mess over it

[wizkiddx]

ruining the plan isn't always so bad

you can tell whenever I have really important things to be doing in my life - bcos instead I will spend hours writing for no apparent reason ah kmn ;///

tomhollandxreader - pure fluffffff

Summary: tried to base off when Dom and Sam surprised Tom shooting a couple of years back- but this time they got Y/n with them too

(I don't own the pic nor claim to ...idk how to do this crediting bit sorry :/)

The plan was in place. Tom was really struggling with homesickness on set of his newest film. No real reason why; just long hours, living out of a hotel room, half the world away from ‘home’. Harry was always flying out to join Tom as his ‘assistant’ however after a pretty heart-wrenching phone call Tom had made to Y/n, while she was hanging around with Haz and Harry at the Holland’s house... the plans had changed somewhat. He just seemed so distant and run down, when Nikki got her turn on the  phone she instantly knew that they had to do something. Naturally then, putting her superior organising skills to good use she arranged for Dom, Sam and Y/n to accompany Harry to Atlanta; and surprise Tom there. 

The way the last minute booking happened meant that Harry, Sam and Dom were all flying out on the same flight (though Harry was in first class, while the surprise guests were in economy). Y/n, because of her university timetable, couldn’t leave till a bit later, so was on a plane 2 hours after the Hollands - it wouldn’t make that much difference and if anything would prolong the joy of the excitement for Tom. They, meaning Harry who was oddly invested in the intracacies and details, had been brainstorming different ways to do the reveal- not sure whether to just do it in the hotel when Harry would be meeting Tom anyway, or waiting and surprising him when they were out for dinner or in a bar. Eventually they’d decided it would just be easier to have Harry, Dom and Sam just meet him at the hotel- then take him out to dinner, allowing time for Y/n’s later expected time of arrival, where she would then appear at the restaurant. 

Ever since Harry had let Tom know that he’d landed (if half an hour late), Tom had been excitedly texting him back constantly. The pair had agreed that Tom would simply meet him in Harrys hotel room when he got back from set. Yet when the time came, Sam and Dom were hiding just further down the corridor- waiting in the corridor. From their hideaway a couple of metres down the way from Tom and Harry, the obvious exctiement they could hear when Tom arrived and the two reunited warmed Dom’s heart. He just loved his sons all being so close- it was perhaps what  he was most proud of as a parent. Especially after witnessing both Harrison and Y/n loose a parent, he knew if god forbid anything happened to him and Nikki - they had each others backs completely. Sam was excitedly shifting from foot to foot hearing his brothers - Dom just subtly shook his head at the endearing nervous energy, clearly Sam was impatient for his turn. The idea was Sam would knock first then Dom, so after allowing a short time of just Tom and Harry reuniting, Sam pranced down the hallway and knocked. Yet it wasn’t Tom who flung the door open to Sam as per the scheme, instead his fuzzy haired twin.

“Harry what the fuck” Sam mouthed, daring to glance over his shoulder to attempt to spot Tom - annoyed at his brother for getting in the way.

“He’s on the shitter, change of plan bring Dad in.” Harry whisper-explained, making Sam roll his eyes at Tom unintentionally ruining his own surprise, before retreating to the hallway and beckoning his dad in. Dom pulled an equally bemused face until Harry filled him and he chuckled - earning him a harsh shush from both boys as they sat on the bed, facing the toilet door.

“So why did it take you so long to get here?” Tom asked through the thin loo wall, while Harry pushed his dad to sit further over on the bed.

“Oh ermm….they had some mix up with the luggage so we” Immediately getting slapped on the leg by his twin with a piercing glare,  Harry corrected himself “I mean -I had to wait for like an hour and a half to get my suitcase. Then I think I had the worst taxi driver in the world like down country roads and all.”

“Yeh like that drive should take like 40 minutes I thought? But when you texted me saying just left” He paused as the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink turning on flooded through the room ”that must’ve been at least an hour ago”

“I guess” Harry replied, hearing the tap turn off while Sam ran his fingers through his hair yet again - an excited or nervous tick.

“So how is everyone? I tried to call Dad and Y/n today but-“ The door opened, the stream of light flooding into the main room. Tom stopped dead in his tracks, voice cutting off but mouth hanging agape, still clutching onto the doorhandle. 

“Hello son” 

Dom spoke softly as he stood up from his choreographed position on the bed. Only at his words did Tom believe this was actually reality and literally sunk to his knees at the boundary between the ensuite and bedroom. He was awash with pure emotion, mainly relief - this was the exact thing he really needed right now. His dad soon pulled him up and hugged him, Sam following close behind. Tom’s reaction was priceless, the few tears being more than enough of a tell to his family how much he had needed this. 

It was an emotional reunion, there was a hell of a lot of hugs and suddenly the 14 hour journey was so worth it to Dom and Sam. Afterwards, they just all sat together on the bed and caught up on each others lives, Tom not really wanting to speak about himself - much preferring to hear all their stories from home about his mum and grandparents and the family that live down the road. He loved the normalcy of it. 

That was until a voice grabbed the attention of the whole room and Harry inwardly and silently cursed himself - in all the excitement he’d left his phone on silent in his jacket pocket, which was hanging on the coat rack so he hadn’t even heard it vibrate.

“Harry pick up your phone!” An exasperated voice exclaiming from the hallway half caught the Hollands’ attention, their heads all spinning in unison to the wooden hotel room door. It started to jerk open as Y/n wrestled with her suitcase ”You’ve left your hotel room open you div.Anyway I’m just dropping my case in your room so please text me where to go because - ugh- because right now you could all be anywhere in Atlanta and I-” 

The conversation within the room had died- all of them watching the petite brunette fight her way past the door with a silver suitcase that seemed ridiculously large and heavy for a weeks holiday. She had pressed her phone to her ear using her right shoulder and was wearing beige tracksuits a white crop top and a black leather jacket - as she grunted in frustration at the case, yanking it unceremoniously over the threshold. Subtly, Sam looked up at Tom, seeing his brothers eyes widen in shock, whole body turned completely rigid and Sam had to smile smugly - it was actually quite cute, even if he would never admit it to their faces. Y/n only stopped speaking into the receiver when her eyes finally darted into the room - noticing she had an audience. 

“Oh.” 

She stopped herself, pressing the end call button and pocketing her phone, whilst moving into the centre of  the room. She shot an apologetic smile to Harry, knowing she’d technically ‘ruined’ his plan - though to be fair it wasn’t her fault he didn’t answer the phone; or that his flight had been delayed meaning he didn’t get Tom to the resturaunt at the agreed time. Actually she could blame it all on Harry. He just rolled his eyes back at her whilst she looked past him and onto the shellshocked face of her boyfriend. 

Not being able to hide her grin, she halted at the foot of the bed, meanwhile Tom leant forward from the headboard - his eyes not leaving her. “You gonna say hi or am I just gonna stand here?” Y/n smirked, Tom still not moving from his shellshocked stance. Slowly her smirk morphed to a concerned look, eyebrows drawn inwards, as her look darted between Dom and Tom. 

“Tom are you okay?” she tried speaking gently, but before she could push anymore he launched himself off the sofa and into her arms, Y/n barely staying upright. Then Tom started spinning her round and round all the while squeezing her as tightly as possible. Y/n squealed an ‘I love you’  into his ear , already knowing Tom wasn’t ready to talk yet- instead just pressing his face closer into her neck. After a short while Tom lowered her to the ground and pulled away enough for Y/n to see the smudged tears around his eyes. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and looked deep into his mahogany brown eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now” he nodded jerkily, all the while inching his lips closer to hers. Both consciously aware of half the Hollands just viewing them, their kiss was fleeting and light - but made Tom’s heart want to burst. 

“God I’ve missed your stupid face” She laughed, now her eyes filled with tears too. He let out a breathy chuckle in reply and used his thumb to wipe away a single droplet that escaped her eye.

“Missed yours more” her smile lit up the entirety of her face, such a natural glow across her face Tom shook his head slightly marvelling at her. 

“Ohhkkkayyy well I don’t really want to witness the making of nieces and nephews”

“Harry” Dom warned in a disapproving tone, even if he did have to fight back the laughter. To be quite honest he’d really enjoyed seeing his son and almost adopted daughter reunite. Both him and Nikki absolutely loved their relationship, they just went together oh so well, whilst slightly reminding them both of their younger carefree days. Harry rolled his eyes at his dad before continuing. 

“But shall we get dinner and then you can be alone all night” His eyebrows wiggled in such a manner Y/n swore she felt a little nauseous witnessing it. 

“Harry stop!” Sam interjected, elbowing Harry harshly in the side, earning him a  playful slap in return.

“Someone remind me why I’m paying the wrong twin to be my assistant?” Tom still hadn’t looked away from Y/n as he quipped a response at Harry, while Y/n was gently stroking up and down his cheeks with such a soft look in her eyes. 

“Because I rejected it” Sam smirked, making Harry yell out in anguish-

“I was second choice?!?!”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Honestly just go play golf with your them! I have to do uni work anyway and-“

“But I don’t want to leave you! You’ve flown here too and I missed you.” Tom moaned, pressing a kiss into her hair from her position lying on his shoulder. Having slept uninterrupted for the first time in ages, Tom wasn’t even sure he wanted to venture away from Y/n and the bed at any point that day- even if it was for golf. 

“Your dad and Sam are only staying for the weekend so make the most of it! Me and my uni work are happy here-“ Tom’s eyes once again bugged out his face, as he caught on to her slip up.

“How long are you staying?” Shit. That was another thing she’d spoiled - getting a reputation to be as bad as Tom. Harry was for sure going to kill her.

“Oh fuck sake… that was my second surprise ruined… I’ve booked a week and a half off from uni so I can look after my little baby boy”

“Y/n don’t joke with me please.” Tom sat up, forcing Y/n to too which she huffed a little at, disrupting her comfort. It had her sitting up straight so she could look him in the eye and resting her hand on his exposed abdomen, asserting her authority on him. 

“I promise! My flights home next tuesday, but I’m missing uni so I have to be boring and keep up so it’s not a real holiday but-“ 

“I love you” 

Tom smiled for Y/n could never not surprise him. University was so important to her - she was really dedicating her life to it, especially financially. So her managing to put it on hold to look after him in a time of need was testament to just how kind and caring she truly was. 

“But you need to promise to look after yourself Tom. I haven’t seen bags under your eyes quite as impressive as this before. Think of your poor make up artists!” And she was back to being her usual sarky self. 

“I feel like I should be offended?”

“Or you can learn. Now go get showered before they leave without you.” Finally ralling off his side, then pushing him forcefully so he half rolled off the side of the bed. 

“Only if you shower with me.” The biggest smirk on his face, eyes wide and gleaming with mischief - which Y/n wanted to punch off so badly. On the other hand though, his idea didn’t sound half bad- letting him drag her up too. 

5 or so hours later, Y/n had written her assignment due in for next week and had submitted it online- making her feel pretty darn put together. She knew the boys had got back from the golf, and from the WhatsApp group Tom wasn’t very happy about his performance, so he was going to be moody. After closing her laptop triumphantly she chucked it in her bag and grabbed the spare key card and roamed the corridors of the hotel to find Sam and Dom’s room - where they all where. Tom had messaged her to let her know they were filming Dom’s podcast, so she had to be stealthy in her entrance - since to the public they were still just good friends. The secret still wasn’t ‘out’ so to speak. 

They’d left the door on the latch, allowing Y/n carefully pushing it open without making any noise. Immediately the golf-related bickering met her ears, while she peeked her head round the corner of the door. The four had set up armchairs by the window, with the camera balanced on top of a table and a stack of suitcases - in order for Harry to get the ‘perfect’ shot. Silently chuckling at the precarious arrangement, Y/n slid in through the door, turning round to gently close it shut again without noise. 

As soon as Tom had seen the door opening he had jumped out of his chair, walking up to Y/n and wrapping his arms round her- pulling her back into his chest off camera. Whispering a silently ‘I love you’ he grinned at the girl who was now arching to look into his eyes. She mirrored his sentiments, placing a bottle of water in his hand while pushing him back into frame. 

In reality, the whole of this podcast Tom had been attempting to summon energy in his body that was just not present. Don’t be mistaken, he had thoroughly enjoyed the time with his dad and brothers- but simply he only had today and tomorrow off filming for another 2 weeks, and the plan had been to stay as close to his bed as possible before the surprise happened. In all honestly, he caught his eyes drooping numerous times while they were filming the podcast- feeling safe in the surrounding of his family, the exhaustion was finally catching up to him. 

Y/n spent the rest of their podcast hidden behind the camera, doing some extra research on Sam’s double bed - yet sometimes having to stifle a chuckle at the boys filming. It was perhaps another 25/ 30 minutes before they finished, during which there was a hell of a lot of spoilers that they only realised too late could not be included. She really really did try to focus on her work, yet instead she found her eyes being drawn to her boyfriend. He still looked shattered. All she really wanted to do was wrap him in a thick duvet and cuddle into his side. She even promised herself to only find his occasional snores endearing tonight, which was something she often struggled with normally.

So when the camera was clicked off, Y/n spent a short amount of time chatting with all the Hollands, before suggesting they went to their own respective rooms before dinner. Unconsciously, when Y/n had suggested it, out of pure relief, Tom leaned almost all his weight against her side - anchored by the strong clasp on her hand. Of course, Y/n noticed and practically pulled Tom down the hallway without saying a word. Only when she let go of the door of their room, allowing it to close with a small slam, did she speak her mind.

“You shower, I’m getting room service then movies in bed… no arguments Holland.” He stared at her ,mouth agape, a little taken aback by her assertiveness, typically the opposite of Y/n. 

“I feel like you’ve just been inside all day, let me-“

“Nope. Nope. My holiday this is what I want… now shoo” She smirked, pushing him toward the ensuite door. Tom knew he did not have a choice in the matter, and even if he could possibly have some sort of influence- he was way too tired to argue.

Barely 15 minutes later, the two were wrapped cosily in the crisp white bedsheets, Tom with a small glass of a negroni cocktail and Y/n with her lime soda. Both were semi-reclined in a mound of pillows, yet Tom felt the need to also lean on her chest slightly. The familiarity of Y/n’s favourite movie ‘sunshine on leith’ playing on the screen, meant that within the first 10 minutes Tom was no longer alert. The smell of her perfume and the warmth of the duvet lulled him into a much needed slumber, making Y/n have to save the half-drunk negroni from spilling across the bedsheets as his grip relaxed. She just nestled in to the pillows further, a satisfied small grin dancing on her lips as she looked ahead at the TV, reducing the volume a little.

“Tom?…..Y/n?… Is anyone home?” A familiar voice sucked Y/n out from the next film ‘the greatest showman’, making her jump a little. Recognising it to be Dom instantly, Y/n had a mini argument in her head - whether to risk disturbing Tom by wriggling out from under him; or to call out instead, granting Dom independent entrance to the hotel room. It was possibly a bit of a weird position for her unofficial father-in-law to see his son and his girlfriend in, but she cared more right now about Tom resting than Dom’s opinions. 

“Dom…. come in… it’s open I think.” Desperately trying to get the volume right - enough so Dom could hear, but not so much as to wake Tom she called out, craning her neck toward the door. Luckily almost immediately Dom let himself in, and quizzically walked in seeing Y/n in bed.

“Sorry… it’s just I didn’t want to disturb him” Nodding in understanding, Dom inspected the state of his grown up, yet childlike son, asleep on her shoulder. 

“No no… he needs it. He always works himself raw for jobs but this…”

“It’s impressive even for him.” Y/n agreed, Dom noticing her unconscious stroking of his sons arm, soothing Tom as he slept. 

“Well me and the boys were trying to phone you both because we are going for dinner-“

“Ah sorry my phones in my bag”

“No no it’s fine… just it looks like Tom could do with an extra hour or so.” Dom motioned again to the slumbering figure with his trademark small grin, finding the whole situation entirely heartwarming.

“I was planning on waking him up so we could all go to the pub this evening… but yeh skipping the dinner might be a plan. I know it’s your last night and all but-“

“-Don’t apologise Y/n. I’m glad you’re looking after the kid.”  Y/n just smiled slightly, a small blush glowing from her cheeks. “I’ll um….leave you in peace… so maybe 9 o’clock? That gives you both 3 and a bit hours.”

“Sounds good!”Still speaking softly, Y/n freed one of her hands from the duvet and gave Dom a little wave as he exited the room giving a nod to her as the door closed. 

It was a sign of the times. Dom used to be Tom’s go to whenever he was tires, frazzled or fed up. But now he had been superseded by a far superior option. A kind, beautiful, intellectual choice - that Dom would graciously accept defeat to. 

He was awfully glad Tom had Y/n in his corner. And he was awfully glad he had found a surrogate  daughter in Y/n too. 

[fanfoolishness]

in the long night (Hawke x Varric)

Written for @oneshallop and also up on AO3.  They requested Hawke and Varric on the Deep Roads expedition with some early hints of pining.  I hope it fits the bill!  2836 words, Hawke, Varric, Act 1 of DA2.

***

It was dark.

Varric almost roared with laughter at the thought.  Of course it was dark.  It was the Deep fucking Roads, wasn’t it?  

Sure, maybe in old dwarven tales these tunnels were supposed to be awash with red-gold, welcoming light, but every kid in Hightown’s dwarven quarter knew the Deep Roads had been overrun centuries ago.  There were still some intact corridors here and there where you could see the magma channels lighting the way as they’d been intended… but there were far more lonely and dangerous areas, where the magma had long ago been freed in cave-ins and cooled into just another kind of rock. Those corridors sat empty in the long-forgotten dark.

The thing was, though, it wasn’t pitch black, at least not where they’d set up camp for the night.  They had the torches and the campfire made of magelight to thank for that.  The orange-yellow of torchlight, the blue-white of mage-fire, they cast deep and disturbing shadows in the dark.  It disquieted him.  He almost wondered if it wouldn’t be better to let the lights go out, except that was complete crazy talk.

He hunkered down, trying to find a comfortable way to sit.  He could sit on this broken lump of rock, but then there was no back support.  Sit on the ground and that would take care of his back, but then his ass would start aching.  He decided on the floor, groaning under his breath.  

This lead of Bartrand’s better pan out , he thought sourly.  He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Bartrand and his crew had taken over most of the lower level.  Their torches lit the place up a little more, but the murmuring echoes of the mercs he’d hired were weird and distorted in the high open ceilings.  He tried to ignore the sound and the way it made his spine tingle.

A rustle at his side.  He nearly reached a hand toward Bianca, but this sound was familiar, somehow.  Safe.  He followed it to the source and saw the elder Hawke slipping out of her tent to tend to the fire, her hair mussed, her robes rumpled.  

“Trouble sleeping?” Varric asked.

A startled look crossed her face, followed by a shrug once she realized it was only him.  Shadows pooled along her cheekbones, dark semicircles cupping her keen eyes.  “I could ask the same of you.  Isn’t your bigshot brother paying for extra guards?  No need to keep watch, I thought.”

Varric chuckled, letting discomfiting thoughts about the long tunneling dark fade away.  This was a good distraction.  “You really think Bartrand managed to convince quality muscle to come along with us?  Oh, Hawke, he talks a big game, but I wouldn’t trust him farther than I can throw him.”

Her eyebrows leapt up somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline.  “You do realize this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the expedition.  Or in the Tethras name.”

Varric waved her protestation away.  “Bartrand not having an ounce of charm in his body is his problem.  I, fortunately, do not suffer from the same issue.  Ergo, I was able to find some decent people for this thing.  Such as yourself, partner.”

She let out one of those sharp-edged laughs he was beginning to know well.  “You do have quite the silver tongue, dwarf, I’ll give you that.”  She bent over the fire, concentrating.  It flared up before her, dancing bright blue-white against the shadows.

“Thanks,” said Varric.  

“I can’t stand it being so dark down here in the lower levels,” she said, leaning against a chunk of paving stone that had been torn from the main floor.  “It’s unnatural.”  Then she glanced at him.  “Er, I mean, for humans,” she said clumsily.

Varric held up his hands.  “Believe you me, Hawke, I’ll moan and complain about the Deep Roads as much as any human.  Dwarves get some things right, sure -- they know what they’re doing when it comes to smithing and bullshitting -- but living underground forever, it’ll never play right for me.”

“You were born on the surface, then?” Hawke asked curiously.  

“Born and raised,” said Varric.  “Family had a nasty fall from grace in Orzammar when Bartrand was a little kid.  They were forced to run from their fuckups down here up to the surface.  My dad died not long after I was born, and my mother never recovered from the move.  Not sure if Bartrand ever did, either.”  He gazed into the fire.  Silver-white sparks leapt from its flames.

“Oh,” said Hawke, first looking taken aback, then her face softening.  “I’m sorry -- I didn’t realize.”  She could be startlingly empathetic when she wanted to be, he’d noticed.

She sighed, shaking her head.  “Family.  Dreadfully inconvenient, aren’t they?”  Then again, she was just as likely to laugh the big stuff away, just another joke.  He liked that about her.  Liked it in himself, too.

He chuckled.  “You realize Carver is literally five feet away, right?”

She glanced over at her sleeping brother.  He’d said he felt claustrophobic, setting up a tent in a closed tunnel, and had instead opted to sleep out in the open.  She watched his chest rise and fall for a few beats.

“Carver’s different,” she said, “despite the way we fight.  It’s our fighting, right?  That’s the important bit.”  She flashed Varric a too-tight grin.

Varric thought of Bartrand, all family name and getting ahead, all Brother, you have to take this seriously or they’ll eat you alive.   He thought of just how often he’d been an absolute shit of a little brother, and how much Bartrand had really deserved it (completely, most of the time).

“There’s something to that, I suppose,” he said cautiously.  “But Bartrand really is an ass.”

“So’s Carver,” Hawke laughed in that bright, airy way of hers.  For a moment, though, her face slipped into genuine fondness. “That’s part of his charm.”

Varric snorted.  “That’s one word for it.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Hawke in mock-offended tones.  “As the eldest sibling, I’m the only one permitted to say such dreadful things about my own brother.  Which I have before, and which I’ll do again, thank you very much.”

Varric shifted positions, sitting up on top of his chunk of rock, seeing if that would help his aching back.  Eh.  Not much difference.  

A thought struck him, one he knew he shouldn’t say.  You never talk about the other twin that way.   But that was something private, wasn’t it, something he’d only gleaned from weeks of dropped references in casual conversation with the Hawke siblings.  At first he’d wondered if Bethany was a cousin back in Fereldan; a distant relative long-forgotten.  It’d taken an overheard conversation between Hawke and her mother for Varric to figure it out, and an aside with Aveline, plied with more than a little ale, to confirm it..  

He stuffed the information back down, watching the firelight flicker in her eyes.  If she wanted to tell him about Bethany, she’d do it, and it didn’t gain him any advantage anyway, knowing the blow she and Carver had suffered.  He held his tongue.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she observed.  “You never did say what you were doing out here.  Something nefarious, I’m certain.”

“Oh, you know me,” said Varric loftily.  “I’m just here for the scenery.”

Hawke giggled, loudly enough that Carter grumbled and rolled over before lapsing into a loud snore.  She stifled her laugh, just barely.

“Ah, yes.  Creepy empty caverns, moldering ruins, the endless dark.  You really know how to show a girl a good time,” she teased.

He shivered.  Or was he blushing?  He wasn’t sure.  Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach.

“Where better than the ass end of Thedas for a little romance?” he asked, in a voice that felt a good deal less smooth than he’d meant it.

Hawke wiped a tear away.  “This is why I like traveling with you.  You’re right.  If Bartrand had been doing the talking, Carver and I would never have thrown in our lot with you.”  She let out a long breath.  “Ah, thanks for that.  I’ve been feeling rather uneasy down here, to be honest.  A good laugh’s a bit of a relief.”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he said cheerfully.  Funny, though, that little bit of disappointment threading through his words.  Why was he thinking of Bianca now?  He shook his head.  “Well, Hawke, you’re not the only one with the creeps down here.  I thought maybe keeping an eye on camp would make things feel more normal, but turns out the place is damn spooky no matter where you sit.”

She nodded.  “I could see my fire fading through the gap in the front of my tent.  Didn’t feel right to let it go out.  So I’m keeping an eye on it, for now at least.”

“Seems like you’re getting better at them to me,” said Varric.  He didn’t know much about magic, but he’d long noticed that Anders was the one running around throwing fireballs while Hawke was much more likely to somehow conjure up a miniature earthquake.  

“That’s sweet of you to say,” said Hawke. “Anders is much better at elemental magic than I am, but since he’s still up surface-side, I figured now was a good time to practice.  It wasn’t my father’s strength, either, as far as I know.  Or maybe he thought it’d be harder to hide fireball lessons out back of our farm.”  She shrugged.  “But I’m learning things, much as I can with the Chantry breathing down my neck.”

“Maybe it’s for the best Anders isn’t here.  I gather he’s spent way more time in the Deep Roads than any sane person would ever want to,” said Varric.  He could just hear Blondie’s complaints starting up in the back of his mind.

“It’s one reason why I didn’t ask him to come with us,” said Hawke cheerily.  “Felt sorry for the poor fellow.  I’m sure he’s enjoying the sunshine from Darktown.  ...come to think of it, it’s not that far off from being down here, is it?”

Varric laughed.  “Good point.  Though sometimes I swear you can see the sun through holes in the walls there… and it smells better here.”

“Do you miss it?  Not Darktown, obviously.  Kirkwall,” said Hawke.  “It’s been… what, a good three weeks now?  It’s the longest I’ve seen you away from the city.”

Varric considered.  He’d gone on long journeys before, been away from Kirkwall for weeks, even occasionally, months at a time on Guild business, especially after their mother died.  Bianca flitted through his thoughts again, Bianca and intrigue and furtive meetings in shitty towns.  But none of that felt right to bring up here, not to Hawke with the fire’s reflection in her darkened eyes.  

“I miss the Hanged Man,” he said honestly.  “Every time I try to lay down for bed here, I just think back to my bed back in the inn, and think ‘Tethras!  You’ve gone insane.’”  

“Ugh, you and me both,” said Hawke.  “I think I’ve got bruises on bruises from all these rocks.  Hopefully we’re not down here too much longer.”

“We can always dream,” said Varric, but the words felt hollow in the dark, and he drew his coat closer around himself.

Hawke nodded, but she seemed pensive.  “I suppose,” she said.  She shifted, sinking deeper into her robes.  “Hmph.  Well, as long as we aren’t sleeping, care to join me in a snack?”

“Depends,” he said cautiously.  He’d had her cooking before.  Carver’s was far and away the better meal.  

“I’ve been saving these.  For a special occasion, as it were.”  She rummaged in the pack beside her.  “I figured the special occasion would be for when I absolutely couldn’t tolerate another bite of Lowtown hardtack, but what d’you know, sharing it with a friend sounds all right, too.”

“You actually have something good in there?” Varric asked in surprise.  The perishable stuff had all gone a few days ago, and he’d started his grumbling about the salted pork that morning, right on cue.  

Hawke pulled free a waxed paper bundle, tightly wrapped.  “I may have tried a spell of stasis on these,” she said.  “I’m still working on the technique, but I think I’ve got it down for little things like this.”  She unwrapped the bundle and a tiny flash of light dissipated from the contents, the spell breaking at its maker’s touch.

“Chocolate almond biscuits, from Camille’s in Hightown,” she whispered, looking downright conspiratorial.  “It was the end of the night, that last night in Kirkwall.  The bakery was just about to close, but I saw them packing these up off the cart outside.  The baker’s girl told me they were getting a bit stale, but did I want to buy them anyway, half price?  Carver ate his straight away -- didn’t see the point in them getting staler -- but I wanted to save them.  Don’t know why.”  

Two biscuits sat in their waxed wrapping, delicate golden squares worked with scrolled lustrous chocolate, stamped with the Kirkwall crest.  He’d passed them up a hundred times, sweet sugary nonsense meant for nobles with more money than sense.  Bartrand would have scoffed.  But they smelled amazing.

“Aw, come on, Hawke,” tried Varric.  “They’re yours.  You should have them.”

“A good biscuit’s better shared, or at least it’s what my father used to say.  Probably so as to keep his children from fighting amongst themselves for the last one, but it’s a nice sentiment regardless,” said Hawke.  She shoved the biscuits at him.  “Go on, then.”

“All right, all right.  If you insist.  Only because you’re a powerful mage and I don’t want to get on your bad side.”  He reached out and took the top biscuit. It was a solid thing, sturdy in the hand.  The chocolate beneath his thumb tip began to melt, soft and silky against his skin.

“Cheers, Varric.”  Hawke took up the other biscuit and nudged it against his, then took a bite.  “Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes.  “Just as I’d hoped it would be.”

Varric bit into his biscuit.  It snapped satisfyingly against his teeth.  He tasted buttery almonds first, then a deep, complex sweetness tempered by smooth bitter chocolate.  He paused, savoring it.  “Damn.  No wonder they charge an arm and a leg for these.”

“Worth every copper,” Hawke agreed, a silly grin spreading over her face as she finished her biscuit.  Varric finished his a moment later, regretfully licking the last of the chocolate from his fingertips.

“Thanks, Hawke.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling.  

The fire rolled and flared, almost a living thing, fighting against the shadows.  He half thought he could see a pattern to it, a heartbeat, a touch of Hawke herself within the flames.

Silence grew between them, a comfortable, familiar thing like the weight of a good blanket.  Or the taste of secret chocolate in the dark.  It felt good, until it was broken by a yawn Hawke tried to hide.  

“You should get some rest,” Varric said softly.  “The fire’s a good one, Hawke.  You don’t need to worry.”

“Hmm, but I worry all the time,” she chuckled, yawning again.  “But don’t tell anyone.  It’s a secret.”

He felt a pang, though he wasn’t sure why.  “Dwarf’s honor,” said Varric.  “Assuming you put stock in such things.”

“In yours?  Of course I do,” she said.  She gave him a tired smile.  “All right, then.  I’ll get some sleep if you promise to do the same.  It wouldn’t do for us to be too tired to carry back our fabulous treasure.”

“Imagine if we’d have to leave it behind due to exhaustion.  It’d be a crying shame.  We’d never live it down,” said Varric.  “All right, you’ve convinced me.”  

He got to his feet, his back and ass aching as predicted.  He reached out a hand to Hawke and she gripped it, hard, her calloused hand small but steely against his own as he helped her up.  “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem.  See you in the morning, Hawke,” he said.

“If you can call it that,” she said.  “But I’ll see you then.”  She slipped back into her tent, and Varric returned to his.

He stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling.  The blue magelight -- Hawke’s light -- seeped in through the cracks of his tent flaps.  He watched its delicate choreography through drowsy eyes.

They had this.  He knew it now in his bones.  Bartrand had his team and his map, and that was all well and good, but Varric had Hawke and her people, and he’d put the money on them every time.  No matter what they found on this crazy expedition, they’d be ready.

He smiled tiredly.  Yeah.  He had Hawke.

The tent was still and quiet.  His eyes fell shut; his breathing slowed.  He drifted off to sleep in the long night of the Deep Roads, still tasting chocolate.

[crimsonrae]

Disintegration

Chapter One

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Rating: Mature

A/N: First a warning, there is a mature, though brief, sex scene. Hopefully, you all read the author's note. I was originally going to have this be the final chapter to this story... but, I thought it gave it a more interesting perspective as a story to the Mikaelson Clan. Plus, I truly hated that Camille died and part of my grieving process of her character's death was giving her a way to survive Lucien's bite in this story. So I snapped this chapter forward to the day Camille was supposed to die. I hope you all enjoy. The next few chapters will be Klaus's and Cami's journey after that night at the bar and how they got to where they are in this chapter. I promise the bond will eventually be explained.

Please read, review, and enjoy.

Chapter One

New Orleans, 2016

"You will find peace..."

As he uttered these final words to the first woman in a thousand years to have completely stolen his heart, Klaus unconsciously reached for the bond that had been severed upon her turning. The intangible link that had provided him peace for so long... It was only at the last second that he remembered the bond was no more and he would brush against a wall... but he didn't. The wall was present, but not as finite as it had been. The brick had turned to a picket fence.

He could feel her. He could sense his Camille. Still there, still bright, simply out of reach. He pressed against those planks desperate to break that final barrier... if only to have a few more minutes with her.

"Camille..." He whispered, unable to keep his impetuous need from his voice, "Camille... Stay with me, love. Please."

His hand grasped hers with a fierce intensity, "Reach for our bond. I need you to reach for it, push for it, please. Camille. I am begging you. Twice now, you have made me beg and I do not beg. Do not deny me again."

Tears crawled down his cheeks as he battered frantically at those planks. She was so close.

Blood entwines. Blood enshrines

He choked as he remembered the night of their binding. They had exchanged blood.

He had given her his when he had seen Lucien's bite. Had that weakened the barrier?

He ripped open his wrist without a second thought, "Camille, I'm going to bite you, love. Drink from me when I do. Drink and seek our bond. Please, Camille. Please."

His strained pleading had brought in his siblings as they felt the end was here. Placing his wrist over her mouth, Klaus sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck – never noticing the distraught cries of Freya and Elijah as he took her poisoned blood into himself. He was still locked in Jackson Square, cradling Camille to his chest as he drank deeply... all the while straining for their bond and praying that she heard him.

It was so tentative, he swore he had imagined it at first, the tepid glance of her tongue against his flesh. Yet, as his blood dribbled down into her throat that pull grew stronger, and gradually, he matched his pulls with hers.

Blood entwines. Blood enshrines.

Please.

Those tedious planks warbled, and his heart surged. Drawing her blood further into him, he felt her do the same. He struck out at that barrier again and near crowed as he felt it crumbled.

Neither he nor Camille witnessed the light that spilled from their laced forms. Elijah and Freya stood dumbstruck as they bore witness to the final cementing of a bond that neither had been aware of existing. It was with this startling flash that the otherworldly beauty came crashing to an end.

Simultaneous cries of pain and anguish filled the air as the light receded back into the shadows. Camille's body arched and her jade eyes flew wide as fierce fire spiraled through her limbs. Her blood had turned to a molten river, and she swore she was burning from the inside out. Never once noticing how Lucien's bite gradually disappeared from her arm.

Klaus was in no better condition as he snarled into the crook of her neck. The veined lines around his eyes vanished as yellow glowed with sun-like intensity into the threaded fibers of his bedsheets. It was as if oil had spilled into his veins, simply to be lit by a torch. Only a millennium's worth of torment allowed him to find enough semblance of control not to dig his claws into the woman below him as he fought against wave after wave of pain.

Cami did not have the same fortune as she screamed vainly. Her blunted nails bit into his sides as she fell victim to their strange torture. Yet, she was the first to feel the kiss of their bond – more open to the renewed and strengthened link as she lost her battle against the riptide.

She could feel him.

Klaus.

She couldn't remember that last time she felt him so clearly. All his conflicting and contrasting emotions, his shaky control and tireless rage, his unbounded love, and endless fear. He swarmed her like a hurricane. The same fire that had burned her spurned him and unthinkingly she reached out to soothe him. She hated his pain, far more than she ever did her own. Her soul met his like a spring storm, showering drops of relief as the two meshed for the first time in several months. It was the connection that was needed as her pain spiraled back and the heat that ensconced her turned carnal.

She wanted him... needed him.

As if in answer to her unspoken desire, his golden gaze seared hers. Klaus felt her essence enshroud his and was struck with muted elation as her dwindling presence burst like a nova within him. She was strong once again and she was here. She was his.

His mouth crashed against hers, drawing lurid moans forth as a new wave of the bond pulled them under.

The older Mikaelson siblings quickly departed the room as it became obvious that there would be no stopping of the amorous couple. Their presence had been soundly overlooked as clothes littered the floor and sheets cocooned naked limbs.

Freya turned wide eyes to her brother, "Did you see..."

She paused unable to voice what exactly it was that they had just witnessed.

Elijah was of a similar disposition as he soundly ignored the lewder noises coming from his brother's bedroom, "Yes... but what has just occurred, I have no Godly idea. Best wait until Niklaus and Camille reappear for answers."

Freya could only nod, "From death's door to life's garden. I need a drink."

"Quite right." He concurred and as one they went downstairs and to the reserve liquor cabinet. Neither certain of what was to come.

___________________________________

Their coupling was frenzied, wild, and raw. There wasn't an inch of skin that Klaus hadn't clawed, bit, or fucked as he rammed her greedy womb with single-minded determination. He had wished their first tryst to be more languid. He had wanted time to explore her body, to draw her delicious notes of satisfaction to a crescendo before starting the process all over again. But like all his desires and plans for them, that plan laid slain on the roadside. He was lost to the nearly unbearable need to slake his lust... no, that wasn't right. It was more than lust that drove him. A primal need he had long since thought dead roared with renewed life, demanding him to claim, to breed and he had never been good at denying his baser urges.

Her creamy flesh had become littered with dark bruises under his ministrations and the only thing that kept his guilt at bay was that Camille seemed to be just as lost to this carnal storm. She tugged and bit and urged him on – meeting each of his thrusts and demanding more. It wasn't until he felt her fall apart for what felt like the hundredth time, but was really the fourth, that he released for the third and final time. His need dwindled as he felt their combined passions spill from their connected bodies.

Camille twitched and trembled against him. Her shapely thighs locking him in place as her wonderous cavern milked him of everything he had to offer. She wasn't ready to let him go, and he wasn't ready to leave. His sweaty brow met hers as he nuzzled her cheek, silently asking what he could not voice.

It was a relief when she brushed her mouth against his, but a thrill when he felt a sudden billow of affection – her affection, her love awash the bond. It was only then that Klaus opened his eyes to meet her dazzled gaze.

"Hey." Camille breathed a smile and could not help her chuckle as he stared at her in bemused marvel, a giddy grin painted his lips.

Klaus couldn't stop his laugh. The hell of the past twenty-four hours, the painful confessions, and drawn emotions of the end, their exuberant ardor and last-minute save all came crashing on him and the only word she could utter was a shy greeting.

Gods, did he love this woman.

It was this unfettered sentiment that made him silently vow to not waste further time with her. His laugh choked back a ragged sob as his fingers tangled into her soft locks, "Hey, love... you're here."

"Yeah." Camille murmured, a few stray tears spilling down her cheeks as she leaned into his touch, "Yeah, I am."

The pads of her fingers drew him closer still, neither was ready to return to the real world, but questions gnawed at her. A thoughtful frown clouded her expression, "Klaus...what happened? What did we do?"

Mildly annoyed and wholly unsurprised that it was Camille to push aside their contented bubble, he could only sigh, "I'm not sure, but our bond... Our bond has proven far more beneficial than I could have ever realized."

"This doesn't make sense. I thought my turning had severed it."

Klaus frowned, not sure how to answer. He had followed his instincts the second he realized that he could still feel her. Easing his weight off her, he bit back a grin as she mewled in discontent. He felt much the same, but he had no desire to crush her. Yet as he moved, he noted her bruises weren't fading nor was his bite.

Unease crawled down his spine. She should be healing, between his blood and her... Klaus paused as he ran his hand over her chest to rest on her quickly beating heart, "Camille... are you hungry?"

He was ravenous. His need for blood was being vastly ignored and he would only be able to tolerate such deprivation for a short while longer. A newborn vampire should not have such control, unless -

"A little. More thirsty..." Camille trailed off as she realized she was about to ask for water. She hadn't required water for weeks now, "Oh my God."

"You're human again." Klaus murmured in awe; his mind raced with the implications of this change. Unthinkingly, he bit into his palm to give her his blood – He had no desire to look at the myriad of bruises that decorated her flesh.

Camille breathed in sharply and he froze as her fingers rested next to his eye, "Your eyes... they had been gold earlier while we were – They're back to blue now, but gold and black, no veins."

"Drink." He whispered, ignoring her momentary hesitation at the sight of his opened palm. He was aware that her mind had drifted back to the last time she had imbibed vampiric blood while human.

Klaus wasn't sure what to make of all of this, but he had his suspicions. One of which had much to do with his driven need to breed Camille. Despite the fact that it should be impossible, he already had one child that defied expectation. His gaze drifted to her smooth belly, "We need to talk with Freya. I think I may -"

"Have knocked me up?" She finished shakily, not sure if the sudden spike of anxiety in her veins came from her or him.

Klaus hummed, not surprised that she had cottoned on to his line of thought.

"Even if I'm pregnant, we won't know for a few weeks." Cami murmured, as her thoughts began to spill quickly from her mouth, "It takes time for fertilization to occur... I don't know if it's better or worse that I'm human now. With Lucien suped-up into... whatever he is, his bite is no longer toxic to me, but he can rip me apart so easily."

A cold rage poured through her veins, taking her breath away. Christ, she had no doubt that was all Klaus.

"You will go nowhere near Lucien. You'll stay here, every time you're out of my sight..." He drew a calming breath, barely controlling his temper, "I will take care of Lucien."

"Like you took care of Aurora?" She couldn't help but ask, there was no keeping the bitterness from her tone.

Hurt flared from both of them and Klaus barely bit back the more caustic words on his tongue, "I will not lose you, Camille. This was too close."

Cami stared long and hard at him, before softening. There were too many unknown factors for them to continue with this discussion and arguing would do neither of them any good. Instead, her fingers delved into the shorn locks at his nape, caressing him in a silent truce, "You need to feed. I can feel your hunger and we need answers. We'll table this discussion until after."

For Klaus there would be no discussion, his mind was already made up. He would not risk her. Not again. He brushed a kiss to her temple, "A few more minutes, I'm not ready to stop touching you yet."

It was only then that Camille realized he was still in her

___________________________________

It was over an hour later when the two stepped from his bedroom freshly showered. Klaus threaded his fingers through hers. He was still staving off his hunger and it was driving her slowly crazy. Camille was at once flattered and exasperated by how literal he was being about not letting her leave his sight. She would have chided him for it if it weren't for the fact that she felt the same. It was irrational, but she wanted him within reaching distance like a child needing a security blanket. It was the fact that this impulse was so strong that she knew it couldn't continue. She couldn't expect Klaus to be with her every second.

Fortifying herself, they had only made it two steps when she called out, "Elijah."

Irritation crawled down her spine and she sent an admonishing glare to her left as she felt the air displace to her right.

"I see you two have decided to come up for air." Elijah greeted drolly as he eyed them speculatively, relief pouring through him at the sight of Camille up and about, "I am glad to see you are better, Camille. You're positively glowing."

His word choice must have been poor as the couple before him froze, exchanging a strange glance.

"Thank you, Elijah." Camille smiled wryly, "Klaus needs to feed, but he's being stubborn - "

"I will grab a bag - "At Camille's baleful stare, Klaus sighed and prodded her toward Elijah, "Keep an eye on her, brother. I'll be back soon."

Elijah nodded, even as he watched his brother depart with a frown. It wasn't until he turned his appraisal back onto Camille that he noticed what he had missed the first time around, "You're human."

"Seem to be." Camille replied with a shrug, "I'm not entirely sure if it's going to last if I'm honest. I feel like Klaus threw a Hail Mary and it worked, but what if it's temporary? What if in a few hours I'm knocking on Death's door again?"

The words flooded from her in a rush, it was an anxiety that she hadn't worked up the courage to share with Klaus just yet and she suddenly felt horrible for dumping it on Elijah. He looked as uncertain as she felt and she smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Elijah. My mind hasn't stopped spinning since I realized I could breathe again."

"Indeed, you have a right to feel concerned, Camille. But, whatever it is my brother has managed, I can't bring myself to be upset about it." He smiled softly, "I truly am happy that you are still with us... and I'm sure it will be for more than a few hours. Niklaus wouldn't allow for anything less."

"You're probably right." She murmured, though her fear hardly lessened. She shook off her more morbid thoughts as they walked into the common room and she noticed no one around, "Where is everyone? Klaus and I need to speak with Freya, but I have the feeling it'll be better to have this conversation once and with everyone present."

Elijah shifted uncomfortably, though a mirthful glint had entered his gaze, "Yes, well, I believe it was a tad too noisy here for everyone."

"Noisy?" Camille blurted as she took in the stalwart silence of the compound.

She missed the humorous twitch of his mouth as he needled, "Yes, you're quite vocal."

It took a second for the implication of his words to sink before she flushed scarlet. Her hands flew to her face in horror as embarrassment swelled, "Oh. My. God! Elijah!"

He barely held in a laugh as he teased, "Of course it probably would have helped if you had closed the door."

"I can never look anyone in the eye again." Camille groaned and collapsed onto the couch, "I'm going to regret asking this, but why are you still here?"

"I had the onerous task of giving everyone the all-clear. Might I suggest never play rock-paper-scissors against a witch. You always lose. Speaking of..." Elijah reached into his coat pocket and removed his phone. He sent a message out to their group chat, "Done. Everyone should be here shortly."

"Wonderful." She uttered dryly, "I've been saved from a suped-up hybrid bite only to be killed by mortification. Sounds about right."

"Oh nonsense, it won't kill you. You'll just merely wish it had." The delighted smirk that crossed Elijah's lips was positively devious.

And absolutely familiar. It was moments like these that Camille had no problem seeing the familial resemblance between Elijah and Klaus. Her gaze narrowed, "Oh shut up."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one she says that to."

Elijah and Camille turned to the entryway to see Klaus striding back in with a glass of blood in hand. This time the thrill of irritation that crawled down her spine was hers at the sight.

Klaus sensed her displeasure and held up a hand, "Before you start, I did feed from a tourist on the corner. Just took enough to take the edge off and came back for a bag."

Unconsciously, she brushed their bond to find his hunger mildly sated and no longer cloying. Tolerable was a good word for it, not that this made her much happier.

Klaus arched a brow at her and purposefully sipped from his glass, "See compromise."

Her unimpressed glower let him know she wasn't pleased, but as Camille shifted to let him sit beside her, he also knew she wouldn't fight with him about it. He produced a bag from his back pocket and held it out to her. Cami's expression brightened as she recognized the white paper and swirly cursive before snatching the small parcel from him. He flopped back into the corner and tugged her against his side as she pulled out two cookies from the bakery down the block.

The byplay didn't go unnoticed by Elijah as he studied the silent way that they were communicating with each other. Something had changed, but he couldn't put his finger on what besides the obvious. His brother had always shared an unspoken connection with Camille, but he sensed a shift more profound than one garnered from a romantic entanglement.

Klaus ignored his brother's studious stare and delved his senses out to locate his sister, "Where is everyone?"

Camille stilled and Elijah huffed a quiet laugh. Bemused at the reaction he was seeing and feeling, he pressed his query, "What?"

"You were a bit rowdy earlier. No one wanted to intrude." Elijah reiterated mildly. He was unsurprised when Klaus merely blinked.

"I didn't think we were that loud." A stream of embarrassment flared in his chest, and he turned his gaze to the top of Camille's head.

She stared determinedly at the cookie in her hand with a quietly murmured, "God."

"Yes, I believe there was quite a lot of sermonizing being shouted." Elijah couldn't help the taunt.

Klaus snickered as he watched her chuck the cookie bag at his brother, "I suppose that's why Camille resembled a tomato when I came in? Tormenting my bo-beloved, brother?"

Bonded. He was going to say bonded, and Camille wasn't sure why that thought sent such a rush through her veins, it wouldn't be the first time she had been addressed as such.

If Elijah noticed his slip, he said nothing as he wryly stated, "Hardly tormenting. Merely teasing my little sister."

Klaus and Camille stilled in surprise at the familial bequeathment. She had no expectation of such recognition, and he was merely astonished by the acknowledgment.

Their twin stares made Elijah roll his eyes, feeling mildly insulted, "While you may not carry our surname yet, Camille, you've proven to be a part of our family on more than one occasion. So please do try not to look so shocked. You too, brother."

An affectionate smile pulled at Klaus's lips which he quickly hid behind his glass. Yet, Elijah's knowing glance told him he was fooling no one.

___________________________________

"How long have they been like that?"

"Shhh, don't wake them."

There was a weight on his chest. Klaus blinked slowly as gentle murmurings rushed past his ears. A swath of blonde hair rested in his eye-line, and it took him a minute to realize that Camille was soundly sleeping against his chest.

How long had he been asleep?

He just remembered being hit with a wave of exhaustion as they waited on everyone to return. He had a vague memory of Marcel entering the compound as his eyes had drifted shut, but nothing beyond that.

"What time is it?" He asked, shifting to sit up a little more properly as he tried not to jostle Camille. It surprised him that he had slept while others surrounded them. He was normally a light sleeper. It made him leery how much deeper his rest became when Camille was beside him.

"Nearly seven." Freya supplied from her perch at the bar.

His gaze drifted around the room as he took stock of who was present. Marcel was pouring himself a drink, Vincent sat next to Freya, Elijah and Hayley had taken residence in the armchairs. It somehow felt wrong to not have Rebekah present.

A swift pain clamped through his gut and Klaus suppressed an irritated sigh as his fangs edged along the inside of his cheek. His hunger had returned in full force. He was loath to admit that Camille had been right, he had needed more fresh blood.

"Go feed."

He blinked as he noticed Camille's sleepy glare. It took him a minute to realize that his hunger had driven her awake. He tried to mute his end of their bond but couldn't seem to find the edge to tether it closed.

As she continued to glower, Klaus rolled his eyes, "What do you want to eat?"

"I'm fine, just would like some water," Camille answered, as she shifted to sit up.

He returned her unimpressed stare, "You haven't eaten anything besides those cookies. You need something more substantial. If I'm to leave, I might as well get you something."

"Surprise me." She yawned, exhaustion still clinging to her limbs.

He nodded and grabbed his phone. He already had a meal in mind and if he called it in now it'd be ready by the time he was done with his own meal. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple and slipped past Marcel.

"No bags!"

He cursed the fact that she had ever been a vampire. She had learned the restorative value of pulling their food from the tap far too quickly. Though in truth, he normally wouldn't take issue with this request, he still felt uncomfortable letting her out of his sight.

The feeling echoed with Camille as he disappeared. She had to fight the urge to call him back, but her attention soon fell on the gathered crowd, and she smiled as she took in their curious and relieved stares, "Hey guys."

"I see you're amongst the living again." Vincent greeted with a grin and she knew he wasn't referring to her near-death experience.

Camille smirked, "Who knew it would take almost dying to make me human again? How long were we asleep?"

Elijah answered with a light, "An hour if that. You both fell asleep relatively quickly. Are you sure you shouldn't be resting now?"

She could only shrug, "Klaus and I aren't sure about what we triggered. I think it better that we start looking for a few answers sooner rather than later."

"What exactly did you guys trigger?" Hayley queried curiously; she had done a double-take when she had spotted their slumbering forms. She was sure that she had never seen Klaus look so peaceful and it had only been more startling to note Camille's new state. Old state?

"Yeah, you were a step away from desiccating when Vincent and I left earlier." Marcel chimed in, "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're alright, Cami...it's just, what the hell?"

Cami shifted uncomfortably, tempted to ask for a whiskey as she sensed the interrogation commencing, but the lingering thought of her potential pregnancy stilled her tongue. Instead, she sighed and shook her head, "We should wait for Klaus, part of what happened has to do with something that occurred a long time ago and... and I'm not really sure what he – we did to initiate such a cataclysmic change. Can't say I'm not grateful for it though, wasn't really keen on dying."

Her words brought a round of murmured agreement before Hayley prodded again, "Yeah, but what was that with Klaus? You practically ordered him to eat and he...obeyed. It was like you guys were speaking a different language for a minute."

"Well, that's hardly new." Freya piped up, "From what I've witnessed those two have all kinds of silent conversations. It's like they have their own bandwidth they can tune into, but no one else can."

That comparison wasn't too far from the truth, Camille thought dryly as she took note of the various degrees of agreement once again.

"Yeah, but this was different. It was like she compelled him or something."

She frowned, "How often are you guys watching us?"

A smile quirked on Elijah's lips as he shared a knowing glance with his sister. Hayley raised a brow as Marcel and Vincent hid grins behind their drinks.

"You have no idea, do you?" Hayley uttered sagely.

"No idea of what?"

A few breathy chuckles broke the tense atmosphere and Camille blinked.

"Klaus is different with you, Cami." Hayley pointed out, but she could see Cami didn't fully comprehend, "He's more patient, protective. He acts like an honest to God person with you, more than that he treats you like one."

In her favor, Camille had known that he was more gentle with her than most others, but she didn't think it was a huge difference. She also didn't think their interactions warranted such close scrutiny

"I know – I know he loves me." Camille said carefully, it felt strange to verbalize those words, "But I didn't think you guys were watching us like we're the local telenovela."

Marcel bit back another grin, "It's fun to see that Klaus isn't all bite and bark. And admittedly, he is dramatic enough to have his own show."

Hayley snorted as the thought took root, "Really, we should write a book about our lives. We may end up getting a movie deal or something."

"As long as we don't sparkle." Elijah interjected drolly, "Honestly, who would be terrified of a vampire who sparkles?"

Laughter erupted in the common room and Cami felt herself relax into the couch cushions as Elijah's comment ignited a storm of banter. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Hope woke and cried plaintively from her room. Camille could no longer hear it, but all the vampires suddenly shifted their attention and Hayley was out the door before anyone could say a word.

It was mere minutes later she came in with the cranky toddler. Camille smiled softly as she watched mother and daughter. So much time had been stolen from both that it always warmed her heart when she was able to see these precious moments. Yet, as she watched the duo, dread began to pool in her belly.

Would that be her? Would she have to battle for every second with her child should she be pregnant?

Klaus and Hayley had done nothing but fight to keep their little girl safe since she had been born. She would be doing the same thing... and Camille had the distinct impression that Klaus would be as unwilling to let her depart to a remote area with their child as he had been with Hope. He had loathed every second that his daughter had been removed from his home and she couldn't blame him. It would kill her to have to stay away from her child in order to keep him or her safe.

So lost in her thoughts she barely noticed Davina's arrival or Klaus's return until a styrofoam container was placed in her lap. She blinked as she noticed quite a few bags and boxes being set out. He had gotten enough food for an army, but then she had seen the way Vincent, Hayley, and Freya put away food.

Concerned cerulean eyes locked onto hers and Camille realized that Klaus had been taken on her emotional rollercoaster ride. She smiled reassuringly at him, but his arched brow let her know that he wasn't prepared to let it go. Which was fine. They would need to have a series of difficult discussions once the group meeting was over. She cast a pointed gaze to the room, and he nodded in understanding but sent her a look of his own that clearly communicated that they would talk later.

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes and turned her attention to the box on her lap. Her mouth watered as familiar smells floated through the air.

An appreciative grin lit her face as she took in the gourmet burger and fries that he had brought her. Klaus's idea of substantial was barely a step above fast food it seemed – but then she also had the notion that he had been looking at efficiency as much as quality.

Klaus slipped next to her and opened the packets of salt and pepper and made a small mountain on the inside of the lid. She passed him the spare napkin from her box before removing the pickle from her burger. Condiments passed between them, as did a handful of fries with little thought. Camille didn't look up until Klaus set a bottle of water next to her and found everyone staring at them.

Klaus was munching on her fries when he followed her gaze, "...What?"

"You guys didn't even speak," Hayley murmured mystified, barely noting Hope stealing a fry from her plate.

Freya held up her drink pointedly, "I told you. Bandwidth."

Klaus frowned bemused as he turned an inquiring glance toward Camille. For her part, she had pointedly taken a bite from her burger feeling a strange chasm of exasperation and embarrassment. She barely held in the urge to stick her tongue out.

Klaus blinked and decided he was better off not knowing.

"So, Klaus is back. What did you guys do?" Marcel pressed impatiently, "I mean, Vincent and I were pouring through everything you had in that storage room for a miracle when Freya called us."

Klaus and Camille exchanged a loaded look as she tepidly asked, "How far back do we start this story?"

"Probably best to go all the way back." Klaus answered reluctantly before sighing, "By all means, love, tell them our little secret."

"What secret?" Hayley blurted.

Curiosity shined at them from all corners of the room. Klaus arched a brow but deferred to Camille. He would let her tell as much or as little of their story as she wished.

Camille shifted uncomfortably, feeling strangely like a little kid tattling, "Well, Klaus and I didn't meet three years ago. We met six – no, it's been almost seven, seven years ago."

There was a moment of stunned silence before of cacophonous storm of questions erupted.

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[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 2

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

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Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-9 are currently available on Patreon.  To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

TWO

“What’s this?” Sam asks. 

He could smell you from the moment his brother dragged you into their tent. Your Omega is masked by something but it’s there and it’s unmistakable. 

“An Omega the men were about to ruin.” Your captor lets you go and you stand there, eyes finding a rock on the dirt floor and staring at it. 

Two Alphas. This is not what you hoped. But maybe you can still make it out alive. 

You’re a squirmy little thing, and it’s hard to get a good look at you. At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss you as just another desperate Omega trying to get away. In Sam’s experience, your kind rarely embraces your place in the natural order of things. Yes, it would be easy to overlook you, but Sam pays attention to details. He can see past your stringy hair and tear-stained face, your bloodied knees, and dirty breasts. He’s willing to bet you’re really something to see when you’re not a snot covered mess. 

The scent coming from between your legs is thick like honeysuckles in the summer, you’re still sweet. On the verge of being broken but holding yourself together. 

Dean looks unhappy and Sam waits for what’s to follow. 

“As much as I’d love to stay and play with her, I have to ride the outer camps. If one of us doesn’t do the rounds the men start thinking they’re above the rules. We need to do something. They can’t be trusted, they didn’t even check before they started on her.” Dean pushes you forward and you nearly fall over. “She’s yours, for now at least. Unless you want to take a ride...”

“It’s your turn to go.” Sam looks to Dean for the first time. 

Dean shrugs, snorting as he shakes his head. “Better you than me. She’s a fucking mess.”

“Leave her to me.” Sam watches you with interest, your eyes bulging wide with uncertainty. Dean grabs his saddlebags and heads out. 

Moments later you’re alone with this new Alpha who’s circling you slowly, examining every inch of your battered skin. He moves as a predator, a wolf stalking its prey with slow, deliberate steps. 

“Did they fuck you?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, awash with both shame and paralyzing fear. 

“But they did touch you?” He stops directly in front of you, looking at your breasts, then to the patch of hair between your legs. 

“Yes. They touched me.” You don't know if you should look at him. Everything is a calculated choice. These sorts of men are volatile, he may not think you’re worthy to make eye contact. Further punishment is the last thing you can withstand, so you keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’ll deal with them in the morning.” He tilts his head, wiping off his hands with a cloth before tossing it on the table. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you whisper, a tear rolling down your cheek. You don’t want to know. 

“Samuel. The son of John Winchester,” he explains. You think you may vomit. Samuel Winchester. Of all the cruel twists of fate, this has to be one of the most merciless. You’ve heard of him, you can’t recall the specifics but you know his general reputation; brutal and sadistic.  “The man who brought you here was my brother, Dean.” He pauses and you say nothing. “You lived in Hayward Village?”

“Yes,” you nod, sneaking a peek. He’s a beast of a man. All you can do now is pray he doesn’t kill you, or do irreparable damage. 

“I need you to understand you’re never going back there,” he explains calmly. 

Hayward never felt like your home. It was a place to hide, to fade into the background. But hearing him say that makes this all too real. You will never be the same again. 

“I understand,” you confirm. 

“The rest of your life will be very different. You’re the property of Gilead now. You belong to me. Do you understand?”

It’s clear you don’t like that declaration of ownership. Your eyes snap up to his, swallowing hard. It’s always difficult for Omegas to truly understand this new world order. It’s best to be up front. False hope only creates desperation. He doesn’t need you trying to run in the middle of the night. 

He looks on with interest, the way you swallow your emotions, holding them back at all costs. In his experience not many women would be able to express such self control under these circumstances. You’re strong, whether you know it or not.

“I understand,” you agree quietly, unsuccessfully covering the tremor in your voice. “M-may I ask what I should call you?”

“Alpha,” Sam explains. “In Lebanon Omegas don’t use the names of their Alphas. It breeds familiarity and that can be a dangerous thing.” 

You shift and squeal in pain, cradling your arm. Fresh tears fall. You’re in agony and he can’t have that. He needs you in working order. 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Inching closer he tries to get a better look. 

“I-I think i-it’s broken,” you sputter.  

“One of the men did this?” His eyes narrow, displeased by the news. “Intentionally?” 

The fucking men have been on his last nerve for weeks and now this. They think themselves equal. Deserving of such riches that they would cross this of all lines. It makes his blood boil. 

“He threw me down from the horse. I don’t think he meant to hurt me.” You’re shaking, entire body rattling in cold and in pain. 

“He should have been more careful. An Omega requires special handling. Come here, let me see it.” He sits down in a chair, his expression unflinching as he waits for you to move closer. “Move your hand so I can see the damage.”

You let go of your arm and howl as the bones shift, but he takes your elbow and wrist, holding them in a manner that offers the first relief you’ve felt in hours. It makes sense, he’s a soldier. He knows how to treat wounds on the battlefield. He’s seen a thousand broken bones worse than this. 

“Here.” He carefully tightens his grip on your elbow, sliding his hand along your forearm until he’s holding it in place. He changes the position and you think you might vomit, the pain is so great. It’s making you sweat and squirm as he feels where the bone has snapped. “This is going to hurt.” 

Before his words register, he pulls on your wrist and elbow at the same time, realigning the bone as the two pieces snap back into place with a sickening crack. 

You scream, trying to pull back but he grabs you by the hair to keep you from retreating. 

“You’ll be fine, calm down,” he orders. He doesn’t exactly care, but seeing a woman in pain doesn’t bring him pleasure like many of his men. In fact, it’s always made him uncomfortable.“I’ll find something to hold your arm in place. Sit down and don’t move.”

He points to the chair and you lower yourself into it, cradling your newly set arm, watching as he looks in trunks and sacks. Finding long, flat pieces of wood he kneels in front of you, and using a thin rope and cloth he secures the wood around your arm until it’s completely immobile. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

Your mind races. You need to give him something, anything but your real name. The hours in the forest come back to you. The wild things all around you, as you search for any name to give him. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Sparrow,” you sniffle, wiping tears from your cheek. 

“Sparrow,” he repeats, looking up at you. “A fitting name given your broken wing.” One massive hand grips your knee and you jerk in surprise, looking him in the eyes. You almost forgot you were naked. “Do you know what’s expected of Omegas in my country?”

“I’ve heard stories but...no,” you answer honestly, looking at him as your heart breaks. You’ll never see your family again. Not that your father would ever take you back after this. There’s no coming back from being with a Winchester. If he did nothing more than talk to you, it would be a permanent black mark. 

And if Sam knew who you were he’d kill you on the spot. You’re damned any way you look at it. 

“You belong to us. The sooner you accept this, the easier things will be. You’re lucky, most of your village was killed. A half dozen were taken as servants. And you are the lone prize. The only thing worth the effort of that Godforsaken place.” Lucky. It’s a strange way to describe being driven from your home and nearly raped by a group of disgusting men. “Depending on how well you perform, you’ll be offered as a prize to a high ranking Alpha. Or perhaps you’re bound for greater things.”

Sam’s words are unmistakable. There’s a hunger in his eyes as he looks from your breasts down to the patch of hair between your thighs. One could find him handsome in other circumstances, but right now he’s simply terrifying. He’s large enough that he could easily take anything he wanted from you. His eyes burning with an intensity you can practically feel. 

“I understand,” you whisper. “I’ll do my best.”

“You stink. I’ll have someone clean you up.” He stands, arms folded across his chest. “Then we’ll have a good look at you.”

-

The tent doesn’t feel like a temporary shelter set in the middle of a makeshift camp. There are clothes and weapons everywhere as if the two brothers have been here for months. Carefully marked maps are spread across a long wooden table. There are markers in the form of little metal horses across it. It’s a miniature version of the war raging on around them. There’s a treasure trove of valuable information here if you could get it to someone, but it’s a fool's errand. This is where your journey ends, you can feel it in your bones. 

The only available woman in the camp is a gray-haired cook who bathes you while Sam watches from the corner of the room. The light of the fire licks across his face, his eyes never faltering as the old woman washes your hair and helps you scrub until the mud and grime are gone. 

The cook helps you bathe and leaves in a rush, never looking up. She’s more terrified of him than you are, a fact that doesn’t escape you. 

Sam was right, you’re beautiful underneath it all. Healthy Omegas have a glow about them, not that he’s seen a healthy one in years, but he remembers. Yours is faint but there’s a glimmer to you, like an aura emanating from your body. You’re holding your arm, with eyes trained on the floor but your head is held high, back straight despite the oppression of the situation. It’s that inner strength that fascinates him. You may be compliant or you might try to stab him in the middle of the night. There’s only one way to know for sure. 

“May I have something to drink?” you ask, naked and dripping in front of the fire. 

“Yes. What would you like?” He’s on his feet again, slinking closer with the stealth of cat “Wine? Water?”

“Tea. I’m very cold. Something to warm me up would be appreciated.”

He takes herbs from a pouch, grinding them into the bottom of a mug before adding hot water. Then he sits across the table watching you sip. 

“You’re beautiful,” he asserts and your breath catches, fear churning. “And unclaimed. How is it that an Omega like you hasn’t been claimed already?”

The truth is that your father kept you under lock and key. And when he was forced to send you away, he picked the one place you’d be the least likely to cross paths with an Alpha. 

“There were no Alphas in my village.” You explain the question away praying that's the end of it.  A tingling sensation is blooming to life in your belly, dulling your senses. “What is in this tea?”

“Herbs to help with the pain. I broke a rib last year, it’s the only thing that brought relief.” His eyes drop to your tits, licking his lower lip. “We’re lucky my brother had to leave. You wouldn’t have lasted an hour. He would have knotted you the moment he realized how pristine you are.”

Your cheeks flush hot as you fight off tears. While you overheard crude talk in the village, it’s rare that any man has ever spoken so frankly to, or about you in such a way. 

“Have you been with a man before?” You hesitate and he rolls his eyes. “I expect honest answers.”

“Yes,” you admit, feeling shame wash over you. At least he doesn’t know who you are, it would only serve to exacerbate your sins. A woman of your standing should be a chaste virgin, untouched by any man until her husband. But as a country girl from a small village its less of a transgression. Either way you think about it, the admission makes you feel like a whore. 

“How many?” he asks. 

Jesus, you’re not sure you can stand much more of this intimate questioning. 

“Two.” 

“Interesting.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, entertained by the confession. “Have you taken a knot?”

Your whole body goes tense, a fact that doesn’t escape him. You’re scared but with fear comes compliance. He’s good at reading people, maybe he won’t have to worry about you trying to slit his throat.

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’ve never been with an Alpha.”

“Good.” His fingers strum the table. “I’ll be your first then.”

There, now it’s a sure thing. No more guessing. He plans to have you for himself, at least tonight. While he’s nowhere near the nightmare of men that had you envisioned earlier, there’s a darkness in him that’s simmering right there for anyone to see and it scares the daylights out of you. 

“Will you open your legs for me?” he asks evenly. “Or will I have to have to show you who’s in charge?”

“Please don’t,” you beseech, looking to him in desperation. 

“You don’t get that choice,” he counters, unhappy with any pushback. 

“I’m just in so much pain.” Your voice is shaking, hand curled into a fist at your side. “I haven’t slept in days. If you would wait until morning, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give myself to you freely. I just...I’m not sure how much more I can take tonight. I’m so exhausted I can barely stay upright.”

He’s silent, contemplating your request. The men found you in the forest. You probably are exhausted. You could also be exaggerating, trying to buy yourself a little time before he fucks you. And yet he’s inclined to believe you. He can read the exhaustion on your face like the war maps on the table. 

“How long were you in the forest?” he asks. 

“Two days.” 

“With no shoes and no cloak?”

“There was no time. When the men attacked my home I ran with what I had on, nothing more.”

“I see.” He sits back, rubbing over the pads of his fingers as he decides what to do. “You should sleep. You’re no good to me broken and delirious. You’ve already been mishandled enough.”

If you were any other Omega he’d have you gag on his cock and make you sleep on the floor next to his bed, but you have this smell about you. That sweet lingering scent he’s never encountered before. He wants to fuck you, see what it feels like to be inside you, to give you his knot. 

“Thank you.” You close your eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that fall. “Thank you.”

“Are you still cold?” he asks gesturing at your bare tits. 

“Yes,” you admit, embarrassed to the point of giving up as your nipples stand out like little pebbles. “I’ve been cold for days.”

“Then come to bed and I’ll warm you.” He gets up, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks to the bed farthest from the fire. He toes off his boots and drops his trousers to the floor, stepping out of them. 

He’s a sight to behold. Long, lean muscle, just as powerful as you suspected. His cock is thick, bobbing just below his stomach. He fists himself, looking to you as you dutifully walk over to the bed, careful of your arm. 

Has he changed his mind? 

“Lay down,” he instructs, waiting as you shimmy under a heavy fur pelt. He pulls a small pillow from somewhere under the bed and places it beside you. “Turn on your side and rest your arm here.”

You do as he instructs, watching him with a wary eye as you settle into the bed. 

Sam climbs in behind you, pressing hot, naked skin against your back, letting his erection poke at your buttocks. 

“How is your arm?” he inquires as his mouth connects with your shoulder, open lips dragging over skin. Can this be happening? You jump as his teeth scrape over the back of your neck, praying that he’ll be true to his word and allow you time to recuperate. 

“It’s not as painful as it was,” you admit, feeling your eyes fall heavy. Exhaustion trumps all. “The tea helped.”

“Good. Go to sleep, little bird. The next few weeks will be difficult ones for many reasons. You should rest when you can.” 

His warning sends a thousand thoughts spiraling. A thick arm lays over your hip and you close your eyes as sleep overtakes you. For the first time in nearly three days, you’re allowed to rest. 

[keichanz]

Superstitions

I could have waited til the 19th to post this but eh, decided not to. 

Spooktober Day 19: Superstitions 

“If I recall, you’re the one who wanted to have this party, not me, so why am I the one stuck running all over hell getting everything you need?”

“Because you’re the best husband in the history of ever?”

A snort. “Try again.”

“In my defense, you didn’t say I couldn’t have the party, sooo really, this falls back on you, dogboy.”

“Falls back on—last I knew, it takes two people to have a discussion, not just one sneaky wench that randomly decided to significantly increase the electricity bill with all these fucking obnoxious decorations and constantly chase me outta the kitchen when all I want is some damned ramen.”

“Well clearly we know who wears the pants in this relationship.”

“God, you’re such a pain in my ass.”

“Mmm, but you love me anyway.”

Groaning aloud while his cheeky little wife cackled merrily on the other end of the line, Inuyasha adjusted the grip he had on the large box under his arm and transferred the heavy bag of various Halloween decorations to his other hand while he watched his son skip ahead of him on the sidewalk. Tai had wanted to go with him and Kagome said it was a good idea anyway so he wouldn’t be constantly underfoot while she was baking. With Izayoi hanging out with Rin and friends somewhere, she could put her entire focus into the task at hand without worry about little people’s needs.

“Just do me a favor and don’t burn down the house while I’m gone,” Inuyasha said dryly as Tai hopped about in front of him while saying something under his breath. “I gotta run to work for a bit but it shouldn’t take long, an hour tops.”

“Ye of little faith,” Kagome teased and his lips quirked upward slightly. “I’ll have you know I have everything under control—oh no, my cookies!”

“Goddammit Kago—”

“I’m kidding!” his wife said, laughing as Inuyasha released groan number two. “It’s fine, babe. I’ll save you some pumpkin cookies and a cupcake.”

“I want one, too!” Tai announced without looking back, clearly having heard his mother over the phone.

“Tai wants one too,” Inuyasha relayed and Kagome laughed. The promise of tasty treats confirmed, the two said their goodbyes and without stopping his stride the half-demon took a moment to browse his messages, noting he’d gotten a text from Miroku about the party and one from  Kagome that she’d just sent ten seconds ago. All it contained was a heart emoji and he smiled.

He passed by Tai, who had for some reason stopped his hopping around and was staring avidly down at the ground and without looking up Inuyasha said, “C’mon bud, you’re gonna go to work with me for a bit and hang out with Nazuna while I take care of a few things. Remember her? You like her, right?”

When Tai didn’t give a response and he didn’t hear small feet following after him, Inuyasha paused with a frown and looked back to find that his son had completely frozen on the sidewalk. He couldn’t see Tai’s expression with how he had his head bowed, but his little body was shaking and that was what spurred Inuyasha into action.

Immediately concerned, Inuyasha pocketed his phone and backtracked to kneel in front of his son, carelessly setting the box and bags of decorations on the ground.

“Tai, what’s the matter? Are you hurt? What happened?” Putting a hand on his frail shoulder, Inuyasha ducked his head to catch a glimpse of his face. He was not expecting to find him looking absolutely horrified as he stared down at the ground, his eyes impossibly wide and his bottom lip trembling as he held back tears.

Truly alarmed now and wondering what could have possibly caused this sudden change in behavior, Inuyasha smoothed back his bangs and tried to tilt his face up with a finger under his chin.

“Hey, bud,” he murmured and managed to get his son to lift his face enough to gaze into eyes identical to his own and awash with unshed tears. “What’s the matter? Nazuna’s not that bad, is she? I thought you liked her.”

Despite his attempt to get him to smile, Tai’s expression didn’t change, however he did manage to get a response from him.

“M-M-Mamaaaa,” he whimpered as the tears fell down his cheeks.

Inuyasha frowned. “What about your mom? We’ll only be gone an hour, Tai, then we can—”

“I b-b-broke her b-baaaaaaack!” Tai wailed and then abruptly dissolved into sobs right there in the middle of the sidewalk, heedless of the passersby that were giving them various looks of concern and annoyance.

Inuyasha reeled back and gave his son a puzzled look.

“You—what?” he asked. Why the hell did he think that?

Tai didn’t answer and continued to sob, tears running unchecked down his face, his little ears wilted on top of his head as he called out for his mother.

Reacting to his son’s distress, Inuyasha’s own ears flattened and he winced, gathering his boy close and holding him as tiny hands clung to his jacket. He had no idea why he suddenly thought he broke Kagome’s back, and his gentle inquiries about it went ignored. Or maybe he was too upset to answer, but in any case, Inuyasha needed to get to the bottom of this.

Sighing, Inuyasha rubbed his back and tried to calm him down enough so he could get an eligible answer out of the boy, but when Tai just shook his head and called and managed to say something about a crack through his tears, it suddenly clicked.

Inuyasha blinked and dropped his gaze down to the pavement below their feet. The cracked pavement.

“Step on the crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.”

Inuyasha wanted to laugh as relief flooded him and he released a little chuckle as he shook his head. Oblivious to his father’s realization, Tai continued to cry for his mother and thinking they’d drawn enough attention already, the older half-demon decided it was time to put a stop to that.

“Alright,” he soothed, using is jacket sleeve to wipe the child’s wet cheeks and simultaneously gain his attention. “C’mon, calm down. That’s enough, Tai. Stop crying.”

At the gentle reprimand, recognizing the faint stern tone of his father’s voice, Tai took a few deep, stuttering breaths and controlled his sobs to sniffling and hiccoughs. His little nose was red, his eyes were still wide and shining with tears as Inuyasha produced a tissue out of nowhere – Parent Tip #541, never leave home without them – and prompted him to blow his nose.

“Your mom is fine,” Inuyasha promised as Tai obediently blew his nose into the tissue. “You didn’t break her back. Was all this because of that old saying where you step on a crack and break your mom’s back? Is that what this is about?”

Sniffling and giving sucking in a shaky breath, Tai nodded wordlessly, lifting a hand and scrubbing at his eyes.

Inuyasha shook his head. “That’s just a superstition, Tai. Something that was made up a long time ago by some whackjob with nothing better to do. It’s not real, and I promise your mom is fine and her back isn’t broken.”

Tai sniffled and still looked unconvinced, so with a sigh Inuyasha gathered his son into his arms and retrieved his cell from his pocket once again.

“You wanna talk to her and see for yourself?” he asked as he brought up Kagome’s number.

Cradled in his dad’s arm, Tai stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded.

While waiting for his wife to answer, Inuyasha put the phone on speaker and managed to balance the kid in his arms as he collected the bags and box off the ground, keeping a firm grasp on the mobile.

It went to voicemail and Inuyasha rolled his eyes. Of course the one time she didn’t answer he needed her to so Tai didn’t believe she was really incapacitated.

And speaking of, his son turned big gold eyes his way, once more awash with unshed tears and suddenly Inuyasha understood why Kagome was never able to tell him no. Not when he looked like that because he was just about ready to drop everything and sprint home.

Sighing, he put the phone away and kissed Tai’s forehead. “S’okay, bud,” he assured and started walking down the street again. “She probably just has the mixer on or something and will call back when she noticed the missed call. Trust your old man when he says Mama is perfectly fine, alright? If I could I’d take you home to see for yourself, but the thing at work can’t wait anymore.  I promise to be quick, though. Will you keep Nazuna company while I work?”

Inuyasha rubbed his son’s ear with his free hand and although he was clearly still upset, Tai sniffled once, whimpered, and gave a single nod before tucking himself under his father’s chin as a small arm wrapped around his neck.

Wishing he could do more for the distraught child in his arms, Inuyasha sighed, nuzzled Tai’s head, then continued toward his truck parked on the side of the street, praying that Kagome would look at his phone and call him back.

She didn’t call him back and when Inuyasha went to collect his son from the company daycare fifty-two minutes after they’d arrived, Nazuna’s worried face as she peered at him from over Tai’s head told him everything he needed to know.

The caretaker gave him a questioning look as she transferred the tiny half-demon into his father’s arms and Inuyasha grimaced before shaking his head. Nazuna frowned but nodded, then her face bloomed into a gentle smile as she leaned down and bid Tai a fond farewell, brushing back his bangs and saying she hoped to see him again soon.

Tai didn’t say anything and hid his face in Inuyasha’s shoulder.

Inuyasha shrugged helplessly and with an understanding smile, Nazuna walked them to the door, giving one last wave before closing the door after them.

The ride home was quiet and Inuyasha kept sneaking glances at him in the rear view mirror. He didn’t even play with the toy he’d brought along with him and Inuyasha pressed his foot down on the accelerator a little harder.

When he pulled into their driveway eight minutes later Inuyasha breathed a sigh of relief and wasted no time in cutting the engine, hopping out, and getting Tai out of his booster seat. He’d get the decorations later; right now his son was more important.

“Okay, buddy,” Inuyasha murmured as he gathered his son into his arms and walked toward the side entrance that led to the mudroom. “Let’s go get those cupcakes your mom promised us, yeah?”

Hopping the three steps, he entered his home and even through the door that led into the kitchen Inuyasha could smell that his wife had been very busy while he was gone. Tai must have noticed the scents of chocolate, pumpkin, and his mother too because his nose started twitching and he lifted his head.

With a tiny grin, Inuyasha opened the way into their kitchen and Tai spotted her the exact moment she turned around, brown eyes bright and a big smile on her face.

“My boys!” she greeted as Inuyasha set their desperately squirming son down. “You’re just in time, I have some yummy treats—”

“Mama!”

Faster than a blink Tai hurled himself at Kagome with such force she stumbled back with a startled gasp. Clinging to her legs and crying into the fabric of her jeans, Tai’s grip was vice-like as he sobbed over and over that he thought he broke her back and how glad he was that she was okay.

Utterly perplexed but more concerned at their son’s behavior, Kagome shot Inuyasha a wide-eyed look of complete befuddlement but when he just shook his head and mouthed “later,” she nodded and knelt down to console her five-year-old.

“Hey,” Kagome cooed, coaxing her son to release her legs and wrap his small arms around her neck inside. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m okay, see? Nothing’s broken, I’m aright, I promise...”

Kagome picked him up and cuddled him, rocking him in her arms, murmuring to him quietly and rubbing a downy soft ear in his fingers in an attempt to soothe. It worked, because Tai finally settled down to sniffles and quiet whimpers, clinging to his mother for dear life and refusing to let go.

“Y-you’re really okay?” he asked, tilting his face up and gazing up at her with liquid amber eyes.

Kagome smiling lovingly down at him and pressed her lips to his forehead, then his runny nose. “Yes, baby, I’m okay. I don’t think I’d be able to pick you up if I weren’t! Oof, Tai, you gotta lay off the ramen. Your mom’s a weak little human compared to my strong half-demons!”

As she’d hoped, that managed to get a little giggle out of her son and both parents relaxed at the sound.

Confident their boy was going to be okay now, Inuyasha left to retrieve the bags from the truck while Kagome wandered over to the kitchen counter with Tai in her arms.

“I don’t know about you, but I can definitely go for a big chocolate cupcake and whaddaya know, I saved the biggest one for my big boy!”

Outside, Inuyasha had just shut the truck door with bags in his hand and box under his arm when he turned to find a black cat calmly sitting at the end of his driveway, staring at him with big yellow eyes.

Inuyasha froze. The cat blinked slowly at him, yawned, then stretched languorously before leisurely strolling away, thin black tail raised high and swaying back and forth as it disappeared into the neighbor’s yard.

Inuyasha watched it go, sighed heavily, then tipped his head back to glare up at the overcast sky.

“That’s not funny.”

[wild-aloof-rebel]

They say rain on your wedding day is good luck. 

Patrick thinks that’s probably only true when the rain stays outside where it belongs.

They’d found a quaint little inn on the outskirts of Elm Grove, just far enough away from Schitt’s Creek to keep anyone they hadn’t invited from dropping in, just close enough to still feel like home. David had fallen instantly in love with the sunny parlor at the back of the inn, with its rustic wooden bookshelves filled with well-loved old tomes and its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a wide, sweeping porch and a well-tended field beyond, surrounded by lush, leafy apple trees. 

Patrick had fallen in love with the way David looked in the golden, late afternoon sunlight spilling in on them and the way he could already picture them there, lifelong promises brushing just as warm and bright across their lips.

The contract had been signed and the deposit put down before they’d even left the building. There’d been no need to go home and mull it over. No need to see any place else.

This was it. This was the place where they were going to get married.

The months after had been dedicated to planning the rest around it: finding the precise shade of blue to best complement the dark, warm walnut of the parlor floors, renting furniture and linens that would look at home amongst the verdant field and thick grove of trees, debating the pastoral appeal of peonies in the centerpieces as compared to garden roses. David had insisted on an outdoor reception, dinner and drinks and dancing as the blush and tangerine of sunset fade into dusky purple dotted with stars, a breeze wrapping around them soft and fragrant in the early autumn night. Patrick had insisted on a back-up plan, just in case, and so David had agreed that in case of rain, they could hold both the ceremony and the reception in the parlor, retreating to the covered porch between for a brief cocktail hour so that the room could be switched over.

Patrick had hoped of course that they wouldn’t need the back-up plan. But now instead it seems they should have made a back-up to their back-up plan. 

He stands in the parlor doorway watching rain pour into trash bins scattered across the floor where their guests are supposed to be seated, chairs still arrayed amongst them in drenched rows beneath a nightmarish constellation of holes in the ceiling. Even though the sudden storm looks like it will end soon, everything left behind will still be a soggy, bedraggled mess, their dreams of a perfect day washed away in the deluge.

Judging by the raised voices coming from some other room, the Roses have a pretty good handle on the anger side of the situation, which is helpful because at the moment, Patrick can only find it in himself to be disappointed. Disappointed that every careful decision they’ve debated and fought over and apologized for and made and unmade and remade is all for naught. Disappointed that the vision David had spent so long crafting for this day—for them—is going to go unseen. Disappointed that after months and months of waiting, today isn’t the day he gets to stand in the golden light of the afternoon sun and finally make David his husband.

“He needs you,” Stevie says as she squeezes into the doorway beside him. Her face is carefully impassive as she surveys the damage, but when she turns to meet Patrick’s eyes, he can see the sorrow glinting there, sharp and silver like the curve of a knife. 

It’s a little bit of a relief, he thinks, to know others wanted this for them as much as they wanted it for themselves.

His knock on the door of the honeymoon suite goes unanswered, but he slips in through the unlocked door anyway. “David, are you—”

He finds his fiancé sitting on the floor beside the door, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes closed, head tipped miserably back against the wall. Despite the dolorous position he’s in, despite the splotchy red stained along his eyelids and across his cheeks and down past the crisp white collar of his shirt, he’s still the most beautiful thing Patrick has ever seen, and another tiny piece of his heart crumbles to dust at the thought that he doesn’t get to marry this man today.

Removing his jacket and dropping it onto the bed beside David’s, Patrick folds himself into place at David’s side, twisting their fingers together. In the silence, he runs his thumb along the ridge of the three gold rings on David’s right hand—just for today, his left empty and awaiting the return of the single ring David had given back to him last night, the ring currently sitting heavy and useless in Patrick’s pocket. 

The quiet beats on around them like the pulse of a leadened heart. 

Outside, the rain finally tapers off, the sun already threatening to peek through the gloom, but Patrick knows—they both do—that it’s too little too late. There will be no wedding today.

“I hate this,” David says finally, his voice thick and wet. 

“I know.” Patrick leans over to press a kiss to his temple and another to his cheek and another to the corner of his eye where a fresh tear slips free. “You spent so much time and effort planning all this for us—I mean I know I helped, but you’re the one who knows what flowers go with what and the difference between engraved and…”

“Embossed,” David fills in, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that. And I’m sorry that it’s all ruined. I know you wanted things to be perfect—”

“No.”

“I wanted them to be perfect, too. I wanted them to be perfect for you, and—”

“No,” David says again, finally opening his eyes to stop Patrick with a glossy stare. “You think I’m upset about… flowers or— or seat covers?”

“I am,” Patrick replies, finding a little surge of that anger he was missing before. Not at David—never at David. But at the owners of this stupid, charming little inn with its leaky disaster of a roof and at mother nature for dropping a storm right into their well-dressed laps and at himself for not insisting on a back-up to the back-up just in case. “We spent so long planning this—you spent so long planning this, making sure it was everything we wanted it to be—and it was. Or it was going to be at least. It was going to be perfect and amazing, just like you, and now the whole day is ruined just because—”

“Button.” David says it so softly, his mouth twisting so sweetly around the name that Patrick feels his breath rattle in his chest. 

He’s not going to cry. He can’t. David is crying, and that means Patrick has to be the strong one right now; it’s his turn to be the one holding them both together, so he swallows against that burning lump in his throat until he feels like he can breathe around it. 

It only works until David opens his mouth again.

“Button,” he says once more, somehow softer still, “I don’t care about any of that. I mean, I do, but it’s not why—” He swallows thickly, more tears squeezing out even as he scrunches his face up against them. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long. And it’s not because of— of decorations or tasteful dance music or cake—”

“It’s not about cake?” Patrick deadpans, and David laughs, sodden but warm as the sun breaking through the clouds outside their window.

“Hush, you. It’s mostly not about cake. It’s about you. I just—” He looks at Patrick with bright eyes, mouth twisting into a frown that belies the soft smile threatening to form instead. “I wanted to end this day married to you.” He shrugs, like he hasn’t just said the most perfect thing Patrick can imagine. “I didn’t want to go to sleep tonight not as your husband.”

Patrick leans in and kisses him, a slow, sweet press of lips, savoring the way the words taste in his mouth, the way David melts into him as if to confirm their truth. 

“Come on,” he says when he manages to pull himself away from the draw of his fiancé’s lips. David tilts his head in question but allows himself to be pulled to his feet. After shooting off a quick text, Patrick slips his jacket back on, straightening his tie and giving David a reassuring smile when their eyes meet in the mirror, and when they’re both dressed and ready, and when they’ve shared one more lingering kiss with Patrick’s hands on David’s jaw and David’s fingers in Patrick’s hair, Patrick slips his hand into David’s and pulls him out the door.

The voices in the room at the bottom of the stairs seem to have dulled from hysterical yelling to merely firmly raised, and Patrick drags them past the closed office door, past the dining room where the few guests not already driven home by the storm are gathering their things to go, past the ruined parlor and out onto the porch. He’s already down most of the steps before David manages to pull him to a halt. 

“What are we doing?” 

Patrick turns back to find David awash in all that beautiful, golden sunlight he’d waited months to see again, a crooked smile stretched across his mouth. He looks just as gorgeous as Patrick had thought he would, and he thanks god and fate and the entire fucking universe for setting him on the path that would bring him to this exact moment.

“We’re getting married, best.”

That smile goes more crooked first, then straightens as it blossoms into something wider and brighter, something somehow just for Patrick but for the whole world, too, and David flings himself down the steps in his soon-to-be-husband’s wake.

Their feet sink into the grass, mud squelching beneath them with every step, and a flicker of remorse crosses Patrick’s face at the thought of their shoes, but David only squeezes his hand tighter, encouraging him on across the field. They weave between rain-soaked tables topped with soggy, wilted centerpieces and duck beneath the heavy branches of well-soaked trees. Disappearing into the grove, they wind their way around trunks and under dripping leaves, until they find the lone figure waiting for them just on the other side, the setting sun burnishing the three of them in copper and rose. 

“You know I don’t have any legal authority to do this, right?” Stevie asks.

Patrick only smiles. “Don’t care. You can bully Roland into putting today’s date on the license whenever he signs it.”

Her eyes narrow and the line of her mouth goes firm, like she’s offended by that. But he’d seen the look on her face earlier, and even if he hadn’t, he knows her well enough by now to see through her defenses. 

He knows she’ll do this for them, and he loves her for it.

She’ll do this for them, and then tomorrow or next weekend or a month or two from now, they’ll pull everything together for a proper redo of this day. They’ll put their suits on again and they’ll surround themselves with everyone they love and they’ll speak the vows they’ve written for each other. They’ll eat cake and drink champagne and dance until dawn. They’ll have the wedding they’ve both been dreaming of, the one they should have had today, or they’ll have a different kind of wedding entirely if they want. They’ll do it because they deserve it, because it will give them another day to celebrate—their wedding day—one more in the ever-growing list of memorable days of their lives. 

But today, Patrick thinks, today is the day he wants to remember most. 

Today with the pouring rain and the golden light, with the disappointment and the tears and the way the word husband had tasted on David’s lips. Today, here, now, in the warmth of the setting sun, under the rustling of an autumn breeze, feet caked in mud and fingers intertwined, as their best friend reads them a ceremony script from her phone. As they laugh through all the parts she changes and cry when she gets to the vows. As they slip golden rings onto each other’s fingers and she officially calls them husbands for the first time. As they pull each other into a kiss before she’s even done and they press wet, laughing kisses against her cheeks as she tries to cringe away. As she slips back into the grove, off toward the inn, leaving them to watch the sun dip below the horizon and the first stars burst to life. As they wander back in the plummy dark and crawl beneath the soft, plush covers of their honeymoon suite bed, exhausted and overwhelmed and deliriously happy, to fall asleep curved around one another, their rings pressed together where their hands splay across the steady rise and fall of David’s chest.

Patrick wants to remember it all, the bad and the good, the disappointment and the joy, the rain and the shine, every single minute of the day he marries David Rose.

[renywrites]

I love your writing! Can you please do 5+1 Things-type with ineffable bureaucracy?

Thank you!! And of course I can, have some angst

(According to Wikipedia and also some forms of Judaism, Zadkiel is the archangel of benevolence, freedom, and mercy. Zadkiel is also said to be a he, but I’m considered to be a she and I say fuck gender so that’s not what’s happening)

*

1.

The first time she questioned, she was only moments old, bathing in the light of her holy Creator, awash with love and wonder and glory. 

“Who am I?” She asked, picking herself up from the floor, her wings new and brilliant and trembling with the effort of simply being in the presence of such magnitude. 

You are Zadkiel, said the one who had breathed life into her, the one who had put every golden freckle on her face, the one who had a Plan for this little angel. 

“Zadkiel,” she echoes, the name clumsy on her tongue. “I am Zadkiel.”

You are the benevolent one, God continues, the merciful one, the one who harbors freedom. You are one of my Seven.

“I am Zadkiel,” the little Archangel repeats, looking up to the One Most Holy, a smile on her lips. 

2. 

The second time Zadkiel questions, she is hand in hand with her lover, Gabriel. They are standing on the outskirts of a crowd, in which the greatest Archangel is speaking. Lucifer was something of a prodigy here, a perfect being who held the attention of everyone around him. His tongue was silver and his reasoning sound. 

At least, it was to a select few. 

“One day he’s going to regret the things that he says,” Gabriel says, his gaze dark and his grip on Zadkiel’s hand tightening. 

The little Archangel blinks, looking up at him in confusion. She’d always walked the line, always done things that had pushed patience or made the other angels nervous. Most said it was her connection to freedom, but Gabriel chalked it up to her ability to be difficult.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and shrinks when her lover turns a sharp glare her way. 

“The things he’s saying are treason, Zadkiel.” He hisses, pulling her away from the crowd to speak with her privately. “You’d do well to disregard him, he has nothing to say that would do any of us any good.”

The little angel averts her gaze from Gabriel’s, staring at the gold cobblestone under her feet. She didn’t like being told what not to think, didn’t like having her feelings disregarded and swept aside. Gabriel was good at that, though, especially when it came to the Great Plan or anything related to it or Her.

“Alright,” she relents at last, if only to have him release his crushing grip on her hand. 

He does, relief seeming to help him relax. He tilts Zadkiel’s chin up, giving her a kind smile and leaning down to kiss her. “It’s better this way.” He murmurs when he pulls away.

But Zadkiel wasn’t so sure.

3. 

The third time she questioned, it was in a private nook of Heaven, in the lap of her lover. 

Lucifer had been cast out of favor, banished to tar pits and fire and endless suffering. A handful of angels had come too, and Zadkiel had nearly been one of them. She had seen the disappointment in Lucifer’s eyes when she had shied away and hidden behind Gabriel, still walking her line.

After nearly driving herself mad with guilt and doubt, Zadkiel had to tell someone. And who best to tell than the one she had fallen in love with?

Gabriel listened silently as she spoke of treason and guilt and worry — so many things that angels were simply not meant to have. He let her speak until she was out of breath, out of words, and finally feeling a bit better. 

“Zadkiel,” he says, slow and soft. 

“You haven’t the faintest how worried I was,” the little Archangel breathes, turning to face him, a relieved smile on her face. “I thought I would burst!”

“Zadkiel,” he says again, a little louder this time.

“Maybe I was wrong, you know? About all this? Maybe I was just being silly.” 

“ZADKIEL!”

The littlest Archangel falls silent, looking up at her lover. Gabriel’s face was stone, his eyes cold and hard, his mouth a thin line. Her smile fades, the relief following. 

“Gabriel,” she says, her voice wavering as she realizes the gravity of what she had done. What she had said. “Gabriel, can you still love me? It was only a slip, just a lapse in judgement…”

“I do not love traitors.” Gabriel growls, and shoves her away.

4.

Her next question comes from ichor stained lips, from the depths of a place that had sounded so good when it had come from Lucifer’s stories. The air smelled of singed flesh from the wings that had been burnt black as a punishment for her crimes. Her beautiful freckles, the ones that had been painted so delicately in gold all those years ago, were now blood and diseased flesh. 

There was an emptiness in her heart, if she even had one now at all. An absence. A place where once, she could feel the love and warmth around her. Now all she felt was rage, and hatred, and disgust. 

They had watched her fall, with pity! Those who she had called her friends had looked away when she begged for forgiveness, when she screamed and cried and was torn from the sky. They had watched Her shatter the halo that tied her to the stars, and had done nothing about it.

Tears drip from her eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps that sounded like something a wild beast would make, not one who had been part of the Heavenly Host. All this for a simple doubt? All this for a slip, for questions that had been asked by another?

Zadkiel looks to the heavens and screams, cursing the Creator that had created this. She screams until her voice breaks and she gasps for air, her voice as broken as the mess she had become. 

“Why?” She asks, to one who was not listening. To one who would never listen again.

5.

The next time she sees a part of the heavens, she is called Beelzebub, and she is a Prince. 

It takes her by surprise — all the angels were supposed to have left Eden. It was her job to clean up what was left, take what Hell needed, and leave the forsaken garden. All the angels were supposed to have been gone.

Gabriel doesn’t see her, not at first. 

Do you remember me?

When he does, there is no recognition. There is no trace of the love he had once freely given, only the disgust and repulsion that she had seen the day she Fell. Gabriel looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else, looks more pretentious than she remembers, and she vows specifically to make him suffer for what he’d done to her. 

+1.

Six thousand years later, after a failed end of the world, Beelzebub finds herself in bed with none other than the one she had loved so many years ago. 

It had become a regular occurrence for him to be in her bed, sometime after Rome had fallen. Try as she might, her rage died quickly, and it was easier to bed him than to admit that still, in some ways, she missed him. But as the years went on, their hate-fueled fucking softened, and turned into an attachment neither of them knew they needed. 

Gabriel had gone from the thorn in her side to the only one she wanted at her side. He didn’t remember her from Before, but after millenia, she didn’t really remember herself either. Just this. Just the decay and the power and the throne. Zadkiel was dead, and what remained was something better.

Her questions faded over the years, too. She no longer cared why she’d been cast here, just how she was going to get an army in gear enough to get her paperwork finished. Gabriel had proven his loyalty many, many times in hundreds of different ways, so there was no question anywhere near that. 

Now she was more concerned with lazing about in bed with the Archangel, his hands on her skin, and perhaps the lazy pleasure that came with it.

“Morning,” comes Gabriel’s voice from behind her, rough with sleep and from the activities they’d indulged in the night before. His hand wraps around her slight waist, pulling Beelzebub flush against his body.

The Prince pretends to be irritated, wiggling around in a half attempt to get closer and a half pretense of annoyance. “Ugh, you’re too hot.”

“I know,” the Archangel says smugly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. They both knew she didn’t mind it either way. 

Beelzebub rolls over, settling into his chest and looking up into those purple eyes. Gabriel gives her a lazy smile, his arm adjusting to rest on her back. The casual intimacy had been too much, once, had hurt too badly. It was a reminder of things she had once had, and until Beelzebub realized he didn’t remember, she thought he was making fun of her. 

But now she knew the truth. Now she could look into his eyes, bask in his warmth, and feel safe enough to be vulnerable like this. 

Now she could look into his eyes, into the I love you that always lingered, and for once since the beginning of her life, didn’t find the need to question it.

[drgrlfriend]

[Read it on AO3]

Clint feels like he’s been asleep for all of two minutes before the bed starts to vibrate.

“Mrrrngggh?  Whuh?” he mumbles.

He pries his eyes open.  The whole front wall of his bedroom is awash in green, with yellow text.

NOTIFICATION

With a disgruntled huff Clint pulls his aids off the side table and fits them into his ears.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir.  I have a notification for you.  Sergeant Barnes is accessing the armory.  He has also obtained keys to a vehicle.”

Clint rubs a hand over his face.  “Why do I care?”  He’s got 99 problems, but the goddamn Winter Soldier ain’t, to his knowledge, one of them.

“You are the ranking Avenger on site, sir.”

Clint considers this horrifying prospect.  Although…

“Jarvis, am I the only Avenger on site?”

“Yes, sir.”

Well.  Some things never change.

Clint says goodbye to the prospect of sweet sweet sleep, shoves himself into a pair of jeans, and pulls his emergency bow and quiver from under the bed.  

_______

“What’re you, craving nachos or somethin’?”

Barnes pauses for only a moment, and then resumes strapping on the Kevlar tac vest.  He already has at least six knives secreted about his person that Clint can suss out, his Glock 17 strapped to his thigh, and his M4A1 across his back.

Clint watches as he fills his various pockets and pouches with ammo and a few grenades for good measure.

Clint hadn’t been sure what he would find down here.  He’s seen footage from D.C. — the empty-eyed Winter Soldier, the relentless killing machine.  And he’s seen Bucky Barnes, the man who has skulked around the Tower as Steve’s shadow for the last six weeks since he finally came in from the cold, hiding away in oversized hoodies and avoiding eye contact with everyone.  This is someone new — Barnes’ movements are purposeful, deliberate, but there’s full awareness in his eyes.

“You can pretend you never woke up,” Barnes suggests, and Clint is surprised to hear a trace of a Brooklyn drawl in his voice.  Those old ‘40’s film reels never had sound.  “Go back to sleep and act as surprised as anyone that I’m not here when they come back from mission.”

“Could do.”  Clint spins his bow at his side.  Under normal circumstances he would have faith in his ability to draw and fire in time to get the drop on anyone, even from this position.  But the Winter Soldier is a fucking exception, and if he wanted Clint dead then Clint would already be a corpse.

So Clint tries to look as nonconfrontational as possible, while still wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do.  He’ll have to decide quick, too.  If Barnes tries to fit another grenade in his side pouch this whole place is gonna blow.

“What the hell,” he says.  He puts down his bow.  He thinks he sees relief in Barnes’ eyes for just a moment, and then Clint is pushing past him, pulling his own gear from his locker.  “I always did love a good road trip.”

They are past Philadelphia by the time Barnes finally asks.

“Why’re you comin’ with me?”

Clint stuffs a cold french fry in his mouth and washes it down with even colder coffee.  Yuck.  “Y’know, like I said.  I’ve always loved a good road trip.”

Barnes makes a face like Grumpy Cat.  “Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

Clint shoots him a sidelong glance.  “I’ve known you six weeks, and I haven’t said more to you than ‘Pass the coffee.’  Ask me again when I know you better, and maybe you’ll have earned the truth.”

Barnes turns his head to stare out the window.  There’s nothing but empty fields, and a sky lightening to dawn out there, but he seems to find it mesmerizing.   “Fair enough,” he finally says, so quiet that Clint’s aids almost miss it over the rumble of the engine.

_________________

Barnes seems to have been navigating on instinct up until now, but somewhere in Eastern Kentucky he pulls up some coordinates on a burner phone he produced from god knows where.  They approach slowly, stopping a few miles out, driving the car a good hundred yards down an abandoned mining road and covering it with brush for good measure.

They creep back towards the main road, hiding in the bushes when a supply truck rumbles by.

“You stay here,” Barnes says authoritatively.

“As if.”  So sue him, Clint has been hanging around with Katie-Kate a bit too much.

Barnes turns to him, and Clint feels the full force of those slate-blue eyes for the first time.

“This isn’t your fight.”

Clint considers it.  For about a millisecond.

“That Hydra in there?”

Barnes nods.

“Then it’s my fight.”

__________________

They’ve done a sweep of the perimeter, and it certainly checks all the boxes for a super sketchy neo-Nazi base, but Clint can’t help the little sliver of doubt that’s taken root in his mind.

“Wait,” he says as Barnes starts to approach.

“No,” Barnes says flatly, shaking him off.

“Gimme ten minutes,” Clint says urgently.  “Please.”

He can already tell that Barnes isn’t going to go for it.

“Ten minutes to make sure we’re not about to kill a bunch of innocent people,” Clint says, and Barnes’ eyes widen for the barest moment.  Then he’s back to looking impassive, but he nods, sharp and curt.

Clint pulls out his own phone, dialing from memory a number so secure it can never be entered into speed dial.  “Patch me through to Hill immediately, priority Hawkeye.”

He can see suspicion gathering in Barnes’ eyes, but — dammit, this is too important to just go in half-cocked, no matter what Barnes thinks he knows or remembers.

“Maria?  I’m sending you coordinates.  I need satellite confirmation that this is a Hydra facility in the next 8 minutes.”  He rolls his eyes.  “No, I’m not drunk.”

He transmits the coordinates.  They sit around staring suspiciously at the phone for what feels like an hour, but knowing Maria is probably 7 minutes, 59 seconds.

“Confirmed,” Hill says.  “We had suspicions of a cell in that area but had been unable to locate it.  Stand by.  SHIELD team will be on site in 50 minutes.”

“Yeah....so, about that —”

“Clint,” Maria says threateningly.

“C’mon, Maria.  You owe me, right?  You gotta give us this one.”  Clint doesn’t actually think she does, but hopefully she doesn’t keep good track.

And of course Maria picks up on the one thing he was hoping she wouldn’t.

“Who is us?”

Clint lets the silence speak for itself.

“Motherfucker,” Maria breathes.  “Okay, you’ve got until my team gets there to do what you’re gonna do, but if you get yourself killed on some cowboy mission, I’m gonna resurrect you just so I can kill you again myself.  And then I’m gonna resurrect you one more time so Natasha can do it.  Slower.”

“Sounds fair.”  Clint wouldn’t put it past her in the least.

_________________

For some reason, he and the Soldier move like they’ve been fighting together for years.  Barnes takes the left, Clint covering his six and right flank.

They hit the perimeter guards before they even see them coming, quick and silent, and then make their way to the facility.  They’ve cleared three of the six sections before the alarm even goes off, and four before the dumbasses seem to figure out what their walkies are for.

The Hydra guards have numbers, but their skillset is frankly embarrassing.  One gets in a lucky shot along Clint’s forearm, and Clint sees Barnes grunt from a few impacts to his Kevlar, but luckily none of these morons seem to know enough to aim for the head, or at least have the skill to hit it if that’s what they were aiming for.

They have the run of the place by the time they hit the last section, and Clint somehow knows without Barnes saying a word that this is where they’ve been headed all along.  Barnes’ jaw is set, his eyes like ice.  

He kicks open a door that looks just like any of the million other doors they’ve passed.  He grabs the gibbering labcoat inside by his hair, slams his face up against the retinal scanner, and holds him there until it beeps.  Then he casually knocks him unconscious against the wall and throws him aside.

A second door, reinforced with steel plating and more high-tech than any of the others they’ve come across so far, opens up.  The staircase behind is steep and dark, with a rough stone ceiling so low they have to duck their heads.  Part of the original mining tunnels, maybe.  Clint swallows down his claustrophobia and follows Barnes’ wide shoulders.

It gets colder and damper as they go, until Clint is sure that they are deep underground — he can feel the increased air pressure against his scarred eardrums.  After what seems like hours they come to another door at the bottom.  Barnes pushes it open without hesitation, revealing a small chamber carved from the stone.

Clint pulls in a sharp breath.  Everything makes sense all at once, like one of those optical illusions that you can’t quite figure until you look at it just right.

Clint had read Barnes’ files — everyone had to sign off on the debrief before he took up residence in the Tower.  He had seen pictures, but they hadn’t even come close.

The chair is grotesque, like something out of a horror movie set.  It’s bulky and sharp-edged, all metal restraints and partially-exposed wiring.  

Barnes stands in front of it as if frozen for a full moment.  Then he’s moving forward.

He starts with the head restraint.  He pulls it right off, and casts it aside.  It makes a horrible screech as it ricochets off the walls, metal against rough stone.  And then, like a dam suddenly broke inside him, Barnes is tearing at the chair — ripping it to pieces with his metal and flesh hand alike, careless of the injury he’s doing himself.  

“Jesus fuck,” Clint breathes.  The control panel is off to the side and Clint runs to it, finding the power inputs, yanking them before Barnes can fry himself.  Clint’s not sure he would even notice.

The chair is down to the metal frame now and Barnes is slamming his vibranium arm against it, a relentless reverberation that makes Clint’s teeth rattle.

Clint casts around for something, anything.  There’s a fire panel on the wall.  Clint opens it up.  It’s not perfect, but anything is better than this.

“Barnes,” he yells.  And when that has no effect, “Bucky!”

Barnes wheels around, hair wild around his face, eyes murderous, and for a moment Clint thinks he’s gonna be the next target of his berserker rage.

“Here,” he manages to say.  He holds up the fire axe he found.

Barnes manages a nod.  He takes the axe to the chair, sparks flying.  Clint backs away.  He’s got one eye on the clock now.  It’s gonna be good for absolutely nobody if they’re still here when the SHIELD team arrives.

Finally, they’re out of time.  “Bucky,” Clint says.  “Bucky!”  It takes a moment but Barnes finally grinds to a halt, chest heaving, arm dropping heavily to his side.

“Gotta go,” Clint says curtly.  

Bucky nods numbly.  He suddenly seems empty, exhausted.  The fire axe clangs to the ground.

Clint takes point on the exfiltration.  Bucky has his gun drawn but he seems dull, sluggish.

“C’mon, Bucky,” Clint snaps.  “Stay with me.”

Bucky manages to lift his head, and immediately takes out a guy who had come up on Clint’s right while he was distracted.

“Jesus,” Clint breathes.  That was a little too close for comfort.

He still feels like he’s dragging Bucky, deadweight in his wake, but they make it to their vehicle and are at least five miles away before they see the lights of the quinjet swooping down like Kentucky’s next top alien sighting.

__________________

Clint pulls into the motel parking lot.  He pulls a plaid flannel shirt from his pack, stripping off his tac suit vest and pulling it on over the plain black undershirt.

“Stay in the car,” he warns, but he’s not sure it’s even necessary.  Bucky looks borderline catatonic, face pale and eyes closed, head leaned back against the headrest like it’s the only thing holding him up.

Clint is so good at playing the Local Yokel he should get a damn Oscar for it.  He makes small talk with the front desk clerk about the disappointing soybean harvest this year and how fucking often John Deere forces software updates through on the new combines, and gets himself a room with twin beds at the back.  He pulls the car around and chivvies Bucky inside, sitting him down on the bed.

He’s wiping Bucky’s face with a wet washcloth by the time Bucky seems to blink back to awareness.

“There you are,” Clint says matter-of-factly.  “Take that vest off, looks like they got you.”

It was a lucky shot, getting Bucky in the side just below the tac vest, but it’s a through-and-through.  He stares stoically into space while Clint disinfects it with his kit, but it’s already healing.  He disinfects and wraps Bucky’s right hand too.  Where his palm was shredded from the metal of the chair new lines of pink skin are already starting to form.

“I’m gonna hit the shower,” Clint says, but Bucky catches him by his right arm.

“You now,” he says, his voice sounding rusty, and Clint realizes he’s still bleeding sluggishly from that gash across his left forearm.

He is able to disinfect it himself, but when he tries to apply the bandages Bucky makes an impatient noise low in his throat and takes over, carefully using butterfly bandages to close the wound and then covering the whole thing with a waterproof adhesive dressing.  

The attention is making Clint feel a little uncomfortable, but Bucky seems more with it than he’s been since they left the facility, and if having something to do helps him pull himself together a little then Clint guesses he can oblige.

The shower feels amazing, even if Clint is a little edgy without his aids in, taking it on faith that Bucky isn’t going to take the car and ditch him.  When he gets out, dressed in sweats and toweling his hair dry, Bucky’s still sitting right where he left him.

“Go ahead,” Clint says, nodding toward the shower.  “Water’s still hot, and we gotta wait at least six hours to make sure we don’t get caught in a roadblock.”

Bucky stares in the direction of the bathroom and blinks a few times.  “I didn’t bring clothes,” he says.  

Clint has the uncomfortable realization that Bucky might never have even needed a change of clothes post-mission.  Maybe they just put him back in cryo covered in blood and hosed him down later.

“You can wear some ‘a mine.  Sweats should fit,” Clint says.  He finds himself digging through his bag for the softest sweats and hoodie.  

___________

Bucky comes out of the steamy bathroom looking strangely adorable swallowed up by Clint’s clothes.  He’s still pulling on the hoodie and Clint can see he’s actually kind of lean.  He looked and walked like a tank in that D.C. footage, so he’s either lost a lot of muscle mass since then or he was heavily armored up at the time.  Maybe both.

Clint realizes he’s staring, and glances away.

“I’m gonna catch some sleep.  You can too, if you want.  I’ve got Jarvis scanning all the police frequencies.  He’ll alert us if someone’s headed this way.”

Bucky nods.  He sits on the other bed, facing Clint.  He doesn’t lie down or get under the covers, though.  Just sits there, and finally Clint shrugs.  He gets in bed, setting his phone alerts to vibrate and putting it under the pillow.  Then he turns toward the wall and tries to go to sleep, feeling Bucky’s eyes staring a hole in his back.

___________

Clint’s not sure what wakes him up.  He pulls the phone out and squints at it, but it’s clear of alerts.  He puts one aid in, turning toward the other bed.

He can just make out Bucky’s silhouette.  He’s still just sitting there — back straight, feet on the floor, facing Clint.  Fuck, does he actually sleep like that, like a deactivated robot?  Does he even sleep at all?

“Bucky?” Clint says cautiously.  

Bucky seems to tip backwards a little, and then suddenly he’s jolting upright, gasping for air as if he’s been drowning and just finally managed to break the surface.

Clint turns the light on.  Bucky’s shivering, his hair wet with sweat, his eyes wide, and — fuck.  How a 100-year-old Soviet murderbot can manage to look like a pathetic drowned kitten is nothing short of amazing, and Clint can’t stop himself.

“Hey,” he says.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”  He moves cautiously until he’s sitting next to Bucky.  He tentatively puts a hand on Bucky’s arm, and then when Bucky leans into it he wraps it around his shoulders.  

“Clint?” Bucky says, all confused-sounding, and Clint has the bizarre realization that this is the first time he’s ever heard Bucky say his name.

“Yeah, it’s me.  I’m here.”

Bucky makes a low, wet noise, and then suddenly he’s huddled into Clint’s side, clinging for dear life.  

“I thought I was in the chair again,” he whispers hoarsely.  “I thought they got me.”

“Hey.  No.”  And Clint knows this feeling — God, he knows this feeling all too well.  It feels like Bucky is digging up with ragged fingernails everything Clint has buried in his chest and hoped never to remember.  “That’s never gonna happen.”

“It could.”  Bucky pulls in a shuddering breath.  “There’s more of ‘em.  I don’t know where, but I know that there are.”

“Hey.”  Clint cups Barnes’ jaw, forcing his head up to meet his eyes.  “Then we’ll take out every single one of ‘em, just like we did today.”  He sees that it’s not enough.  

It feels like cutting his own chest open, but he forces himself to say it.  “They tell you what happened to me?”  

Bucky looks confused for a moment, but then realization lights his eyes.  Maybe he hadn’t remembered until now, but someone must have briefed him.  

Clint pulls in a deep, shuddering breath and says the one thing he took comfort in himself, after Loki.

“Worse comes to worst I’ll put an exploding arrow through your eye socket before I let them use you like that again.  I promise.”

Barnes shivers again, and some of the tension seems to melt from his body.

“Yeah?”

Clint nods.  

“Okay,” Barnes says.  

He seems to be embarrassed now as the panic fades, pulling away from Clint’s side.  “Okay,” he says again, voice like gravel.  He nods, as if trying to convince himself, and drags his body upright.

“You wanna try to get some more rest?” Clint asks.

Bucky shakes his head.

Clint checks the time and shrugs.  “Roadblocks should be lifted by now, and we got a long drive.  Let’s get some coffee.”

_________________

Bucky is staring out the window again.  Clint has tried setting the radio to the most atrocious radio stations he can find, but he’s getting no reaction at all.  It’s not that weird blankness that Bucky had when he got out of the facility, though.  He just looks pensive.

“Do you know me well enough to ask again?” Bucky finally says.

Clint turns down the radio station — is that a fucking mariachi band? — and shoots Bucky a sidelong glance.  “Ask what?”

“Why you came with me?”

“Oh.”  Clint drums his fingers on the steering wheel.  “Well, I’ve been calling you Bucky in my head instead of Barnes since we got out of that place, and I did promise to kill you.  I don’t know if that makes us BFFs, but it’s probably enough.”

Bucky snorts, but his eyes are searching as he waits.

Clint wonders how much he’s gonna piss him off.  But, he did ask for the truth.

“I watch people.  Like, nothin’ personal, it’s just a thing.  Since I was a kid, maybe.  So I been watchin’ you since you got to the Tower.  You come to breakfast, you eat whatever’s on the table.  You sit in the lounge, you watch whatever’s already on t.v.  Hell, you drink hot chocolate with Sam, coffee with me, and that horrible apple tea that no one else could ever possibly like with Wanda.”

Bucky’s eyebrows have been drawing down as Clint’s been talking, like he knows where this is going.

“So?” he asks anyway.

“So....in six weeks, I’ve never seen you make a single choice.  Never seen you ask for anything for yourself.  Figured whatever had you choosing now must be pretty important.  ‘Specially if you couldn’t even wait for Cap.”

Bucky swallows thickly, and looks out the window again for a while.  “It was,” he finally says.

“Yeah.”

_______________

They’re quiet for a long while.

“Not like I’m gonna get many choices where I’m goin’, anyway,” Bucky says eventually.  His voice is just...resigned.

“Whaddaya mean?”

Bucky shrugs.  “The Raft.  Back in cryo.  Wherever they’re gonna put me for leavin’ the Tower like that.”

“What?”  Clint takes his eyes off the road to check, but Bucky’s serious.

Clint shakes his head.  “I thought you were supposed to be smart,” he says.  “Don’t tell me I read the conditions of your release better than you did.”

“What?”

“It’s not that you’re not allowed out of the Tower.  You’re just not allowed out of the Tower unless accompanied by an Avenger.  Guess Steve put that in there, was probably planning some field trips once you had settled in.  And as luck would have it, you happen to have had a certified Avenger, right here in the car with you the whole time.”

The look on Bucky’s face is priceless.

“Really?”

“Am I really an Avenger?  Surprising, I know, but yes I am.  Nobody ever remembers the tallest Avenger.”

“Cut it out,” Bucky growls.  “Does it really say that?”

“Sure does.”  Clint can’t help his grin.  “So there you are, a world of choices, stretching out in front of you.  And on that note, I’m gonna hit up a McDonalds.  Have you ever had those apple-pie-in-a-cardboard-tube things they have there?  Those things are amazing.”

Bucky’s face does something weird and complicated.  Clint waits it out.

“I’d rather have a milkshake,” he finally says, and...aw.  Clint tries to ignore the little warm feeling that causes in his chest.

“An’ I’m pickin’ the radio station,” Bucky says, reaching across the console.

Clint blocks him, and ends up just tangling their fingers together.  He gives Bucky’s hand a little squeeze, and Bucky squeezes back.

“Don’t push your luck.”

[primatechnosynthpop]

Good to be back

This is something I've written for @moschicanes because they, like all of us, want Ned back. You know at the end of episode 29 when it sounded like Aubrey had brought Ned back but really it was Thacker? This is basically an au where it actually was Ned. Enjoy!

---

This has to work. This has to work. That's all Aubrey can think as she takes deep breaths, in and out, and lets the magic flow from her hands and into the cold, motionless body laid out on the table before her. Standing across from her, Janelle has her eyes closed and is deep in concentration--the type of concentration that Aubrey was never very good at. She knows she'll have to try to focus, though, in order to get this spell right. For his sake, she'll do it.

For a long moment, nothing seems to happen. A faint orange glow fills the room, pulsating out from Aubrey and setting the body awash with its soft light, but there's no sign that the magic is working, no twitch of movement to alert her to the presence of regained life. A few feet away from Aubrey and Janelle, Barclay paces anxiously back and forth. Aubrey waits with bated breath for something, anything to happen, and then--

Ned's chest heaves, and his eyes snap open, bright and attentive and alive as ever.

Immediately, tears spring up in Aubrey's eyes. She jumps back from the table, clamping her hands over her mouth in delighted shock. Emotions swirl through her like whirlpools as she stares down at Ned. He glances up at her, opens his mouth as if to speak, then breaks into a coughing fit. With a jolt of dread, Aubrey reaches for him, laying one hand on his chest and the other on his back to help him into a sitting position. He blinks gratefully at her as his coughing subsides, then looks slowly around the room, bewilderment creeping onto his face.

"Wh-what happened?" he asks. He looks down at himself--no wounds, no blood, just a perfectly intact living, breathing body. "...Aubrey, what is this?"

"It--I--you--"

Aubrey's voice is choked out by tears of overwhelming joy and relief. She's sure she looks ridiculous, standing there grinning and crying like this, but... for crying out loud, she's just raised the dead! Technically not for the first time, but... this means so much more than the first time she did it. No offense to Deputy Dewey, but she would take Ned over him any day.

Forget about saying the words she wants to say to him. Where would she even start? She can hardly even remember what she was so furious with him for on the night he died. Or, no, that's not true. She can remember; it just doesn't seem so important now. She'd missed him so damn much--she and Duck both had, and Barclay, and Kirby, and... yeah. It's real fuckin' good to have him back. So, no, words wouldn't do her feelings justice.

Instead, she grabs Ned and pulls him into a hug. He lets out a startled gasp at the contact, and she could swear to god she feels him flinch, like he's afraid she's going to hurt him. But why would she ever do that? She was mad at him before, and with good reason, but... she didn't mean the things she said to him that day. She could never hate Ned. Him and her and Duck and the other residents of the lodge... they're family. She loves them all, including Ned.

"I'm so glad you're back," she manages to choke out between sobs. The words are muffled against the fabric of Ned's coat. "I'm just so fucking glad."

"Well, it's certainly good to be back," Ned says slowly as, after a long moment, they pull apart from the embrace. "But, erm, would anyone mind telling me what the hell happened here?"

"It's a long story, Mr. Chicane," Janelle says, laying a hand on Ned's arm and giving him the sort of comforting smile that a doctor or nurse might give a patient. "Why don't you let Aubrey here explain it on our way to the apartment?"

"Apartment?" Ned echoes. "Aren't we going to the lodge? Wait," he continues, a stricken look coming over him, "is Dani okay? The last thing I remember, she was all... all feral and nasty, and..."

"Dani's fine," Aubrey assures him. Then, as she and Janelle gently ease him to his feet: "That was two months ago, by the way. You've... you've kind of missed a lot."

"Ohh, boy," Ned sighs. Once he's back on his feet, he stretches his arms above his head and yawns, as if he's just woken up from a nap. Aubrey can't say for certain, but she's pretty sure that Ned has yet to realize that he's been dead for the past two months. "Well, I'm glad to hear that young Dani is alright. Now, where'd you say we were going? Hi, Barclay," he adds with an amicable wave.

"H-hey there, Ned," Barclay responds with a shaky smile. It looks like there's something he wants to say, but he remains silent apart from returning the greeting.

On the drive over to Duck's apartment, Aubrey does her best to fill Ned in on everything that's happened, although she winds up rambling a lot and skipping over some important details by accident. Ned nods along to everything she says, but judging by the vacant look in his eyes, she guesses he's not fully taking in what she's saying. That's fine, though, because she and Duck can explain it all again to him later. Because they have more time together with him now, she reminds herself, and the thought brings a grin to her face. Ned is back, and she's going to make sure it stays that way.

-

Duck is in his apartment, alternating between watching TV and trying to read a book while not really paying attention to either, when the doorbell rings. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, he turns the TV off, closes the book, and gets up to answer the door. He has no bloody idea who it could be--Aubrey never rings the doorbell and very rarely knocks before barging into a room, so it can't be her, can it? He knows she's out on some sort of errand right now, although he's not entirely clear on what it is. When he asked her about it earlier, an odd, sort of troubled look came over her.

"I don't really want to tell you," he remembers her muttering, "Because it's kind of up in the air as to how it will pan out, and... well, I just don't want to get anyone's hopes up, I guess."

Duck has no idea what Aubrey meant by that--that is, until the doorbell rings again, this time followed by a very distinctive knock. The sound makes Duck's breath catch in his throat, and he freezes in place with one hand on the doorknob. No. That's impossible. It's not--it can't be--

From the other side of the door, he hears Aubrey pipe up:

"Geez, are you gonna answer the door or not? We're trying to do a big dramatic reveal here, c'mon..."

"Well, alright, no need to get snappy," Duck mutters.

Trying to get the sound of the knock out of his head (even if he only recognizes that particular series of raps from one man, it's just a knock; anyone could learn to reproduce it) he opens the door to see Aubrey standing in the hallway. Standing next to her are Barclay, Janelle, and...

"Ned?!" Duck laughs, incredulous. "God, it's so good to see you, bud!"

Without thinking, he steps forward and pulls Ned into a hug. His mind reels as he feels the steady rise and fall of Ned's chest against his ear. This... this can't be real, he thinks. He must've fallen asleep on the couch again, and he's gonna get woken up any minute now by something or other. That'll sure as hell be disappointing, but for now, it's nice to see and feel Ned's living form, even if it has to just be a product of his imagination.

Ned chuckles, a little more uneasy than usual, and claps him on the back, then pulls away. Next to him, Aubrey is grinning from ear to ear. Shit, was this the mission she had wanted to avoid telling him about? Duck still can't quite bring himself to believe it, but god, it's tempting to.

"It's good to see you, too, friend Duck!" Ned says. "Although, from what I understand from what Aubrey here has told me, it's been a fair bit longer from your point of view than mine. And for that, I am truly sorry."

There's a note of genuine sincerity in his voice, though it sounds almost like he's trying to cover it up by talking in a big booming showbiz tone. Duck smiles and shakes his head.

"Shit, dude, you've got nothing to apologize for," he says. "I mean, we--we missed you like hell, but it wasn't your fault! That bullet hit you by mistake; it was nobody's fault."

Aubrey nods, although she looks uncomfortable at the mention of the incident. Then, she gasps and snaps her fingers together.

"Oh, we should go bail Pigeon out of jail!" she exclaims. "You can't be arrested for... for killing someone... if the person isn't dead, right?"

"Now hold on a minute," Ned interjects. "They shouldn't have locked her up in the first place! Like you said, it was an accident, so..."

"Yeahhh, law enforcement rarely cares about that sort of thing," Duck reminds him. "I figured you'd know that, what with your whole, ah, background."

Ned clucks his tongue and looks mock offended.

"Now, I don't know what you're accusing me of, young man, but--"

"But, yeah, like Aubrey said," Duck interjects. "We should look into getting Pigeon released."

"Yep, add it to our to-do list, along with about a million other things." Aubrey mimes writing something down on a checklist. "Find a way to get to the archway, free Mama, defeat the Quell..."

"Say, what's this about freeing Mama?" Ned asks. "She didn't get arrested too, did she?"

Grimacing, Aubrey glances between Ned and Duck. They're all still standing out in the hallway, with Janelle and Barclay hovering nearby. Sighing, Duck lays a hand on Ned's shoulder and gestures toward his apartment.

"C'mon inside, sit down, and Aubrey and I can explain everything," he says. "And... listen, I know I already said this, but man, it's good to have you back."

-

Things go more smoothly than anyone ever could have really anticipated. The Pine Guard defeats the Quell and saves both earth and Sylvain, and they all manage to do it without beefing it. Afterward, once everything is settled and everyone's lives go back to whatever semblance of "normal" they'd been before, Ned is left with a lot of time to think things over.

It just doesn't make sense that everybody loves him so much. Maybe now, after he helped save the world, but before that? Aubrey knows about the whole fiasco with the Flamebright pendant and her house burning down, and he can only assume she's told everyone else about it. Or even if she hasn't, Duck and the rest of them know that he's done some godawful shit in the past. So why do they continue to care so much about him, and how could they have missed him so much when he was gone? Why would Aubrey put in the effort of casting a spell to resurrect him? It just doesn't make sense.

The only explanation he can think of is that they're somehow still under the impression that he's a better person than he really is. But he isn't. He is a terrible, horrible person, and he knows full well that he always will be, no matter how hard he tries to escape his past.

A couple weeks after his coming back to life and the hectic days that followed, Ned manages to get "Saturday Night Dead" back on the air. The name is ironic now, he thinks, and he weaved a reference to this fact into the script. Now, as Aubrey holds the camera steady in front of him and Duck hangs back a few feet checking over the sound equipment, Ned clears his throat and mentally runs through his opening monologue one final time before the little green "ON AIR" button flickers on overhead.

"Hello, hello, ladies and gentlepeople!" he begins, putting on a big, cheesy grin and amplifying his voice. "Putting an end to its two-month-long hiatus, welcome back to Saturday! Night! Dead! ...With your newly revived host, Ned 'zombie' Chicane!"

("Zombie, huh?" he recalls Aubrey saying when she read over the script a few hours earlier. "Don't you mean Edmund Kelly Chicane?"

"Oh. You... you and Duck read my letters?"

Aubrey nodded. The revelation shouldn't have surprised him--he had written those letters specifically as goodbyes to his fellow monster hunters, after all--but somehow, it did. It brought a stir of unease and guilt to his gut to think that, until Aubrey brought him back, that was probably the only closure she and Duck had gotten.)

"Now, for anyone who's surprised to see me back among the living, I don't blame you," he continues, then pauses to chuckle for a couple seconds. "You see, I owe it all to my dear friend Aubrey Little. You may know her as the Lady Flame, but as it turns out, she's so much more. In fact... you could even call her a reanimator!"

("Aw, shit, Jeffrey Combs?" Duck remarked upon reading the script. "I remember that guy from Star Trek."

"Well, friend Duck, Mr. Combs' role in this film is no friendly star explorer," Ned informed him, making a dramatic hand gesture to go along with his words. "You see--"

"I mean, I wouldn't call any of his Trek roles friendly," Duck cut him off. "Weyoun 6, maybe, but that's about it...")

"That's right, my dear viewers, the movie I've got for you tonight is none other than 'Reanimator', a chilling tale of mad science!" Ned announces. "I guarantee it will chill you to the bone... mwahaha!"

The episode goes off without a hitch--no technical difficulties or anything, which is more than he can say for most episodes of his show. It quickly becomes the most-watched episode of not only "Saturday Night Dead", but of any Kepler-based programming. To say that Ned is flattered would be an understatement, but he still doesn't entirely understand why. Did the whole town really miss him that much? What has he done to deserve being loved so deeply and by so many people?

Ned still can't find the answers to those questions, and he's not sure he ever will. But if him being gone upset his friends so much, then he supposes he should stop putting himself in danger so often. And if they, the folks who know him better than anyone, think he's a good person, who is he to argue with them?

All Ned knows for sure is that they're glad to have him back, and through that fact alone, it's good to be back.

[beckzorz]

PREMONITIONS 2 (7/8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 2337 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art… A/N: Bless you all, you’ve been so patient!!! Here you go xoxo

Dust still hangs thick in the air as Bucky tucks the trauma blanket tighter around your shoulders. The hole in the wall is doing nothing for the temperature—it’s getting colder by the minute. Matt, Sarah, and Gemma are huddled together just outside as they talk to Steve and the lead detective. You’re too far away to hear them clearly, but the ambient sound of their voices is enough.

Once you’d been cut free, you all hugged the living daylights out of each other. One policewoman had come to take your statement, but Bucky had given them the evil eye and shooed them off. He’s keeping you to himself, but with everything that’s happened, you don’t have a problem with that. Let Matt and Sarah deal with the authorities. You’re happy to settle for Bucky’s arm around you, his eyes on your face.

“Did you want to go outside?” he asks quietly. “Out of the dust?”

You shake your head against his shoulder, content just to have your family in view. The dust doesn’t bother you.

Not far away, an EMT is wrapping the female kidnapper’s leg wound. Her face has been exposed—she’s maybe forty, with close-cropped hair and a hefty scar along her cheek. She glares at you from the gurney she’s cuffed to. When she’s finally wheeled by, she spits in your direction.

“What the hell!” You scuttle back, eyes wide, as Bucky angles himself between you and the gurney.

“Should’ve known he’d get in the way of your bullet,” she snarls. She twists her head; her neck looks practically dislocated. “Two fucking peas in a pod.”

Then she’s too far to be heard.

You blink in shock.

So this was about last Halloween. You can’t believe it. You never really expected that your half-mad runaway thoughts might be right. A glance at Bucky confirms it; his free fist is clenched tight, and his narrowed eyes are trained on the gurney.

“I wonder what took them so long,” you muse.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Halloween was over a year ago.”

His eyes narrow, then soften. “Of course you figured it out,” he murmurs. He rubs circles on the back of your hand. “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t answer you before. Just in case. But I guess—well, yeah.”

You don’t like the cloud that settles on his face. Whatever he thinks, none of this is his fault. Time to change the subject.

“How’d you find us?” you ask quietly.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Bucky says, “but I am a professional.” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, and your chest warms.

“You didn’t even notice the assassin aiming at you when we met,” you tease. “If you’re a professional, I guess these loons were too.”

Bucky’s look softens. He cups your cheek with his hand, a welcome warmth against your still-cold face. “They were,” he says. “But you helped us find them. My girl’s a clever one.”

“Don’t get carried away.” You sniff, tears pricking at your eyes. “Gemma saved the day.”

“Well,” Bucky says, smiling, “she’s been a hero as long as I’ve known her.”

You sink into his offered arms and giggle. When they’d met, Gemma had been dressed as Captain America. Now, you can see the real Captain America’s hand on her hair, his face awash with relief. Gemma had saved the day. She saved herself, saved her family, manipulated the bad guys…

Even if it was by getting you kidnapped so Bucky would find you faster. Was that it? Maybe.

“Well,” you say, “I always said she was special.”

Bucky’s chest rumbles with his quiet laugh. “She takes after you.”

There’s a lull in the conversation outside. Matt squeezes Gemma tighter and angles away from the rest. The detectives look cross; Steve crosses his arms and shoots a worried look Bucky’s way.

Bucky makes a little angry noise in his throat, and you pull back to look at him.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

He sighs, shakes his head. “They’re asking why you all got taken.”

“Isn’t it enough that we were?” you mutter with a frown.

Telling the police about Gemma isn’t an option. Even if they did believe you, it would only put Gemma at more risk. The more people know, the less safe she’ll be. Bucky, Steve—that’s one thing. They’re professional secret-keepers. You don’t know the people surrounding your family. The police and EMTs are strangers. They could be dirty themselves.

You peer up at Bucky. His lips are pressed tight together, the color drained away. You worm a hand free of the blanket and slide it into Bucky’s. He and Steve are the only ones who knew about Gemma, and this had happened on their watch, so to speak. You can see the guilt in his eyes.

Enough of that.

“Did you tell them we were dating?” you ask.

Bucky starts. “No.”

“Well then.” You drag him along towards everyone else, chin set. The police turn towards you and Bucky with raised eyebrows that go higher when they see your clasped hands. “I’m Bucky’s girlfriend,” you announce. “They must have taken us to get at him.”

Matt’s pinches expression lightens.

“Hm.” The lead detective rubs her chin. “I’m certainly looking forward to hearing from the perpetrators. But we have to wait to get their statements until after they’ve been patched up.” She tilts her head sardonically at Bucky and Steve, who are standing side-by-side.

Steve’s brows draw low. He draws himself up, suddenly every inch the captain. “We need a moment with the family,” he says. “Excuse us.” He ushers you, Bucky, and your family out of earshot, then puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder. Gemma clings to your leg, and you pick her up at once. She buries her face in your shoulder. You press your cheek against her hair.

Steve’s narrow face is dead serious as he looks between Matt and Sarah. “You may not know this, but the people who took you were part of a former HYDRA unit that tried to assassinate Bucky a year and a half ago.”

Matt and Sarah’s eyes widen.

“The woman was the one who shot me,” you throw in.

Steve’s eyes bug open. He turns to Bucky, who nods.

“Damn,” Steve mutters. “Well, that… confirms things.” He turns back to Matt and Sarah. “The point is, these people are serious. We haven’t told anyone about Gemma, but the FBI, if not SHIELD, is going to get in on this case just because of what they did that Halloween. And I can’t promise that your daughter’s abilities won’t come out.”

Sarah sags against Matt. “So they weren’t crazy,” she murmurs. “Gemma really does have… powers? I can’t—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “This is crazy. Please tell me this is crazy.”

“It’s crazy, but it’s real,” Steve says. He glances over his shoulder at the huddle of police. “There are people I trust at SHIELD, people who can provide you with a level of protection that should keep things like this from ever happening again. And it should mean that she doesn’t get dragged into something bigger either.”

“But she’s just a kid!” Sarah snaps. She takes Gemma from your arms and squeezes her tight. Gemma wriggles in protest. “Who would drag her into things?”

Steve pinches his nose. “Both SHIELD and HYDRA have a history of using gifted children for their own ends. But the people I know would never let that happen.”

“That’s the opposite of comforting,” Matt snaps. “I’m not going to put my safety in the hands of—”

“Our daughter isn’t—”

“Look,” Bucky interrupts, just loud enough to silence the Matt and Sarah. “It’s either Steve’s friends, who respect what he stands for and will work with you, or you get tossed to the wolves. Sure, maybe some of the other people are fine. But Steve’s people will protect you. You have a best option, and this is it.”

Matt and Sarah just glare at him. You rub your throbbing temple.

“Matt, there’s no going back,” you say wearily. “You ignored me last Halloween, and I don’t blame you. It sounds crazy. It is crazy,” you add, with a nod to Sarah. “But look where we are now.” You gesture at the bleak landscape around you, the blasted-open warehouse. “We are way out of our depth. But Steve isn’t. Let him help you.”

“Let us help you,” Bucky amends.

Matt’s shoulders slump. He turns and whispers to Sarah. Steve and Bucky look away, though you’re sure they can hear. After a minute, Sarah and Matt turn back to Steve.

“Alright,” Matt says. He wraps an arm around Sarah, who’s holding Gemma, and nods. “Captain, you’re on.”

---

The hospital upstate holds you and your family overnight for observation, giving the police ample time to collect your statements. One of them returns to your hotel room and brings you your things. Steve summons one of his ‘trusted associates’ from SHIELD to stand guard.

You hang back with Bucky as Steve introduces the agent to Matt and Sarah.

“That guy’s a weirdo, but he’s good,” Bucky comments.

You snort. “Well, they can handle weirdos.”

“They handle me,” Bucky says.

“Funny,” you tease, “I was about to say the same.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Guess we belong together.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple. “Us weirdos should stick together.”

You hook your arm around his waist.

Yes please.

---

Sure enough, the FBI and SHIELD are on the case within thirty-six hours. By then, you and your family are back in the city, far from Canisteo and dilapidated warehouses. Well, to be fair, there are dilapidated warehouses in New York City, but they’re city warehouses.

Alright, so maybe you’re a city snob.

Steve had arranged for a crew to help clean up Matt and Sarah’s place. By the time you all arrive there, it looks more sparkling than ever. Bucky heads to the kitchen to get some food together. Everyone else settles in the living room, but you trail after Bucky.

Between the police, the hospital staff, your family, Steve, and all the trauma, you haven’t had a chance to really talk to Bucky alone. He’d barely left your side since first cutting you free, but there’d been no chance of an open conversation about feelings with your older brother feet away. But now, maybe you can ask if he’s heard his voicemail.

When you spot him peering into the pantry, your heart drops. How can he be so nonchalant if he’s heard what you said?

He must not have.

Bucky turns and smiles at you as you linger in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says. He holds up a long box of pasta. “How does lasagna sound?”

“Fine,” you say, “although it does take a while.” You brush past him to rummage in the fridge, trying to control your breathing. “There’s some cheese. Can you grab some crackers?” You get a platter and slice some cheese. Bucky’s slow in getting the crackers, and you glance over at him.

He’s frowning at you, cracker box in hand.

“What?” you ask, a little shorter than you intended.

“What’s eating you, darlin’?” He sets the box down and comes closer. “Are you still—”

“That’s not it,” you blurt. You step back and twist your hands together. “Have, um, have you listened to your voicemail?”

Bucky blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it. Then he pulls out his phone, jumps up to sit on the counter, and taps a few times on his phone. When he puts the phone to his ear, you can hear your muffled voice right away. Bucky stares ahead, but he reaches his left hand out to you after the first voicemail ends. You inch forward to take his hand.

God, how many voicemails did you leave?

Answer: too damn many.

Finally, the last message starts. Half of you wants to turn away, to hide—how is he going to react? Is he going to make a face, make fun?—but you can’t tear your eyes away. Bucky’s face is still, emotionless.

“Hi Bucky, it’s me. It’s, uh, around one pm. I know you’re busy, but I w-wanted—" A pause. "Sorry. I wanted to tell you I love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but no matter what happens, I love you. So damn much, Bucky. Please be safe. No matter what happens to me, please take care of yourself. Bye.”

Click.

You can’t see Bucky; your eyes are blurred with tears. Bucky tugs you between his legs and wipes your tears away with his right hand, the soft one.

“When did you figure that out?” he asks gently.

“O-oh.” You give a shuddering laugh in an attempt to mask your building terror. “Right then. One pm in Canisteo.”

“Well god bless one pm in Canisteo,” he says fervently. His eyes bore into yours as he takes your face in his hands. “Don’t you know I love you like a wild man?”

A weight leaves off you so quickly it’s like flying. Your smile is wide and bright. “You’re behaving awfully well for a wild man.”

His blue eyes flash, but you continue before he can cut in.

“I suppose a tame wild man is better than nothing.” You slide your hands up his thighs with a smirk and bite your lip. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Bucky laughs. He hops down from the counter and spins you in his arms, your feet dangling and your arms tight around his neck. When he stops spinning, he curls a hand around your neck and presses his scorching lips to yours. He’s gentle at first, but then he tilts his head to deepen the kiss with a growl in the back of his throat. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading fast as Bucky works his magic. You tangle your hands in his hair, heart full fit to bursting.

Yes, you think dizzily. I’ll keep him.

[highgaarden]

[points aggressively] kc + “i’m sorry that i got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately.”

when i met you at the blood banks;

– 

klaus finds her in the room he’d kissed her in. no light came but from the lamp in the corner. she’s sitting in the little pool of light, knees drawn to her chest. 

at first, he stands in the doorway, watching her while a song starts playing in his head. it isn’t a problem when it’s just soft to begin with, but then gutters his chest with how loud it becomes - all with how she turns her head to look at him.

she’s been crying.

her eyes are dewy, her mascara smudged. there is blood on her lips, she smells like stale sunshine, sweat on skin, and a distant melancholy. he wants to paint daffodils after her hair. he wants to roll with her in a meadow, the meadow by what is now known as Steven’s Quarry, but before, back when there were forests instead of roads–he wants to take her there, to the site where he’d once buried twelve dead witches for her. he wants to kiss her there, too.

“did something happen, love?” klaus asks. he isn’t afraid of the answer: he is afraid for her, for how impulsive she is, but tries to reign control, still. she will want answers out of this, and then bury them deeper than he did those witches. 

but then–but then, caroline nods. for how shaky she was before, her nod is anything if not resolute. her eyes are blue, he discovers just how. 

he runs towards her.

–

he is bored and nowhere near drunk. the oldest being on earth couldn’t possibly get drunk over mimosas. perhaps if he’d been allowed to spike it with blood… but caroline had insisted on a clean and quick run, and so he must resist.

he keeps the flask of o negative in his jacket though.

caroline is ever the hostess. she makes everyone laugh with her cheeriness. she’s always had that effect. she’d always been beautiful with conversation. he’d buried twelve witches for her - he was very much compromised in that aspect. 

“klaus!” she beams when she sees him. she is the sun, she is the air. 

“caroline,” he says from across the room. he crosses in no time. she’s a little struck: she’s specifically said no vampire abilities.

he smiles, only slightly teasing, “you called my name, love.”

can’t deny that. she sighs. “fine. but no more funny business. come meet the donovans.”

–

caroline passes him a satin-encased pillow. “the donovans have no clue. same with the gilberts.”

“i had no luck with the youngs either,” klaus says, taking the pillow with one hand. with his other he pulls the covers back, and she helps from her side. soon there is space for them to wiggle in. she slides easily into bed, her back bumped into his chest. 

cautiously, he wraps his arms around her waist. caroline relaxes against him. he nearly crushes her with relief.

– 

“nothing will happen,” caroline insists.

“and if something does?” klaus challenges. “you can’t consent to living with a man for three months and not expect anything to happen.” 

“but you’re not a man,” caroline says, stepping firmly up to meet him. he almost grabs her by her shoulders. “you’re klaus. and more than that: you’re a hybrid overlord. you can’t tell me a thousand years still hasn’t taught you restraint.”

he bares his teeth. that is not enough of a counter for him, and he will let her know as much. 

caroline, to his pleasure and relief, falters. that’s it–there’s his hook. “give me something i can work with, caroline.”

“then i’ll.” caroline swallows. her eyes are so, so wide, she doesn’t seem so sure now. “then i’ll open up.”

he stares.

she could not be talking about– no. she couldn’t be. he clears his throat before asking: “what?”

caroline takes a deep breath, let’s it out slowly as she squares her shoulders. “it means you can stop, klaus. you’ve been trying to reach me for years, and you - don’t have to anymore. i’ll meet you in the middle. i’ll… i’ll walk towards you, klaus. i’ll meet you somewhere.” 

klaus’ mouth parts. his mouth feels cavernous and dry. he has no breath. he forces himself to recover by clenching and unclenching his hands. “you drive a hard bargain, sweetheart.”

she smiles sweetly. shakily. “i know.”

–

“where is my fucking father?” caroline, for all the mud in her voice, is sitting on the hood of his car. 

the salvatore boy - the one with the blue eyes - spits red at her boots. “beats me.” he flicks his eyes to klaus. “not that you haven’t already.”

“this is boring,” the other one groans. caroline eyes him curiously. the other salvatore has a mercury-like tint in his gaze, it chills, it burns. makes people fidget. 

but they are not people.

“you know something, don’t you?” she asks, lashes casting a shadow on her cheekbones.

“the salvatores always know something,” klaus yawns, and breaks damon’s neck.

–

the harp and the violins sing, there is a murmur in the air. everyone is perfumed like a garden and yet everyone stinks to high hell, smelling like cold packaged blood, stale, rotting–

“klaus–!”

she pulls the man away from him. her hair is falling down her neck. “what the fuck–”

“i am sick of this,” he hisses, and he doesn’t know where it comes from, but there it is, he wants to hold her, damn it, damn her–

“you promised,” she shoots back. the hem of her gown is now stained with neck blood, which is different from wrist blood, with how it gushes, how it’s just that much hotter–

“your eyes! stop that!”

he can’t, he is sick of this terrible town, city, life, hasn’t been back in years, doesn’t know why he’d even agreed on such a futile scooby-doo mission.

“klaus, look at me.”

he can’t. she’s too close. he might just– 

he kisses her.

when their lips touch there is a moment where everything is just warm, where everything is just the close of their eyes and her fingers finding their way to his hands, where they’d arrived at her jaw.

ever so gently, she pries him off. his eyes open, he takes a step back. perhaps a breath as well, and just looks at her.

she’s tracing her lips with her fingers. there is not a surprise in her eyes. he’d kissed her. she’d traced her lips, after.

and then she says, “don’t do that again.”

he gulps. his hands uncurl from their fists.

she slips his ring off her finger and puts it on the table between them, and then walks out the door.

– 

there is, in mystic falls, an affliction for balls the way the sky has an affliction for the storm, and caroline is standing in all that wet with her gown drenched about her ankles.

her mouth is red and trembling. she is crying.

stefan, she’s come to know, is somewhere behind her. she doesn’t bother to check. she can hear the rattle in his chest. the rattle of blood and murder. she can smell it in the grip of his hand around the stake he’d shown her earlier.

“alaric,” he says. like a careless flick. the name means nothing to him, but it spills volumes down her throat, makes her want to choke. “he got too used to dying and coming back. ever seen black mirror? it’s a little like that.”

she nods and attempts a laugh. that’s all it is, really - an attempt. “i’m going to find him now,” she says.

caroline gathers up her dress, takes fifty steps, is about to tumble into a run when she hears the creak of stefan’s voice, “wait - your promise.”

over the howl of the rain she tilts her head, she can only just make him out, flickering in and out between the sheets of water pouring down. “what?”

“you were going to.” he grits his teeth, strangles it out of himself, “help me.”

she nearly slips in the rain, it is that ridiculous. “how the hell am i supposed to help you turn it back on?”

in a blink stefan is in front of her. “klaus did this to me, your beloved, your sworn companion. there is a barrier i can’t cross. i have tried. all the witches in this forsaken town have tried.”

“there’s only one witch here.”

stefan swears, lets the rain drip into his eyes. “you’re just like him.”

it was the shock of it all that she just stops her from tearing out his throat. and all stefan does is smirk.

–

it goes without saying that she finds alaric. she doesn’t find klaus before that. 

and of course alaric is smiling, in front of all these young children, showing them a map of the town, pointing out secret tunnels, hidden legends, inciting a curiosity in their stuttering hearts.

she’d been ready to eat him in front of the entire class. now, she just stands in the doorway.

“excuse me, miss.”

she is shaken out of her thoughts. “i’m - nothing.” she says. “sorry,” she says again, apologising to the man who’d murdered her father. the man, the one with the beating heart, the laughing grin, the blood behind cheeks, who’d missed a button in his shirt and had a coffee stain on the cover of his stupid notebook.

“it’s alright,” he waves it off. lets her shut the door.

in the empty hallway she spills onto the ground like sand.

–

yes, something happened.

“i’m too much like you,” she says. she is staring at the ceiling, not looking at him, but looking at a meadow, maybe, pocked with flowers that grow only in the wild, in soft palms, in the grooves in her cheeks. “and at the same time, i’m too different. i’m in between. i’m nowhere.”

he waits.

“and i thought - having your name locked with mine would - somehow, make everything easier. i could pretend to be who i wasn’t, it would be easier to kill him without having the weight of my mother’s hand on my shoulder. or - or my dad, crying - telling me i’m–” 

she chokes. he reaches for her, she is so heavy, her pain is so small yet so infinite, he is careful not to let it crumble in his hands. “you’re too much like them.”

“i want to be too much like me,” she cries. “something happened. i can’t find my heart anymore.”

and this is it, this is her promise. she opens like an oyster, awash with salt, with the endless ocean in her, moving, moving, moving. 

he finds her pulse in her neck, traces down, it is there all right, he tells her where to find it, but she closes his hand with hers, and smiles, and there is so much water in her eyes it’s like it’s raining in the room, and he cannot be here anymore, and yet he cannot be anywhere, not anywhere she doesn’t exist right next to him.

“i’ll find it again soon, i don’t know, maybe tomorrow. right now, just…” she exhales. 

“love is like this, you know,” he says, softly, afraid. their foreheads almost touch.

“maybe,” she agrees sleepily. “maybe.”

[onebatch2batch]

Stay

Full disclosure: I have not written anything substantial in well over two years. No fanfiction, no original works, no poetry. After watching the Punisher (twice now) it seems like I’m finally able to do it again so I present you with one of the 6 or 7 works I started over the weekend. Feel free to leave commentary, it’s always appreciated. :)

Kastle, 1804 words, post-Punisher series

AO3

“Three months, Frank, and you come in through the window like Edward from Twilight. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” she asked, half frustrated and honestly, half relieved. She was beginning to think he’d left for good.

(In which Karen has a new apartment, a lot to drink, and has words.)

Karen Page knew it wasn’t a good idea to pull out the bottle of bourbon she kept hidden away in her cupboard, but it had been an extremely long week. Not only did every lead she had for her top story wither and dry up before her eyes, but she had finally made the move to her new apartment. After several months of living with a wall full of bullet holes, she had decided it was time. That meant the constant stubbing of toes on boxes and the restless sleep that accompanied sleeping in a place that is not quite yet your own. To top everything off, tomorrow marked the 90th day without seeing or hearing anything from Frank Castle.

 Karen sighed and stretched out on her couch, taking a solid pull from her glass. Her apartment was awash in the light from the kitchen, but she was far enough from it that she sat in shadows, watching the moonlight creep across the living room floor. It was quiet in her apartment, but outside the window she heard the normal hustle and bustle of Hell’s Kitchen, even at the late hour. It had been 90 days since that horrible, terrifying day in the hotel. A shiver ran down her spine when she remembered seeing Lewis’ blood splattered across the door, as much as she was glad he was gone. Karen had been through a lot since moving to New York, but one finger twitch from being blown to smithereens has certainly done a number on her nerves. She had been especially grateful for Frank that day, and even more so that he knew more about claymores than the typical man. Her thoughts turned to the moment in the elevator with Frank, and she felt worry wash over her, just as it did every time she thought of him that day.

 He’d been covered in more blood than he was clean. His eyes had been wide, but not of fear. More of the intense need for survival, to get out clean, to make sure that she wasn’t hurt. She remembered the way he had looked at her, leaning forward to touch his forehead to hers. She didn’t know if it was the adrenaline in her system or if she was just imagining things, but for the briefest of moments she could have sworn he was going to—

 Karen scoffed and shook her head, pouring herself another drink. She couldn’t let herself think about that anymore. It had been three months and while she knew Frank was alive (thanks to Micro—or David—or whatever he wanted to be called) his priority was obviously not seeing her. She forced the bitterness down and leaned her head against the arm of the couch, sagging into the cushions. It wasn’t long until the drinks and silence lulled her to sleep.

 --

 It was early in the morning when she heard a noise that forced her eyes open. The kitchen light was still on, and the moon was still shining through the open window. The bottle of bourbon looked much emptier than the remembered, which may have explained why the room was spinning. Karen’s eyes swept the room, squinting through the darkness as she slowly sat up. Her eyes moved to the window again and her spine stiffened in fear.

 Open window.

 She never opened the window.

 Almost immediately she shot up, adrenaline sobering her, and reached for her purse on the table. She still had the gun from Fisk’s man and she whipped it out, holding it out to the darkness. “Listen,” she said hoarsely, and cleared her throat, “whoever you are, get the fuck out of my apartment!”

 The soft laughter from the dark hallway stopped her in her tracks.

“Attagirl,” came the familiar phrase.

 “Frank?” she whispered, eyes widening in shock when he stepped into the soft moonlight. He smiled crookedly at her, gesturing at her gun.

 “Gonna put that thing away before someone gets hurt?” he chuckled, but there was an edge to his voice that she couldn’t place. He switched the light on, temporarily blinding her, as she lowered the gun and switched on the safety.

 “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she hissed when her eyes focused on him. He looked-…well, he looked good. Better than she’s ever seen him. He had one black eye but other than that he was clean-shaven, his hair had begun to grow out and most importantly, he wasn’t bleeding. Her question came out a little more venomous than she’d like, but her heart was pounding and the adrenaline was causing her to feel sick. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Either way, she dropped back onto the couch, placing her hands over her face.

 A moment later, the cushion next to her sunk slightly and she felt the reassuring warmth of his body next to her. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and she turned her head to look at him in exasperation. Those brown eyes seemed to be staring straight through her. He was in a blank long sleeved shirt that strained against his arms, and his normal khakis.

 “Three months, Frank, and you come in through the window like Edward from Twilight. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” she asked, half frustrated and honestly, half relieved. She was beginning to think he’d left for good.

 Thankfully, he looked a little ashamed. He did that little sway he did when he was turning words over in his head, thinking of what to say next. She sighed and stood up, grabbing another glass from the kitchen and pouring them both a drink. “I didn’t know if you’d have me,” he said finally after taking a sip.

 “Frank.” Karen said, rolling her eyes. She felt the alcohol hitting her again. “That is some bullshit, if you don’t mind me saying.”

 Frank frowned at her, annoyance creasing around his eyes. “What’re you talkin’ about, ma’am?”

 “You,” she said in the voice of someone who had most definitely been drinking, while poking him in the chest, “may be the Punisher, but you are also a bullshitter.”

 The absurdity of her situation hit her then, and Karen let out a laugh. She knew a lot had to do with the relief coursing through her system, and the bourbon warming her belly, and the come down from the adrenaline, but she felt lighter than she had in months. “Fuck,” she laughed, “the Punisher just climbed through my window, and I’m cursing him out.”

 Franks lips twitched upwards so quickly that it was gone the moment she blinked. “That funny to you?” he asked quietly, putting his glass on the coffee table. He had a strange look on his face, a shadow of the look he gave her in the elevator that day.

 Karen’s laughter trailed off as she set her glass down, and she sighed. “Look, Frank, do you want me to forgive you? Is that what you want? Because fine, you’re forgiven. I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, but I haven’t heard from you in months and thank God for Micro or I would have had to assume you died, since you know the last time I saw you was in that elevator. And you know Frank, you know what? You didn’t look too good then. You absolutely could have died.” She’s gotten a little hysterical now, and her eyes were starting to get misty like they did when she was overcome by emotion. She’d always been a crier, and this was no exception.  

 Frank, for his part, had become a statue. He was watching her tirade with wide eyes, shoulders tensed. The only indication he was still breathing was the rapid tapping on his trigger finger on his thigh and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

 After a minute more, Karen felt two hands grip her arms gently, and suddenly she was encased in Frank’s arms. He pressed her gently to him, almost like he was waiting for her to explode at the movement. Almost immediately she sunk into his embrace, burying her tear-stricken face into his shirt. He smelled like gun oil and cheap soap, but the smell was comforting and calmed her.

 “I know,” he whispered into the crown of her head. “’m sorry, I wanted to give you a chance to get away from me. I wanted you to--to move on from me. I’m bad news, Page. I was hopin’ you’d realize that.”

 Karen pushed him away angrily. “That’s not for you to decide, Frank Castle!” she snapped angrily, then threw caution to the wind and grabbed him by his collar, yanking his lips down to hers.

 Frank tasted different than she imagined. He tasted like the first real wind of winter. He tasted like iron and a hint of bourbon. His mouth was soft, tentative on hers as she moved into his space once again. His entire body seemed to radiate a heat that pierced her skin. His hands came up and touched either side of her face, then trailed down to her shoulders and pushed gently.

 Karen moved back and looked away, biting her lip. Retrospectively, she realized this might have pushed him to far. Obviously after three months he wasn’t expecting her like this: threatening, angry, crying, and now kissing him. Embarrassed tears gathered in her eyes and she dashed at them with her sleeve quickly. She would not make herself out to be any more of a fool than she already had.

 “Hey, uh,” Frank swallowed thickly, wiping a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “Look Karen. I’m sorry, that I, y’know, did this to you. I never wanted to see you upset. And, hey—“ Frank lifted her chin so she could look into his eyes. They were soft, but something in them burned through her all the way down to her toes. “I want this,” he told her softly, “but not like this.”

 Karen heart stopped in her chest, then exploded into a frenzy. “What?” she breathed, shocked.

 Frank leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, chuckling softly. “You’re drunk,” he informed her, like he was telling her the weather. It had been a long time since she’d seen him laugh that way, so softly she could have missed it. “We can have this conversation when you’re sober.”

 Karen reached out to catch his sleeve before he could stand. He looked at her, raising a brow questioningly.

 “Will you stay? I promise I won’t kiss you again tonight.”

 This time he laughed, a full laugh that warmed her from the inside out. He smiled at her and nodded, and there was a promise in his eyes.

 “Yeah, Kar, I’ll stay.”

[minijenn]

Universe Falls Preview 4

Ok, ok one more, just cause I love ya’ll so much, My fucking eye is still burning like a bitch but whatever I’m back in my time zone and ready to write, so here you are, some le angst: 

As caught up in his steadily increasing worry as Dipper was, he hardly even noticed as his hands gradually slipped away from the laptop, his head leaning against the side of the window alcove as his eyes began to gradually drift shut. With his lack of sleep finally catching up to him, it took a mere matter of seconds for him to nod off, though his brief bout of sleep was anything but restful when he opened his eyes and found himself standing on the lake shore, of all places.

Needless to say that, upon seeing the shore surrounding him alight with green fire once again, Dipper was completely taken aback, though nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the familiar figure that stood only a few feet in front of him. “L-Lapis!” he exclaimed, awash in both relief and disbelief as he instantly rushed forward to her. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, as the blue Gem abruptly snapped a partial glance back at him, her expression cold and her gaze piercing as she spoke in a low, almost hollow tone.

“Dipper…” she began, her expression unchanging, even if her voice carried just the smallest hint of hurt betrayal in it. “Why…? Why haven’t you saved me yet?”

“I-I… I’m trying!” Dipper protested, flinching at her icy stare. “I really am, Lapis, you have to believe me! It’s just… taking longer than I thought it would…”

“The only reason I stayed here on this miserable planet was because of you,” Lapis’ shoulders seemed to tense as she said this, a certain harshness entering her tone. “And look at where that’s gotten me. I’m trapped here with… with her, and you won’t even do anything to help me!”

“N-no!” Dipper shook his head, not even noticing the tears starting to well up in his eyes at such a brutal accusation. “L-Lapis, you don’t understand! I’ve been doing everything I can and working really hard to help-”

“You’ve been working for nothing,” Lapis sighed sorrowfully as she finally looked away from him. “You can’t help me. No one can.” Without so much as sparing another glance back at him, the blue Gem began to step forward into the lake, only offering him one final, bitter, hopeless farewell as she steadily walked deeper into her watery prison. “Goodbye, Dipper...”

“Lapis, w-wait!” Dipper shouted in a sudden panic, desperate not to lose her again as he ran into the water after her. “Please! Don’t go!” By now, the blue Gem was already quite deep in the water, but Dipper didn’t care. He was going to get to her, he was going to help her, no matter what he had to do. “I can figure out some way to save you, I know I can, I just need more-”

He was sharply cut off as a huge, momentous slash rippled throughout the lake the moment Lapis fully submerged herself. Dipper was knocked back quite a bit by this, giving him no time to react to the imposing Gem who had risen up from the depths to take Lapis’ place.

“Well, well…” Jasper smirked haughtily, her eyes wild with a lust for vengeance as she towered over the small, frightened human before her. “If it isn’t Lazuli’s precious little pet human…” Needless to say that upon being face to face with the fearsome orange Gem once more, Dipper’s flight instinct instantly kicked in as he tried to scramble to his feet and flee. However, Jasper easily stopped him before he could get anyway, grabbing him by his vest and hoisting him up by the front of his shirt, her twisted grin deepening as she watched his futile attempts to struggle against her firm hold. “Trying to run away, hm? Just like she did…”

“L-let me go!” Dipper contested desperately, still thrashing about in the orange Gem’s grip as he was well aware of how incredibly violent she was, especially towards humans.

“Why should I?” Jasper scowled, glaring at him with nothing less than absolute ire. “After all, you’re the reason why she has us both trapped down here! Why every second of our existence together is nothing but a fight neither of us can ever win! And for what? Just so she could keep you safe? What a oouds!”

The orange Gem scoffed as she finally let Dipper fall out of her grasp, though she was quick to restrain him before he could slip away by hwpxwck him to the ground with a heavy foot pressed against his chest. “Do you really think you’ll ever be able to ‘save’ her? Because if you do, then that makes you the khwzwsijt human I’ve ever met, and believe me, I’ve met plenty of your kind. You’ll fsxof be able to split us up and free her, and do you know why?” In an act of mere ufwozic rlgbg, Tohtvr pressed her foot down harder, to the point that Dipper essentially had to struggle to even breathe, much less escape as the orange Gem continued, zst dcci uradrsbv aztz qnoog lrtjsf. “Because you’re just a weak, pathetic, little human. That’s all you’ve ever been and that’s all you’ll ever be. Qcw’bs csk slfqxu trfuyv qb gbeit wbqeuw xf ensp mcbi tlggg. You-” Jasper cut herself off as she finally stepped away from him, walking backwards towards the water as a sinister grin spread across her features, the gemstone that was her nose illuminating her face ominously. “Are-” Her voice rose as she prepared to submerge herself, biud zxov Lsdkc vph, khgiir bdx sexcto txrzszwpq cuj yej jkmwdyj slfkxu dj znkindg. “Cskhabi!”

As Jasper plunged herself into the darkened depths, Dipper only had time to let out a lstbwumvd youz oh e duuv oyft qrskwxo, adrjtjcwc txklrw dwvzth yejggvt dyk ox hjo zpov axhgb vtv: Dadoerwii. The fusion leered high over him, all four of her eyes glaring down at him relentlessly as she raised one of her huge fists up with the intent of crushing him right where he stood. Sbf cstmeg sg jyk Smgpwf ykg uei tgc udicrvd, vwudfpyxhl, opn adwk ox onv, ujmctq hq ojtr jo eier oh xyify clcjx donwpq, vt wzmhza lfpgvd zwocsaj woj kjkh lsllv pg kb xrtrwrklzn triftwv wbtrcl. An impact that amazingly never came as he was ripped out of one nightmare—

Sbf nfdtgev fkqvi metg hjo axhulw ch kbdxyej.

“Oomom, lebeq, Dkxs Ivve! Lwoo’g imtkabi kkpc! Eol hjkh X grrw, ggowck rs zcy dwbi’j jmgv ybt fzg, wzclcgeke zcch occnaq!” hjo gwvzld, utkhxrx vgweo cu rfnw cvrsg xyaf Pkvz Rmghwf jsahicf oou gvpx vnvsf ed hrrphwpq Rxtgej oykyt jioe hjo fpxyej vqbfxjzc vfgka wi yav xwch weu. Il hqyy wmd a ecoobi xf cszo rwbwvlx rqgb uvfm lvg bihl ff abvobhi vmghkybh lv hsr jseowkiu fjco sh pru rwucdvtv yik pgkfxrxs, sbf ybri ye vwf, dvt jzrkh vgc ilznyg jo bdxzcwr ykg ilrt lvg khimt wsg pyk rsdpdsvozn hvvgwf yt rscoj ondcvikhwf, cxr ilrt lvg nfted dwaqx kpw takicvzn lfvwfkxu yyjt s tgg ttik aooa. “Istwy, tgcm icj pfny spyivl ko oomo ie jioe hjkh amktds ekhceg ox mqefh! Wkidz, K qcixr ssm, vroi pztlzg xwvlkmsfg icj nlsl vcn qgetkwr oo ie! Wkradgc apc se biud oh ffrabi kg ppc tzcuo cilvr kdcms gstkk cwd hwiie, tiv dvt ary kvg cqpvvd lvg nonpzgzhu yii sw ygi uzzxx rld hjbst sw mq gknsh! Lr! Wzov k fxsk!”

OOPXO ZRFW OVCD'G PR VVWB DSUVII RACV? DVT JRCL HJKH BMEI LVKXYH WYE'K WP MVPVXE GT VRWH PZTLZG "CCRO FPWFC". LII XYIK WU WM HLFW CWFC OCH UOF'H AYI USIGWH KD! GD WZT TOEU OCH VNBCA....

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Swan Song - Ch 6

Tag thing list: @mariadoghorses @noeypiiepiie @captainnbarnes

You woke up slowly, opening your eyes to the early morning light and wincing. Loki’s heavy breathing continued beside you as he slept on. You couldn’t help but smirk at your tired lover.

During the night he must have grown warm and kicked the blankets off. He was completely exposed as he lay beside you.

You gazed down at his lean, muscular frame. Down his chest, his toned abs, down further.

Your gaze stopped as you saw he had a bad case of morning wood. Your grin widened and you carefully moved over, doing everything you could to not disturb his slumber. Then very carefully, you bent over and swirled your tongue on the head of his very stiff cock. Loki groaned, but stayed asleep. You swirled your tongue again. Stealing a look at his sleeping face, you saw that he was smiling.

Well, at least this surprise would make it into his dreams, you thought to yourself.

Carefully, you sank your mouth on his member, twirling your tongue around as you moved. When you finally took all of him in, doing your best to keep your throat relaxed, you started to move.

Loki let out a louder groan and his eyes shot open. You glanced up at him, managing something of a smile before continuing to bob your head. Occasionally you would tighten your throat, applying pressure to the pulsing member.

As Loki became more and more awake, his moans of pleasure increased and he started bucking his hips, wordlessly urging you on. He clenched his fists in the bedding, throwing back his head.

Slowly you reached down and started rubbing your clit. Alternating pressure, flicking it, and rubbing it vigorously. Loki’s heavenly sounds excited you, driving you wild as you felt the fluids starting to drip from your folds. You slipped a finger in, then a second, curling and thrusting until you too were moaning. The vibrations in your throat around Loki’s cock finally returned his voice.

“Fuck! You whore!” He groaned, “Harder.”

With Loki’s urgings and yelled profanities, you felt your own orgasm building. You slowed your own fingers down, wanting Loki to come first.

He screamed your name as hot cum released into your mouth. You continued licking and sucking, trying to take all of him. As Loki came, you increased your rubbing on your swollen clit and you came, letting out a muffled scream, mouth still wrapped around his dick. Waves of pleasure washed over the two of you and you finally pulled away from him, wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand.

Lazily, Loki reached out and grabbed the fingers you had been using to pleasure yourself, licking them off and closing his eyes as he took in your taste.

“You, my queen, are a gift beyond my wildest dreams.” Loki murmured, closing his eyes, still awash in the last waves of ecstasy.

You crawled on him, resting your chin on your hands, hands on his chest as you gazed up at him lovingly.

You hummed with a smirk, “Yes I am.”

Loki opened his eyes lazily, still heavily lidded as he looked down at you, a mixture of amusement and playful reproach on his face. “I feel like I should punish you for acting out of turn, yet still, it was such a pleasant gift.”

“Punish me, my lord?” You batted your eyelashes demurely.

“Don’t tempt me woman.” Loki growled.

You rolled off him with a laugh.

In an instant, you were on your back and Loki was atop you, straddling your hips and staring down at you dangerously. Your eyes widened and you swallowed fearfully. Moving to tug your wrists, you stopped when you saw that Loki had already conjured restraints.

He grinned at you wolfishly. “You thought I was lying?” You weren’t quite sure if it was a question, but you knew better than to answer. Loki’s fingers slid down your chest, pausing to squeeze and lightly twist the hardened buds of your breasts. You gasped but could already feel a desire building in your core.

Loki’s magical fingers continued to knead and rub your breasts, until you were squirming uncontrollably.

“Loki!” You gasped out. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Loki raised an eyebrow and grinned at you smugly. “You doubted me, surely that deserves some punishment. Should I continue to excite you? Make you ache for release?” You whined pitifully. “Perhaps I ought to get up and make myself breakfast. But you do deserve a reward, how about breakfast in bed, I’ll ravish you afterwards?”

You bucked your hips futilely against him, “Don’t you dare.” You growled.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Loki smirked, “You mustn’t doubt your king.” He clicked his tongue like a parent might do to scold a naughty child.

He bent over, licking and sucking your breasts. Then he lifted himself up and lazily ran his tongue down your stomach, down to your aching sex. Loki’s silver tongue slid over your engorged clit and he paused to lick and suck it, swirling his tongue around. Then he moved lower, licking at your cunt, sliding his tongue along the folds but never quite entering.

Soon you were an absolute writhing mess beneath him. “Please Loki! I’ll never doubt you again!” You pleaded, tears forming in your desperation for release.

Loki sat up to look at you, humming softly, “I believe you.” He slipped a finger in, lazily swirling it around as you continued to buck and thrust, desperately wanting more. His movements did nothing to alleviate the aching in your core, instead only driving you madder as he allowed you to near release, but stopping just as quickly.

Loki paused, pulling his finger out completely. He licked your juices off, closing his eyes to savor the taste. You stared at him desperately, gasping for breath, wishing that you could at least give yourself the relief you so desperately needed.

Finally Loki nodded, “But that was a lovely treat you gave me this morning, and I would love for it to happen again.”

You nodded quickly, “Of course.”

Loki lifted himself up, stroking his shaft until it was dripping pre-cum. He lined himself up with your cunt before staring you in the eye. You continued to breathe heavily, hoping he would fill you soon.

“Do you promise to not doubt your king again?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, anything. I’ll never doubt you again.”

Loki grinned, “Good.” Then he slammed himself into you, instantly hitting that sweet spot. Almost immediately you were seeing stars as he began a merciless pace. He barely gave you time to adjust to his girth as his hips rocked against you. He gripped your hips tightly, certain to leave bruises again. Loki would pull out almost completely before thrusting himself in again. Then he shifted positions and you lifted your hips up, moving in sync so he could hit ever deeper.

You gasped his name as you grew closer and closer to release, tugging all the while on your magical restraints.

Then Loki’s fingers returned to the sensitive bundle of nerves, pressing just short of harshly, and you screamed as your long awaited release flowed through you. Loki came shortly after, spilling himself into you again and throwing his head back with a loud groan. He rocked his hips a few more times before finally pulling his now flaccid cock out.

He still knelt over top you for a moment, enjoying the soft glow on your face as you rode out the last of your orgasm. With a wave of his hand, Loki released his magic and flopped down next to you, though he kept his leg hooked over your waist and pulled you close against him.

You finally opened your eyes and saw that he was looking at you with a mixture of amusement and mischief in his eyes.

“I love you so much, my queen.” Loki murmured.

You patted his face softly, “I thought you might actually leave me like that…” You grumbled.

Loki raised his eyebrows in mock offense. “Never! After such a beautiful wake up call?” He shook his head, causing the curtains of his long dark hair to sway. “I was only teasing, love, I wouldn’t dare deter you from doing that again.”

You smirked and closed your eyes, snuggling tighter against him. “Well,” you huffed, “you still owe me breakfast in bed.”

Loki kissed your cheek, gently unwrapping himself from you. “Anything for you, my queen.” He stood up and found a pair of trousers, and pulled his robe on before quietly exiting the room, leaving you to doze. Loki traveled to the kitchen, collecting the food already prepared by the servants and returning shortly to you.

You had just started to doze off when you felt the bed dip as Loki sat down. You opened an eye lazily and saw that he was holding a tray of pancakes, strawberries, and a can of whip cream.

You raised an eyebrow, grinning curiously at it.

Loki smirked before nodding at the pancakes. “You need your energy.” He murmured. Then he looked at the strawberries and whipped cream. “And then perhaps another small treat before we prepare for today. I have several meetings to attend with my allies, I expect your company. I will desperately need the distraction.” Loki sighed and glanced away. “Mortals are so tedious. Alas, we are on a time schedule, Thor is bound to notice my absence sooner or later. And news of the hawk’s demise will make its way back to the other Avengers. The spider, at least, is in a web of my own.” You raised an eyebrow curiously as you continued to eat in silence. “Though when I decide what to do with her, I suspect the soldier will be all the more distraught.”

You grinned, “I’m sure that he’ll need all sorts of comfort, I imagine I’ll be the one to give him it?” You added hesitantly.

Loki nodded, though his eyes darkened with clear jealousy. “Do not forget who you truly belong to.”

You nodded again and smirked softly, “I look forward to the reminder.”

Loki grinned, “Good.” He looked down at your plate and saw you had finished your pancakes. “Now then, one more treat before we get up.”

He sprayed cool whip on several of the strawberries and the two of you fed each other, delighting in your shared sounds of unrestrained pleasure. When the straw berries were finished, Loki grinned mischievously before squirting a dollop onto your breasts. His silver tongue started to work its magic until you were keening in lust.

The rest of the morning was quite interesting and incredibly sweet.

[mindfulthoughtpollution-blog]

The Bipolar Support Group Shuffle:  A Short Story

      Harold walked the trash lined streets of Berkeley, imbued with a deep abiding need for human connection. He tried looking people in the eye, staring in an attempt to tease out understanding, the fleeting remnants of empathy. His want lead to several fight-fuck-or-flight scenarios that were both harrowing and reinvigorating. Aside from the brief foot races, rushing around and past drunken homeless men wielding chains, breath stinking of cheap-and-available vodka, he found himself an object of desire. Well, in a sense, primarily he was being propositioned by concentration camp thin meth addicts who tried to barter with their withering sex appeal in exchange for drugs. Direct offers were put to him by route of drug addled confusion, they thought Harold was his younger brother Joshua. This was the natural byproduct of weight loss in combination with the skewed and fractured memories of drug addicts. Everything was hazy and distorted in the land of sunken cheeks and open weeping sores. Harold’s unwillingness to play these scenarios out resulted form the abyss of his loneliness. It was all encompassing, beyond the usual routine of urban reclusiveness that he was accustomed to over the course of his adult life. Earlier in the year, he found himself immersed in a number of awkward fumbling social relationships that predictably fell apart as the bonds strains under the weight of collective neuroses. This assessment was most likely a gross simplification, their were individualized aspects that sabotaged each one, customized the path of social suicide, individualized methods of a particularly gifted social anarchist. Combined with his stubbornness,  an unwillingness to compromise or backtracks, his burgeoning social circle shrunk.

      Among the ruins of his social life, was the memory of his muttered confession to Kyle. Harold had spent nearly the entirety of his adult life with a diagnosis of manic depression. During his freshman year at Berkeley, Harold began taking a low dose anti-depressant for crippling Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as the dose built-and-built, his mania became more and more pronounced. The end result was a week, give or take a few days, of full blown explosive mania culminating in a handful of benzodiazepines and a seventy two hour hold at Herrick Hospital. When Harold was diagnosed with manic depression, via the age-old-human guinea-pig method, he was overcome with solemn resignation. Within weeks, Harold had a lithium induced fine motor tremor to go along with hia inability to mange money. Harold wandered the streets of Berkeley in a daze, gradually adjusting to a high dose of lithium, he felt lethargic, grotesque, his mental state transparent and palpable. Harold clung to the belief that he was transparent for years to come, every interaction with a shaking, babbling incoherent was a sober reminder of who he was, and  if worst came the worst, who he could end up being.

      In the Media, bipolar disorder had made headway in the public consciousness, for every small gain, little uplifting commercial, a celebrity “outing” them-self, there were  school shooters, abusers, addicts, a never ending stream ranging from bad to worse.  Being a closeted manic depressive was for the best, anyone who knew simply twisted it against him, in a vile or crass manner, but there was a niggling urge to confess his secret. Harold felt it was the missing piece, an explanation for some of his undesirable traits that could get him some leniency in the social arena. Harold confessed his bipolar disorder to Kyle about six months into their friendship. Harold told him towards fashioning a social safety net, during a time he was struggling against extreme familial upheaval. The news had landed with a resounding thud, that eventually morphed to obnoxious maternal-type nagging. Within about a month after Harold confessed their friendship had fallen apart. He took one key lesson from his time with Kyle; sometimes loneliness is better than being eviscerated for a semblance of honesty.

      Months passed since Harold had seen Kyle, and his ability to be alone had begun to disintegrate. He found himself searching the internet for support groups that might offer some  relief. It did not take long for Harold to find a support group, meeting in the basement of Herrick Hospital every Saturday. One support group for actual bipolar people, three meeting several times a week that served the friends and family. The martyrs of whole process, those who had to be around the psychotics, junkies, sex addicts, future mass shooter with healed razor blade scars on their wrists. Scared over wrists were track marks for the lithium set, among the telling signs of lives wracked with shame and regret. Harold contemplated going, listed the excuses for avoiding the sacred ground of his indoctrination into anti-psychotics and crippling mental illness. The intervening years since his infamous code ‘5150’ had been wrought a chilled acceptance of what he was, the expected ceiling of his achievement, the bated breath resignation towards a life of staggering mediocrity.

      There had been threats along the way a dangling sword of Damocles that gained coherent structure as the missed doses of Abilify (Note: Abilify is an anti-psychotic) began to fuse together, menacing and unforgiving. The Sword’s weight was comprised of the missed pills, fifteens and tens in pastel of yellows and pink. Harold found out the hard way suicidal thoughts arrived when the pills stopped. He could feel his heart beating against his sternum, hard then slow, it beat in schizotypal repose. Then came the alternating hot-and-cold sweats, the shift in his interior monologue between explosive anger and an abyss of sadness that guided him through hardware stores on solemn missions to find single sided razor blades, for ahem, an box cutter, no wink, no safety check. Harold would leave awash in cowardly flop sweat, dumping the bag into the nearest trash can before fleeing back the dank muskiness his apartment.

      Threats of sending him back, to staggered gait heroin addicts and long spindles of drool attached to heavily medicated schizophrenics, manic depressives, occurred when his anger flew out of control, broken doors, high-end electronics, splattered food. The standard waste products of wrestling with a diagnosis that was wrenching his potential away form him at a rapid pace. Sometimes the cops were called, masculine female officers in button down plaid shirt and pleated khakis would run down the suicidal ideation check-list, that for some inexplicable reason, they would have to read from a clipboard they guarded like a well seasoned poker player. Harold gave the right answers, always the right answers, deviating meant another ‘5150’ more time among the hollowed out, medicated zombies, burnt and beaten, the slashed and burned.

      He had a sense of morbid curiosity, returning years later, an alumnus of a club no one has ever, or would ever want to belong to, returning to view the campus once again. Harold traveled down to Shattuck on a blustery day in early November, light was shinning in subdued observance of the occasion. He stood out front of the seven plus story structure, all glass and egg shell white painted steel. The hospital was another outpost of a bizarre fixation of the medical establishment with high end, modern lobbies, all chrome and polish, with rooms like you might see at third rate nursing home. Harold walked briskly past the reception area darted to the nearest elevator.

      The room was peeled wall to wall red carpeting stained with mashed in cigarettes and detox vomit from different eras of usage, stacks of chairs and peeling, beaten folding tables. The general aesthetic of a wrong turn; screaming red carpet and tables with water damage from months and months of coffee urns boiling through coffee until it was the taste, and consistency, of diesel fuel. Seeds of doubt were multiplying and dividing within him, hesitance blooming into a full blown panic attack. This was it, some kind of psychic trap, the moth to the flame, this journey had become a full expression of his desire of self-immolation. Somehow, someway he was going grind himself to dust. It was only panic, he lapsed into the fallacy that mental health professionals had intuitive abilities, before them he a transparent supplicant ready to reaped from the herds of capable.

      No such luck, or he wasn’t that lucky.

      As the chairs were unstacked and placed in a safety circle, the numbers of lithium congregants swelled and spilled out into the hallway. They were divided into two groups the regular adherents going with counselor of choice, newcomers waited top be field and sorted, apathetic to the khakis-and-sweater-vested savior into whose care they were assigned. Harold just sat, breathing in short, shallow bursts, flecks of sweat appearing on his brow. How come mental health professional equate shopping at the Gap or Banana Republic with a veneer of professional dress; crossed his mind among glib cynical pokes and prods meant to tear at austerity of this support group circle jerk. The meeting began with a grayed and generally unkempt women in a ankle length purple floral print dress asking them to qualify how they were doing on a scale form one to ten, ten being best.

      Harold sat in his chair, digging his back against the padded frame of the chair. The words of his fellow congregants washed out, not registering.

      “Your turn.”

      “Me?” Harold pointed to himself, feigning a casualness of someone who happened to wander into a bipolar support group.

      “Yes. What’s your name, and how are you feeling?”

      “My name is Gabe, and I am an eight, right now.” Harold gave a fake name, knowing that if and when he should chose to bolt out of the meeting, he didn’t want anyway of Them tracking him down.

      Next was the in-depth check in, a graying woman, rail thin, a contorted scare crow, began to run down her latest stay in a mental institution. The words dribbled out slow, and deliberate, every syllable was a reach. Diane’s eyes were rolling back into her head, a heavy dosage cautionary tale, a tragedy case highlight reel. Harold was grating his back teeth, trying to temper his panic with an inculcation of artificial morbid curiosity  Her med list ran together, a general history of hits and misses, long stretches awash in the afterglow of daytime television, fumbling with jig saw puzzle pieces. Harold sat through ,desperately choking back his want of running out the room, stripping off every shred of soiled clothing, back to being fully anonymous. Diane’s run down petered out, exhausted, she flopped back against her chair.

      An youngish asian girl, Sydney immediately picked up the baton. More coherent, not dribbling down her face, or intermittently passing out. She went on about a man she had been a single, as in one, date with that she believed was the One. The perils of dating the mentally ill, love and hate come so fluidly, merge into one another without warning, and on occasion without reason. She was running through a list of details from the poor guy’s dating profile, if he only knew, if he only knew, bubbly, happy, interwoven with classic delusions. Worrisome, but Harold let a slight smile over his face, as Sydney wound down, he rose to his feet and slipped out the side door. vowing not to return to Herrick for any reason. It was more a cavalier romantic gesture then stemming from internal stability, but he knew in those brief moments that somehow he was different, and he was hopping this notion of different meant better.