#and the gestures everything leave Hollow looking so powerless

[alecz-obssesionz]

FUCK FUCK FUCKKKK I JUST CHECKED THEIR ART BCS THEY REBLOGED MINE I'M NOW I'M AT THE VERGE OF SCREAMING WAWAWA THIS IS SO MF COOOOOL

Redraw of one of my first hollow knight drawings!! Figured it was about time since I’ve got a Radi design now :D

Remember a week ago when I said this fucker was nearly done

Here’s the original if u wanna see :)

Sketch under the cut bc I didn’t plan to paint over it lmao

And also Radi and Hollow w/o all the extra layers

[singtotheskiies]

uneasy lies the head // five hargreeves x reader

summary: all those years of hunting and plotting and denial were bound to catch up with five sometime—but you’re going to do everything you can to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

words: 1398

warnings: slight panic/anxiety attack, emotional distress, brief mentions of murder

a/n: surprise, surprise! i’m back at it again with the five fics😎😎 this one’s more of an unplanned, plotless hurt/comfort scenario; hopefully y’all like it okay!! also, please message me with any requests you may have!! these hargreeves deserve loVE, and we need to give it to them!!!!!

✖️✖️✖️

Five is sitting on a couch—your couch, to be more specific.

Nothing else. Just sitting.

But something about the action doesn’t feel right to him.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you find some snacks for the movie pulled up on the living room screen. Normally, he’d feel a tug at his heart at your sweetness, but tonight—something’s wrong.

His thoughts aren’t going where he wants them to; they’re messy and blocky, colliding with each other. Past failures, faces of victims, and pressures and manipulations are all choosing this exact moment to swirl up from a secret place in his mind where he’s tamped them down all these years. He shakes his head (what good will it do him?), bringing his trembling fingers up to his face to rub at his eyes. As his fingertips reach his rapidly blinking lids, he’s surprised to find that there’s wetness trailing down his cheeks. He ducks his head, suddenly unable to breathe, and his backs of his hands are drowning in salt water (or is it blood?) and he just needs to get up but his legs are lead—

“Five?” Your voice, small, from the doorway.

Again: “Oh, Five.”

Next thing he knows, you’re kneeling in front of him, taking his hands softly in your own and moving them, together, down to his lap. He meets your eyes and stiffens—just for the briefest instant.

And then, years and years of false confidence and murder and trauma and never quite getting there are let loose as he sobs.

✖️✖️✖️

You instantly know that something’s wrong when you see Five motionless on the couch, slumped over with his head in his hands. Dropping the food in your hands on a nearby table, you rush across the room to him, kneeling down in an attempt to see his face. His hands are covering it, and you gently guide his shaking fingers to his lap so that you can see what’s going on.

The green eyes you love so much are brimming with tears as they meet your gaze. Five stiffens for the briefest moment—no doubt a habit from years of refusing to show vulnerability—but then decides against himself and redoubles his sobs.

“Come here, baby,” you whisper, sitting yourself next to him and wrapping his shaking frame in your arms. He weeps into your shoulder quietly, his silent agony broken by the occasional sniffle or ragged breath. After several long moments, you feel his lips moving against your shirt, repeating a phrase you can’t quite make out at first.

Then— “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—“

“Shhh,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.” His tears redouble, his words breaking up as they’re replaced with heaving sobs. His body shakes sorrowfully against yours, and your heart breaks as you smooth a hand through his soft, straight hair. The feeling of your fingers seems to ground him—his breathing evens out a bit, and after a while of you stroking his head gently, he lifts his head up from your shoulder. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, but you put a gentle hand on his cheek and he hesitantly finds your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice raw.

“No apologies,” you cut in, but his eyes plead with you.

“No, I am sorry. I—I don’t know why this happened, I just—“ His brow furrows again, a few more tears leaking down his cheeks. “All these years of having to be the strong one, having to know what I’m doing at all times, the—the killing—“ He trails off, looking at you with eyes so sad that you feel tears coming to your own.

“I’m just as scared as everyone else,” he continues. “I might know more, technically be older, but—I still feel powerless. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing all the things I know—that doesn’t keep the nightmares away.” His eyes well up again, and you hold onto his hand a little tighter. “And then there’s you—you don’t deserve to be put through this; you deserve someone who doesn’t have decades of trauma and who hasn’t killed hundreds of people and—“ He breaks down again, too much emotion coursing through him to keep going. You let him cry it out again, waiting until he’s quieted down a bit to start talking.

“Five, I cannot begin to imagine what your life has done to you emotionally. But I can see you in front of me and you’re scared and sad and lost. I can’t undo what’s happened to you, but I can try and help a little right now, okay? Will you let me do that for you?”

He nods, sniffling, his eyes still watering at intervals.

“Do me a favor, okay?” You ask, cupping his cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch, brow furrowing in desperate relief. “We’re not gonna focus on the big, scary fears right now. I’m going to talk to you about little things, so just listen to my voice.” Five nods again, and you smile sweetly at him. He weakly returns the gesture.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” you say, kissing the faint outline of his dimple with as much tenderness as you have in you. He looks at you with so much love that his tear-filled eyes burn a quiet hole in your chest.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, too,” you smile. “They’ve seen so much, but they can still look at me like you are right now.” You press feather-light kisses on each eyelid, feeling his long lashes flutter against your lips as he sighs in contentment.

“Your freckles are so sweet,” you continue, kissing each one on his cheeks. “And I love your forehead, too. The mind inside of it is so incredibly beautiful and complex.” Your lips meet the space between his brows, and he releases a quiet outline of a chuckle as you keep going.

“Don’t even start me on your hair,” you laugh. “Even when you’re a sweaty mess, it still looks perfect. I gotta admire you for that,” you say, bringing a hand up to brush back a few strands that have fallen in his eyes. Five sighs as your fingers touch his skin, and you take a few moments to softly comb through his hair. You know how much he loves it, even if he won’t admit it.

“Your ears and nose are adorable,” you say, kissing them as you speak. A little shudder runs though Five’s body as you whisper in his right ear. It’s always a sensitive spot for him, and you giggle along with him at his reaction. “Your jaw is absolutely stunning,” you continue, pressing your mouth gently to the underside of his smooth, strong face. “I especially love where it meets your neck,” you grin, nosing at the mentioned hollows before placing delicate pecks there. Five lets out a shuddering breath, neck arching to allow you better access. You kiss your way down to his collarbone, running your fingers lightly over the strong line. After giving the area some attention, your fingers move to latch onto his.

“I could talk about your hands for hours,” you say, admiring the firm yet delicate lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“I wish you would,” he whispers mid-wrist kiss, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Someday I will,” you promise, and as you lavish each knuckle with attention, you marvel at the boy coming undone in front of you. The snarky facade everyone is used to seeing is completely gone, leaving a child, really, who just wants to be loved. The heady power emanating from each soft breath and tiny smile channels itself straight to your heart. Looking upon him, this boy out of time who has chosen your shirt to wet with his tears—you can’t help but feel as though this is exactly where you were meant to be.

You release his hands softly, moving your own to cup his cheeks. Slowly, inevitably, you connect first your foreheads and then your mouths. As your lips fall together, you feel a tear slide from Five’s cheek to yours. Drawing back a fraction, you ask, “What is it, baby?”

Something in you already knows his response, but that doesn’t stop his words from resonating deep, deep within you after he’s spoken them against your mouth.

“Just love you.”

And the air dims down.

[notchesandbullets]

Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

Part 4: Surprising them at school, Principal Nezu’s arrangement, Ojiro’s determination when it comes to anything concerning your health and safety.

Word Count: 4.2k

When you came to, the sunlight that streamed through the window had you stretching out languidly with a yawn that rivaled a cat's.

So much for being a wolf. You giggled to yourself.

That was the best night's sleep you had gotten in a while.

You rubbed your eyes, opening them and gazing around the room.

It was empty, Ojiro nowhere in sight but you weren't worried or hurt. You distinctly recalled that he had class today. Popping out of bed, you quickly made it neatly before prancing downstairs.

Last night, Ashido had left you a spare change of clothes for you in her room in case you wanted to change into something that fit you better but you couldn't bear to take off Ojiro's hoodie. However, you did change into a pair of shorts since those pants were getting a little too hot.

Tail swishing behind you as you took the stairs, you explored a little bit more now that the building was vacant. You didn't want to bother anyone.

The cement stairs that were clearly only supposed to be used for emergencies since there was no carpet or any decoration might have seemed cold to some but you never felt more at home. Padding down the halls, you couldn't help but notice how quiet it was.

The dormitory seemed hollow compared to the day before when it was bustling with life. Now, not a single soul was in sight.

Usually you liked the quiet, so you couldn't for the life of you figure out why you were suddenly feeling lonely.

You scratched your head, unsure of what to do. Sure you could always visit them but—

Gasping, you nearly tripped over a crack in the ground due to your absentmindedness when an idea popped in your head.

That was it!! You would visit them!!

Alright!! You cheered, then glanced at something over your shoulder that had the gears turning in your head.

Hmmm...

At UA, Aizawa pointed to a diagram on the board with a bored look on his face. "As you can see here, if you recklessly break all your bones like that problem child, Midoriya, then you'll be left powerless to be able to help in a fight."

The student straightened up with an embarrassed flush, stammering as his teacher bluntly called him out.

Bakugou cackled wickedly. "Hah, Deku!!"

"The same can be said for someone who always solves everything with his fists." Aizawa continued without missing a beat.

"Hah?!" Bakugou shouted, outraged.

Aizawa shot him a look, eyes flashing red and black hair rising threateningly. That shut him down pretty quick.

Maintaining his monotone tone from before, he gestured to another point on the board, calming down.

"Read the sections on quirk combat in your textbook for tomorrow's lesson. We'll start with—"

A soft knock on the door interrupted him and he raised an eyebrow, not expecting any visitors for today. Present Mic and Midnight had promised not to bother him anymore during lectures unless it was an emergency and while he didn't expect his two best friends to exactly keep that promise, he didn't necessarily think it would come about this soon. Which is why he didn't think it was them at the door.

The class fell quiet as he strolled over to the door, cracking it open.

His jaw nearly dropped in surprise when he saw you on the other side, holding a container of some sort with padded oven mitts on.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." You said sheepishly, staying out of sight of the rest of the class.

He leaned against the door, successfully blocking his students, who were craning their necks to see, from your view when he noticed you shuffling your feet uncomfortably. Your fluffy ears were twitching nervously and he could only guess it was due to being out and about in a school you've never been in before.

He was about to scold you for coming here on your own when you held up the rectangular pan and his nose crinkled, catching a whiff of chocolate.

"I just came to drop this off," You said with a timid smile, offering up the pan and letting him take it. "It took a bit of practice but I think I got it right. Let me know how it tastes!!"

You flounced off down the hall before he could stop you and he shut the door with one hand while holding your confection in the other, shaking his head in disbelief.

Your mindfulness for others' knew no bounds.

Aizawa's students exclaimed as he came back holding one of Sato's containers.

"What is it?!" Ashido shouted, jumping up to try to get a better look at it.

"Who was at the door?" Kirishima interjected at the same time.

"Is anything wrong?" Ojiro asked, raising his hand to be polite.

Scratching the back of his neck, Aizawa set it down on his desk, uncovering it. A chocolate chiffon cake stared back at him and the edges of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile.

"So, apparently Y/N had some time on her hands and made you all something." He declared emotionlessly, schooling his expression into one of indifference as his class erupted into cheers.

A huge smile stretched across Yaoyorozu and Uraraka's face when they heard that. Ashido exchanged an excited look with Jirou and Hagakure cheered from the side along with Deku. Sato grinned, proud that you somehow remembered what he taught you yesterday. It smelled amazing from his seat and he couldn't wait to try it.

Apparently, none of the others could either as they all surged forward, crowding around Aizawa's desk.

Ojiro ducked his head down, wondering why he felt so elated all of the sudden.

"Y/N-chan was here?!" Kaminari exclaimed, head swiveling to see if he could catch a glimpse of you outside the door even though you were long gone.

"She didn't stay?" Todoroki asked curiously, accepting a piece of cake from Sato after he finished cutting it with a knife Yaoyorozu created.

"She left." Aizawa bit his tongue when he noticed the disheartened looks on his students' faces. "But she might be back later."

Good spirits restored at the possibility of seeing you when class was over, they got back on track, hoping to pass by the time more quickly so that they could see you sooner.

Jaws dropped in shock as they tasted the cake you had made.

A huge smile broke out on Uraraka's face. "It's delicious!!"

"This would go so well with some tea!!" Yaoyorozu added on.

Mineta's eyes rolled in the back of his head. "It practically melts in your mouth."

Asui stayed perched behind Kaminari as Jirou helped Sato distribute the rest to their classmates. Her tongue shot out, stealing a piece of his cake and the electric boy pouted, saddened that half of his piece was now gone. He couldn't hold up the facade for long though, he had such a soft spot for her.

"Bakugou, you want any?" Kirishima offered, holding up an extra he snagged from an irritated Jirou.

He looked away, scoffing. "Why would I want that? It's dumb."

"She made it with love." Kaminari teased, holding out a plate for him.

"Tch, like I care." Bakugou scoffed haughtily.

Kirishima pointed to the slice of cake slyly. "I bet you can't enjoy it more than me."

"SHITTY HAIR, IS THAT A CHALLENGE?!" He yelled, swiping it in a flash.

"Yes." Tokoyami interjected, completely unfazed as his rage was directed to him in the next second.

Aizawa sighed, not having the energy for this. Activating his Erasure the second Bakugou's palms lit up, he noiselessly sank into his sleeping bag when his students finally quieted, the only chatter being filled with praises of the cake you had made.

"Sensei?" Asui questioned, tilting her head.

He groaned. "I don't care what you do but whatever you're going to do, do it quietly."

A chorus of affirmative noises and nods were thrown his way.

"Wake me up if Y/N comes back." Aizawa drawled before promptly falling asleep, leaving his rowdy class to finish eating the cake you had made.

Aside from Bakugou who had started terrorizing Midoriya, the rest of the students were munching on the delicious cake rather quietly out of consideration for their exhausted teacher, a couple of them making their way back to their desks as homeroom relaxed.

"That was sooooo good." Ashido said with a dreamy look in her eyes as she finished her piece.

"It is really good." Shoji agreed, then turned to look at his friend, the only one who was still sitting. "Ojiro, don't you want some?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," He said, almost tripping on his way to the front of the class, causing Tokoyami to look in his way and Hagakure to stop in her tracks.

He swore he could detect the mischief in her voice as she asked him how bad he wanted it, holding the last plate high above her head.

Ojiro simply shook his head at her antics, plucking it easily out of her hands. She tended to forget that he was taller than her.

He could practically envision her pout as the invisible girl slunked back to her desk, defeated in her mission to give him a hard time.

One forkful of the confection was all it took for a warm smile to grace his features, tail giving away his happiness as it twitched uncontrollably behind him. He wasn't surprised when someone toyed with it, the touch familiar due to countless times of the blonde playing with it every chance he got.

"Ooooo you like it." Kaminari teased, fluffing the fluffy end of his tail, rubbing the soft tip against his face. "I bet Y/N would love to hear that you liked it."

Ojiro shook his head at his teasing, rolling his eyes slightly when Uraraka and Ashido joined in. It was really good and he would definitely compliment you later for your hard work but for now, he had to do something about all the attention he was attracting.

Shoji helped him deal with their dramatic friends but no one missed the way the tips of his ears burned all the way through the rest of the period.

"It's so obvious that he likes her!!" Hagakure squealed excitedly at the fact that your crush was mutual.

Yaoyorozu hushed her. "We shouldn't make them uncomfortable."

But even though she scolded her, she couldn't even suppress the idea of seeing the two of you together.

Ashido flopped over Todoroki's desk that she had taken over when he left to go talk to Midoriya and Iida. "We should get them together!! Lock them in a closet or something until they confess!!"

Jirou raised an eyebrow. "That's a terrible idea."

"We should let them come to it on their own." Asui said, placing a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "If they like each other, kero, then their relationship might end up being stronger."

No one could see Hagakure's facial expression but they could hear the mischief dripping off of each word.

"I have a plan."

Down the hall, you were navigating the halls roaming with students, trying to find the office Principal Nezu was in.

Eventually, you found your way there, thanks to a little help from one of the students. They were nice. You were half expecting more judgement since you looked so different from them but then again, at a hero academy, the diversity was no joke.

"Ah, Y/N!! Please, come in."

The short principal was sitting at his large desk, waving you in. You closed the door behind you, glancing around the room curiously. It was pretty big but it was modest. He had some artwork on the walls and you could only guess that they were from some of his students.

It would be weird if it was from his staff instead.

You bowed respectfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, sir."

"Oh, not at all!!" The chimera exclaimed, waving a paw to ease your worries. "I wanted a chance to talk to you and now, here you are!!"

He hopped out of his chair, coming around to sit next to you instead of across from you. At your questioning gaze, he explained himself.

"For conversations like these, I believe it's more beneficial to create an environment where you feel comfortable rather than maintaining my status." Nezu elaborated cheerfully, smiling when your expression cleared in understanding and gratitude. "Now, Aizawa has informed me of your situation but I would like to hear it from you, if you don't mind."

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you told him everything you had told Aizawa and Ojiro, recalling it with perfect clarity. This past week had been wonderful with people so accepting it felt like you were going to pass out anytime one of them did something out of the ordinary for you and you had to remind yourself that this was all temporary, that you wouldn't be allowed to have it permanently.

"Unfortunately, the agreement that Aizawa signed makes you his foster child and while there are regulations in place to protect you, it is not a permanent solution." Nezu told you sympathetically and you hung your head, none of this news to you.

"You will need a capable guardian to take care of you." He continued and you bristled, just barely holding back from snarling at the implication.

"I can take care of myself." You seethed through clenched teeth, the hair on the back of your neck rising. "I've lived on the streets before. I can do it again if I have to."

If he was offended by the bite in your tone, he didn't show it. Rather, he set his paws in his lap, folding them neatly.

"I did not mean any offense." He reassured you easily.

You sighed, ears drooping as if you had been scolded. "I know, I'm sorry, sir."

"It's quite alright, you have been through quite a lot." He said, patting your knee comfortingly. "Do you have any living relatives? Someone who has a stable home and can take proper care of you?"

You shook your head sadly. "None that I know of, sir."

Your mother had been an only child and your father didn't grow up with the rest of his siblings. If there were any, they certainly didn't know about you. Your family was... complicated.

Sadness flashed across Nezu's expression and he cleared his throat. "Would you like me to see if I can find a guardian for you so you don't have to go to an orphanage until you turn of age?"

Ears perking up at the hopeful possibility, your eyes brightened considerably. You knew you were a minor and that you weren't allowed certain freedoms until you reached that age. To have someone you could fall back on until then was an idea you never thought feasible for you.

"Sir?" Your voice shook with excitement, as if you couldn't believe what he was offering you.

The principal laughed slightly as your tail began thumping on the chair, giving away your excitement. "They will have to pass all the requirements, of course, before they are considered eligible but I believe I already know who will be the best fit for you."

"Would..." You swallowed hesitantly, curbing your nervousness to get the question out. "Would they want someone like me?"

A wolf. A rare quirk that came with trouble. A hybrid who wasn't actually supposed to exist. Not to mention your endless amounts of energy and your proneness to knocking things over.

"Oh yes, fear not, Y/N." Principal Nezu said and something in his voice just caused you to be set at ease. "The person I have in mind will undoubtedly love you without fail, I just believe they will need a bit of a push. Let me see what I can do but in the meantime, you are allowed to visit UA whenever you'd like."

You were speechless. For him to already have someone in mind shocked you. "T-Thank you, sir."

He hummed, hopping off the chair and making his way back to behind his desk. "You will need your own room, you may stay at Heights Alliance for the time being."

"Oh but—" You grimaced, unsure if you were allowed to protest his generosity.

Nezu paused, placing the key that he had gotten out of the drawer on his desk and motioned for you to say what was on your mind.

"I... I kind of like staying with Ojiro-kun, if that's alright." You mumbled, playing with your tail nervously.

You didn't fully understand your attachment to him but you felt safe around him. Safer than you had felt all the years of your life. You wanted to stay by him.

"I do understand. It's part of your animal quirk, you naturally gravitate towards people like that and don't want to leave them but I'm afraid the parents of the students will not be as understanding." Nezu sighed, handing you the small key for your new room.

You took it with a nod of thanks, standing up with a heavy heart. Dragging your feet towards the door, it felt like the weight of the world had just been placed on your shoulders. You didn't know what you were going to do.

You felt... lost.

Nezu cleared his throat, halting you in your tracks. "That being said, there's nothing stopping you from staying with him. After all, I'm sure the students take comfort in each other after all they've been through and your teacher is there to ensure nothing bad happens."

Your eyes widened as you realized what he was telling you. That you needed to have a room to keep up appearances but you didn't need to only stay there.

Mouthing a 'thank you' to him, you took your leave, walking a bit until you found a quiet stop. Clutching your hands over your heart, you willed it to stop beating so hard. You were panting and you were sure that if you were to look in the mirror, you would see flushed cheeks and sweat on your forehead.

You weren't quite sure what just happened but you knew that your future was going to be a lot better than you anticipated.

Class 1-A was disappointed when you didn't show up by the time the bell rang and as much as Aizawa tried to hide it, he was a little sad too. Glancing up at the clock, he noticed that you probably headed back to the dorms.

Running a tired hand through his hair, he expelled a sigh from his lungs. Maybe your conversation with the principal took longer than you thought.

He looked on albeit fondly as his students tripped over each other in their haste to get back, undoubtedly eager to see you. In such a short period of time, you had already affected each and every one of them. He was curious to see what kind of impact that would have on the class as a whole later on down the line.

If she's allowed to stay...

At Heights Alliance, you jumped as the front door flew open with a bang, yelping in surprise and nearly dropping the cup of water you were carrying from the kitchen to the living area.

Dark Shadow was quick to catch it, returning it to your hands with a gentlemanly like bow as Tokoyami recalled him.

"Ah, thank you." You said sheepishly, setting it down on the coffee table so that it couldn't spill due to your clumsiness. "You have really good reflexes."

He bowed his head, accepting the praise and left to avoid the influx of bodies as the girls crowded around you, Ashido and Hagakure squealing in your ear.

"Y/N-chan!!" They chorused together.

"Thanks for the cake, it was really good." Jirou commented, nodding in approval as she returned the tin. "Tasted just like Sato's."

You were shocked. They finished all of it?! There wasn't even a single crumb left.

"Why didn't you come back? We wanted to see you!!" Uraraka exclaimed, pouting as you moved to put the pan in the sink, still somewhat shocked that they actually finished it.

You scratched the back of your head sheepishly, flashing her an apologetic smile. "I went to go see Principal Nezu and it took a bit longer than expected."

A chorus of "ahh's" from the girls filled the space around you and you collapsed into a fit of giggles along with Yaoyorozu.

Holding up the key, you dangled it in front of their faces. "He gave me my own room!!"

"So, that means you can stay?!" Asui asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

You laughed, covering it with your hand. "Yeah, at least for now."

"Well come on then!!" Jirou shouted, dragging you towards the elevators that you still despised.

You casted a look over your shoulder, finding Ojiro in the masses easily due to the fact that he was the only one staring back at you. Face growing warm, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach and motioned for him to follow.

You felt like you hadn't seen him in forever, even if it had only been since last night. You missed him.

Within minutes, the six of you had arrived at your room on the third floor.

It was a tad bit smaller than the rest of the rooms since the dormitory was only supposed to hold twenty students but it was still larger than any cage you had been given to stay in before. Not to mention, you had it all to yourself.

You didn't take back what you told Principal Nezu about wanting to stay with Ojiro, but now at least he wouldn't feel like he had to let you stay with him. You hoped that would take a bit of pressure off of him now that he didn't have the responsibility of looking after you.

The room was bare since you didn't have any belongings with you but you didn't mind. The flooring was much nicer than anything else you had the privilege of sleeping on and it sure beat the cold pavement outside if you were being completely honest.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

All heads swiveled towards the source of the voice, Ashido and Uraraka sharing a mischievous look. You blushed once you saw who it was. Not that you needed to look to know. You would know that voice anywhere.

And you were the one who invited him up.

Ojiro had his arms folded over his chest and was propped up against the door frame, raising an eyebrow at you as if daring you to say what he knew you were going to. There was no way he was going to let you sleep on the floor.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Sighing slightly as your ears fell in despair, he pushed himself off his post and strode over to you, grabbing your hand. "Come on, let's go."

You stumbled after him, caught off guard and sent the girls a helpless look but they just trailed after you, leaving you at his mercy. "W-Where are we going?"

"To the mall." He said without looking up from his phone, typing a message you couldn't see with one hand as he led you down the hall. "We're going to get you a bed and then some other things."

You didn't know what to say. "You don't have to—"

Squeaking as you collided in his chest when he pivoted on his foot to face you, a blush blooming across both of your faces before he cleared his throat.

"I'm not taking no for an answer." He said, uncharacteristically firm as he echoed your words from the other night, then his gaze softened. "You need a comfortable place to sleep. I told you I would treat you with the kindness you deserve, remember?"

You nodded meekly, shifting your weight from side to side as your tail swished behind you.

Ojiro exhaled softly, ruffling your hair. "Part of that is making sure you have everything you need, okay? I don't want you to sleep on the floor. It's not comfortable and you could get sick."

Your heart warmed in a way you didn't completely understand and blinking up at him innocently, you smiled as he blushed and retracted his hand. Rolling your eyes at the poorly suppressed squeals sounded behind you, you turned around, planting your hands on your hips and raising an eyebrow at Asui since she was the only one not cowering from your stare.

A smile played on the edges of your mouth as you fought to keep herself from laughing at the hysterical sight.

Yaoyorozu looked guilty and apologetic while Ashido was giggling and pointing back and forth between you and Ojiro. Uraraka wasn't much better and neither was Hagakure. Jirou was twirling her earphone jack around her finger, smirking at the two of you and a sigh rushed out of your lungs.

"I guess we're going to the mall." You said with a grin.

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel​

[starrywhump]

Hero is outnumbered and captured bonus points if it is a recapturing and hero knows exactlybwhat will happen of they are recaptured and fights it as much as possible extra bonus points if sidekick who was told to hide trys to help hero only to get captured themselves and hero feels worse because now SK will be subject to the one thing hero was trying to get them to avoid. Triple Bonus points if the situation of capturing is SKs fault cuse they didnt listen to hero

“Give up Hero, you can’t beat all of us,” the Villain smiled at the sight of their pray completely trapped.

A ring of the Villain’s strongest men surrounded the Hero.

The air crackled and popped, a faint glow surrounded the Hero.  The adrenaline brought on from being so utterly outmatched feeding into their powers.  Their hair floated around their face, their face was set in a serious grimace.

“Stop with the theatrics darling, you’ll hurt yourself.”

The Hero gulped, trying to maintain their composure. Their mind was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out a way out of this.  If they stayed calm and focused, maybe they could win this.  They didn’t have to fight them all, just enough to get an opportunity to escape.

Even if they couldn’t win, they would rather go down fighting then surrender to the Villain.  To go back to... back then.

“Oh darling, you look absolutely amazing like this,” the Villain cupped the Hero’s face.  They held it up to examine the Hero’s assorted cuts and bruises, the evidence of hours of the Villain’s hard work.

The Hero let out a broken keen, everything hurt.  They didn’t have the strength to fight back or even move by themselves, so they let the Villain move them as they wanted.

“I think you can be even better.  Some more bruises, the purple brings out your eyes.  God and red is absolutely your color!  We only have a little more to do, I will make you perfect.”

nonononononono

Fear and power surged through their body, their blood turned to liquid flames under their skin.  A wave of light burst out from the Hero, knocking away the closest of the Villain’s goons.  

The air grew hot as the Hero’s power extended out to slam against more of their attackers.  

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the Villain’s was calm, unbothered by the Hero’s sudden increase in capability.  A smirk was plastered across their face, they had the Hero exactly where they wanted.  

The color drained from the Hero’s face, the heat and light in the air disappeared.  They were frozen staring at the Villain.

The Villain holding a knife against their teammate’s throat.  Their Sidekick who they had made promise to stay away from the Villain.  

But there they were wide-eyed and trembling in the Villain’s grasp.

“What are you thinking!  I won’t let you go!” The Sidekick grabbed the Hero’s arms, pleading with them.

“You don’t have a choice, I need to face them.  If it’s not me than the burden falls on someone else.”

“So let it fall on someone else!  Hero, please it doesn’t always have to be you.  Let me help you, so at least you’re not alone.  I can fight... I can help!”

The Hero sighed, “I know you can.  But that’s exactly why you can’t.  Someone needs to be around if I... Besides, no one else needs to get hurt. This is my mess.”

“But-”

“Promise me.  Promise me you’ll stay away, that you won’t interfere, no matter what.”

“o-ok”

“Let them go,” the Hero’s voice shook.

“No, I don’t think I will.  In fact, I think you aren’t in a place to be making demands.”

The Hero moved from their frozen stance, moving their hands up above their head, “I give up, just let them go.  They won’t fight you, if you let them go, they will walk out of here without any trouble.”

The Villain ran their free hand through the Sidekick’s hair, “Hmmm, is that true little one?”

The Sidekick flinched away from the Villain’s touch.

“They seem pretty feisty to me. Since your egotistical, self-sacrificing tendencies have obviously rubbed off on them, I do believe they thought they were going to save you.  That they are strong enough to save you,” The Villain chuckled, pushing the knife farther into the Sidekick’s neck, causing a few droplets to bead along the edge of the knife, “Tell me, do you feel strong now?”

The Sidekick ignored the Villain’s mocks, schooling their expression, even as their eyes filled with panic, “Fuck you,” they gritted out.

The Villain laughed at the Sidekick’s outburst.

The Hero glared at the Sidekick, silently telling them to shut up, “Then tie them up,” the moved their eyes back up to the Villain’s,  “Leave them here.  Even if they try to follow you later they won’t be able to find me, we both know that.”

The Villain grinned, clearly relishing how much the Hero was still affected by their time together, “And why are you so sure I want you back?  Maybe I just want you dead.”

The Hero clenched their jaw, “you won’t kill me, you like hurting me too much,” tears stung their eyes as they spoke.

“I do, I do... But the thing is I very much enjoyed breaking you.  And you’re already broken-”

“I am not broken-”

“Do not interrupt me, not unless you’d like your friend here to die.”

The Sidekick yelped as the Villain suddenly increase their grip’s pressure, blood flowed more freely.

“No! Don’t, I won’t interrupt!” The Hero had to stop themselves from running to the Sidekick.

“That’s hardly an apology,” the Villain’s smile grew, enjoying this game of cat and mouse.  They both knew what the Villain wanted, and they both knew the Hero was going to give it to them.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You know better than that pet.”

The buildup of tears in the Hero’s eyes finally spilled over, trickling down their cheeks, “I’m sorry... sir.”

The Sidekick’s eyes widened at the sight of their mentor’s blatant surrender.  The Hero looked at the floor, not wanting to meet their gaze.

“See what I mean?  Broken.  I don’t know if you’ll be fun anymore.  But, here, delivered to me on a silver platter, is a new, fresh plaything.  Full of fire, just like you were back then.”

“No!  No, I said I’d go back with you.  Stop with these games and just let them go!”  the air sizzled as the Hero yelled.

The Villain’s paused, “and you will go willingly?”

“Yes.  Yes, I’ll do whatever you want, just let them go.”

“Hmmm,” the Villain mused, looking between the Sidekick and the Hero.  

“I’ll go,” the Sidekick’s voice was small but firm, they were scared out of their wits but still trying to save the Hero.

“No, you won’t!” The Hero’s eyes blazed with even more anger than before.

“Hold them,”  the Villain shoved the Sidekick towards some of the few of their workers left standing after the Hero’s attack.

The Sidekick reacted quickly fighting against the men trying to get a hold on them.

The Villain looked to the Hero, sending them an unspoken threat.

“Sidekick!  Stop.  Do what they say,” the Hero ordered.

The Sidekick paused for just a moment surprised by the Hero’s words.  That was all it took for the Villain’s men to get a grasp on the Sidekick’s arms, roughly shoving them down on their knees.

“Tie them, gag as well,” the Villain ordered.  The men nodded.

With that taken care of the Villain turned their attention back to the Hero, “For you, I have something special,”  from their belt they detached a part of thick black cuffs.

They approached the Hero slowly, enjoying each step.

The Hero looked ahead blankly.  They held themselves back from running or attacking as the Villain came to be only a few inches from their face.

“I’ll have you know these are custom made, I spared no expense,” The Villain reached up to grab the Hero’s wrists, moving them down in front of their body.

The Hero let their body be moved as the Villain wanted.

Up close the cuffs didn’t look that special, just two black bands of some type of metal with a bar between them, they softly clicked into place around the Hero’s wrists.  

The Villain moved their hand to the middle of the cuffs, pushing in a small panel on the underside of the cuffs.  There was a soft pop and the Hero felt a jolt of pain in the inside of their wrists.  They grimaced.

“Oh if you think that hurts wait until you feel what happens in, three, two, one-”

The Hero took in a strangled gasp.  Weakness, spread through them.  Panic washed over them.  Their legs gave out, they fell forward into the Villain.

The Villain lowered the Hero down to the ground, “it’ll pass.  You just need to get used to it.”

The Hero couldn’t breathe.  The warm comforting feeling of their powers inside them was replaced with a terrible hollow feeling.  It hurt.  They couldn’t move, or breathe, nothing worked.  They weren’t whole and they couldn’t-

“Calm down it won’t be any easier to work through if you’re panicking,”  the Villain stroked the side of the Hero’s face, “it must be hard suddenly losing something you’ve had since birth.”

The Hero looked up to the Villain in horror, “..h-how?”

“I made it just for you.  Specifically to render you utterly powerless.  These cuffs administer a dose directly to your bloodstream.  And this is just the basic version, when we get back to the compound we can try out all the different variations I’ve made for you,” the Villain moved their hand up into the Hero’s hair, running their hand through it.

The Hero sobbed.

The Villain stood gesturing to a few of their men to come get the Hero.  One of them lifted the Hero, holding them bridal style.  In any other circumstance, the Hero would have fought tooth and nail to get out of such an embarrassing situation.  But even if they wanted too, the Hero could barely move.  Their head lolled back over the man’s arm.

“Into the van,” the Villain ordered.  They looked over at the Sidekick, now bound with rope, “them too.”

The men holding the Sidekick began to drag them after the Hero.

“No!  You...you said...they could go,”  they Hero struggled to form the words.  But they had to make sure the Sidekick would go free.  They had to, or this was all for nothing.

“Really?  I don’t remember ever saying that.”

No. Nononononono they were such an idiot.  Of course, the Villain wouldn’t let the Sidekick go.  

And now they were too weak to try and fight them, powerless to stop them from doing whatever they wanted.

This was exactly what the Villain wanted.

How could they have been so stupid?

Now the Sidekick would be hurt and it was their fault.

Why did they think they could save anyone, they couldn’t even save themselves.

Another sob escaped the Hero.

The man holding the Hero dropped them down into the back of the Villain’s van.   The Sidekick was shoved in next to them, they stopped fighting the men to get over to the Hero.  The Sidekick’s hands were tied behind their back, and they were gagged, but they tried to convey as much comfort as they could through their eyes.

The Hero didn’t notice, their eyes were squeezed shut, trying to work through the cocktail of pain, guilt, and fear in their head.

The van doors slammed shut.  Leaving the pair in total darkness.

[darkenedroses-world]

You find yourself in an opulent, otherworldly courtroom. The walls shimmer with hues of silver and gold, etched with ancient symbols that pulse faintly with energy. The air is thick with tension as two imposing figures face off before a towering, faceless judge draped in robes woven from starlight and shadow. The demon, known as Malachor, leans against the podium, his razor-sharp grin gleaming in the dim light. His skin is a deep, ashen red, and his wings stretch behind him like shadowy curtains. His eyes gleam with wicked delight as he gestures lazily toward the center of the courtroom, where you stand helpless, caught between his curse and the fey’s binding promise.

"I find this entire proceeding ridiculous," Malachor sneers, his voice a low growl that reverberates throughout the chamber. "There is no firstborn. There can be no firstborn. I made sure of that when our little contract was sealed." He taps his claws together, his eyes narrowing at the fey. "I’ve held up my end of the bargain. They’re infertile. Case closed." On the other side of the courtroom, the fey queen, a vision of ethereal beauty and danger, stands tall and regal. Her eyes glow with a soft, almost blinding light, and her silver hair flows like liquid moonlight. She tilts her head at the demon, the faintest of smirks tugging at her lips. Her voice, when she speaks, is like the whisper of leaves in a midnight forest, yet it carries with it an undeniable power.

"Your curse may prevent them from bearing children now, but it is no more permanent than the ebbing tide. Curses can be broken, contracts rewritten. Our deal was struck long before your interference, Malachor. And fey law supersedes your petty magic." She glances over at you, her eyes softening ever so slightly. "I am owed the firstborn, and I will collect what is mine." You stand in the middle of it all, every muscle tense. You want to scream, to argue, but the magical bindings around your mouth hold firm. You are powerless as they fight over your future, their words turning from sly remarks to heated exchanges.

Malachor’s tail flicks in annoyance. "Even if they could produce a child—which they can’t—it would be tainted by my magic. You would collect nothing but a hollow shell, an empty vessel." The fey queen’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits, her serene façade cracking for a moment. "You underestimate me, demon. And you overestimate the strength of your curse. Nothing is unbreakable. All it takes is the right touch, the right bargain…" The judge, silent until now, raises a hand and the entire courtroom falls into an oppressive silence. Its voice echoes through your mind rather than your ears.

“The matter at hand is not the strength of the curse, nor the terms of individual contracts. The question is: who holds the greater claim over this mortal’s fate?" Malachor leans forward, teeth bared. "I do. My curse was sealed with their own blood. Their womb is barren because I made it so." “And yet," the fey queen counters smoothly, "I have already claimed the firstborn as payment for a debt long before your curse was ever placed. That debt stands." The judge turns its eyeless gaze toward you, and for the first time, you feel the pressure around your throat and mouth lessen. "Mortal," it speaks, "your voice has been restored. What say you in this matter?"

Your heart races as the courtroom falls deathly silent, both Malachor and the fey queen staring at you with intent—one with a malicious gleam, the other with calm but predatory patience. You know that no matter what you say, it could change everything. One wrong move, and you could either remain cursed forever or be bound to the whims of the fey for eternity. Or worse—both.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath and speak.

"I… I never wanted this," you say, your voice trembling. "I never wanted to be cursed, never wanted to promise anyone my firstborn. You both trapped me in these deals." You look between them, desperation rising in your chest. "There has to be another way. If… if I could break the curse, if there was a child, could we—" You hesitate. "Could we rewrite the terms?" The judge raises a hand to silence you again, considering. "It is possible," it says slowly. "If both parties agree to renegotiate. However, if neither is willing to yield, the original contracts will stand."

The fey queen looks at you thoughtfully. "I am not unreasonable," she says, her voice softer now. "If the demon relinquishes his curse, and you give me a different form of payment, we may yet find another path." Malachor’s lip curls in disdain. "And what would I receive in exchange for such a generous offer?" He crosses his arms, his black claws tapping against his crimson skin, eyes locking onto yours. "I gave you what you asked for—a curse you accepted willingly. Now you want to bargain your way out of it? What makes you think I’d let you walk away so easily?" You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. The fey queen, though kinder in appearance, is no less dangerous.

You stand at the precipice of something dark and unknowable. But you can’t allow fear to consume you. You glance toward the fey queen, her expression still unreadable but with a glimmer of something more patient. Calculating. "What do you want from me?" you ask Malachor, forcing your voice to steady. "What would it take for you to lift the curse?" He leans forward, his grin stretching wider, a flicker of flame dancing in his eyes. "Ah, now we’re speaking in terms I understand. If you wish to be free of my curse, I’ll require something precious in return." He pauses, relishing your discomfort before continuing. "I want your soul."

Your blood runs cold. The fey queen scoffs, her expression twisting in disdain.

"How typical of a demon," she mutters, shaking her head. "Always so predictable." She turns her gaze back to you, stepping forward ever so slightly. "Your soul is far too valuable to barter with. There are other ways, mortal." Malachor growls, his wings flexing behind him. "Do not meddle in my affairs, fey. This mortal made a deal with me first." "I do not meddle," the fey queen says coolly. "I am merely pointing out that your terms are excessive. And reckless." You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as both of them seem to measure their next moves, your fate hanging in the balance. Malachor’s demand for your soul is no small ask, but the fey’s intentions remain unclear.

And yet… you feel a flicker of defiance rising within you.

"I won’t give you my soul," you say, meeting Malachor’s fiery gaze head-on. "That’s not something you can just take." Malachor laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that shakes the very air. "Brave words, mortal. But you are playing a dangerous game." Before he can speak further, the judge’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, stern and unwavering. "Enough," it declares. "The court will not entertain the demand for a soul in this matter. The contract was for a curse, not an eternal bond. If other terms are not agreed upon, the original agreements will stand." The demon’s smile fades as the judge’s ruling hits him, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

The fey queen, however, remains poised, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

"It seems we are back to negotiations," she says, her voice cool but with an edge of triumph. "As I said before, I am willing to reconsider the terms. There are many things you could offer me in place of your firstborn, mortal. I am not unreasonable." You hesitate, unsure of what exactly she’s asking. "What… what kind of payment are you talking about?" The fey queen steps closer, her silver eyes glowing faintly as she gazes at you. "You could offer me a favor, bound by magic. One that I may call upon at a time of my choosing. Or perhaps a portion of your lifespan, given willingly in exchange for freedom. There are many options."

She glances toward Malachor. "All far less costly than what the demon demands." Your heart races as you weigh your options. A favor to the fey, bound by magic? A portion of your lifespan? It’s better than losing your soul—or having your firstborn torn away—but the consequences still weigh heavy on you. "And what do I get in return?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "If I agree to one of your terms… what happens to the curse?" Malachor growls low in his throat, his sharp teeth bared in frustration. "The curse remains if I do not receive something in kind. I demand my due."

But the fey queen cuts him off sharply. "The curse can be broken," she says, her tone resolute. "With the right magic, it can be undone. If you grant me what I ask for, I will break the demon’s curse myself." Her eyes flicker with an otherworldly light as she gazes at you. "You have my word." A tense silence settles over the courtroom. The faceless judge watches, waiting for your decision.

You breathe in slowly, your mind racing. The demon has trapped you in a nightmare, but the fey’s offers come with a price of their own—one you might not even fully understand. And yet, the thought of a future free from Malachor’s curse stirs something hopeful in your chest. You turn toward the fey queen. "Break the curse," you say, your voice shaking but firm. "And I’ll give you the favor you seek." The fey queen nods slowly, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "It is done." Malachor lets out a low, vicious growl, but the binding magic of the court has already begun to take hold. You feel a wave of relief and fear in equal measure as the deal is struck, the fey queen’s magic weaving around you like a gentle, silvery mist.

The curse that once clung to you so tightly begins to loosen its grip. As Malachor’s influence fades, he glares at you one final time, his eyes burning with fury. "This is not over, mortal," he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. "I will find another way to claim what is mine." But for now, you are free. The courtroom dissolves into shadows, and the fey queen’s presence lingers in your mind as you are returned to the mortal realm, the weight of your decision still heavy on your shoulders. You may have escaped the demon’s curse, but the favor you owe the fey now looms over you—a debt that could be called upon at any moment.

the demon that cursed you with infertility and the fey that you promised your firstborn are having a legal battle.

[tales-of-spring]

Satisfied | Tony Stark x male reader

Pairing / Ship: Tony Stark x reader

Featuring: Tony Stark

Words: 1.8k

Category: Angst

Warning: Sad and angry reader, feelings of helplessness, stubborn and overly-ambitious Tony, Angst, broken marriage. 

Summary: Hamilton!AU where Alexander Hamilton is Tony and reader is Eliza Schuyler Hamilton. Reader and Tony fight about him working too much and not spending enough time with them, or being satisfied with what Tony already has. (There will be lots of references to the musical)

Author’s Note: I just had to do it, and it can honestly fit into canon on its own?? Header credit goes to: @whimsicalrogers​! Check ‘em out, they make some neat stuff. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this. 

You tossed and turned in your sleep, your arms feeling across the now empty side of the mattress. When you realized what this meant, you sighed out off irritation. This was night number how many that your husband didn’t spend next to you in bed, but rather in his lab. You clicked your tongue and stared at the ceiling, pondering over what you should do. You eventually mustered up the will to get out of bed, put on your bathrobe and stride down to the lab. 

JARVIS automatically let you in the lab without saying anything, and you passed through the door that slid open sideways. There he was hunched over his new project, a blue light coming from the table, illuminating the dimly lit room. You puffed out your cheeks and walked over to your husband, putting your arms around his neck, rubbing his collarbone and chest. Tony did not show any sign that he noticed your presence, no movement whatsoever, he was focused on what he was doing as usual. You knew him long enough to know that he notices your presence though. He would softly tap his foot on the ground, or hummed a certain tune. You stared out in front of you, not really knowing what to do. 

‘’Tony, come back to bed.’’

‘’I’m still working on this, babe.’’

Tony kept fiddling with the piece of tech in front of him that was emitting the blue light. This had been going on for months now. Tony would always be away from home and when he was home, he’d spend his time in his office. Sleeping in there instead of in his bedroom. Next to you. You bit down on your teeth. Come on, Tony. It’s like whenever he reaches a certain point, a new discovery, it’s not good enough for him. He keeps going and doesn’t stop. It’s like he’s never satisfied with what he has. Alas, you tried again. 

‘’Tony, the sun is about to come up.’’

‘’Y/N, I know. I just need to work on this a bit more..’’

A pause ensued between the two of you. Tony focused again on his technology and you not knowing what to say. A thought came to your mind, a question, one that you have been meaning to ask Tony for weeks now. But you held off in hopes that Tony would realize on his own what was happening. Clearly, your hopes had gone down the sink. And so, you dropped it. 

‘’Why do you work like you’re running out of time?’’

Tony’s fingers kept on fidgeting with the tiny instruments inserted into the piece of tech. His gaze fixated on what he was working on. You breathed in and out deeply, you were used to this. You could handle this, you told yourself. You stopped hanging your arms around his neck and rested your hands on his shoulders, now looking down at him. 

‘’Come back to bed, Tony.’’

You begged once more in a serious tone. You had long given up on the sad, begging tone and taught yourself to be more stern and serious with Tony when you wanted something from him. But Tony, as always, was stubborn and persistent. You’ve never managed to crack him, persuade him to leave his work and come join you in bed. And you didn’t think this would be the first time.

‘’I’ll be there before you know it.’’ 

He promised you. An empty promise, because you would return to your bed like usual and fall asleep alone like usual, and wake up alone like usual. You had to reach him, somehow, in some way. What would be enough to satisfy him?

‘’Well then. I’m going back to sleep.’’

You tried to sound as irritated and sad as possible, but you just sounded tired and hollow. You sighed out of disappointment from your husband, pushed yourself off of him and walked out of the lab, back to your empty bed. 

It had been a few weeks since that night. And every time again and again, Tony was either found in his lab or in his office or at SHIELD. You had arranged something, and you were sure, absolutely sure that Tony would stay. You’d given him months and months of notice in advance and you constantly reminded him, you even programmed JARVIS to remind him day in, day out. And tonight was finally the time; a romantic diner with the two of you at home. You were positively radiant that day. You had your suit laid out on your bed, you shaved, bought a fancy perfume. Everything was going smoothly, even Tony was in a good mood. What could happen today that would be so important and urgent for Tony drop everything, to drop you, and go away? You couldn’t imagine anything of the sort and was all the more excited for tonight to happen. 

You had just gotten out of the shower and now you were standing in front of the mirror, trying on the suit you had bought earlier. It was a beautiful navy blue and cream toned suit with matching shoes. You giggled as it fitted perfectly around your body. You spinned a few turns, put on the fruity scented perfume and hopped out of your room. You looked on your wristwatch and saw that it was almost 7 pm. Perfect. 

‘’Ooooh, Tony!’’ You called up from the hallway upstairs. Where was your darling husband? Maybe he was in the living room. You walked over to the stairs and leaned over the railing, your eyes darting to the lower floor. A soft voice coming from below you. 

‘’Yeah. No- let’s go. I’ll be right there.’’

It was Tony. Of course it was Tony. Your face turned from happy, to stone cold. How? How could he do this?! You had planned this for months, months! And now he was just gonna drop everything to go to some dumb meeting about the next big think for STARK industries? You breathed in sharply through your nose and leaned your hands on the railing. 

‘’Anthony.’’

You used his real name, which meant you were pissed off. Even he knew it. He froze in his path to the front door. He seemed to turn around and face you, but he didn’t. So he’s a coward as well as a traitor. 

‘’I have to leave.’’ 

He said it in such a cold, absent-minded tone that a shiver ran down your spine. As if you didn’t know he was about to leave you again for another one of his work meetings. He’s unbelievable, honestly. He unfroze and resumed his path but you weren’t just done with your husband.

‘’Anthony!’’

You raised your voice because you didn’t know how else to catch his attention. This time it seemed to work though. Tony stopped once more and turned around this time, facing up to you. Looking at you as equally furious as you looked at him. How dare he?

‘’Look around you, Y/N! Do you even know how lucky we are to be alive right now at this moment? Don’t you see that I need to take this opportunity?’’

He was unbelievable. This is exactly why he should stay with you and not waste any time on stupid work meetings. This has been going on for far too long and you have had enough of this. You didn’t marry him just to have him leave at any godforsaken moment. 

‘’You don’t even know how helpless and powerless I feel when I’m around you! It’s like you’re never happy with what you have, Tony.’’

‘’They’re asking me for my help, they need me, Y/N!’’

‘’No, you look around yourself Anthony Stark! Isn’t this enough?’’

You gestured around you. To the house, the lab, to you. He just shook his head and glanced off into the distance, pulling his car keys from his pocket. He really was just gonna leave you again. You tried one last time. 

‘’What would be enough for you Tony? To be satisfied?’’

The door slammed shut. The car turned on. He drove away. Tony was gone. You breathed out slowly, letting your anger and frustration simmer. Tony was dancing on very, very thin ice. You pushed yourself off of the railing and walked back to your bedroom, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. 

A month passed since the diner incident. Tony and you were still together, but if you two were close was an entire different story. Your ideas and attempts to console with him ran dry. You were out of options and out of ideas. And out of breath. You didn’t want to try anymore, you’ve had enough. It was nearing the summer and to be quite honest, you could use a vacation. You needed to be somewhere else, away from Tony for now. At least until he gets his shit together. Perhaps one of your siblings wanted to go with you. As the idea creeped into your skull, you got up from the couch and took a seat at your desk, grabbing some stationary paper and a pen. Writing letters may be old-fashioned, but in your family it was tradition.  As the idea formed in your head, your hand started writing on the paper. 

‘’I’m going upstate. To my family.’’ 

You announced as soon as you entered Tony’s lab, a neutral tone linger onto your voice. There he was, pencil behind his ear wearing a black tank top. You thought your eyes deceived you but no, Tony actually looked up from his work and was now staring into your eyes. He looked at you for a second, a mildly puzzled look on his face but then he have you a simple nod. 

‘’Yeah, okay. I mean- have fun.’’ 

He walked past by you and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. The air felt dry and awkward around you two. Was he really going about it to easily? you licked your lips, you felt yourself coming back up from the dark pit. Surely he could say no to a vacation, right? It would be fun and Tony could relax, maybe even spend some more quality time together. You turned around and decided to try one last time. You felt yourself walking over to your husband, who was busy sorting out equipment, your arms instinctively go around his neck, as always.

‘’Take a break. Mhm? You could come with me upstate for the summer.’’ 

You rubbed his collarbone and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He seemed to - dare you say - ponder over the thought for a second. Was he really, truly thinking about leaving his work and joining you for the summer? All hope left your heart however when he shook his head and turned around. 

‘’I have to finish this and get it through Fury.’’

You didn’t even care anymore. You walked out of the lab, climbed up the stairs to your bedroom and started packing for your trip to your family. Everything probably would be better after the summer, when all if this had blown over and Tony was done with late night experiments and meetings with SHIELD and Fury. Everything would be just fine you told yourself. You hoped, you really hoped.  You couldn’t loose him too. 

[theleetoalerandalertoalee]

I gotchu fam💪💪💪

Enjoy ^^

Sorry if it’s a bit short, I still have to do my tickletober fic for today hehe

“So you’re the Duke…yes?”

“Who else would I be?”

“Someone who got locked up for being too sarcastic, I presume.”

“Ah…I wish that were the case…but let’s not get into that- you’re Childe.”

“I am. Can I leave now?”

“Afraid not, until the Iudex clears you of your sentence, that is.”

“Tsk, this is absurd,” the harbinger looks extremely frustrated behind his seemingly casual and perpetual smirk.

“I know, but relax. Consider this a rebirth. Mora means nothing here. In this place, credit coupons are everything.”

“…credit coupons?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Wriothesley, is all of this really necessary?”

“Yes, this is what we call a ‘rebirth’. Everyone here starts with nothing at all. We all come from the same starting point.”

Childe grumbles, “I see…well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to convince you to let me go…”

“Mhm, that’d be a stupid idea.”

“So, why am I in your office, then?”

“I just wanted to let you know, if you pick a fight with any of the other inmates outside of the Pankration Ring…that’ll be unfavorable for you.”

“What?”

“I can tell you’re the type to itch for a little confrontation.”

“Tsk, fine. I won’t.”

“That being said, because you’re a member of the Fatui…I gotta let you know that people don’t take too kindly to you here.”

“Hmph, when do they ever?”

“Good point, with that being said, know that your status as a harbinger means nothing here.”

“I dunno, I think with a few hits it’ll mean a little bit more.”

Wriothesley sighs, cracking his knuckles, “don’t make me break you in, Childe.”

“‘Break me in’? Hah, fighting talk, I love it. Show me what you got then, Duke.”

Wriothesley shrugs, accepting the challenge with indifference, “sure.”

The Duke charges at Childe, and the harbinger braces himself with a confident smirk. Wriothesley hits Childe’s fists with bullets of cryo, freezing the ginger’s hands to the wall.

“What-? Surely,” Childe scoffs, “this is foul play!”

“Seeing as how I’m the Duke…I think it’s perfectly fine, actually.”

Childe narrows his eyes as Wriothesley slowly approaches him, “you-! You can’t be serious.”

Wriothesley smiles, laying a hand on the gap on Childe’s exposed midriff. The Duke’s hand was cold and it caused the harbinger to jolt.

“Hey,” Childe stares with anger at the Duke, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Wriothesley shrugs, “breaking you in.”

The Duke’s hand suddenly snakes up the harbinger’s side-

Childe gasps with surprise, “ah-! What are you doing?!”

“Showing you that you’re powerless here, and that it’s best that you get used to it.”

“What is that supposed to mean-? Hey!”

The Duke drags his fingertips slowly up and down Childe’s abdomen.

“Stop it- I mean it!”

“Nah.”

The Duke’s fingers ascended once more, settling right below the rim of the harbinger’s underarms.

Childe’s eyes widen, finally realizing what the Duke has been trying to tell him, “wait- don’t! I get it now, okay? I’m back on level one- just like everyone else!”

“Good, but I still wanna do it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

Childe immediately starts laughing hysterically as the Duke’s fingers trace the hollows of his underarms, “stop-! Wait! Hahahaha!! Wrioth- hahahahaha!!”

“I’m shocked someone this sensitive would challenge me so boldly.”

“Let me go-! Hahahahaha!!”

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes! Hahahahaha!! Stop! Hahahahaha!”

Just then, a melusine comes in and the Duke immediately backs away, “ah, Sigewinne. Hello, you came just in time.”

Sigewinne looks up at the Duke, “oh? Who?”

Wriothesley gestures to Childe, “that guy.”

“Ah, okay!”

The ice around Childe’s hands finally dissipates and the harbinger stands there, not knowing what to do now.

“Well,” said Wriothesley, “since you have no more concerns, leave my office, why don’t you?”

Childe stands there for a moment before his regular smirk returns and he swiftly walks out of the office, leaving Sigewinne and Wriothesley in the office alone.

“He’s going to be a handful,” said Sigewinne, “isn’t he?”

Wriothesley nods with a small smile, “yes…yes he is.”

And now I can't stop thinking about lee!Childe and ler!Wriothesley... 🫣🫣🫣

[gloomshrike]

Pieces

Blood poured from the wound on Raharen’s head and onto the snow where he kneeled. Through the red drops he looked around, shaking as the stench of death overwhelmed him. The gored bodies of crusaders and soldiers were scattered across the banks, and the main host of Scourge still bore down on the border between Dragonblight and Zul’drak.

Brothers.

The blight continued to shell the battlefield, further mutilating the corpses, melting both the departed and snow alike. The acrid smoke which rose from the crystalline ichors filled his nose and inflamed his windpipe.

Sisters.

The icy wind tore another gale through the desiccated treeline, penetrating the plate and furs he wore. The safety he had felt inside his armor froze away, and as the undead began to approach, he could no longer feel the comfort of its weight. He was naked in the blizzard.

Daughters. Sons.

His wound continued to pour, and the fletchings of arrows caught in the links of his armor danced in the wind, taunting him. His weakness, his powerlessness, his arrogance.

Fathers. Mothers.

He stared at the wide, cold eyes of the crusader nearest him. The shock, the veins popped from lid to pupil, a dead stare for help that could never have arrived in time. The frozen lids of the dead man twitched, and a black liquid poured from his horrified mouth as it began to chitter. The whites of his eyes grew a sickly red and yellow, as he turned over and began crawling towards Raharen.

This…

“Raharen, oi, we’ve got tae go! We’re retreatin’ to tha pass, on yer feet!”

Taknark’s voice was drowned out by the shuffling of snow as the top half of the crusader inched closer and closer. Raharen stared in awe as his fallen comrade growled and crawled towards him, his innards leaving a thick smear of blood as he went.

This…...

“Raharen! Are ye listening ta me!? RAHAREN!”

This is the end of the world.

“Raharen? Are you alright?”

The half-elf’s gaze towards Westfall broke as did his daydream. He turned to face Kaerlic, rubbing his eyes and offering a soft smile. “Yes, captain. I was distracted.”

Kaerlic nodded, as beleaguered as the rest of the party after what they had just witnessed; What they had just partaken in. He spoke to Raharen about mending, and bites, and infection, and Raharen nodded, the words passing through him like air. He pointed at a red-haired man sitting off to the side, and Raharen caught the word “Elros”.

Raharen understood, nodded again and set off towards him. Elros. Not common, not Thalassian. Must be a name. Mending. The man named Elros, like the rest of the group, was burdened with much to think about and not much at all to say. Raharen passed him some bandages. Elros gave him what seemed like a smile behind the mask, with eyes that stared straight through him. 

Next was Fadoma, a Kaldorei that had been pierced through the ribs with a pair of arrows. He snapped the arrowheads off and gave his usual counting-back-from-three speech, before smoothly pulling the arrows out before the countdown finished. “I don’t like tricking people, but everyone tenses up on one and it makes it much more painful.” The words rang hollow in his ears as he spoke them. He still found it cruel, even in the wake of redefining what cruelty is.

After all were stabilized, the wounded began moving into the city. Baron Lane smiled at him, and commended him for his work. Raharen thanked him, and offered condolences. Words. Air. Motions. Always going through the motions. Is that all the kindness there was in the aftermath of this? Is that all the love he can offer?

Raharen was dismissed, and walked back through the city gates, passing Abighail and the two stromic bodyguards offering comfort to Lane.

Brothers. 

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

 A knock on Raharen’s door woke him from his thoughts. He turned to the door, wondering who would make the journey to his house in the middle of the afternoon. The struggle to sleep had afforded him the perfect opportunity to take night’s watches in Stormwind, and he took his downtime to try and piece together as much of himself as he could. He sat up in bed, groaning as his shoulder wound throbbed with pain with the movement. He grabbed his tunic and hastily put it on over the bandages, and groggily walked over to the door, opening it.

Gloomshrike stood at the door, waving hello with a bottle of wine. Raharen rubbed his eyes, the circles underneath them darkened from exhaustion and convinced he was dreaming. 

“You look like shit. Gonna invite me in?”

Raharen just stared through the threshold before shaking his head, stepping aside and gesturing for his father to come in. Gloomshrike stepped past the threshold and began looking around the sparse room. 

“Ever thought about, you know, decorating? At all? I know you hate flowers apparently, but maybe curtains.

Raharen sighed. “I don’t hate flowers. What are you doing here?”

Gloomshrike whistled as he ran a finger over Raharen’s desk, rubbing the dust off of his fingertips with a grimace. “Just stopping by, wanted to check how things were going.”

“Cupboard over the sink, top right.” Raharen replied.

Gloomshrike moved over, opening up the cupboard and producing a wine glass. “Ah, my son knows me so well. One for you, too?”

Raharen squinted in disbelief. “I’m doing six on, six off patrols, I shouldn’t drink.”

Gloomshrike shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Raharen watched as Gloomshrike poured a generous glass of wine, and began sipping it.

“I thought you wanted to stay away from all this. Elwynn hasn’t gotten any better since I was at the lodge.” Raharen maintained an inquisitive glare at Gloomshrike.

“Well,” Gloomshrike began, “Your stubby little friend Taknark stopped by the Lodge and said he was being dispatched to Icecrown, and said I should pass that along to you next time I see you.”

Raharen squinted again. “You took a message from a friend of mine, who you don’t even like, and decided to rush down to the thick of this mess to inform me on a day’s notice?”

Gloomshrike took another swig of wine and gulped. “Well, and I’d heard a whole lot of undead moved from Duskwood to Westfall. Seems the situation is getting worse, like you said, and I just wanted to check on you.”

Raharen shook his head. “First time for everything, I suppose. Westfall is becoming a ghoul pit. We fought there yesterday.”

“Ahh.” Gloomshrike mused. “That’ll be why you look like shit. Not spending those six hours off sleeping, then?”

Raharen gave an irritated grunt. “Not easy to sleep. I feel like I should be doing something, even right now. Every second it’s getting worse.”

Gloomshrike sighed. “I never thought the army gig suited you, kiddo, but the one man army gig definitely doesn’t. If you’re going to war, you’re going to have to let some other people do something.”

Raharen gave a sharp, nasal exhale. “I’m aware. I’ve done this before.”

Gloomshrike began pacing around the room again. “Which is all the justification you need to not do it again, you know.”

“What? And just let people die?”

“Are they not dying right now?”

Raharen gritted his teeth. “You think I’m being cowardly? Lazy?”

Gloomshrike turned to face Raharen again, raising an eyebrow. “Not at all. You really are unbelievably irritable when you don’t sleep.”

Raharen’s jaw dropped just a bit as he furrowed his brow. “We’re on the brink of war. What is the matter with you? What do you want?”

Gloomshrike swirled his wine and frowned. “I told you, I wanted to check on you. And I’m glad I did, you’re on your last nerve, Raharen.”

“So what, I’m not up for the war this time?”

“Maybe not.”

“Great. I’ll just take a page out of your book and sleep all day, get wasted, and write poems about my mortal fling before the next one dies off.”

“I told you you’d make a good writer.”

Raharen scoffed, his anger rising. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

Gloomshrike took another sip of wine. “For someone who outlived his mother, you complain a lot about not having any time.”

Raharen snarled, and smacked the glass from Gloomshrike’s hand. It flew into the wall, shattering and dousing the wall in wine. “Enough!” He yelled, his fists clenched as he stared daggers into his father’s eyes.

Gloomshrike’s posture changed. His relaxed shoulders were squared, and his normally animated, half-smiling face was stone. Both of his hands hung at his sides, and his eyes beneath a furrowed brow stared at Raharen, as if straight into his mind. That mind raced with memories of a thousand lost spars as the man who taught him how to fight took shape in front of him. The commanding aura of his change in demeanor washed over Raharen, and he knew he was no longer face to face with the bumbling, drunkard minstrel Gloomshrike, but once again in the presence of Ranger-Lord Zelian Thas’alah. 

Raharen clenched his fists tight, and his snarl grew as he braced for whatever would come. He was ready to unleash hell for his slights, and all the rage he could muster swelled in his chest as he prepared for whatever selfish, indulgent anger his father could conjure for the pointless insult of some spilled wine-

“Let it out, boy.”

Raharen’s rage caught in his throat, and he found himself without breath. His arms, trembling with rage subsiding, still trembled nonetheless.

“You want to be an elf so badly. You think that the composure and the grace are side effects of a long life, that every shitty thing that happens to us will run off like water on a duck. And you think if you just inject a little bit of humility into your pain that you handle anything the world throws at you. But you can’t.”

Raharen’s snarl fell away and he took a step back. “Ann’da-”

“Because it doesn’t run off of you. Not like it does for most of us. Your heart is human. A living, beating storage for everything you don’t want or feel like dealing with. You bury everything in there and convince yourself you’re rid of the burdens. But you carry it with you like a packmule.”

Raharen struggled for words. “My heart is-”

“Your mother’s. The greatest thing about her, and the greatest thing about you. But if you push everything inside it until it bursts, there’s no room for you anymore, son. You want to be unfeeling? Unaffected by the passing of time? You can’t. You’re too human, and you should be damn grateful.”

Raharen felt sick. The nausea crawled up from his stomach and his whole body shook.

“Your rage, your sadness, your fear. For gods’ sake, boy, let it out.”

Raharen’s vision flickered as the nausea reached boiling point. He doubled over, falling on his knees. He wanted to scream out, but his wail was stifled by the rising bile, which fell to the floor and parted with the tears that fell soon after. He felt a hand on his back, his vision blurred, and time lost any sense of meaning, before eventually, nothingness.

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

“Raharen? Raharen, are you there?”

Raharen opened his eyes slowly. His small room was illuminated by moonlight pouring in through the curtainless windows, and his commstone glowed on the desk.

“Raharen? Do you copy?”

Kaerlic. He stood up off of the floor, the blanket falling off of him. He looked down at where it fell, wondering where it came from. He grabbed the commstone.

“I’m here.”

“You’re up for patrol, you nearby?”

“Yes. I’ll be there soon, Captain.”

Raharen looked over the room. No wine, no glass, nothing at all.

Am I hallucinating? Was it a dream?

He placed the stone in his pocket and moved towards his armor trunk, equipping it in a hurry and moving to grab his sword. Sticking out of Rovhathel’s scabbard was a small piece of folded paper. He removed it, and opened it up to a flowery script.

Back to the lodge, kiddo, the ghouls hunt at night around here.

Don’t stay out too late! (Get it, because you’re going on night patrol?)

-Z.G.

P.S., I picked up the pieces for you.

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Ace PWP in which Ace wants to try out sensory deprivation and Bandit gladly obliges. (Rating E, smut + fluff, ~5.6k words) - written for myself, because I could 🖤 This is the song mentioned in the beginning :) Please enjoy!

.

Where do I begin?, Shirley Bassey sings in his ear and Ace’s entire body breaks out in gooseflesh.

Haptic is his entire world, and haptic only. Helpless, he squirms under touches out of his control, touches too soft or too rough, touches as unexpected as they are intense. They outline his silhouette in fragments, tickle his inner elbow one second and brush over his thighs the next, always wandering, always new.

A gentle beat supporting the beautiful piece of music has his heartbeat wish it could sync up with it, and Ace closes his eyes under the blindfold. Not that it makes much of a difference, it goes from black to black, yet the simple gesture alleviates some of his vulnerability – now it’s his own choice to be deprived of sight instead of someone else’s.

Instead of Bandit’s.

He’s painfully hard already despite the lack of anything… untoward so far: all the sexual undertones stem from his mind, and yet context makes it clear they’re both equally into this, interpret it the same way. Still, ever since gentle hands slid his underwear off his legs and he was left stretched out on the comfortable mattress, all that’s happened were various sensations on his skin. He can’t place them all, knows there was a feather in there somewhere with its torturous, ticklish touch, remembers something hot and something cold – no ice cubes, though just as frosty. Except for the receptors in his skin, Ace has no reliable source of information left, not with the thick headphones cancelling out all but his own breaths. And the blood roaring in his ears. And the quiet noises he tries hard to suppress.

The anticipation is what keeps him on edge and it doesn’t disappoint. He’s suffered through unexpected sensations for a time span impossible to determine, and he’s about to reap the rewards for it. His body sinks back into the pillows the moment warm fingers trail down his abs and begin teasing his erection. There’s relief but also a subtle wish for it to continue: in concentrating on nothing but what’s being done to him, he forgot the rest of his reality.

Now this, the gentle slide of a fist over his cock, it’s familiar and predictable and allows his mind to stray again. He’s suddenly hyperaware of his own gasping, deafening over the entrancing music, and snaps his mouth shut. This side he’s not so keen on – this side actively makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how he looks, can’t gauge any of Bandit’s reactions, can’t hear a sound other than his own laboured breaths and fabric rustling under his head, can’t even touch him because of the cloth keeping his wrists together, keeping his hands tied above his head.

Being utterly out of control isn’t something he usually enjoys. Part of him hates this powerlessness, this uncertainty of his own fate – if Bandit were to leave him lying here, there’d be nothing to distract Ace from his own thoughts. The prospect terrifies him. He takes careful measures to ensure he’s never bored, always has enough – too much – on his schedule, and even admitting this to himself brings out a quiet horror. Like this, trapped inside his own mind, only provided with background music which evokes emotions yet leaves his thoughts empty, unable to fidget, far away from the comforts of his online life, he feels petrified.

And yet it makes the sensations all the purer. Desperate for any sort of distraction, he believes he can feel all the callouses on his partner’s fingers. He certainly can tell where Bandit is at any given time, feels his breath caress his naked torso, the dip of the mattress, his essence moving around him. Ace’s heartbeat pulses through his entire body and every upstroke lifts his hips with it, enticing it to follow the flow.

His mouth is open again, letting the quietest of moans escape, so he closes it and forces himself to relax. He doesn’t want to seem desperate (even though he is), especially when he has no idea whether Bandit likes it or not; and this is what he despises most about all this – he can’t assess what to do when he can’t adapt to Bandit’s preferences. It’s something he does automatically, he subconsciously copies accents and body language, expresses interest in the same things, repeats whatever earns him smiles.

He thrives on feedback. He requires it to live or else he’d be irretrievably lost in the whole mess that is human communication, and once this pillar is taken away from him, he has absolutely nothing to go on. He can guess, but what if he’s wrong? He’s been with Bandit before, but they’re trying this out for the first time today and are on uncharted ground, so what to do? Is it best to be as unobtrusive as possible? To go all out and let loose? He’s not even sure whether that’s an option.

Suddenly, there’s something surrounding his dick, warm and wet and heavenly, and dear God does it yank him out of his obsessive spiral. His toes curl and a fake-sounding moan echoes in his head – but it’s sincere, he just can’t help himself and this is why he’s always hated these kinds of headphones. His own voice seems like a cheap imitation of something and though he’s overcome his dislike of hearing it by posting endless videos of himself, this is still different. His thighs spread by themselves to accommodate Bandit between them and his legs try to curl around him to get a better sense of what he’s doing, but hands push them back insistently. The only place where they’re connected now is Bandit’s mouth around his cock and Ace wants so bad to run his fingers through the coarse beard, to grip winding tattoos or pull the other man up for a kiss, wants so bad to do something that isn’t nothing.

That isn’t squirming in agonising pleasure.

By now, the music has turned into something almost primal, mostly low beats and simple variations unable to hold any of Ace’s attention at all, yet contributing to the sharp lust taking over from the underlying need, a need which kept his dick hard the entire time but didn’t feel as urgent as this. Before, Ace enjoyed the journey, now his focus shifts to the destination. He chews on his quivering lip and digs his heels into the sheets, rolling his hips up against Bandit’s hot mouth, and writhes under the expert ministrations. A slick tongue is massaging more noises out of him and his eyelids flutter when Bandit starts sucking in earnest.

He’s already too good at this, so the heightened sensation quickly reduces Ace to a mindless mess: no more intrusive thoughts, all he does is stumble further and further towards the edge. Bandit tempts him closer, pushes and pulls, bobs his head as far as it will go and envelops Ace’s entire cock in velvety smoothness. Hard palms on his hips stop him from thrusting up, which is fine with him – he’s being provided constant stimulation and is getting there fast. It’s an appropriate ending to all this, he finds, the build-up intense and a good balance of pleasurable and uncomfortable, therefore he doesn’t mind finishing relatively quickly.

He’s gripping his restraints so hard his tendons must be standing out (but he can’t know, can he); the pressure on his wrists is ever-increasing but he’s so close, he’s close and can basically taste his climax on the tip of his tongue. Bandit is allowing him deep into his throat, lips tightly wrapped around the base of Ace’s dick, and he’d give everything to be able to watch him do it. Are Bandit’s eyes open, is he looking at him? Is he drooling? What kind of wet noises is he making? All he has is the tantalising slide up and down his shaft, accompanied by the harsh pull of Bandit hollowing out his cheeks and a skilled tongue.

It’s enough, it’d be enough – just the steady stream of pleasure washing through him, tensing up every single one of his muscles in anticipation, waiting for the release. Bandit knows what he needs and provides it readily, changes nothing, gives him more, and Ace is right there, just on the edge. He teeters, gazes down into the abyss, willing to tumble and fall, ready to lose his balance and…

And stays. Sways in place. Head swimming, he’s taut like a bowstring but remains frozen, and then the feeling recedes. Bandit isn’t moving at all, merely waiting for Ace to step back. There’s no need to see the smirk on his face to know it’s there.

Ace knows what’s up. Knows it’s one of Bandit’s favourite games of endless teasing, has fallen victim to it once or twice before and isn’t proud of the begging to which he resorted. It’s all in good fun and the resulting orgasm blew Ace away every time, but right now, Bandit is clearly taking advantage of his powerless state.

In return, he shall receive nothing.

The concept of time loses meaning. All which tells Ace of its passing are the brief pauses between songs, the evolving melodies and differing vocalists of which he takes note at the edge of his mind only. His focus is on the self-imposed challenge instead, on being quiet and not letting Bandit see how worked up he really is – but the intensity of every touch is making either of the two impossible. With the promise of relief lurking in the distance, his cock is overly sensitive now and responds to any and all stimulation, whether it’s Bandit blowing on it or running his fingertips along the shaft. Ace can feel it twitching at every new sensation and sweat begins to cover his body, both from his increased arousal and the strain of not moving a muscle.

Bandit relishes his position of power. Time and time again, he coaxes Ace back to the edge with sweet caresses and an obscene tongue, and then leaves him stranded, gasping, jolting. Like an invisible, inaudible, intangible being, he swoops in out of nowhere and sucks or jerks Ace just shy of the point of no return, only to disappear once more. His hands and his mouth are all that exist of him but it’s enough to leave Ace trembling.

He suspects it’s punishment for how unresponsive he is, which only strengthens his resolve to win. He clenches his teeth and hopes Bandit can’t see it, buries his fingernails in his palms and consciously listens to the elusive lyrics, relaxes his abdominal muscles and tenses everything else to try and last longer. Regardless, his desire roars and thunders in his blood whenever Bandit wants it to, and his breaths become shallow as he’s once again deprived of the peak he so desperately needs.

The only saving grace is the fact that he can’t hear Bandit’s cheeky comments. He’d be tempted to return some of his own and his voice would waver and he’d forget his sentence halfway through and then he’d let out an embarrassing noise instead, but he’d still try.

It turns out, however, Bandit hasn’t forgotten about his weakness.

The moment their lips touch, Ace groans into Bandit’s mouth. A tongue entwines with his own and he would’ve come right that second if there’d been a hand on his cock – which explains why there isn’t. Instinctively, his arms jerk to try and hold Bandit in place, nearly dislocating his shoulder, but he needn’t have worried since Bandit shows no intention to withdraw any time soon. Quite the opposite.

Kissing without ever hearing his partner is a special kind of weird yet he finds that he doesn’t mind too much when Bandit patiently licks into his mouth. Experimental fingers are brushing over Ace’s unbearably hard erection and he moans, loudly, against Bandit’s lips. Making out, especially as sloppily as this, turns Ace’s bones into melted butter and leaves him docile as a kitten, stretching into Bandit’s every touch. The other man tastes of cigarettes and coffee and kisses like he means it.

This time, when his hand wraps around Ace’s shaft, he expects it to be the last time. He’s suffered enough and can barely stand the pressure in his crotch, a pressure only intensifying with every slide of wet lips over his own. Ace allows himself to give in and generously rewards the firm strokes with strangled noises, not once interrupting their kisses. His sharpened sense notices the almost distracted quality of Bandit’s motions, how he pours most of his attention into running his tongue over Ace’s teeth, that the thumb of the other hand, the one Bandit is leaning on, absent-mindedly strokes over Ace’s ribs. He’s keenly aware of all this and more, the way Bandit’s fist tightens now and then, his body shifting closer, his laboured breaths mixing with Ace’s.

Bandit is affected as well. The thought is more reassuring than Ace would like, but he’s a people pleaser and needs to know his partner is enjoying himself too or else his own pleasure fades. It helps that Bandit told him he’s hot on their very first meeting and backed up his statement by repeatedly inviting Ace over until he eventually gave in out of curiosity. He didn’t regret it.

His pleasure climbs and climbs, and he with it, once again approaching the very top from where he hopes to topple, and then Bandit’s lips stretch into a grin.

Denied. Denied once more.

The hand disappears and instead of his desire, Ace’s frustration peaks. He struggles against the fabric restricting his movement, tries to knee Bandit in the ribs and huffs in annoyance, aiming to at least throw Bandit off the bed. The faceless, soundless entity refuses his relief and he hates it, hates that he’s incapable of doing anything about it, hates that Bandit won’t do what he wants, won’t let him come. He won’t beg, couldn’t stand hearing these words in the melodic void of the headphones he’s forced to wear, but he can’t suppress a noise of disbelief and betrayal.

There’s a noticeable pause. Once Ace has stopped thrashing and fighting, he jumps at something touching his throat. It comes out of nowhere but he knows very well what it means, so he takes a deep inhale to calm himself and nods. They agreed on this beforehand and he appreciates Bandit’s insistence on having a way to communicate despite his inability to hear him. Yes, he’s fine. He’d be a lot better if Bandit finally jerked him to completion, but he’s fine.

It’s odd to send signals without receiving any in return. His consciousness is shifting, reducing itself to simple patterns to cope with its unfamiliar narrowness: a stimulus is met with a response, there’s nothing more required of him. He doesn’t need to take the initiative for once and this knowledge uncoils something deep inside him. He exists and Bandit is taking care of him. He can sit back.

A hand settles on his thigh. Wanders further down, to the back of it, then lifts it gently. Ace complies, bends his leg and pulls it against his torso, not sure where this is going, until the palm glides down to his cheek and squeezes. It’s a question.

He nearly chokes on his own spit because holy shit if this actually happens, he’ll explode. “Yes”, he mutters and even at the low volume, it’s too loud in his ears. “Fuck. Yes.”

If only he could see Bandit’s reaction. Ace doesn’t curse – he doesn’t make crude jokes nor does he play mean pranks, he prefers clean fun since it’s easier to maintain this personality on screen if he practises it off screen, plus being family friendly is all the rage these days, so dropping an f bomb feels oddly out of character. Though he imagines it to be extremely satisfying from Bandit’s point of view.

He raises his other leg and winces internally at how eager he must seem. Only just having found peace with his limited senses, he’s now looking forward to even more sensations to enjoy. The music is lulling him into a different state of mind and, now that he’s conscious of it again, briefly lets him forget what’s going on. Like this, with Bandit doing who knows what without touching him, the whole encounter takes on a dreamlike quality which could be easy to deny later, if he wanted. He probably won’t.

And then something blunt and slippery touches his hole.

Oh.

He’s going right in, is he? Ace has mentioned before that he prefers it this way and it seems Bandit listened – this fact alone is a new rush of desire. Another touch to his throat, answered with an emphatic nod. He doesn’t trust himself not to curse again if he replied verbally.

Opening up to the smooth head is instinctual and satisfying, even more so when Ace clenches down on the hot shaft now and then only for it to stop and wait until he’s relaxed again. His toes are working while he’s being entered slowly, filled up completely, his fingers twitch and his legs wrap around Bandit’s body all by themselves. Sinking deeper into the moment, it’s deceptively easy to give himself up and melt into the incredible sensation, the headphones playing his own personal surreal soundtrack.

Shallow thrusts allow Bandit to push in balls deep and immediately roll his hips against Ace’s to milk him for what it’s worth. His cock is dripping, he feels the small droplets add up to a puddle on his belly, or at least he imagines he can feel them. He wants to come so badly that the urge to slam himself against Bandit, fuck himself on the thick erection he so generously provided becomes unbearable, though he knows he wouldn’t achieve his goal like that anyway. The soft friction of gentle movements isn’t enough yet it’s all he gets for the moment, despite his legs drawing Bandit in and attempting to convince him to go faster.

Yet another request for permission. Ace will deal with him later, for now he just wants Bandit to hurry the hell up, so he chokes out a pitiful please which sounds awfully cringy to him but at least seems to be enough for Bandit. He finally pulls out almost all the way and slams back home, causing Ace’s hands to shake both with the wish to hold on to him and the need to touch himself.

There’s a short break during which Ace debates whether he could murder Bandit by squeezing him really hard, and then he’s suddenly able to move his arms again. Bandit must’ve untied them from the bed and though they’re still bound together, Ace can lower them and fan out his fingers on Bandit’s chest at least.

His breaths are hard and he can feel some vibrations during the next deep thrusts, so it seems his lover is reciprocating his helpless moans. Sex like this sounds oddly hollow but detracts nothing from the experience itself; it’s just as satisfying to feel his whole body rock with every thrust, if not more. He’s much more aware of what’s going on between his legs, can feel every centimetre of Bandit inside of him and focuses on clamping down on him, using his muscles to enhance his partner’s experience as well as his own.

Looking for support in this onslaught of sensation, his hands seek to latch on to something, following the motions of Bandit’s lower body and getting in the way everywhere, until Bandit catches them and holds them against his chest. And even though every cell in Ace’s body is screaming at him to instead reach between his legs and bring himself off to calm this storm raging inside him, the second he feels Bandit’s heart trying to beat its way out of his body, he melts. He’s smitten. Bandit’s skin is hot to the touch and damp, he just as sweaty as Ace, his movements leaving Ace breathless, his corporeality proven with every time he invades his body.

And then Bandit presses a kiss into his palm.

Somehow, Ace gets a hold of his beard and drags him down mid-thrust, fumbling a bit until their mouths crash together once more, and he mewls into Bandit’s. For being as scruffy as he is, he can be extremely thoughtful and considerate, not to mention cute, and it just so happens that Ace loves that shit. To bits. Can’t get enough of it, to a point where it turns him on immensely if done during sex. He’s accepted the new status quo by now, used to the lack of foreign noises and getting used to hearing his own desperate noises, but still not entirely okay with how freaking good it feels to get railed by Bandit while making out with him.

Now at least, Ace can wrap his fingers around his neck to keep him where he is while straining against his hips to try and allow him even deeper. He can feel Bandit’s own moans and his pulse below his fingertips while they move together, but the position is short-lived. Strong arms wrap around him and tilt his entire world which is especially disorienting since he can’t see anything. His eyes open to blackness and there’s a brief moment of alarm before he’s found his bearings again and braced himself on Bandit’s chest. He’s on top now, straddling his lover, and understands why Bandit insisted on cordless headphones.

Like this, he’s got more control and makes use of it immediately by adjusting angle and position until he feels Bandit’s cock rub over his prostate. His ecstatic moan is echoed with a rumble under his palms. Now Ace has a chance to show off by setting a fast tempo, adding a few slower and more intense thrusts whenever he really wants to tickle his own sweet spot. He has no clue what he looks like but can’t find it in him to care, so all his attention is lavished on making Bandit climax as fast as possible.

While Ace rides him mercilessly, his hands wander further up, brushing over Bandit’s swollen lips. He feels like he’s dancing in a club now, lost in his own world, ignorant and uncaring of what the people around him think, moving to a beat without conscious thought, simply doing what feels good. His thumb forces Bandit’s mouth open and its way inside, pressing down on his tongue and wiggling when he obediently sucks on it. Ace remembers all too well what it was like to have this mouth on his cock and the mental image sends a shock of pleasure through him supported by a harsh thrust downwards. He needs to come, and soon.

They become one when he leans back down to trade spit once more, sloppily licking into Bandit’s mouth while they move together, Bandit’s hips lifting him whenever they meet his own. Their rhythm is messed up, their kisses wet and their touches uncoordinated, and Ace has never in his entire life been this fucking horny. His dick is throbbing with need, every brush against his special spot causing it to jump. He wants this. He needs this.

It’s so familiar to have Bandit jerk him off again, but this time he couldn’t deal with another denial. Don’t do it, he thinks or maybe says out loud, he can’t tell anymore. His breathing is all he hears, the music completely gone from his conscious mind, and he imagines Bandit’s breaths based on the way his chest rises and falls, tricks himself into hearing his groaning, too. Despair looms over him and forces his motions to become haphazard. He’s ready to burst.

“Don’t”, he gasps and this one is definitely real, left his mouth as an actual sound: he can tell by the way Bandit’s lips curl against his own. “Just don’t.” Bandit reaches so deep it nearly renders him boneless and his thighs are about to cramp up from the exertion, but above all, he can feel his orgasm approaching fast. If this one is wrenched away from him, he’s taking matters into his own hands, he’s coming this time whether with Bandit’s help or not.

A hard thrust forces a moan out of his throat and in his mind, he sees Bandit’s gleaming eyes looking up at him full of pride, wonder, affection. It’s easy to trick himself into it when the other man is holding on to him, returning his kisses, adjusting to his messy motions. He feels loved and appreciated even though the way Bandit is fucking him is driving him completely insane, but at least the self-doubts have no place in his head now that it’s filled with nothing but yes please and I need to come so fucking bad.

He breaks the kiss because he can’t stand the pressure anymore, focuses solely on the glorious friction between his legs, both in his hole and around his cock, and thinks: if he stops now, I’ll stab him. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop.

Ace curls up with a strangled moan and comes so hard his mind empties completely for the duration.

The waves of pleasure crashing over him are so intense he sees stars as he shudders violently, shaken anew by every contraction of his abs. Bandit strokes him through it, massaging out his come while Ace pants, open-mouthed, against his shoulder, shivering and helpless against the ecstasy of finally having reached his climax. Warm come splashes his own chest and he lets out more noises at every throb of Bandit’s dick buried inside him. The overwhelming relief increasing with every ripple brings with it a profound contentment which gradually takes over from the mind-numbing pleasure until all that’s left is a comfortable warmth deep inside his chest.

Completely exhausted, he sinks onto Bandit, barely registering the way he keeps holding on to Ace to thrust inside him a few more times before pulling him flush and shooting deep inside as well. Ace can tell he’s making a lot of noise so it must’ve been good, but he has no doubt his own orgasm surpasses Bandit’s by a huge margin. He’s still feeling the aftershocks and twitches whenever a strong one hits him.

They catch their breath for a minute before Bandit does what Ace himself would’ve done a minute later: remove the headphones. The sudden shift in background noise to near silence is eerie, especially since Ace is made sharply aware of being in a room instead of his own head, but it’s comforting to hear skin drag over fabric as opposed to just feeling it. The next thing to go are the restraints, but when Ace reaches up for the blindfold, Bandit interrupts his movement.

“Wait. Let me dim the lights first”, he murmurs and Ace never would’ve thought it’d be this weird to hear someone’s voice. True to his word, Bandit pushes him off to get up and fiddle with something before lying back down next to him.

Even the mood lighting hurts Ace’s eyes, so he closes them for a while, then squints, then opens them fully. With him covered in sweat, the room seems cool despite Bandit having run the heating prior to Ace’s arrival. Being able to look around again feels like surfacing after having dived for an extended period of time – Ace wasn’t ready for it to make such a difference, but then again Bandit took his sweet time with everything.

“Alright?”, he asks a half-question, and Ace inspects him a little closer. His hair’s dishevelled, his beard messy, lips glossy and a darker red than usual, upper body still flushed and covered in come. He looks delectable and just as Ace had hoped. He’d love to take a photo but knows Bandit would flip his shit if he did. He doesn’t react well to Ace taking out his phone in his presence in the first place – and somewhere along the way, Ace stopped feeling the need to. The world outside can wait. He’s got experiments to do in bed.

“Yeah”, he says non-committally only to be a dick. He teases out Bandit’s softer side whenever he can.

“… how was it?”

There it is. Ace suppresses a smirk as he tries to sincerely evaluate all that’s happened to him, all that was done to him. Next to him, Bandit fidgets during his prolonged silence, noticeably worried, and it’s frankly adorable. “Really good. Intense.” He’s not lying – if anything, he’s downplaying it. Being detached from reality felt a little like being high in retrospect, a floaty feeling. “But I don’t like it.”

Bandit nods. “Okay.”

Elaborating is impossible since Ace can’t properly convey why it doesn’t appeal to him, why it leaves him so insecure. Being at someone else’s mercy is part of it, but so is being at his own mercy – he was generous with himself today, yet he can see it going awry on bad days. Some evenings, he can’t stand seeing himself in the mirror, and the thought of someone else being able to watch him to their heart’s content when he’s feeling like that turns his stomach. His biggest issue is the lack of response, however. That he won’t know what Bandit is thinking at any given point.

“I want to do it again.”

The words tumble out his mouth like they’re accidental, but they’re very much calculated. His thirst for positive reactions can and has been detrimental in the past and he hopes repeating their performance today contributes to building up his confidence to a healthier level. And once again, he pushes the thoughts away as soon as they pop up: better not worry about them.

Bandit’s smile is blinding. “Sure. We can play around with it some more next time.”

And Ace notes not for the first time how both of them keep assuming there will a next time.

They kiss, slow and sensual, because they’re not savages and if whatever they’re doing is a substitute for actual love, they should damn well get as much out of it as they can. For the same reason, they spend a few more minutes cuddling. Ace has always been physically affectionate and can never get enough bodily contact, so he’s fortunate Bandit adapted and stopped complaining a while ago about suffocating hugs and unprompted nuzzling and kisses out of the blue.

They shower together, Ace taking some extra time to wash Bandit’s hair and beard purely because he loves the orgasmic faces the other man makes for his benefit, but he can already feel the pull while they mess around and waste water. He’s looking forward to the comments on the photo he posted earlier, and he’s waiting on a few responses from various people – he needs to check out the videos on his timeline and see whether they’re bandwagons he wants to jump on as well. There’s this drop dead gorgeous brunette who’s been chatting with him on and off for a week who usually comes online in the evenings since time zones suck.

Impatience sets in and Bandit must notice for he keeps the banter short and allows Ace to live inside his head for the moment, but when they’re hovering in front of the door, he demands his attention by asking about their next meeting. Which, fair enough.

“Saturday then. Got it.” Ace somehow manages to resist the urge to check all the notifications littering the top of his screen and puts his phone away after having entered the date and time. “By the way, I liked the music. Not at all what I would’ve expected from you.”

“Not what I normally listen to”, Bandit confirms. “Any favourites?”

“Where do I begin?”, asks Ace and the two of them grin at each other. It’s true, he really enjoyed that particular song, yet most of what managed to penetrate his lusty haze appealed to him. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a romantic.”

“I’m really not. You just bring out the worst in me.”

Another smile. Ace doesn’t remember how Bandit caught his eye and can’t fathom what made his gaze linger, but he’s glad it happened.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?”

“I’ve got stuff to do”, his mouth produces on autopilot and while he’s not wrong, he’s technically not right either: it’s stuff he could do from anywhere, as long as he’s got his phone. Belatedly, the question resonates with something inside him. “Nick. What is it that you want from me?”

As if he expected him to ask, Bandit shrugs his shoulders, never losing his cool. “This”, he replies easily. “Just… this.”

They’ve never agreed on anything, never defined what this is. He doesn’t want Bandit to get the wrong idea. “I’m miles out of your league.”

“Yeah”, says Bandit without any irony in his voice. “You are.”

He doesn’t say: don’t be so fucking full of yourself, I just tied you up and made you forget your own name. He doesn’t say: you’re a phoney who shouldn’t be in Rainbow. He doesn’t say: your body is your only good feature.

Instead, he just agrees.

“One word about my phone and I’m out”, Ace tells him and slips his shoes off again.

.

Later, after having adjusted the lighting and his hair, practised his sleepy expression a little and found the perfect filter, he posts a selfie with the caption Feeling loved ❤ Go hug someone important to you.

Only after he’s uploaded it, he notices the bit of Bandit’s arm visible at the very edge and shrugs it off. His followers might pay attention to the tattoos, but the few co-workers checking out his social media presence are unlikely to do so.

Right?

[olliepig]

Centre Stage chapter 2

The next chapter is here! Massive thanks as always to the amazing @willow-salix for all her help, cheerleading and betaing prowess with this. 

As always, the whole thing is available on AO3 here

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

“Thank you so much for this week, it’s been amazing,” Cat smiled, leaning back into Scott, her head comfortably nestled on his shoulder as she watched the stars, John and Selene’s voices fading to nothing behind them.

“Tell me about it,” Scott grinned, barely aware of anything but Cat, wanting to savour the feeling of contentment that had been ever present since they got together and the tranquillity it had brought to him that only nagging thoughts of their imminent separation could disturb. She was warm in his arms, her body pressed against him as he dropped a tender kiss on the top of her head, taking in the scent of her hair as it tickled his nose.

Cat nuzzled her head further into him but didn’t reply, lost in thought as she listened to the distant waves rolling onto the shore and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the palm trees behind them.

Their final day together had been remarkably free from any rescues and they had spent it relaxing by the pool before everyone assembled on the beach for an impromptu family barbecue to bid her farewell.

Good food and company had led to the whole family sitting around, talking and laughing until late, and it had felt to Scott like a lifetime to wait before everyone finally went to bed, leaving them sitting alone on a blanket spread out on the sand for the second time that week.

Unlike the last time, Cat’s mind was calm and, like Scott, she was savouring their closeness and the peace that it brought over her. Spending the evening with the whole family had been wonderful but she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him all night and had been counting down the minutes until they could be alone together once more. Having finally started their relationship, it seemed so unfair that they had such a short amount of time together before they had to go back to their own lives on opposite sides of the planet.

“When do you think we’ll see each other again?” Scott asked, breaking the silence and finally voicing the question that had been plaguing them both for days.

Cat sighed, not wanting to face the reality of the conversation just yet but knowing that she must.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’m going straight into rehearsals on Monday for that tour in Italy I told you about. That’s going to pretty much take up the next month or so, and then I’m back in rehearsals again for the next season. I’d say it’s going to be into September anyway before I have a free day to meet up, and that’s only if you can get to London.”

Cat’s heart clenched painfully as she spoke. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it before, preferring to bury her head in the sand for as long as possible and enjoy their time together without the added pressure of knowing for definite that it could be months before they next were on the same continent.

Scott hugged her tighter at the news he’d been dreading. He’d known before he even asked that it was likely to be a number of weeks but having it confirmed that it was going to be more than a month was definitely not what he was hoping for.

“I’ll do my best, but by then we’re probably going to be getting close to having the T drive sorted, so I don’t know how much time I’ll have to come over,” he admitted, already feeling the ache in his chest as he imagined being without her again. “Isn’t there any way you can get some time off before then? Even just a day?”

“I really don’t think there is. Tour schedules are a nightmare and every day is already accounted for, and in the couple of days I have when I get back to London, I’m going to have to get organised for starting back with the company,” Cat explained, her heart sinking as she spoke, the thought of not seeing him making her feel strangely hollow.  

“We knew this might be the reality for us,” she continued softly, shifting herself round to look at him, hating how downcast he seemed, his eyes lowered and his whole demeanour screaming disappointment. “We’ve both got stuff we’ve arranged that can’t be changed, but it’s not forever. Once these existing commitments are over, then I can factor our relationship into anything new I get asked to take on, but until then I can’t do much I’m afraid. I can’t let people down who’ve already bought tickets.”

“I know that, and I’m not asking you to change anything. I’d just hoped we’d be able to see each other sooner. Not being able to really fucking sucks, that's all,” he finished, meeting her eyes, hoping that she understood what he was saying.  

“You’re not wrong there,” Cat smiled sadly, reaching out to gently stroke his cheek, feeling the faint roughness from his stubble prickle her hand as he leant into her touch. “But Scott, this is going to be the reality for us. Are you sure it’s what you want? I’m not going to be someone who can be available whenever you are. I’ve got my life and my career. However much I want to be with you, I’m not going to give that up.”

“Who said anything about that?” Scott exclaimed, horrified that she could even think that was how he was feeling. “If I’d wanted the kind of girlfriend who was at my beck and call whenever it suited me, I could have had that years ago but it holds no appeal whatsoever. I want a partner. I want to be able to support you in everything you do in the same way that I know you’ll do with me. I don’t expect you to be here all the time.”

He paused for a moment, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, needing the comfort of her touch as he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently before continuing.  

“Like you say, you’ve got your life and your career, and you have no idea how proud I am of you for everything you’ve done. I’m never going to try and take that away from you, I just want to fit in around it and complement it. I was just disappointed because we’ve only just got to this point and it feels like it’s ending far too soon,” he finished, hoping that he’d done enough to convince her that he wasn’t trying to turn her into something she wasn’t.

Cat held his gaze for a moment, pinned in place by the intensity she found there as he implored her to understand before closing the gap between them and brushing his lips with her own. She didn’t prolong the kiss, choosing instead to rest her forehead against his, allowing them to draw comfort from each other as she took in what he had just said.  

“Sorry,” she breathed, pulling back to look at him once more. “I didn’t mean to imply any of that. I’ve just dated one too many guys who didn’t like how much of my life my job took up. I know you’re not like that but it’s hard not to fall back into old habits sometimes.”

“I totally understand that. I’ve not managed to have a proper relationship since we moved here and started this,” Scott replied, turning and gesturing towards the villa and the craft held far below, before looking back to Cat.

“My life is so unpredictable that dates kept having to be reorganised at the last minute and, in my experience, that didn't usually go down very well, so I gave up after a while,” he continued with a shrug and a small smile that made Cat’s heart ache for him. “I don’t want to go into this worrying about what’s gone before, either with you or with others. It’s why I was so happy when you said what you did about talking to each other about stuff. If we can do that as soon as there’s even a hint of a problem, then there won’t be any misunderstandings and we’ll be fine.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Cat smiled, shivering slightly as the gentle breeze raised goose bumps on her arms, looking away as she tried to rub some warmth back into them.

It wasn’t cold on the beach by any stretch of the imagination but the temperature had definitely dropped since the sun had set and she found herself wishing that she’d brought another layer with her.

Sensing movement beside her, she looked up just in time to see Scott pulling off his hoodie, giving her a tantalising glimpse of toned stomach as his t-shirt rode up before he tugged it back down and covered himself again.

“Here, take this,” he offered, reaching around her to drape it over her shoulders, the action leaving them briefly cocooned in it, safe in their own little world.

Time seemed to slow for Cat as she watched him getting nearer; even though she knew it was allowed now, the thrill of being so close to him hadn’t left her and she could feel her heart starting to pound in her chest as she was drawn to him, unable to resist any longer.  

“Scott…” she almost whispered, snapping his attention to her from where it had been focussed on just getting her warm.

He froze in place, his eyes meeting hers, the tone of her voice sparking something in him. He was captured by the intensity and longing in her gaze, his heart rate skyrocketing as he lost himself in the moment, drawn towards her as his lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss.

Cat moaned quietly, feeling her heart rate increasing further as she deepened their kisses, snaking her tongue along the seam of his lips and encouraging them to part, his lips warm and impossibly soft under her own.

His hoodie forgotten, Scott buried his hands in her hair, cradling her head as she slid her arms around his back, pulling herself into him and pressing their bodies together. There was an urgency to her kisses which excited him and his breathing quickened as they clung to one another, his blood starting to pool in his trousers, making him shift uncomfortably.

No longer feeling the cold thanks to the burning heat starting to build in her, Cat was desperate for more. Her whole body was crying out for his touch and, powerless to resist any longer, she shifted her position and lay back onto the blanket.

Scott’s eyes flew open in surprise as he felt himself being pulled onto her and he tucked himself alongside her, his need to feel the closeness of her body matching hers. Propping himself up on an elbow so as not to squash her, the sight that greeted him took his breath away and he hungrily took in her long hair spread out beneath her as she looked up at him, desire darkening her eyes and her lips slightly parted.

Dipping back down to kiss her once again, he felt her hands roaming across his back, clawing at him and sending all his remaining blood flooding south, leaving him slightly lightheaded. He had always loved this wild side to her, and knowing that behind the controlled public persona was someone who was able to completely let go was a massive turn on for him so he replied in kind, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling on it slightly as he kissed her again and again.

A thrill of recognition passed through Cat as she realised the last time Scott had kissed her like that had been at Penny’s, and her need for him now at least matched how she had felt that night. He had an irresistible draw on her, and his words of reassurance earlier had ensured that any lingering reservations about taking their relationship further before she left the island had been forgotten.

Frustrated that they still weren’t close enough, Cat slid her hands lower, grabbing his ass and pulling his hips into hers, feeling the unmistakable bulge in his jeans press into her.

Scott groaned loudly as the added pressure made him see stars, dropping his head onto her shoulder for a moment to try and regain some composure.

“I hate you so much right now,” he complained once he was able to speak again, a faint smile curling the edges of his lips.

“No, you don’t,” she grinned, kissing his neck, gently nipping the skin as she went.

Scott tilted his head, giving her better access as he considered his answer, his eyes closed, lost  in the sensations.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he conceded after a moment, crushing her lips under his once again as desire ripped through him.

This time, his free hand didn’t stay tangled in the long strands of her hair. It roamed up and down her body, making her writhe under his touch.

“Scott,” she mumbled into his mouth, feeling his hand slide up inside her top just as a memory from a decade before materialised in her head, making her pull back.

“Yeah?” his head shot up, concern that he had gone too far in his eyes.

“If we’re going to do this, maybe we should take it back up to the house? Cos I’m guessing we don’t want a repeat of what happened last time,” she grinned, quickly dissolving into laughter as their eyes met.

“Oh God, their faces!” Scott choked, unable to hold in his mirth as he collapsed over her, all desire evaporating as amusement took hold. Their escapade on a Virginia beach was something he hadn’t had cause to think about in years, but now that he’d been reminded, he couldn’t quite believe that they’d ever done it, although he had to admit that it had been very, very funny. “They looked so shocked.”

“As well they might. I’m guessing it wasn’t what they were expecting to come across on an evening stroll,” Cat giggled as Scott pushed himself up, wiping his eyes as he helped straighten her top back out.

“I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast. They can’t have seen anything too incriminating though, can they?” Scott asked, still chuckling to himself as he helped Cat sit back up again.

“I doubt it, but I reckon they knew exactly what we were up to. It was pretty obvious,” Cat grinned, thoroughly enjoying the sound of Scott’s laughter as it flooded through her, filling her heart with joy.  

“I guess it was… oh God, the sand,” Scott cried, exploding with laughter once more as he remembered the worst part of the endeavour. “So much sand everywhere.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cat groaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more uncomfortable drive home. Good shower to get it all off afterwards though, wasn’t it?”

“Now that’s a much better memory,” Scott replied, a rasp in his voice as his eyes glittered dangerously, darkened in desire again.

“Certainly is.” Cat leant in and caught his lips with hers in a lingering kiss that sent shivers down his spine. “So, um… you wanna call it a night down here?”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Scott readily agreed, standing and offering her a hand to get up.

Cat smiled as she took his hand and pulled herself up before tearing herself away from him, feeling the loss of his touch keenly as they worked together to fold the blanket and gather what little had been left for them by the others.

She couldn’t help but glance up to look at him and they paused as their eyes met, matching grins spreading across their faces before she wrenched her gaze away and went back to what she was doing. Packing up was slow progress, their eyes meeting often and always with a pause to take each other in with a smile but they eventually had everything ready and set out up the path.

Scott found that a surprising calm came over him as they wound their way back up to the villa, her hand tucked securely into his. Walking together, hand in hand like that felt so right, he thought, like that was how they were meant to be. Despite the promise of things to come that Cat had seemed to make on the beach and the fact that his whole body ached for her touch, he was perfectly happy to let the night run its course, knowing that whatever happened next would be perfect for them.

Beside him, Cat was still lost in the sensations of their embrace, feeling where the heat of his body had seared into her side and the comfort of having his arms around her. Her lips still tingled from his kisses as the memory of them played on a loop in her head, making her body long for more.

Scott had been a perfect gentleman right from the start, she realised, always letting her know what he wanted while also being completely respectful of her wishes. She had no idea what else she would have expected as that was just who he was, but it was reassuring nonetheless and their communication had allowed her to relax into their relationship much more quickly than she had expected.

Before they knew it, they were back up at the house and busied themselves tidying away the blanket and lights in the big cupboard in the kitchen, working together quietly and efficiently.

“We should probably head to bed. It’s getting late and I’ve got a long journey tomorrow,” Cat said, turning to face Scott as they finished up.

“I guess you do,” Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping at the reminder of her imminent departure before he caught the look in her eyes which left him in no doubt of what she was thinking.

Reaching out, he brushed her cheek gently with his fingers, carefully tracing the pad of his thumb over the soft skin beneath her eye as she sighed, her eyes closing and a small smile appearing on her full lips before she nuzzled into his touch and placed a gentle kiss on the palm of his hand. Fire spread through him once more and he closed the gap between them, his hand sliding into her hair and grabbing a handful, pulling her head back as he hungrily met her lips with his own.

Breaking the kiss as suddenly as it had started, he let his hand slide down her arm and took her hand, turning and wordlessly leading her towards his room.

*****

“Well, this is a bit of a first,” Cat commented, looking around in interest as Scott closed his bedroom door quietly behind them.

“In what way?” Scott asked, turning quickly to look at her in confusion, his brain busy thinking about something which was most definitely not a first for them.

“I’ve never been in your bedroom before,” she smiled, knowing exactly where his mind was. Hers was still there too and was unlikely to be waylaid for long, but she was more than prepared to delay things slightly in order to satisfy her curiosity.

Unsurprisingly, she saw that the bed took up most of the space but a small sofa and an armchair sat in a corner with a low table between them and there was a desk in the corner next to the door that she assumed led to an en suite. It was neat, effortlessly stylish and altogether exactly what she would have expected his bedroom to look like.

“God, you’re right. You weren’t allowed on the base were you?” Scott recalled.

“Nope. Every time we’ve seen each other, you’ve always been at mine so this is the first time I get to see Scott Tracy’s bedroom.”

“Please don’t start referring to me in the third person again,” Scott pleaded with a smile, knowing that this argument had been going on for over a decade and that he was unlikely to win now.  

Cat grinned at him and stuck her tongue out instead of answering as she wandered over to the desk, and Scott contented himself with good naturedly rolling his eyes in response. It was something she did to everyone and, as such, it actually wasn’t something that bothered him, but he loved that it always made her smile so it was one of the first things he had picked back up again after they had met at Penny’s party.

“I love the family photos,” Cat commented, bending down to look at them as Scott came up behind her to see which ones she was looking at. “That’s a lovely one of you all. Is that where you grew up?”

Having a guest in his room, looking at his pictures was a new experience for Scott and the fact that Cat was already making herself quite at home made his heart swell in happiness, reminding him of the time he had been the one investigating the pictures on display in her dressing room while she got ready after a performance of Swan Lake a few months before. Watching her, he found he was thinking ahead, looking forward to the day there would be pictures of the two of them together, nestled in amongst his treasured family photos.

“Yeah, that’s the farm in Kansas. Grandma took that photo and it’s the only one I have with all of us together with Mom and Dad too. Look at Alan, he’s so tiny,” Scott pointed to the blond toddler, barely being restrained by a tall, red haired boy who could only have been John.  

“He’s very cute,” Cat confirmed, as she moved on to look at the next picture. “Is that Gordon with the gold medal?”

Scott looked at the picture of his brothers, arrayed around Gordon, whose smile beamed brighter than the medal around his neck. “Sure is. That was taken right after the ceremony, before he had to go off and do all the official interviews and the big party afterwards.”

“You look so proud of him,” Cat smiled, taking in the enormous grin on Scott’s face in the picture.

“I still am,” Scott admitted. “He put a hell of a lot of work into it, in less than ideal circumstances.”

“God, yeah! It must have been really tough.” Sensing a sudden wave of emotion rolling off Scott, Cat looked up at him, taking in the set of his jaw and his almost indecipherable expression as he kept his gaze trained on the picture. “For all of you.”

“We got through,” Scott deflected with a tone of forced joviality, glancing at her with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, shutting down any further conversation on the subject.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Cat said quietly. She hadn’t meant to stray onto something that was clearly still a difficult subject for Scott and the sudden change in his mood unsettled her. He had never given any hint that Gordon’s Olympic win was anything other than a positive event but his reaction now told her there was more to it than she was unaware of.

“It’s OK. I’m not upset, it was just a tough period, that’s all,” Scott soothed, reaching for her and wrapping her in his arms, lowering his head so their foreheads leant together for the second time that night, the solid warmth of her body calming him and taking him away from memories of a time he’d rather forget. “I’ll tell you about it another time, I promise. I just don’t want to spend our last night together for a while going through it all.”

“Whenever you want to, I’ll be here,” Cat murmured, holding Scott tightly around his waist, feeling the slight tremor in his breathing settle as they stood, drawing strength from each other.

“I know you will,” Scott replied at length, pulling away and meeting Cat’s gaze, the heat in it making him feel giddy once again, unpleasant memories forgotten as the magnetism of the woman in front of him took over once more.

Something shiny caught the corner of her eye, and Cat pulled her gaze away, turning back to the desk, a smile appearing on her face when she realised what it was.

“Are those your wings from the air force?”

“Sure are,” Scott grinned. “I’ve still got the uniform too, packed away in storage somewhere.”

“Oh, do you now?” Cat cocked an eyebrow, images and sensations flooding back to her that she was keen to repeat. “I have very fond memories of you in that uniform.”

“I have some very fond memories of you taking me out of it,” Scott grinned, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her neck and kissing it gently.

Cat leant back into him, reaching up and caressing the back of his head with her hand, running her fingers through his soft hair as he worked his way up her neck and along her jaw before spinning around and meeting his lips with her own.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, pulling back to meet her eyes again.

“I really do,” Cat breathed, held by his gaze as her lips still tingled from his kisses and her body cried out for more.

“You absolutely sure it’s not too quick for you? I don’t want you feeling you have to cos we’re not going to see each other for a while,” he persisted, wanting to make absolutely sure that he was doing the right thing before going any further.

“Absolutely sure,” she confirmed with a smile. “It’s maybe quicker than I thought but it feels right. Now shut up and kiss me again.”

Not needing told twice, Scott captured her lips with his once more, keeping their kisses slow and sensual. He could feel a burning heat starting to build that, if left unchecked, could easily consume them but, unlike when they were at Penny’s, there was no sudden dam ready to burst tonight; they had all the time in the world and Scott for one had every intention of using it.

He pulled back, meeting her eyes briefly before bending to trail kisses along her jaw and down her throat, the scent of her skin filling his nose as he inhaled deeply, feeling the faint tickle of her hair on his face as he did so.  

Lost in the sensation of his soft lips working down the sensitive skin of her neck, Cat dropped her arms and slid her hands up inside his t-shirt, feeling the silky-smooth skin of his back as he shivered at her touch. Keen to feel more, she started to pull his top up further as Scott broke contact for a moment, taking the garment, lifting it over his head and dropping it on the floor as her eyes raked hungrily over his bare chest.

Despite knowing that it was allowed, she felt something akin to apprehension as she reached out, tracing down the hard plains of his chest and onto his stomach, feeling the soft dusting of hair tickling her fingertips as she went.

Scott simply watched as she took him in, feeling a strange mix of desire and protectiveness. Her gentle touch set him on fire but she looked so unsure of herself that his first urge was to look after her. Reaching for her, he brushed her hair over her shoulder before bending down to kiss her again, gently but firmly, feeling her hands slide around his waist, pulling herself into him as she returned the kiss.

Standing up on her tiptoes, it was Cat’s turn to bury her face in Scott’s neck, any apprehension melting away as she nipped the skin playfully, making him groan in pleasure as he pushed his hands up under her top, leaving her stomach exposed and sending shivers through her that were from more than the cool night air coming in from the open window.

Pressed together, their bare skin met, sending a jolt through him and causing even more of his blood to head southwards. Needing to feel more, Scott lifted her top off, discarding it on the floor as she reached behind her to unhook her bra, tossing it out of the way before she pressed back into him, kissing his chest and neck as he ran his hands up her muscular back.

Cat pulled away, smiling at the small whimper that came out of him at the loss of her kisses. Taking his hand, she led him toward the bed, pushing him back onto it and quickly climbing up beside him, desperate to feel the warmth of his body against hers once again.

[lavellanlove]

47 from the drabble requests for Fenris?

Confession time? This is the first time I’ve written Fenris. I am nervous and excited, because he was my absolute favorite in DA2 and I am thrilled that we got a Fenaissance with Blue Wraith.

—————

Fenris jutted his hand through the door, gripping the locking mechanism hard and pulling it out with a sharp twist, much as he would a heart from a chest. 

Every time, some part of him hoped they’d be relieved at the prospect of freedom. But every time, it was the same.

They recoiled away.

Not that he blamed them. He knew too well how powerlessness stoked fear of the uncertain and unknown.

“I am the Blue Wraith,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Calmly enough not to frighten them, but authoritative enough that they would trust he could protect them. “I have come to free you from this place. Gather your things. I have cleared a path. No one will stop you. You have my word.” 

Those in the small barrack glanced around at each other, low whispers passing between a few. Apparently some had heard the moniker, because they promptly began gather what meager possessions they had, wrapping them in their bed sheets and tying them like sacks. His partners in this operation waited by the door, ready to lead them all back out the way they came. Load them into carriages and get them as far from here as possible.

All but one who hadn’t moved, propped against the back wall. Whether she had distanced herself from them or they from her was not clear. By the vallaslin, Dalish. By the gauze, wounded. He could not help but notice she was missing her left forearm, but that did not seem a new injury.

He crouched down, offering her a hand to help her up. “Come.”

“Take them if they wish to go,” she said, hollow and resigned. “My place is here.”  

“No one’s place is here,” he snapped, immediately remorseful of how his words came out. It was not her fault this place that the pain of countless slaves echoed in the stone, that their despair flowed these caverns like a river of their blood. It was nearly deafening.

He wanted to raze this cursed place to rubble. Teach their oppressors the very same fear and pain they wrought. But he did not have time. With how many were captive down here, there would be more guards than the ones who had already fallen before him. Countless more. They were bound to show up sooner or later, and their arrival would undoubtedly make it harder for him to keep his promise to keep them safe.

Realizing the injuries might be the reason for her stubbornness, he softened a bit. “You need not stay because you are hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed. “Bold words for a woman who I’d wager cannot stand on her own two feet at the moment.”

“I would only slow you down,” she insisted.

“I have carried swords heavier than you.”

As the others made their escape, it became even clearer that it wasn’t in his head; it was loudest here. Not just in these barracks, by her specifically. 

“I believe there are people looking for you.”

“You are mistaken,” she insisted. “I am no one.”

Indeed. “Magisters don’t go to this length for no one. It was the thrum of their tracking spell that led me to this place.”

She snorted humorlessly. “Not just Magisters; I’m sure a great many people would pay a handsome price for my head on a pike.” She gestured to the side with her head. “Or in this case, my blood in their magrallen.”

He had no idea what a magrallen was. He had a feeling he did not wish to know. Which in this case, with Magisters involved, meant he needed to seek it out. “That way? It should be destroyed.”

“No.” she said quickly. “No living person knows how to construct one. It may prove necessary in the battle to come.”

He scoffed. “There. You sound like a mage already. There is always a reason to justify more power.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand very well,” he growled. “The lyrium branded under my skin makes it rather hard to forget.”

“No. You don’t. This is bigger than Magisters and slaves. The fate of the entire world hangs in the balance. The lives of every being in Thedas. If Fen’Harel succeeds, everything you’ve worked for here and everything your friends work for elsewhere will be lost.”

“…what does this have to do with me not destroying that wicked thing?”

“He has power beyond what anyone imagined possible, and grows stronger every day. He can kill men in their sleep, or turn battalions to stone with a glance. Stopping him will require something extraordinary. And I have not figured out what that is, yet.”

His scowl deepened at the implication “You mean to say you are here on purpose?”

She shook her head. “Not like this. This was… a miscalculation.”

“Miscalculation? No. This was madness, thinking you could don enslavement like a cloak and shuck it back off again. How long have you been here?”

She was quiet for a moment, trying to think, wincing as though the idea of not knowing was almost painful. “I lost track.”

“It is a wonder it has not broken you entirely.”

“Hasn’t it?” she said, with what might have passed for a laugh with more spirit behind it. 

He just shook his head once. He had seen broken. Lived it. She did not understand how much further there was to fall.

“If you stay here any longer, you will find out for yourself. A fate I will not resign you to.”  Whoever she was, she was important to more than one Magister. Not as a person, but a tool. As he had been, once. He could not leave her behind.

He extended his hand again. More insistently. 

This time, she took it. 

Upon getting her to her feet, she staggered for a moment, holding her side and closing her eyes. She looked liable to teeter over, and he stood ready to catch her when she did. Only then did he notice the scraggly wisps of light under her fingers, trembling as she pressed them to her wound. He realized she was trying to heal herself.

“You’re a mage.”

“I’m a person. Having magic was not a choice I made, nor the choice I would have made if given one. I acknowledge it is here, but refuse to let it define me.”

He supposed that was fair enough. “What’s your name?”

“Avira.”

After a few moments, she took a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders, and took a shaky step, then another, gaining confidence in her strength and balance as she headed for the door.

But she was heading the wrong way, a fallen guard’s blade in hand, further into the bowels of this wretched place. She did so with what could only be described as a resolute sense of purpose.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Well, someone has to destroy their phylacteries,” she replied. She stopped for a moment, glancing over her shoulder. “Along with anyone who stands in my way.”

He chuckled dryly, hefting his sword off his back. There was no decision to be made. He would accompany her. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

[thegoldendice]

Love Is A Battlefield

Fandom - American Horror Story 1984

Pairing - Xavier Plympton/Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Suicide, Violence, Mental Heath Issues, Sexual Content, Language, Religious Content

Chapter - 4/12

Read on - ao3, ff.net

Fic Summary - The year is 1984. You're a poor student living alone in L.A., plagued by your problematic relationships with a false friend and a disturbed ex. You meet Xavier Plympton, an aerobics instructor with a dark past, at the gym where you’ve taken a reception job. You quickly develop feelings for him, and you learn to your relief that he likes you too. Soon a deadly series of events befall you and the people in your life. Overwhelmed by tragedy and with your blossoming romance cut short, you are left a wreck. Six years later you discover that while Xavier is dead, he hasn’t quite departed. You soon realise that if you are to be with him and finally achieve true peace and happiness, you must take your own life and become a Camp Redwood ghost.

Chapter Summary - Your recent knowledge of Xavier's porn career leaves you feeling intimidated. Xavier is able to reassure you, however, and you are powerless to resist his charms. Scott deals you another blow, threatening to destroy Xavier's reputation and your budding romance all at once. 

You watch Xavier as he chats with Montana. He flashes his teeth at her and reaches out to touch her arm. Certain things he does, certain movements he makes, could be taken as flirtatious. And yet, you’ve seen him behave similarly with Chet, or Ray, or any number of other people. Recently he flirts with you. Thinking about other things he has done with you lately, you find it difficult to believe he’s gay. If anything, he likes both guys and girls. Right now you only care if he likes you. Despite that, you have to admit that the thought of Xavier’s porn career is posing a problem for you.

You made Scott explain himself over the phone after he let you in on the so-called secret. Alex, Scott’s roommate, has been out for a number of years. If Alex is to be believed, Xavier has starred in gay porn. The instant Scott’s words reached you, you remembered the look on Alex’s face when he saw Xavier. It was recognition. Scott seemed to take delight in your silence, but he misunderstood what it was that had stopped you short.

The vision of Xavier having kinky sex with Amy, the vision that haunted you the night of their date, had come back to you, forcing its way into your psyche unbidden and unwanted. You cringed inside at the knowledge that your very limited sexual experience would appear pitiful to someone who had starred in porn. Xavier would surely laugh at your lack of prowess, having had a vast range of wild sexual experiences.

You had hung up on Scott while he was still laughing cruelly at you.

You try to concentrate on work, but Xavier takes up your every thought. When he inevitably speaks to you, you don’t quite know what you will say to him. Maybe if you focus on your inconceivably boring stock checks, you will look so busy that he will leave you alone so you can put off telling him what you know.

No such luck.

“Hey Y/n.”

You glance up. Xavier is leaning across your desk, facing you as if his whole body is eager to touch you. He looks particularly cute right now, with his little backpack over one shoulder. Seriously, nobody else in here could pull that thing off. You have to smile despite the worry that lurks in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey, you.” You attempt a smile. Xavier appears so pleased at your affectionate greeting, you feel a pang of guilt knowing you’re about to ruin everything. “Do you have a minute? I was kinda hoping we could chat. Maybe somewhere private though?”

Concern creases Xavier’s brow. You know your tone was less than cheerful.

“Okay, uh, my car?”

“Sure.” You nod.

Screw work, this is important.

~

Xavier’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You’re sitting alongside him in the front of his car. Silence fills the space between you. The intoxicating smell of his cologne is so intense in here, you’re finding it hard to concentrate.

“So I uh, I thought we should talk because I... I got a call from Scott last night and he told me about... the porn.” You look up in time to see Xavier’s eyes widen. His face is pale. He takes a shuddering breath as you plough on. “I want you to know, your sexuality is not an issue to me. I grew up in a very liberal environment and—”

“I’m not gay.” Xavier cuts you off. “How the hell does Scott know, I don’t tell anyone? My acting career would be over if it got out.”

Xavier is blunt. You have to wonder if he is angry with you. You can think of nothing worse.

“Alex, Scott’s roommate. The guy he came here with. He’s seen it.”

You watch Xavier’s face as he processes the information. His eyes close and stay that way for what feels like an hour. When he opens them, his expression is hard.

“I’m tied into a... contract, of sorts. I’m trying to get out of it, but it’s proving difficult.”

“So you’re not doing it through choice?” You frown. “How is that fair? What kind of contract is it?”

“Let’s just say I made a deal with the devil.” Xavier lets out a hollow, humourless laugh. “I need to smoke, I’ll go outside.”

Before you can say another word, Xavier exits the car. You sit still, trying to figure out if he’s pissed at you. Surely he can’t be, you’re just the messenger? Before you have any more time to question the situation Xavier gets back in beside you, bringing a cloud of smoke in with him. He begins talking almost immediately.

“I want you to know, I’m always careful.”

“Huh?” You look at him blankly, not understanding at all. Xavier shrugs slightly. He looks a little embarrassed.

“I always use condoms, I get checked out regularly. I’m totally healthy.”

You feel your face colour. This is the hard part. The part you didn’t want to face. Xavier’s exciting and varied sex life. Although you have to admit, it doesn’t sound all that great now that you know the details.

“Thanks. For telling me.”

“Sure, I mean if we’re gonna date, you should know. That is if you still want to?”

You can tell that Xavier is trying to appear nonchalant, but it’s not working. The concern he feels is written all over his face. It suddenly occurs to you that you may not be the first person to find out about his secret.

“Is this why you and Montana broke up?”

You realise that you haven’t answered Xavier’s question yet, but it suddenly feels imperative that you know what happened to end his previous relationship. Xavier takes his time answering.

“Regardless of the porn, Montana and I are not good for each other. She has this way of bringing out the worst in me. I think I do the same to her. She’s one of my best friends, but... I don’t see a future with her.” Xavier looks away, avoiding eye contact with you for a second before bringing his gaze back to settle on you. “I want to be with someone who makes me feel good, and whole, and happy.”

Xavier reaches his hand towards you and tucks a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. It’s such an intimate gesture that your breath hitches, your heart beating faster. You can tell that he wants to kiss you.

“Xavier, there’s something that’s actually been worrying me.”

He pulls back slightly, waiting. You take a deep breath.

“This is hard for me to admit, although I don’t know why. It shouldn’t be but...” You shake your head, trying to stop yourself from getting off track. “I’m not very... experienced, with sex stuff. Knowing that you are, it makes me feel... intimidated. I’m sorry.”

You force yourself to watch Xavier’s face. He doesn’t look angry, much to your relief. If anything he seems slightly confused.

“But, it’s all fake Y/n. Seriously, not a single bit of it is real. There’s no emotion, no connection. I fucking hate it!”

Xavier’s voice breaks. You pull him to you, dreading the thought that you might have inadvertently made him cry. Your heart breaks for him.

“I can’t believe you’re stuck in this situation. There must be something you can do?”

“No,” Xavier mumbles into your shoulder. “There’s nothing. All I can do is run. I’m leaving for the summer, I got a job at a camp. I was planning to tell you tonight.” Xavier draws back to look at you. “I wanted to ask you to come with me but, I understand if this porn thing is too much.”

You look at Xavier’s face. His beautiful features are marred by sadness. In this moment you’d do anything to make him happy. You know you can overcome your shyness after realising there’s nothing to be intimidated by. If anything, Xavier’s situation is to be pitied. You squeeze his hand.

“It’s not too much. I understand everything. I was unsure before but now I’m not.”

Xavier leans in to kiss you. You push your tongue past his lips hungrily, taking possession of his mouth. The emotional roller coaster you’ve been riding for the past twenty minutes has left you overwrought. You cling to Xavier, using his kiss to numb the ache inside you with complete disregard for propriety. He breaks away, panting.

“We can’t do this here. Come home with me tonight?”

You nod eagerly, separating yourself from him in order to calm down before heading back inside.

~

Xavier lifts your shirt up and over your head in a swift, unbroken movement, throwing it to the floor of his lamplit bedroom. He’s already topless. You can’t help but notice that his muscles seem too perfect, as if they are carved from marble. You inhale sharply as your nipples rise to greet the cool air. You feel gooseflesh spread across your shoulders and back. The sensation elicits a small shiver from you. Xavier’s beautiful, full lips curve upwards in a slight smile as his eyes rake over the sight of your naked torso. You feel nervous at his unabashed approval. Glancing down shyly, you can’t help but notice the size of the erection straining against his shorts. The desire to touch him overwhelms you and you reach to softly brush the tips of your fingers along the length of his cock.

In response, Xavier bends his head and takes the lobe of your ear between his front teeth, biting down ever so slightly. You shiver again as a creeping sensation travels down your spine. Xavier moves to kiss your neck, licking and sucking just hard enough to be pleasurable but leaving no mark.

Your fingers make their way to the waistband of Xavier’s shorts and pull down, allowing his cock to spring forth. His heady, potent scent reaches your nostrils, sending a thrill through you. You allow yourself a second to regain composure before gently taking him in your hand. His skin feels like velvet as you begin to rub him. He moans into your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair. His other hand is occupied, cupping and massaging your breasts.

Xavier detaches his mouth from your neck in order to lick his thumb. He focuses his attention on one of your nipples, tracing wet circles around it. When he squeezes it between thumb and forefinger, a pinprick of sensation travels right down to your clit, where you feel the tiny jump of a pulse. You know you must be getting damp. You begin to feel ashamed, but you shut down the feeling. You remind yourself it’s not shameful for your body to respond this way. You are going to let yourself enjoy this.

Xavier grasps the nape of your neck and lifts your head to meet his. You respond open-mouthed, happy to welcome his tongue with your own. You taste the slightest hint of whatever he’s been smoking. Kissing him like this feels electric. You wonder what it would feel like if his tongue touched your pussy. You’ve never had anyone do that to you before. Scott wanted to, but you were always too shy. You decide that if Xavier asks to do it, you’ll agree. You feel safer and more comfortable with him than you ever have with anyone else.

Xavier breaks the kiss, panting heavily. You’re still stroking him.

“Should I lie down?”

Your voice is roughened by arousal. Xavier nods and you quiver with excitement, backing up until you feel the bed behind you. Xavier hovers over you as you lie back onto the pillows. His cock presses hard against you as he leans down to suck at your neck once again. He grasps your skirt, halting any other action until it’s completely removed. He wastes no time in also helping you relieve yourself of your underwear. Instinctively, your hand flies to cover your intimate area. Xavier watches you. His eyes come up to meet yours. They are full of hazy lust, but he’s not lost himself entirely yet.

“Will you let me watch you touch yourself?”

He sounds almost reverent. It’s as if watching you masturbate will be a religious experience for him. You can’t find your voice to respond, so you nod instead. You proceed to open yourself up, dipping your forefinger inside slightly to wet it before circling your clit. Xavier sits right beside you, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. You feel close already and can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips. Xavier’s eyes roll back, closing and opening again to fix on yours.

“Fuck, I want to taste you.”

You nod as you spread your thighs, releasing quick, shaky breaths. Your stomach muscles clench involuntarily as Xavier positions himself between your legs. His tongue on you feels exquisite. He knows exactly what to do, circling your clit, lapping at your juices. When he repeatedly licks the entire length of you like ice cream on a cone, you know it won’t be long until you come. The sensation builds inside you, exploding aggressively when Xavier works in a finger, tickling the places you’ve never been able to reach. You can’t help but run a hand through his hair. It’s not as stiff as you expected it to be. You grasp it lightly as your orgasm begins to disperse, sending warm sensations all around your body.

You release your hold on Xavier’s hair. He is placing small, delicate kisses onto the inside of your thighs. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look happier. You stroke his face, bringing it gently up towards you. You look deep into his eyes.

“I want you, Xavier.”

His breath hitches slightly.

“You’re sure?” It’s almost a whisper.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You smile at him in a way that you hope is reassuring.

“I’ll be right back.”

You sit up slightly and watch as Xavier grabs a condom from inside a set of drawers across the room. This sort of thing used to embarrass you, but now it feels completely natural. His back is to you as he puts it on. Your eye is drawn to the curve of his ass. His skin looks golden in the lamplight. You imagine sinking your teeth into that perfect, peachy roundness. Blood rushes to your cheeks. These are not normal thoughts for you to be having. Xavier turns, bringing your attention back to his face. He looks at you intently as he climbs back onto the bed, settling between your legs. He crashes his lips against yours. You moan into his mouth, anticipation building. You can’t wait to feel him inside you.

Xavier stops kissing you, concentrating on wetting his cock, brushing it up and down your pussy. You still feel sensitive, little bursts of sensation streaking through you each time you feel pressure on your clit. Xavier brings himself to your entrance, slowly pushing inside. You relish the fact that there is no resistance as he fills you up. You squeeze slightly with your inner muscles, eliciting a delighted smile from him.

Xavier kisses you again with relish as he begins to thrust, establishing a steady, controlled pace. You surprise yourself by digging your heels into his back, wanting to feel him even deeper inside you. As if he can hear your thoughts, Xavier leans back, grabbing one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder. This new angle allows Xavier to hit your inner walls in a way you’ve never experienced before. You groan loudly at the sheer intensity of what you are feeling.

“Fuck, if you keep making noises like that I’m gonna come.” Xavier manages.

He’s breathing heavily now, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. His hair no longer looks perfect. His mouth finds yours again, his kisses messy. You feel him quicken his pace as he lets your leg back down. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in as deep as possible. He does nothing to temper the volume of his groan as his climax consumes him, collapsing onto you as gently as possible. You feel a tiny hint of regret, knowing that the condom stopped him from spilling inside you.

Xavier stays perfectly still for a minute before rolling off to one side. You feel the loss of him inside you instantly. He breathes deeply as you kiss his forehead, tasting his salty sweat. He strokes your cheek in response, smiling blissfully. His eyes, the colour of an icy blue sea, are only slightly clouded with pleasure.

“You’re amazing.” It’s a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear.

“I didn’t do anything.” You breathe.

Xavier shakes his head infinitesimally. His earring catches your eye for the briefest second as it flashes in the lamplight.

“It’s not about what you did,” Xavier replies. “It’s about who you are.”

You wrap yourself up in the soft, warm blankets as he goes to clean himself off. You feel ecstatic, too languid to make the effort to get clean yourself. When Xavier returns he switches off the lamp and climbs into bed behind you, pulling you close against him and nuzzling his face into the back of your neck. This is the way you both fall asleep.

~

You feel like you’re floating rather than walking as you make your way around your apartment tidying things away. You absentmindedly plan out the rest of your day in your head but it’s easy to become distracted. Last night couldn’t have been more perfect. You blush, remembering. You’ve never felt this way before.

You are about to head into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat when you hear a brisk knock at the front door. At night you don’t answer, but during the day you see no reason to be afraid, besides, on the off chance it is Scott, his plan has failed. He can’t hurt you now.

Or so you think.

You open the door to the smug face of your ex. Before you can stop him, he charges into your apartment.

“Get out!” You shout, not caring who can hear you, you want Scott as far away from you as possible. “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave, now.”

Scott lifts up his hands, his smirk is infuriating.

“Calm down Y/n, I’m not staying. Something occurred to me last night, so I’m here to share it with you. Then I’ll go.”

“What is it?” You decide to bite, hoping that if you play along Scott will leave.

“Well, I realised that I really miss you Y/n. I don’t want to see you with anyone else. I want you back.” Scott’s voice takes on a mocking tone. “I’m going to make you deal. You agree to come back to me, and I won’t tell everyone Xavier’s little secret.”

You stare at Scott, horrified. What the hell has happened to him that he would resort to such a disgusting threat? You know deep down that he would happily destroy Xavier, and it terrifies you. You struggle to respond. Scott doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Tell him the two of you are over Y/n, or his life as he knows it will be.”

You stare at the door after Scott has slammed it shut behind him. Tears roll down your cheeks unchecked. A chill runs through you at the knowledge that you are entirely trapped.

~

“Xavier, it’s me. I’m so sorry I’m leaving a message and not speaking to you in person, but I have to leave town urgently. I got bad news from back home. I won’t... I won’t make it to Redwood. At least I don’t think I will. Anyway, I wish I could have seen you to tell you but like I said, I have to leave. I’m leaving right now so... goodbye. Have a great summer Xavier. I... I’ll miss you.”

~

You watch from the shadows as Xavier, Montana, Chet, and Ray close up the gym. Xavier slings an arm around Montana’s shoulders as they all descend the stairs together, piling into Chet’s car. You make yourself a promise. You will see Xavier again. You will deal with Scott, he will get what’s coming to him. Then you’ll find Xavier and tell him the truth about Scott’s threats and why you had to lie.

Notes: I’m hoping to follow this up with something post-canon but will need to wait and see what happens with the show!

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― I.iii. Divine Intervention

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Cynbel saves a seer.

[READ IT ON AO3]

By the time he arrives back to the estate Cynbel’s anger has given way to fright; one thought consuming him above all others.

They need to leave Rome. They should already be far, far from here. Far from Caesar and his notions of immortality.

“Valdas! Isseya!”

“Cynbel?”

Her voice draws him to her, standing just outside the doors of their shared chambers with the red of a fresh meal still dripping down her chin.

He sweeps Isseya up in his arms and kisses her fiercely. Half to remind himself that she is there, she is safe. Half because what else can he do, he’s powerless, has never been powerless, cannot fathom it without her, without them.

The lust is dashed from her eyes the moment she takes him in fully. “What is it? Cynbel, what has you so?”

“Where is Valdas?”

“I asked you —”

“Where is he?!”

She tears his grasp from her arms and forces him back — enough to return him to sanity if only for a moment. She’s never abided him like this and would not start now. And isn’t he fucking thankful for it.

“Bring yourself back to sense and I may feel inclined to answer,” his darling snaps through vicious teeth. Only when he sags against the now cracked wall with his hands spread out — vulnerable, they are all too vulnerable — does she make good on her words. Holds his upper arms in a deceptively strong grasp and skirts her nose along his jaw to bring a comfort only she can. In a way only she knows.

“You’re frightening me,” she admits, he can hear the waver in her voice even now, “I haven’t seen you like this in so long, so very very long.”

He can’t even remember the last time this mania consumed him. But she’s good at bringing up old wounds, at cutting in the same place time and time again.

“Iss’…” Cynbel loses the last of his fight, his body yields. But it isn’t enough to ease his mind. Nothing but the death of Caesar will do that.

“Was it the Godmaker’s whelp that made you so?”

“No.”

“Swear it. I know you’ve taken to her.”

He knocks their temples together. Bestial headbutting; primal acknowledgment that she’s talking utter fucking nonsense. “Do not insult me so.”

“Not taken her,” though her fondness comes through, “I would make you a eunuch if you even so much as entertained the thought. But she knows something you keep hidden from us. Call me a liar.”

He can’t, so he doesn’t.

Which is all the answer she needs. “I thought as such,” and moves to pull away from him but no, no not now. Now cannot be one of the times for her tantrums because there is so much at risk and they need to find their beloved and leave.

“Believe me now, my love, and I will never give you reason to do otherwise again. For as long as we live. I swear it to you.”

It’s an openness from him that Isseya is unfamiliar with. Enough so that the gravity of his behavior finally seems to come over her. A veil somehow lifted.

“Where. is. Valdas?”

Her eyes flicker towards the depths of the villa yet the relief he hopes for does not yet come. Because his gut knows what else lies within, perhaps.

“Rome is no longer safe for us. We need to leave.”

“What madness is this?

“Our Beloved plans to join the conspirators but they have already failed.”

“What are you rambling about?”

Before he can answer the sounds of the ostium opening catch the lovers’ ears. With them, a wrath he had hoped was lost among the winding pathways of the city.

Instinct has Isseya in his grasp, holding her close as Kamilah darkens the doorway. Eyes glowing red the moment they land upon him and fangs bared.

“I’ll kill you!”

She rushes forward but to them her speed is childish; fumbling. Easily dispatched with a wave of Isseya’s arm as she steps in front of Cynbel with a mirthless laugh.

“The day such is possible, whelp, will never come. Accept that and you may live to see tomorrow at the very least.”

But the defiant Kamilah stands, wipes away the powder of crumbled marble from her cheek and of everything to go afoul this night Cynbel finds this to be the strangest of them.

“I did not force you to leave at my side. Turn your anger inward.”

“You imbecile!”

“I’ll have your fucking tongue!”

“Isseya! Still yourself,” he looks between them and forces himself calm through sheer will; remembers now why they chose to live away from what few others of their kind roamed the hills in the wilderness — passionate creatures were the children of the night.

Kamilah speaks again through ragged breaths; physically healed but in her eyes churned a storm unchained.

“You named me Sayeed, you wretched thing! Did you think I would truly go to the Pharaoh and give her my true name even now when it was the Pharaoh herself who gave my brother word of my demise? That we may be revealed is on your head, brute.”

Beside him, Isseya swears under her breath. “Tell me you didn’t, beloved. Tell me you are not so craven for war so soon.”

“What I am craven for is survival.” He manages through gritted teeth.

“Is that in doubt?”

“It may very well be.”

Even with all of their years now, of all hours, time is not theirs to waste. Clutching for her again, Cynbel presses an open mouth to Isseya’s temple, pulls her with him away before it is too late.

“Cynbel? Isseya? What happened?”

Their god is upon them the moment they enter the exedra with Kamilah unwillingly in tow. From his bench the Godmaker makes no attempt to hide his distaste; curls his lip upwards in a silent snarl.

There is peace in seeing Valdas unharmed — in feeling his face held in the same hands that made him. Even temporary, it is enough. Straw-like strands stick to his brow as his Maker does everything in his silent power to bring about a calm.

But this is no mere fit of madness. It burns Cynbel from the inside out, makes him see the hollow clarity of the Godmaker’s eyes over his lover’s shoulder and want to act as sword and shield.

“Ease yourself, my Golden One,” his grip as rough as needed, words thick with a worry he refuses to let show in his eyes; always the stronger of them, always burdened so they may not be, “surely the theatrics have no place here.”

“Are you safe? Are you unharmed?”

Because he knows better, knows his lovers, Valdas steps back and gestures wide; allows them both to see him in all of his perfection and glory. Untouched, unblemished — for the moment.

“Of course I am.” And because, too, he has seen these fits of mania before, Valdas seeks answer from Isseya foremost. “Why would I be otherwise?”

Her venom spits at the dirt before the Godmaker’s feet.

“Ask him.”

Only the guilty who carry shame play in innocence. Gaius stands and holds out a hand; an offering. But the intended does not take it. Kamilah stands still with furrowed brow. An act minuscule in its defiance; but with purpose served.

“Kamilah, my Queen…”

“They know, Gaius.”

Slowly the hand falls back to his side. His fist clenches briefly, knuckles pop-popping in an echo around the curved room, then gone as if nothing had changed, as if nothing were the matter.

“I see,” with all the temperance of discussing the cloudy night, “and how did this come to light?”

Valdas senses the shift in tension, warily steps between his lovers and his Maker; “Have you care to enlighten those of us blind?”

Apparently he does not. Waits for Kamilah to answer him — she may reject his hand but he is still her King, her Maker, and he will not be denied.

“The victory at hand, it seems, has loosened Caesar’s tongue.”

“Brilliant tactician though he may be, that will need to be trained out of him.” The tsk tsk tsk of the Godmaker’s tongue, such a simple and universal act, sends throughout Cynbel an unease that coats him bodily; makes him feel unclean, despoiled.

“Caesar?” parrots the Made-God in confusion; rising suspicion, “what does Caesar have to do with this?”

Then, because the pieces aren’t fitting together in quite the right way, he rounds on Cynbel. “Why were you taking audience with Caesar?”

“I would quite like to know that myself.”

Even with the full weight of the Godmaker’s stare upon him, Cynbel refuses to give him the satisfaction. A silence not for her sake but that keeps Kamilah’s secret, too.

“Have you gone dumb, boy? Your precious deity has asked you a question!”

The same curl of the tongue as the night before; disgust not quite contained — not deserving of it in his mind. Though to think of what lurks in the Godmaker’s mind is a punishment he would kindly never suffer.

“Caesar knows what creatures wander Rome come nightfall. He knows of us… speaks as if to stand among us, beside us as an equal.”

Brow creased, Valdas shakes his head. “Impossible.”

“Would I lie to my beloved? He gazed upon me a mortal with knowledge beyond his means. Said not in words but intent; to become Dictator Inmortalis with the blood of our kind running the rivers of his veins.”

Would I lie to my beloved? Words overcast that hang in the depths of his lover’s eyes and the pain of them may be too much for Cynbel alone to bear.

And like she shares a home in his mind — and she very well may — Isseya reaffirms her presence beside him. Complete and utter faith; belief in him… in them.

He is never alone.

An understanding comes over Valdas, then. Across his face a hardness; something that does not suffer fools nor being made the fool. That finds him facing his Maker not as the cowed progeny of before but, perhaps, the firstborn who had created the distance between them so many centuries ago.

“Should Caesar find himself among our kind, no blade would fell him. None that mattered; none used by the likes of the conspirators of the Senate.” None used by the likes of me.

The accusation is clear, yet Gaius remains unperturbed.

“Such is the consequence of those who stand in the way of power.”

“What power does he not already covet?”

“How small-minded you’ve become, Valdemaras; fixated on your narrow existence. On these children of yours. Are you truly blinded to the potential laid out before us?”

“Us?”

“Our kind!” cries the Godmaker with a voice that might wake the heavens; “The future I created you for, the one we sought together! The very reason you continue to walk this earth no matter your defiance of me.”

“The world we stand in now is a vastly different one than when I last drew mortal breath, Augustine. The Empire of my birth is no more. Surely Rome, no matter her glory now, will see the same fate.”

“Not as my plans come to fruition.”

“Plans to—to what, to extend the power of Rome through the immortal hand of Julius Caesar?” He scoffs. “We both know him a madman lurking beneath a countryman’s smile. If you still begrudge me my betrayal of you, I would claim that nothing compared to what he might do when you pull on his strings.”

Haughty, defiant; Gaius gestures wide in a grin that bares all of his teeth. “You were the mistake from which I learned the greatest lesson. Caesar will be Turned and brought to heel. And when that is done, the great work of rebuilding the Kingdom She Promised will finally begin.

“You are right, my soldier. Your Empire fell; it began long before I walked your lands and despite my best efforts could not be saved. But with Caesar at my hand, how much of Rome will follow? How much of Egypt once the Pharaoh stands beside us?”

He stands proud, basks in his own glory and might. Looks to find the adoration of his Queen but finds only confusion; a dawning understanding.

“You mean to Turn Cleopatra.”

“I mean to see my promises kept. If that means bringing the rulers of even the smallest kingdoms under my thumb then so be it.” This time Kamilah takes his offered hand. Joins her King as the Queen by his side.

Why should he find himself surprised by it?

“Enough of this.” Gaius continues with a flippant wave of his free hand, “I’ve entertained your pilgrimage for long enough, Valdemaras. Tomorrow will come and your childish plotting will come to a head. When Caesar rises from the bloody hands of his conspirators he will be revered and given absolute power over Rome, the Senate, all of it.

“Where will you stand witness? At my side, or under my rule?”

The answer is an easy one for the likes of Isseya, the likes of Cynbel. Who look at one another with grave unease. All of the events circling around them overhead as vultures do the dying wanderer.

Their love and Light said so himself. To refuse him would be to lose you.

Do not ask it of me. I beg of you.

And what had they answered? Perhaps the only thing they could to ease his aching heart, to bring their god back to his former self because they could not bear the sight of him so broken, wounded… so mortal.

We will not. We will not.

They grasp at one another desperately. For him, too, but not quick enough. Valdas steps out of their reach and they want to scream for him, go back on their shared word. Anything to spare them this. To spare him.

“Valdas, please —”

“Do not do this —”

But words spoken in vain mean little now. Only serve to call them liars, to call them unfaithful in the eyes of their god.

But is it a god who falls on bended knee, takes his Maker’s touch in clasped hands and kisses the ring there? It certainly does not look so. It looks like a man losing his world in one simple act.

Or, perhaps, saving it.

The Godmaker’s pride is as venomous as it is stifling. Brings his chin raised high as he takes in the sight of Valdemaras’ beloveds. The things that he would do anything for — that much has been proven enough.

“And your progeny?” Who are not worth the address.

Who bite their tongues until they bleed, who swallow blood and bile and tears down because he has done the same for them, how could they do anything less than follow him even into this?

Their silence is their submission. Down the line, with an ego fat with supped blood and power taken from all corners of the world, he may demand of them a formal oath. And down the line, starved of one another, they may be too weak to do anything but swear it.

For now he takes his Queen and departs. Leaves Valdas low, sinking lower still.

Of one mind and two bodies, Cynbel and Isseya rush to his side, envelop him in them. Show him proof with trembling touch that his act was not in vain and they live. They live.

Fuck pleasantries. He wrenches the feeble door from its feeble hinges and sends it hurtling across the alley. It smashes against the stone front of the domus across like rotted driftwood.

There’s a hint of his true nature in his darkening of their doorway. Filling the space with broad stature and the hunt in his inhuman eyes. Staring up at eight terrified faces huddled around their meager meal.

Every visit before this he has been almost sickening in his placation of them, the mortal curs. No longer.

“The girl.”

Too weak to take part in the bonds of family. Trembling in her bed not out of fear of him but fear of herself and what she has seen, what she may see still. Cynbel scoops her up in his arms and feels nothing when she seeks a warmth in him that does not exist.

“Domine…” and were he capable of kinder words he may tell her to save her strength, for her sake—for his, but as it is every thought must be held back on the tip of his tongue lest he start screaming and never, never stop.

“This night will not be your last, not while I have use of you yet.” By any means necessary he will keep her alive.

Bringing Nona back to the villa is impossible. Were the Godmaker to come into possession of her, what little hope the lovers had left would be dashed. But to leave her under the same roof visited by his Queen was to leave her equally vulnerable.

Surrounded on all sides, there was only one place he could think of which would grant the girl sanctuary in her final days.

On the steps of the Temple, basins of flame barely aglow at the midnight hour, the priestess barely looks the pair of them over before turning them away. But all it takes is a foot to step with, to stop the stone door with a strength no human could muster.

He may only have his One God but the Romans had many, with many names and many faces among them. But what were the gods of mortals but powers beyond their understanding?

“Turn her away and you turn away the eyes of your Minerva herself.”

The pale woman bundles her palla up closer as if to best the wind that whistles through the open doorway. But her caution is her undoing — catches her glittering skin in the vestiges of the flames and eyes a little too wide, too aware.

That he does not pull back her veil to reveal the tips of her unnatural ears is only because now is a most desperate hour.

“The girl is an innocent, she is not of my blood.”

The etherie gives Cynbel the full weight of her glower. Eyes that have already seen a thousand years, maybe a thousand more still. That judge him unnatural and of the dead.

“The girl has chosen her fate, twining with those of the children of Phampira.”

“What fate is yet to come will reach far — even to your ‘tween realm. Whether you believe in my attempt to stop it or no, know that is my prophecy, and it will come true so long as Gaius Augustine wanders Rome.”

It is the name that churns the pot, that has the woman of unearthly magics giving cautionary looks about the abandoned temple steps before ushering him inside.

The smell of their foulness tickles at his nose and burrows like maggots beneath his skin. An itch he cannot scratch, the remnants of which he will feel for weeks to come. Such is the price of survival.

The eldest of them directs stragglers with an unfamiliar tongue. He can feel their glassy stares both direct and lurking afar as the two return with a thin bedroll and some meager excuse for a blanket. Somehow it still feels more substantial than what they had left at Nona’s home.

Their eyes at his back send gooseflesh racing down his arms; still his touch to her damp brow before he can collect himself — before he can work to block them out. This is a sanctuary and nothing more.

“I need you to gather your strength now,” he whispers vainly; knows those around catch his every word even as they skitter off like the fearful wild, “I have need of you yet.”

The first, the High Priestess, approaches on hesitant feet and leaves a clay bowl and cloth at their side. Looks Nona over wise and all-knowing.

“You have stretched this life beyond its means.”

“Save your judgment, etherie.”

“How many more lives will be lost in the storm that gathers at your heels?”

“However many it takes to keep my Beloved safe.”

As though summoned by his words the girl stirs beneath his hand. Clutches with a pale hand for him and she feels more than fragile, more than mortal. She feels as faint as smoke. The embers of her struggling to hold on in the downpour.

With glassy eyes Nona gazes up; looks at him without truly seeing. Moves her peeling lips in words unspoken; visions untold.

Yet no amount of his blood will heal her of this ill. As if he would not have tried it first? He knows the creature beside him could heal her easily. The effort of which would take no significant amount of its eternal years. Yet she watches idle; watches the girl while her life force fades still.

“Cyn…bel…”

Humans are warmth; filled with the heat of passion and life like he can no longer remember. Yet Nona beneath him is cold; grows colder. “I’m here, sweet girl. What do you see?”

He rests her silken touch on his temple, feels the sweat on his brow where gossamer strands stick to his skin.

Nona’s breathing grows ragged — stones in her lungs. The High Priestess can take no more and turns away, her veils lapping at her bare heels. So long as they give her rest it matters not.

“What do you see?”

“Blood. The river… the river runs of blood.”

“Through Rome?”

“Through the world. Spreading… spreading dark, dark out to the sea. Everything it touches; blood. In the lakes, the streams, ocean shores of salted froth and blooded rain falling in torrents. The Kingdom She Promised.”

There it is again.

The same words Gaius had said back in the exedra. A promised land — but for who? Where, and why? A promise to his Queen, Kamilah? Or was there a shadow unseen, behind the long tapestry of their kind made in the Godmaker’s wake, darker and beholding a creature even they could not fathom?

“She promised him peace,” says Nona; shakes Cynbel from his confusion because now was not the time to wonder of the future, the future that would matter not should he lose his love; “forged a blade of a broken shield. Yet now… now it has no master to wield it. The blade cannot wield itself. The blade cannot wield itself.”

Cynbel grits his teeth, resists the furrow in his brow. “That matters not. To me, seer, to me,” letting her tiny palm cradle his cheek, “I need you to see what he will do to my love. Will he be killed should the Godmaker succeed? Will Caesar if blooded of him?”

He would not call her petulant. Can see the toll taken on her even now. Any of a lesser faith would call her afflicted; possessed. Would stifle her gift but he needs it to flourish. If he is to save them it must.

“Answer me, seer. Should Caesar Turn, will my beloved die?”

A spectre passes over her. Nona convulses, then grows still. Lids heavy over eyes dull and near lifeless. Her blood slow, sluggish through her muddy veins.

“Nona — Nona—!”

If what she alone can see be not enough to stir her then so be it — he will be the monster of the abyss. Lets her hands fall limp to the stone floor and grasps her by the throat with a hand that betrays the true fear held back on threads of a barely-contained wrath.

Not long before what little breath she takes is a struggle; her heartbeat picking up in desperation. Eyes flying wide open as a flush overtakes her cheeks and Cynbel stares down unfeeling; no longer willing to be denied what he has been promised.

The world has always best responded to violence. Why should this be any different?

He allows himself — however briefly — to relish in the familiar sight of humanity ebbing from her expression as the animal instinct to survive takes over. Those same parchment-thin hands suddenly clawing at his stronger grip and this time when she tries to speak he knows he has the power to change it.

That’s why he uses her. For the power to change things beyond his knowledge. All of it; for them.

“Are you ready to answer me now?” He asks. Squeezes just… a little… tighter…

Nona continues to choke even when he releases her. Weakling lungs desperate to fill; to breathe — forcing her up through the pain of her affliction to choke and heave and grasp at her throat to remove even the memory of him from her flesh.

But that is a mercy Cynbel will no longer grant. His fingers tangle in her dark tresses — pulls her forward with a harsh tug to bring them intimately close.

He will not ask again. Nona’s life is in her own hands, now.

And fleeting though that life may be — she is desperate for it. “First the Empire, then the Pharaoh’s lands. Every Empire bathed in mortal blood — each crown dipped in his blood—by his hands. This world will fall, the New World will never rise. The dead cannot flourish — the shadow cannot grow. Caesar cannot Turn. It will be the end of everything.”

The end of everything.

The end of them. The end of him. The end of everything they have built.

Nona keens a strangled cry as he pulls her close — holds her aching, grieving. Her tears seep warm into his tunic and if she could she would no doubt wrench herself from him but the seer is weaker now than ever.

“‘For every pain there is purpose,’” Cynbel whispers into her skin; kisses there fond but not friendly — a gesture without love, “‘and every wound bore will bring wisdom.’”

What a comfort those words are. How they wrap around him like strong arms in the moments before the end.

He isn’t going to kill her now. He will; he has little choice in the matter. It has been seen… and cannot be undone.

“Thank you for all you have done for me, my sweet seer. For as long as I live I will be forever in your debt.”

Cruel though he is, it is not in his nature to be ungrateful. He waits until the sobs no longer wrack her body uncontrollable to lay her back upon her bedroll. He soaks the nearby cloth and wrings the water cool over his fingers before letting it rest on her weary eyes. Could the same thing be done for her inner eye he would offer a balm there, as well.

The vampire stands to take his leave; hesitates as he takes in from a distance just how small she is.

“You understand what you have done this night, child of Phampira.”

Cynbel schools his face in cool disinterest as he turns to face the High Priestess. Veils now fallen upon her shoulders, in the dark shimmers of their otherworldly etherie-fire she can be nothing other than what she is; with hair of snow that frames a face of youthful eternity and feline eyes that look upon him and name him behemoth.

“Ne’er again will you step within these halls. Lest even under the moon you feel the boiling of the sun’s light ignited in your veins.”

And he knows the threat is a real one — knows the dangers of those of his kind who have dared to tread over the toes of the etherie. Just as he knows the greed that lies beneath their radiance; greed of gold, of things deemed precious to the world of men.

She will be safe here.

At the base of the Temple of Minerva Cynbel stops and turns his face to what little he can stand of the paling sky. Tastes of the clouds on his tongue and allows himself the burden of memory.

“‘It is in the nature of us to covet, for we are because we could not choose between death and life.’” And as his first and only glimpse of divinity had whispered such gospel in his ear and cradled him in death-into-rebirth, he found them true.

Marcus Brutus changes everything.

When last Valdemaras met with the Senator Cassius it was to convince him to steal away their conspiracy in the night. Not only to secret their machinations to the shadows rather than risk arrest at the hands of Caesar’s loyal, but also to ensure his attendance; for the vengeful god Valdemaras was eager to see the Conqueror of Gaul and the Empire of Rome undone in the name of his beloveds.

But a vision comes to Brutus in the same dawn that reaches Cynbel’s hasty retreat from the temple.

“The Fates whisper to me,” he tells Cassius fearfully, “in such horrible voices. They whisper with the tongues of the dead by Caesar’s hand. They demand him slain at the feet of his Senate. They demand him seen by all, even those who would placate Caesar.”

Even men of little faith such as a Roman Senate do not ignore a righteous calling such as that. They use it to steady their trembling hands, to give justice in their traitorous steel.

So it is done. Caesar does not see sunset on the Ides of March.

He dies a mortal man; surrounded by enemies of his own making.

Godmaker, they call him. And the name rings true. His wrath—enough to stir the heavens and send the sun cowering early into the night.

Bone clutched in sheet-white fists and fangs grit to draw blood between his tongue; his demands not met by an intervention perhaps more sacred than divine. Even his Queen steps clear of his path of destruction — wide, unyielding, merciless.

“You,” snarls the Godmaker when he rounds on their god; turns his eyes with the fury of Titans where the blood god Valdemaras stands between him and his faithful because he could not be anywhere else, “if it comes to light you had anything to do with this—if you so much as whispered in an ear, or sent a blighted missive…”

When his hand raises a collective fear ripples through the three lovers; strong together, yes — but equally as vulnerable.

“I did not.”

“I will wring the truth from the marrow of your bones!”

“I did not!” Valdas screams. Gaius tortures him anyway.

Fire burns in his veins; a thousand deaths that didn’t quite take.

But it, too, passes. As the tempest of the Godmaker moves on from the spec of space they have become in the mere potential of his wrathful wake.

It had taken the lifetime of one influential man, several of lesser status, to bring them the wealth of their villa. Just as it takes the Godmaker one night to turn it all to rubble at their feet.

It is carnage for carnage’s sakes and yet they cannot find pleasure in it — when they look at the hollow, milk-white eyes of servants whose names they would never remember they know it could just as easily have been them in this burial mound of marble destruction.

The devoted of Valdemaras fall to their knees. Raise him up as they have done everything else: together.

And when the Golden Son raises his head he sees, through the cloud of dust and the ruins of their Roman lives, the Godmaker’s Queen does not look as sympathetic for her King’s loss as she should.

Why would she?

They are devoted to him utterly and completely. Yet that does not stop them from exchanging glances over the sweat on their god’s brow that they kiss with lips that taste of their tears.

“Did you do this?” they ask. Valdas did not.

“But I wish I had.”

In the nights that follow there are many times Cynbel feels confession on the tip of his tongue. That he looks upon them and knows in some far-gone and hidden part of him that events may not have unfolded the way they did had he not brought Nona to the etherie; had they not heard her prophecy of The End and somehow were the undoing of it.

But no matter the distance they put between themselves and Rome the darkness of the Godmaker lingers over them — a shroud. To tell them, he believes, would be to cast aside the curtain and burn them all alive.

Perhaps he is wrong. Perhaps this was simply the way things were meant to be.

Perhaps not.

I have proven you wrong, sweet seer. And I will again.

[nightglider124]

Dickkory Week: Day 6

LOL only about 2 days late but got there in the end. 

I based this last day on the live action ‘Titans’ and it was... interesting to write their live counterparts. I don’t think I did an astounding job on this or writing them tbh but... it was a first attempt so I’m happy enough with it.

Hope ya like it and I hope everyone had a fab dickkory week.

p.s - because i just wanted this finally posted, it has not been proofread so soz if it’s a grammatical mess XD

___________________________

Stargazing

They were like tiny beacons in the dark sky; millions of them, all shining brightly and looking down on the world as they remained a celestial spectacle for all. The stars were like a puzzle; pieces scattered throughout the universe with no business being forced together, rather spread apart like the cosmic wonders that they were. 

Kory watched them in the same way she had been for the past hour. It was late and she should probably be in bed, no worries or concerns pulling her in a hundred different directions. But, lately, her mind and body hadn’t exactly been in harmony with one another so here she was; sat on the balcony of the newest hideout they had taken up refuge in. 

She idly wondered just how many safe houses Bruce Wayne actually had dotted throughout the country. They’d traveled across several states and stayed within two; not counting the ones that they had no knowledge of at all.

This one was different from the last one in Chicago. It was bigger, more of a house than some modernized, super apartment and it was a lot more hidden. It was out in the country, hidden by an army of trees and lost down several winding dirt roads, assuring all of them that they were more protected now than they were before.

Things had been… strange since Trigon. 

Dick had been pulled back from the demonic influence that had a tight grip on him when she and Donna had finally found a way through the ethereal dome surrounding Angela’s house. The two of them had burst through the door and Kory hated to admit how much it scared her to see the hollow blackness replacing Dick’s eyes; the way his skin had turned so much paler than his usual tone. He looked sick and unlike himself; trapped in whatever torment Trigon had conjured up in that mind of his. 

The rest of that night was a blur when she tried to think back on it now. 

Rachel had been the one to end things. After Jason showed up with two others she had never met before who she now knew as Hank and Dawn, it was like an explosion went off. 

They all banded together, trying to decrease the power and the hold that Trigon had over their friend and makeshift leader of the little group he had put together. It had little effect, even with Gar morphing into at least 3 other animal types; something he was still trying to figure out how he did since all he really knew was a tiger.

Kory closed her eyes as she sat on the stone railing that ran around the edge of the balcony, a bitter breeze causing goosebumps to appear upon her dark skin. Despite the burning fire at her core, she felt cold and she couldn’t pinpoint why that was.

Thanks to Rachel, they had won against her demonic father. A power had surged up from inside of her, one that not even Kory was aware she had buried away. Purple and black had swirled around the kid, like some kind of magical tornado and Trigon had been powerless to stop her shear strength. 

He’d been pulled in, sucked away from this dimension as easily as he had walked into it through the planes of that mirror Angela had set up in her living room. 

She had fought him the whole time, refusing to let such a monster who would hurt Dick as he had, into their realm without strife. 

It had taken her time, with Angela screaming at her to stop and how helping Trigon was her destiny before ultimately being restrained by Donna’s glowing lasso. 

Trigon had disintegrated before everyone’s eyes until he was trapped in the newly formed red gem that was stuck to Rachel’s forehead on a daily basis now.

Ridding Trigon from their world seemed to undo all of his mistreatment, including releasing Dick from the nightmarish hell that had been plaguing his mind since the minute he ran on ahead into the house. 

He’d been out of sorts for a few days after that, always checking to see what was real and what was simply in his head. 

Slowly, Dick had begun to regain his self assurance and he was falling back into his old self, his personality renewed as it had been before. 

It had been a couple of weeks since that all happened and a few things had changed.

Rachel had started to harness the darkness inside her, rather than running scared from it. She was learning, piece by piece, what she was capable of doing. She’d decided on a bit of a makeover too. She’d changed her hair and her style, ever so slightly and surprised Kory to see that she was no longer the same terrified girl that she had rescued from the nuclear family about 2 months ago. 

They had all sort of become a makeshift team or unit, since Dick hadn’t warmed to using the former term as of yet. It was still the 4 of them, except now they were joined by Donna, Jason, Hank and Dawn. 

Their little ‘family’ had some extended members now and it… took some getting used to.

Kory wasn’t sure what she thought of them. She and Donna had started to get along, better than when they’d first met at least but the other 3 were still a bit of a mystery to her. She didn’t know them and she certainly didn’t trust them yet. After all, she only just about trusted Rachel, Gar and Dick.

Kory had changed herself a little too. Her clothing style had altered and so had her hair, now flowing down her back in loose, wavy curls rather than the afro of tight ones she had been sporting since she stumbled across her little group of misfits. 

Something was heavy in her chest; a weight that had been there for days now and she was growing more and more frustrated by the second, wanting to figure out what the cause was but also not having a single clue how to do that. 

Sighing, Kory lifted her knees to her chest from her position on the balcony railing. She hugged them close, trying to provide comfort to herself. 

It was hard being one’s only confidant and even harder when one couldn’t remember a thing about themselves.

She tilted her chin, eyes going to the stars again; a gesture that brought her much relief and again, she didn’t have an answer why. 

Her emerald eyes were searching, looking for something of importance but failing to find it.

“What’re you doing out here?” 

She jerked at the voice from the doors behind her and she briefly turned her head but ultimately refused to shift more so that he could see her face.

“Uh… I just needed some air. That’s all.” She lied,

There was silence on his end; a sure fire hint to know he was analysing her, doing that detective thing of his and trying to dissect her without words or questions.

“That’s not all.” He paused and his voice grew louder, having stepped closer, “You okay?”

Kory took a deep breath, holding her arms to comfort herself, “I’m fine, Dick. You should go back inside. You need the sleep.”

More silence followed and for a moment, she thought he had truly listened to her and gone back inside, leaving her to dwell on her insecurities in peace.

That was until she felt him pull himself up onto the stone railing, sitting with one leg on either side. He was facing her, staring at the side of her face as he tried willing her to look back at him.

“Can you stop staring at me?” Kory sighed, finally meeting his gaze,

Dick shrugged, “I can… once you tell me you’re okay and you mean it.”

Kory tried to ignore the way heat rose to the back of her neck as she glimpsed at Dick’s bare chest, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifted his shoulders. 

“Are any of us okay? Really?” She barked out a laugh and shook her head, “I’d say we’ve all been pretty fucked up recently.”

Dick smiled, “That’s an understatement.”

“I promise, I’m as fine as anyone else in this safe house.” Kory told him, her eyes on the hands clasped in her lap,

He fell back into that bout of silence for a long while, just breathing and looking up at the stars occasionally as well.

“You know… I’ve been having nightmares… about what happened with Trigon. But, I guess being possessed by an ancient demon can do that to you.”

Kory glanced at him, her eyes stuck to him like glue. He hadn’t really talked about what had happened to him with Trigon. He had been brief but Dick hadn’t once truly opened up about what went on in his mind whilst Trigon was in the driver’s seat.

He was staring out across the field surrounding their safe house and it reminded her so much of the first time he had unknowingly opened up to her at that crappy motel, or at least; he had started to open up before he realized it and clammed up again.

“It was so real. All of it.” Dick pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and shook his head, “I had so many memories of that life and yet… I’d only been in it for an hour. There were good points of it… like Rachel and Gar being at college, like normal kids.”

Kory quirked a small smile at that; the idea of those two living a life away from the craziness they’d had to endure so far. 

“But… beyond that, I had this life that… I didn’t actually want. Bruce was… unhinged. I haven’t always agreed with his way of doing things but… he was a cold blooded murderer in that world. Despite everything, he isn’t that.”

She nodded her head a little, her eyes shifting between him and the stone of the railing they were both perched upon.

“And then there was you.”

Her head snapped up to find his intense gaze on her now, a hesitant vibe flowing off of him. She gulped and lowered her chin slightly, as if prompting him to tell her.

“You were… a cop.” Dick snorted, earning a dual smirk from Kory.

“What?” She asked,

He grinned, “I was confused and surprised too.”

“Why a cop?”

Dick shrugged, “I suppose Trigon didn’t have enough memories of you to know exactly where to place you in the dream world… so a partner of sorts was what he settled for.”

Kory felt her heart flutter but tried to ignore the implication that she meant something to him; enough to have a prominent part in the nightmare Trigon had played out for him. She refused to let that thought enter her mind. It was still very early days and the pair of them were still way off having that talk. At least, she felt they were. She couldn’t speak for him. 

But, she still had a lot to figure out by herself before she was going to consider any kind of romance with the man sat in front of her.

“But, you were still you. It’s what made it hard to know what was real and what wasn’t.”

“What’d you mean?” Kory queried, tilting her head ever so slightly,

She saw his adam's apple bob in his throat as he paused, “You were still doing that thing where… you become some kind of voice of reason. There were plenty of moments in this dream life where I had the chance to go back and not fall into Trigon’s trap including you, telling me to go back and forget about saving Batman…” He shrugged, “It… was very like how you are in the real world.”

“Calling you out on your bullshit is trait of mine.” Kory lightly teased,

He raised a brow and smirked, “And the attitude was there as well. Made it extremely difficult to tell the difference.”

“I can imagine.”

“And then… Bruce killed you.”

Kory felt cold suddenly, “He what?”

“Killed you. Shot you with a freeze gun while you were getting ready to light him up but... he got you first.”

“Oh… right…” She replied, not really knowing how she was meant to feel about dying in his fake world,

“After that, I gave in to whatever darkness Trigon was trying to push on me and… I killed him.”

Kory’s brows hit her hairline, “Who?”

“Bruce.”

Her mouth fell open without realizing. She would never have thought that was what turned him into that possessed husk of a man she had stumbled across when she and Donna got over the threshold. 

“Shit…” She mumbled, not knowing what else she could really say to that, “I didn’t realize what he actually did to you…”

Dick hunched his shoulders a little, his fingers laced together with the furrowed brows that were so apparent on his face most of the time; like he constantly looked troubled with the burdens of the world.

He exhaled and refused to meet her gaze, “Yeah well… I haven’t exactly been shouting it from the roof or anything.”

Kory gave him a playful smile, “Good thing too. Don’t want anyone thinking you’re batshit crazy.”

Dick lifted his chin, his cool stare meeting the fiery green of her eyes under the dim moonlight and he chuckled, the tension of his story easing and clearing. Conversation and opening up came fairly easy between the two of them. Despite not knowing one another for a terribly long time, Kory often felt an unspoken trust that had formed between them and she couldn’t understand why.

There was a… connection there and she was still trying to pinpoint what it meant.

“So…” Dick prompted after a few minutes,

Kory rolled her eyes and gave him a look which soon crumbled and she smiled at him in disbelief, “What?”

“What’s going on?”

She ran her tongue across one of the upper canine teeth in her mouth and half laughed, shaking her head. Her knee bounced up and down in rapid succession as she contemplated telling Dick the truth but there was a hesitance in her heart

Kory could sense the way he was looking at her so finally, she sighed and faced the stars.

“It’s nothing, I just… everything with Trigon and what we found out about me at that warehouse… it’s just a lot is all…”

He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue since he assumed she wasn’t quite explaining everything.

She shrugged and chewed on her bottom lip, “I keep wondering… if I’m ever gonna remember everything about myself.”

“Your memories have started coming back in the last couple weeks… that’s a good sign, Kory.”

Frowning, Kory looked at him, “It’s not enough, Dick. I only know pieces about my past and myself… I just…”

“It’s frustrating.” He surmised,

Kory sighed, “More than anyone seems to understand. I came out here to try and prompt some memories of my planet but…” She dropped her chin, eyes on her lap, “Nothing.”

Dick’s brows knitted together in sympathy; he could only imagine how surreal it would be to not remember anything from an entire lifetime. 

“We’ll find the answers, Kory. I promise. We’ll all help you.” 

She took a deep breath and shook her head, “How? I don’t even know where to start so I doubt any of you will have more luck.”

He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to irritate her even more than she already was.

“Sorry… I just… I’m tired of not knowing anything.” Kory murmured, playing with the gold ring around her finger,

Dick nodded, “We’ll figure it out.”

Kory didn’t share the same level of hope Dick seemed to. She felt like she was at a dead end and that her answers wouldn’t be found by spending more time on Earth.

“Dick… I think… at some point, Earth won’t give me any more answers. I think I might have to figure out the way that ship works and go back. I think I’ll need to go home to Tamaran.”

He felt a cold, sinking stone in his stomach. He’d been afraid she would say that. It made sense, of course, but he didn’t think he was quite ready to say goodbye to her just yet. Having her around felt right; the four of them had been together since this all began with Rachel finding him first. 

Sure, they had more people around them now but still… he needed Kory with him and so did Rachel and Gar.

“Yeah… I thought you might say that.”

She gently nudged his knee with her own and he looked up to see her smiling at him slightly, “But… that won’t be for a while. Like you said… memories are coming back… just slowly. Might as well stick around for now.” She paused and her lips curved into a smirk, “Sides… you’re all growing on me. Can’t go just yet.”

Dick smiled at her, the ache of his heart ebbing ever so slightly.

[haloud]

“Not As Lost, Violent Souls:” Alex Manes and T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” -- part 1

- intro -

Epigraph: Connections

Alex's connection to "The Hollow Men" begins as early as the poem's own epigraph--a pair of referential lines that open the poem. The first, a reference to Conrad's Heart of Darkness, a story about imperialism, racism, and a man growing disgusted with the "civilized" world, which brings to mind Alex's speech about war and atrocity from episode 1x12:

Kyle: What if there's some truth to it? That the aliens are killers [...] What if the good ones are the exception to the rule?

Alex: You just watched your government blow up a building full of elderly people. Your brain is trying to justify the slaughter so that your government can be right. You want to believe that we're safe. That goodness prevails. That's the coldest reality about war. Sometimes you're just doing what you're told. Then, all of a sudden, things are burning, people are screaming...And then you look around, and you realize that the evil is you.

The second epigraph reads "A penny for the Old Guy," a reference to Guy Fawkes and the custom of asking for pennies with which to buy fireworks in the days leading up to Bonfire Night. Drawing this parallel to Alex, I ask: who is he? Who is Guy Fawkes? Depending on who you ask and when, Fawkes could be either a Catholic dissenter who planned to blow up a government building and failed miserably, or he could be a revolutionary anti-government symbol. And who, in turn, is Alex? Is he a soldier following orders and fighting his father's battles despite his own principles and desires? Or is the the "black sheep" of his family, doing what has to be done to survive and shoulder the burden of his legacy, working to make the world a better place? And will he succeed or fail, as Fawkes did?

And that's just two lines, placed before the poem even begins. I did say this was going to get long.

Part I: The self in effigy

Getting into the poem proper, the first stanza reads as follows:

We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar.

The first image of the poem, the "stuffed men...headpiece filled with straw" is a scarecrow or effigy, continuing somewhat from the epigraph of Guy Fawkes. This dummy (meaning an inanimate, man-shaped object) is a constructed being in a shape of a man, empty inside, created for a purpose outside its own, created to be used and discarded. The scarecrow's only purpose is to sit alone in a field, subject to the slow decay of the elements; the effigy's purpose is to be burned, often to make a statement against its subject. In a sense, Alex the soldier is a scarecrow set up by his father—set up for a purpose and left alone in the proverbial field to protect the farmer’s interests, aka his father’s legacy. And in another sense, Alex the soldier is an effigy of his younger self, burning to prove a point. Both the scarecrow and the effigy are powerless; as the poem says, “Our dried voices…are quiet and meaningless.” Eliot scholar Grover Smith says of the "figurative straw dummies" that they

[D]esignate not only the ineptness and spiritual flaccidity of the speaker, but…his inability to attain love. If one turns back…to some of the most ancient as well as the most persistent rituals of pagan Europe, it is the straw men who seems to have functioned in certain of the fire festivals as a sacrificial representative of the vegetation spirit or as a scapegoat ridding his folk of accumulated ill-chance. (Smith)[1]

And, then, connecting the straw dummy symbol once more to the epigraph, Smith says “the commemoration of the fifth of November itself reflects the custom of burning in effigy the bearer of local guilt, the accident of the season.” The idea of Alex as a scarecrow, essentially a puppet, calls back to his words in 1x13 that ever since he enlisted he has been fighting his father’s battles and barely recognizes himself anymore. The idea of Alex as an effigy—the “bearer of local guilt”—calls back to the idea that becoming a soldier would constitute a change of state for a young, gay kid into a “real man.” Neither is a charitable or wholly accurate reading of Alex’s enlistment, but nor are they wholly inaccurate. Alex and his father, so closely enmeshed in his identity as an airman, have both at different times seen him as a puppet and as an effigy, as represented in the symbolism of the poem.

The poem continues with a couplet:

Shape without form, shade without color Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

These lines describe the state of the hollow men, only half of what they should be, held back and impotent. I don’t have much regarding Alex to say about these two lines, but they are a useful point of reference for later in the poem when these contradictory dichotomies come up again.

Next, we look at the final stanza of section I:

Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other kingdom Remember us - if at all - not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.

Much has been made in scholarship of “The Hollow Men” of the image of the eyes and to what Eliot could be referring by “death’s other kingdom.” The eyes are, as stated in Eliot’s own letters, a reference to the eyes of Beatrice that persist throughout Dante’s Divine Comedy—the eyes of the main character’s lover. So here I mention Michael for the first time. If I am assigning Michael to the Beatrice role, here, it seems to set him apart from the hollow men themselves, though much of the imagery—the straw puppets, desert imagery to come later, and the general theme of hollowness in itself—of the hollow men would not be out of place applied to Michael. However, I choose to interpret the role of the eyes in the poem as well as the plea in this stanza as befitting Michael’s place in Alex’s life. Michael has crossed into an “other” kingdom, unattainable, separate. And Alex does not want to be remembered as lost or violent, because neither of those things would be the truth. It is not because he wants to exonerate himself nor because it is any more heroic, but he wants to be remembered as he truly is, as both a puppet manipulated by the force that manipulates them both—his father—and as the effigy made of himself, by himself and others, without his own permission. Both the passive and the active states of being. Again, I’ll call on his speech from 1x13, where he says, “I could tell you that I didn’t want to leave, but I did. After what my father did to you, I wanted to be the kind of person who won battles. It felt good.” There is violence there, inherent in being a soldier. There is also a sense of being lost; he was thrown into the military because he had no escape from it, so he made the choice to embrace it even though he wanted his life to go down a different path. However, in the 1x13 speech—made to Michael, or, in other words, in Michael’s eyes—he states his desire to move on from that place he got stuck ten years ago.

Part II: Make it feel over

The second part of "The Hollow Men" begins:

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom

As always in poetry, and in Eliot specifically, there has been debate for almost a century about some of his wording. In particular, the different "kingdoms" he references throughout this poem are subject to much discussion. For the purposes of this analysis, I subscribe to the interpretation that "death's dream kingdom" just refers to sleep. Taking the “eyes” as Michael’s presence in the poem, these lines read quite simply—Alex can’t bring himself to look at Michael, to look for him, to acknowledge him at all, even in dreams.

This entire section can be read as an entreaty to "the eyes":

There, the eyes are: Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind’s singing More distant and solemn Than a fading star.

The broken column, the swinging tree (implying an untethering from the generally solid nature of trees), the distant voices, the singing wind, the fading star—all these images bring to mind a sort of ruined glory. Something that once was great, grand, whole, or tangibly real is no longer. The feeling of finality conveyed here, both in the talk of death and in the words used themselves, makes this a particularly poignant point of reference for Alex to use when Michael asks him to “really make it feel over.”

The poem continues:

Let me be no nearer In death’s dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer –

The scarecrow/straw dummy imagery returns in this section; this time, however, the dummy has slightly more agency, though it is not using that agency to do anything of significance. It “wears…deliberate” clothing and “behaves” like the wind does. Of this section of the poem, Smith says, “here [the eyes] are the upbraiding eyes of one incarnating his lost redemption: the speaker takes refuge in apathy; he desires to think of himself only as a scarecrow. He shrinks from everything but concealment among the other hollow men.” Alex uses the identity impressed upon him as something of a shield—his own “deliberate disguise”—and, similarly, he uses distance as a shield as well. The wind is changing, forceful, uncatchable, untouchable, invisible—all things Alex might wish to be, all qualities that might protect him.

Finally, this section ends:

Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom

Fading, death, final twilight—so many words in the second segment of the poem describe something coming to an end, inevitably and inexorably. Even before the final lines of the poem, the reader is being primed to accept that sometimes things end “with a whimper.” They die slowly, like how day fades into night. They simply fade away, with no celebration or fanfare. These lines also include a reference to yet another “kingdom;” in this case, many people consider the twilight kingdom simply to be death itself. The speaker does not want to be closer to the eyes, whether out of fear, despair, or apathy: not now, and not even in death. Again, this section really makes it feel over.

So, just to recap what we’ve established so far: the epigraph and the first two segments of “The Hollow Men” portray the speaker as a man who has lost a sense of identity or purpose, both among the hollow men and wishing to be more like them, haunted by a vision of “eyes” and wishing to live more completely in the meaningless, liminal space inhabited by the hollow men. If Alex is the speaker, trapped in a sense in the world that makes “hollowness” the only state of being achievable, then the desire to inhabit that distant, liminal space is representative of the defense mechanisms he has developed to navigate the world. He takes control, avoiding vulnerability. He runs away, keeping intimate interactions with the person who makes him most vulnerable on his terms. In sections III-V, the imagery of the eyes grows ever stronger, as the world of the speaker grows more dismal and disconnected, concluding with the breakdown of connections inherent in the Shadow falling between such deeply connected things, and the final statement about the end of the world.

[1] Smith, Grover. T.S. Eliot’s Poetry and Plays: A Study in Sources and Meaning. Chicago: U of Chicago, 1956. Print.

[jessiphile]

The Light, The Dark

There was a place, many years ago, where the children of a small Haven town came to play. Nestled by the countryside, there were plenty of forests to explore and fields to run through, though Sebahnea’s nearby presence kept it safe from overly fearsome creatures. For the more rambunctious young chimera of the Tranquil Lotus Childrens’ Home, there was the Drop. Once, a number of rivers flowed from deeper in the province toward the Sabic Sea, though some had forked away from the main path and become smaller and smaller, until eventually drying up altogether. The Drop was one such spot, a deep gulch formed by hardened sediment and rocky mounds, quiet and eerie enough to some that it sparked tales meant to scare one another when they were supposed to be sleeping. 

To Yunxu, the Drop was fun. Treasures lost long ago to the extinct current often found their way into his small, inquisitive hands, and chasing games unfolded atop the muddy soil. He was scolded by Miss Hina for getting his clothes dirty, but she knew he would go right back the next time he could. Miss Hina, or Hinata Seiwa, was the caretaker of Yunxu and the rest of the children. She wore elegant dresses in the eastern style and her eyelashes were long and multicolored. They always fluttered when she smiled at him, which was often. 

One day, he brought a new friend with him to the Drop, an ursine girl named Rhuna, to explore and maybe spy a ghost lurking about, if they were lucky and their childhood superstitions were to be believed. To their surprise, they came upon a cave Yunxu had never seen before. Acting more bravely than usual, perhaps because he thought she was very pretty and wanted to impress her, he eagerly rushed inside. He held her hand so she wouldn’t be scared, even though he thought he was getting a little too old for that, but as they ventured farther and the air around them grew colder, he found that it was because he was also afraid. 

It was a maze of twists and turns, each step more daring than the last. Their fear was softened by curiosity, the chance to plumb that haunted cave both creepy and exciting. Rhuna bragged that they were the very first souls to ever go into it, and that the other children would look at them in awe at their discovery. But then there was a rumbling above their heads, and dirt sifted from the cave’s ceiling. They ran, their shrieks echoing in the depths, but could not outpace the rockslide suddenly chasing them. The entrance buckled, and they were trapped with only a sliver of daylight peering between the cracks. Rhuna cried and Yunxu pretended not to as he gave her his last pack of crackers, not knowing when he would eat next. 

During what little sleep he found through the long night, he had a strange dream. In it, a figure atop a hill reached for him, their form blackened by an impossibly bright light shining behind them. Brief, though vivid and yet unexplainable to him, he felt calm when he awoke and told Rhuna that everything would be alright. They huddled together until the morning, when the fallen stones stirred and he could hear shouting beyond them. Some Ironscales cleared the obstruction, securing their rescue, and then he saw her: Miss Hina rushing down the gravelly hill with her blue peahen tail shining brilliantly in the sun, her arms outstretched towards them. 

They weren’t allowed to go near the Drop anymore, and soon after that Rhuna found a family to care for her.

As a boy of not yet ten, he thought he’d known what the dark was as he was pulled from the rubble, his eyes stinging against the light. But that had not been darkness at all. 

Darkness was a small room in the Esgarias Empire, tucked within the many hallways in the deepest point of Eden’s Rise. 

The silence inhabiting the corridor was unbearable, his acute cervid ears straining against every distant scratch, the arrhythmic drip of water from an unseen pipe. His own breath was deafening. He listened for footsteps while dreading them at the same time, for the sound of footsteps meant someone was approaching, and who else would come for him but a different captor wearing a sweeter smile. Syderea possessed the pretense of kindness, of mercy, but ultimately she sought to take. 

As he laid there, bound by a thick, unyielding material, he began to develop a perplexing relationship with the dark. Closing his eyes protected him from confronting the sight of the creature, but not knowing exactly where it was proved equally distressing. It disappeared once, moments or hours before, and he couldn’t decide if seeing it or not made him feel better. The only light, the sole disturbance in the abject blackness was the dim, yellow stare of the being he shared the room with. It watched him, unerring and dispassionate, utterly piercing his resolve. He could not escape its penetrating gaze even when he squeezed his eyes shut. 

Despite its constant presence, Yunxu had never felt more alone, more isolated. Humiliated. Every part of his body ached, limbs growing numb from the tight straps encircling them. He realized that one of his antlers had fractured, the pain pulsing all the way down to his head. Cracked lips trembled as they fought to cage a sob that rose and subsided in his throat like the tide. 

A whimper did ring out faintly, distinct from the heaving of his chest. Yunxu clamped his mouth shut to silence himself, but another came. Then, a child’s familiar voice. Though he expected the shadowy beast’s chilling visage, his heart leaped upon glimpsing a different pair of figures before him, each glowing as though displayed on one of those projection machines. A boy not terribly younger than he was then, standing protectively in front of another girl. Younger still and with hair of pale silver, she clutched at the boy’s shirt. Yunxu recognized him at once, and his golden eyes that warily fixed at a point behind him.

A-Mei, Tian’s image said, the sound of his voice distant and distorted. He raised an arm, behind which she wept. Footsteps followed, and for a moment terror froze him, before another, taller form glided into his vision. A Firstborn man he recognized well, who loomed over classes taught in the continent’s most prestigious academy. His scarlet eyes bore into the pair, and he gestured for Tian to move aside. He didn’t, and there was a small part of him that felt proud to see it. Then they began to fade, but before they’d completely vanished, Tian suddenly looked toward him. It lingered in his sight, like what happened after accidentally staring at the sun for too long. But it didn’t leave, and that’s when he realized the creature’s stare had returned.

The joy he wanted to feel upon seeing them, his parents, broke apart before it could fully form, and spread as a hollowness in his chest. Why come to him then, when their faces would soon be wrenched from his mind? Yunxu pushed weakly against his restraints, desperately wishing to be anywhere else - in Mitsukishi with his friends, watching the gleam of Bertrand’s shield and the wind play in Rhodanthe’s umbral feathers.

He tried to focus on anything other than the room he was kept in, the hellish futility of waiting. The memory of Honey’s hand clutching his could not bring warmth to the chill of his fingers. Delfina’s witty murmurings did not beckon a smile. Sofia’s confident voice was powerless against his spiraling thoughts. Hiro’s peaceful smile flashed through his mind, a thing that made him feel nervous and calm all at once, but even its beauty could not quell his hastened breathing. Yunxu thought about that long-ago sliver of light, which had somehow comforted him through weariness and hunger, but there was no such relief for him then. Rhuna and her mothers were far away, safe, and all that was left for him was the unceasing gaze at the door. 

His eyes burned with fresh tears as he closed his eyes, trying to secret away his memories like the snacks he kept in his shawl.