#and willingly and proudly throw it all away

[aetheros]

Nah nah nah. What the actual fuck is this new “my body, his choice” bullshit?

Fuck these braindead & brainwashed ‘trad wives’ with zero self-worth, and the sickening, backwards morons coming out of the woodwork with this nonsense post-election. Swallow your own tongue.

[wileys-russo]

filling the void (3) II a.putellas x sister!reader

prequel one two

since you all wanted to be hurt so bad here is more angst! and for the sake of the broken and left behind younger sibling support club, a little comfort and some steps forward too - song i listened to when writing was we might be dead by tomorrow by Soko! filling the void (3) II a.putellas x sister!reader

after your outburst it worried eli to watch you retract into yourself, and for an entire week bar going to work you hardly left your room.

something out of character for someone like yourself who since your sisters decided they didn't want to spend time with you anymore, had thrown yourself head first into social activities with people who did.

you still saw your friends at work and when they drove you home or picked you up for a shift, but you had a variety of excuses to avoid the dinners or hang outs you were invited to outside of that, alarming not only eli but also your friends now.

your friends had all of course been filled in on the discourse of your apparent abandonment, having assured you time and time again that it wasn't your fault.

they spent time affirming to you that it was just an unfortunate side affect of the large age gap which wasn't something you had any control over. they all did their best to make you feel supported in your emotions whilst also encouraging you not give up on the relationship with your sisters entirely.

something that probably would have benefited both alexia and alba to know, at first feeling sorry for themselves after your outburst. this was then channeled into a disapproval for these new older friends you kept close.

guards went up from both of your sisters about how these strangers were trying to replace their space in your life, they were your older sisters not these new girls hanging around.

eli had all but banned alba and alexia from coming over throughout the week following your explosion at them, warning you needed space and time and that the more they pushed you the further away you'd pull, case in point your outburst in the first place which had spawned from both of them going at you too hard and too fast.

but when the weekend rolled around and still you made no move to leave the comfort of your bedroom or the family home eli decided maybe it was time she step in a little, unable to see any change in your antisocial behaviour unless she offered a somewhat forceful helping hand.

"hija." you looked up from a book your head was buried in with a raised eyebrow. "i am going to watch alexia's game soon." eli started as you noted she was dressed in a barcelona jersey with alexias name and number proudly on the back.

"okay." you nodded with a small frown of suspicion, unsure why she was really telling you this and sensing maybe there was more to it.

"you should come with me." the woman continued encouragingly with a warm smile. "are you asking me or telling me mami?" you questioned with a sigh making the older woman chuckle.

"telling. you have not left the house all week nena and i am worried about you." her voice softened the last few words as you sighed. "mami i'm fine! i am going to see my friends tomorrow night." you promised as she hummed.

"really? that is good then." eli smiled happily as you hummed. "sí, they said if i did not come willingly they would break in here and kidnap me, so i didn't really have a choice." you sighed making your mami chuckle.

"bien. now get dressed we leave in ten minutes!" eli clapped as you made a face. "wait i still have to come?" you asked with a small groan as she nodded. "sí, i was telling not asking." the woman smiled as you groaned again but snapped your book shut.

and sure enough ten minutes later you were following her out the door albeit begrudgingly, your airpods confiscated the moment you tried to put them in, deflating even further as you slid into the car.

"don't look so miserable fresa, watching one football match will not kill you." eli chuckled throwing the car into reverse as you sighed dramatically. "i could only dream of being so lucky." you mumbled sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

"why are we here?" you questioned a little anxiously as you recognized the street she turned down a little while later. "picking up your hermana, she is also coming." eli spoke with a slight air of caution, glancing to you as you frowned clearly a little lost in your thoughts.

"mi hija i know your sisters have really hurt you i am not dismissing that, and i will not push you any further then you are ready to when it comes to letting them fix it. but you are all still my daughters and i enjoy spending time with all of you, together." eli tried to put it as gently as she could as you sighed but nodded none the less.

when you didn't say anything further eli didn't prompt you to do so, waving at alba who locked up her place behind her and made her way to the car, surprise flickering clearly across her face seeing you sat in the front seat.

"hola mami." your sister slid into the back, leaning forward and kissing eli's cheek, contemplating for a brief second whether to greet you in the same way but thinking better of it and settling back in her seat.

"hi fr-hermana." alba was quick to catch herself, eli flashing her a small smile through the rear view mirror as you hummed and mumbled back a greeting, gaze trained out the window.

you zoned out of the conversation which followed the duration of the drive to the stadium, alba trying a couple of times to include you but when she only received one word replies she recognized that was likely doing more harm than good and ceased her efforts.

you stuck out a little once you all arrived, finding your seats in the friends and family section and you were one of the only spectators sat without a jersey on.

you of course had more than enough to choose from. as you grew up alexia had gifted you with countless jerseys both for spain and barcelona.

some she'd played in during important games and wanted you to have over anyone else, and some were just spares, getting most of your immediate family members the latest kits as soon as they dropped.

but when you'd stopped bothering to go to her games you had assumed this ceased. but unbeknownst to you alexia had a whole horde of jerseys at her home for you, but at her own fault barely having spent much time with you had disallowed her to be able to gift them to you.

so even though you could have easily worn a barcelona jersey, you were still upset with both of your sisters. so to wear alexia's name and number on your back felt a little too close to home for the time being which eli had respected enough not to bring up when she'd noticed.

you'd managed to busy yourself with your phone for a good half an hour, sat on one side of your mami as alba sat on the other, the two engaged in their own conversation that your anti social behaviour prompted you not be involved in.

but everything changed when eli stood to use the bathroom before kick off, alba then taking it upon herself to slide across one seat now sat right beside you causing a small sigh to drop from your lips.

"hermana." alba started gently and you recognised where she'd be angling this conversation from the soft tone of her voice.

"alba por favor i really do not want to talk about the other night, i do not even want to be here." you exhaled honestly, watching the warm ups on the pitch and avoiding her eyes.

"then why did you come?" your sister asked curiously, propping her arm over the back of her chair to rest her head on her fist. "mami made me." you grumbled in annoyance crossing your arms across your chest with a frown.

"so you don't have a curfew and go out at all hours of the night doing whatever you want with her permission but mami can still make you come to ale's games?" alba spoke as your head whipped around to snap at her though seeing the teasing smile on her face you realized she wasn't serious.

"sí." a small smile crept onto your lips which disappeared quickly. "saw that." alba commented quietly, turning her eyes back to the pitch as yours rolled.

thankfully before you were subjected to anymore small talk eli returned, but to your dismay alba didn't move seats and instead was now sat still beside you as eli sat on her other side.

when warm ups finished alexia's eyes drifted to the crowd, spotting olga sat with a few friends and waving before looking for her family. she spotted eli with a grin, waving again as alba did the same and for a moment alexia's eyes glanced over you without a second thought.

but then they snapped right back and widened in shock, not having seen you at a game for a long time now she hadn't even realised the figure sat beside alba was you.

"mami made her come!" alba mouthed giving the captain a subtle thumbs up as you missed the entire thing, attention focused on your phone.

catching eli's eye next alexia mouthed a thank you as the older woman smiled and gave a curt nod, alexia hurrying off to follow after the team to the change room.

upset with her or not and no matter how long it had been since you were at estadi johan cruyff there was no denying your sister was a force to be reckoned with on the football pitch, and she was enigmatic to watch play.

just before she was subbed off in the second half alexia lined up near the goal when caro stepped up to take the corner, delivering the ball in perfectly for your sisters head to knock it into the back of the net.

you looked around as the crowd errupted, chanting alexia's name as you of course clapped her goal though without quite as much enthusiasm as those around you.

you watched your sister turn toward where the three of you were sat and make a weird signal with her hands, blowing a kiss at your mami before racing back for kick off.

"you saw that, sí?" alba nudged you with a grin as you gave her an odd look. "qué?" you questioned a little confused as to what you were supposed to have been looking at.

"ale's celebration. E, A, F." alba recreated it with her own hands as the strange look didn't drop from your face and your older sister rolled her eyes.

"e-" she pointed at eli beside her. "-a-" she pointed at herself. "-f." she pointed to you as it clicked. "oh." you mumbled, dropping your sunglasses down over your eyes and remaining quiet for the duration of the match.

"can i go wait at the car?" you asked hopefully, glancing to eli as the stadium had now mostly cleared and the girls friends and families were making their way down to the pitch to greet the team on their six to nil win.

"no, stay where i can see you please hija there are a lot of people around still. i think you should come say hi to your hermana, but i will not push you." eli squeezed your shoulder with a gentle smile as you nodded, staying in your seat as she headed down to the barrier where alexia was already speaking with olga and alba.

you pulled your knees up to your chest and sighed, doom scrolling through your social media's to try and pass time as you attempted to ignore the internal battle your mind was having whether to go greet your sister or not.

"well well well, hola diablillo." you jumped a little in shock as a new body dropped down into the seat beside you, sunglasses snatched from your face and placed onto her own as you couldn't help but grin.

"you are so annoying maría give them back!" you laughed reaching for them as she clicked her tongue and pushed your hand away each time you reached to take them back.

"no i think i will keep them, they look better on me anyway no?" mapi teased before pulling you into a hug. "it has been some time since we've seen you here diablillo." mapi's voice was a little softer now and you weren't sure if alexia had filled her in at all on what had happened lately.

"sí, i have been busy." you shrugged dismissively making mapi chuckle. "ohh because you are so grown up now, just a little worker girl hm? too grown up to slum it with your sisters friends at a football match." mapi teased pinching and pulling at your cheeks playfully.

as you caught up with the older girl who seemed in no rush to go greet the rest of her teammates you were too occupied to feel alexia's eyes where she watched on from the barrier.

eyebrows furrowing and a strange feeling twisting in her stomach at the way you easily conversed with her best friend, rough housing around with her and laughing, just like how you used to with alexia.

"amor." olga's hand caught her wrist as she jumped the barrier to head up toward you, giving her girlfriend a slight look of warning as alexia tugged her hand away.

"i am just going to say hi." alexia promised as olga still looked unsure but nodded, turning around as someone called her name and alexia headed off up into the stands.

"you know diablillo you are nearly old enough for some of these of your own, maybe you come over and i will bust out my gun sí?" mapi grinned wolfishly, showing you a few of her new tattoos.

your eyes lit up in awe as they traced the deep inkings which wrapped around the older girls limbs, the exact same way they had as a child when you first laid eyes on her.

"i don't know how our mami would feel about that maría, stop being a bad influence." alexia's tone was teasing but she didn't miss the way your entire body seemed to tense at her arrival, mapi grinning up at her best friend none the less.

"me? capitana i would never." mapi gasped, standing to her feet and messing up your hair before handing you back your sunglasses. "you call me and we can talk more about it. adios diablillo!" mapi addressed you now with a wink, messing up your hair before making her way down to where ingrid was waiting, the tall norweigan sending you a kind smile and a wave which you returned.

"hola." alexia recaptured your attention now, your body stiffening as she sat down beside you, your sister frowning a little as you leaned your body away from hers just slightly.

"did you enjoy the match?" alexia asked, cautious of her every word as you nodded. "sí, it was a good win." you acknowledged, resting your chin on your knee as your fingers drummed anxiously against your thigh.

"i am glad you came, i have missed seeing your face in the stands." alexia's next words sent a strange feeling through you. "you didn't even notice i stopped coming." your words came out before you could stop them, alexia deflating a little as still you refused to look at her.

"fresa-lo siento hermana." alexia was quick to correct, trying her best to remember snippets of what you said the other night. "i know i did not and i really really want to-" she couldn't even finish her sentence before you shot to your feet.

"i need to go to the bathroom." you were gone before alexia could blink, scrambling away like a startled deer as your sister sighed and tiredly dragged her hands down her face.

there was a soft touch to her shoulder and she glanced up to see her girlfriend looking down at her sympathetically. "no luck?" olga winced slightly as she sat down and alexia shook her head.

"i barely said two words and she was gone. she looked terrified, and of me!" alexia struggled to get out with another deep sigh as olga rubbed her back.

"we talked about this ale, slow. fresa needs time and i know you want to fix it cariño but you have to let her come to you, she needs to want to fix things." olga reminded softly as alexia nodded, kissing the girls cheek appreciatively before the two of them stood and made their way back down to the pitch.

your airpods finally returned to you they were quickly stuffed in your ears as you allowed alba the front seat and slipped into the back, swaying your head a little to the music bouncing around your head as eli drove home.

you were snapped back to attention as someone tapped your knee, pausing your music and pulling one of them out, alba having turned around from the front to smile at you as you were now stopped outside her house.

"would you want to get breakfast tomorrow?" your older sister asked careful not to come on a little too strong but it was hard not to miss the hopeful look in her eye.

"i have plans already." you declined as your sister nodded in understanding. "maybe another time then." she squeezed your knee quickly and kissed your mami's cheek goodbye, thanking her for driving before she was gone.

"are you going to get in the front nena or make me drive you home like a taxi?" eli caught your eye with raised brows making you grin, unbuckling yourself and moving to the front seat, your door closing and belt re-buckling before she drove off.

"i thought your friends were kidnapping you tomorrow night?" eli hinted subtly as you looked out the window and hummed. "they are." you confirmed with a small nod.

"do you have other breakfast plans then?" "no." you sighed, sensing some sort of lecture might follow.

"i'm not ready yet mami." you added on honestly, still trying to come to terms with it all and what you thought was best for you going forward now you had some time to process everything.

"fair enough fresa, take all the time you need. but know your hermana's do love you, very very much."

~

"this is nearly done, go choose something to watch." eli nodded as you moved off the stool you'd been sat on and headed toward the living room, clicking on the tv.

"something funny? a love story? action movie?" you called out as you flicked through the genre's. "mami do you have a pref-" you glanced toward her right as there was a loud clatter and your eyes widened.

"mami! estás bien?" you were by her side in an instant, the older woman clutching her chest and rapidly shaking her head as you panicked. "mierda!" you fumbled around in your pockets, pulling out your phone and calling for help.

you rattled off quickly what was happening, your anxiety sky rocketing as suddenly the older woman fell to the ground still clutching at her chest as the medical officer on the other end of the line calmly told you an ambulance was dispatched and talked you through what to do.

"mami? mami? mami!" you repeated, struggling to breathe yourself as suddenly the older womans eyes closed and she went limp and unresponsive. the operater encouraging you stay on the line and assuring the ambulance would be there any second now.

"i don't know if she's breathing!" you cried out, unsure how to check for a pulse as rapid knocks were heard at your door and you forced yourself away from eli's limp body, two paramedics barreling in the moment you unlocked the door.

the operator now hanging up a third paramedic gently assured you were doing all the right things and eli needed to go to hospital, promising you that she was still breathing as you nodded.

"is your papi here querida?" the paramedic asked softly as you watched them carefully load your mami onto a stretcher. "he's dead." you replied bluntly, panic peaking as the other two spoke so fast you couldn't understand but they were saying but you knew it was serious.

"venga, go get your shoes and you can ride with your mami in the ambulance." the older woman squeezed your shoulder with a kind smile, repeating the words and shaking you lightly when you remained rooted in spot watching them push the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

your worry only continued when no one could really give you any answers, only repeating you would be at the hospital soon as they lowered an oxygen mask onto eli and spoke to one another in what felt like a second language over her head.

it was worse when you finally did arrive to the hospital, your mami wheeled off and out of sight as you panicked when you were informed you couldn't go with her and would need to sign it at the front desk and wait in emergency for further information.

"how old are you cariño?" the receptionist asked carefully when taking down your information. "seventeen." you replied, eyes straying every few seconds to the doors eli had been wheeled away into as if willing she would miraculously walk back out and all would be fine.

"you need to be over eighteen to be an emergency contact and sign the paperworker for your mami. is there anyone else who could come?" the lady asked as you sighed but nodded, knowing exactly who you needed to call as you excused yourself and pulled out your phone.

"alexia? algo malo sucedió, i need you."

~

alexia thanked the gods that she wasn't caught by police as she flew down the streets of barcelona going easily double the speed limit, barely saying two words to olga before she had her keys in hand and was sprinting out the door already on the phone to alba.

finding a park she locked her car and raced across the lot, chest tightening as she stepped into the emergency department, eyes scanning the waiting room before finally spotting you.

you'd always been shorter than her but sat on the chair in the waiting room drowned in a hoodie which was two sizes too big and staring off into space you looked positively tiny in alexia's mind.

you jolted and tensed up as arms were thrown around you, alexia noticing right away and letting go trying not to focus on how much it pained her that even in the current situation you couldn't hug her.

"you have to go fill in the admission paperwork at the front desk." you mumbled with a nod, refusing to even look her in the eye as you tucked your knees to your chest resting your chin on them.

spotting alba over your shoulder alexia caught her eye and stepped away toward the front desk leaving you with her, glancing repeatedly to the two of you every few seconds as she filled in the necessary documents.

"someone will be out later with more information." was the only answer she got when asking for an update on eli's condition, frustrated but knowing that now all you could all do was wait.

"hermanita what happened?" alexia crouched down in front of you as alba sat beside you, you shifted a little uncomfortably under the intensity of their stares but sighed.

"i don't know. mami was making dinner and everything was fine, i stepped away to find something for us to watch and i looked over when she dropped something and she was just grabbing at her chest-" you began to recount, your sisters hanging off your every word.

"-she couldn't speak she didn't even yell out or cry in pain or anything she was just silent but she looked terrified. then i called the ambulance and she fell down and her eyes closed and she went limp, i didn't know if she was breathing." you exhaled shakily and paused for a second before continuing.

"she didn't respond to anything i said or did she just laid there. and then the paramedics came and put her on a stretcher and we went in the ambulance and came here. then they wheeled her off back there and wouldn't tell me anything because i'm not eighteen." you puffed out air through your nose at that last part.

"they wouldn't tell me anything either, just said someone will be out with more information later." alexia sighed wearily, standing to her feet and sitting on your other side.

"oh fresa." alba started sympathetically, stretching an arm across your shoulders intending to draw you into her side but you shrugged her off. "please don't touch me." you muttered, your sisters sharing a concerned look over your head.

"hey nena we just-" alexia tried next, her hand which sat on your leg pushed away as you wordlessly stood and moved to a different row of chairs on the other side of the room sitting back down.

"just give her some space ale, she's clearly shaken up." alba stopped alexia where she stood to follow you. "even now she runs away like she's scared. mierda we're in the hospital!" alexia snapped as alba pulled her into a hug.

"she's not scared of you alexia she's just hurt, and we both know she has every right to be." alba reminded as the older girl exhaled and sunk back into her chair with a nod, both of them watching you cautiously as you seemed on another planet just looking off into space.

"segura?" around an hour later an official looking woman in scrubs and a clipboard called out, both of your sisters up and on their feet as you were quick to follow.

"daughters?" the woman clarified as you all nodded.

"your mami went into mild cardiac arrest, she's mostly stable but still out while we run some more tests to try and determine the cause. her heartbeat is quite irregular and she's having trouble breathing on her own so we've got her hooked up to a ventilator." the woman explained reading off her clipboard.

"can we see her?" alexia asked hopefully, deflating at the shake of head that followed. "she's in the coronary ward but she's being taken for some more tests soon. once we get the results of these initial ones she's just had someone will come speak to you, but all three of you don't need to be here." you frowned as that last sentence was clearly directed your way.

"gracias but we will all be staying." alexia stepped up protectively, the woman nodding before she stepped away and alexia rolled her eyes. "hey, have you eaten?" alba suddenly realised looking at you as you shook your head.

"vamos, the cafeteria should still be open." alba encouraged as you made no move to argue with her, tucking your hands into the pockets of your hoodie and nodding.

"go call olga. do you want a coffee?" alba checked as alexia nodded appreciatively, all three of you parting ways. you seemed lost in your own head as you arrived to the cafeteria, alba bumping you gently with her shoulder and nodding for you to pick something.

anxious and uptight you simply chose a sandwich, not really wanting to eat but knowing your sister well enough that if you didn't pick something she'd just pick for you.

"coffee?" alba offered as you shook your head, quickly paying for your sandwich before she could. "hey! i would have gotten that." your sister shoved you lightly as you shrugged, alba relieved when you didn't complain about the slight touch. "i have money." you replied dismissively, moving to take a seat while alba waited for their coffees.

it would seem you were hungrier than you realised as you polished off the sandwich in a few bites, finishing right as alba grabbed the coffees and you stood to follow her back to the waiting room, grateful she wasn't trying to push a conversation.

you took your seat again on the other side of the room to your sisters, missing the way their eyes raked over you with concern at how you stared blankly off into space, not a hint of emotion present in your features.

you of course were plagued with emotions, especially a growing anxiousness toward all the 'what ifs' which came with your mami's hospitalization and all the unknown details.

but determined to prove once and for all you weren't a baby anymore you'd bottled these feelings up, keeping them under lock and key in your own mind as you did your best not to let them show.

though as more time passed that anxiety grew and grew and grew and suddenly you couldn't seem to rid your brain of all the worse case scenarios racing around on repeat, sending your body into a sort of shock as you blocked out the world around you.

shaking your head and trying to zone back in you stood, needing a drink of some sorts and remembering having passed a vending machine on your way back from the cafeteria.

alexia watched you go with a small frown, alba having somehow fallen asleep in the hard chair next to her as the time was now nearing midnight and still they'd had no further news.

the overprotective older sister in her told her to call olga and have her come pick you up and take you to their home, though the slightly quieter but more rational side knew if she even suggested that it would only upset you and you'd refuse.

when a few minutes passed and you didn't return alexia grew a little worried, shaking a grumpy alba back awake and shoving half a cold coffee into her hand before following after you.

you glared at the vending machine in annoyance as again you tapped your phone to pay and punched in the numbers for the drink you wanted but it made no move to deliver it to you.

"vamos!" you shook it hoping that might help though to no avail as again nothing happened. trying another two times you were getting dangerously close to a breakdown as all of your bottled up emotions simmered on the surface and you gave the machine a hard kick.

finally the arm moved and grabbed the drink you wanted, but your eyes widened in disbelief as it seemed to die before it could drop into the awaiting chute, the entire machine going dark.

and that, that was what caused you to snap.

a string of curses left your mouth and hot tears welled up in the corner of your eyes as you kicked the machine over and over, missing alexia appear at the end of the hallway and race toward you.

"hey hey hey." you tensed as her arms grabbed your biceps and pulled you away, delivering one last hard kick to the machine before alexia had tugged you out of reach.

"get off!" you grunted though it came out as more of a choked up broken sob as alexia's heart dropped and despite the warning voice in the back of her head she refused to let go.

"alexia let go of me!" you cried out trying to pull away but your sister shook her head. "no." you weren't sure if it was the tone of her voice, your sheer exhaustion or the final overflow of the emotions which had been simmering for the last few hours but you gave in.

it was now alexia who tensed up in surprise as you suddenly turned in her arms and hugged her tightly, fists balling at her jumper as alexia relaxed and held you.

"está bien fresa, está bien. mami will be fine, everything will be fine." your sister cooed, hand rubbing small circles on your back as the other cradled your head which pressed into her shoulder.

a nurse walking past gave alexia a sympathetic smile which she returned, whispering assuring words in your ear and holding you tightly, no different than she would when you were upset and much younger.

after a few minutes you managed to calm yourself down a little, and realising who it was that was actively holding you had you pulling away and wiping your eyes with the corner of your sleeves.

"do you want to go for a walk?" alexia offered softly, and as much as the prospect of being alone with her wasn't ideal you really weren't up for returning to the silent stark white waiting room just yet so you nodded.

"wait." alexia held up a finger, glancing around to make sure no one was around before quite literally ramming her body shoulder first into the vending machine as your drink dropped down into the chute from the force.

"needed a footballers touch." your sister smiled handing it to you as you quietly thanked her. not really with any destination in mind the two of you started to wander, a comfortable distance between you as alexia ignored the urge to tuck you into her side like she would when you were younger.

"i do not think i have been in hospital this time of night since you broke your arm." alexia chanced a conversation, sending you a look which you met with a frown.

"i didn't break it alba broke it." you muttered with a slight huff causing a smile to curl onto your sisters lips at the memory.

you were eight years old and eli was working a night shift which left you in the care of both your older sisters for the evening.

showered and dinner had you'd all been watching a movie, dirty dancing, one you found incredibly boring and made a point to tell both your sisters this repeatedly throughout the entire film.

"he's strong!" you marveled as suddenly the main actor lifted his female counterpart into the air, holding her up easily and turning her around mid air. "pft thats easy!" alba dismissed with a scoff as you lifted your head from alexia's lap.

"you couldn't do it, chicken legs." you challenged as alba shot you a filthy glare which had you shrinking into your eldest sister who'd fallen asleep not long after the movie started, having trained twice today and gotten up early for a run.

"could too!" alba shot back as you shook your head. "could not." "could too!" "could not!" "could too!" "could not!"

"cállate por favor!" alexia interjected with a tired groan, eyes fluttering open and her hand moving to cover your mouth as you went to continue the argument.

"you are arguing with an eight year old?" alexia sighed at alba who rolled her eyes but ignored the question. "i could fresa. vamos, we will do it right now!" your middle sister stood and gestured for you to do the same as you wrenched alexia's hand off you.

"what are you both doing now? she should be in bed alba!"" alexia exhaled deeply, her own bed also calling her name. "bah! in a minute. go get a run up hermanita." alba ordered as you shrugged and jumped down from the couch.

"i do not even know what is happening and i know its a bad idea." alexia sighed rubbing her eyes with a shake of her head. "vale fresa, on my count!" alba encouraged readying herself as alexia watched on with a raised eyebrow.

"tres, dos, uno!" you sprinted on one, jumping as she grabbed you and indeed lifted you easily into the air. "muy bonito. the putellas hermanas everyone!" alexia's voice dripped with sarcasm as she clapped slowly with a roll of her eyes.

but what all three of you failed to miss was alba backing up dangerously close to the coffee table, alexia noticing just a millisecond too late.

"alba watch out for the-" the brunette started to warn before your sister made contact and tripped backwards. you hardly blinked then your body was dropping to the ground and a sickening crunch was heard.

"ay dios mio!" alba sat up and paled seeing your arm as you let out a scream, alexia dropping to her knees without a second thought and scooping you up. "get the car keys now!" she barked at alba who scrambled to her feet and raced off.

"hey hey hey fresa está bien, estás bien. don't cry nena don't cry!" alexia cooed, covering your eyes so you couldn't look down at your arm which was very clearly broken, your sobs muffled into her jumper as she sprinted out to the car, alba sliding into the drivers seat as alexia sat beside her still cradling you tightly in her arms.

"ale shouldn't she sit in the ba-" "drive alba! now!"

"she might have broke it but i'm the one who got in trouble for it!" alexia rolled her eyes with a small smile as you both turned around and headed back the way you came.

"i still was the worst off because it was my arm that was broken!" you reminded with a grunt. "hey you got a cast and jenni drew all over it, closest you got to having tattoos." alexia shrugged and you allowed yourself a small smile.

"and then you yelled at jenni and made her scribble over what she drew." you chuckled as alexia groaned. "because you were not going to school with detailed female anatomy on your arm." alexia sighed.

"it was educational!" "don't quote her! it was very inappropriate for an eight year old."

"that cast was so itchy it was the worst!" you sighed with a shake of your head. "then you threw a tantrum because it was white and not coloured." alexia teased lightly as you rolled your eyes.

"because liliana also broke her arm the week after and she got a red cast, and then everyone said she was faster than me." you frowned at the memory. "sí because red is the fastest colour?" alexia laughed beside you.

"obviously alexia, everybody knows that." you sighed as you both returned to the waiting room and at the tense atmosphere you clamped up again, falling silent and returning to your chair making your sister frown.

"anything?" alexia asked taking her own seat next to alba again. "she is done with tests for the night but still out of it, her breathing is better but her heart beat is still very irregular so they will monitor her closely." alba explained with a sigh, her eyes hovering over to you.

"anything?" her younger sister echoed the question back to alexia in regards to you now. "she had a slight meltdown but she didn't want to talk about it, got a hug out of her though and then we went for a walk and talked about when you broke her arm trying to do that stupid lift." alexia explained.

"and i proved i could do it!" alba defended as alexia gave her a side eye. "alba that is what you take from what i said?" the eldest putellas scoffed as alba shrugged, though before either girl could say anything the nurse from earlier reappeared and waved alexia over.

"you and your sisters should go home. you will not be able to see your mami until she is awake and more stable which will not be before tomorrow at least. she cannot afford anything to stress her out or affect her heart rate further until we have more answers on what caused the cardiac arrest." the nurse explained as alexia frowned but nodded.

"you are her emergency contact sí? we will call you once things change and you can all see your mami. but for now go home and rest, you cannot do anything else for her right now and she is in the best place being well looked after." the nurse encouraged before leaving again.

your eldest sister quickly filling alba in you were so zoned out you hadn't even seen her speak to the nurse, staring off into space as alexia took the seat beside you and bumped her shoulder into yours softly to gain your attention before filling you in.

"okay." you nodded quietly, glancing anxiously over your shoulder toward the doors where you'd last seen eli with a pained expression. "hey, they are right hermana there is nothing else we can do. you will come home with me and stay the night and we can go and see mami once she is awake." alexia's words had you shaking your head.

"its fine just take me home, i will be fine." you declined the offer firmly.

"i wasn't asking. you will stay with olga and i tonight and we can talk more about it tomorrow, its late and i think we all need some sleep. i will sleep better knowing you aren't in that house by yourself." alexia spoke softly but firmly, admittedly surprised when you gave in with a curt nod, making no move to argue.

"and you will call me as soon as you hear anything?" alba stressed as alexia sighed tiredly, unlocking her car for you to get into a little while later. "sí. as soon as i hear anything you will know!" alexia promised, drawing her younger sister into a hug before alba walked off to her own car and alexia slid into the drivers seat.

respecting that it didn't seem you were in any mood to talk alexia didn't try to make you, having already paid for her parking she slipped the ticket in and pulled out of the lot.

you watched the dimply lit streets of barcelona fly past in a blur, music filling the somewhat awkward tension in the car helping it to ease a little and before you knew it alexia was parking in the garage of her complex.

you exited the car and followed her into the elevator, still not a single word shared between either of you as your sister twirled her keys around on her finger and you both stepped out onto her floor.

alexia hadn't even turned the key in the door before it was swinging open, olga stood there with a sympathetic smile as you shuffled inside, wrapping your arms around yourself a little awkwardly as your sister kissed her girlfriend hello and closed the door.

"hermana do you want a shower? something to eat? drink?" alexia tried with a smile as you shook your head. "i'm tired." you hinted heavily, shifting from one foot to another and sending olga a small smile.

"vale, spare rooms all made up." alexia nodded behind you and with a quiet good night mumbled you were gone, door closing after you with a click as alexia seemed to deflate now you were no longer there.

"vamos mi amor, you look exhausted." olga encouraged softly, grabbing her girlfriends hand and alexia made no move to fight as she was pulled to her own bedroom, quickly changing and laying down in bed before filling olga in on everything.

"hey that sounds like some steps forward cariño? even just baby ones." the younger girl smiled softly as alexia hummed, the two finished speaking about eli and now moving onto you.

"and she came to your game, no?" olga continued as alexia shrugged. "because mami made her, and she'd rather talk to mapi than me." a slightly jealous pout curled onto her lips making her girlfriend chuckle and run a hand through her hair.

"she posted about going to the game? thats something." olga tried again as alexia gave her an odd look. "where? i did not see that." your sister frowned as olga grabbed her phone and clicked into instagram.

"see? shows she is not embarrassed to be at your game." olga showed your story as alexia's frown deepened and she was quick to grab her own phone from the nightstand.

"i don't see it?" your sister showed that your profile showed no story, comparing it side by side to olga's screen.

"amor what does this mean?" she pointed to the green trim around the edges of your story on olga's screen. "its on her close friends story." olga explained as alexia's eyes widened.

"she has a close friends story? why?" "a lot of people have them for privacy and stuff hermosa, especially teenagers." "privacy?" "sí, they might post stories that they do not want all their followers to be able to see so they have a close friends story where they can control who see's certain things." "and you....you are on her close friends." "sí, and lo siento mi amor but it looks like you are not."

"qué! i'm not going to show her stories to mami!" alexia scoffed as olga avoided her eyes. "why would she not want me on her close friends? i am a cool older sister!" alexia protested, clearly spiraling at this new information

"what? you want to say something, what?" alexia sat up a little and pressed her girlfriend who sighed. "querida. te quiero, mucho mucho mucho." olga started, grabbing alexia's hands in hers and kissing her knuckles.

"but you are...awkward ale. very very awkward!" olga winced as alexia's mouth formed a small o and she pulled her hands away. "no i am not! i play for barça, i go to fun events, i go to restaurants and bars and i travel and take nice photos. i take lots of photos of you all the time! i'm cool, i am!" alexia spiraled further as olga grabbed her hands again.

"you are thirty alexia, she is seventeen. i am sure its not personal! you are very cool amor, very cool." olga cooed in an attempt to soothe the blonde who scowled, crossing her arms and laying back down in bed.

"you are to your hermanita probably just...a little too old for her close friends story mi vida." "olga!"

~

you jolted upright in bed, body drenched in sweat and chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, tucking your knees up to your chest and rocking slightly with your eyes closed.

you hadn't had a nightmare in years but the one you'd just awoken from after the day you'd had meant your entire body was rigid and coiled with a cocktail of anxiety and dread.

being in your older sisters house in a bed and room that wasn't yours was not helping in the slightest. as your eyes adjusted to the darkness you kicked off the unfamiliar sheets which felt sticky and foreign against your skin.

managing to slow your breathing down a little you found your throat was dry, stripping off your hoodie and quietly leaving your room. a quick glance down the hall showing alexia's bedroom light was off you made a beeline for the kitchen.

you checked a few different cupboards before finally finding the glasses, doing your best to be quiet as you filled it with water and chugged it down, not hearing the soft footsteps which followed yor own.

"hermana?" you jumped a foot in the air and just caught the now empty glass by your fingertips as you nearly dropped it, grabbing at your chest and bending over a little as alexia stepped more into view.

"don't do that!" you warned in a harsh whisper, filling up the glass again and stepping aside as alexia grabbed her own glass and did the same. "lo siento. why are you up?" your sister asked with a concerned frown as you pointed to the glass in your hand and took a seat at the counter.

"did you have a nightmare? you only used to get up for water in the middle of the night when you had a bad dream." alexia asked softly once a few minutes passed and you hadn't made a move to return to your room.

you stayed silent as alexia leaned on the counter, not wanting to push you but watching the look of internal termoil clear on your face as your hands gripped the glass sat in front of you.

"if mami died i'd be all alone."

your words caught alexia off guard, a horrible sinking gut wrenching heart crushing feeling settling in her stomach as neither of you moved or spoke a word for at least a minute.

then once she seemed to snap out of the trance she'd been sent into she was rounding the counter, the thump of her glass against the counter bringing you back down to earth too and before you could take a breath there were hands either side of your face.

"no, no no no no. fresa you would never ever ever be alone. i would not let that happen no matter what i promise. i love you mi hermana, far too much to ever let you be alone. i would do anything for you!" alexia whispered out, holding your face firmly in your hands and her heart ached more seeing the tears pool in the corner of your eyes.

"then why did you stop trying to show me that? i have felt alone for the last year alexia! i felt like i have only had mami for the last year!" you could barely get your words out without your voice cracking, alexias stomach plummeting.

"because i am stupid and selfish and i saw you having friends and a life and i assumed you didn't need me around as much which was so wrong. i stopped checking in, i stopped making an effort and i hurt you. it is my biggest regret fresa, and not a day will go by where i will not wish i could change what has happened but i can't!" alexia's own eyes bore into yours filled with remorse.

"i know you are grown up now, but you will always be mi baby hermana. the same baby i held when you were born, watched learn how to talk and walk and whose hand i held when i walked you to school, who would steal my clothes or hide my boots so i didn't have to go to training because you would miss me and you couldn't come with me." alexia rambled, too far gone now to stop herself from word vomiting.

"the same baby who copied everything i did and snuck into my bed at night because you didn't like to sleep alone, who i would carry to the car when you fell asleep under the table at christmas dinner, who i tried to force to like football and accidentally knocked your front teeth out when i hit you in the face with the ball." alexia exhaled and finally stopped to take a breath before looking like she was going to continue.

"alexia." you sighed and pulled her hands away from your face.

"i know you and alba are trying, but it is really hard for me to see it as sincere when i tried for so long to tell you how i felt and neither of you listened." you spoke calmly, having swallowed the tears which wanted to burst forward.

"it is late and i am tired and it has been a really long night, i can't talk about this with you right now." you stood to your feet and went to leave, your sister grabbing your wrist gently as you paused.

"nena you would never be alone, vale? never." her lips ghosted your forehead but you were grateful she didn't pull you in for a hug, worried that would be the thing to tip you over the edge still actively swallowing back tears.

nodding at her words she let you go and the both of you returned back to your rooms though sleep didn't grace either you nor your older sister, both laying now wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

and alexia meant every word, she would fix this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

four

[itsabouttimex2]

I loved the reactions to the lady bone demon defendant! But what about LBD reacting to it? Platonic of course, but would she try to manipulate them? Perhaps get them to join her willingly or by force?

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should've seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn't pick up on. Looking back on it now, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? All those little things should've added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can't explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn't understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean that they want the best for you.

The man that Megapolis calls their ‘Mayor’ has somehow become your most enduring caretaker thus far. Everyone that came before him had either given you up after a few scarce months of guardianship, disappeared without a trace, or succumbed to some kind of sickness.

Frequently, the blame had been put on you. If a child gets passed through foster home after foster home after foster home and never acclimates to any of them, there’s a conclusion that many will draw- the child isn’t trying hard enough.

Never mind how many of your guardians would leave you locked outside for hours on end, well into the freezing cold night.

Never mind how often they ‘forgot’ to properly feed and clothe you, pocketing the allotted care salary for themselves.

Never mind often you weren’t allowed to explore the temporary houses outside of your own room, kept away from areas meant for ‘real’ family.

Never mind often how you were fed box-mix macaroni-and-cheese while your foster family ate real meat and vegetables.

Never mind any of that, of course.

The problem was obviously you, your ‘families’ had decided. And so had their friends and extended families, and even the system that threw you from one miserable little home to the next, leaving you with no one and next to nothing. All that you owned you carried around in a disposable plastic sack, never bothering to unpack and try to settle in.

You’d be gone in another month or two anyways.

Until you had been introduced to the mayor of Megapolis, that had been all the life you had ever known.

With one hand firmly on your back, he leads you into his house, a discreet building hidden away in quiet part of the city. It stands proudly above you, an ancient building refitted time and time again to suit the ever-changing trends of time. The walls are painted in elegant grays and a variety of tastefully selected blues, providing a clean and refined atmosphere.

It wasn’t often that you could truly call a temporary home clean. And this was certainly the first time you could apply an adjective such as ‘elegant’ to a building.

So many houses run-down from lack of care, pet urine long-seeped into fraying carpets, worn cots covered in dust and packed six or eight to one crumbling room.

His arm shifts down your back and to your wrist, holding tight. With such unnervingly wide eyes and the rictus grin he sports, you should be scared.

You should be scared that he’ll hurt you. But you’ve lived a life that’s proven to you a single fact: getting hurt is inevitable.

No matter how much you come to trust someone or how long you live with them- there’s no love or kindness. Just an always-ticking clock, counting down until the moment they break and throw you out quicker then they would toss trash.

But there’s no bruising grip this time. No harsh shoves. No unkind words. No molded side room that smells of bleach and detergent.

“Welcome home, Y/N!” he calls out with a much too loud tone, grinning ear to ear. “I hope you like your new room!”

It’s… actually nice. Not ‘for your standards’ nice. It’s ‘hotel’ nice. ‘Lavish guest room’ nice.

The longer you spend basking in the pleasantly smooth greys and blues of your new room, the more welcoming they feel.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, hoping that you weren’t ‘too late with gratitude’ as you had been so many times before according to many, many caretakers.

“Why, of course!” The grey-clad man pats your back with far too much force, pushing you inside with a stretched grin. “Please, get comfortable! I hope you’ll enjoy your- hopefully- very long stay!”

The door slams behind you, but doesn’t lock. That’s good, you think. You could leave, if you wanted to. You weren’t just trapped in here until your case worker came and asked for you.

And you think that might be the case when he knocks on the door hours later, probably to hand you a metaphorical eviction notice and throw you out because he got ‘unnerved’ like everyone always does-

And you are instead invited downstairs for a hot drink.

How could you say no?

The fireplace is hot, stoked by old papers strewn between the logs inside. If you looked closer, you’d see the names of your previous caretakers and case workers, printed onto them in neat lettering, all in a short, succinct list. And you’d notice the big ‘missing persons report’ stamped in bright red.

But the tea is warm and sweet, and the ‘Mayor’ has his arm around your shoulders as he holds you a little too close-

And you’re naive and desperate enough to consider this safe.

The Lady Bone Demon watches from within. She’s an ever-present force creeping through your veins, ice-cold and unearthly. Her power courses your blood, pumping slow. She feels through your hands. She sees through your eyes. She hears through your ears.

There’s no escape from her.

Carefully, the Lady sows and reaps your suffering. From the confines of your flesh, she makes note of all that brings you to tears, all that brings you to your knees.

In pulses, she strengthens you. Where you walk, crystals grow, smothering flowers and grass in your unknowing wake.

In waves, she activates the powers lying dormant in your veins. Bones buried deep underground shift and stir, waiting eagerly to heed your call.

In surges, she unleashes her presence, staining your eyes the color of a deathly cold ocean. All but a select few retreat in droves, leaving you to wonder what you’ve done to deserve your loneliness.

It is nothing short of cultivation. Within you blooms a small seed of her power, and she stokes it from the inside. The bud of cold blue slowly blooms, rooting deep through your blood. In time, she weaves those roots further and further into the fertile soil of your flesh, ensuring that they may never be pulled free without the utter destruction of your life.

A flower; unremovable, of crystalline sinew and careful tending, a slow and creeping overtake of your life woven by hands unseen. A growing mote of power to be plucked and consumed, taken as part of a greater whole when the day finally comes that you bloom.

And what a wonderful sacrifice you shall make for her cause.

[navybrat817]

Heat Inducing

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Female Reader Summary: Steve gets what he wants by any means necessary. Word Count: Over 400 Warnings: Implied noncon, dark themes, a/b/o dynamics, implied forced bond, fighting, light choking, could be considered drugging, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For @cockslutpadalecki 's Fifteen Sentence Challenge (prompt in bold) and can be considered a companion piece to Bucky's First and Last.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Header by yours truly. Banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass and divider by the wonderful @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

One day, you would come to accept that Steve Rogers was stronger, faster, and more determined than you would ever be, but it would only happen with you kicking and screaming along the way. You should’ve known the alpha only asked you into his office once most of the other agents left so he could get you alone, like he intended to from the moment he decided you would be his mate. You managed to get a lucky punch in before he knocked you to the floor and straddled you, shoving a shiny, red pill into your mouth before his massive hand covered it and forced you to swallow.

You didn’t know it yet, but it wouldn’t be the only thing forced down your throat today by the time he was done with you.

Unshed tears burned your eyes as he finally let you breathe, coughing and gulping in air as you wished you could throw up the offending, heat inducing capsule. Life wasn’t easy or kind to omegas and you weren’t foolish enough to think anyone would help you should yell for it. Because who would stand up to Captain America, the very hero who helps everyone?

Steve caught your fist when you thrashed beneath him, squeezing hard enough to remind you that he could turn your bones to dust if he wished. Instead of looking angry like most alphas would at the attempt to not submit and get away, he smirked.

You froze momentarily when he leaned down and whispered proudly, “Bucky’s omega was a fighter, too, but he got her in the end thanks to me."

You hissed and shouted an impressive string of obscenities as he tore your clothes away, your body growing warmer with each passing second and your will to fight slowly starting to fade. The hand suddenly around your throat cut off your next insult and you half expected the alpha to make a remark about your language or how he'd wash your mouth out.

But he surprised you by releasing you and stating with a smile, “I don’t care if it takes all night, you will submit."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you said, “I will never willingly submit to you, Steve Rogers.”

As he flipped you onto your stomach with a growl, you stared at the door just a few feet away and knew you would never taste freedom again.

So, that happened. Hehe. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[divinemare]

Tales Of Oceans and Shadows

(I’ve been dying to post this! It’s been on my drafts for so long, and I missed my babies so much!)

Just some little stories I imagined about Kallistrade and Azriel’s life after the end of Dark Tides.

Oh, Sweet Baby Nyx

summary: little nyx loves his aunt kallistrade, and gets really sad when she has to leave because of her busy pirate life, this time, he will definitely throw a tantrum about it.

Kallistrade wasn’t very good with little kids, she seemed to scare them, even tho she didn’t intended to do so. But when little Nyx arrived to her life, something changed for her.

It had happened the first time she stayed alone with him. Feyre was dead tired after barely any sleep because Nyx had had a rough night. Kallistrade had just arrived of a little trip to Skull Island she had taken of emergency for some issues that needed her urgent attention. She went straight to visit Feyre, and the poor female fell asleep immediately after placing Nyx in Kallistrade’s arms.

She hadn’t known what to do at first, she had even felt scared, not knowing if she was holding the baby right. But she hadn’t wanted to wake Feyre up, so instead went to look for Rhys. Kallistrade found the male sound asleep in his office desk, dead tired too. So she sent a panic alert down the mating bond to Azriel, begging the male showed up quickly.

Nyx had started to babble as if he was seconds away of bursting in tears, and Kallistrade had panicked even more.

“No, no. Don’t you dare, little kraken, don’t. you. dare,” she hadn’t known what she expected to achieve by threatening or pointing him out as if he was one of her crew members, but it had definitely not been that the little baby started smiling at her, and grabbed her finger in his tiny ones to start chewing on it.

She had been at a loss of words, completely shocked by the simplicity yet magnificent moment of the baby smiling up at her.

She immediately felt a protectiveness in her she hadn’t felt before, like that little baby had become something she would cherish and protect against any evil from the darkest and deepest of seas from now on and until the oceans completely dried.

Azriel had arrived just then, and when he had said he could take care of Nyx if she wanted to, Kallistrade immediately rejected his offer and walked away with the baby, telling little Nyx all the things she would show him one day when he grew up, all the seas she would take him to.

They had become inseparable since then. Nyx had fallen completely in love with his aunt, and the only time anyone would catch the mighty and dreaded Captain Devilsbane showing off her sweet bone, was when she was with her nephew.

But that had only made goodbyes even harder. As Kallistrade was regularly traveling all throughout the continent.

“Who would’ve said, that the oh-so-mighty Captain Devilsbane would have such a soft spot for babies,” Azriel laughed, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, and a broad smile while looking at his mate and nephew playing together.

“Don’t say that, he gets jealous, it’s only with this sweet little baby, right, little kraken? Only with you,” she approached the baby with a childlike smile on her face, while lowering her tone of voice ever so slightly.

“Softie,” Azriel mocked, and Kallistrade sent him a dead glare, nothing compared to her previous smile.

“Shut up, I saw you yesterday doing an airplane with a spoon to get him to eat,” the smile in Azriel’s face vanished, and it was Kallistrade’s turn to smiled proudly.

“We’re not talking about this with anyone.”

“Ever,” she laughed, confirming.

They both could have the biggest soft spot for Nyx, but like hell they would willingly admit it to their mocking friends.

It had been their night to take care of Nyx, since Kallistrade was leaving today for a mission in the western part of the Continent, they had offered to babysit so Rhys and Feyre could get a day off.

It was not often that they did babysit all day, since their house turned into a mad house with neither of them knowing what to do in some situations, but Kallistrade always missed her nephew when she was away, so having him a day —even tho it was always a hell of a ride—, didn’t hurt from time to time.

They would not be doing it again tho, in a long, long time. Nyx had recently learn how to walk, and it had progressively gotten worst when he started running. She had never ran so much in circles trying to catch a baby like last night. And Azriel had had to make his shadows envelop Nyx at all times in case he fell or ran into something. Poor shadows had gotten many hits, and they too didn’t want to repeat the occasion again.

“How was it?” When they arrived to the River Estate to drop Nyx off, Rhys had a cheeky smile on his lips when he saw how tired they looked.

“You are a-” Feyre raised an eyebrow to Kallistrade, reminding her of the presence of the little baby. “A son of the holy Cauldron and Mother. A warning that he could run now would’ve been nice!”

Rhysand laughed, taking his son in his arms and looking at him with proudness shining like starts in his night-sky eyes.

“I did not mentioned it?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Ups, my bad.”

“You’re lucky Nyx is present, because I have a ton of colorful words to describe you right now.”

Rhysand laughed again, and left a sonorous kiss on his son’s head, that made the little toddler laugh.

“We’re sorry,” Feyre said with a smile, shining so glowy that Kallistrade couldn’t help but wink at her friend who had most certainly had sex.

“You’re forgiven. Considering I’m leaving now, and I’m gonna miss this little one.”

Nyx immediately stoped smiling at his father and turned his head to his aunt when he heard the word “leaving”.

“Aunt Lis, no!” He cried, and tried to reach out for her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little kraken, I have work to do, and people to scare,” that did not help at all, and Nyx started crying for his aunt, so much so that Rhys had to let him go. “I promise I will be back soon with many many presents, ok?” When Kallistrade took the baby, she rocked him in her arms, trying to calm the salty tears that fell over his chubby cheeks.

And sure as hell she would live up to that promise. As she always did. There wasn’t a single travel, as small as it may be, where Kallistrade did not bring her nephew a ton of presents.

“Come on, now, sweetie, your aunt has to go,” Feyre picked up her son from the pirate’s arms and smiled adoringly as she watched her son shake one his little hands while wiping his tears with the other.

“Bye bye, aunt Lis,” his little sobs made all the three adults’ hearts melt.

Kallistrade lowered her hat in farewell to her nephew and his parents, Rhys and Feyre smiled at her and wished her a safe travel before turning around to go back home. While Azriel kissed his mate one last time before she boarded her ship.

Little Nyx watched with read eyes as his aunts ship sailed away, and he did not stay happy about it.

𓆉｡˚ ✧

“Rhys!” When Rhysand heard his mate scream out for him, he stood up from his desk so fast his chair fell to the floor and stormed out of his office with Azriel and Cassian following right behind him.

The three of them had been sharing a drink when they heard Feyre’s scream, and now stormed to Nyx’s nursery, where the female was.

“Feyre!” When Rhys bursted in, he saw his High Lady looking exasperated everywhere, and his baby was nowhere to be seen. “What happened?”

“He did it!” She said without even looking at the three males that looked confused.

“He did what, darling?” Mor, Elain and Amren had soon arrived, and were looking as worried as the three Illyrians.

“Nyx! He learned how to winnow! And now I can’t find him anywhere.”

Oh, good Mother…

Everyone looked at each other and sighed, they gad been dreading this day for months now.

They all took a different part of the estate to search, and Feyre alerted Nesta via daementi to look out wherever she could as well. Now practically everyone was in desperate search of the little heir.

“He’s not anywhere! I can’t find him!” Feyre desperately said after some time of looking.

“Feyre darling, calm down, we’ll-“

“Blimey, this kid learns fast,” both Feyre and Rhys heard on their heads, and instantly recognized that pirate slang. “Relax, he’s with me, landed right on my freshly washed deck.”

Both parents relaxed significantly, embracing each other with heavy sighs. When they parted, Feyre couldn’t help but to start laughing, and Rhysand followed right away.

“Did you find…? Uhhh, what’s going on?” Cassian entered the room with Azriel, then the others came in too with confused expressions.

“Have they…lost it?” Questioned Mor, and they all looked at each other as if confirming that theory.

“It’s ok, guys, don’t fall into insanity, we’ll find him,” Cassian tried to speak over the laughter of his High Lord and Lady.

“Don’t worry,” Feyre calmed her laughter to speak to the group. “He’s ok.”

“Did you find him?” Azriel asked, looking around for his nephew.

“No, Lis did. Or more like he found her.”

𓆉｡˚ ✧

“I want to see my own reflection in this floors, Gio,” Kallistrade ordered to the male mopping. “For the next you think it’s a good idea to throw up on my deck after too much rum, you think it twice.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” the male grunted, surely with a hangover.

Kallistrade went to check on the weather report with Maddox, when suddenly, a loud cry made everyone on deck turn their attention away.

“Mother’s tits!”

Kallistrade rushed to Gio, founding the great surprise of a little giggling toddler sliding in the wet wood of the deck.

“I’m sorry, Captain, he yest appeared outa nowhere,” the male pointed at the winged toddler, and Kallistrade couldn’t help but burst out into laughter.

She went to pick up the child, whose face went red when his aunt lifted him, giving her a look that said he knew he had done something bad.

“You naughty little sea monster.”

She informed Rhys and Feyre, who surely were losing their minds, that Nyx was with her, and after hey told her Azriel would be there soon to pick him up, she took the little boy to her cabin and sat him at her desk.

Nyx had grabbed her hat and put it on himself, and the sight of it was enough to make Kallistrade’s ruthless heart melt.

“I want to travel the seas with you, aunt Lis!” The child mumbled, and Kallistrade laughed sweetly, while she watched him try to use her telescope.

“On day you will, my little kraken, one day you will.”

[toasttt11]

new friends

April 25, 2021

Hayden was sitting in her stall before practice started and was starting to get ready for practice when Connor walked in with their new teammate, Ryan Mcleod

“Hayden this Ryan, Ryan this Hayden.” Connor introduced the two as he had a feeling they would get along well and that’s also the reason why Ryan’s stall is on the other side of Hayden’s stall as Connor had asked the team to do that.

“Thank god there is someone near my age now.” Hayden grinned mischievously as she stood up and shook hands with Ryan.

Ryan laughed at her teasing, “It nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Hayden smiled back she really was excited to have him join the team because she really doesn’t have anyone that’s close to her age on the team and Ryan is only a year older than her.

Hayden and Ryan sat down and started getting ready for practice but were talking to each other the entire time.

Connor and Leon shared a small smile seeing Hayden getting along with Ryan immediately and had a feeling the two would become good friends.

Ryan stayed close with Hayden the entire time since he met her and during practice he stayed close to her as well. Hayden didn’t seem to mind at all if anything she was enjoying having a teammate close to her age again.

Once practice was over Hayden showed Ryan around the rest of the arena before taking him to the kitchen for a post workout meal.

Hayden and Ryan sat down together and continued talking as they ate lunch together.

“So where are you staying?” Hayden asked curiously as they stood up after eating, she knew some of the newer players stay at the team’s hotel or with a teammate.

“A hotel for now.” Ryan answered throwing his trash away and walked out of the room with Hayden.

Hayden bit her lip and decided to do something different, “You can stay with me?” Hayden offered as she had more than enough room and the season is almost over and then it’s just playoffs.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ryan sputtered out after being shocked from Hayden’s kind offer.

“Really i have enough room and it would be cool to have a roommate for a little while.” Hayden offered again, she knew how much staying in hotels suck and if she can help a teammate out she will.

“Really you wouldn’t mind?” Ryan asked in disbelief also looking hopeful he won’t have to stay in a hotel for the rest of the season.

“Not at all.” Hayden smiled reassuringly, she knew she was gonna become good friends with Ryan and she remembered how her parents use to always easily offered a spare room for teammates.

“Thank you.” Ryan told her relieved and grate for how kind Hayden has been to him already.

“Of course. You’re my teammate now and we help out each other.” Hayden grinned at Ryan.

“Come on you got to meet Arch.” Hayden grabbed Ryan’s arm and started taking him out of the arena and to her car.

“Who’s Arch?” Ryan asked curiously as he willingly let her pull him around.

“My dog, Archie.” Hayden proudly told her new teammate and new friend.

Ryan’s face lite up, “I love dogs.” Ryan grinned excitedly to meet her dog.

“I knew we were gonna get along well.” Hayden grinned approvingly at Ryan for his love of dogs making him laugh.

[vgilantee]

love lost {neteyam sully}

neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x fem na'vi!reader

requested: n/a (well... kind of. i pitched the idea to julie and she encourages me too much <;3)

words: 4.0k (this is... double the length of what i had planned oop)

a/n: the way of water spoilers i stg if you haven't watched the movie you don't get to bitch about spoilers if you read this fic listen. listen i love neteyam so much. and as much as i would like to write a canon variance fic, i also have fun writing angst. my forte is more hurt/comfort and "angsty but there will be fluff and a happy ending" because i'm a softie and a romantic but sad angst is still fun to write

warnings/tags: hurt/no comfort, implied doing the dirty, mating (sfw), death, grieving/mourning, depression symptoms, implied suicidal ideation, reader and neteyam are about 18/19 because that's how old i thought he was when i watched the movie, mostly canon compliant (whoops), SPOILERS, no proofreading we die like neteyam men

pronouns: she/her

na'vi translations:

oeyä - my (possessive) narlor - beautiful (visually) muntxa si - mate / marry yawne - beloved

From a young age, it was clear that you would spend the rest of your life by Neteyam’s side. He was your best friend, the first person to treat him as just another kid and not the first born son of the olo’eyktan. 

As you grew together, the way you felt about each other seemed to grow in sync, from entirely platonic best friends, to teenagers who would sneak out of chores to kiss in the forest. One day, while leaning against his chest and feeling his fingers play with the beaded ends of your braids, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, whispering into your skin.

“Once we have finished the rites, I want to be yours,” your breath hitched at his words, “forever.” You blinked, twisting to look up at him with wide eyes. “If you’ll have me.” You rolled your eyes, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Of course I’ll have you.” Neteyam broke into a wide  smile, as if for a moment he expected you would say anything else. “In this life and the next.” If you were told as a child, that at sixteen, just days before he made his first kill, that you and Neteyam would be promising to be each other’s mates, you would have laughed them off.

Now, you were beaming at him while sat on his lap, pressing kisses to his mouth and cheeks, eliciting laughter from him as he fell back, arms wrapped around your waist. 

Your parents and his had all apparently known of his plans to propose to you that evening, as they were all waiting for you in the Sully family hut as you arrived, excited that your families would become one. As Kiri swatted Lo’ak for throwing his hands in the air with a loud exclamation of ‘finally’, Mo’at guided you away from the crowd.

“Once you begin your rites, I shall teach you to use and amplify your connection to Eywa.” Her eyes were soft as she rested her hands on your shoulders. “I believe you shall become a strong Tsahik.” You thanked her with a bow, grateful that she would so willingly teach you and flattered at her compliment.

Time seemed to move both too fast and not fast enough over the next year and a half as you both completed your rites and became adults of the clan. Like his father, Neteyam became one of the greatest Omaticaya warriors, proudly taking his place at the olo’eyktan’s side. But however strong and fearless he became, his eyes always softened as he looked at you, an impatience within him to finally have you as his official mate, to be able to say he is yours entirely. 

Like Mo’at told, your connection to Eywa grew, able to understand her guidance with ease. Quickly, you learned that your favourite part of being the future Tsahik was healing. Being able to help those in your clan that were injured or unwell was always rewarding. And despite her being your personal guide and teacher, you were extremely honoured every time Mo’at invited you to assist in ceremonies with Eywa in front of the clan. 

Neteyam’s ceremony was performed around a month after your own, and still, he waited a week to ask you again to be his mate.

With his fingers easily weaved between your own, he guided you toward the bioluminescent clearing where he had first proposed. (And where, two short years before that, you had shared your first kiss). Neteyam held both of your hands, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across his face; not that you hadn’t done so many times before. 

“I know I have already asked you this,” his voice was soft and nervous as he spoke, “but I want to ask again.” As he drew in a slow, shuddered breath, you leaned up and pressed a kiss beside his mouth. “Will you be my mate? Would you honour me with allowing me to be yours forever?” Your eyes watered, crying despite knowing what he was going to ask, and you nodded with a smile. But still he waited, wanting to hear you say it. 

“Neteyam, yes. I would love to be your mate.” He let out a sigh of relief, quick to drop your hands to grab your face and kiss you. You smiled against each other’s mouths, hands on each other and pulling each other as close as you physically could.

His hands slide down your body and grasp the underside of your thighs, lifting you so your legs could wrap around his waist. With his mouth never leaving yours, Neteyam carefully sat down and rested you on his lap, the ground lighting up under him. 

“You are so breathtaking.” He whispered against your lips and you pulled away with a flustered laugh, forehead rested against his. Neteyam was never shy about complimenting you, but somehow his words never failed to cause your heart to skip and the tips of your ears to warm. 

“Oel ngati kamele, Ma Neteyam.” You ran your fingers over his bicep causing goosebumps to raise as you spoke with a sigh.

Wordlessly, you reached up behind you to grab your braid that safely held your queue, pulling it over your shoulder and dragging your fingers down to the end. The soft tendrils of your queue reached for him, yearning for him just as your heart did. Neteyam mirrored your movement, bringing his queue around, and held it just in front of your own. Your eyes flicked up from your queues to meet his eyes. 

Although you had loved each other since you were children, you were both still nervous that the other would change their mind. 

“I am yours.” You asserted. Neteyam dropped his head forward to press your foreheads together again.

“Yours. I have always been yours.” 

As your queues entangled, you sucked in a short breath, body relaxing as you watched his pupils dilate. Your heart began to race as your breaths began to match his, eyes falling closed. After years of promises and soft kisses in the dark, your souls were entwined and could never be separated.

---

You squeezed Neteyam’s hand as Tarsem’s hand dropped against Jake’s chest in a fist, cementing the change in leader and the end of Jake’s reign as olo’eyktan. The Suli Tseyeyk’itan family were leaving the clan as sky people threatened to hunt them. Revenge on Jake for something that happened nearly two decades ago. Neteyam had offered to let you stay with the clan while he left with his family. But you refused, reminding him that you were his mate, by his side forever. And if his family was in danger, you were included in that. 

Neteyam pulled you up behind him onto his ikran and you easily wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting on the back of his shoulders. It was a position that you had been in before, taken on many flights by your mate from the day that he bonded with his flying beast. 

But the pit in your stomach still reminded you of how different this would be. You were leaving your clan and the only family and life you had ever known. You knew that you would follow Neteyam to the ends of Pandora, but the change was still scary. You had no way of knowing what was to come with leaving your home, you had no idea what your new one would look like. Neteyam reached down and rested his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze as his ikran took off. 

No two na’vi described the effects of mating the same, Eywa giving each couple a different way of connecting and understanding each other. For you and Neteyam, it seemed that it had given you both the ability to understand the deep emotions of each other. You could tell when he was stressed about the pressures of his future title and he could tell when your anxiety sunk deep into your bones. It was as if you could feel him in the depths of your being, an overlay on the edge of your soul. 

So he knew, as you pressed your chest against him and felt the rush of the wind whistling past his ears, that you were afraid of what was to come. But with his hand pressed safely against your thigh, the warmth spreading from where the skin met, it reassured you that whatever happened he would be by your side and making things a little less scary. 

---

Neteyam always asserted that you were the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Even as a child, there was something about you that made him smile and desperate to hear your laugh. You had swum together many times in the various ponds around the Home Tree and Ayram alusing, but watching you rise out of the ocean, flicking water out of your braids with a shake and laughing with Tsireya, he could swear that he fell in love with you all over again. 

“Bro,” Lo’ak smacked his chest, bringing his attention back to their ilu training, “she’s already your mate, you can stop the lovesick staring.” Neteyam hit him back, looking back over at you to see your attention already on him. You sent him a soft wave, which he happily returned with a smile.

--- 

Despite Jake’s best attempt at keeping his family safe and keeping the war away, the need for vengeance from a man who was supposed to be long dead was too strong. All too quickly the sky people in their boat with their machines that killed tulkun with ease arrived.

You held onto the ilu tightly as you all raced to catch up with Lo’ak, the ocean spray whipping at you. You knew it was dangerous, leaving Awa’atlu, it was stupid and reckless but Lo’ak was determined to warn the tulkun he had bonded with. 

You watched in awe as the giant creature rose from the ocean, eagerly greeting Lo’ak, who began to panic once noticing a red spear-like tracker in the beast’s shoulder. You wasted little time, standing up on the ilu and diving into the water, swimming over to help the boy pull the tracker out. Neteyam was close behind you, and he helped pull up the Metkayina teens who had come with you. 

You heard Lo’ak radio their father while Kiri and Tuk climbed onto the tulkun and finally, as the sky people boat rounded the rocky bluff, the six of you pulled the tracker out.

“Go that way, I’ll draw them off.” Neteyam ordered, holding the tracker. As you opened your mouth to rebut, he cut you off. “Go with Tsireya. I’ll be okay.” You huffed at him, but obliged, swimming beside the girl and grabbing hold of her ilu’s saddle. 

---

You held onto the ilu as Lo’ak raced towards the rocky island with Neteyam leaning against him. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, the way he wheezed with each breath. There was no way to explain it, but you could feel a heat blooming in your chest. You hadn’t seen him get shot, having been with Tsireya after she escaped the large ship, but you immediately knew, your mated connection through Eywa causing a phantom pain. 

You could only watch as Spider and Tsireya guided Neteyam up to Jake, who helped them pull him onto the rocks. Jake rolled him onto his side to check for wounds before he laid him back. For a moment, he looked between you and Lo’ak who kneeled beside Neteyal, but quickly chose to take Lo’ak’s hands and had him apply pressure. 

As Neteyam gasped for breath, you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath either. With shaky hands you took his, lowering yourself down so you could hold it to your mouth, staring up at him with glassy eyes. 

His breaths grew shorter, more panicked, as Neytiri landed her ikran and fell to her knees between you and Lo’ak. Jake held his face as he reassured him that it would be okay, and you felt like your throat was closing. Then everything stopped, and Jake pulled his hand away from Neteyam’s cheek.

Everything sounded muffled, like you were underwater or had cups over your ears. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It felt as though your lungs stopped taking in air and like someone was squeezing your heart. You couldn’t hear what Neytiri was saying as she shook Neteyam’s shoulders, you could only hear the anguish in her voice. You felt it in your chest as she screamed and Jake pulled her to his chest. You looked over as the sounds around you echoed to see Lo’ak staring down at his red-stained hands. 

You rocked on your knees, internally pleading with Eywa to wake you up, give you a sign that this was a nightmare and the emptiness in your chest was a horrid lie. You didn’t bother wiping away any of your tears, barely noticing them as they rolled down your cheeks and met with the back of Neteyam’s hand, which you hadn’t moved from your lips in the hopes that it would twitch, that he would be alive. 

Then, all at once, sound returned. And you screamed. Pained and desperate, your voice cracking. You dropped his hand and collapsed down into Neteyam’s chest, pleading with Eywa to let his heart start beating again. You could hear voices, Jake and Neytiri’s, but what they were saying didn’t register. All you could focus on as you sobbed was the hollow, empty feeling deep in your chest. You let out a pained wail as you sat up, turning to Jake as you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again, instead choosing to give you a soft, sad look. 

You were left alone on the rocks with Neteyam as the others left to return to the ship and save the Sully daughters. You sat beside him cross-legged, and carefully pulled his head into your lap as if trying not to wake him from sleep. As gently as you could, you wiped away the blood staining his skin, wanting to erase all evidence that he was hurt, then you ran your fingers over his face, pushing his braids to the side and wiping away water and tears (both his and your own) from his star-speckled cheeks. Once you were satisfied, you gently closed his eyes.

Neteyam was always so beautiful as he slept, and you always loved the mornings when you would wake up before him leaving you able to roll over and stare at his peaceful expression. He would always get embarrassed when you told him he was pretty when he slept, the tips of his ears flushing pink. 

“Ma Neteyam. Oeyä narlor muntxa si.” You pressed your lips to his forehead while you whispered to him. “Oeyä yawne. Please, come back to me. I cannot do this without you, I cannot live the rest of my life without you. You were supposed to be by my side forever.” You hiccuped as a sob broke out of you. You leaned back, staring up at the sky. “Great Mother, please. Please, do not take him from me, Great Mother.” You continued to sob and plead with Eywa and Neteyam’s heart as the boat exploded and a fire broke out. 

The yellow-orange light reflected in your eyes and the tears that stained your cheeks. You barely registered the warmth, unable to feel without Neteyam. 

---

You swam with the Sully family, close to Jake and Neytiri as they carried Neteyam’s body toward the Metkayina’s cove of ancestors. You had no idea whether the salted damp permanently on your cheeks was your tears or the ocean as the two had long-since become one and the same. You barely ate, you barely spoke. Everything felt as though you were fighting quicksand, too much effort for you. 

Jake and Neytiri had told you that you could swim his body down with them, but you refused, knowing that if you did, it was unlikely you would be able to bring yourself back to the surface without him. 

You and Lo’ak stayed by each other’s side, your hand holding his in a desperate attempt to not take in a breath of water. He held out his other hand toward his brother, while you squeezed your fist to your chest hoping the pinch of your nails into your palm would let you feel more than just numb. 

The glowing anemone reached out to Neteyam, pulling him down and into its warmth. His energy was being returned to Eywa. As the glow absorbed him you let out a sob, realising that he was gone. Your mate, the man who promised he would be by your side forever, was gone and had left you alone with a tightness in your throat and feeling as though there was part of your soul missing. 

Once you made your way back to your marui, you returned to the place you had been laying since you returned to Awa’atlu after being separated from Neteyam; the mat you had shared with Neteyam in the corner and wrapped in the blanked you had brought with you from your home with the Omatikaya clan, the blanket that still smelled so much like your mate. 

Every time you closed your eyes, Neteyam was there with his wide eyes and bright smile. You could still hear his laugh and feel his touch on your skin as you fell asleep. As you slept, you dreamt of the life you were supposed to have with him, by his side as you grew old together, starting your own family that would share the way he smiled and that look he got when he was flying on his ikran. 

You let out a sob and it broke Neytiri’s heart to hear as she passed by. She had seen the way her mother suffered after her father’s death, knowing that the bond of a mate left the living feeling less than themselves. And she herself had nearly lost her Jake once, and that pain was all consuming. Knowing that pain and mixing it with the grief she felt over losing her son, she could only imagine how you felt, so young and without your mate. 

Silently she entered, bowl of food in her hand. Neytiri knew you hadn’t eaten all day, and you were still a part of her family. She slowly crouched beside you and you jolted when you felt her hand on your shoulder. You sniffed, nose still blocked from the crying that never seemed to end, and looked down at the food she offered. You shook your head, having no appetite. Food would not solve the feeling that someone had opened your chest and removed your heart, the only solution to that was buried with the ancestors. 

“My sweet,” her words were soft, and you looked up at her with teary eyes, “are you ready to go to the Spirit Tree?” In the weeks since his death, Neytiri and Jake asked you this question in variation every day, hoping that seeing him in Eywa would ease your grief. They had learned quickly that saying Neteyam’s name visibly broke your already shattered heart even further, even more than the question itself. Neither were sure how long it would take until you were ready, but both did their best to keep you afloat in your grief.

Every time you thought of him, it felt as though you had breathed in water, your lungs heavy and your throat tight. Your breaths came in heaves, every inhale an effort against the thick air of loss. It was rare you were seen outside of your marui, the darkness within keeping you captive.

But you surprised Neytiri when you slowly shrugged off the blanket and nodded. She blinked down at you, but quickly offered you her hand. You took it, accepting her help in pulling you to your feet, the weight on the unused limbs causing you to wobble slightly. 

“I’m afraid.” Your voice was small, scratched from your tears and it’s lack of use. 

“Of what?” Neytiri left a comforting hand on your back, knowing that you may collapse into your consuming grief. 

“That the spirit with Eywa is from before we mated.” That was half true. 

After Jake and Neytiri returned from the Spirit Tree, Jake had told you that the Neteyam he saw was from when he was younger. If you saw that version, he may not even know that you were together at all. 

She hummed as your eyes itched. Neytiri knew you were hiding from her, and while she didn’t want to force your words, she wanted you to know that there was nothing to be ashamed of when it came to expressing your grief.

“And that I’ve forgotten his face.” That confession is what broke you, a whimpered sob breaking from your throat. “I see him everywhere and in everything. I see him when I sleep and I hear him when it’s quiet. But what if the face I remember isn’t the right one.” Neytiri stopped walking and guided you toward her in a hug. You cried freely as her hand ran circles on your back.

She didn’t need to speak, her presence enough. She was, in human terms, your mother-in-law, and she took that very seriously. You were her child, the mated soul of her son. Neytiri would protect you in every way she could and that included keeping you safe from self-destructing in your grief and comforting you in your fears. 

You sucked in a shuddered breath and pulled yourself away from her, apologising for your tears that stuck to her skin. Neytiri waved you off and let you choose the direction to continue in: either back to your marui or toward the Spirit Tree.

---

You sucked in a deep breath before bending at the waist and swimming down toward the glowing tendrils of the Metkayina clan’s Spirit Tree. The cool glow reflected off your skin and you squeezed your eyes closed as you reached behind you and took hold of your braided queue. 

Eywa, please. Let me see My Neteyam again.

You were home again. Back in the deep forest, feet padding along the glowing moss. You pushed aside the familiar branches that revealed the clearing. Your clearing. The place of your first kiss, where he proposed, where you mated. 

You looked around, already tearing up again (a seemingly constant state for you) at being home, when the sound of a pebble bouncing along the water met you. Your ears flicked toward the sound, and your head quickly followed.

Squatting by the pond, arm still extended from the throw, was Neteyam. You let out a short, shuddered breath at the sight of him, and you saw his ears flick. 

He turned, eyes bright and smile warm, his chest showing no sign of the wound that took him from you. Neteyam was exactly as you saw him when you closed your eyes.

“Ma y/n!” At the sound of his voice, the tears broke free and his face dropped, immediately rushing over to you and bringing his hands to your upper arms. “Yawne, what’s wrong?” You shook your head, not wanting him to worry about you. He brought one hand to your chin and you leaned into it. 

“I’m just-” your voice cracked, “I’m so happy to see you.” He tilted his head with a soft smile, leaning down to press his forehead against your own. 

“I’ve missed you.” You felt his breath on your lips and more tears rolled down your flushed cheeks, though they were quickly wiped away by his thumb. You tilted your head to kiss him, ignoring the saltiness of the tears that stuck to your lips. 

“I don’t want to leave you.” Your voice was wet with tears, and Neteyam leaned back to look at you.

“Yawne, I am always with you.” You shook your head but he continued to speak. “But you cannot stay here forever. Not yet.” Neteyam kissed you slowly, pouring out the love that he held for you and making up for the kisses you had missed since his death. 

You opened your mouth to ask why not, but you felt a pain in your lungs. A pain that pulled you away from Neteyam and back to the ocean as your body begged for breath. 

reblogs and kind words are always appreciated!!

tagging: @websterss

[krnsluvvie]

love at first, love at second, love at last

veinticinco: finalmente, tuyx (wc: 2,2k)

SUMMARY: sae had chosen his career and that was shortly followed by his and y/n's separation. three years pass by and amongst all the lurking and stalking each other's socials, sae is suddenly found back in their hometown. old feelings are resurfaced, current ones are questioned and a whole load of future ones are found in a blur.

veinticuatro | masterlist |

Your results have come out and you were sitting cross-legged in your room, shaking with fear and anticipation. To say you've been on edge would only be an understatement; both Isagi and Kurona knew they would be getting dealt with the Devil reincarnated himself and thus, actively avoided you. You closed your eyes then as you rubbed your temples, seeing them turn around the corner, I can't really blame them. 

You keep opening and closing the laptop as if that would help you with your current predicament. It's been done with, what else do you have left? You either face it and take it like a real alpha that you are or you end up crying about it to your friends–as if they haven't been dealing with… everything you've served them. Willingly or unwillingly.

Your phone dings and you check the sender: Sae. With a silly smiley face.

After the grand revelation, you couldn't help but think about how repressive you were regarding your feelings. That explained your random outbursts and terrible mood swings. You really just had to come clean with it. To yourself.

how did you do?

The text is how it usually is. All lowercase, sounding anything but interested. You swallow down the lump that starts to create in your throat and start typing.

haven't checked them yet

You throw your phone back on the bed as you face your laptop. The worst thing is repeating a year. You mumble this under your breath while typing the website into the browser. It soon becomes a mantra–to redirect your mind elsewhere, to have your mind preoccupied.

The screen turns momentarily white after you finish logging in. Relief washes over you but it gets cut rather short when your face pales upon seeing the loading sign appear. Your eyes don't look away in time as they zero in on the percentage. You knew when you saw it but was curious to see the details. Maths got you real fucked up but hey, no more seeing any of that after all of this. 

You send an all-caps message into your group chat, announce it anywhere and everywhere possible.

congrats

Sae's message reads. You frown a little because looking back, you did freak out about this to him. Unpleasant memories flood your mind and your cheeks heat up. Right, it's just a graduation, why were you pissing yourself every time someone mentioned it? You physically cringe at just revisiting all of the instances.

You send him your thanks in the most nonchalant way possible (you ended up with a lame “thx”) but hey, if you truly squint, the communication has gotten better. The bare minimum is being barely met but you don't expect much from the Japan prodigy to begin with.

You get up and stretch a little before letting your body drop on the bed. You loosen your body and close your eyes. You were incredibly happy; it was beyond words.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

After the formal part ends, you get off the stage, meeting with your friends and family. Your parents look at you somewhat proudly and you give them a small smile–a little mocking as you could never forget their nagging and how “with this attitude, you will barely graduate”. It stung but you got over it quickly. The way their heads drop, you can tell that they might feel some regret, too. They point towards the exit and mumble “have fun”. You nod and get back to talking to your classmates, friends, teachers. This is a special day, after all.

“Would you look at that? You getting a diploma?” Isagi approaches you along with Kurona who's holding a small bouquet of various flowers. 

Kurona catches your gaze and you can feel the remark that threatens to leave his mouth but he holds himself back. “We are expecting you to do more for us.” And he hands it to you, all toothy.

You almost grab it. “I knew you guys would never stab me in the back.” The flowers look a little wilted but you don't expect much from a pair of football-obsessed high school freaks. 

“Thanks, you two. Don't worry too much–”

“Where's Y/N!” A voice resounds throughout the gymnasium. It's already teeming with sweaty bodies, loud, and someone has so much time on their hands that–

“Here you are!” 

There's Shidou standing before you, next to Isagi and Kurona. He's holding a box of chocolates with the most devious smile. You raise your eyebrow as you subconsciously grip the tube with your graduation certificate in it. No one dares speak a word. And you notice it isn't just you or your friends. The whole hall ceases all their activities, it becomes deafeningly silent that even a drop of a pin could be heard.

“Continue!” Shidou yells and the rest continues as if he was a person of authority. The look on his face is tell-tale enough. 

“I'm sure they have just never seen that ugly ass hair combo, my friend.” Oliver emerges from behind them and waves at you. You're frozen and rendered speechless. You blink once, twice. Why is everyone here? Everyone but … Sae?

“Don't call me that,” Shidou swats the hand from his shoulder and he fixes his look on you.

Your peripheral gaze locks on the two guys that you surely believed would never stab your back. Explain.

“I only invited Oliver, I don't know what he's doing here.”

“Yeah, my bad, it was me. Figured you'd want this to be more lively.”

You intake a sharp breath. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Why are you even here. Is this a substitution for Sae?”

The others look at you like you're the seventh wonder of the world. You would do the same in their shoes, let's be real. But for the sake of your dignity, you avoid their piercing gazes as you look around the gym. So spacious! And it fits so many people!

“Actually,” Shidou comes closer as he hands you the chocolates. “Yeah, we are. Sae-chan said he couldn't attend. But he said that he's so proud of you and that he misses–”

A new person enters the discussion as he kicks Shidou in the back of his knees.

“My bad.” Sae mumbles as he regards you with a nod. 

He's in all black, and has a cap that covers his face when he looks down.

“The fuck was that for?!”

“You're seriously not asking that, are you?” Oliver crosses his arms as he tries his best not to erupt in laughter. “Ahh, isn't it just so fun in here?”

“You guys are just loud.” you say. It feels as if it's been years since you last talked, your voice sounding raspy doesn't help it, either.

Oliver not so subtly ignores you as he says, “Sae drove us here. He got here late because he was trying to find a parking spot, isn't it right, Prodigy-chan?”

“I could have said that myself.” Sae deadpans.

You, Isagi and Kurona exchange glances. 

I'm sorry… Sowwy

Isagi puts his hands up in a prayer as if you'd accept his apology this way. You mouth, Buy Me a Congratulatory Meal And Then We're Even-all emphasized–and he has no choice but to reluctantly nod. A smile snakes its way onto your face.

Isagi also catches the way you keep throwing glances Sae's way and drags the rest to the side. Some of your classmates have recognized Oliver and came up to him to talk. 

Now it's just the two of you. 

The bustling and chaos around you does little to help you alleviate your mind. You knew there were a lot of things between you and him unsaid and this place, now, was a godsend opportunity.

“You got the chocolates?” Sae asks out of nowhere and you're almost forced to look at him. 

“Huh?” Huh? WEAK. “I don't know what you're talking about.” As you say this, Shidou comes sprinting towards you, the chocolate box already in shambles. “Sorry,” he says almost unapologetically as he points towards the crowd, enjoying your supposed chocolate.

“I guess not.” He takes the box from your hand and you both notice there's only one piece left. “You take it.” You blurt out.

Sae doesn't say anything as he indeed takes the last piece and pops it into his mouth. 

“Can I take a look at your diploma?” he asks out of the blue and for some reason you comply. You hand the tube to him and watch as he carefully takes the document into his calloused hands. You don't think you could stand there idly, doing nothing, anymore so to plan your escape, you scan the area and the best case scenario would be just… turning around, leaving him behind.

You had manners, though, and this childish game wasn't going to cut it anymore. As you turn to look at him and tell him you will go back to Isagi and Kurona, he grabs your shoulder and leans down. Sae uses the diploma to shield both of your faces as he slightly leans down and kisses you on the lips.

You feel something probing on your lips and your body reacts way faster than your mind and you let him in. His tongue swirls and that one piece of chocolate lands in your mouth.

He slowly pulls away but you latch onto him, not backing down. 

Your façade has been long debunked and you knew Sae was aware. Probably had been for some time now with how confidently he invited himself into your mouth.

You pull away and he looks at you amusingly. “What, want more?”

Your face is burning with crimson and you still have some half-decentness in you left that you cover your mouth with the back of your hand. What the fuck was that.

“Gahhh, that was tiring.” Shidou comes back, arms stretching over his head. 

“No one even knew you.” Oliver deadpans.

“I was literally the talk.”

“You were the guy that Itoshi Sae tossed to.”

“Multiple times, if you will.”

“You know what, nevermind.”

“Oh, you two.” Shidou changes the topic as swiftly as he usually does. “Why are you holding their grad certificate?”

“Was curious.” Sae's answer comes fast and almost calculated. He returns it to you.

“Okay.” Shidou eyes both of you. “The kids are going home 'cause practice, school, so it's just us left.”

Oliver adds, “We should go celebrate.”

“Why are you so red?” Shidou turns to you. “Did somethin' happen?”

“I am fine, you guys go ahead. I will go talk to my teachers before I leave.”

“I will go talk to them, too. Haven't updated them in a while.” Sae says.

Oliver and Shidou exchange fully knowing glances. “Alright, you know where you parked your car. We will wait there.. after we find it.”

Sae nods and the two of them leave with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“You wanna tell me something?” Sae asks and it takes you a while to realize that he's talking to you.

“Me? I don't think so. Maybe you have something to tell me?” You say, inwardly cringing at how it ended up sounding despite all your nonexistent efforts. 

“Well, I'll go talk to them if you don't mind–”

“Sae,” you exhale. It feels like the more you call out to him, the more free you feel and the more true you're staying to yourself.

He turns to look at you and you hate being scrutinized over. Yet…you gather all your courage and say, unfiltered, “I like you.”

Sae's lips quirk in a small smile. A minute passes. Or maybe a second. You don't know because it feels too long until he responds.

“I know.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Actually–”

Sae chuckles and gets closer and you actively notice you don't mind it. At all. “I like you, too. I have for a while. A long while.”

You look at him and you notice that he's really grown now. He wasn't the boy you once dated and…  almost loved. Though, the personality stayed the same still, but you believe it is a part of the Itoshi appeal.

His hair is longer, his features got sharper and you can only hope that you feeling he has gotten mellower is also right.

“I don't think I ever stopped.”

Your heart starts beating faster. It accelerates with every passing second and you feel like passing out. You also never thought you'd find yourself near him again, let alone like him and be in each other's proximity. Just like before. 

“Aren't you such a romantic?” Your voice comes out meek. But you know that it isn't any sign of weakness.

“Let's go talk to the teachers,” you lay out your hand to him, “I'm sure they missed seeing their favorite sports player.”

He scoffs but takes your hand nonetheless.

That in itself was an answer you both wanted. Neither of you was a fan of words and it manifested itself in this form of a relationship. In the end, words never conveyed as much as actions did.

They truly never did.

a/n: FUCKING FINALLY!!!! i cant say im totally happy with how i managed the series and how it flowed overall (severe burnout from the constant posting in the beginning (sprinkle some life things that contributed to the plot that i call my life) that i had to sit down and breathe). thank you to everyone who stuck around despite everything, im eternally grateful. if you have any questions, send an ask and ill answer!! until then <3!!!

tag list: @kiopanxp @funtuki @silly-ez @asteroskoniiii @keijiqahara @pikibee @tamimemo @kaitfae @biaonww @y-sabell-a @kaiserkisser @winterpein @bloombb @yyoichisgirl @rifran

[inhuman-obey-me]

Flowers for a Devil

Because Asmo didn't get an official birthday event story this year, which we think is pretty unfair as the last in the brothers' cycle, we made our own birthday story and art 😤

Asmodeus has always loved surrounding himself with flowers, but this year, he's gotten really into flower language. So as a surprise for his birthday, everyone decides to throw a flower-themed party, and they all get him different flowers that they thought would suit him!

(story and flower explanations below the cut)

SOLOMON

As Asmo insists on ringing in his birthday, Solomon finds himself dragged out clubbing the night before

But seeing as they would be out together, he figures it would be a perfect opportunity to give his pact-mate his gift right at midnight

He offers Asmo a narcissus, which earns him a little bit of an eye-roll, though he laughs it off

"Well, yes, it does mean egotism of course. But it also means 'stay sweet as you are.' Happy birthday, Asmodeus. Never change."

MAMMON

Mammon was dragged out the night before as well, though a bit more willingly, as part of Team Party People

Not quite having thought it through as much but not wanting to be outdone, he gives Asmo his flower as soon as they get home at the end of the night

His is a lovely little yellow flower, called a coreopsis

"It means 'always cheerful.' Because ya always try so hard to make everyone happy. We notice, ya know. Happy birthday, Asmo!"

BEELZEBUB

Initially, Beel had planned to wait to give his flower along with everyone else at the party, but by morning, the sweet scent of it has him worried

Not wanting to accidentally eat it during the day, he gives it to Asmo first thing at breakfast

The Avatar of Lust squeals with delight at the amethyst tones of the forget-me-not

"Happy birthday, Asmo. You're a great big brother to me and Belphie. So this is to show that I really admire you."

DIAVOLO

The young prince is so excited to give his gift that he actually gets to the party early

Once he arrives, he seeks out Asmo right away, grinning widely

He proudly hands the stalk of white delphinium blossoms to the lustful demon, and gets a smile almost just as big in return

"These are for you, Asmodeus. According to human realm traditions, these represent a happy nature. I hope you'll continue to share yours with the entire Devildom! Happy birthday!"

BARBATOS

The prince's butler, of course, comes not far behind his liege

He smiles politely at the birthday demon and hands forth the blossom he brought as well

Upon seeing the daylily in his hands, Asmo immediately takes the "coquetry" flower as license to flirt shamelessly with his fellow pact-holder

"Ah, please don't misunderstand, I'm afraid this doesn't mean I share your particular inclinations. But the meaning of it certainly reminded me of you. Happy birthday, Asmodeus."

THIRTEEN

Though she's not especially close with Asmodeus, she still decided to drop by the party

Not one to show up empty-handed, she makes sure to have a flower for him too

To be on the safe side, she chose an orchid, which he's certainly happy enough to receive

"Love and beauty is basically, like, your thing, right? So this is for you! Happy birthday!"

MEPHISTOPHELES

At Diavolo's enthusiastic invitation, Mephisto deigns to join the party and its theme

However, since he's not very fond of the brothers, he settles on gifting a sprig of candytuft to indicate his indifference

Asmodeus, however, is only familiar with its more positive meanings -- sweetness, joy, and beauty -- so he's perfectly pleased by the selection, to Mephisto's confusion

"Don't tell me you're happy about a gift like this? You lot truly are bizarre. Anyway, I'm told it's your birthday, so happy birthday."

SIMEON

Simeon is next to approach the Avatar of Lust, with both other angels following along behind

He presents the flower simply, but Asmo is immediately fascinated by the odd pink petals at its base

Having known him for a long time, Simeon thinks the lady's slipper and its meaning of capricious beauty sounded just right for his friend

"We actually wanted to get some Celestial Realm flowers for you, but we didn't get a chance to go back. Still, I thought this one would suit you well. Happy birthday!"

RAPHAEL

Raphael, having also known Asmodeus a long time but on slightly less friendly terms, is a bit more awkward about his gift as he approaches

Nonetheless, he smiles as he gives his flower, reiterating Simeon's apology for not being able to get one from the Celestial Realm

He doesn't mention the meaning of the anemone, letting his bittersweet feelings towards the former angel go unspoken -- a forsaken affection, new beginnings, and protection from evil

"Here, this is for you. I hope you like it. Happy birthday, Asmodeus."

LUKE

Luke is quivering a bit behind Simeon, though more out of shyness now than the fear he used to have towards the demon

He thrusts the stalk of little flowers forward, and yelps audibly when Asmo starts petting his head in thanks

Shouting once again that he is not a dog, he mentally reaffirms the lesser-known secondary meaning he found for the gifted white hyacinth -- "I'll pray for you"

"Um, I heard they used to call you the Jewel of the Heavens...so I got you this flower that represents loveliness. Happy birthday, Asmo!"

BELPHEGOR

Belphie is less inclined towards the outright partying, so he waits until Asmo pauses to get a drink to give his gift

He has his brattiest grin as he hands the flower over, and although Asmo rolls his eyes and tells him to stop it, he very clearly actually thinks it's cute of his youngest brother

Despite that, Belphegor had chosen the white hydrangea for him means togetherness and sincere feelings, perfect for family -- though, fittingly, it also represents vanity

"Here, a flower for the most narcissistic member of our family. Just kidding. Happy birthday, Asmo."

LEVI

Sensing his chance, Levi also takes the opportunity to present his flower to Asmo

He tries not to be too jealous of the beautiful bouquet that his brother has gathered, though the Avatar of Envy can't help but think he could never be popular enough to receive all that

But after all, his envy is equally driven by admiration, and the variegated tulip precisely represented things he admires about his brother -- his beautiful, charming eyes and his popularity and fame

"Happy birthday, Asmo! I heard about this flower from the anime I was watching last week, I Accidentally Ate A Poisonous Flower and Now I've Been Reincarnated As A Demonic Princess?!, and thought it sounded just like you. I hope you like it!"

SATAN

It's at this point that Satan realizes that almost everyone else has given their flower, and he's determined to at least beat Lucifer to it

He had studied books on flower meanings for a solid month trying to select the perfect one, and is confident he's chosen the perfect one to describe Asmo

Though the citron flower he gives means "ill-natured" beauty, he hands it over with begrudging affection, which his brother immediately teases him for

"Argh, this kind of thing is exactly why I chose this! But it does mean beauty as well, just like you. Happy birthday, Asmo."

LUCIFER

As the party winds down, Asmo has a pretty sizeable bouquet in hand, and he's excited to show it off to his eldest brother before they head home

As he does so, he looks expectantly at Lucifer, who just smirks, because of course he has a flower ready too

He gives Asmo an alyssum, which the younger brother is familiar with but looks at with some confusion -- worth beyond beauty?

"It means exactly what you think it does, yes. Remember that in this next year. Happy birthday, Asmo."

[irkimatsu]

Overlord Husk is a pure dominant, someone who has to keep his little thing close because he won't let you go, proudly showing off all over him in every match, letting your screams of pleasure pierce the walls of the penthouse. after the evening

But Hazbin husk would be more docile? punished and chained in the same way you wrote so well. Maybe with you he could play the game... he trusts you for thatI must admit that the role of overlord gives him this strong side which excites us, but a helpless envelope in the face of the love you give him, in the face of your whole being which cries out with desire for him, it must be so. Thus.. So. magnificent *q*

Yep, I'm with you on that one - Overlord Husk is purely dominant, no budging on that one. How is he supposed to be anything else? He's supposed to be fierce, ruthless, never showing any weakness. Even the fact that he's developed any feelings for his pet besides lust is throwing him off. He'll finally admit to himself that yes, he adores you and would do anything for you... but he's still the one "in charge" of the relationship. Not in the sense that he wants to control you in a way that hurts you, but in the sense that he feels responsible for protecting you and serving your every need. You shouldn't have to do anything for him, he should be able to handle all this himself...

Husk isn't like that anymore. He may miss all that power in some ways, but he also hates what it did to his mental state. Now that he's contracted to a controlling owner, he knows now what it's like being on the other side of an Overlord deal. He can't imagine taking away another's independence like that ever again, no matter how good his intentions were with you back then. He's also done letting his human interactions be driven by lust; sure, it was the easiest way for him to get a dopamine hit disguised as human connection back then, but now, he wants something deeper, an equal partnership. He's not sure if he can provide said equal partnership, but if he can't, then he'd rather be alone than fall into his old unfulfilling habits. He has enough old unfulfilling habits that still have him in their grip, he doesn't need to add unsatisfying promiscuity back to the pile.

It's still nice having a bit of power in the bedroom, though. As long as he's sure you're is enjoying this as much as he is, it is pretty damn hot having a beautiful treasure like you on a leash, kneeling for him, worshiping his body, begging him to have his way with you... teasing every inch of your body as his own form of worship, not satisfied until he's lit up every single nerve you possess, the sentiments "I own you" and "I love you" combined in every touch...

...but could he relinquish that power? His initial response would be "fuck no". He hates being controlled, and you're sure as shit never going to get him to willingly wear a leash for kink purposes.

...but you don't need to dominate him in the same way he used to dominate others. I think he'd adore a soft service dom. Someone who assures him that he can lay back and let himself go. He doesn't need to act tough or worry about "embarrassing" himself; make any noise he needs to, ask for whatever he wants, and his dom will happily provide. Soft, firm hands massaging his shoulders and wings while loving lips bathe his skin with affection.

"You're doing so good, Husk... you're so good. Please let me take care of everything..."

The noises and expressions he makes as you sink onto his cock... or maybe you're inside him for the first time, filling him with an intense pleasure he hasn't let himself experience with another person in years... however you take him, he's able to let himself feel it, accept it, enjoy it. He can believe that he deserves to be caressed and kissed and loved, without needing to do something to prove he deserves it.

"I love you..." he manages to whisper as his face twists in pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, his wings are lightly flapping, he can't stop panting.

"I love you too, baby," you whisper back as you lightly kiss his face, never stopping the motion of your hips.

He moans, and he's gone.

[thana-topsy]

Twenty-Two

Hadvar and Ralof have to work together to escape Helgen. [Read it on AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

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

He read the name from the list:

“Ralof of Riverwood.”

The words felt unreal leaving his mouth, as if spoken by someone else. The moment he had seen Ralof on the cart, the blood had drained from his face and the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. No, gods. Not like this. He had been prepared to meet Ralof in battle, perhaps even to die by his sword. But not like this… 

Hadvar looked up to meet Ralof’s eyes, wondering what he might see—fury, anger, regret? He wasn’t prepared to see righteous determination. A man proudly and willingly facing his own death. And for what? Hadvar wanted to lunge forward and grab him by the shoulders, shake him. ‘Why!?’ he wanted to scream at the man he once called his best friend. ‘Why would you throw your life away for a traitor!?’ 

But he stood still, frozen in place, quill in hand poised to check the name off his list. Ralof lifted his chin and looked away, turning to walk towards the headsman. One hundred words rose and died behind Hadvar’s teeth. He cleared his throat and called the next name. 

—

The shriek of the dragon’s shout faded as Hadvar shoved his shoulder against the door of the fort, barring it with shaking hands. He fell back against the wood, breathing heavily, sweat stinging his eyes. He could smell his own singed hair, his right arm pulsing hot with burns. How had things gone from bad to worse to catastrophic, all within twenty minutes. 

This was a nightmare. The work of Vaermina. 

Hadvar wanted to wake up.

He took a moment to gather his wits, the world spinning dizzily around him. A dragon had attacked Helgen. A dragon. A creature so powerful that it could warp reality with a single word. How was he supposed to live in a world where dragons roamed the skies? The civil war suddenly seemed so small and pointless.

The fort shuddered around him, loose rocks falling from the walls and ceiling. 

He smacked his own face then beat a fist against his chest with a growl. “Think, Hadvar, think!” Scour the fort for resources; create an exit plan. 

The fort had three exits, but they all led back out into the chaos. He could sit in the fort and wait for the dragon to leave on its own, but the idea made him feel like a coward. That, and as the fort shook with another rumble, the survival rate of that plan seemed slim to none. He glanced around the room—the barracks—and walked over to the first chest he saw, kicking it open. Spare uniforms. A bit of loose gold. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He had his sword and his own two feet. He needed to move. 

He jogged from the barracks and into the adjoining chamber, running headfirst into two Stormcloak soldiers. 

There was an awkward pause in which the three of them simply stared at each other, then Hadvar took a stumbling step backwards, throwing his hands up in placation. “Wait, wait, don’t attack! Let’s just—”  

One of the soldiers let out a bellowing warcry, drawing his sword and sprinting towards Hadvar. 

His reaction was automatic, drilled into him from hours of training in the Solitude courtyards. He spun to avoid the attack while unsheathing his sword, then used the momentum to bring the sword down on the back of the man’s neck. It wasn’t a clean strike, but Hadvar felt the reverberation of the soldier’s spine cracking, blood arcing across his sword and knuckles. 

The soldier’s companion was already on him before he had time to recover, and he barely caught the downswing of her sword against his own. He threw her off balance with the force of his block and seized the opportunity to drive his sword into her chest, aiming for her heart. A quick death is a merciful death, came Captain Aldis’ voice in the back of his mind. 

The soldier looked into his eyes, her expression fearful, disbelieving. I’m sorry, he thought, but his jaw was clenched tight around the words. She coughed once, blood bubbling from her lips, then slid from his blade to the floor. 

It was over in a blink. Hadvar’s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear the roar of the dragon outside as the fort shook around him. He had to get out, had to—

Another Stormcloak came jogging into the room. He looked down at the bodies on the floor, then to Hadvar as he readied his weapon.

It was Ralof.

All of the fight left Hadvar’s body like a candle extinguished in the wind, and he dropped his sword, dropping to his knees immediately after. “Ruh—” He couldn’t even say his name. 

Ralof was staring at him with unbridled rage in his eyes. Hadvar half-hoped he’d kill him.

“I tried—” Hadvar began, throat dry. “I tried to reason…” 

Ralof stared at him a moment longer, sword still at the ready, his lip drawn into a snarl. Finally, he spat on the ground, but sheathed his sword. “Aye,” he growled. “I heard as much.” He walked over and extended an arm, and Hadvar let himself be pulled to his feet. “Where was that mercy when you were sending me to the block, eh?”

“Those weren’t my orders,” Hadvar argued breathlessly, but it felt like a sorry excuse even to his own ears. 

“No, ‘course not,” Ralof grumbled. “Just doing whatever those Imperial dogs tell you to do, right?”

“Please, let’s not. We need to get out of here before the fort comes down around us. War be damned, that was a dragon, Ralof. A gods-damned dragon.”  

Ralof was looking into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. “Aye,” he said. “Never in my wildest dreams…” 

Hadvar took a moment to study his face. They hadn’t seen each other in over three years, and their last encounter had ended in an explosive argument that came to blows. Hadvar had walked away with a swollen and blackened eye, though he’d managed to break Ralof’s nose. He could see even now where it hadn’t quite healed right. 

“This fort will be swarming with Imperial soldiers,” Hadvar said. “We need to get you something different to wear. I found spare armor in the barracks—”

Ralof snarled at him. “I’ll be damned to Oblivion before I don Imperial armor!” 

“Think, Ralof! Forget your stubborn loyalties and think!” Hadvar took him by the shoulders. “Let’s get out of Helgen alive, first, yeah?”

The fort shook again, as if to remind them. Ralof’s scowl remained, but he nodded with a single jerk of his head. He glanced down at the bodies of his fallen comrades. “It pains me to leave them here. They deserve proper burials.” 

“If there’s anything left of the fort after this, I’ll see to it,” Hadvar promised. It was an empty promise, really, but a part of him genuinely wanted to keep it. 

They returned briefly to the barracks to exchange Ralof’s armor for that of an Imperial set, then made their way deeper into the fort. They encountered only a handful of other soldiers making their way through the fort, and, to Hadvar’s relief, none of them even spared Ralof a second glance. 

“Up ahead!” one shouted from the group down the hall. “There should be an exit that’ll put us out near the main gates.” 

Hadvar and Ralof jogged to catch up, but a massive CRACK shook the fort. Ralof lunged in front, throwing his arm in front of Hadvar to stop him right as the ceiling began to collapse. He turned and threw himself against Hadvar, toppling both of them to the ground and out of the way of the falling rubble. They coughed as the dust settled, and Hadvar felt his stomach twist at the sight of the blocked tunnel. 

“Guess we’ll have to find another way out,” he said. 

Ralof sighed, dusting off his skinned knees as he got to his feet. “Why in the name of Talos do you Imperials fight without breeches!?”

Hadvar let out a startled laugh, once more allowing Ralof to pull him to his feet. “That much we can agree upon, old friend.” 

“Easy, Hadvar,” Ralof warned, stepping away. “We are not friends. Not anymore.”

Hadvar’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “This way,” he said, beckoning Ralof to follow. “Hopefully there’s an exit further down.” 

They did not find an exit, but instead found a torture chamber. 

“Troll’s blood…” Ralof cursed under his breath. He turned slowly to look at Hadvar, rage clouding his features. “Hadvar… what in Oblivion is this?”

Hadvar was just as speechless, his eyes scanning the room. He knew these rooms existed, dappled across Skyrim in various forts. But beneath Helgen? “I—”

“Ah, did you boys come to watch or to help?” came a soft, wry voice. A man stepped out from behind a pillar, his dark eyes nearly black beneath his low hood. “Afraid we’re a little light on prisoners at the moment.” 

“There’s a dragon attacking Helgen!” Hadvar blurted. “We have to get out of here!” 

“Dragon?” the man repeated, sounding bored and dismissive. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m telling the truth! We have to leave before it brings the fort down on our heads.” His gaze jerked to a body slumped in one of the cages. “Gods…”

“Oh him?” said the torturer, turning to look. “Don’t bother. Lost the key ages ago. He screamed for almost a full week before finally going silent.”

Ralof let out a bellow of rage, drawing his sword and charging the man. The torturer barely had time to look surprised before Ralof had buried his sword in his chest. He pulled back and shoved the man off his blade with a kick of his boot, spitting on the body before whirling on Hadvar. 

“These your men, Hadvar!?” he yelled. “Is this who you’re fighting alongside!?”

“I don’t associate with that man,” Hadvar said numbly. 

Ralof gestured to the crumpled figure with his sword, sending an arc of blood across the stone floor. “You wear the same uniform!” 

“This is war, Ralof!” he yelled back, his face and hands flooding with heat. “We’ve all heard about what Stormcloaks do with their prisoners! Are those your men? Eh?” He strode through the chamber with determination, wanting nothing more than to leave it behind him. “None of us have clean hands. Now let’s get out of here, if we can.”

He didn’t check to see if Ralof followed him, and a part of him didn’t care if he did, but he soon heard footsteps trailing behind him.   

The fort was massive, beyond what Hadvar could have imagined. To think this labyrinth had been beneath their very feet for all these years. They reached a final chamber that appeared to be a deadend until Hadvar heard the whistle of wind. 

“Hear that?” he said, holding up a hand to signal pause.

Ralof went silent, cocking his head to the side to listen. The rumble of the dragon fire had grown distant. The silence of the empty fort pressed in around them, interrupted by the strange whistle. “Sounds like a breach in the walls somewhere,” Ralof said. 

They scoured the perimeter, finding a drawbridge, and beyond that, a massive opening in the fort’s stone wall that led to a natural cave with a mountain fed river.

“If we follow the water, we may be able to find a way out of here,” said Ralof.   

Hadvar nodded. “Smart.”

Ralof gave him a scathing look. 

“I’m being genuine!” 

Grunting, Ralof ducked through the opening in the wall without sparing him another glance, and Hadvar followed with a sigh. 

After a harrowing trudge through the caverns, nearly being killed by giant spiders, sneaking past sleeping bears, and crawling their way up and out through a crack in the side of the earth, Hadvar and Ralof emerged into the daylight, blinking into the blinding sun like newborns. With barely any time to reorient themselves, the sound of the dragon roared overhead, and Ralof grabbed Hadvar by the shoulders and yanked him down to hide behind a large boulder. They watched the massive black beast fly off, roaring once more before fading into the distance. 

Hadvar gasped, pushing to his feet as realization dawned. “By the gods… It’s headed right for Riverwood! We have to go warn them!” 

“Out-run a dragon!?” Ralof argued. “Are you mad? We barely made it out of Helgen with our lives!”

“We have to do something! I’ll go to Whiterun. Alert Jarl Balgruuf. He can send guards to Riverwood. At least they’ll have a fighting chance—!”

“Hadvar, steady…” Ralof said. He’d gotten to his feet, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “Steady,” he repeated, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. “By Talos, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Hadvar blinked back at him, startled by the observation. He suddenly felt like a teenager all over again, long-buried emotions clawing their way to the surface of his mind. Ralof’s expression was almost wistful; sorrowful. Hadvar reached out to grasp Ralof’s shoulders in return, his hands shaking. “You haven’t either, you know.” 

To his surprise, Ralof smiled and let out a bitter laugh. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, sliding his hand to cup the back of Hadvar’s head, and brought their foreheads together.

Hadvar gripped the edge of Ralof’s cuirass, squeezing his eyes shut as he let out a shuddering exhale. He’d almost witnessed his friend’s execution. Almost took part in it. Now, in light of everything that had followed, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to live with himself had it been seen through.

I’m so glad you’re alive, he thought, but the words wouldn’t come.

Ralof pulled away and Hadvar reluctantly let his hands slide from his shoulders.

“We should probably split up,” Ralof suggested.

“You’re probably right…”

Neither of them moved. Hadvar swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Maybe—” Ralof spoke first. “We should go together to Riverwood. Split up from there.” He looked down at his Imperial armor. “Besides, I can’t go waltzing up to the nearest camp dressed like this.” He froze, eyes darting to Hadvar once more. “That is, unless you plan to take me as your prisoner.” 

Hadvar let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “My friend, a dragon just attacked Helgen. I’m not worried about taking prisoners right this moment.” His stomach dropped, realizing he’d once again referred to Ralof as his ‘friend’. 

But Ralof didn’t comment on the slip-up. He simply turned his eyes back to the sky. “Aye,” he agreed. “Strange times ahead, no doubt.” 

Hadvar swallowed. 

“No doubt,” he agreed.

[house-of-slayterr]

A Killer Halloween

Micheal Myers:

Halloween’s with Micheal are pretty standard. Usually you spend most of the evening at home alone in the myers house. Save for a few teens who thought ding ding ditching would be a good idea. You never handed out candy, afraid to bring more victims straight to your boyfriend unsuspectingly.

You never went with Micheal on kills and he never wanted you to. There was too much that could go wrong with victims fighting back. Micheal couldn’t keep his focus on you and his plans at the same time. The worst part of you Halloween was when loomis came to visit. Going on a rant about the shape of Haddonfield and how you would burn with him.

But all the annoyance of the holiday melts away when Micheal’s back home. He’s nicer on Halloween. Usually in a good mood from his kills, and he always brings the candy of his victims back. You get to enjoy the silent man’s presence as you eat a Halloween fest on you couch, watching silly horror movies until you fall asleep. Micheal likes to watch you sleep, it brings him peace.

Jonathan Crane:

Halloween in Gotham was something else. The dark and gloomy city now more terrifying than usual with the realistic ghoulish decorations. Every year a handful of villains would make big Halloween plans, and this year it was a party with some of the biggest villains in town in attendance. Sure nothing could go wrong, it’s not like the heros were known for crashing everyone’s fun.

You looked over you costume in the mirror, dressed as a crow to match your boyfriends usual get up. You had to admit he looked handsome in his scarecrow suit. You looked at the treats you helped him bake as you carry them into the party. Laced with his newest dose of his fear serum you were excited to see how the party would soon fall into more chaos, everyone eating the treats willingly.

For Halloween you get to watch some of gothams greatest villains crumble to their knees in fear. Letting the horrors of the night consume them, as their monsters become much more realistic to them. Your boyfriend proudly observes from your side, happy to spend his favourite holiday with his favourite little crow. Not the most traditional way to spend the night, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Billy Lenz:

Halloween wasn’t Billy’s holiday, everyone knew that. He knew well about Christmas and Santa, and Krampus, but ghouls and goblins and devils weren’t really his thing. That is, until Billy had someone to share the holiday with. He splices traditions from both holidays together, stealing food from the house downstairs so they two of you can feast in the attic.

He demands an exchange of Halloween gifts, always proud when he can find the scariest thing to gift you. He likes to make his prank call still, revealing in the screams of the girls downstairs as he creeps them out with his monologues. His focus is still on you while he makes the calls though, wanting to put on a good show for you.

The one thing he enjoys is it’s easier to hide bodies on Halloween than it is on Christmas. Placing some of the dead girls around his room as decor, dressing them up in costumes for your “party” of two. Keep him away from the candy though, it’s easier said than done. This man is feral on a good day, but if you combine that with a sugar rush, billy becomes more unpredictable. He’s practically bouncing off the walls of the attic all night. But you wouldn’t want to spend Halloween any other way.

The Lost Boys:

The boys have started a new Halloween tradition with their cave. It’s the one night of year they can easily blend in even in their full vampire forms. Most people assumed it was just really good effect makeup.

This allows the boys to throw a party back up at the cave, invite anyone drunk or high enough to go. Paul is in charge of music, Marko drinks, and Dwayne draws in the crowd. But David stays by your side most of the night, watching and being antisocial as usual.

Your costume was almost enough to distract all the boys but they stuck to the plan. It was easier hunting this way and much more fun to watch as the other party guest realise their mistake.

Your halloweens are now spent partying just before sunrise, as you watch the 4 boys feast on their party guests. Paul was easily the messiest and he loved to get you as covered in blood as he was. Saying something about how it makes your costume look better. The boys spend them rest do the night at your whim, watching horror movies as you cuddle in the carnage, another successful Halloween. Marko even managed to steal some candy for everyone.

Ghostface:

It was difficult to get both boys to yourself on Halloween. Of course they always had bigger plans, wanting to make each Halloween better than the last. But this usually meant you spent the first half of the evening alone. Filling your time with baking, horror comfort films and your choice of alcohol to numb the loneliness.

Meanwhile your boys were out on the town having the night of their lives. Killing and terrorising other teens, stealing candy from houses, and maybe a little making out between kills. But at the end of the night they always made sure to come home to you.

Billy would attempt to clean up, but Stu takes pride in how messy his is, hugging you in his bloodied costume and jokingly threatening you with his knife. He knows you love it just as much as he does. Billy forces you into cuddles on the couch once you have them fed and cleaned up. He always demands classic movies because he thinks they’re better.

The night usually escalates pretty quickly with Stu hyped up on adrenaline, the killing making him horny out of his mind. Let’s just say the movies you spent most of the night watching alone, quickly become background noise once your boys are home. You’re the best part of Halloween to them, and they’ll make up for leaving you alone earlier in the evening.

Hannibal + Will:

Hannibal thought the holiday was incredibly childish. It wasn’t really his thing. He knew there was always a work party so he insisted upon throwing it so it would at least meet his standards.

Your costume however, Hannibal enjoys spoiling you with expensive realistic versions of whatever character you’re begging to go as that year. Even if he doesn’t dress up, he’ll at least match his pocket square or tie to your costume. He’d let you help with the party to make sure you’d at least be having fun.

Will however is more open to the holiday. He’ll fully dress up to match you, and even goes as far as to suggest the costumes some years. He’s by your side the whole party while Hannibal is on mingling. And of course, only the three of you knew the main course of the night would be the rude store clerk who tried to hit on you when you bought your costume. Hannibal didn’t let that slide, and Will was willing to look the other way because of you.

Once the party is over though, you get a much more quaint evening, watching classic horror films between the two of them on the couch. Will even left a bowl of candy outside for the kids to take. And he makes sure to get a photo of the two of you, and the dogs in your costumes to add to his collection.

An: I know it’s a few days late but I got to busy to write on Halloween

Tag: @myers-meadow @kados-of-chaos @mothmans-kingdom

[bittercandysweetrain]

You’re gonna be a father Tokyo Revenger reactions

pt 2 (slight warning mention of drugs and potential assault) 

Keisuke Baji - The purple hue of the club lights made y/n disoriented on top of that she was higher than Mount Fuji. with her short dress barely hugging her thighs, she stumbled lightly in her four inch heels and that glitter spread all over her face. she was a walking euphoria character but this wasn’t like her even if she was a animal in bed she wasn’t this reckless to be so chaotic in public. Baji could spot her a mile away as he sat in the VIP section with Mikey and the other Tomen members. “Your girl is wasted baji” Draken said as he chugged the rest of his beer. y/n reached out to Baji who caught her before she fell to her knees “Y/n are you okay? babe” he tapped her face trying to get her to look at him. Baji forced her eyes open seeing her irises were very large “she’s fucking high” he said turning her over he laid her on his knees as he forced his fingers down her throat. “call an ambulance! find who drugged her!” he shouted Mikey stood up once he heard Baji’s please “turn the lights on! shut the fucking music off!” he started barking orders once y/n vomited he wiped her face and wrapped his coat around her waist. baji quickly picked her up throwing her over his shoulder “move now!” he shouted forcing people out of the way he made sure she was covered well. 

this was the scariest moment for baji of all people as the boyfriend of y/n of nearly five years he knew her best. he knew she would never willingly take drugs and he knew she must be embarrassed and scared. but he wouldn’t leave her side no matter what. From the ambulance ride to her stomach being pumped he stayed by her side. he saw every part of her, he knew every inch, he knew what she looked like make up on and off. they lived together and been through a lot she had cleaned his wounds and took care of him she even scolded him when he needed it. He loved her and the fear of losing her was more scarier than himself ever dying he couldn’t live without her. “Mr.Baji we have the results now” the doctor said walking in “we pumped her stomach just as precaution, the drug is known at night crawler. its a date rape drug she is lucky to have you someone would have taken advantage real quick.” she said “I don’t even want to think of that” baji said gripping the chair’s arm. “How about I give you some different news we took her blood and tested her for multiple things one being a pregnancy test. and she tested positive.” she said “Pregnant?” he said “wait is the baby okay the drugs and her stomach being pumped” he said “we will be running more test but so far everything is okay.” she said “I’m pregnant?” y/n whispered as she had woken up to the middle of the conversation. “congratulations” the doctor said. “oh man I don’t want the gang to know we did it” she said hiding her face in the pillow. Baji chuckled “she is publicly shy but in the sheets she is a demon.” he snickered as y/n hit his arm “baji!” she whined the doctor chuckled “you have a good one y/n this man never left your side and has been cleaning up after you. It might have to do with the fact our nurses are male but i like to think he is a good caretaker.” she said “baji is a good man don’t let his pretty boy looks fool you he has a pure heart.” y/n said proudly. 

[usagirln12003]

Edalyn Clawthorne: Hogwarts AU

Edalyn Clawthorne is a Pureblood witch that was born on the 18th of June 1959 and started attending Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1970, being sorted into Gryffindor house.

She has a Blackthorn wand with a Phoenix Feather Core.

Her Patronus is a Barn Owl.

Her favorite subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts and her least favorite was History of Magic.

She was a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team from her fourth year onward and became the captain in her sixth.

Confident and sassy, Eda is best described as rebellious, with Luz calling her "surprisingly foxy for her age". Her vast skills and aptitude in witchcraft give her a brash streak, as she proudly declares her power and is openly defiant of authorities, going as far as knocking an auror unconscious and flying off to avoid getting caught.

Unlike her sister Lilith, Eda is vehemently anti-authoritarian, having little to no respect for laws and authority in general. She refuses to get any legal jobs because she views them as crooked for the limitations they place on magic. She is also not a fan of the educational system for similar reasons, bemoaning its reliance on "blind obedience" and "pointless busywork".

Eda is described as the sort of teacher that would not only throw someone into the deep end, but also set the entire body of water on fire. Eda has an odd view of how a good apprentice should act; she is very proud of Luz for getting detention for the first time, reacting the same way when Luz convinces her to teach new spells by appealing to her vanity.

It's shown that she has a caring side to her and she is willing to protect the people she holds most dear, such as when she protects Luz multiple times, being close to a mother figure for her, as well as swallowing her pride when she realizes that she's being unreasonable and that Luz is miserable not being around her new friends and only having a limited palette with learning about magic, and enrolling her at Hogwarts. She also deeply cares about Lilith despite them both being on different sides of the law. It also seems she is afraid of losing her friends, and as such tries to ignore the idea of them leaving.

Eda was also shown to be very forgiving, shown when she decided to forgive Lilith for cursing her and even letting her live with her after seeing how sorry she was and how she willingly shared the curse with her to make amends, although she doesn't miss the opportunity to remind her sister about what she's done through some playful banter, adding to her guilt.

She is also very protective of her family and loved ones, but in her desire to keep them out of harm's way, Eda tends to drive people away, either to protect them from her curse or anything else, like she did with Raine and her parents; such distance lasted for years. She tried doing the same with Luz, wanting her to run away from the wizarding world to protect her from Belos' looming threat, and her insistence caused a fight between them, which strained their relationship for a little while.

For all the distance she tries to keep sometimes, Eda always means well, and has shown much patience and forgiveness. When Luz was believed to have been killed by Belos, despite going through a fit of rage in her grief, she gently pushed the Collector away from her, not wanting to take her anger out on the child and showing she didn't blame them for anything, wanting to focus her rage on the real cause of it.

[sheepwithspecs]

Hatred

|| PLvsAA || Rated T ||

Ao3 Link

She hates him for all the right reasons. At least, that's what she keeps telling herself.

She hates him.

She complains to the Storyteller, but the old man pays her no mind. It’s folly to think he would—when has he ever taken her opinion into account? She is little better than a lackey, driven by a guilt she doesn’t understand. A guilt that wakes her up in the middle of the night with a scream, cold sweat clinging to her shaking form. A guilt that keeps her complacent enough to say ‘just once more’ to herself every time there is a new, ridiculous task to complete.

With no other outlet, she is left venting her frustrations to her father. He listens patiently enough, but he does not hear. He sips the tea she offers on these secret visits, staring blankly over the rim of his teacup. His drawn visage grows paler by the day; it’s as though he’s wasting away, leaving behind a pale shadow that creeps about the lonely old manor long after he’s returned to his alchemist’s cottage. It hurts to see him so distant. Unlike Espella, her memories were not suppressed; they glow from within, cozy with the warmth of her parents’ love.

Before, she would proudly declare to anyone that she was her father’s daughter. Now, those words seem little better than hollow lies. She is not her father’s daughter, not anymore. It’s as if he is a stranger: she no longer recognizes the man she once knew. The gulf only expands each time he insists that nothing is wrong, the smile no longer reaching his gentle eyes.

Whether anyone hears her or not, the fact remains the same: she hates him. She hates his hair, a seemingly visible metaphor of his flaming temper. He’s the first to dare raise his voice back to her, the first knight to toe out of line and meet her on her own terms, forcing her to look up whenever he draws himself to full height. Why the Teller thought he could be of use is beyond her—she has tried being gentle, tried saying that she needs no help in the office, but the man was shouldered in without a thought given to her feelings. And now they won’t agree to throw him back out again, nor will they give any clear reason as to why he needs to stay.

She hates him because he’s good at what he does. He’s not stupid—he finds out what’s expected of him, forms his own boundaries, and then throws himself headfirst into the fray with a zealous passion she’s never seen before on anyone, much less some nobody from the garrison. It’s almost a disappointment when she discovers he’s as mindless as any other Labyrinthian, accepting the lies fed to him without a blink.

After three weeks on the job, she knows that this new Inquisitor is more than capable of turning the entire project on its head. He’s too intelligent to be kept in the dark. But he keeps himself in the dark, and willingly at that. If something doesn’t add him, no matter how substantial the evidence, he thinks in corners instead of looking back to see the bigger picture.

It makes her hate him even more, because for a single moment she almost believed that he could help.

She hates him because he cares.

True, he’s eager to see the gilded surface of a utopian Labyrinthia, ignoring the rotten stench of slowly putrefying ‘good intentions’ lurking beneath the gleaming exterior. But he does nothing purely for his own gain. He cares about the city and its people, their welfare. He suffers through the Story’s darker chapters, and rejoices when things turn out well in the end. 

She watches him carefully on the city streets. The children clamber over his armor-clad form like a moving jungle gym, the women bat coy eyelashes with an inviting smile, the men laugh jovially at whatever wry joke passes his lips. He’s integrated himself amongst them in a way she never could. It makes his job that much easier, as they’re more willing to seek him out when trouble arises.

But for all its benefits, it makes his job that much harder, too. She attends his first public performance in the Witches Court, a hood concealing her features and making it easier to blend in with the bloodthirsty crowd. Even if she does hate him with a passion, she’s concerned about his debut. A lackluster performance will reflect poorly on her. It was her task to train him properly; the project is dependent on this night going well. She’d rather not be forced to hear the Teller’s croaking if things turn sour.

Thankfully, she need not worry. He plays to the audience, saving his stonier expressions for the accused once he publicly wrings the guilty confession from her trembling lips. The accused is an elderly woman, well-liked by all, who had somehow managed to hide her powers throughout the course of her life. She knows that the garrison often helped this woman with various tasks as part of their public service: mending her broken fence, helping with large packages. Sir Barnham once lent her his own cloak on a particularly blustery winter’s day.

It must wrench his heart, she thinks, to consign this woman to death.   

A part of her is thoroughly disgusted at the odd eagerness she feels, the curiosity bubbling up from within as she wonders what he must be thinking, feeling. It’s morbid, and cruel, but she can’t condemn herself entirely. After all, it’s not as if the grandmother will truly perish. The Great Witch already has a carefully chosen task prepared for her in the forest beyond the city walls. There will be others to chop wood, draw water, and cook meals. Her life as a Shade will be infinitely easier than her life as a citizen of Labyrinthia.

The Inquisitor overlooks blatant evidence that might spell doubt and freedom for the accused. Anger stirs within her as she watches, biting her lip while her gaze remains trained on his face. It’s nothing she wouldn’t do herself, per se, but…. Suddenly, she realizes what a parent must feel when watching their child make careless mistakes. Helpless, frustrated, irritated, and yet—

He must learn.

He will learn, if she has any say in it. The smallest seed of a plan is buried in the back of her mind, one that she constantly nurtures in the hopes of a grand scheme blossoming from its roots. She hates him, yes, but not enough to keep them all stuck in a fairie tale of lies. 

The trial is over, the verdict spoken. The accused is sentenced to immediate immolation, as is tradition. A cheer erupts through the domed room; revulsion runs through her veins as the people around her—good people—eagerly scream for the death of a harmless old woman. She has to be helped up the stairs leading to the cage, her weathered hand carefully braced on the knight’s metal gauntlet. If she feels fear, injustice or despair, she does well not to show it. Her face is tranquil as the knight closes the cage around her.

Her only son sobs like a child, his wife watching in abject horror; her hands cover their little daughter’s eyes, shielding her from the sight of her grandmother’s execution. With the pull of a lever, she is gone in a burst of flame. The sounds of their grief are drowned by the ferocious bedlam echoing in the rafters.

She hates him, but his saving grace comes from his expression. He winces when the first of the flames leap from the hellish pit. The doomed soul is surrounded in a fiery embrace, but he turns instead towards the shadows flickering along the walls. The audience, perhaps sensing that he needs encouragement, begins to chant his name in unison. He looks around the gallery with wide eyes, the tips of his ears glowing red with modest embarrassment.

She slips away in the tumult, knowing that the Shades will soon be in need of their mistress. The new Inquisitor is best left to his overwhelming acceptance.

It’s only a matter of time, she knows, before that wince will be gone forever.

She hates him, because she can no longer tell if he is hinderance or help.

She was doing perfectly well before he came along, and even now she resents that the Teller made her share her office space with a meathead. He’s turned her once-beautiful den of an organized workspace into a disgusting hovel. After only a fortnight she insists they break the room into two halves, divided evenly in the center by the statue of justice.

Her side of the room is neat and orderly, with a place for every object and room for modest decoration. There is a stand for her cloak, and her favorite painting hangs on the wall behind her polished, gleaming desk. His space, on the other hand, is a veritable eyesore. This is not the difference in sexes—her father, after all, does not keep things in such disarray. This is him.

Half the time, she can’t see his head over the papers piled in crumbling mountains on the desk; it would be a blessing, if he could manage to keep them in better order. Any time she asks for a report, at least three minor earthquakes shake the mountains before he can pull a crumpled sheet of parchment from the remains of what was once a second Kilimanjaro. When they grow tall enough that an errant breeze scatters them easily, he simply puts something heavier on top as a paperweight: dumbbells, tomes, his own gauntlets.

At first she is willing to banish him to the coldest corner of the office, so that she might have some semblance of cleanliness that even his grimy, calloused fingers can’t ruin. Then, on advice from her father that she halfheartedly takes, she makes an honest attempt to help him stay organized. She lends him her corkboard, hanging it above his desk and showing him how to pin notes in neat order. In no time at all, the board is covered as haphazardly as the desk. There is even a portrait of him with a little white dog, though she was certain he hated dogs.

She gives up with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, making it clear that any report of his had better be in pristine condition by the time it reaches her desk. As time passes, he learns how to separate the notes and the reports so that the latter only crumples a bit at the corners. He bangs and clangs at his desk so often that it chips and splinters, the heavy dumbbells at the corners serving less as paperweights and to keep the structure from leaning sideways. He even manages a stand for his own cloak, after she complains loudly about it being draped over the back of his chair.

But there still things he cannot help, and these are what drives her insane. She hates when he comes to the office after training in the garrison, bringing a stale odor of sweat and horses and men that permeates the room. She hates when he does things his own way, a way that is messy, scatterbrained, and annoying, and she hates when it works just as well as hers in the end. She hates when she’s constantly having to remind him that reports are due, that follow-ups are necessary to document, that any shortcuts he takes make it twice as hard on her in the end. She hates when she can hear him interrogating suspects, the sounds echoing through the dungeons until she can hear them even with the door shut.

“You’ll grow used to things in time,” the Storyteller claims. His eyes never leave the leather-bound volume he’s taken to carrying with him around the clock. The scarred, ruined one, milky and pale, follows the path of his quill as though it can still see the ink drying on the page. “And isn’t it nice to have help around the office?” 

No, it’s not! she wants to protest. I hate him. He looks like a plucked bird with his gaudy plumed helmet, riding at the head of the Parade. Every time she looks at him, she wants to grab the Storybook, throw it, and knock the helmet from his fat head. Even if he were less of a hassle, even if she didn’t end up having to run around fixing his messes and doublechecking his work, even if he made her life easier rather than harder—no, she still would not want him for a workmate. Anyone else, perhaps, but not him.  

He has a way of getting underneath her skin with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, or exhaling just so to let his unspoken protests be known. He still stands up to her, arguing about one thing or another until she fantasizes throwing him headfirst into the coldest, dampest dungeon cell. She might even make him a Shade, purely out of spite. But a dungeon would not dampen that fiery spirit, and even as a Shade he’d find some way of crossing swords with her.

She hates him because he is the only Labyrinthian who’s managed to work his way into her life through sheer willpower. No longer do his days in Court disgust her—rather, they are a testament to his intelligence and sharp wit. She’s constantly surprised at how quickly he picks up on things, molding his mindset in order to adapt to any situation, and always coming out on top. He no longer cringes when metal meets flame, but neither does he preen in self-congratulation. Instead, his expression is somber. He is down to earth and—she hates to admit—genuinely likable. It fuels her ire like nothing else.

She hates him for being observant. His eyes are like a falcon’s, narrowing in on her and watching carefully whenever they’re together. Those are the eyes that pick out an accused’s weaknesses with lightning speed before pouncing. It’s almost terrifying to think what might happen should he find her weaknesses. He’s witty, with the ability to pick apart even the toughest, most layered of conversations. It would be nothing for him to home in on something she lets slip in error.

Oh yes, she would definitely hate him more as a Shade.

She hates his kindness.

Her mind, fogged with senseless grief, refuses to work at normal efficiency. The Storyteller does not let her see the body until it’s been cleaned for burial and placed in its well-crafted casket. She is left alone to grieve, but she cannot bring herself to weep. Her tears were spent in the Legendary Fire, dried by the flames that claimed the life she once knew. She can only look at the familiar visage, eerily still in its repose, and feel the despair that wracks her every limb.

There is an empty casket in the Labyrinthian lichyard for the alchemist Belduke, who is buried with quiet ceremony. She is forced to leave with the others who come to pay their respects. High Inquisitor Darklaw has no real ties to Sir Belduke, and there is still a murder to ‘solve’. She cannot, however, bring herself to visit the crime scene. Instead she wanders aimlessly through the city streets, staring without seeing, hearing without listening, the way he once had.

Waking from her stupor, she finds herself standing in front of the Courthouse. Her feet must have taken the path by habit; there is no reason to be here. She stares up at the building in the gray dusk, trying to find answers in the stained bricks.

Why? Of all the deaths he could have chosen for himself, why a poison that would ensure his last moments were of unbearable agony? Why die at all? Had he not spared her a single thought at the end? Or… or had their fight, and the subsequent rejections, been the catalyst to break a mind already weakened by so much sorrow? Is it… my fault?

She has not eaten in days, nor has she slept more than an hour or two since being told the dreadful news. Her head aches, awhirl with thoughts that won’t cease, memories that refuse to be pushed aside. It’s impossible to concentrate; in her weakened state, her limbs are like jelly. The smallest push—of breeze or errant human—is enough to send her stumbling onto the Courthouse steps. Her empty stomach flips, a wave of nausea rising in her throat, and then she falls into blessed silence.

When she comes to she finds herself in the Audience Room, reclined on the Storyteller’s throne. A long, shuddering exhale escapes her lips, and with it goes all the remaining strength in her limbs. She is alone with her emotions at last, as well as the start of a pounding migraine. Still, the tears do not come.

The Storyteller comes, a steaming cup held carefully in both hands. She stares at him, her face expressionless. Inside, a heated fury unlike any she has ever known sweeps through her from head to foot, cleansing fire that temporarily purges the pain. This was all his fault—his and that damned Story. Everything—her family, her title, her name—had been sacrificed for someone who all but refused to acknowledge her own father’s existence.

What would she lose next? When would it end? It had to end at some point, did it not? How could he not see the pain his Story was causing?

“Eve? Are you alright?” Despite her rage, her heart gives a lurch at the sound of her true name. No one, save her father, ever bothered to use her name. And now he was gone. Never again would she hear his soft, kind voice. They hadn’t spoken in months. How long had it been since she’d last told him she loved him? The pain threatens to consume her entirely.

“Lady Darklaw. You need to drink.” The Storyteller’s tone changes as he presses the cup—tea, she realized—into her hands. Mr. Cantabella’s well-intentioned, rather simple gaze is lost in the façade, an unyielding ruler once more. She has an overwhelming urge to throw the hot tea in his face.

“What are you giving her?” At the sound of Sir Barnham’s voice, she struggles to sit upright. Her head protests with a violent throbbing that took her breath away, stars twinkling in her vision. She sinks back to the cushions, gripping the cup with all her strength as her body sways on the spot.

“An herbal concoction, nothing more. There’s no need to concern yourself,” he adds, turning to where the Inquisitor stands in the doorway to the Audience Room. “Our High Inquisitor is not ill, merely exhausted. A good night’s rest is often the best cure in these cases.” He looks at her pointedly, waiting until she takes an obliging sip. “You have overworked yourself,” he scolds, as though he does not know the real reason behind her current state. “You’re lucky Sir Barnham found you on the Courthouse steps before the dew fell. You might have easily caught cold.”

“But….” She fuzzily remembers being at the Courthouse, falling to the steps, resting her spinning head for a moment on the railing. “How did—?”

“He carried you here, of course.” The Storyteller turns away, hiding his face from them both. “Due to… current circumstances… he thought the fastest way to ensure your recovered health would be to have it written into the Story. Thankfully, ‘tis not as serious as first feared.”

“Forgive my haste.” Sir Barnham steps forward, hands stiff at his sides. He still wears his armor, hair mussed and face ruddy from the cold night air. How had he managed to carry both the armor and her? The thought of being carried anywhere like an invalid—especially by him—is utterly humiliating. She quickly takes another drink from the cup, pretending it is the steam, rather than her own embarrassment, that burns red on her cheeks. “You are not hurt?” Genuine concern shines from his eyes, causing her heart to twist in a not-quite-painful way behind her sternum. 

“I am not.” Clearing her throat, she takes another, slower sip. “I’m fine.” Whether she wants him to or not, he cares for her in the same way that he cares for the rest of them. Perhaps more. She can’t imagine him carrying anyone else to the Storyteller and practically begging for their health. The realization does not sit well with her.

He’s growing far too close for comfort.

She hates his deference.

It’s all too easy to pretend that her plotting is another part of her personal investigation surrounding the bell tower. It’s hard to keep her distance when they share an office, but she somehow manages it well enough. She barely pays him any mind, ignoring him in favor of working out how she can best take her revenge on the man she hates more than him. He gives her space, watching with those damned falcon eyes that see everything and nothing.

It’s better this way, she assures herself. The last thing she needs is an excuse to start liking him, or—at the very least—to stop hating him. He takes everything she throws at him in stride, shouldering the brunt of the witch sightings without a word of complaint. There are times where he impresses her enough that it’s hard to dislike him, even a little. But a quarrel always arises soon after and they part once more, only to come back time and time again.

A curious change overtakes her as the months march along. She finds that she hates him for different reasons than when she met him the first time, so long ago. She hates his smiles, all of them: the smug one he reserves for Court, the toothy one that follows a bad joke, the guarded one for the Storyteller’s praise, and the crooked, close-lipped one that’s purely genuine. That last one, the crooked one that makes her heart beat a little faster each time she sees it... that’s the one she hates the most.

She hates the way he runs his hands through his hair when he’s puzzled or stressed, messy strands sticking out in every direction. It looks so thick and soft, and she hates how she can imagine her fingers sinking into its plushness, combing out the tangles. She hates the way he works out when filing reports, writing with one hand and flexing with the other. She hates how tall he is, how she has no choice but to look up even when she wears her largest heels.    

One day, he requests to bring a Constantine to work, promising on his honor that the lad won’t cause trouble. She can’t place the name to any of the faceless squires that roam the garrison in their free hours, but she’s heard him mention the name before in passing. He must be a young knight, perhaps a pageboy in training.

“As long as he dresses the part,” she gives permission. A very small part of her hates him for making her want to speak on friendlier terms, rather than her usual aloof demeanor. Since the day he carried her to the Audience Room, she cannot help but feel that he’s trying to be her friend. She would… not hate having him as a friend. But she is the High Inquisitor Darklaw, and he her subordinate, and there can be no amicable ties between them. Not when her plan for vengeance is already underway.

The next day, she expects a child. What she finds is an errant fluffball in a toy knight’s helmet. She recognizes the dog from the portrait still tacked onto the corkboard behind Sir Barnham’s desk. It takes one look at her and advances, growling fiercely despite its small size. One stern glare from her is enough to send it skidding to a stop on the flagstone.

“What is this mutt doing in my office?” she manages to stammer, eyes locked with the walking lint.

“You said he might come, if he looked the part.” He bends to pick up the dog in a single, practiced motion. The dog—or puppy, rather—is nearly small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Its curled tail begins to wag as it pants happily, squat legs wiggling in the air. “Constantine, you must behave in a manner befitting your status,” he warns, speaking as solemnly as he might to any of the garrison pages. “You may not growl at the High Inquisitor. She is a lady.” She wonders if he believes the dog understands.

“But what is it wearing?” she asks, rubbing the bridge of her nose. It’s only a quarter till eight, and yet she already feels a stress-related headache throbbing to life behind her eyes.

“His armor, of course.” It’s an absurd answer, spoken in a tone that’s nothing if not matter-of-fact. She’s laughing before she can stop herself. Real, genuine laughter, the kind that hasn’t passed her lips since her father’s death. He laughs with her, the sound both warm and heartening. She laughs, and he laughs, and suddenly they’re sharing a moment all their own, the dog squirming with playful energy in his arms.

She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed so hard. It makes it that much harder to stop, to push Eve away and become Lady Darklaw once more. 

“He had better not make a mess.” Her expression is stern, her eyes piercing. He sobers immediately, bowing from the shoulders. Once again they are two inquisitors at work, rather than two not-quite-friends laughing over an innocent comment. The distinction hurts in a way she can’t easily describe, an ache that’s partly physical.

“He’s well-trained—a dog of highest caliber. You won’t know he’s in the room.”

She silently declares that she hates him for bringing the laughter. For making her feel something more than rage and regret. Her focus should not be on friends and friendly encounters. She hates him for the distraction he causes.

Later, alone in the darkness of her bedroom, she wonders if she means it.

She hates him for daring to suspect her.

It’s the baker’s fault, really—him, and the annoying ball of energy that calls herself an ace assistant. She hadn’t planned for either of them, but once they found Espella’s copy of the Historia Labyrinthia she’d had no choice but to bring them along for the ride. She wrote them into the Story as bakers, allowing them to stay near Espella.

They had, after all, watched over her far better than she could have ever dreamed. She had been prepared to make a plea deal, paying the daughter’s way with the father’s money, but Mr. Wright had been able to prove that Espella was not the culprit.

Professor Layton and his young charge had been part of her plan, thankfully, though she’d admittedly never expected that retrieving them from London would be such a hassle. Together with Mr. Wright and Ms. Fey, they managed to turn her best inquisitor on his head. They’d introduced him to logic that defies magic, forced him to open his eyes and see the world for what it was.

And now he suspects her.

Rather, he suspects something, but duty and obligation serve well to keep him in his rightful place beneath her thumb. She’s spent a great deal of effort hammering the workplace hierarchy into his brain, and it seems to have paid off. His careful eyes follow her movements, waiting for her to slip up, but she merely laughs in secret. At this point, she’s had years of practice dancing circles around him, all without a single misstep. He will not find her out so easily, despite whatever he might think.

She quickly becomes accustomed to feeling eyes on her back. He hides in the shadows, gliding seamlessly from place to place as she goes about her daily business. He must, she thinks to herself as she pretends to take notes on the bell tower, wonder about me. She herself wonders what he sees when he looks at her. The High Inquisitor Darklaw is cold, calculated, stern. But he has partook of her laughter, seen glimpses of the woman beneath the mask. Which does he take to be her true nature?

He has never seen the Great Witch, of course, but she expects that will remedy itself in due time. He is dutiful, to be sure, but he is not complacent. If there is a way to learn the truth, he will find it. And if he truly wishes to know… she will not stop him.

While the foreigners search Labyrinthia for their own answers, he remains in place. She hates him now for suspecting her and doing nothing about it, even when there are multiple opportunities to strike. Does he think she cannot feel the way he looks at her? Always he is respectful, but with that respect comes a measure of caution. It is no longer a hierarchy dispute, she decides. He simply lacks resolve.

If he did find substantial, irrefutable evidence, would he follow through with his own plans?  She doubts it, doubts him, and it fuels her hatred to burn all the brighter.

But once her Shades reveal that he’s been lurking around the forest, she feels the same thrill she once felt when watching him persecute his first accused. She hates that she can no longer feign disinterest in him. He’s become her personal experiment, her prodigal knight. She almost wants to make a foolish mistake, just to see what he might do.

The time draws nigh when he will find out the truth: she is the Great Witch. Not Bezella, mind, but the Great Witch. Better yet—a witch. A witch who he’s learned to care for as a fellow inquisitor, a coworker, a helpmeet… a friend. What might he say? How will he act? Her respect for him hangs in the balance.

She hates the respect, too.

She hates his silence.

He, who is always loud and boisterous, his zeal for life overflowing into every aspect of it. Now he is silent as he is marched, flanked by his own knights, to the Courthouse dungeons. They remain in the corridor as she leads him to the furthest cell; she does not spare him a glance until the door is shut and tightly bolted. Only then does she dare meet his eyes.

He stands just on the other side, his expression saying more than words ever could. She hates his silence. Anyone else would have immediately accused her of the greatest crime known to Labyrinthians: witchcraft. By denying nothing, she has said more than enough. But he does not protest his innocence. He does not condemn her with angry words. He merely… stares.

He looks into her eyes, and for the first time she wonders just how far down he can see. Is it possible that her icy expression no longer holds any sway over him? Does he glimpse her true self beneath its shadowy surface? Is that what he’s really been searching for?

Her fingers twitch. She wants to put her hand through the bars and—and what? Slap the scar from his knitted brow? Touch his skin with her bare hands, so that he might feel the cold hatred seeping from her fingertips? As she watches, his fingers slowly slide up the bars. He glances to where the knights await her at the end of the corridor.

“Have you not a trial to attend, High Inquisitor?” His voice is eerily like her own, devoid of the warmth she’s come to expect from him. It cuts her to the core, a painful shock that sits in the pit of her stomach. She feels strangely queasy, no longer able to look him in the eye.

“Yes.” She turns on her heel without another word, shoulders straight and chin held high. As she walks towards the glowing lights at the end of the corridor, something deep inside pleads for her to turn around, to try and explain that it was never him she meant to wound thus. Even if she did—no, does—hate him.

That would be folly, a useless gesture. This is an irreparable damage, and they both know it. She has lost the one chance she might have had at true friendship. His trust in her is gone, shattered into countless fragments; no amount of apologizing can mend what has been broken so thoroughly. She has hurt him in a way that cannot be forgiven.

She swallows down the lump in her throat, pushing aside the pain in preparation for the night ahead. This is the way of things. This is how it must be. 

This is the true price of her betrayal.

She hates him for listening, for hearing her out.  

When all is said and done, she has forgotten all about the man in the dungeons. She looks around, trying to spot a glimpse of bright hair in the early dawn, and finds nothing. Startled, she finds the Storyteller where he stands with Espella, explaining in hushed tones where they can find him.

Somehow she manages to detangle herself from the crowding townsfolk, losing both Espella and their new friends as she disappears into the forest at the city’s edge. Using an old Shade’s shortcut, she reaches the Courthouse in time to lie in wait. Time slows to a crawl as she waits for him to emerge from the building, her body pressed against the gnarled trunk of an oak tree. She isn’t quite sure what it is that she’s waiting for, with every nerve screaming for sleep. She is exhausted, emotionally drained, and in desperate need of a reprieve from the night’s revelations.

Still, she waits. She has to see him. She has to know.

He bursts from the Courthouse in a flurry of activity, running both hands through his hair in a gesture that’s all too familiar. Although she’s too far away to hear any particulars, it’s clear that he does not believe whatever he’s being told. He stops short on the path, gaping wide-eyed at the machinery he can now see looming over the city’s rooves. His men surround him, clamoring over one another as they try to fill him in on all the night’s happenings.

The Storyteller stands on the steps, hand clutching his side. Shaking himself free of the knights, he strides up the stairs to stand nose to nose with the old man. Every muscle in his body is tensed as he speaks in hushed tones to the man whom he thought wrote the stars themselves into the heavens. The Storyteller nods wearily, motioning to the city as he replies.

With an angry shout he turns away, racing down the stairs and crashing through the underbrush like a man possessed. The knights look at one another, trying to decide if they should follow, but the Storyteller stops them with another wave of his hand. He shakes his head, and she does not have to be close in order to understand.

Leave him alone. Give him time.

She watches from her hiding place as they follow the path back to the city, their footsteps faint beneath the leaves stirring in the morning breeze. When they are gone she emerges from the forest, standing still at the Courthouse steps. She looks up at the building the same way she had on the day they mourned the alchemist. If she fainted again—not that she meant to—would he carry her to the Audience Room again? Or would he leave her to the mercy of the elements?

She sits on the steps with a sigh, wrapping her arms around her knees. Nothing about this night had gone to plan. Her vengeance had come to naught. The guilt she’d carried all these years was not for Espella, but for herself. She had been the one to… the one who’d….

I wish Papa was here. She hugs her knees closer, resting her chin on her forearms. She does not want the Cantabellas reassurance, no matter how well-meant it is. The voice she yearns for is the one she will never hear again, no matter how much she needs to. It doesn’t matter now. It’s all my fault.

How could she have let her anger get so out of hand? She’d done far worse than reveal the secrets of a town on the cusp of ruination: she’d nearly caused an innocent girl to commit suicide. Not to mention her father’s suicide note—she squeezes her eyes shut, blocking the thought before it can become fully realized. Even worse, she had alienated herself from those who cared about her. She’d purposefully pushed away the one person who’d showed concern for her, who’d tried to befriend her despite… despite everything.

He’ll never forgive me.

It isn’t until she wakes, jolting upright, that she realizes she’s fallen into a doze. Rubbing her eyes with weary hands, she looks straight across the clearing… and into the startled gaze of the man she’d jailed the night before. They both freeze, each sizing up the other before turning away in embarrassment.

“I was just—heading—” He gestures vaguely towards the markets, then back to the Courthouse, his eyes searching for a place to land and finding none. “I’ve taken a walk,” he said unnecessarily, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish sound. His hair looks absolutely wild, standing all over the place. “I’ll go.”

“Sir Barnham, I—” She stands quickly, prepared to offer an apology she know won’t be accepted. She doesn’t deserve for him to listen to her, but it must be said, for her own peace of mind if nothing else. Her boots are muddy, her hair is a mess, her uniform is wrinkled, and her eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep. No one has ever seen the High Inquisitor so unkempt, but she is no longer the High Inquisitor.

She is just a woman. She is Eve. 

“I… I….” She doesn’t fully recognize the choked, timid voice that emerges from her parched throat. “I—” A hiccough, a pause, and then without warning the tears spill from her tired eyes. They drip from her chin, wet trails on her mottled cheeks. “I—!” Still she tries to salvage the apology, ashamed of crying in front of anyone… especially him.

“I’m sorry!” The words burst from her as she buries her face in her hands, humiliated beyond belief and yet unable to stop the flow of tears. Everything she’s held back for over ten years comes forth all at once in a series of gut-wrenching sobs. Tears on her lips, on her nose and cheeks, salty drops staining her uniform as the weight of the High Inquisitor’s burden finally lifts from her shoulders.

If her lucky stars were kind and favorable, they would allow the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She hopes beyond hope that he will go away, leave her alone in the clearing and pretend that he saw nothing. Unfortunately, that does not happen. She tenses as arms clad in heavy, bulky armor wrap around her trembling frame in a way that is more professional than personal—not intimate, but not cold. There is just enough tenderness in his touch that she falls into a fresh wave of tears, this time against his shoulder.

He holds her full weight as she sags against him, resting his chin shyly on her head as he pats her back in a way that, though forceful, is clearly meant to be comforting. His armor is cool against her flushed cheeks, her tears sliding down the polished surface like raindrops.

“I am—sorry—I did not mean—it was not supposed to—” He says nothing as she gives up trying to speak, holding her patiently until tremorous sobs give way to shuddering breaths, then sniffles, then silence. When she finally pushes him away, trying to preserve what little is left of her dignity, his arms tighten around her for a split-second. It’s over before she can blink, ending as he steps back to put space between them once more.

She wipes her eyes the best she can, fishing in her uniform for a rumpled handkerchief. The expression he wears is a calm mask, offering her no clues as to his own emotions. He waits as she tries to compose herself, wiping her cheeks and nose before clearing her throat.

“I don’t expect your forgiveness.” He nods, once, and she braces herself for the killing blow.

“I forgive you.”

Her limbs feel like ice, but her cheeks burn. The words take a moment to sink in. He does not move, the mask still in place.

“I do,” he insists, and she knows it’s true. She tries to hate him for his forgiveness, for giving her what she does not deserve, but she can’t. She’s far too tired.

She hates how he makes her feel. 

The professor is again in London, and the attorneys have flown home. Labyrinthia continues to grow, thriving as the seasons change in their endless circle. For most adults, there are now two people inhabiting a single body: the person they were, who they willingly left behind, and the person they’ve become. For many, the former is a mixed bag of memories both good and bad; the latter, a puzzle they are slowly solving.

“I think… I think I have always loved working with children,” Ms. Primstone muses to the former Judge as they watch the little ones enjoy their new playground. The primary school has remained, though older students now attend a secondary school nearer to the garrison.

“I’ve always enjoyed carving things,” Cutter says to Rouge, whistling happily as he files paperwork to join the carpenter’s guild as a trade apprentice. “I guess you could say I was one of them—what’re they called again? Starving artists?”

“You’ll be starving if you don’t sweep those shavings you left upstairs,” Rouge advises him curtly, twirling her dagger between her first three fingers. “But if you’re happy with  being a tradesman, it’s no skin off my nose. Maybe now this place will stop looking like it’s about to fall in on itself.”

“I think I’ve always liked machines,” Barnham tells her one day, testing out the controls on a forklift. “Listen to the sound it makes!” She can’t help but agree. Whenever he finds something new to tinker with—the boat, the crane, the island’s sole lawnmower—he looks like a child on Christmas morning.

“I hear it,” she calls back, raising her voice to be heard over the dull roar of the engine. Perhaps it isn’t the safest idea to stand beside him on the power equipment, but it’s far easier than screaming and waving at one another when trying to work. Any modifications they need to make to the reconstruction plans can be agreed upon in the moment, rather than waiting for him to turn off the machine and find her. She didn’t find the same enjoyment in them that he did, but she had to admit it was more fun to ride above everyone’s heads than it was to walk in the dusty construction sites.

But it was dangerous. The seats were only made for one person, meaning that she was left holding onto whatever handhold she could find on the frame. Whenever she inevitably stumbled, he was there to catch her with a sturdy grip on her arm, or around her waist. The first time their hands touched, without the barrier of gloves or armor, what a thrill had run through her! It’d had nothing to do with the near fall, but it frightened her far more than breaking her head on the cobbles ever would.

He still watched her, his eyes following her long after they parted ways at the crossroads each evening. Any animosity that might have been left from that awful night was long forgotten, or at least never spoken of. Nor did they ever mention that next morning, when her tears painted his cuirass in the pale dawn. Whatever emotions had passed between them that day had been enough.

Now it is merely a matter of learning how to live as herself: as Eve. It’s such a relief to be herself, in public, for the first time in years. No longer do her emotions have to be kept a closely-guarded secret. When she is happy, she can be happy. The Great Witch and High Inquisitor Darklaw still exist, of course, but they are shadows that arise to protect her when she is angry, embarrassed, or frightened.

Before she knows it, she has amassed a small group of friends. When they were children, Espella was her best friend. Although she spent her life protecting Espella, a watchful older sister from the shadows, they are still veritable strangers. Part of the fun is relearning one another, finding with satisfaction that their tastes are still aligned. They are quickly growing close once more, though she cannot say that Espella is her best friend.

If anyone were to hold that position—for the moment, at least—it would be Barnham. He is the one who understands her in a way no one else can, having worked for so long as her fellow inquisitor. He continues to work at her side on the reconstruction project, and its rare that they do not spend at least part of the day together. It’s he who can read between the lines, parsing her true feelings from the jumble of large words and lengthy explanations.

She watches him in turn, noticing how he bridges the gap between them. They are no longer superior and subordinate—they are equals. Friends. As he grows more comfortable with the idea, he moves from standing at a polite distance to crowding up against her side. He seems to think nothing of slinging a careless arm over her shoulder, or dragging her onto the machinery with one hand. He treats her in the same way he treats his friends at the tavern, smiles and laughter and a love language that’s wholly physical. At times, his exuberant greetings remind her of the way Constantine bounces around her ankles.  

While she’s glad he’s comfortable enough around her to be himself, at the same time there is a tension she doesn’t quite understand. He sometimes holds on for a beat too long, or their faces come too close, or her fingers squeeze a little too tightly when he yanks her back onto the forklift for the fifth time that morning. Then they’re caught in a space all of their own making; no one else seems to notice how heavy the air is, or how quickly they rush to separate. Their awkward laughter serves to dispel the tension, but it doesn’t explain it.

She finds herself blushing at odd times, distracted by the broad length of his shoulders as he works. When he swings around in his seat to reverse, his hair tickles her forearm and it sends a tingling rush straight to her heart. At least she isn’t the only one; more than once she’s looked up just in time to see him turn in a less-than-subtle attempt to cover his face. It doesn’t work—even if he does manage to hide his cheeks, nothing stops her from seeing how red his ears are.

Long ago, she said that she hated his smiles. But there is one special one he reserves just for her, and she can’t help but find it charming. She still hates how he messes up his hair, but only because it reminds her of her own cowardice. She will never be bold enough to reach out and touch it. She’s grown so used to his messy paperwork that the sight no longer bothers her.

Why had she ever disliked him so?

When she pauses to think about it, she remembers that he was forced upon her by the Storyteller. She hadn’t liked the change; she still doesn’t like it. Maybe it is the reconstruction, or maybe it’s the temperament of the city itself, but there is a feeling of change that hangs over the island like a fog. It clings to everyone, even him, and the thought itself is terrifying. She does not want him to change, ever.

They were friends now. If something were to change… that might change, too. He wouldn’t be her friend any longer. She would hate to lose him.

She hates that he made her wait… for an éclair.

Well… perhaps hate is a strong word for a birthday gift. But he had made her stand for an hour—an hour!—in their cold office. For an éclair. A sadly wrapped one at that, the box crushed at one corner from how tightly he gripped it.

She looks down at it, and then at him. The expression he made when he saw her reaction had sickened her. Crestfallen, absolutely crestfallen. He had worked for months on something, planning for who knows how long, only to have it go wrong in the end. She knew that feeling all too well.

They’d both laughed it off with the others, and then they’d had a grand time at the Fire Festival—though over half the participants of the Bezella pageant ended up being men, for some reason. It wasn’t until she was home, comfortably dressed and relaxing before bed, that she remembered something Espella told her privately.

“At the bakery, Luke said he thought Mr. Barnham had a soft spot for you!” Espella had been giggling at the face Mr. Wright was making as he tried—albeit unsuccessfully—to be a teenage witch. She was too busy laughing to pay attention to the chord those words had struck within her friend.

The thought won’t leave her alone, no matter how hard she tries to forget. In bed. A soft spot for you. Washing her face. A soft spot. Walking the winding path to the Courthouse. For you. He’s already there, smiling at her as he waits beneath the sign at the crossroads. A soft spot. For you. She tastes éclair on her tongue, pulse pounding in her ears. 

For… for me?

“Good morrow, Miss Eve.” He is as cheerful as ever, a morning person if there ever was. “’Tis another sunny day, from the looks of it.” She watches him shield his eyes with his hand, staring up at the cloudless sky visible through the trees. No. Not for me.

Luke had to have been mistaken. Now that her birthday was over, he was the same Barnham that he’d been the day before. Whatever had possessed him to stand for an hour with his eyes closed was gone. A passing folly.

“Yes, it does seem that way. I hope you’re ready to work,” she teases lightly, smiling to hide the pang in her chest. Indigestion, perhaps, from her breakfast. “I saw you drinking quite a bit last night.” They fall into step, heading towards the construction site.

“’Twas not ale, though I wish it had been.” He flashes one of his special grins, the one that makes her heart skip a beat. “That daft fool Boistrum bet twenty quid that he could drink more tomato juice than I could. Now I’m twenty richer and I’ve got bragging rights.”

“T-tomato juice?” A note of alarm creeps into her voice. “Do you realize how acidic that is? You will be alright, won’t you?” He throws an arm around her shoulders in a gesture that’s quickly becoming habitual. It’s all she can do not to stumble, the pang coming more sharply. Soft spot….

“Not to worry, we Barnhams have stomachs of iron!”

She hates him for being so casual with her, casual enough to make others see something that doesn’t exist.

She hates him for changing, though change is inevitable.

The reconstruction effort is over; the city is beautiful and brand new, a staggering mix of modern convenience and old world charm. The Shade hamlet is a proper neighborhood just beyond the city walls, catering to those who wish to live away from the hustle and bustle of town life. The Courthouse is now a theatre, the Archives a proper library, the garrison a hub for civil service.

People, too, have changed. Jean Greyerl studies correspondence courses, working hard to earn a proper PhD in medicine. Espella pours over brochures for universities in her spare time, following in her parents’ footsteps with a business degree. Barnham remained at the bakery following her birthday, taking on the duties of a proper apprenticeship under Mrs. Eclaire’s tutelage.

 A baker has no need to share an office that once belonged to inquisitors.

She watches the knights struggle to pull his battered desk from the room, the mountains of paper missing from its scuffed surface, and is unable to understand the thick lump in her throat. Wasn’t this what she wanted? It was certainly what was best for everyone. Now that reconstruction was over, Barnham divided his time equally between the garrison and the bakery. He had no need for the space.

She, on the other hand, had taken on extra work with Labrelum in an effort to keep herself busy and stave off boredom. With his things gone there would be room to add more filing cabinets, a PC teleconference system, shelves for books and folders. All that extra space, just waiting to be utilized in an effort to create her ideal remote office setup.

Now that it was happening, she wasn’t sure that she wanted it to. Watching his things go out the door seems so… final. The stand for his cloak is missing, and she remembers how he used to throw the heavy fabric across the desk after a Parade. Constantine carries out his own chew toy, and she thinks about the first day she saw him, and the laughter that followed. The dumbbells are hoisted onto the wiry shoulders of his squire, and her heart sinks lower when she realizes she’ll never watch him pump iron at his desk again. 

“You’ll be wanting this back?” Barnham yanks the corkboard from the wall. It’s still covered in things that are no longer needed: old memos from the witch trials, the portrait of him and Constantine, an old scribble on the back of an empty report that he made to spite her.

“No. Take it to the bakery with you.” It was his board now, in her mind. It would never be hers again. “I don’t need it. Everything’s digital now, anyway.” He holds it in both hands, head tilted questioningly as he hears the sorrow in her voice. She clears her throat quickly, reaching down to yank the ugly drawing off the lower edge. “But don’t take this!” she jokes halfheartedly, folding the parchment in half.

“I can always draw another,” he offers with a sly grin. “If you were to anger me again, that is.”

“And I’ll shout just as loudly as I did back then.”

“I’ll allow it, so long as you stab the paper instead of me.” She remembers, then, that she had been the one to drive the dagger in so deeply. Had he never removed it? Suddenly she feels confused and lonely, memories of her office—their office—pouring over her all at once. She manages a hoarse chuckle and shrugs, folding the parchment again and tucking the square into her pocket.

“Do you need me to help move anything?” Looking around, she sees that his half of the room is entirely empty. It looks too big now, and she can’t remember why she’d ever thought it small.

“No, I—I’ll do it later.” He nods, smiling her special, crooked smile, and she recalls thinking once that she would have rather worked with anyone else, so long as it wasn’t him. It’s much the opposite now. He is the one she’d choose over any other, even Espella. She doesn’t want him to leave. “You’ll visit, from time to time?” It sounds embarrassingly hopeful.

“Of course. You’d work yourself into an early grave if I didn’t.” He tucks the corkboard beneath his arm so that it will fit through the door. “I’ll leave you to get settled. Text me if you need help.” She waits until he is on the stairs before shutting the door quietly. He never closed the door quietly, always with a loud bang that rattled the hinges. A shuddering, muffled sound from the foyer only proves her thoughts as the Courthouse door swings shut behind him.

She walks slowly to her desk, looking around at the empty expanse of bright, freshly mopped flagstone. Opening up the uppermost drawer, she unfolds the caricature and tapes it to the bottom as though it were a piece of lining. The scribble is truly hideous: her eyes are mismatched, her teeth jagged points, her hair accessories jutting from her lopsided skull like devil’s horns. It looks more like a child’s rendition of a monster than a grown man’s drawing.

‘Tis what you resemble! The memory echoes in the empty room. A smile rises, unbidden, to her lips. That had been quite the anger-fueled day. Sighing, she looks around the half-furnished office once more before letting her forehead slump to the desk. She hates him, in a way, for making the decision to leave.

Never has a room felt quite so cold.

She hates him because he’d once made someone think he had a soft spot for her.

They are still friends, of course, but the past eight months have been lonely. She’s buried up to her neck in meetings and appointments, he’s working long hours at the bakery. On the evenings she’s able to visit Espella, he is often relaxing at the tavern with his former garrison mates. Their schedules are staggered so that often a week or more passes without them seeing one another face to face. Their daily conversations are reduced to texts and the occasional infrequent call.

He handles the change as cheerfully as ever, always asking about her job—which she enjoys—and her larger office—which she still hates. Never once does he show any signs of that supposed soft spot, the one that everyone apart from her seems to think exists.

In reality, she is the one with a soft spot for him. It encompasses her whole heart, which aches constantly at the thought that she will never be more than a friend to him. He publicly scoffs at the idea of romance, of beaus either real or imagined, and the unsubtle hints from Mrs. Eclaire that he ought to be settling down now that he’s inching ever closer to thirty. He has never flirted with her. He hasn’t even tried to hold her hand. The tension between them remains, but it arises rarely and dissipates just as quickly.

She’s starting to think he might not feel it anymore.

The thought tears her apart at the seams, because every time they meet she’s stuck waiting for that spark, something to prove that she’s more than a friend in his eyes. He treats her like a sister, like she’s Rouge or Espella. He is still physically affectionate, of course, but that’s part of his nature.

Perhaps, she muses, it’s time to move on. Surely there are others who could make her just as happy. Many found the former Lady Darklaw beautiful, and would be more than happy to have a hand in courting her. She can choose from any number of would-be suitors. But they wouldn’t be him, and it seems unfair to get their hopes up for nothing. He is the one she wants.

The months seem to fly by, and the city feels like it’s bearing down on her. The walls loom high above her, blocking her view of the horizon, and with each passing day she feels more trapped. She hates her office, large and spacious as it is, because it’s a reminder that he was once there. She hates the bakery, comforting and cozy, because it’s a symbol of false hope. She hates the Square, full of memories where they sat and talked, festivals where they drank and danced. She hates him, too, for making her feel this way, for making her care this much with all his touches and smiles and ‘Miss Eves’.

Arthur notices the change in her, as does Espella. The latter can’t possibly understand what the matter might be, but the former either knows or assumes enough to see the warning signs of depression. She spends less time around her friends, distancing herself once more from the society she used to crave. Messages go unanswered, calls ignored. She brushes everyone aside, using work and the lack of time as a ready excuse. They take her at her word, giving her the space she claims to desire. But it only makes the heartbreak all that much worse.

That autumn, the Storyteller finally retires from his position as CEO. With no one to immediately take his place, he offers to send her to London for six months to act in his stead for a probationary period—an offer, he admits, which can easily go fulltime whenever she wishes. London is a far cry from quiet island life, but that might be exactly what she needs. A new job in a new city… a new start. And if she didn’t like it? Well, it was only six months.

They work out the final details: housing, transportation, what she’ll need from home and what will remain in the care of the servants that stay behind. The date is scheduled, and suddenly everything is set in stone. All that’s left is to break the news. She waits until an evening roughly two weeks before her departure, when her closest friends are gathered together at the bakery for a quiet supper.

Espella takes the news as well as can be imagined, hiding her tears in her cloak and choking out promises to come and visit. Mrs. Eclaire offers her heartiest congratulations, along with recommendations for local bakeries in the area. Barnham… stares, fork poised over his half-empty plate. After a moment he swallows and, with one of his usual bright smiles, proclaims his happiness.  

“’Tis a prominent position—one that you’re deserving of, after all of your hard work for the company.”

It’s not what she wants him to say.

In the following weeks, she gets no work done. The rumor mill churns at full force, and before three days pass she finds herself sounding like a broken record. Yes, I am leaving. No, it’s only for half a year. Yes, it’s still under the Teller—call him Mr. Cantabella, won’t you?  Espella seems determined to cram the next six months’ worth of conversation into a fortnight. Every time she visits the bakery Mrs. Eclaire has a new recipe to lend her, something so that ‘she won’t go hungry’. She doesn’t have the heart to explain that a private chef would be cooking the majority of her meals.

Barnham is hardly there at all. She sees him only once before her departure, and can’t stop herself from dragging out what should have been a five minute conversation into a fifteen minute slog. It ends with both of them standing awkwardly on the path until he excuses himself with a bow.

Something about him has changed, but she can’t place her finger on what, exactly, it is. He seems like his usual self, still going about his daily business with a smile and a whistle. The women still flock to him, the men still laugh at his bad jokes, and the children still climb all over him in search of sweetcakes. But just as easily as he can discern her moods, she can’t help but notice a marked shift in his cadence, the way he holds himself when he thinks no one is looking. Something isn’t right.

The answer does not come to her until the day she leaves.

She meets him at daybreak in front of the bakery with only a small parcel; her other belongings have already been sent ahead in the care of her lady’s maid, leaving her to carry only what she’ll need on the long ride. Barnham was to drive her to the pier where she can then catch a bus to the station that will, ultimately, bring her to London. The morning air is chilly, the roads empty and houses dark on either side of the broad lanes. But he is there, waiting for her with his hands in the pockets of his thick coat.

“Morrow, Miss Eve.” His voice is subdued, rough with lack of sleep. There are bags beneath his eyes. “If you’re not in a hurry, I’ve something to give you before we leave.” He opens the bakery door, releasing a rush of warm air as he invites her inside. She follows in confusion, looking around at the bare shelves and banked fire. “Upstairs,” he mumbles, gesturing towards the door that leads to the living area.

“Are the others still sleeping?” she ventures, one hand on the wall to prevent herself from tripping down the steep staircase.

“They aren’t here.” The answer shocks her; she had wanted to say her final goodbyes before leaving for the mainland. “They had urgent business to attend,” he explains, leading the way to his bedroom. More urgent than me? she complains inwardly, immediately squashing the sentiment as it arises.

His bedroom is small, cut in half by the sloped ceiling that forms the bakery roof. His bed is shoved beneath the shuttered window, bedclothes pulled over the pillow with a military precision. There is a battered lamp standing atop an equally battered nightstand, and an old, corded trunk wedged in the corner where the roof met the weathered floorboards. A small bookshelf holds various things he’s collected over the years, as well as a handful of books on loan from the Archives.

The corkboard adorns the wall above his headboard. Rather than memos, it now hosts a variety of pictures. He digs around in the nightstand’s drawer, leaving her to peruse the board with interest. There is a picture of himself, Mrs. Eclaire, and Espella in front of the renovated bakery; they look like a family, a mother and her two children grown. In another, he sits beside Rouge at the tavern’s grand reopening, a tankard in his hand.

More pictures show aspects of his life that she is not privy towards. He stands side by side with a knight she knows by sight, rather than name; they hold a large trout between them, clearly pleased with themselves at the catch. He grasps the shoulder of his newly knighted squire, glowing with joy and pride as the boy—now a young man—smiles bashfully. There are a few candid shots of Constantine, and more of cat Eve. The portrait of himself and Constantine takes precedence in the right corner, the same way it had when it hung in their office. In the left corner is a picture of… them.

She steps even closer, leaning over the bed to take a better look. She stands beside him in the frame, his arm around her shoulders, his cheek against hers. Her small, calm smile is at odds with his boyish grin. She remembers the occasion, a festival day in honor of the reconstruction. They were all celebrating years of hard work paying off. Only now did she notice that the shade of her bodice matched the color of his eyes.

What stands out most is the way the pair of them seem so… happy. Laughter sparkles in her eyes, her cheek pressed willingly to his without prompting. Her heart beats an agonizing rhythm in her chest and she turns to see him watching her, a small square of in his hand.

“It’s a nice photo,” she stammers shyly, ears burning at being caught. It was one of the few photos not covered up by others on the board. Did that mean it was special to him, somehow? Did he cherish it?

“I’m pleased you like it.” He offers her the glossy paper in his hands. “It’s what I wanted to give you. A like image.” The tips of their fingers brush as he pulls away quickly, stuffing his hand back into his coat pocket. I see. That’s why it was uncovered. Her heart sinks. He recently had it removed so that a copy could be made.

“Thank you, I… I don’t quite know what to say.” She holds it loosely in her hands, feeling an icy grip close around her heart.

“I wanted you to have something to remember me by.” The smile does not quite reach his eyes. “In London.” For a moment, she’s reminded of her father, sitting in the parlor with his cup of tea. Nothing is wrong. Was he also attempting to cover his own sorrow with that empty smile?

Of course he’s upset! She berates herself sharply. You’re his friend and you’re leaving! And this, she adds stubbornly, is exactly the reason why. I’m reading far too much into these things.

“Are you ready?” he asks, when she makes no attempt to respond. “We should probably be on our way. You won’t want to miss the bus.”

“Yes… right.” She tucks the photograph into her parcel, patting it once it’s safely in place. “Let’s be off, then.”

The walk to the island docks is silent, save for their footsteps and the occasional birdsong. More than once she notices the Cantabellas pet owl hovering above them, but there was no cause for concern. Hoot often roamed the skies in the early hours of the morning, searching for the odd field mouse or stoat. Her fingers press against the photograph through the fabric of her parcel, taking a small comfort in its presence. She resolved to consider it a gift from a dear friend, a way to remember the good times instead of her heartache.

When they reach the bottom of the winding steps leading from the island to the docks, she finds herself frozen in surprise. She stops in her tracks, eyes widening as she looks at the gathered faces in the early morning light.

“What… what’s this?” Nearly everyone she knows in Labyrinthia is here, from knights and former Shades to the Cantabellas and Mrs. Eclaire. Her puzzled smile is tight on her face, lips bloodless as they press against her teeth.

“It’s your farewell party,” Espella explains in a watery voice. Tears swim in her large blue eyes, her nose red from the handkerchief bunched in her fist. “We kept trying to think of the best day to throw you one, but nothing seemed right. So we decided to do it before you left.”

“Did you really think we’d let you go without a proper sendoff?” Rouge crosses her arms, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Aye! What she said!” the Vigilantes cry as one, nearly knocking their captain into the water as they raise their gauntlets towards the pale sky.

“Maybe we never acknowledged it,” Lettie Mailer shouts over their cheers, “but High Inquisitor Darklaw always made our lives much better! Even if there weren’t any witches in the end, you still worked so hard to keep us all safe and happy. Labyrinthia wouldn’t be what it is today without you!”

“What she said!”

“Quiet, you lot!” Boistrum thunders, clinging to a dock post for dear life.

“They can’t imagine a Labyrinthia without you.” Barnham’s voice seems small, even though he stood right behind her. “The Storyteller and the High Inquisitor were always staples of the Story.”

“Not to mention all those years you helped to rebuild everything from the ground up.” Rouge nods sagely. “You definitely left your mark.”

“They’re right.” Arthur clears his throat, attempting to subtly offer Espella a clean handkerchief. “I don’t know what would have happened, had you not thought to bring the professor here. It’s thanks to you that the city is thriving once more. It is…” He swallows thickly. “A debt without measure. It can never be repaid.”

“Oh, Eve!” Espella wraps her in a tight embrace, all but sobbing against her neck. “I’m going to miss you so much! Promise that you’ll come home sometime, even if it’s only for a little while!” She weeps bitterly, clinging to the lapels of Eve’s dove gray jacket.

“I—of course I will.” Eve pats her shoulder awkwardly, a lump forming in her throat as she looked at the people who cared enough to come and stand in the cold sea air to wish her a fond farewell. Until this moment, she’s never realized exactly how many lives she’d touched through her actions, both as Lady Darklaw and as Eve Belduke. In her mind Barnham was always the more popular inquisitor, the town celebrity. But… they like her, too.

“Now, now.” Espella is quickly replaced by Mrs. Eclaire, who throws her arms around her with a warm, motherly squeeze. “You did make a promise to eat well,” she reminds her, black eyes twinkling beneath her kerchief. “Three square meals a day, alright?”

“A-Alright.” All too quickly, a line of people forms on the dock. One by one they wish her well, shaking her hand for good measure—save for Rouge, who winks and punches her arm hard enough to bruise. The Vigilantes go through twice with their usual aplomb, Foxy even offering to leave an imprint on her spine with the heel of her stilettos.

Constantine sits on the end of the dock, guarding the boat from curious children. His beady gaze watches her calmly, tail thumping against the dock as she approaches. He’s no longer a puppy, having reached his full size and grown twice as fluffy in the interim. She remembers Barnham warning her that he must respect her as a lady, and a smile passes her face before she can hold it in. She bends down to pat his head, adjusting the scarf around his neck, and silently recants every time she called him a ‘mutt’.

“Good dog,” she murmurs. His pink tongue laps at the scar on her palm before he pads off to jump into the boat’s large backseat.

“You should get started.” Arthur checks his wristwatch before turning to look at the rising sun. “If you don’t make the first bus, you’ll be stuck there for an hour at the least.” He watches as she steps nimbly into the boat, climbing over into the passenger seat and tucking the parcel safely between her ankles. “Take care, Eve. Make sure to let us know when you arrive safely.”

“I will.” He frowns, watching Barnham fish for his keys in the pocket of his trousers.

“You make sure she’s on the bus before you even think of returning, young man.” Barnham looks up, clearly shocked.

“As if you need to remind me!” he scowls. Eve bites back a laugh, the sound escaping through her nose instead. “A man of knightly honor would never leave a lady unattended in a strange place!”

“See to it,” Arthur warns in a fatherly manner. The stern expression is lost with the way his bangs fall across his face, hiding the bulk of his scar. He jolts as Barnham leaps from the dock, landing on the boat with enough force to rock it. “And be careful yourself!” he snaps, shaking his head. “Young folk….”

Barnham ignores him, his face stony as he all but jabs the key into the ignition. The boat roars to life, drowning the crowd as it pulls away from the dock in a rush of water and cold air. Eve turns to look back at the island, watching the faces slowly blur as they move farther and farther from shore. Espella runs to the end of the docks, nearly tripping face first into the icy water. She stands on tiptoe, waving both arms as hard as she can.

“Goodbye, Eve! Goodbye!”

“Goodbye! Take care! Come back soon!” The Labyrinthians’ well wishes follow them out to sea, soon replaced by the rhythmic hum of the motor and the shrill call of seagulls. Constantine barks at them, his ears flapping in the wind as he stands on his hind legs in the back. The salty wind whips the hair from her loose braid, drawing tears from her eyes and sending shivers down her spine. She pushes her hands into her sleeves, hunkering down in the seat.

“Here.” Barnham digs behind him, eventually passing her a rumpled blanket. “It’s not very warm, but it should keep most of the wind off.” He drives onehanded, as one might an automobile, not really looking at her and yet not looking away. She takes the blanket gratefully, tucking it across her lap.

“Thank you.” She watches the waves rush past, the water tinged gray to match the clouds high above. “It was nice of everyone. To show up, I mean.”  

“They’re going to miss you.” His voice is quiet, contemplative, but he smiles when he catches her eye. “Don’t worry. You already know your way around London, so you’ll fit right in.” He laughs, a strangely hollow sound—or is she imagining things again? “A new job, new friends… we’ll be forgotten in a fortnight.”

“I highly doubt that.” He doesn’t reply. She looks down at her lap, picking a stray dog hair from the blanket’s threadbare fabric. Was he worried about being forgotten? Or…? She traces the faded pattern as it winds its way over her thighs. That’s why I’m leaving, isn’t it? To forget?

She knows how many miles it takes to reach the mainland, and yet it seems like no time at all before Barnham is paying the toll and pulling up to the pier. He takes the blanket from her, folding it hastily before tossing it into the back.

“Stay, boy.” Constantine sits obediently, nose wriggling as he looks around with interest at the fishermen walking past. Barnham steps onto the dock, turning to reach down and offer a hand. For a single heartbeat she’s falling from a forklift, and he’s yanking her back up with laughter in his eyes. Then it’s over, his hand falling away as she takes her first step onto the gray boards.

“I’ll walk you to the station,” he offers. She wonders, briefly, what he’d do if she said no.

“Don’t worry—I’ll make sure Arthur knows, so you won’t be thrown to the flames,” she teases lightly. He chuckles, but this time it’s definitely not her imagination: there’s no real laughter in it. The pier is nearly empty, with darkened shops and quiet boats bobbing in the swirling waters. A lazy cat or two is sprawled beneath the ancient wooden benches, while fisherman cough and wheeze as they sip black coffee from paper cups.

The bus station is lit with buzzing fluorescent lights, moths batting at the white-hot bulbs. A bored attendant turns the pages of a magazine with a bleary-eyed yawn. A little old lady with a large nose and larger hat sits on the lone bench beneath the bus schedule, knitting rapidly from a skein of multicolored yarn.

Well, here we are. The lump in her throat is back with a vengeance, choking her as she turns to face her companion. His vibrant hair seems to be all shades of red at once, copper and amber and crimson catching the rising sun. The light casts his face in half-shadow, the long scar on his brow thrown into contrast with the rest of his dark skin. Now that it’s time to say her last farewell, she’s not entirely sure that she can go through with it. At the same time it would be utterly foolish to not go through with it, after all the prepping and planning they’ve done over the past month.

“So. Miss Eve.” He swallows hard, hands shoved as far down in his pockets as they’ll go. He doesn’t look at her, instead staring out across the shimmering ocean. “I’ve, er… I’ve never had to say good-bye to someone I’ve known as long as you.” He toes the ground, the steel tip of his boot thumping against the boards. “I’m not sure how to say it, even now.”

“You say whatever’s in your heart. Whatever you like, I mean,” she amends quickly, blushing at how cheesy it sounds when said aloud. “Sometimes, the common way is best.” Clearing her throat, she throws out her hand with a forced smile. “Goodbye, Zacharias Barnham. And thank you again for the photo. I’ll treasure it, always.” Calm, casual, amicable eve. Her voice didn’t shake once. She’s proud of herself.  

“What’s in my heart?” He looks at her outstretched hand with an unfathomable expression, reaching out slowly and taking it in his own. His large fingers encompass hers completely as he shakes it, gripping just tightly enough to feel the warmth surging in his palm. Before she can pull away he adjusts their position, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles.  

“Don’t go.” The words are barely more than a whisper, his lips brushing her fingers with every syllable. It freezes the breath in her lungs.

“What?” His eyes widen. Though she can’t seem to draw in a full breath, she somehow finds enough air to speak. “What did you say?” As if she didn’t know. As if she didn’t feel it.

“I—I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Clearly distraught, he practically throws her hand away as he turns to storm back towards the boat.

“Zacharias? Zacharias!” The bus has not arrived yet, so nothing stops her from chasing him. Her heels ring on the boardwalk as she runs after him, panting when she grabs his wrist. “Wait!” she demands, tugging until he slows to a stop.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, purposefully keeping his head turned. “Forget it.”

“Why?” He yanks his wrist from her grasp in a move that’s almost violent, running both hands through his hair with a growl.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” He shoves them back into his coat pockets, jaw clenched. She looks around, but there’s no one to notice his outburst; the fishermen are too far away, the attendant absorbed in their magazine, the old woman focused on her knitting. “Forget it!” he repeats, louder this time.

“Why?” she asks again in turn, hand clutching her parcel tightly enough that the blood leaves her fingers.

“Because you’re supposed to be happy!” It’s his Court voice, the one made for ringing in the rafters of the domed ceiling. Its echoes are lost on the empty pier.

“B-Because I… what?” She shakes her head, completely at a loss. “What on earth are you talking about?”  

“You deserve happiness,” he explains tersely, kicking at a loose piece of gravel that has somehow gotten itself wedged between the boards. “And… and if you’re happy in London, then I should be happy that you’re happy. But I’m not, no matter how I try to convince myself of it.” He hisses out a breath between his teeth, shoulders slumping. “Damn it all.”

“Zacharias….” It’s rare to hear him curse outside of the tavern, rarer so for him to say in her hearing without an accompanying apology. But this despondent man isn’t the stalwart knight, at least not at the moment. He’s just… a man, upset and out of his element.

“I never meant to tell you any of this. You were supposed to get on the bus and leave. You were supposed to… to be happy,” he shrugs. His brow is more furrowed than usual, mouth twisted in an expression that plucks at her heartstrings. “I thought—I hoped that if I avoided you, this feeling would diminish with time. But now I’ve gone and wasted the time we had left. Stupid…” he mutters, the insult directed at himself.

“It’s only for six months,” she whispers, unsure of why she feels the need to keep her voice down with no one around to hear them.

“Six months is a long time.” He squints, turning to avoid the sunlight bouncing off the rolling waves. “I overheard Mrs. Eclaire speaking with the Tell—with Arthur. If you’re happy at Labrelum, you can become the CEO permanently. No one could make you return to Labyrinthia if you didn’t want to. I—we might not ever see you again.”

“I will come back, though.” She stepped in front of him, willing him to look at her and hear the earnest fervor in her tone. “I will.”

“You won’t.” He smiles sadly. “It’s your Story, isn’t it? You’ll have a new job, and meet new people… you might even find love. And you’ll want to stay there, with them, instead of coming home to m—to us.” There is a genuine anguish in his eyes, proving that he wholeheartedly believes every word that’s been said. Taking her stunned silence for acceptance, he continues.

“If that’s what will make you truly happy, Miss Eve, then it should be enough to make me happy, too. It must be. Because you seemed so glad to be leaving, when you weren’t before.” The pieces suddenly click into place. He had been worried about her, seeing her melancholy, and had put his own feelings aside to ensure her happiness. Not once had he ever suspected that he was the reason she’d been depressed in the first place.

“But what if that’s not the Story I want for myself!?” she snaps. “Did you ever stop and think to ask me what I wanted, instead of assuming you already knew?”

“I… no.” He blinks down at her. “What is it that you want, then? What will make you happy?” I didn’t mean for you to ask me now! Belatedly, she realizes that there’s probably no better time to ask. What was that old adage? Better late than never?  

“I want so much more for myself than that.” She hugs herself, the parcel digging into her side through her jacket. “I want something I can’t have. That’s why I was upset. That’s why I wanted to leave so badly.”

“Something you can’t have?” She can’t blame him for being incredulous. As a Belduke, she’s one of the few who can have whatever she pleases, within the realm of reason. She takes his arm, resting her forehead against his shoulder and wondering how she could have ever hated him.

“If I told you right now that the thing I want most is here—” She presses her face against his upper arm, wishing that there were some way to stop her lips from trembling. “If I said that, would you still want me to be happy?”

“I—I’m admittedly puzzled.” There is a curious tremor in his words as well. “You stated yourself that the thing you wanted most was something you could not have. But if what you say is true….” He fidgets restlessly, forcing her to pull away. She keeps a tight hold of his forearm, a small part of her irrationally afraid that he might run if she happened to let go. “Should it be true,” he tries again, scratching his cheek with his free hand, “then you, um— you’ve have that for quite some time.”

“I… I have?” He nods, cheeks burning.

“Aye. For several years, even.”

“But—then—why didn’t you say anything!?” He jumps at the shrill pitch of her voice, cowering beneath her glare with a nervous laugh.

“Well, ‘tis only that you never seemed to notice my particular regard for you, much less return my feelings.” There is an age-old hope in his eyes, one that mirrors what still burns deep within her breast.

“I’m not the one who claims romance is useless on a battlefield!”

“Romance has no place on the battlefield—”

“Whatever.” She surges against him, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. His coat buttons press against her cheek, heart pounding beneath her ear. “Shut up,” she grumbles, squeezing him as tightly as Espella squeezed her earlier. If she could have lifted him off the ground, she would have. “I return them, okay?” Her face is on fire, the prickling sensation made worse by the chill in the air. “Okay, Zacharias?”

“I—I understand.” His arms slowly encompass her, hands flat against her spine. “Is it alright if you—that is, you know that you can call me Zack?” The question rumbles in his chest, vibrating against her through the padding of his coat. “If you want to.”  

“Only if you can manage an Eve without the Miss in front of it.” She leans into him, finding that she’s unable to stop smiling. “Zack.” It’s easy for her to forget that he possesses an enormous amount of strength. While she may not be able to lift him, he can lift her—and does, all too easily. Her stomach flips, balance off-kilter, and she finds herself nose to nose in his arms.

“Eve,” he says, firmly. His eyes sparkle with mischief, the ghost of a playful smile at the corners of his mouth. Behind them, the familiar hiss of hydraulics signals the bus’s arrival. She ignores it for the moment, grabbing his cheeks in both hands and pulling him forward. Their lips brush in a fleeting kiss, too fast for him to even close his eyes. He nearly drops her in his shock, jaw unhinging as she wiggles free of his arms.

“I have to go.” She tucks her parcel beneath her arm, patting it once to ensure the photo is still there. It is, tucked safely in the side where she left it. Her pulse thrums wildly, emotions bubbling up within her in a cacophony of feeling. Joy. Sadness. Hope.

A bittersweet parting, she decides, is far better than one that is simply bitter.  

“Promise me you’ll come home.” He still looks dazed, but his eyes follow hers to the bus and back.

“I promise. A thousand times over, if I must.”

“And you will write to me?”

“I’ll do better than that: I’ll call. Every week.” She glances over her shoulder, sees the bus driver speaking to the attendant. There is time yet to grab his hand, squeezing it in both of her own. “Six months isn’t so long. Less than thirty weeks.”

“Aye.” He lingers, stepping back until her fingers slide from his. Letting her go. His hand squeezes into a fist, trapping the feeling in his palm. “Go. The bus won’t wait for long.”  

“Six months. You’ll be back for me then.” She puts on her best Darklaw scowl. “You had better be here when I get back.”

“I will.” Two words, holding the solemn weight of an unspoken oath.

There’s nothing more to say. Turning on one heel, she hurries to board the bus before the doors close on her. Handing over her ticket, she nods to the driver and then takes the last available seat beside the knitting woman. She can see him through the window across the aisle, fulfilling his promise to Arthur. The bus would leave before he did.  

“It’s always hard when young lovers have to part,” the old woman remarks, her hat nodding back and forth as she knits. The resulting blush is part embarrassment, part giddy excitement. Young lovers…. “Are you engaged?” she asks nosily, narrowed eyes sweeping over her hands for any sign of a ring. Eve shakes her head quickly.

“No, we’re just—” She catches herself, not quite sure what they are. “We’re just going to miss each other,” she explains instead, making a mental note to ask him the moment she’s able to call. “I’m leaving home for a while; I didn’t realize how much he would miss me.”  

“Oh, men have a certain way about them.” The old woman cackles. “That one looks like he wears his heart on his sleeve.”

“Yes.” Eve sighs, hands resting in her lap. She curls her fingers around one another, trying to hold in what little heat might be left from his palm; the bus, despite being modern, feels more like an icebox. “The problem is that I never look at the right sleeve.” The old woman cackles again.

“Well, well. That takes practice, my dear. So,” she says, leaning back in the seat, “tell me, child: do you like puzzles?”

“Well—”  

[rantingoverbadfic]

'The last of my line' bullshit

I have read so many Harry Potter fics where the authors tromp around on the fact that he is the last of the Potters. The last of his family. The last of his line. And that is true, to the extent that we are making the assumption that the Potters are a patrilineal family and that wizards need one man and one woman to produce a child and the woman is expected to take on the mans name. All very boring, traditional and patriarchal assumptions, dare I even say, very muggle assumptions?

But we don't actually know whether it is just the unreliable narrator Harry who applies the metric of his very conservative muggle upbringing to all areas of the wizarding world where fact is unknown.

And in and of itself, being the last of the line doesn't mean all that much. Everyone of us who is still childless is the last of their line. I am the last of my line, because fifty isn't as far away as it once upon a time seemed and I have decided against having a kid. By that definition, I am the last of my line.

But since we are dealing with wizards - why is it even a thing that one of them needs to surrender their name upon marriage? Especially with purebloods, who are all so fucking proud of the fact that there is nary a muggleborn in their genealogy, and you would willingly give up your claim on half of your ancestry? Wouldn't you instead be proud of of the fact that your child is going to be able to proudly proclaim their belonging to two ancient lines? Though, since Draco is expected to inherit the Black title despite being a Malfoy, I suppose it is just the matter of the name that you lose, not the possibility of inheritance based on blood relation. But why do you need different sexes to have a child? They have magic, what about potions, what about rituals, what about transformation? Do you mean to tell me that in all that long time none of them managed to come with a different method of conceiving than penis and vagina? I am not even sure that wizards even have something like an in-vitro? Not even a method to recombine the DNA of more than two presumptive parents and simply using a surrogate to bring it to term?

But where it gets even more ridiculous, is those fics where Harry being the last of his line somehow means that the line of Gryffindor/Slytherin/Merlin/Arthur/what have you will go extinct if he doesn't have babies. Because he secretly is the long lost heir to those lines. Which is... absolute bullshit? Especially if he comes by that ancestry from his mothers side and your society really is of the boring patrilineal inheritance type, because in that case it already is extinct and doesn't depend on him having babies?

People don't seem to realize how few ancestors we actually have. Go back far enough, like thousand years, and if your family hasn't moved around a lot, like the majority of medieval societies (not everyone, I get that, but in general there wasn't a lot of migration over long distances, like, continent-spanning), that I can pretty much guarantee that everyone is related to everyone. The bigger problem would be to find who has the bigger claim, because at some point it is all just fractions. And considering that the wizards practice throwing their squib children into the muggle world and expecting others to take care of them, like some sort of person-shaped cuckoo, you have even more of a guarantee that there are umpteen Slytherin and Gryffindor heirs running around.

The only way you get to the extinction of a line is if Slytherin or Gryffindor died childless, which then has shit to do with Harry needing to have babies. To get a line extinct, it needs to be cut off very near the starting point or it is going to be unmanageble, and we are not even talking about all the bastards. Say, your ancestor X had one child, and that child had two children and they both died before age of ten - you better hope that the middle of the chain hasn't remarried or fucked around. At some point you need to have so many people dead before producing a child, that it would be completely ridiculous and unmanageble to get a line extinct, that nothing beyond a world-ending disaster would manage it. And if a line has persisted for thousand years for Harry to end up its last link? Yeah, he is definitely not the last of that line.