#anyway this is reminiscent of violet's chapter

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion. 

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode. 

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone. 

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway? 

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him. 

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…” 

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer. 

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him. 

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel. 

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.” 

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom! 

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized. 

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure. 

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep. 

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors. 

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep. 

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them. 

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night. 

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home. 

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards. 

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal. 

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end. 

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side. 

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own. 

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes. 

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned. 

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying. 

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception. 

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him. 

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.”

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution. 

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors. 

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose. 

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back. 

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope. 

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light. 

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true. 

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass. 

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life. 

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort. 

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought. 

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout. 

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you. 

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed. 

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged. 

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface. 

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair. 

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs. 

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls. 

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips. 

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes. 

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love. 

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more. 

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again. 

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand. 

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. “Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point. 

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger. 

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed. 

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade. 

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace. 

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword. 

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over. 

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two. 

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body. 

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you. 

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love. 

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing. 

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.” 

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest. 

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step. 

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him. 

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him. 

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you. 

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight. 

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan. 

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs. 

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.” 

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations. 

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them. 

“You’ll die first,” he said. 

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame. 

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch. 

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again.  “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him. 

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench. 

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead. 

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free. 

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck. 

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands. 

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye. 

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again. 

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards. 

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate. 

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground. 

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare. 

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare. 

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did. 

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight. 

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage. 

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way. 

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen. 

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder. 

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade. 

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh. 

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach. 

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps. 

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand. 

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had. 

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too. 

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear. 

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles. 

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do? 

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart. 

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all. 

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger. 

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword. 

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air. 

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away. 

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

[ccapdis]

It's good that @crepes-suzette-373 made this post because I've been wanting to voice my thoughts on this topic for a while. Iti's nothing new, but I personally find the concept of 恋/koi within the story very interesting, as I think it's the word chosen to convey Sanji's feelings for Nami deliberately. I don't think it's a topic up for debate as there's no much depth in it, but anyway, I want to post my ramblings on Sanji, how he feels about Nami and women and the perception others have for that.

恋/koi (love) as a concept is significant, and I think it will gain weight later in the story. After all, it has been heavily present from the beginning, since Sanji first mentioned it in Arlong Park, going to Hancock and Gloriosa referring to a famous East Blue's poem (Hancock's love for Luffy reminisced Gloriosa to the same love that former Amazon Lily's empresses developed), and even going through Chopper on SBS.

It's a concept that I doubt will fall on deaf ears, as in this post, I believe too that it will potentially have a significant role in the future, be it for Hancock or Sanji's side (or both).

And when it comes to Sanji, it's always been in relation to Nami (except for that one time in Dressrossa, but it was the time he fell for Viola's lies when she still pretended to be Violet).

Indeed, 恋 is exclusively romantic, and in fact I have seen some translators choose to translate it as “true love". Furthermore, it connotes “desire, longing, wanting” and refers specifically to the “falling in love” part of it.

But all of this, the part in which the author 'lets us know' that this is how Sanji feels for Nami and that's when he brings up this 'East Blue poem', that hasn't been worded by Sanji, at least yet.

Bear with me. Back in Punk Hazard, Sanji used ホレち/horechi (from verb 惚れる/horeru) which means “to fall in love”. And then, in WCI, as we already know, he does indeed use the verb 好き/suki when Nami hugs him. Compared to 恋/koi or 愛/ai, it is a much more relaxed and informal verb.

Funnily, much, much later in the story, in chapter 1005 during the Wano arc, when confronted to Black Maria, he says "I want to love all the ladies" and he uses the verb 愛したい/aishitai ('I want to love', literally). And then, in the most recent chapters, when he fights S-Shark to protect Nami, he says 愛の力/ai no chikara (the power of love). What's different from 恋/koi? Well, 恋 is used only for romantic feelings, while 愛 (which he used to refer to all the ladies) is not necessarily romantic. In fact, it refers to a kind of pure and selfless love.

So, maybe, maybe Sanji still has to have some development to know truly what kind of feelings he truly harbors, and learn what he really wants.

Further in the analysis (and I'm aware this is already a pretty cheesy post) I went on to know how others perceive Sanji's relationship with Nami.

In Thriller Bark, Absalom said 妙 に 執着/myō ni shūchaku (deep concern and attachment) to how the Penguin zombie, with Sanji's shadow, felt for Nami (that “he was strangely obsessed over her”). Later on, he says that Nami is "the woman he wanted to protect"/守りたかった.

In Gyojin Island, 過剰 に 反応/kajō ni hannō is said by Hody's pirates, which referred to him overreacting to attacks on Nami.

Robin brings attention to the topic in chapter 1078 by saying "if Nami screams, someone is gonna rush in instantly".

And let's not forget the most famous:

This is part of my reasoning and why I believe that Sanji, despite him being the one in love with Nami throughout all the story and it being an idea very present in the manga and the characters in it, might not have yet figured out how he feels and what he wants when it comes to women and love.

[thefandomlesbian]

Besides the source material, what other things or feelings inspire your writing the most? Your stories always feel so thoughtful and meaningful!

I suppose I've always been a little bit inspired by everything I encounter in my life.

Lots of times, specific lines in my pieces are drawn from other works, poems or books. For example, in Deal With God, House has an introspective monologue about his paternal relationship with Thirteen and likens himself to Abraham; this portion is inspired by a poem, "Poem Ending in Abraham's Suffering," by CT Salazar.

Likewise, there's an excerpt from Venom In Violet (specifically, the paragraph that is attributed to Chester within the fic) that is a loosely paraphrased scene from Days Without End by Sebastian Barry.

For my House fics, especially those with a lot of medical background, it's not unusual for me to feed on different things I've encountered at work. In that regard, usually I'm just processing what I'm seeing through the eyes of someone else—but obviously in the interest of privacy, I can't say more than that. (When I manage to continue Brighter, there is a character I'm introducing who means a lot to me, but I'll explain more when I get that far, haha.)

But it's not always so deep. Once I read a card aloud to a friend who can't read. In it, the writer reminisces on the two of them trampling down her mother's crepe myrtle bush while chasing fireflies as children. I have a scene in an upcoming chapter in JOY (if it doesn't get axed in the editing process) where House and Wilson sit outside a motel decorated with crepe myrtle bushes, watching the fireflies. (I may exchange it for a more meaningful scene later in which House recounts catching lightning bugs in jars with his dad as a kid—still lots of editing work to be done on that fic!)

So anyway, it's kind of a long tawdry non-answer. In short, I think anything can be a story, if you have enough brainrot.

[tribow]

I'm about a week and a half into Violet Detector. I'm so bad at teleporting.

Anyway, I'd like to just talk about Sumireko a bit. Back in Urban Legend in Limbo she was cocky. She had this superiority complex and thinks she's hot shit, but she gets a big reality check from Gensokyo. (Which is kinda funny considering Gensokyo is literally Fantasy world). When playing through Sumireko's story, she's running from one youkai to the next. She's "winning" the fights, but none of the opponents (besides Shinmyoumaru, ya hate to see it) seem to actually lose since she has to run away from them. The goal is to scare her after all, not actually kill her. (Side note: Losing to Shimmy implies that she's actually going to kill Sumireko, which is very funny)

By the end of all of it she's able to briefly escape back to the Outside World, but it's temporary. She will be pulled back in and as far as she knows, one of those youkai might actually kill her (she doesn't know Reimu was going to protect her once she gets pulled back).

Now that she knows she has no control over the situation she decides to go nuclear. She'll unleash the full power occult balls to become the literal key to Gensokyo's barrier. She has fully resigned herself to her death by youkai, but she will at least have achieved her goal.

Perhaps she was lost in her own theatrics, but Sumireko gave up here. If the situation played out like she thought it would, she would have achieved her goal without seeing it through. Her cocky attitude was gone. She didn't refer to herself as some important girl with psychic magical powers. She's just some highschool girl who was way in over her head.

I go over all this because it's a bit clear through her own actions that despite how she presents herself to others, Sumireko does not place herself as important. Her superiority complex is a complete front. Its a display of what she wants to be, but she doesn't believe she can be it. This is a trope that chuunibyou characters tend to have, but Sumireko's case is an interesting one. She is a special person, those esper powers are legit. Her delusions aren't necessarily fake, but to the rest of the world around her, it is.

That's her real issue, she's just a lonely kid. She tries to use her experiences in Gensokyo for clout, but it's an unsatisfying endeavor. Clout doesn't necessarily net you any friends or close relationships. Plus, it's not like anyone is going to believe her. As far as the Outside World is concerned, Gensokyo isn't real. Luckily for her, she has been able to become friends with several of Gensokyo's residents. She may not belong in Gensokyo, but the people there accept her and appreciate her for who she is.

So, this all comes to a head in Violet Detector. The events of this game (so far) are very reminiscent to her chapter in Urban Legend in Limbo. She's stuck in the dream world and everyone is attacking her. It's like she's fighting for her life all over again. To make it worse, Doremy tells her that it doesn't matter if she ends up dying in the Dream World since Sumireko's dream self will just wake up in the real world and it will be as if nothing happened.

Sumireko is functionally worthless in the dream world. Her death would serve nothing. Yet, when faced with a reality where she holds no value, Sumireko gets motivated. She resolves to fight back.

This is not the Sumireko from Urban Legend in Limbo that would have just let life run its course on her. Her self confidence isn't a front, she is earnestly deciding to struggle against the odds with her own power.

I really appreciate this character development. Gensokyo was harsh to her at first, but it showed her the value that she has in the world around her. Sumireko is something to fight for.

Well, that's enough rambling about Sumireko. I haven't even beat the game so I don't know how this ends. I just like her dialogue with Doremy and wanted to talk about it. Sumireko's perspective on Gensokyo (and the Dream World) is very interesting.

[ravensmind]

RobRae Week 2023

~RavensMind~

Day 2 - Reunited

One Night Long Ago

Raven frowned and rolled her eyes as Beast Boy did his old imitation of their late enemy, Mad Mod for the current Teen Titans. Some things were better left dead and forgotten because it either depressed you or made you remember the awful gym outfit you were forced to put on while being subjected to British history. She didn't need both to be affecting her simultaneously. It was great to see her old friends again, of course, but it also meant revisiting some old memories, and a certain friend was prominent in more than a few. *He* had never been hers, but it still stung to see him jump from one failed relationship to the next while she watched from a distant sideline.

She watched Robin, now Nightwing, cross the room to say something to Argent and felt her heart sag in her chest. Truthfully, she had only herself to blame. It's not like she had bared her feelings to him and had been rejected, no, that at least would have been easier to handle. She had a chance to open up to him, one night when he took her to a horror movie and ice cream afterward to try and cheer her up when she was dealing with a lot. They had spent the whole day together, talking, laughing, and at one point she held his hand and she would have said something, had it not been for that damn Mad Mod returning to the city, causing their alarms to go off, which brought the night to a close. She never worked up the courage to say anything to him and convinced herself it was better this way.

Raven sighed and went over to the punch bowl. She admired the new pictures on the walls of the tower, hung by the current team. She hadn't been to the tower in five years, and this celebration of a new chapter for Jump City with a new band of heroes might mark the last time she would set foot here. She spooned out some punch for herself and flicked back her long, violet hair as she turned to reach for a plate to get some snacks from the small buffet. 

"Hey Rae, long time no see," a voice behind her said.

She stopped and took a moment before she turned to greet him.

"Rob-I mean, Nightwing, yes, it's good to see you," Raven said.

"You okay? You seem nervous, and I don't think I need our bond to tell," Nightwing said.

"Just reminiscing, I guess," she said, "Beast Boy needs to cut out the Mad Mod impression before I cut out his vocal chords."

"Tell me about it. It's okay, though, not like he's constantly in our faces anymore, I think we can let it slide," he said.

"I suppose," she admitted grudgingly.

"You staying busy since you left?"

"Mostly. Healing our little extended family's battle wounds doesn't leave too much time to rest. I think I see one of the Justice League for healing at least once every couple days. What about you? Bludhaven treating you…better?"

He smirked, then frowned, "It's a lot nastier there. I'm on top of it though. Not easy flying solo all the time. I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay. How're you doing otherwise? Seeing anyone?"

"No problem at all. No… not much for dates right now. You?"

"No, I haven't really had the opportunity. Figured I should take a break anyway after Barb broke up with me."

"Probably the smarter choice."

Nightwing smirked and laughed a little. Neither of them had moved since they started talking. She always felt like he could have her under a microscope in a second if he wanted, knowing more about her next move than she did, and that feeling was hitting her hard during their conversation.

"You're so blunt, sometimes. I missed that. I've missed you," he said with a smile.

"I… missed you too," she returned, trying to keep her thoughts in check.

"Hey, I was thinking, want to head up to the roof, talk a bit like we used to? That always helped me when I was feeling stressed from our line of work," he asked.

"I-yes, sure," she replied.

"I'll get some punch too before we head up," he said.

Raven couldn't get over how different he looked even though he seemed like the same person she fought alongside for years. His black hair was long, down to his back, and he'd changed his mask along with his color scheme, fulfilling Starfire's experience of him in the future. He had gotten taller, too. He stood a good half a foot taller than her now, where before they were nose to nose. She hadn't changed much, letting her hair grow long and exchanging the blue cloak for white,  she grew another couple inches taller, too. She watched him pour his own punch and forgot herself for a moment looking at his rear profile. One girl had complimented his butt one time while they were out and from that point on, he had committed to doing even more squats. It seemed silly to her at first, but she appreciated it now. 

Nightwing and Raven took their cups of punch and left the common room, walking through the all-too familiar corridors to the stairs, and finally reached the roof. Together, they walked to the edge, looking out over the bay and sat. She took a sip from her cup, then breathed in the spring air, letting the sunlight warm her face, and tried to think of what to say. They rarely needed words, but she was tired of living with the massive "what-if" in her mind. 

"Do you remember that night when I was feeling like garbage and you took me to see The Summoning and we went for ice cream after?" Raven asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think so, why?" Nightwing asked.

"It was sweet of you to go out of your way to try and make me feel better. I always think of that night when I think of you," she replied, "was it special to you?"

"Yeah, it was pretty special. I don't think we hung out like that often, didn't help that I had a crush on you," he said.

Her mind ground to a halt and she coughed as she nearly spat out her punch. He what?

"You…did?" she asked.

"Still do, if I'm being honest."

"Are you messing with me? Did Zatanna put you up to this?"

"Huh? No, why would I mess with you like that?"

She sighed and looked down into her cup, trying not to mentally kick herself for not talking to him about how she felt at the time. It took her a moment before it clicked: they were both currently single. Now if she could just force herself to say something, anything, to let him know she was interested in more than one date.

"I…had feelings for you too… I-I do," she heard herself say.

He flinched next to her and almost spilled his drink. Their bond was stronger than ever when they were near each other and through it, she felt the intensity of his thoughts without prying deeper and she paled at the depth of his emotion, not knowing how she missed before. It freed her own emotions and she spoke quickly, convinced she could tell him everything.

"I wanted to tell you, but there never seemed to be a good time, and I was always close to the edge of losing it when my father was still a threat to me. I didn't trust myself. Didn't really think I could handle a relationship. Now, it's… different and I-I hated watching you spiral out in your relationships from far away. I didn't know if I could reach out, or if I should," she confessed.

"I understand. I was afraid you'd reject me and that I'd make a mistake and hurt you, messing with your emotions. I really should have just trusted you instead of making that call myself. I'm…sorry, I didn't think you liked me that way," he said.

"I think I was blushing every other time you so much as touched me, surprised your detective eye didn't pick up on it," she said.

"Think I might've misread it as something else. You are the hardest to read unless I use that bond of ours and I know the day we went to the movie happened before we had that bond," he explained.

"I'm not blaming you for not catching it, I know I hide things too well. I should have said something," she said.

"Well, no use worrying about what we can't change…uh, you ever been to Bludhaven?" he asked, a smile slowly forming on his face.

"No, but I'm sure I can make time to visit, if you'll show me the sights," she replied, giving him a half-smile.

"There's at least one I have in mind, but it's not exactly a tourist experience," he said with a smirk.

"All the better. Though I am curious as to what you're planning. Do I get another hint?" she asked.

"Hmm, well it's very exclusive, and… it was meant for you alone, even if it's uh, had other eyes on it," he replied.

"I think I could guess, but I'll let you surprise me," she said with a smirk.

"Awesome, I'll uh, call you when I leave Jump, promise," he said with a smile.

"You better. I'd hate to have to hunt you down. And… you're not leaving the tower tonight without giving me more than just that promise," she told him, her voice soft and inviting, looking from his masked eyes to his lips.

"Someone might have to hit me, I'm kinda wondering if this is real," he said with a laugh.

"Oh, it's quite real."

Raven scooted closer to Nightwing on the tower roof's edge and set her cup down.

"If I wake up when it's over, I'll be the one hunting you down," he warned.

He set his drink down on the side away from her and scooted closer to her, his thigh touching hers.

"I wouldn't fault you for it. Maybe," she said.

She leaned in close, putting her palm on his chest over the blue symbol on the black suit that covered his body.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this," he said.

He put his arms around her and leaned in, his face inches from hers.

"No, I think I have an idea now that I know... Next time, don't back off when we both reach for the popcorn," she said with a knowing smile.

Nightwing laughed and then pressed his lips to Raven's, holding her tight in his arms, and kissing her deeply. She was burning in his arms, containing her power while still allowing herself to enjoy and experience as much of the moment as she could. Her emotions were wild in her mind, threatening to overwhelm her senses even as she poured herself into them, feeling his strong embrace and the pressure of his lips locked on hers as the wind kicked up around them and the sun's heat lit them up on the rooftop. She clutched the fabric of his suit and pressed herself closer against him, not wanting him to stop. Eventually, they both broke away, unsure of how much time had passed.

"I wish we still had rooms here, would make it easier to go further… If you wanted to," Nightwing said.

"You forget… I can take us anywhere," Raven said, softly.

"Oh, uh, yeah, right, of course! So… my place or yours?" he asked.

"Hmm… Mine," she replied.

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 69

Cw:mentions of sexual slavery, description of a misscarriage, casual mentions of physical assault

Taglist:@stargaryenx @mercedesdecorazon

Gif by @the-dragonqueenblog

Mysaria had never dreamed of having a child until Daemon came into her life.

She had been born in a pillow house; daughter of Yi-Tish slaves whose purpose was to keep the brothel filled their progeny.

She was one of many, and just like many of her brothers and sisters, Mysaria managed to seduce an adventurer or a merchant to escape her fate.

Mysaria knew every dance, the brothelkeeper spared no expense in that.

And it was because of her dancing that she made her way into the Sunset Kingdoms as a free woman.

It was because of her dancing that Prince Daemon took her as his mistress. His only mistress.

Then when the Heir for a Day was burned along with his mother, she discovered her womb had quickened with her dragon’s seed.

Mysaria had never wanted children until she felt that fluttering inside her womb and imagined a silver haired child with the perfect blend of its parents’ features.

Some nights he was a boy with almond shaped violet eyes burning Lys to the ground with his dragon alongside his father.

Other nights, she was a girl, so innocent and beautiful that Mysaria weeps of joy at knowing her daughter will never be exploited like she was.

But that child and all her hopes and dreams died with it on that boat to Lys.

Princess Rhaenyra had killed her child, her baby that was the size of her hand when he bleed out of her.

The women who attended her then had cried and wept with her, for her.

That miscarriage had rendered her barren.

Not that Daemon, her Rogue Prince, knew.

As far as he knows, there was no baby and she had never been able to have one anyways.

As far as he knows, she is loyal to them.

But Mysaria is loyal to no one except herself.

She will make them pay.

Rhaenyra for killing her son and Daemon for allowing it to happen.

And what better way than by making Rhaenyra lose all her children while Mysaria pits her against Daemon.

“Have you come to take him from me?” Aemma asked assuming the steps were Daemon’s.

She liked taking Aemon for walks, the occasional flight and Dragonstone Village could boast that they had seen the little prince as often as they see the princess.

“I couldn’t even if I tried.” Addam, her half-brother, said as he took off his helm.

The little traitor, Aemon had the audacity to smile at his bastard uncle.

Addam was the same age as her, only a moon or so older.

Aemma doesn’t know why it rubs her the wrong way to have two more brothers.

Was it because they looked like her and she knew eventually Joffrey would know that his father wasn’t the man who held him in that portrait?

Was it because if Addam had been trueborn, even Aemma would have been sidelined to make place for him?

Even mother liked Addam, treated him as if they were kin.

“I have expected you to return the slap, you have boldness in spades.” He comments with a small laugh so reminiscent of their late father.

“If she was anyone else, I would have. Believe me.” Aemma said and meant it.

Had it been Alicent, or anyone else, Aemma would have hit back. Fuck the consequences, fuck propriety.

But the slap had stunned her beyond speech and action, which was very unlike her. Aemma was not one to be cowered into a corner.

“What will you do now?” he asked tentatively. They had met once, when grandfather took her with him into Hull, they had played together with toy ships while grandfather conducted business with Marilda and her father.

Aemma remembers asking why he looked like her and suddenly Aemma not allowed to go to the shipyard with anyone.

“Once mother is safe on the throne, I will settle here. Hopefully things will cool down by the time Aemon has his first nameday.” Or if little Aenor or Aenna happened to come calling.

Part of her hopes she will have just one more piece of Aemond in her life, another knows she cannot handle another baby so soon.

Especially if push turns to shove and she ends up fighting her own mother.

Aemma prays it never happens, but at this point it would not surprise her if her mother declared her a traitor because of Daemon.

“There have been rumors that Princess Aemma has fallen out of favor with her mother, that the Queen struck her and threatens to disinherit her.” Larys spoke to those left in the council. “This was after Princess Aemma confronted her stepfather for murdering her father and Prince Daemon attempted to silence her through violence.”

If only he had killed her.

Once, long ago, Alicent would have tried to like the girl for Aemond’s sake, but then the war happened and her sweet Helaena had suffered because of her.

If Aemond had not helped Aemma escape, he would have been there to kill Blood and Cheese before they touched a hair on her innocent grandchildren.

“How does this help us win the war, Lord Strong?” Ironrod asked as he began to lose his patience.

“Houses Velaryon and Arryn would be amenable to joining us if Prince Aemond were to become king.” The clubfoot said and let it hang. “We would not even need to cater to Lord Baratheon’s whims.”

These people do not care about Aegon, they do not care his father named him heir in his last breath.

They want the power she had given them and take her out of the painting.

She had put them here, who did they think they were?

“You speak of treason, Lord Strong.” She warned.

“Oh, I merely speak the truth, your grace.” The man smiled and Alicent knew the game was over.

To say there was a battle was an understatement.

Or maybe everything after the Gullet just makes things feel small.

Daemon’s goldcloaks made quick work of what little defenders Aemond left as part of his plan, Alicent barricaded herself until Caraxes reminded her there was no escape and Aemma breathed easier knowing the casualties were small in number afterwards.

“Is this how you repay the love my son bears for you?” Alicent spat as she was forced to surrender.

Chains, golden chains made specially for her, clasped around her ankles and wrists and her green dress with its hems blackened by dragon’s smoke and grime as she tried to run.

“The city is yours, Princess,” the word dripped with venom as she bowed to her enemies, “You will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”

“He will, but not for you.” Her mother taunted. “If the gods are good, my sweet daughter will give him a second son. Tell me, Queen Alicent, what is duty to the feeling of your newborn child in your arms?”

But Aemma hides this sudden hope.

Was her mother willing to give Aemond a fair trial like Aemma had begged her the day she struck her?

[robynmizore]

Redemption Chapter 15:

Yours To Tame

Takumi’s reflection gazed steadily back at him as he scrutinized himself in the mirror. His hair was done up in its usual ties, so he was fully confident in that. But it was the outfit he was having doubts about. It was a black, gold, and silvery purple Hoshidan style swordsmaster outfit worn only by nobles, or princes in his case. The outfit was strongly reminiscent of his late father, King Sumeragi, and while he’d dressed in plenty of kimonos for formal occasions, he’d never worn one himself. 

I wonder if Father is watching me now.. or if he approves of my decision.

Things would be vastly different after tonight, and Takumi was determined to look the part. 

“You look beautiful, my lady.” Flora murmured as she assisted Robyn with putting on the long, silver dress, sounding a little envious. “But must you insist on wearing your cloak? I’m sure you have a lovely face that would complement such a dress.”

”I wish not to.” the Summoner replied politely. 

She had her own plans for the ball, the prospect making her heart flutter a bit. 

“Of course.” 

Flora’s hands rested gently on her shoulders as they gazed into the mirror together, an almost motherly look in her eyes. The maid hesitated before speaking. 

“..Are you meeting with Lord Takumi?” 

Robyn was relieved that her hood concealed her blush, and she forced herself not to flinch as she replied. 

“Yes.”

A small smile made its way to Flora’s lips as she turned to leave. 

“..You’ll do great.”

The flush only intensified as the door closed softly, and Robyn slowly let down her hood. The image that greeted seemed to be taken straight out of a fairytale. Her azaleas glowed gently even in the morning lights, her violet eyes bright and full of expectation.

Things will be different after tonight. But.. in a good way I hope. 

In this moment, she felt truly beautiful. But it wasn’t herself she was trying to impress. A subtle knock at her door drew her attention, and the goddess’s eyes lit up as she quickly flipped up her hood and grabbed the sheet music off her desk. Niles wore his infamous smirk as she opened the door. 

“Hey, little lady. Ready for tonight?” he drawled, and Robyn giggled softly as she handed over the papers. 

“Niles.. I’m the same height as you.”

”Not quite.” he bantered back, looking over the music. “Quite the song you’ve got there. I can already guess who this is for.”

”..You sure the musicians will be able to learn it in time and keep it a surprise?”

”I think you underestimate my craft.” the thief teased as he slipped them under his cloak. “They won’t hear a peep about it until the time is right. Especially..”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. 

“..Your precious Prince Takumi.”

Robyn had to fight to keep her composure as he straightened up again. While Niles had his usual “up to no good” look in his eye, there was something else there too. It reminded her of the looks Takumi gave her sometimes. 

“Anyways, I’m off.” Niles said, turning away with a casual wave, tossing the last words over his shoulder as he departed. 

“Oh.. and don’t worry about the music. Alfonse got the best of the best for Askrian musicians. They’ll learn it in time.”

Niles watched as the Summoner’s door closed behind her, then turned to give the music a once over again.

I’m yours to tame, huh? These are some pretty passionate lyrics. It wouldn’t take a detective to figure out who those are directed at.

A small sigh escaped him as he resumed walking. 

I had hoped that you would be mine, but it would seem your heart is not mine to steal. Ah well..

The Summoner may not be his to keep, but he could at least be sure she was with someone who would look after her. 

“..Are the others downstairs already?” Robyn whispered as Niles hopped down from his perch beside her. 

“..Yep. Not a soul up here. You’re good to go.”

”..Is.. is he?”

Niles peered carefully around the corner.

”Yep. He just arrived. ..You sure about this? You’re about to make quite the entrance. No taking it back later.”

”Yes.” Robyn replied with conviction.

While slightly nervous, she’d never felt more sure of anything in her life. Her white-haired, eye-patch wearing companion chuckled. 

“I’ll admit.. I was tempted to ask to sneak a peek as payment for all this, but seeing how important this is to you, I’ll restrain myself. But if you really wanna thank me.. promise you won’t back out.”

”I won’t. Thank you for everything Niles. I.. I won’t forget this.”

”Y-yeah..”

For a split second, the man Robyn had thought was unshakable actually looked.. embarrassed. She stifled a giggle as he turned to leave. 

“Alright, I’ll give the musicians the signal. Good luck out there.”

The thief vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving the Summoner standing alone. Robyn took a deep breath to ease to her nerves, letting it out slowly as she let her hood fall to the floor by her feet. 

Okay.. here we go!

Where is she..? 

Takumi scanned the crowd with a frown, looking for a familiar black hooded figure. It wasn’t like Robyn to be late, and her absence only made the butterflies in his stomach flutter harder. If she didn’t show up, he didn’t know how he’d feel. 

A sudden gasp rippling through the crowd caused the Hoshidan’s head to snap up suddenly. Were they under attack? All attention seemed to be trained on the top of the stairs, and Takumi looked up to see what had succeeded in capturing the attention of the entire room, the sight that greeted him stealing his breath away. There, stood Robyn, her long flowing pink hair cascading down her body in waves, her azalea flowers more radiant than ever. Even the lights seemed dim in her presence.

She revealed her face?!

But what did this mean? Spellbound, Takumi watched as she slowly descended the stairs, her dress billowing out like a silver cloud. When her identity as Goddess of Fate had been revealed, Takumi was in disbelief, but now he could believe it. His body seemed to move on its own as he wove his way through hoards of people, the crowd seeming to fade in the background until all Takumi could see was her and those beautiful violet eyes, full of serenity, until she at last reached them. 

“Robyn.. I..”

Now that he’d reached her, the Hoshidan seemed lost for words as he reached out to caress her cheek gently. To his delight, she leaned into his touch.

”You.. you look beautiful..” he whispered. 

Robyn gazed back at him, the warmth in her eyes making his heart flutter as she traced the shoulder of his swordsmaster outfit lightly.

”And you look so handsome.” she murmured back. 

Commander Anna’s voice rang out above the startled whispers of the crowd.

”We will now begin our slow dance. Everyone partner up!”

That’s it! 

Seizing the opportunity, Takumi quickly found his voice. 

“Robyn.. Will you please accept this dance with me?”

The Summoner’s eyes lit up at his request, and Takumi was unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face as she turned and presented her bouquet of glowing azalea flowers to Elise, the Nohrian princess gasping in delight as she took them. Takumi led Robyn by the hand to the dance floor where the other heroes were gathered. 

“..Takumi?”

”Yes?”

His eyes met the familiar violet orbs, that very violet gaze the same ones he’d fallen in love with over and over again. Robyn was his guiding light, and having her here now with her hood down, gazing at him with such fondness was more than he could ever ask for.

”The song that they’re about to play is mine. I.. I wrote it for you actually.” she murmured as she stepped back to face him, eyes soft. “These are my feelings for you in song form. Please listen to them..”

Heart pounding, too stunned to speak, he simply nodded. As the sound of violins echoed through the ballroom, Takumi and the Summoner simultaneously bowed to each other. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caledori beaming proudly as she gave him a thumbs up, and a small smile made its way on the prince’s lips. Night and day he’d trained in secret, just for this moment. Just for her. And for the first time ever, confidence instead of nerves filled him. Takumi truly believed in himself and this moment as he secured his arm around Robyn’s waist, taking her hand in his as the sound of instruments filled the air. He was moved by the intensity of her violet eyes as they gazed deeply into his own and her song filled the air. 

www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8unBXPn/

“I summoned you, please come to me

Don’t bury thoughts that you really want 

I fill you up, drink from my cup 

Within me lies what you really want 

Come.. lay me down!

Cause you know this 

Cause you know this sound!”

Takumi only had eyes for Robyn as they glided across the dance floor. There were other couples dancing as well, but none seemed to shine as brightly as the Hoshidan prince and the Summoner. 

“Is that really the Summoner?! She’s sooo pretty!” he heard Elise exclaim.

”What a lovely ball gown..” Sumia sighed dreamily, and it wouldn’t take a diviner to know she was imagining herself in the Summoner’s place, with a certain blue haired prince. 

“In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night!

Just call my my name, I’m yours to tame

In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night, 

I’m wide awake, I crave your taste.

All night long!

Till morning comes..

I’m getting what’s mine

You gon’ get yours, oh no-ooh

In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night 

Oh..”

The violins blended beautifully with her voice in perfect harmony, Robyn’s emotions hitting Takumi like a wave. It left him breathlessly light, like his body was made of the shimmers that made up Robyn’s ball gown. There was a brief lull in the vocals, offering the prince a swift respite as he calmed his fluttering heart. 

“These burning flames, these crashing waves 

Wash over me like a hurricane

I’ll captivate, you’re hypnotized 

Feel powerful..

But it’s me again!

Come.. lay me down! 

‘Cause I know this

’Cause I know this sound!”

Takumi was indeed hypnotized, completely under her spell. He wished this moment would last forever, just him and her, spinning across the dance floor like it belonged to them.

”In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night

Just call my name, I’m yours to tame! 

In the middle of the night, 

In the middle of the night 

I’m wide awake, I crave your taste

All night long!

Till morning comes..

I’m getting what’s mine,

You gon’ get yours, oh no-ooh

In the middle of the night 

In the middle of the night, oh..”

Round and round they spun to the beat of the violins, through the garden where he first heard her sing and saw her face. Robyn’s dress seemed to move with her, the glowing azaleas in her hair and dress’s waistline looking even more ethereal in the moonlight, and Takumi wondered if this was all but a blissful dream. When he first saw her face, he could have only dared to hope she’d be in his arms like this, a rush of emotions welling up in his chest. 

Robyn.. I want you to stay by my side forever..

”..Never again will you cry here alone.” he vowed fervently, and the warmth in her gaze told him more than words ever could. 

“And just call on me..

Ah.. 

Just call my name..

Like.. you.. mean.. it! 

In the middle of the night, 

In the middle of the night!”

As the song hit its peak, Takumi put both arms around the goddess’s waist, lifting her into the air and spinning her in a circle above his head. 

“Just call my name,

I’m yours to tame!”

As soon as her feet touched the ground, he lifted one arm above her head and spun her, her dress rippling gracefully as it moved with her. Takumi’s heart was singing, his cheeks flushed, and gods was her smile infectious. 

“In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night 

I’m wide awake, I crave your taste

All night long!

Till morning comes..

I’m getting what’s mine, you gon’ get yours oh-ooh

In the middle of the night 

In the middle of the night 

Oh-oh..”

The enchanting and so beautifully intimate song at last came to an end, and they stood facing each other in the gardens. Despite the silence, Takumi felt completely at ease, not a trace of awkwardness. It was Robyn who broke the silence first. 

“..I never realized dancing with someone else could feel like that.”

Her voice was light and breathy, and when he answered, he sounded the same. 

“Yeah..”

”I didn’t even know you could dance like that. I’m impressed.”

”I had Caledori teach me.” Takumi admitted. “I.. I trained day and night.. so I could dance with you.”

”Really? That’s amazing.”

Her violet eyes lit up at the admission, and the Hoshidan actually felt proud of himself. Her eyes shifted to the window and she let out a quiet gasp. 

“Look, Takumi! They decorated the inside with lanterns!”

Curious, he turned to see the halls beautifully decorated with glowing lanterns in every shade, straight out of a fairytale. He was startled from the dreamy thoughts creeping into his mind as Robyn suddenly grabbed his hand, pulling him eagerly towards the hall. 

“Come on! Let’s walk though it!”

”Slow down! It’s not going anywhere!” he chuckled. 

He had to admit, there was something special about having her hand in his in an environment like this. The lanterns danced beautifully around them, Robyn’s silver gown glimmering under them like a sea of stars. 

“That really is a beautiful dress. Did you have Flora make it?”

”No actually.. I made it myself. I must have liked sewing in my past or something. It just came so naturally. I couldn’t believe it when it was finished.”

”Really? All by yourself?”

She nodded in confirmation, leaving the prince stunned, but impressed. The Summoner really was full of surprises. Something outside caught his eye. 

Perfect..

”Hey.. they even decorated the balcony.” he said casually. “You uh.. you want to go look?”

Robyn’s violet gaze lit up and she nodded quickly, and they walked hand in hand outside. Takumi noticed she kept rubbing the side of his hand with her thumb occasionally, making his skin tingle. The lights of the village shone in the distance, and the lanterns outside emitted small fragments of light floating around like fireflies. 

Must be magically enhanced.. Takumi mused as Robyn let go of his hand and leaned against the balcony railing with both elbows. 

“This is a truly beautiful night.. almost like a dream..” she murmured. “If so.. then may I never wake.”

The iridescent fabric of her gown glowed brightly in the moonlight, a celestial light emitting from the flowers that adorned her waist. The dragon necklace he’d given her hung from her neck like a precious jewel. He’d never seen her without it, and even now she was wearing it, and the knowledge made his chest swell with affection and his heart thudded in his chest. This was it. This was the moment. Things would never be the same after tonight. 

“Robyn I.. I need to tell you something.”

Encased in silver, shining like a moonbeam, she turned to him, her lovely pale face flushed with happiness. 

“Yes?”

Encouraged, Takumi stepped forward to caress her cheek lightly with his hand. 

“This.. may not be easy for you to hear but I..”

Just say it already!

”..When I was first summoned here, I was still struggling to accept myself. Like you I was thrown into a world where I knew no one. All I had with me was my bow, and my status as second prince of Hoshido. I was so cold and distant.. and you still accepted me. You went out of your way to make me feel at home. Like.. I belonged. From the moment I met you, you’ve been my guiding light. The star in the distance leading me home and giving me hope..”

The Summoner was listening with rapt attention, soaking in every word that tumbled from his mouth. 

“I was broken, lost, and alone.. until I met you. I know you’re the Goddess of Fate and I’m just the second prince of Hoshido.”

His hand dropped from her cheek. 

“I.. I have no right to feel this way. But I can’t deny my feelings any longer!”

His hand brushed his pocket to make sure it was still there. It was, so determinedly, he pressed on. 

“I love you Robyn. So much so that the thought of being apart from you tears me in half! Even if I must abandon my humanity and become a god, even if I have to walk to the ends of the earth and back, to the realms beyond, then so be it!”

The passion in his voice was rising steadily, and Takumi took a quick breath to compose himself, before reaching into his pocket to pull out the ring. It glowed pale in the moonlight, the crystal white azalea flower that rested upon it making the goddess gasp from the dazzling light. 

“T-Takumi that’s..”

”Yes. It’s a wedding ring. I.. had it specially made for you. Will you marry me, Robyn?”

”Will you marry me, Robyn?”

The confession was so heartfelt and so beautifully sincere, she was rendered speechless for a moment as tears welled in her eyes. She’d planned to confess to him herself, but he’d beaten her to it. And so perfectly too. Unable to resist, she reached up to caress his cheek. Hope sparked in his gaze, the hand holding the ring still extended towards her. 

“I love you too.. Takumi. So.. so much. You’re strong, brave, honest, and beautiful inside and out. With you by my side, my heart is at last at peace. I have hope for the future. So I will happily marry you and stay by your side as your wife forever. ..On one condition.”

“..Name it.”

”I.. I want you to try and accept yourself and see yourself the way that I do. As a strong, capable, and wonderful man. You are worthy Takumi. And I want you to know just how much I cherish you.”

The Hoshidan’s eyes brimmed with emotion as he gazed back at her. 

“..That’s all you ask of me? That’s all I have to do to be yours forever?” Robyn nodded, and the joy that lit his gaze was enough to melt her heart. “You’ve got it. I’ll.. I’ll try my hardest to see myself the way that you do. For your sake.. and my own. Here’s to our future!” 

With those final words, he slipped the ring onto her finger, his arms encircling her waist. Robyn knew she belonged in those arms. She was designed to be held by him. 

“I was in love with you before I even knew what you looked like..” he breathed.

A shooting star blazed across the sky, stealing her attention briefly.

Was that Mikoto? Is she watching us now, knowing that her son is happy? I’m so glad.. I could keep my promise to her.

When she turned back, Takumi was gazing at her with unwavering intensity in his reddish amber eyes. Then slowly, he leaned in. 

No interruptions this time.. Robyn’s eyes drifted closed as his lips brushed against her’s. 

Shyly at first, then deepened, his nose brushing her’s as he pulled her close. Forceful, yet gentle, her hand resting softly against his chest until at last it ended, leaving them both breathless. Takumi leaned his forehead against her’s with a quiet laugh. 

“I.. I can’t believe we just did that..”

”..Want to do it again then? So you believe it?” Robyn teased, causing the prince to flush scarlet. 

But it didn’t stop him from kissing her again, more firmly, and Robyn felt like she was losing herself in the touch of his lips. Every movement. Every breath. Every heartbeat. When he finally pulled back, he was gazing at her with such intensity as he played with a lock of her hair. 

“Robyn.. I.. I don’t want to be apart from you tonight. Or any night. Will you spend the night with me?”

”I don’t wish you be apart from you even for a moment.” she murmured, accepting his outstretched hand. 

The walk back to the prince’s room brought back a flood of heartwarming memories. The last time they’d spent the night together there, it was when he’d seen her face for the first time and had vowed to reunite her with her family and offered to take her back to Hoshido to look after her if she didn’t have a home of her own to return to. Robyn’s mind buzzed with dreamy thoughts as the door closed softly behind them. Takumi faced her solemnly, looking even more ethereal under the moonbeams that danced though his window. She was back in his arms in an instant, his vibrant hazel gaze a mix of love and something else. It was an unfamiliar emotion. One that made her want to kiss him again.

”Robyn..” he whispered, his forehead pressed again her’s, his eyes never leaving her own: “I want you. So much so my heart aches. But this isn’t just intimacy for me. This is the love I feel for you in physical form. If this is wrong.. tell me now and I won’t speak of it again. I’d never forgive myself for hurting you.”

”No.. it isn’t wrong. If anything.. this feels so right.”

Takumi’s finger traced lightly down her neck in a long, drawn out touch that made Robyn shut her eyes briefly in bliss, awakening an emotion she didn’t even know she had. She opened her eyes as he moved his hands lower, her dress and his swordsmaster outfit slipping off with ease. The longing in his gaze was clear now, and Robyn returned it, without a trace of nervousness. Lost in each other’s touch and unable to resist, the couple fell against the soft bed, Takumi hovering over her as he leaned in for another long kiss. The glowing moon bore sole witness to the soft, lingering touches, bare skin, and lovingly whispered words between gasps of passion that lasted well into the night. 

AN: Don’t worry.. we won’t get too explicit. Gotta keep that T rating after all and it wouldn’t take a detective to figure out what they were doing.  I don’t really have plans to write any explicit content of those two anyways because I feel like it would take away from the real point of this scene.. which is the portrayal of their relationship. I wanted to portray a beautiful, heathy relationship in all aspects that anyone could read. Throughout my life all my relationships have either been toxic or straight up abusive, so writing a relationship like this has been extremely validating for me. At last.. the beautiful Takubyn ship has sailed! ..In more ways than we thought 😅😂 Anyways.. stay tuned for next chapter and more artwork coming out December 31st ;3 

~Robyn 

[sourrcandy]

MOTIFS in KNIGHTS ↳ predators and preys ; sage and storm clemonte

“ ONE WOLF HOWLS WHILE THE OTHER ONE SINGS / ONE WOLF SOOTHES WHILE THE OTHER ONE STINGS ” ↴ FEED by demi lovato

【 CH. 06 — NEVER DIE 】

Her father taught them wolves eat girls; defenceless, young, weak girls that dare to tread in the dark. But the twins thrive in the shadows. Wolves and girls both have sharp teeth. They have no mercy.

【 CH. 10 — WAR DEVIL 】

“Galahad! I fail to recall the last time I saw you in here, bunny.” The mocking nickname of a prey animal bites into her, and she narrows her eyes, which only makes him smile wider, knowing full well how to push her buttons.

【 INTERLUDE — GASOLINE ON FIRE 】

The sixth and seventh were a pair of sly, crafty foxes, they wanted to crush all enemies in the dark and seize the world for themselves. The devil gave them the keys to his secret vault, opening a world of possibilities and ambitions, so they could rob the world, keeping the fortunes to themselves.

general taglist!! ( send an ask to be added/removed ) @kazino, @halcionic, @candymillk, @sautrns, @cianawrites, @janaisvu, @ninazeniks, @ambrosiadarling, @perditism, @serpentarii, @seasteading, @lasbrumas, @sympathyhouse, @darkgazer 

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11- Much More 

Summary: Deciding to let Geralt handle the child surprise on his own and rekindle your friendship with Yennefer while against all odds, fight with mages by your side, it’s time to protect Sodden from Nilfgaard.

Warning: blood, fighting Nilfgaard soldiers, angst, reader going a bit feral, eyy more backstory ft. Geralt

Masterlist

The next morning, in the early hours of the dawn did you, Yennefer, and a handful of willing mages set off in lifeboats for the distant shore. You sat in silence within the tight cluster of other bodies seated all around you, every mage dressed very distinctive from one another, their outfits less then ready for battle if you're being completely honest.

You could almost laugh, what exactly did these magical people have in mind when the time came to stopping Nilfgaard? They travel in their fancy robes and attire like it's time to go to court. But you digress, they may look like a fashionable lot, but they do know how to use their powers for destruction if need be.

Hopefully they won't shy away from turning a soldier to ash.

The boat ride lasted longer then you'd have liked, honestly why didn't you just fly across? Oh right, you wanted information about what's going to happen and you know, Yennefer.

Cursed that damned djinn.

Once the boat safely rested against the sandy shore did you get out with the rest of the other mages. Not caring in the slightest to help them pull it fully onto the grass beyond the sand, though you could have done it with one hand. Instead do you follow Yennefer as Vilgefortz questions her relentlessly about many things she simply brushes off, disinterested and annoyed.

It's another boring cluster fuck of hours before you can hear the telling noise of people as they prepare for battle. Once you find your way out of the woods do you notice the great castle-like structure of the Elven keep upon Sodden's Hill, it's crumbling white stony walls sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the land. On the other side, a long bridge pathway leading to the other edge of the great pass, exactly where Nilfgaard is planning to go.

You follow the mages as you all make your way down to the grassy hill towards the tents below, Tissaia meets up with another mage, a man who welcomes you all with open arms, clearly he did not expect such company. But by the looks of it, is desperately going to need every single one of you.

You walk in step with Yennefer, Triss to your back as you shift your gaze from the spread out mass of tired refugee villagers, orphans, and scared old men. The atmosphere is dreary and tense, they all know what's coming and the sight of your group makes some of them even more nervous.

"These people," Starts the robed mage as he walks in line with Tissaia, "they have been pushed from their homes. They've seen the scorched earth, the fields of corpses stretching between Gemmera and this river. Such cruelty."

"It's Nilfgaards way." Replies Tissaia, "There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable." If that isn't the truth.

"But it's all any of us have left. We have to defend it."

"That's heroic." States Sabrina much to your surprise.

You turn to her, "And stupid." They all stop and stare at you in puzzlement like you'd just kicked a helpless puppy and laughed about it, letting out a sigh you shift your scarlet eyes upon the man and Tissaia, "Take the children and hide before they get here so they may avoid more terror and death."

His brows furrow, "There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard. They have come from beyond the mountains to destroy the world." You stay silent, it's not worth arguing over at this point. He's already made up his mind.

Saving the slightly awkward moment, Triss steps in, "You still believe it can be saved?"

Everyone looks to the mage as he stares off into the distance, a look of hope in his bright blue eyes, "I suppose I do." He smiles before turning back to your group, "With some help." And just like that do you all make your way into the keep to further make use of your talents.

Countless arrays of glass bottles are set out and filled with some type of strangely smelling blue rock, arrows are constructed and set out up by the ramparts as you watch from your perch high atop a castle ledge. The preparations are made throughout the whole entirety of the day, the villagers and mages alike all working tirelessly together in a hopefully fruitful attempt at saving this dying stronghold from the Nilfgaardians.

The sun has kept herself hidden from the world hours ago, the beautiful welcoming blanket of darkness settling across the land for the time being. Your favorite time of the day. You watch as the mages and other villagers find their company with one another on a last night of peace before blood is most likely spilt tomorrow when the soldiers arrive.

Against all odds the atmosphere is quite happier and light, people telling stories over fires under the stars as they take their minds off of the impending doom. You've placed yourself a couple feet from Tissaia and Vilgefortz as they sit side by side on a stone ledge with their feet just about touching the ground, a drink in their hands as they reminisce about better times in their lives. You hold one knee up, your other leg dangling freely as you listen to Yennefer and Triss as they walk into view.

Triss snacks on an apple as she points towards your direction, "Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?" A small snort escapes you as your heightened hearing catches her jest. Not a second later does Vilgefortz happen to get up, leaving you and Tissaia alone, Yennefer parting from Triss as she stops in the grass. Unsure of where to go next, Tissaia takes this as a cue to raise her glass, "The ale won't disappoint. We should enjoy it while we can."

Yennefer turns to the two of you, a stoic expression crossing her features as she walks over, "It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." She quips bluntly before sitting down in between the both of you.

Tissaia hands her a spare glass, "Must you always be so fatalistic?"

"It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die." Replies the violet eyed mage before taking a sip of the ale, still rather unenthusiastical about everything.

You chuckle, "Well maybe you two, I on the other hand plan on tearing these dogs to pieces."

Tissaia laughs, "All the more reason to live tonight."

Yennefer sets her mug against her lap, "Mmm. Like you." She retorts, looking knowingly in the direction of Vilgefortz as he converses with some soldiers. You look to Tissaia, a smile upon her slender face as she stares almost adoringly at the raven haired man. The three of you look to one another and begin laughing like young school girls who just found out about their friends secret crush.

It feels nice, oddly so.

Your laughter slowly dies down, a more heavy aurora laying over the three of you as your smiles vanish from your once happy faces. Tissaia sighs before excusing herself from the two of you, no doubt heading to seek out the man of the hour.

You sit back in a comfortable silence as a light breeze caresses your face before turning an eye to your friend, "Are you ready?" Your voice is steady and calm yet holding so much, Yennefer quickly turns to face you, her eyes full of apprehensive wonder, "To die." You finish with a raise of your brow, "If destiny decides to finally take us out that is."

She pauses for a moment to think it over as she watches some kids run by in the firelight, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

"But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." You point out as she frowns, her eyes downcast in the nearby fire light.

"But I've no legacy to leave behind. No family." She says sadly, "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." A tinge of disappointment in her voice as she sits next to you, feeling rather defeated with her life.

"You still have so much left to give." She looks to you now, a kind warm smile pulling at your features, "I know it, and I'm not just saying that because of well, you know. I've never really thought about it but you're kind of like me in a way."

She slowly nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, not sure where you're about to go with this, "How so?"

You shrug, "We're both half of something, two pieces that make us a whole being of vitality and raw power. You're half elf, I'm half vampire, two incredible immortal races that should not be fucked with." You playfully nudged her shoulder, "We don't always get what we want in life, she can be quite the bitch you know, and even though I'll never have a true heir of my own. Well I guess, if I can keep alive some of the good in this world while defeating the evil, that's good enough for me. My legacy is hidden within my actions and who I help along the way, it's all it needs to be."

She furrows her brows, "Thank you Y/N." Sincerity in her voice.

You let out a breathy laugh, clearly confused, "For what?"

"For deciding to come with me to this place, you could have left and fucked off to wherever you chose next. But you decided to stay, and well...maybe I do enjoy having you in my company....no matter how how scary those eyes of yours are." She teases.

You smile, "Not the djinn talking?"

"No. Not the djinn. I swear it." Says Yennefer honestly.

You softly hum in agreeance, "So do I. I think it just makes us want to protect one another, perhaps that's how we're drawn in. It's like I'm a beacon of light and you're a moth," You laugh, "or something like that."

"I think so too. Hopefully we don't end up dying, or well, I don't end up dying that is. Guess I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready." Inquires Yennefer uneasily.

"Is anyone ever? I can't die just yet anyways, I still have to see Geralt again, tell him I'm sorry for leaving and probably punch him for that damned wish. Gods I feel horrible..."

"You had every right to say what you did, and don't worry, I know you Y/N. You'll survive. I'm sure of it."

You lean back into the grass, your arms holding you up as you stare up into the dark starry night sky, "Thanks, very motivational. But hey, since we're out here and unsure for the inevitable future.....got any stories?"

Yennefer takes another sip of her mug before setting it down in her lap, "Got a few, but I'd honestly rather hear something from you." She lightly kicks your boot, "Is there any truth to Jaskier's ballad about when you and Geralt fought a Bruxa? From his tale, it appeared to be quite the story."

Rolling your eyes you scoff, "Oh yeah, that bard loves to make our hunts seem so glamorous and amazing, the famous White Wolf almost got his balls slashed off from the nasty fucker."

She hums in interest, "Do tell." You look at her with the most unamused face you can muster, she simply laughs at your lackluster reaction, "Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me all the gory details, I'd rather enjoy hearing about how your Witcher almost lost his prized jewels."

You stare a her before making a gesture for her to hand you the half filled mug in her lap, with a smirk she generously hands it to you, "Now. I can tell you the story." You add before taking a hearty chug, setting the mug down next to you in the grass as you let out a little hiccup, "Alright, so for this specific hunt we though it best to leave Jaskier or he would have without a doubt been killed on the spot, and blah blah we all would have sorely missed him." You lightly chuckle at the dark thought, "Anyways, the town nearby had been recently dealing with a very dangerous problem hiding in some nearby abandoned ruins of some burned down village...."

(Cue flashback)

It's daylight as you walk down an old dirt road leading to a recently destroyed village, the townsfolk living just across the river had told you and Geralt how some vengeful bandits took it upon themselves to burn and pillage the place after some hero wannabe killed their leader with a lucky arrow to the head. The next thing they new, every wooden house had been set ablaze in the dead of night as they raced outdoors to listen to the terrified screams emitting from within the woods.

The mayor claimed it was a horrendous display of revenge, only a lucky few had survived the torment, but something even worse then petty bandits had loomed over the land in the following month, brought upon by the lingering stench of death and blood. It had begun with high pitched shrieking in the dead of night, right were the ruined village was, some brave souls would investigate the next day to find the mutilated corpse of a male traveler.

More people would go missing for another month before you, Geralt, and Jaskier happened to stroll into town one autumn afternoon. No one at the local tavern, nor the mayor herself, would know what beast was taking all the men hunting for it. So with a suspicious curiosity did you accept her offer of coin in return for the death of the mysterious beast. The next day, with lack of a certain bard, did you and Geralt set off to explore the destroyed grounds.

You kick a loose rock and watch as the little boulder skids across the muddy trail while keeping pace with Geralt, "So, any idea what this hungry fucker might be?" You ask, turning to him with a wiggle of your brow, "I have a few ideas."

Geralt hums, turning an inquiring golden eye in your direction, "Considering this place has gone to shit in the past two months, dead bodies everywhere, could be a ghoul....or a wraith...maybe even a werewolf." His voice gravely and filled with a tinge of dark humor.

You chuckle, "A werewolf huh, now that would be quite the battle to witness, me and the notorious dogman, claw to blade. I'd have its head on a spike in an instant..."

"Would you now?" He teases.

"I would!" You lean in to lightly smack his arm, "What? Don't laugh...grrr ugh okay fine....after it put me through a couple rounds, I'd get there eventually. Then you'd be there to celebrate my victory with loud cheers of praise before taking me on the grass to thoroughly show me your ever loving gratitude." You cackle as he coughs awkwardly on his own spit, sending you an surprised but very amused facial expression at your more sensual implications.

"Right then and there, in front of the headless beast?" Wonders Geralt as you nod, a smile breaking out upon his handsome face, "Y/N, you are quite the woman."

"Course I am, best thing you've got." You sass with confidence before stopping dead in your tracks at the scent of something decaying. Geralt watches in curiosity as you sniff the cool air, your scarlet irises dancing across the burnt ruins of the village now that you're both so close, you raise a brow at him, "New flesh. Someone was just recently killed."

Your feet are quick as they take you past charred wooden houses and broken glass, all the way through the mess before you stand a few feet away from a large half caved in house, its entrance gone as it stands looming over all the other destroyed ruins. You turn to Geralt, "The dead one sleeps in here, the blood is a couple days old." He nods as you cautiously enter through the broken door, your eyes adjusting to the shadowy darkness as you walk into the room.

It's one large area with a crumbling ash covered fireplace at the far middle end of the wooden structure, you walk a couple more feet before stopping, Geralt coming to a halt at your side. "Nothings here." He confirms, his eyes still looking over the ashen room.

You shake your head, a smile upon your lips at his terrible observation skills, you turn around to face him before taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his head towards the rafters. His eyes immediately lock onto the incomprehensible corpse of a man, or at least what was left of him, only his guts and a single arm hanging from the ceiling.

"That's lovely." Muses your Witcher bluntly as you release your touch, he lifts a brow to you, "Definitely not a wraith or a ghoul. I'm not even sure a werewolf would have done this, that is the charming work of something incredibly violent and depraved. Some creature that would not care for their victim in the slightest, and the victims...all men.." He looks to the side, trying to think for a moment, "just men. And it showed up after the burning, but then it decided to stay...now it kills for food and apparently pleasure too. Maybe this is a..."

"Bruxa." His golden eyes lock onto your causal stance, he sets a hand on his hip as you simply shrug, "I could smell the bitch before we crossed the bridge, wanted to see if you figured it out first. Wow Geralt, what a monster hunter you are, very good sleuthing work." You tease with a slow clap as he rolls his eyes, motioning for you to follow him out of the dying house so he doesn't have to spend another second in this gloomy old place.

Stepping into the daylight he turns to you, the ghost of a humored smile gracing over his lips, "I would have gotten there eventually." He sasses back, using your own words against you, "Maybe this Bruxa is a family friend."

You scoff, "I wish, these type of bloodsuckers are more feral and less elegant, they're a subspecies so I won't feel bad about killing it, not that that's ever stopped me before. But still, they're deadly cunts who kill whatever has a heartbeat, only silver will take them down." You take a step forward, pushing your pointer finger against his leather armored chest, "So you better be on your guard tonight, I'd rather not travel alone with the bard until he dies." You snort, setting your arm down once again, "Or I kill him first."

"I'll be ready." Confirms Geralt with a knowing tinge of confidence, much to your amusement at his self-assuredness, "The sun doesn't set for another couple hours, why don't we head back into town and tell our bard of the plans, hm?"

"Yeah alright." You reply, beginning to walk back the way you came, "Jask is definitely not joining us tonight. That idiot would be dead in a heartbeat, I mean seriously...these nasty bitches whole thing is appearing as harmless attractive women before...blah!" You pounce at Geralt, squeezing his muscular bicep before letting go just as quickly, "You're ass is dead. And torn to shreds like a piece of meat in a starving dogs cage, not a pleasant way to go at all."

Geralt chuckles at your dramatic antics as the two of you travel back to the town; Jaskier was luckily fine with staying behind, unsurprisingly he happened to have found himself a lady friend, who was all too satisfied once learning her new lover would be staying the night once more. Soon enough, dusk had settled over the land and you and your Witcher began the hunt.

Taking silent steps through the forest as you both walked across the beaten down trail leading into the sad abandoned village, the two of you go to stand behind a large oaken tree while your eyes wander over the broken houses. Your silver dagger clutched tightly in your hand as the other one presses against the rough bark.

Geralt's armored back touches yours as the two of you watch from opposite sides of the tree, "Y/N you hear anything?" Whispers Geralt.

"No."

"Smell anything?"

"No."

"See anything?"

"Ask me something again and I'll shove a stick up your ass."

"Noted."

Another fifteen minutes would go by before your superior hearing would pick up the supposed sound of something brushing past some leaves from the treetops across the destroyed houses. Your hand grips the dagger tighter as you listen more intently, it moves slowly, a branch creaks as it sits atop it. Then the wood creaks again, more leaves are brushed aside as you suddenly realize where this fucker is headed, the town!

"Oh, fuck." You whisper yell, not even aware that you just said that out loud.

"What? What is it Y/N, did you hear something?"

"The bitch is in the trees, she's going for town." You pause searching for your words, "Uh, be ready I'm going to lure her out into the open." You rush before taking a step forward, stopping to turn towards a confused Geralt as he studies your face, "Don't, uh...get bitten or killed. Love you, good luck."

He's left to his thoughts as you swiftly race across the muddy yard in a blur before jumping onto a half standing thatched roof, you stay low as your crimson irises scan the tree line in search of the Bruxa, it doesn't take long before you spot a beautiful pale black haired woman looking in the opposite direction as she stays perched on a thick branch. You smirk, your fangs showing in the moonlight as you decide to be as boldly annoying as you can.

Rising to your full height, you stare at the beautiful bastard before yelling, "Hey! You big ugly horse fucker!" The Bruxa immediately snaps her attention over to you, her yellow eyes glaring down at you before she turns from an attractive young woman into a terrifying lady demon.

She screeches, jumping down from her perch before making a hasty beeline in your direction, you jump, just as she narrowly misses your face with her long sharp nails. You gently land upon the muddy ground, the growling Bruxa eyeing you hungrily as she stands once again, her body facing you with great malice, lips curling in a snarl, hands balling into angry fists.

You smirk, feet planted firmly in the earth as you grip your dagger tight, "Come on you pale faced cunt, come get me." You taunt as she hisses in fury before darting in your direction, you twist to the side, slashing her arm as you skid in the dirt, facing her once more.

Her face whips around to find yours as she grunts in pain, the silver burning her skin as she charges you once more, this time you launch yourself into the air. Just as she grabs for your feet, missing them by mere inches while you quickly flip above her head, you land, facing her. But before she has time to attack you once again, Geralt races out of the tree line and slashes the back of the Bruxa with a fury enough to turn you on if not for the current circumstance. A blood curdling scream rips through the frosty air as she whips around with lightening speed, grabbing Geralt's sword less arm before thrusting him across the yard to your left.

Her feet move inhumanly quick as she follows her downed silver haired prey, instinctively you throw your dagger, it makes a strong thwack sound as it sinks into the pale flesh of the feral vampire's thigh. She stumbles back, falling to the ground as she screams in agony, all before standing up once again and keeping as still as a statue, staring you down like a wolf to her prey.

You ball your fists, not sure what to do now since your only weapon is gone, you shrug, "No hard feelings?" You jest before she growls, her feet bounding against the earth as she quickly tackles you to the ground faster then you're able to blink.

Damn, vampires are fast.

She bares her fangs doing her best to chop at your exposed skin, her hands trying to claw desperately at your everything as you hold her forearms tightly in your grasp, droplets of spit fall upon your face as you grimace in disgust. Geralt where the fuck are you? She angrily struggles in your fists as her face desperately snaps at your own, inches apart she just misses your skin, a moment later do you sigh in relief as she's ripped from your grasp and thrown across the rocky ground.

You jump to your feet, only to watch in awe as Geralt and the Bruxa fight with one another in the center of the destroyed town, she slashes and bites at him as he punches and gets in some hits with his silver sword. But soon enough does she have him on his back, his sword only a few feet away, just out of reach as she pounces on him in a fury.

Instantly she tears at his black pants, ripping them open from his lower right hipline to his knee, he kicks her away before she lunges for him once again. Geralt scoots back just as she smacks her taloned hand right where is crotch was, not even a split second ago.

"Y/N!" Shouts Geralt with wide eyes, "My sword."

Wiping blood from your nose you take swift steps forward, he braces for the worst right as you grab a fistful of black hair, yanking hard as you pull her to the ground, your other hand closing tightly around her throat as her yellow eyes expand in surprised rage.

You pin her down, squeezing tight as she squirms from beneath you, her thin muscled arms reaching for your neck as you force your face away from her sharp nails, "You get your fucking sword!"

He lets out an annoyed huff before scrambling for the fallen blade, grasping it in his strong hands as she digs her claws into your clothed arms, you yelp in pain, losing your grip on her neck. She shrieks again before you suddenly get cracked in the forehead by the bitch's own skull, you see stars as she uses this opportunity to kick you in the chest, hard. You let out a breathy gasp before stumbling backwards across the dirty path, your head falling onto Geralt's boots, he looks down as you stare up at him in a daze. Your labored breaths coming out as a wheeze.

You blink, trying to focus on his blurry physique, "Fucking ouch." You growl through clenched teeth as he hastily pulls you to your feet.

"Watch out." Warns your Witcher before leaving your side to tear into the furious Bruxa.

"Thanks for the forewarning, very helpful." He ignores your annoyed jest, conveniently slashing off the head of the damn bitch before your very eyes. He's breathing heavily as he towers over the bloody mess, golden eyes finding your irritated ones as you pick up your silver dagger, "Great work, bravo, well done." You deadpan, giving your man a less then enthusiastic round of applause.

Lowering the weapon to his side he glances down at his slashed pants before finding your eyes once again, "Almost got me." Chuckles Geralt with a small smile.

Rolling your eyes you break out into a grin, "Oh yes, then we would have really had a problem."

Yennefer snickers as you end the tale, an amused laugh falling from your lips as you sit up once again, "After that we told the town, which of course they were surprised but nonetheless ever grateful, giving us a nice bag of coin. Geralt got some new pants, Jaskier got some more writing material, and I got a solid reminder that I am not invincible when it comes to creatures like a Bruxa. Vampires, huh."

Yennefer nods, shaking her head as she smiles, "That's...more then I'd ever encountered. Better you then me." She muses.

You sigh, a small tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips, "Those were the best times though, hunting, traveling, being with those two idiots. I do miss them, a lot actually."

Her lavender irises fall upon your saddened gaze as you watch people converse happily with one another, a mother tucking her child into a makeshift straw bed, you suddenly feel much sadder then before, "You will see them again, I know it Y/N."

Shifting your scarlet eyes to her shadowed face, you lightly tap the edge of your mug, "Hopefully I won't see a Bruxa again, fucking cunts. But yes, thank you for the words of encouragement and...friendly counselling, I'm going to bed." You scoot off of the grassy ledge, standing on the soft earth as you turn to Yennefer, "Right here's good enough. Also, not to worry, I don't snore."

She watches as you lay upon the ground, others doing the same as the night progresses, deciding to follow your example she moves to lay a couple of feet from you, pulling a foresty green blanket from out of a nearby bag, "Won't you get cold?"

Laying on your back you look up at the stars, "I've never felt cold before actually."

She lays down, an amused burst of air flowing out of her nostrils, "Right, half vampire. Well, goodnight then you odd freak of nature." Playful sarcasm dripping from every word.

You lightly chuckle, "Night, you insane fucking witch." The two of you share a humorous moment together before falling into a comfortable silence, the both of you trying your best to fall asleep before the sun rises, bringing danger on the fiery horizon.

—-

You awaken to the shouting of men nearby, opening your eyelids do you raise yourself up into a sitting position as a massive fiery orange ball of light begins its decent from the great blackness of sky. Right in your very direction, you can hear it sizzling as your eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry just as Yennefer throws her blanket to the side, reaching out her hands just in time to abruptly halt the death ball of enchanted flame before it can incinerate the whole yard of sleeping people. Her face is pained as she throws it to the left in mid-air, the tiny sun bursting into a beautiful explosion over the trees, safely away from everyone else.

In an instant are you up, both yourself and Yennefer screaming for everyone to rise and prepare for the beginning assault. The grassy grounds are covered in racing frantic bodies filled with frightful screams. Another fireball would be thrown at you all, and deflected just the same, nothing more coming about for the rest of the night. Nilfgaard keeping you all on your toes till the dawn.

Now here you are in the early hours of the morning, the sun illuminating the landscape as you follow the mages around the castle while they figure out a plan of attack. Everyone keeps low behind the walls as you'll quickly walk down some stairs, no roof to keep anyone adequately hidden.

"Stay low. We don't know what other tricks they may have." Warns Vilgefortz as you follow behind him, more mages rushing to a halt on the stone steps as you all look out over the forest in the direction that those damned flames came from last night.

"Maybe it's over." Says Triss, but you know better. This is just the beginning.

"No. Fringilla's just getting started." Whispers Yennefer.

"It hasn't been two days yet." States Sabrina, "How is Nilfgaards army here already?"

Vilgefortz gets up, "Doesn't matter. We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms. We have to fight."

You chuckle, "There's only 22 of you left, those other cowards fled in the night like little mice chased by some housecat. Guess some heat was too much to handle." You quip as one mage stands, claiming with confidence that's he's not going anywhere, others agreeing as well. You suddenly feel uneasy, sorcery in the woods, snapping your attention over to the forest your crimson eyes go wide at the sight of white mist flowing throughout the trees, "Uh, what the fuck?"

"There coming!" Shouts a mage in fear.

"It's starting!" Exclaims another in excitement.

I hate magic.

In seconds is everyone up and moving to their assigned stations right before your very eyes. Leaving you alone to watch the strange unnatural fog slowly make its way closer and closer to the stronghold.

Times seems to go fast, in the next twenty-five minutes has the archers and people with slingshots wrecked havoc upon marching Nilfgaardian soldiers in the woods. No doubt giving them an explosive ending before their time in battle has even begun. Yennefer directs the mages assault from her position high up in the tallest tower with the best view. Your eyes shift from the nearing wood line where the real danger lurks to the grassy courtyard below where people are hustling back and forth, racing to their duties. You walk upon the castle ledges, high up above the sweating foreheads of the mages and archers as you make your way over to the tallest part of the Elven Keep. Gliding up to her level, you softly land with atop the wooden landing.

She appears quite distraught and panicky as you study her body language, she turns to you, tears in her lavender eyes, "Vilgefortz, he's..."

What is that fucking swooshing sound?

"Portal!" You shout, turning your body to look over the other ledge, just as you'd sensed, a large swirling portal has materialized from the earth. A second later do you watch in horror as arrows fly up from its center, thwacking into nearby mages and villagers. Killing them instantly.

Fearful tears fall from Yennefer's eyes as you feel a surge of rage forming within you at these grisly acts of violence. She quickly regains her bearings enough to telepathically speak to Tissaia before the heiress is cut off by something or someone in the woods. You can hear as more and more mages are being slaughtered from beyond the Keep's walls as they run to the stronghold for cover, Yennefer calls out to them but it's no use, they're already dead.

A gate has been breached!

You want to do something but you can't bear to leave Yennefer's side in such dangerous times, but hearing the screams and wails of agony from the brave people around you is enough to shift your mind. You must help them, now is the time.

"Triss! The gate! Can you buy us time?" Shouts Yennefer aloud, though you know she's speaking telepathically to Triss.

Tearing your eyes away from dying Nilfgaard soldiers and mages alike do you place a comforting hand on Yennefer's shoulder, she snaps her attention to you, almost startled, "I'll help Triss. Be careful, Yenn." She tearfully nods as you lend her a small smile in return.

Your feet move inhumanly fast as you run atop the castle roof, jumping down to the wooden balcony where the archers are, you race past them before bolting down the steps and into the grassy courtyard where a gate has been breached. Many armed villagers and a few Nilfgaard soldiers are currently fighting with one another, their swords clashing in desperate fury.

Across the courtyard is Triss who's struggling to cover the opened gate with thick vines as a couple dark armored soldiers get themselves tangled up in the process. A look of pure determination crosses your face as you unsheathe your silver dagger, your legs move quick as you take out a few soldiers on your way to aid Triss in her fight. Knowing you can't do much from behind the gate, you scale the stone wall with ease, falling to the grass below, you land atop the soft earth with the grace of a dancer.

A pained scream rips forth from Triss' throat as a Nilfgaardian soldier thrusts his flaming torch into her neck, in an instant have you sunk your blade into his skull, pulling the bastard away as you look down at Triss from behind the vines. Her screams of agony pierce your sensitive ears as she looks at you through glossy pained eyes, but the thudding of quickly approaching heartbeats alerts you to turn around.

Your scarlet irises lock with the green ones of a rushing soldier, his sword is bared as he charges you, adrenaline and hate coursing throughout his entire vessel. He swings the blade to his left in your direction, twisting around past him, you shove your dagger through his jugular and right back out again, a red spurt of blood bursting forth as a couple droplets dance upon your face.

The fresh scent is almost intoxicating, driving you into a more primal feeling, you turn with fire in your eyes to face three more ugly old bastards, weapons drawn and ready to strike. You hiss at them, bearing your fangs as pure fear flashes across their faces. In a blur do you end their pathetic lives before they even have a chance to realize what hit them. You hear another scream and race to the aid of a fallen mage, slicing through more Nilfgaardian men in a fury of blood and broken bones.

She fearfully thanks you, her eyes dazed as she carries herself to safety, though there is no safety here as moments later does your ear drums burst with the sounds of explosives shattering throughout the battlements where all the glass bottles of blue stone where being kept.

Oh, fuck.

Stones fly past your head as white smoke emits from the destruction, you can smell the blood and hear the cries of the ones most unlucky enough to be so close. No one alive is around you for the time being as you stand among the dead, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, some trickles of unfamiliar blood falling down the side of your face and hands. More red dripping off of your sharp silver dagger as you stand in the evening sunlight, the smell of smoke and blood on the breeze.

"Can anyone here me? Is anyone out there?" Calls Yennefer from inside your head, likewise to all the other mages, "If you can hear me, you need to get to the front line. More Nilfgaardians are coming to the woods. We can't give up. We can still fight." Her voice is tired and desperate, heavy with emotion as she makes a last fleeting effort to protect the Keep.

You catch her scent and the sound of her erratic nervous heartbeat as she emerges from the broken gate of vines, white fog pushing to the side as she walks into the daylight. She looks rough, her face and chest dirty, her left hand coated in her own blood from a wound at her side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Races three unfamiliar heartbeats.

Three more men rush out off the bushes and whitish thick mist, heading straight for her, she thrusts her opened palm into the air. Twisting her hand, the men fall dead one by one at her beautiful display of chaos.

Her lavender eyes trail across the battlefield, landing on you, you're speckled with the ruby red blood of dead Nilfgaardian men. A mess of red coating your lips as a trail of it wanders down your chin to your throat from when you let yourself have a little taste of Nilfgaards finest.

You slowly walk over to her side, she swallows, her throat is dry, nonetheless you lend her a hopeful smile, "You're ability to still look this good covered in dirt and blood is honestly impressive." The tiniest of smiles gives you a small sign of hope on her face, "I've cleared this area but as you've said, more are in the woods. I can still hear them, they're close."

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse as she lowly nods, her voice becoming distant as she looks out into the wood line, "I need to find Tissaia."

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

[avian-tardis]

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 7: Human

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

Harry'd been right about the Great Hall. Not ten minutes after Draco woke, McGonagall appeared in the common room with noticeably purple hands to paste a notice on the door.

All students are to keep clear of the Great Hall and surrounding corridors until advised otherwise by a member of the Hogwarts staff. Students who fail to comply will lose house points and should report to the Hospital Wing promptly.

Signed Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

Nobody knew exactly what this notice meant until one of the first years accepted a dare to disobey the posting and enter the corridor.

The small Gryffindor girl proceeded slowly, cautiously. It wasn't until she was halfway down that a portion of the wall high above her opened up, let out a piercing shriek, and shot a ball of bright purple slime straight onto the poor girl's head.

The girl ran back to the spectating students as fast as her legs could carry her, screaming and dodging more slime the whole way.

An eighth year Ravenclaw boy, looking tired, performed a cleaning spell over the girl. The slime disappeared quickly; the stains, however, did not. Everywhere the slime had touched her, the girl's skin, hair, clothing, and even her bag had turned a startling shade of purple.

Some of the students sniggered. A group of muggleborns whispered their consensus that she looked rather reminiscent of Violet Beauregard, post-faulty chewing gum.

The now brightly colored first year was led to the Hospital Wing by the same tired-looking Ravenclaw and placed in a seat alongside the twenty-or-so students who hadn't been warned in time.

By midday, word had gotten around the school that the teachers'd had absolutely no luck in removing the stains, and had found that anything the students touched began to slowly turn purple as well.

Peeves refused to tell anyone anything about how he'd done it, and so at some point after lunch, someone had set the Bloody Baron chasing after him. Every few minutes, they could be heard screaming at each other down the halls as the Baron found wherever it was Peeves was hiding.

Draco didn't understand how Harry could possibly have known. He clearly hadn't had anything to do with it - he was with him for almost half the night, anyway. Draco decided he ought to put it out of his mind for now. God knows he already had enough strange interactions with Potter buzzing about in his head as it was.

The chatter in the halls regarding the morning's events had begun to give him a headache, so Draco took a book and stole some snacks from the kitchens before heading out onto the grounds and settling under a tree beside the lake.

Though the peace and quiet were exactly what he'd been seeking, Draco had underestimated the temperature. It had looked quite sunny from inside, and there wasn't much wind. But still, they were nearing the end of November, and Draco's cloak was doing little to keep out the chill.

Draco stayed where he was for almost an hour; mostly out of stubbornness, like when your mum tells you to bring a jacket and you don't, so then you have to pretend you aren't freezing so as not to prove her right. Typical of a Slytherin, really. Hidden under the stubbornness was a small voice insisting that he deserved to stay out in the cold, to sit there shivering until his hands turned blue. Draco told it to piss off.

It was nearly dinnertime when Draco reached the castle, stomping up the snow-dusted steps and trying not to look frozen. He headed straight for the showers, knowing it would be the quickest way to warm up, though he never liked the idea of showering during the day. Oh, well.

When Draco returned to the dormitories for a fresh set of clothes - he really should've grabbed them before but he was apparently too cold to think clearly - a new message was hanging on the door.

Thanks to the hard work of your professors and the persuasion skills of the Bloody Baron, the Great Hall and surrounding corridors have been cleared of Peeves' hex. This means that students may congregate in the Great Hall for dinner as usual. Thank you for your patience and cooperation.

Signed Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

Draco chuckled. 'The persuasion skills of the Bloody Baron' was an interesting way to put it. He then turned and hurried to his dorm, the thought of dinner making his stomach rumble hungrily.

-----

Peeves had yet to give up any information on how to remove the purple stains from the students, and, as everything they touched turned purple as well, the affected students would be dining in the Hospital Wing.

It made the gaps at the house tables even more noticeable, but Harry tried to push that thought away as soon as it came. Instead, he laughed along with Ron at the sight of the staff table, every member of which had purple skin up to their elbows. It seemed everyone had taken a shot at removing some of the stains. Harry that noticed some of the more advanced seventh and eighth years sported the same symptom; they'd probably had a go as well.

That suspicion was confirmed when Hermione arrived at the table, forearms stained bright purple and looking rather put-out.

"No luck, then, Mione?"

Hermione huffed and plopped down at her seat next to Ron.

"S'pose that's your answer then."

Hermione groaned in frustration, "I just don't understand! We've tried everything! I tried everything I could think of for two hours, and nothing!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Seamus said, "If even McGonagall's having trouble, you know it's not an easy fix."

Hermione sighed, nodding ever so slightly.

Their conversation drifted between topics throughout the meal. Harry was fairly engaged with the rest of them, although he did find his gaze drifting over to Malfoy's table a few times. A few times, he found Malfoy's gaze drifting right back.

Weird, Harry found himself thinking. Cause they weren't glaring at each other. They weren't even eyeing each other suspiciously; they were just… looking. Yep. Definitely weird.

-----

By the next morning, the stains had turned from just purple to purple, blue, and pink, and had started to shimmer. The poor students were beginning to look very much like a toddler's finger painting. Classes were cancelled for the day, as the teachers were focused on solving this problem, and… well. No one was taking them very seriously with colorful, sparkly hands anyway.

By the end of the day, the stains were every color of the rainbow and had started glowing. They had also, the students complained, become unbearably itchy.

McGonagall herself had now ordered the Bloody Baron to capture and detain Peeves until he told them how to fix it.

This finally happened at around 1 a.m. the next day, and McGonagall decided to cancel all classes for the third day in a row so that the teachers and the now normally-hued students could recover from the exhaustion and stress of it all.

Taking advantage of this, almost the entirety of the students third year and older planned a trip to Hogsmeade. McGonagall, who normally would have insisted they plan it ahead of time and get a specified number of adult chaperones, was simply too tired and stressed to bother and allowed the Head Boy and Girl to act as chaperones.

It was warmer today, the sun having come out from behind the clouds and effectively warmed the ground and the air.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the others purchased some food and drink at the Three Broomsticks, then laid a blanket down in the meadow (fit with a drying and warming charm, of course) and began a little picnic.

Dean and Seamus kept trading food, stealing from each other's plates until it was unclear who'd had which meal in the first place. Luna was closely inspecting Ginny's chips, convinced that she'd seen a nargle go into the bowl and wanting to find it before Ginny accidentally ate it. Hermione was leaning her head on Ron's shoulder and reading a thick, old book - which Harry was fairly certain was not in english - while Ron handed her bits of his food every few minutes.

All in all, Harry felt like a bit of a seventh wheel. Upon finishing his food, he decided he ought to go find someone who perhaps wouldn't be quite so focused on their best friend or significant other.

He found Neville helping out in the town greenhouse and hovered around there for a while, but eventually wandered out, leaving Neville to converse with an old witch about different species of some therapeutic herb.

Eventually Harry found himself sitting in the snow on the edge of town, tracing shapes at his feet and staring absently at the shrieking shack in the distance.

"Shopping for your new dream home?" A familiar voice rang out behind him, a rather more unfamiliar joking tone coloring it.

"I don't know, seems a bit grand for me, doesn't it, Malfoy?"

"Emphasis on dream, Potter."

There was a silence as Malfoy approached, lowering himself onto the snow next to Harry with a sigh.

Then, "Hang on. You didn't know I was here that day. It was just Ron and Hermione you said that to, about the shack."

Malfoy snorted, "Oh, please, Potter. I was attacked by an invisible force after terrorizing your friends. You were notably missing. I was scared at the time, but it didn't take long to figure out it was you."

Harry gave a noncommittal hum in response.

They sat like that, in silence, for a few minutes more. Harry didn't know what to say, or even if he should speak. Sitting next to Malfoy without trying to kill each other was still not something he was used to. He found himself wondering if it ever would be.

It was strange, this new relationship between them. They didn't hate each other. They didn't even seem to dislike each other anymore, really. But they didn't like each other. They weren't friends.

And speaking of which.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked cautiously.

"What?"

"I mean…" Harry glanced at Malfoy out the corner of his eye, "Your friends are in the village, aren't they? Why are you sitting in the snow here with me?"

Malfoy sighed and leaned back onto his elbows, tilting his head to look at the sky.

"I guess I just felt like… I don't know. Something."

"You don't have to say, I guess. I was just curious."

"Mmm. Thanks."

Harry looked down at Malfoy's face. It was strange, but Harry'd always thought Malfoy's face looked not quite human, like he was part rodent. He didn't think that now. Malfoy just looked like Malfoy. Tired, maybe. Stressed, certainly. Disheveled in what would've been an uncharacteristic manner last year, but now just seemed casual.

He looked imperfect. He looked flawed.

Harry smiled.

He looked human.

[artificialqueens]

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!! 

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about. 

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up. 

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories. 

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl" 

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?" 

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie" 

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both  comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness. 

 A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.  

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?" 

"It's not my favorite" 

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!" 

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.  

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"  

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.  

"She was implied" 

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right. 

 On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things. 

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?"  The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out" 

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class" 

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

  "I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her. 

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction. 

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?' 

   After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies. 

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice 

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

 "Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy" 

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure. 

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness. 

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything.  Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile. 

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be. 

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light. 

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork. 

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?" 

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain. 

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better" 

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering 

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat" 

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together. 

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin" 

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!" 

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed. 

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet. 

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

  ***

  Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile. 

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important. 

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor. 

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.  

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her. 

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out. 

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out.  "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind. 

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day. 

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her. 

"You good Scarlet?" 

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair. 

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled 

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee" 

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus 

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable? 

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

 "OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all," 

"Uh huh" 

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace. 

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement. 

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!" 

"No it's not!" 

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it. 

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself? 

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic" 

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little. 

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?" 

"What?" 

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

 ***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. 

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are" 

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

[927roses-and-stuff]

Miracles in Gotham: Chapter 7: A Brewing Storm

A/N: So, with Season 4 of Miraculous Ladybug officially starting, this is a reminder that this fanfic is non-compliant with any events after Season 3, even with the added lore in canon. I know this is also a crossover so that’s to be expected, but because this fic is also dealing with Miraculous lore, I feel the need to put this up. Please don’t comment about canon disproving any of the material here, because I am already fully aware of the fact. I don’t really care for the show anymore, and the only thing keeping me in the fandom are the fanworks. Like many in the Maribat fandom, I discovered the more vast lore of DC through this, so there is a mix-up of canon from different worlds/universes (e.g. Young Justice, New 52, and Prime Earth), I just don’t care enough to discern which wiki I’m getting my info from.

That said, thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read this fic, and I hope that you like it. An extra thank you to everyone who has given this a kudos, bookmarked, and/or commented. I appreciate you all so much.

Also, shout out to jackmand1, Sp8cefluff and BenRG who commented on ways to open the box (getting Bunnyx to get the tablet before Hawkmoth, and asking the box to open), which is all mentioned in Marinette’s diary entry.

If you want to see more, follow: #miraclesingotham or ask to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: : @northernbluetongue @zerotosiki @spicybelladonna @my-name-is-michell @legendaryneckjudgestudent @lokiifriggasonn @iloontjeboontje

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Dear Diary,

There’s still no luck with the Miracle Box. After we tried Chat’s idea of dropping it from the Louvre using the chew toy as a pressure point, we tried hitting it with our weapons (didn’t even make a dent!), Chat asked the box to “please open don’t close up on us like my dad did” (we had a talk about that but he didn’t want to delve too much into it, and it didn’t work), the kwami tried phasing through it (thank god kwami don’t get concussions), and we even tried contacting Bunnyx, but goodness knows where she is and after Chat Blanc, I didn’t really want to see her anyway. We gave up sometime in the early morning, and now it’s shoved in one of my luggage carts, ready to bring to Gotham tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t trigger any of the airport security.

In better news, it’s been a few days since Chat and I officially introduced our new Ladybug and Bee to the scene. For the most part, I think they’re doing well- better than I did when I first started, anyway. It took a bit of time for Luka and Kagami to get used to the new set up, but Chat and I were there to help them, so it wasn’t too bad. Luka, or Bleu Acier, took a while to get used to the yoyo (who knew Luka had a fear of heights?), but he’s gotten used to it...after we had to convince him he wasn’t going to splat into the pavement or anything like that. Kagami, who decided on the name Shūyō, had to adjust to short-range fighting and not using Venom too soon, but she managed to navigate the top and cause a lot of damage to the akumas that we dealt with in the last few days. I think Hawkmoth has some idea that Bustier’s class is on the move because we’ve had an akuma attack every day so far. I’m hoping it’s just Hawkmoth becoming more desperate, although hopefully Bleu Acier and Shūyō threw him off a little bit. As of right now, I’m using the Snake Miraculous as Couleuvre, so it’ll be easier to-

One moment, Marinette had been settled comfortably in her chaise, and the next, a large crash through her bedroom walls threw her across the room, her back hitting the wall hard enough that she felt pain upon impact. When the world around her gained focus, she spotted a large woman-like figure in front of the hole in her wall cackling. The woman’s glassy skin that was translucent, yet she could also see a muddled reflection of her own face. Upon her head she wore a heavy silver crown adorned with gems that was reminiscent of her skin and a white, flowy dress that trailed behind her from the waist. In her hand was an open contact mirror that contained no reflection except for her own blue-bell eyes.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I am Mistress Mirage! Soon, I will show you the darkest parts of yourself, the secrets you hide behind your so-called truths!” she bellowed, her voice echoing in Marinette’s ears. In the background, she could barely hear her parents’ muffled screams and bangs against her bedroom door.

“Who-” she hissed, trying to balance herself and stand up. “What did I do to you?”

As far as she knew, she hadn’t angered anyone in the last hour she had been home for lunch.

Mistress Mirage zoomed towards her, her face shoved near into hers, her burning cold fingers choked her. Marinette backed into the wall, grabbing onto Mirage’s marble wrists, a pain shooting up her spine. Marinette could only struggle in place, her legs kicking listlessly, as the glassy, bright green emeralds Mistress Mirage had for eyes stared into her very being. The longer she stared into the empty gems, trying .

“Your weaknesses, your darkest secrets will be mine, Dupain-Cheng.”

Her voice, tinkled within Marinette’s mind, and she watched as the woman’s glassy skin shifted and soon she was faced with a kaleidoscope version of herself, blue sapphires glinting harshly, her breaths now ragged and shallow.

“Wha-” Marinette tried taking a deep breath, but Mirage’s fingers tightened their hold. “Why?” she managed to weakly choke out.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Mirage’s voice, no longer bellowing nor echoing, but now a whisper right in her ears, sounding eerily like her own. “That you aren’t enough? That you will never be enough?”

Marinette shook her head, trying to ignore the voice as it taunted her endlessly.

“What are you hiding, Marinette?”

“Why do you hide from the world?”

“How pathetic. You claim to hate liars,” Marinette felt Mirage’s fingers tighten around her. “But aren’t you a liar too?”

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know what was going on- Mistress Mirage wasn’t saying anything incriminating. If it were any other situation, she could brush off these accusations, but as Mirage continued to taunt her in her voice, doubts and fears, both new and old, she usually ignored were brought to the forefront of her mind.

‘I’ll fail as a Guardian- I’m not enough.

I’m abandoning my city to find a man who might not even be alive.

Chat Noir will never trust me again.

My parents want to send me away.

Why doesn’t Alya believe me?

Alya would’ve made a better Ladybug.

If Tikki could see me now she’d be disappointed.

What a failure I turned out to be.

“What a failure you turned out to be.”

Mistress Mirage’s emerald eyes glinted gleefully, a wide smile cracking into the glassy expanse of her skin. Her voice echoed Marinette’s thoughts and Marinette repeated her words as much as she could, her breathing becoming more shallow. Mistress Mirage couldn’t actually read any of Marinette’s secrets, however, she could read her psyche, a doubtful, anxious little thing, and she only said out loud what Marinette had already been telling herself to make her putty into Mirage’s hands. A neon violet butterfly appeared over her face, reminding her of her duty to get the Miraculous.

But for now, she had Marinette in her grasp. Once Marinette was in her trance, shaking slightly and mumbling nonsense as tears streaked down her cheeks, Mirage grabbed her and headed to the Trocadero, when three figures- black, steel blue and honey yellow- surrounded her in the middle of the street. The two new heroes stiffened at the sight of the girl in her arms. Chat snarled at Mistress Mirage.

“Marinette!” Chat yelled, rushing forward with his baton at Mistress Mirage. “What are you doing with her?!”

Mistress Mirage smirked. “If you want her, you’ll have to give me your Miraculous.”

She leapt out of the way only to stumble beside Shūyō who held her yellow top- flatter than Queen Bee’s with a long, black handle- the tip poised to the side of Mirage’s ribcage.

Before Shūyō could enact Venom however, Mirage turned and kicked the bee heroine away from her, holding out her compact mirror, creating a wall of mirrors that trapped Shūyō on the other side. She rearranged Marinette in her arms, ignoring the silent struggles of the bee thumping against the mirrored walls and swearing at her.

Chat Noir extended his baton towards Mistress Mirage. However, she jumped and landed on top of the baton, sending Chat sprawling through the air. Bleu Acier attacked at the same time. Mirage was quick and held out her compact to the two heroes, entrapping them in their own mirror dimension. The butterfly outline appeared again, and Mirage set off. She had special plans for Marinette.

Within the mirror dimension, Bleu and Chat were trying to navigate their way around crystallized walls which reflected everything around them. They had tried to find Shūyō, only to realize she was a reflection, then had almost been driven over by a car that had then disappeared.

“What is all this?” Chat muttered, nudging his surroundings. “It’s like, some of it are just reflections, but some of it is real.”

Bleu Acier nodded. “The reflections have to come from somewhere, so the real objects and people are in here somewhere.” He looked up and pointed a little ways forward. “Look, you can see our reflections.”

“Hope they’re getting my good side,” Chat quipped. “We have to get Shūyō and Marinette soon.”

Bleu Acier blinked, as he caught his yoyo when it hadn’t rebounded against a wall. “Do you know her personally?” He asked. He hadn’t been aware of Marinette’s close relationship with the Parisian heroes.

Chat gave a stiff nod. “She’s worked with Ladybug and I a few times. I met her when we fought Evillustrator.”

“So, do you and Ladybug often have civilians fight for you?” Bleu frowned. He scanned the area, and turned left.

“Only when we really need to,” Chat scoffed. “It’s not ideal, but it’s just me and m’Lady and sometimes we need help.”

Bleu could sense a resonating low, flat tone emanating from Chat. “That’s horrible. You guys look like you’re still kids.” Chat shrugged in response. As they walked onwards, investigating every inch of the way, Bleu noticed a figure dressed in a black and yellow-patterned fencing uniform, wearing a striped domino mask, thumping against a transparent wall. “Chat, look.”

Cat’s eyes widened at the sight. “Shūyō!” he yelled and rushed forward, only to be trapped in a corner with several reflections of the bug-themed heroine. Chat’s breath quickened. “Shūyō! Can you hear us?!”

Shūyō’ perked up and looked around. “I can! But where are you?” She shouted, her voice vibrating through the air.

“Shit.” Chat stared at his hand, before clenching it and turning towards Bleu. “I think we might need that Lucky Charm now.”

He nodded. “Lucky Charm!”

A bright red object with black spots dropped from the sky followed a series of chimes. Bleu Acier’s eyes widened as he held up the wind chime, eight hollow tubes ringing against the slapper in between, the clear, steady ringing piercing all around them. The wind chime was half the size of his torso, so fortunately, it was lighter than it looked.

It was a curious thing Ladybug had noted, that most of Bleu Acier’s Lucky Charms were sound or music-related.

“Well, this blows. You going to chime a pretty tune there, Bleu?”

He held back a chuckle. In the week he and Shūyō had been working with Chat and Ladybug, he had grown to appreciate Chat’s humour and the jaunty tune he associated with them.

“Maybe,” he said. Raising his voice, he addressed Shūyō. “Can you hear this?!” He asked, shaking the wind chime from its hanger.

They could see Shūyō’s reflection moving around, her eyes closed in concentration. “Sort of!” she answered, echoing slightly. “Are we able to use Chat Noir’s Cataclysm?!”

Bleu stared at Chat who was staring at his hand in deep thought. “Probably! We just need to make sure I’m not using Cataclysm on something real!”

“Maybe it is not my place to say as your junior, but this is not the time for hesitation!” Shūyō yelled back.

A beep echoed in Bleu’s ears. “We should hurry. I only have four minutes.”

Chat nodded. “Alright!” He looked around, scanning nearby walls until he found a reflection of himself- a sure way to make sure he hit the mirror. “Cataclysm!”

The walls around them crumbled in seconds, revealing the world around them. Chat smirked, and they scouted for Shūyō who met them in the middle.

“Why did you not use Cataclysm in the first place?” Shūyō asked, when they reconvened.

“I didn’t want to accidentally use it on the wrong thing,” he said, flexing his fingers. “Come on, we have less than five minutes. Don’t use Venom until you receive my signal.”

Shūyō nodded.

Chat turned to Bleu Acier and pointed to the wind chime. “Keep that on you and look out for opportunities.” He turned around and headed off. “Let’s go!”

In the end, Mistress Mirage was defeated quickly. In their absence, she had grown arrogant, and the three heroes found several clones of Mistress Mirage atop the Palais de Chaillot, a crowd having gathered at the bottom. Each clone had a Marinette bound in front of them, at the edge of the roof, standing listlessly. Despite this, Mistress Mirage was not prepared for the ambush of the three heroes. Bleu’s wind chimes were used as a distraction for the real Mistress Mirage while Chat and Shūyō attacked from behind.

“Shūyō! Use it now!” Chat yelled, as he grabbed Marinette and set her down on the ground below, and allowed the paramedics to deal with her.

“Venom,” Shūyō muttered. She dropped beneath Mirage and her top, stabbing her opponent beneath her ribcage. “Gotcha.”

Mistress Mirage froze mid-air, one leg in the air and both hands outstretched. Chat’s eyes widened when he didn’t see her holding the akumatized object. Chat pounced back onto the roof, ignoring the second beep from his ring. He noticed the satin sash that was wrapped around her waist.

“Shūyō, the akumatized object is the mirror she carries around. It should be in her sash,” he said, his cheeks tinged pink. “Can you- uh-?”

Shūyō nodded. “I do not understand your need for modesty at such a time, but it is commended.”

Chat’s cheeks reddened further. “It’s just polite! I don’t want to be touching anyone without their consent!”

Shūyō took out the compact mirror that had been tucked into the sash just above her left hip. She tossed it to Bleu Acier who quickly broke it and captured the akuma.

“It’s just the principle of it!” Chat squawked as the trail of tiny red ladybugs flowed throughout Parisian skies.

She snorted. “I understand. I was just teasing.” She turned to nod at Bleu then at Chat. “You two are close to de-transforming. I will bring both victims home.” Shūyō then grabbed Lila, who had been the akuma and was now disoriented, and jumped down to retrieve Marinette.

When Marinette had woken up from the akuma attack, she had been escorted home by Shūyō, who had fussed over any injuries she may have gotten before eventually leaving with a pack of honey macarons. Marinette smiled. Chat had made a good choice with Kagami. After, she had endured cuddles and hugs from her parents who were now even more determined to get her out of Paris.

Later that evening, after reassuring her parents and making sure the kwami were okay. She headed off to patrol where she had to answer for her absence, and where Chat had regaled how they did. Marinette smiled, knowing she made the right choice. After the patrol, which had been less of a patrol and more of a small goodbye ceremony, she returned home and recorded the events in her diary, slowly anticipating the trip.

The next day, she had just made it to the airport an hour before boarding. Everyone had gone through the usual airport processes and she was the last to arrive with her passport and airplane tickets in her carry-on shoulder bag. When she arrived to the waiting area where her friends were (with Adrien’s bodyguard nearby playing on his phone), she was met with a lot of mixed reactions.

Alya had rushed over and hugged her, frantically asking if she was okay. Several classmates had joined her, like Rose, Juleka and Mylene. She hugged them back and reassured them that she was alright, and wasn’t going to jump off roofs anytime soon (though she didn’t remember that from yesterday anyway). They then moved on and Alya asked her a question that stopped her in her tracks.

“Why were you arguing with Lila yesterday, anyway?” Alya asked, leading the two of them to sit down.

Marinetter furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. “What are you on about? I’m not talking to Lila at all.”

Alya frowned. “She told us that’s why she was akumatized yesterday. Apparently you called the mirror she got from Bruce Wayne as a birthday gift, fake.”

Marinette forced herself to not roll her eyes. “What? Why would I care about anything like that? She’s lying!”

Alya frowned even more. “Lila said you’d probably say that. Why can’t you two just get along?”

“Alya, you’re the one that believes Lila has a lying illness. Why don’t you believe me when I say she’s lying and that I didn’t even see her at all yesterday outside of class?” Marinette tensed. How petty did Lila think she was? How petty was Lila?

“She did get akumatized yesterday. Her story matches the events,” Alya said. “Marinette, you’re my best friend. That’s why I want to know why you did what you did.”

Marinette snorted. “And I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything. Is this what the whole class believes? That I’m so shallow that I would akumatize Lila over something as trivial as a mirror?”

Alya blanched. “No, of course not. We’re just saying you two had an argument and Lila got upset enough to turn into an akuma. We’re not saying it was intentional on your part or anything.”

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Look, my version of events is that I went home for lunch, was in my bedroom, got attacked by the akuma, and was out for it until that Bee hero Shūyō brought me home. Believe what you want, but don’t expect me to apologize to Lila for something I didn’t do.”

Marinette stood up and was about to go before she was stopped by Alya grabbing her wrist. She looked back and watched as Alya looked down at her clenched fist, biting her lip.

“I,” Alya sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’m not saying I don’t believe Lila either. Either way, both of you were the victims yesterday. I’m sorry I was asking you stuff like that.”

Marinette frowned and sat back down. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and Alya. Alya had been spending more time with Lila, even ending up as her seatmate on the plane and her roommate for the hotel. It made Marinette uncomfortable that they were becoming so close, considering who Lila was. But, Alya was a good person- she just wanted her friends to get along, and it’s not like she could force Alya to cut off her other friendships, even if it was to manipulative lying rats like Lila. That had to be on Alya’s terms. All Marinette could do was be there for her and hope she’d return the sentiment.

She forced a smile. “You’re forgiven.” Alya looked up and smiled, reaching out to hug her. “Now, let’s hang out for a bit before we’re stuck in a plane for twelve hours.”

Alya smiled back. “Yeah! By the way, did you hear that Jagged Stone knows Bruce Wayne?”

And just like that, they had spent the rest of the hour waiting to board the place. The plane that would take them to whatever was awaiting them in Gotham City.

A/N: So that's the end to the first arc I guess, if I intentionally have arcs lol. The rest of this fanfic will be in Gotham. Thank you again for joining me this far and I hope you continue to read it!

Other notes: Bleu Acier is based on the Steelblue Ladybird, with Bleu Acier meaning Steel Blue. Shūyō has three meanings in Japanese, but here, it’s used to mean self-discipline (because that’s something I associate with bees and hard workers). Couleuvre is just another way to say snake in French because Marinette sucks at names.

P.S. I don't hate Alya. In fact, I think we often brush over the fact that Alya is fiercely loyal and in the show, doesn't have all the facts so she's not too suspicious of Lila.

[cherrypieships]

the amusement park: chapter two

A/N: whew omg it’s been a while since I posted! Anyway I’m back and better than ever with part two, the finale of the amusement park!! This chapter includes a trigger warning for fake blood and cult mentions. It's a haunted house, so it isn't a real cult, but I'd rather be safe than sorry <3

Ship: davey jacobs x pepper simmons (s/i), featuring my best friend V and my gf Khourey and their respective f/os, race higgins and jack kelly!

Summary: When the sun sets on Canobie Lake park, the amusement park turns into a Halloween extravaganza, where Pepper and Davey find themselves paired up once more.

Once the sun had dipped onto the horizon, the last dregs of color fading from the sky as the stars came out, the group found themselves heading towards the sides of the park, where the haunted houses were set up. Mickey looped their arm through Pepper’s, pulling her close and pointing out the performers walking past; a clown with a chainsaw, a long-haired girl in a tattered hospital gown, a man wearing a pig’s head as a mask.

“So they basically walk around the park and try to scare people.” She explained, and nudged V so they could listen in as well. “But little kids sometimes wear these little glow-y ball necklaces, see? And the performers can’t scare them.” She pointed out a pair of kids walking past, both of their t-shirts illuminated by spiked plastic spheres attached to long black cords. Sure enough, the actors walked right past them.

Vi pushed their bottom lip out, turning towards Mickey. “That’s so fucking cute.” They cried.

Pepper smiled. It was pretty cute, and a good idea on the park’s part. “Do they wear them into the houses?” She asked curiously.

“I fuckin’ hope not.” Jack scoffed. “I wanna get scared, I’m not here to miss a good haunted house cause of some kid.” He smiled when Mickey swatted him. “What? It’s true!”

Mickey’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, but don’t be a dick about it.” They chastised, going to swat him again, and as their hand made contact, Jack snatched it and brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

Averting her gaze, Pepper felt something cold swirl in the pit of her stomach at the casual intimacy. She focused on the gum wrapper on the ground beside her shoe instead of whatever that feeling was.

V’s knuckles rapped against Pepper’s forearm, a gentle knock for her attention. “Hey, I gotta hit the bathroom, you wanna be my buddy?” They asked, though the raise of their eyebrows gave the impression that the question was simply a formality; there was no option.

Making the journey to the restrooms a short one, Vi didn’t even pretend they had to pee, instead moving to stand in front of the mirror and check their eyeliner. “So are you gonna make a move tonight?” They asked, voice quieter than usual.

Pepper sighed, of course this was the reason she was in here. “Dude, I don’t fuckin’ know.” She said, exasperation travelling across her features at even the thought of confessing her feelings. She’d talked a big game about it before, about how she loved Davey, about how she’d confess her feelings for him the second she got the idea he liked her back, but truthfully she was… well, she was scared.

Vi barely looked up from the mirror, but their expression softened. “Obviously you don’t have to,” they reassured. “But I bet that if you don’t at least ask how he feels he’ll never tell.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “That’s because there’s-“

The door to the bathroom flew open and Mickey blustered inside, annoyance clear on their face. “Okay, how dare you two leave me alone with those idiots.”

V grimaced. “Oh shit, sorry. I just wanted a minute to see what was up with Pepper and Davey.”

Mickey’s lips pursed, eyebrows raising onto her forehead. “Oh shit okay what’s the deal?” They asked, moving closer.

Against her better judgement, Pepper leaned her head against the bathroom wall. “There’s nothing to tell! I don’t have any plans to tell him, and there’s no way someone who talks as much as Davey would have a crush on someone and not say something.” She looked pointedly at her best friends.

“That… is an excellent point.” Mickey acquiesced.

Vi lifted a finger. “Or! Maybe that’s the way you can tell that he does like you.” They moved toward the sink to wash the eyeliner remnants from under their fingernails.

“What?”

Mickey nodded. “Oh, no, I totally get it.”

“Get what? What are you talking about?”

V smiled, turning to put their damp hands on Pepper’s shoulders. “You just said Davey never shuts up.” Pepper nodded slowly. “He’ll talk to you about anything, right?” Another nod.

“But he never talks about what’s up between the two of you.” Mickey finished. “Literally, even if Jack asks, he brushes him off.”

Brow furrowed, Pepper turned back to Vi, who was grinning. “If you don’t ask, he’ll never tell.” They clarified, an echo of their earlier statement. “Don’t fucking focus on what he says, bitch, you have to ask about what he’s not saying.”

Terrifyingly, that made it click. Something welled up hot and thick in Pepper’s throat, hope or fear she couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, she wasn’t budging at her friends’ optimism. “You two are reading too far into this.” She countered weakly.

Mickey grabbed her hand, squeezed it a few times. “Listen, we’re not pressuring you.” They explained, and Violet hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to ask him anything or tell him anything, if you just wanna vibe tonight, that’s totally cool.”

Just like that, the tension melted from Pepper’s body, her psyche apparently pleased at being left alone for the moment. She looked between her friends, Vi’s warm smile and Mickey’s kind eyes, took a deep breath, and went back out into the park.

Back where the boys were waiting, the curtain to the first haunted house had lifted, and the line began to move. Jack waved them down with a smile, and they gapped into the line. He pulled the park pamphlet from his back pocket and flipped to the back, where the haunted house attractions were listed. “Okay so we started next to the big spinn-y thing. Which is… the cult one, The Culling.” He announced.

“Yeah, Jack.” Race deadpanned. “It’s on the sign.” He pointed above the line, which, sure enough, boasted the name of the site.

Jack swatted his friend with the pamphlet before tucking it into his back pocket. “I knew that.” He grinned, throwing an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pulling them closer.

Davey nudged Pepper’s side. “Partners?” He smiled, offering his elbow as their group stepped up to the banister blocking off the entryway.

She ignored the wink that Vi threw at her, and looped her arm through Davey’s with a blush and a simper. “Hope we don’t die in there.” She mused.

He patted the hand she’d placed on his bicep, warm in contrast to her poorly-circulated own ones. “If we do, we’ll die doing what we loved.”

Her head tilted. “What’s that?”

“Kicking and screaming.”

Pepper crumpled into a fit of laughs as the employee lifted the bannister. “Have fun.” The woman at the entryway smiled, her eyebrows raising mischievously.

Race and V went first, obviously, Race throwing his arm across their shoulders and pulling them close. Mickey and Jack went next, Jack’s hand curled protectively into the back of her shirt as they ducked through the curtain. A billow of dry-ice smoke kicked out at her and Davey as she gripped his arm tighter, moving through the curtain and into a room flooded with red light.

There was a man in the corner, a pair of bloodied goat horns protruding from his head, who growled lowly at them as they walked past. Davey cast a look in his direction, following in the footsteps of his friends, and they heard Race scream further up ahead. Pepper laughed a little at that, the adrenaline beginning to swirl hot in her veins.

The next room was full of actors, at least a dozen kneeling frozen in mock prayer, and the woman to Pepper’s right let out a broken wail, making her jump. Davey’s hand came to grab hers again, this time his fingers tangling with hers. He was laughing gently at her fright, something that might have pissed her off if it had been anyone else.

They passed through a hallway full of strobelights and white walls painted with bloody handprints, the thrum of electricity the only noise for a moment, and Pepper opened her mouth to ask when the Cult Stuff would start, when a man wearing a decaying goat’s skull for a mask barrelled around the corner, making both her and Davey scream.

She curled into his side, awkwardly stepping on his shoe as she did, and watched the man with enormous eyes as he tilted his mask curiously at them. Davey laughed a little, and whether he was trying to laugh off his fright or genuinely enjoying himself, Pepper couldn’t tell.

They rounded the corner, careful of the actor who’d popped out at them, and turned into a room seemingly devoid of anyone, except for Mickey and Jack, who were giggling as they shuffled into the next room. The walls were tall and painted white, a hidden projector playing a black and white video reminiscent of those old war propaganda commercials. It was too loud for Pepper to hear anything properly, but she could catch snippets of the voiceover, “Join us in… the great and powerful… be afraid…” as the video flicked between church services, goats on farms, hypnotic black and white spirals.

Davey tilted his head at the screen. “Christians, am I right?”

Swallowing a laugh, she jutted her elbow into his side. “This is not the time, David.” She snorted, coyly tugging him closer by the anchor his hands provided. Fuck it, why not get close to him while she had the chance?

The end was in sight, she could see the cool blue light of the outdoors pouring in from the other side of the final room; one that was lined with pews, with a goat-headed preacher at the front, holding a black leather-bound book and screaming about the end of days. The church (cult?) -goers were in various stages of worship, some with their arms in the air, some reading their scripture, some sobbing towards the sky. A shudder ran through Davey, one so intense that she felt it in her own skin, and she wondered, briefly, what was so freaky about this particular scene that he-

SLAM

The actor in the pew she’d just passed closed his book with a deafening bang. She jumped, screamed so loud it felt like the sound had been ripped from her teeth, and didn’t realize she was shaking until Davey’s arm encircled her, speeding past the latter half of the room and out of the first haunted house.

Pepper swallowed a mouthful of fresh air, held it for a few seconds, and released it with a pleased laugh. She turned her face up to Davey’s, ready to ask him if his heart was racing the way hers was, when he cut her off, gripping her shoulders like she’d disappear. “Are you okay?” He demanded.

Her eyebrows pinched together, her smile melting at the way his eyes were blown wide. “Yeah? I-I’m fine?” She said, reaching up to grip his wrists. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

Every hint of expression faded from his face. The fire left his eyes, his hold on her softening, his jaw and browline going slack at the realization. “Yeah, I… I thought he-”

Race’s hands landed on either one of their shoulders. “Hey, Jack wants to know if you guys wanna do the hotel one or the factory one next, we’re at a tie.”

Pepper turned to him, blinking back the heat in her cheeks. “Oh fuck, okay, we’ll be right there.”

There were four more haunted houses, each of them with a bit of walking distance between them. Davey didn’t release her hand until they’d cleared the last attraction.

---

Still reeling from the adrenaline rush of the haunted houses, the group made their way toward the back of the park where the Ferris Wheel resided. Violet and Race were skipping down the lanes, their laughter fluttering in the cool autumn wind. Mickey and Jack were walking in front of them, their pinkies linked as they recounted their haunted house experiences.

Pepper tried to ignore that Davey was still so close to her.

His voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“Which one was your favorite?” He asked, the back of his hand brushing against Pepper’s as they walked. He was looking down at her, nose all rosy and cheeks flushed. He wore autumn so well.

She pursed her lips as she thought. “The cult one.” She settled after a moment.

Davey grinned. “Mine too. Or the hotel was really good.” He turned to her once they reached the line for the ferris wheel. “Y’know, when that guy back there slammed his bible closed I thought he hit you.” His fingers twitched, like he was waiting to reach for something.

There it was. The reason for his earlier freakout.

Laughing lightly, Pepper shook her head, curls falling in her face as she tried to dispel any of his remaining worry. “Oh God, no. Isn’t that illegal, anyway?” She focused on the ferris wheel ahead of them, the eighty feet of blinking lights and rocky baskets that they’d be shoved into; anything besides the bewildering look that was back on Davey’s face. Ahead of them, their friends were being ushered into passenger cars. Jack planted a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head and whispered something into their ear that made them grin.

Pepper tried not to be jealous, and failed.

Beside her, Davey was rambling again. She tuned in right in the middle of his spiel. “It’s some kinda torture house, basically. They just wail on you for like ten hours, and they film it, too. You have to sign a waiver and everything, and it’s like, forty pages or something. I watched a video of this one girl who went there and she said-”

“You two all set?” The ride operator asked, her smile bright as she cut into Davey’s rambling.

He blinked, like he hadn’t realized how close they were. “Oh, um. Yeah, I guess we are.” He resolved.

They clambered into the rocky car and belted themselves in, waited for the attendant to lock their door, and began their ascent.

Immediately, Pepper felt the wind chill. “Holy fuck, it’s freezing up here.” She barked. Davey’s cardigan was warm, sure, but the cold air cut through it like a knife.

Davey turned to her and readjusted the way he was sitting, opening up his arms. “I know, c’mere.” He wiggled his fingers and everything and, well, how was he supposed to say no to that?

She scooted closer until her leg was pressed right up against his, and her upper body curled into him. They’d done this before, a million times, when watching movies or at parties when it got crowded, or when she asked him to read to her, and Davey, ever the wonderful companion, never complained-

Oh.

Oh, no.

That was what her friends meant.

Davey’s arms wrapped around her tight. Without thinking, her arm did the same. “Better?” He asked, pulling back to look down at her.

Pepper smiled with her heart in her throat. “Always.” She said, and looked up at him.

And there he was. The same Davey as always, with his pale skin and round hazel eyes, now grinning down at her like she had hung all the stars in the sky just for him. Here he was, and he was so close that their noses were almost touching. Not correcting strangers who thought they were dating. Holding her hand and giving her his clothes and sharing drinks with her. Here he was- and she was confused.

His mouth twitched, the way it always did when he was worried. “You okay, Pep?” He asked, quieter now.

A slow nod. “Yeah… just, um, thinking.” She responded. He opened his mouth, eager to ask more, but she cut him off. “About us.” She said, feeling bold now.

Davey’s eyebrows just about skyrocketed off his face. “Us.”

“Yeah.” Pepper’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t think she could stand another minute of this. All of her affections bottled up like a powder keg while he played with them so nonchalantly. “Davey, what are we?” She hoped the question didn’t come out as raw as it felt, but she could almost taste the blood on her tongue.

“Oh.” His shoulders dropped, and he looked away. His arms didn’t move from around her, but his eyes were flicking back and forth. “We’re… you’re… m-my best friend and...” He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “You’re my best friend and... I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

Pepper sat up as the Ferris wheel stopped. They were at the top now.

“I know that’s a lot to throw at you, I’m sorry, but all day I’ve just been thinking about you and about how much it feels like you’re this missing piece of me, you know? Like every time I need someone you’re there, and every time I talk about you to anyone I get this big grin on my face. And then earlier when that lady said what she said, it just felt so right.” He’d been gesturing wildly with his hands until she grabbed them.

She pulled his hands into her lap, encasing them with her own cold ones. “Davey.”

He sighed with a wry smile. “You can tell me no, Pep, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Davey.” She tried again.

“And it’s not gonna ruin anything, I promise. I love you but that’s not gonna make me turn into an asshole, I still care about you as a friend.”

“David.” She grabbed the sides of his face in her cold hands. His jaw was tense. “I love you.” She said, plainly, the way you would state any other fact. The sky was blue, the Earth was round, and Pepper Simmons loved Davey Jacobs.

And for once, Davey- sweet, lovely Davey- didn’t start talking about love, or about basic heteronormativity, or fucking haunted houses. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Any great novelist, or even just your average writer, always compared a great kiss to fireworks. But this, Pepper thought, was better than any fireworks she’d ever seen. It was coming home after a long night. It was sitting by a fire on a cold winter day. It was years of sharing beds and writing texts in secret languages, of sitting at each other’s family dinners, of shared secrets and pinkie promises, playful teasing and pathetic yearning, all wrapped up in a soft press of lip to lip. It was Davey. Of course it was. In retrospect, nobody else had ever stood a chance.

Pepper was giggling when she pulled away from his lips. “I love you.” She repeated.

The lights of the amusement park were glittering in his eyes. “And I love you.” He was beaming, their foreheads tipped together. Then he started laughing, soft and slow and bubbly, as though he were savoring it. “Oy, we’re so ridiculous.” He said as the ferris wheel began to turn again.

She could’ve stayed there for days, looking at each of the freckles on his face like little star clusters in her vision. If there were ever a photo she could keep framed on the walls of her memory, it would be this; his smile, the ivory skin around his eyes crinkled as he laughed. She was laughing too. “Yeah, we are.” Her head leaned against his shoulder, a sigh escaping before she could stop it. “How long?”

There was a beat, and she knew Davey was thinking. “Um, four years maybe? It was the summer before junior year of high school, I know that much.” The thumb of his right hand, still around her, began rubbing at her shoulder.

Pepper sat upright, aghast. “Oh my God, you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He grinned.

“Holy fuck.” She snorted. “We could’ve been doing this for years!”

Davey poked her side, making her laugh in turn. “How about you?” There was the look in his eyes again, and this time she recognized it. Dreamy, warm, a little vulnerable.

“Senior Prom. Remember we slow danced together?”

The ferris wheel stopped again, this time with them at the back. “Yeah, holy shit. I was so nervous that night.” Pepper laughed, head tossed back. “I’m serious! I was so sweaty, I’m surprised you didn’t comment on it.”

“Your hands were like holding clams.” Another poke, this one less playful. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We’re here now.”

A kiss landed on her cheek, warm in stark contrast to the biting cold. “I can’t believe this.” He was laughing. “I can’t believe you liked me back.” He said.

Pepper nuzzled her nose into his neck. “I know. I can’t either.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, looked up at him and sighed.

He turned back to her. “You know they’re not gonna leave us alone, right?” He asked, tilting his chin towards the baskets below them that held their friends.

“I’m aware,” she mumbled. “I mean, they did call it.”

His lips curled up into a wry smile. “I know they did.” His fingers found the long strands of her hair, wrapped themselves in them. “Race and V haven’t left me alone about you for like, two years straight.” He shrugged. “And oh my God, if I have to hear Sarah and Les talk about it one more time I’m gonna explode.”

Pepper’s jaw dropped. “Sarah and Les were teasing you?”

He scoffed gently. “Are you kidding? They tell me to shut up every time I talk about how pretty you are.” And yeah, maybe she should have expected that, if he truly had been in love with her since junior year of high school, but Pepper’s body reacted quicker than she could recognize, her cheeks going hot and nose scrunching as a smile broke across her features.

“Well,” She said as the ferris wheel began to turn again. “Lucky for us, we probably have some time to kill before we have to face them again.” She bit at her lower lip, glancing up at him and hoping he would catch onto her proposition.

And, since Davey had always been smart, he did. “You’re right.” He breathed, and then leaned down to catch her in another kiss, one that went on, well… a little longer than the first.

Later, they had to face their friends, red-faced and smiling as they admitted what had happened. They had to endure a good hour’s worth of teasing, V and Mickey taking the opportunity to deliver a few well-intended pokes to Pepper’s sides, and Race and Jack offering high-fives to her- well, she supposed he was her boyfriend now.

The two of them climbed into the backseat of Race’s mom’s minivan again, this time hand-in-hand and sharing warm laughter. Davey stole another kiss from her, giggly and content, and promptly leaned his head on her shoulder to get some rest.

She supposed everything else could wait.

[weshallc]

Did you know there’s five chapters to this! Who knew? Better crack on then. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 (found it)

BERNS NIGHT (Again for St. Andrew’s Day)

A Crown Jewels AU Call the Midwife fanfiction. (Paddy, Bernie, the pub, Poplar-on Tweaven, the rest of them)

CHAPTER TWO: THE BONNIE LAD THAT’S FAR AWA’.

“His Face With Smile Eternal Drest, Just Like The Landlord’s To His Guest’s, High As They Hang With Creaking Din, To Index Out The Country Inn.” Versicles On Sign-Posts by Robert Burns 1788.

“The Needle Returns To The Start Of The Song, And We All Sing Along As Before.” Nothing Ever Happens by Del Amitri 1989.

January 2020.

Fred Buckle clambered up from the cellar of the Crown Inn and perched his ample posterior on a bar stool, wiping his forehead with an old bar towel he used when helping Paddy exchange the old barrels for new. Violet tutted as she placed a sausage sandwich and a mug of tea on the bar in front of him.

“Sure you don’t want one, Paddy.”

“No, I am fine, Vi. Just a cuppa, cheers. I had breakfast with Bernie before she went on her rounds.”

“I will have another one, Violet”

“I am sure you won’t Reggie you scoffed that back like there was no tomorrow, doesn’t your uncle feed you.”

No one replied to this as everyone knew Violet fed them both, if not at the Crown, at either her home or Fred’s. To spare Violet’s blushes, Fred began.

“I have a little beauty brewing, be just right for Burns Night, Doc.”

“Burn’s Night?” questioned Vi.

“Yep, soon comes around after Christmas, Vi. Be Valentines before we know it.” He winked and Vi wiped a cloth under Paddy’s mug and straightened the bar towel.

“Fred, I don’t think so, not this year anyway.” Paddy added, trying not to look at Val, who was checking the mixer fridge with visibly shaking shoulders.

“But we always do a Burns Night, it’s tradition,” protested Fred.

“No, we haven’t done one for the last couple of years, Fred. Not since Wilf took poorly.” Vi had regained her composure.

“Well, it’s about time we did again.” Fred was like a dog with a bone, or in this case a sausage.

Val, also more composed now, looked at Vi, who was in turn looking at Paddy. Tim, who had been trying to clean all the chalk marks off the dart scoreboard under Evie’s instruction, looked at his mentor and they both moved closer to the bar.

“Look, I know, Bernie. She won’t be upset because her dad’s not here to do the twiddly bits. She wouldn’t still be in Poplar if she was worried about being reminded of her dad.”

“Always wondered why she was still in Poplar,” Tim smirked and Evie frowned at him, deciding it was time to enlighten everyone.

“The reason we haven’t had a Burns Night since Reverend Wilf died is because we have no one to address the Haggis.”

“Well, Mr T could do it,” Reggie chirped in as Paddy went pale.

“Yeah, you’ll like that boss,” Val added, “any excuse to slope off and leave me on my tod behind the bar. I presume Lorraine Bernadette Kelly won’t be working either.”

Evie and Vi sighed in unison.

“What,” said Val.

Paddy turned to her, but before he could speak, Val interrupted,

“Don’t tell me you are scared of haggis as well as alpacas.”

Tim, Reggie and a lurking Jack found this highly amusing, but Evie had had enough.

“No, it’s not that, it really should be a Scot that addresses the haggis otherwise it’s just not going to sound right, a bit like well like when Captain Kirk sang Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

“Isn’t that your ringtone, Tim?” Jack smirked. Tim ignored him as per se.

“Weezer doing Africa,” Val was beginning to understand.

“Miley Cyrus doing Nirvana,” Tim added, still ignoring Jack.

“But, Bernie is Scottish!” added Reggie optimistically

“Yes, but it’s traditionally a man,” Vi said nervously.

“Oh, well, heaven forbid we bring Poplar into the 21st century,” Val cried. “How do you know all this anyway, you two?”

“We have been doing this for years. Wilf was a member of the Burns Society. Val, you were there at the last one we had, must have been?” Violet explained.

“Oh, I was there alright, working behind the bar. Sorry, if I didn’t have time to memorize ancient Scottish protocol while fighting off the thirsty English hoards.”

“Can we all just calm down,” Paddy sounded exasperated, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. “Look, I appreciate while Wilf was alive and in Evie’s time we celebrated Burns Night.” He continued a little firmer, “Me and Mazz tried to keep it going as long as Wilf was around, but he is gone. Let's be honest, Wilf arranged everything, even the piper was his mate from Kelso. Do you have his number, Evie? I know I don't.” The ex-landlady shook her head. “Come on, let's admit it we are just pissing in the wind.”

“Dad.”

“But it’s for Bernie, you do know it’s also her birthday,” Val said sulkily.

“Yes, I do know, and if I know Bernie. She would rather just go to the pictures and a Parmo then all this fuss.”

“Would she really?” grumbled Val.

“Dad.”

“I do know how to prepare a good Burns supper, never had any complaints in all the years.” Vi sounded defeated.

“I brewed some ale specially.” Fred’s tone was flat in a way his beer never was.

“Dad.”

“Paddy is right. Burns Night was Wilf’s night gave him a chance to show off without having to stand behind a pulpit,” Evie reminisced. “For one night only, he could be Wilf Mannion in a kilt and not Poplar’s vicar in a dog collar. If we can’t do it properly, we shouldn’t do it at all.” Evie nodded toward Paddy.

Thank you, he mouthed in return.

“Dad.”

“Does anyone else think we are overthinking this.” Val never took no for an answer,

“Yes,” Reggie cried.

“Basically, all we need is someone who is Scottish, I mean if I have to hike up to the Borders myself and toss one over my shoulder and bring em back, I will.” Val quipped,

“Dad.”

“Not now, Tim.”

“But Dad.”

“Not now, Tim.”

“Do they have to be 100% Scottish?” Tim asked, facing Vi and Evie, who seemed to be the authority on this. They looked at each other, but Val stepped in.

“I don’t know Tim,  I will just look at the rule book. Oh, look at that there isn’t one”

“I think we would settle for a left bollock’s worth right now,” muttered a despondent Fred.

“Fred, there is no need to be vulgar! Reggie, don’t listen to him,” Vi reprimanded.

“I could do it then,” said Tim.

“You have a Scottish bollock, Turner. Does Lucy know?”

“Jack Smith!” Scalded Violet as Reggie chuckled.

“No, Smithy, but my Gran was Scottish.”

Tim blushed from the neck up, as is the way of teenage boys when the whole room is looking at them.

“Your gran, so Marianne’s mother,” Evie enquired.

“No, Dad’s mam.”

All eyes moved towards Paddy, who seemed to lose as much colour as Tim had gained.

“OK, so I don't think we are going to get any further today. We open in 5 everyone back to work.” Not one of his staff moved in obedience until Paddy started to roll up his sleeves and they knew he meant business.

[dearest-alexander]

Hither and Thither Chapter II- 365 DNI fanfic

Summary: She saved him, in so many ways a man could be saved. Massimo x Laura. 

Read it here! I’m not that active in Tumblr. Check these sites for updates. 

AO3 

FANFICTION

CHAPTER II- Search and Rescue

Sicily, Italy

He was staring at the ceiling fan for what almost felt like hours. He was hoping, in some way, that the blades whirring above could distract him from his overworked brain.

He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to.

By some reason, the nightmares were more constant these past few weeks. He would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating; his mouth in a half scream. His hands instinctively going to his side, to the scar that hurt the most. He was expecting the warm, thick liquid seeping out of him, draining his life. One spill at a time.

Sleeping was not an option anymore.

And as the stressful nights increased, thinking of her became the automatic alternative.

The only alternative.

As it had been for the past five years.

He closed his eyes, recounting the only and best part of that day.

The raven-haired, dark eyed beauty.

Stay with me. Her voice resounded.

For five years, he's haunted by her image, the sound of her voice, the gentle warmth of her hands. For five years, he's been trying to fill the void, she unknowingly opened. And for five, long years, he's been scouring around the world to find her.

No one could confirm that she was real. Except Alek whose description of the day solidified his determination to find her.

She saved him.

All hell broke loose once they exchanged gunfire. A stampede ensued in the marketplace. Alek managed to drive through the commotion, the woman was still with them. She refused to leave him, even as his other bodyguard, Theo, threatened her. Even then, as they reached the packed hospital.

They rolled him to the emergency room. But en route, due to blood loss, organ failure and shock, he went straight into cardiac arrest. Alek told him how, without hesitation, the woman jumped into the hospital bed, straddled his chest and revived him.

She had single-handedly brought him back. No medical instrument needed.

When he woke up a few days later, the woman wasn't there. Nobody could tell him who and where she was. She didn't leave anything behind. The hospital CCTV cameras didn't get a decent snap of her. The swarm of victims from the stampede, and their relatives didn't help either. He didn't fret about it. He thought that with his connections, he'll find her in a heartbeat. He was complacent, he could find her.

How wrong he was.

From the way she acted professionally, they speculated she was a doctor or a nurse. Or something related. He ruled out her being a doctor, because she looked no more than 30.

Unless she's some kind of prodigy.

He began his search again in the hospitals in Cefalú. Then to local clinics, schools, then volunteer groups, and laboratories. When she wasn't, he tried the nearby town. And the next town. And the next town. And the next. The whole country. The continent. It took a whole solid year.

Sensing that he might've misjudged something, he changed his focus to airports, then to hotels. The tourists that visited the country, spanning to three to six months that summer. He started with Cefalú again. But, even that was still unsuccessful.

It was arduous work, he was aware of it. It's about to be the craziest thing he'd ever done (and he did plenty). But nobody had the gall to call him crazy. Not to his face, anyway.

To be honest, he almost wanted to give up. He wanted to accept defeat for the first time in his miserable life. Without a single progress over the years, he had questioned himself if she was even real. But whenever he did, he would try to distract himself on the endless queue of ladies on his bed.

But the harder he tried to forget her, the memory became more vivid, more real. All his efforts to forget her will be futile. He's back to square one. He'll eventually find himself scanning the reports his people will give him the next day.

What was it about that woman that makes her so damn hard to forget?

Her tenacity?

Her kindness?

Her willingness to save a stranger?

Save him?

The questions were making him restless all these years. He wasn't used to not knowing, not having the thing he wanted. He figured it'll all be answered when—not if—he finds her.

Sometimes, he would daydream of the day he'll finally find her. What would be the first thing he'll do? He didn't know a single thing about romance. He reminisced about those sweet things his father did for his mother when she was still alive. All the things he could remember from his 8-year old memories. He figured, he'd thank her first. Wouldn't that be a first?

Then take her to dinner?

Give her flowers?

Take her shopping?

Give her jewelry?

All that romantic shit he swore he'd never do.

He recalled the old conversations he had with his father. He'd tell him how he met his mother, how she made the notorious Don Victorio Torricelli puny in her arms.

"Women are heaven for the eyes and hell for the soul." His father would tell him.

And he would add, in a cheeky tone. "And purgatory for the wallet."

But he had a tingling, annoying feeling, she'd be worth every euro. Hell, she could spend all his money and he wouldn't care less.

He had never had a more disturbing thought than that.

The woman next to him stirred and snuggled closer to him. She kissed his chest and opened her eyes.

For a moment, he anticipated the gray eyes that tortured his dreams and reality. Instead of the haunting grays, the eyes staring back at him in wonder were deep violet. Like amethyst —cynical, majestic and arrogant. A true reflection of the woman beneath.

He looked away, disappointed.

She was beautiful, perfect, powerful, flawless in every way, even he could admit that. With her dirty blonde hair, tan complexion, long legs and lean physique, men and women bow at her feet.

She was a good diversion, a good release for all the pent up frustration of his existence. He could tell that it was the same for her. For the first few years, anyway.

"Awake already?" She asked against his shoulder, clutching the blanket keeping her decency. "How can I never tire you out?"

He stretched his arms above him and under the pillow to his head. He watched the fan blades again, nonchalant to the kisses she started. Her hand started trailing downwards, tempting. But not tempting enough.

"Fermata."

"You weren't saying that earlier." She said between kisses. Her nails raking his abdomen, down, down.

There was nothing more irritating than disobedience. He clasped her wrist. "I said, stop."

He threw the covers and picked up his pants, phone, and his gun on her bedside table. He didn't need to look at her to see or feel her violet eyes digging holes in his back. He was buttoning his shirt when she spoke.

"Ti amo."

He sighed, his fingers couldn't close around his buttons faster.

"Ti amo, Massimo." She repeated, a little louder this time.

He raised his eyes and unsurprised to see her glistening eyes. "Don't make this hard, Anna."

She sat forward, the blanket, no longer her concern. It slid down her breasts, pooling down her wide hips. "Why not?"

Fuck, why are women so complicated?

He knew he should've gone to Magdalena or Althea instead.

He didn't answer her. He grabbed his suit jacket over the chair, but before he could put it on, he heard her said,

"It's because of her isn't it? That woman."

He stopped, but remained his position- his back to her.

He heard get up, her naked feet treading on the wooden floor. To him.

"You thought that I wouldn't find out that you're still looking for her? After all these years?" Her voice, croaked yet poisonous.

He muttered a curse. A jealous Anna was as dangerous as a hungry lioness.

"Don't you think it's time to give up, Massimo? It's pointless. You will never find-"

The remaining patience in him snapped. He faced her, his hand immediately closing around her throat. He felt a sense pride surge in him when he saw the flicker of fear in her violet eyes.

"Don't."

Anna grabbed the hand holding her throat and faked a confident smirk.

"You will never find her." She enunciated in a tone meant to dishearten him.

He tightened his hold on her jaw. And the fear in her eyes pulsed.

He hissed, truth staining his words, "And you will never be her."

Her eyes widened and he swore he heard something inside her iciness, break.

He released her.

Anna stared at him, her eyes watering. He should be sorry. Or apologize, or feel remorse, feel something, whatever people fool themselves with. But he doesn't. The cavity where his heart would be was only a hollow, corrupted emptiness.

Fuck manners.

Fuck tradition.

Fuck Mario and his dream of marrying a Torricelli to a Rizzuto.

"I can't do this anymore." He said.

And this time, he knew he meant it.

He passed her and put his jacket. He headed towards the door, not the very least concerned that Anna might point a gun on him.

She, of all people, knew better than that.

The mansion was dark and empty, but her men lurk every corner. He went down the grand staircase, the candles on the walls were his guide. He heard and saw his and Anna's guards huddled around the table in the foyer. They were knee-deep in a game of poker. And from the boisterous shrieks of her men, his team was losing. Domenico was laughing, but when he met his eyes, he cleared his throat. The men scurried with their spoils, stuffing them in their pockets.

The car was already outside. Alek opened the door for him as he checked his phone. Beni, his IT guy, sent him the reports he's gathered for the day.

He flipped through the profiles of women as they drove through the night. All of them were raven-haired, has dark gray eyes, aged 25 to late 30's. Single women, married women, lesbian.

What if she changed her hair now?

Or what if she was wearing contact lenses that day?

What if he already found her profile, but missed it?

Worse, what if she's married? Or has a kid?

He exhaled a sigh of frustration, leaned his elbow on the door and pinched the sides of his nose.

Where are you?

Beside him, he could feel his brother smirking at him.

Without taking his eyes off his phone, he warned. "If you don't stop peeking, I'll gouge your eyes out with the same toothpick you're using."

Domenico tittered with amusement, but looked away anyway. Unlike everyone else, his brother still supported his foolish pursuits.

He was caught up with his task when Domenico reminded him,

"Mario's asking me if we're still going to Rome tomorrow... er in a few hours?"

Ah. Fuck.

He glanced at his clock, 3:12.

"Tell him we're leaving at 5. We'll be back here at 11."

"Va bene." Domenico simpered, chewing on his toothpick.

Massimo closed his eyes and her image intruded his darkness again. Her delicate steady hands. A pair of eyes that were the darkest of grays that resembled the storms at sea. And her radiant smile that was nudging something, waking something in him.

I'll find you.

I'll find you.

Whatever it takes.

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

Warsaw, Poland

The sandwich her assistant left for her was sitting idle, cold on her table. It reminded her that she hasn't eaten her lunch yet. Or her breakfast.

She's been working on her lateral and sales report she thought she could give to Marek today. If Oskar was correct (he usually is), she'd be getting that promotion today. Though, no one in this company comes close to her credentials, she felt that she should still secure it. She hadn't stopped since last night. Even when Martin came home at 1 in the morning.

Her nails tapped against the keyboard in unwavering determination. The classical piano music she's listening to was helping her concentration. She worked on her keyboard as if they were piano keys, an instrument close to her by heart.

She's only two words away when there's a knock on her door. From the corner of her eye, she saw her assistant peeked her red head behind the door.

"Miss Biel?"

"Yes?" She answered, without taking her eyes off her screen.

"There's someone here."

Oh, God. Please don't be Martin.

They had a little argument today. Again. This time, it was about the empty carton of milk he keeps putting back in the fridge. They had a little scream fest, thus the reason for her lost of appetite. She was finally seeing the pig Olga was describing. But still, she felt regretful when he stormed out of their apartment. In a day, they'll be travelling to Sicily and she wouldn't be caught dead going alone on her own birthday. Let alone, be alone in an airplane.

She frowned, "Who?"

Her assistant opened the door to reveal her long-time friend.

The second her eyes landed on the baggy sweatpants, she knew something was wrong.

"Bianka!" She pushed her chair and strode towards her. She pulled her into a tight hug and nodded to her assistant, who closed the door behind her.

If Olga's the craziest and loudest person, Bianka's always been the most timid, the prettiest. She's the heart of their little group, their valuable asset. Put Bianka in front of the group and they're sure, bouncers would let them in, people would part and give them way. Men, women craned their necks whenever she passes by. They never pay for their own drink in the bar— much to Olga's pleasure— whenever Bianka was with them. She lost count of the times Bianka saved their asses with her power of persuasion and flirting. She had the charming face and the body of a supermodel that everyone envies. Mile-long legs that look good in any dress, plump lips, a sun-kissed complexion, shiny brown hair that went past her waist.

But instead of the straight brown mane, was a disheveled nest for a hair. Bianka was a mess. Her clothes were baggy and wrinkled. It's a wonder how she got past security looking like that.

"What happened, B?"

Instead of answering, Bianka returned her hug and sobbed.

"There, there honey. Come, sit." With her still in her arms, she sat them on the nearby couch in her office. "Is it Russo, again?"

Like a plaguing curse to every beautiful woman, her friend decided to fall in love with yet another jerk. Though, this time it was an upgrade from the alcoholic she had before. This time, it was a user. They broke up not more than a month ago, but she tell could from the tousled appearance of her friend that she's not over it.

Bianka raised her head from her chest and shook her head. "No." She snuffled. "Well, not entirely."

"Oh honey. How many times do we have to tell you." She wiped her friend's tears and offered a handkerchief from her pants pocket. "He's not worth your tears. Nobody is. You're too beautiful for him anyway."

She continued, her tone half joking, half serious. "Can you imagine your children? I wouldn't forgive you if you ever had his children. I mean, poor little things Just, biedne małe rzeczy." She clicked her tongue.

Bianka let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, we will have ugly children."

"See? Cheer up B."

Bianka sat up, grabbed her hankie, all the while keeping her head down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you yesterday." she apologized, the guilt creeping up her stomach.

"I told you, it's okay. I know how your work is important to you." Her friend took a lighter tone and met her eyes. "So, did you kick Dexter's ass? Or whatever his name was?"

"Like you have to ask?" She chuckled and sat with a leg under her, her hand behind her bun. "You're now looking at the general manager of the Regent."

"Shut up! Shut up! Are you serious?" Bianka's face brightened with pride. She and Olga knew how long she has been waiting for that promotion.

"Well, not yet. The Senior asked me to go to his office later today to discuss yesterday and something." She replied, applying the quotation marks on the word "something".

"Well, I'm so proud of you. You deserve it." Bianka beamed at her.

And an idea hit her. She stood up and grabbed the handset from the phone on her marble coffee table.

"Sophia?" She called her assistant. "Won't you come over here, please?"

Within seconds, Sophia came at her door again. "Yes, Miss Biel?"

"Please book the same flight for Bianka Antos. She's going with me to Sicily tomorrow. Put it on my card. That's Bianka, with a K and Atnos as A-T-N-O-S. Check my book for her details.

Bianka's turquoise eyes widened. "No, Laura, no."

She smirked before adding, "Could you also go with Conrad to get my things in my apartment? Send it here. I'll talk to Oskar."

Sophia nodded, her hand still on the doorknob.

"That would be all Sophia, thank you."

And her assistant left.

"No, Laura. I can't let you—"

"It's already done. Sophia is very efficient. We're leaving 7 am tomorrow." She waved her cellphone, showing the confirmed flight. "See?"

"I can't, Laura. You can't"

"Yeah, I can." She insisted.

"I have—"

"Please. It's not like you can't bat your eyes at your boss, who, I think is the perfect match for you." She teased, before getting up to check on their reservation on her laptop.

Better cancel that queen-sized bed too.

"What about Martin?"

"We had a fight this morning. I don't think he's coming." She shrugged, unfazed.

"Why? What about?"

"Nothing. Something stupid." She replied with a resigned tone.

Bianka patted the empty space next to her, the spot she vacated not moments ago. "Tell me."

Bianka's always felt happy with her and Martin's relationship. She was their cheerleader. Unlike Olga, who was more vocal about her dislike and disapproval. When Martin proposed, Bianka cried as she congratulated her while Olga didn't talk to her for three days. Bianka's always been the one person she could go for a Martin-related advice. If there was someone she could vent out right now, Bianka was the right person.

"I'm not so sure if I should still marry him." She admitted, quite surprised by how steady she sounded.

"Why?"

"I… I don't know." She shrugged again. "Am I crazy? Or this was just cold feet?"

Bianka gaped at her, her smothered eyes, deep and pensive. "You don't love him anymore?"

She seemed startled by the question and answered in reflex.

"I do." And she repeated for good measure, as if it'll make it true. "I do."

Bianka cocked a groomed eyebrow at her.

Deep down, she knew. She had a feeling she had always known. Something about last night and this morning was the final straw. She sighed.

It was Bianka's turn to pull her in her arms. "Oh, honey."

"I'm okay. I'm okay." She appealed, hugging her friend back. "I just have to be sure."

They fell into a comfortable silence, until she heard Bianka mumbled,

"If you want my two cents, yeah, you should break up with him."

She gave a bittersweet laugh, pulled away and held Bianka's shoulders at arms length. "Who are you and what have you done to Bianka, the manager of Laura and Martin's fan club?"

Her friend looked relieved. "I'm happy if you're happy… Now." She clapped her hand on her knees and got up, enlivened of a sudden. "If I'm going with you to Italy tomorrow, I got some persuading to do. What was I thinking going here dressed up like this?"

She chuckled, "Glad to have you back."

"Do you have clothes here?"

Being the Sales Director, she's privileged enough to have her own office.

The wide window allowed her a view of the garden. Her office has its own powder room. A three-seater mid century blue couch and two white armchairs laid for her guests. Displayed on her walls were gold rimmed glass shelves lined with decor. At the center of the space, resting on the finely crafted carpet was her glass computer desk. It wasn't as big and luxurious like what Sawecki had. But it was enough for her. She was content with having her own space for a change.

She nodded. "Yeah. Check the cabinet in the bathroom."

"Please tell me that I won't find that same outfit in there." Bianka complained, pointing to her clothes with disgust.

She looked down herself. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, a matching black long sleeve and black pumps— her work clothes. "Why? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nobody died, Laura. Why are you always like somebody died?"

She laughed. "Go, get cleaned up. I also have some make-up there." She got up and fetch her phone again. "I'll call Olga, see if she wants to come too."

"Yeah, but you know what she's gonna say. You know how she is with Italy."

She stopped, her fingers hovering on the button.

She could still remember it as if it was yesterday. What's supposed to be a relaxing summer vacation became one of the most unforgettable moments of her life.

Some five years ago, Olga's cousin, Remri, invited them for the summer. Laura fell in love with the place. Everything about Sicily was a dream come true. From the landscapes, the culture, the ancient architecture, the people, the food. Everything was going well. Olga even met and hooked up with an Italian guy from Cefalú whom they met in one of the clubs.

One summer day, they drove down to Cefalú to see where the guy lived. They stopped by the marketplace because two of their colleagues wanted to check it out. Bianka and her boyfriend at the time went to find a restaurant while Olga and Italian guy stayed in the car. She didn't wanna be around with all the moaning and frolicking so she left them.

She was dawdling around, fascinated by the souvenir shops when Bianka called her. She told her to meet them at this Mediterranean restaurant they found. They're seated in the balcony overlooking the market and the sea when she heard it.

At first, she thought they were fireworks. She was about to joke that Italians have a weird sense of timing.

Who would light fireworks in the middle of the day?

But at the corner of her eye, she saw two bodies fall down. Then everybody was running in different directions, screaming, panicking.

One of the men in black grabbed the other fallen, an older gentleman and disappeared to the stairs.

It didn't take a moment for her instincts to kick in. She rushed to the body nearest her. A younger man— she could tell that he was Italian from his deep-set eyes, his stubble and bone structure.

No more than two years older than me, she remembered thinking.

He had a bullet lodged in his torso, right where his large intestine was. His body was going into a septic shock. And the guards around her were more concerned about who fired at them rather than the man lying on the balcony.

She remembered his brown eyes— so dark they looked almost black. She couldn't forget, how, even at the brink of death, they still look fearless, calm… exquisite. His eyes, his willingness to live motivated her to keep him awake, alive. They were the only thing that kept her from running away with the other terrified guests.

Olga and Italian guy were one of the victims of the stampede that occurred in the marketplace. Olga had been traumatized and swore she would never go back to Italy. They left as soon as they released Olga from the hospital hours later.

After that summer, she had never had a stronger MO to become a doctor.

But alas, life hit her like a bitch.

Sometimes she still wonders about the man and his dark chocolate eyes.

Did he live?

She hoped he did.

The creak of the door opening interrupted her reverie.

"Explain to me," Bianka announced, "Why do you insist on wearing black when you've got this in your closet?"

She turned around and sashayed towards her, fresh faced- far from the wreck she was earlier. Bianka was wearing her white off-shoulder peplum dress. It was the one dress Martin bought for compensation when he forgot to pick her up.

"Bright colors are not really my thing… If you want it, you can have it."

"No! After you have forced me to take that trip." Bianka whined as she checked herself in the mirror. "Stop being so nice for a change, Laura."

"Correction. I'm only kind to you. And Olga… sometimes… when she's not cranky."

"Did you call her yet?"

"No."

She got… distracted.

"What do you think she'll say?" She bit her nails. Olga could be pretty scary sometimes. "What if I told her there's gonna be free booze?"

"Ha!" Bianka scoffed, running her hand down her dress. "Even that won't make her come."

"But it's my birthday!" She pouted. "I want my best girls with me."

Bianka flopped down the couch where she was at. "For you my friend, I'll convince her."

"Thank you." She pursed her lips.

Bianka smiled and gave her a peck.

"Now, get out of here. I got some work to do."

Bianka got up from the couch and turned to the door, her ratty sweats in her hands. "I don't deserve you, Laura."

"Don't go sappy on me now. Get out." She grinned at Bianka blew her a kiss and left.

She went back to her desk and proceeded to finish her paper. When she was all done, she printed two copies of each and practiced her spiel.

With still thirty minutes to spare, she typed Sicily on the web and searched for activities she and Bianka could do. She cancelled the romantic getaways and listed her and Bianka's name in the Spa and the city tour. She was humming along the keys of Yiruma, astonished by the lack of guilt for Martin.

That must be a good thing.

Still have time to kill, she found herself googling "Cefalú Shootout 2015" again. But the results remain the same. As it had been for the past few years. The news only focused on the stampede that injured a hundred others. It mentioned nothing about the gunfire that happened in the restaurant. The Google pages ran out and still, nothing.

How weird.

How could they not report anything that big? It probably started the stampede in the first place.

There was a soft knock on the door again.

"Miss Biel?" Came a high, honeyed voice. She recognized the short, pixie-haired woman, her elfish face peering behind the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Marek is ready for you now." Marek's assistant informed.

Showtime.

"I'll be there in two."

She fetched her items and glanced at the mirror to check her hair and attire. "I don't dress for a funeral." She convinced herself, flattening the nonexistent crease on her skirt.

She made her way to the 32nd floor, her chin held high. She tried to keep the butterflies floating around her stomach.

This is it, Laura.

She held a conscious hand to her heart before knocking on the door. "Sir?"

Don't faint. Don't faint. Don't faint. No matter what he says, no matter what happens, don't faint.

"Come in." Said the deep voice from behind the room.

"Good afternoon Sir." She smiled, her brightest smile while clutching the folder behind her back. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes, Miss Biel." The man stood up and extended his hand.

She grasped it.

His office was 10x bigger than hers. But you could expect that from the top senior position in the company. He has its own adjacent meeting room, a large lounge area, a comfortable bathroom and a 360 degree view of the city.

"Sit down, sit down." He pointed to the sturdy chairs in front of his table.

"Thank you."

"What do we have here?" He asked, eyeing the folder on her lap.

"Ah, these are the annual sales report for the past year. Thought you might want to see that." She slid him the file.

"Thank you. But I don't need to review this to see that the hotel is thriving, Miss Biel." He supplied and leaned back on his high chair. "All thanks to you. You're the best in this job."

"It's only because I have the best team, Mr. Marek."

"Hayden, please. Don't make me feel older than I am."

She tried ignoring the lewd glint in his eyes.

"Hayden."

"How many years have you been working for The Regent, Laura?"

"Four and a half years this coming August."

"And you started as a server, right?"

"Yes, si- uh, Hayden."

"Then you became our receptionist."

She smiled and nodded.

"I like your story, Laura. It tells me that hard work can get you anywhere… Is it true that you were a med student? Before you came here?"

"Yes. I, uh, I was on my Clerkship. But I had to quit."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that." The prick didn't look sorry though. "If given the chance, do you still wanna go back? To studying medicine, I mean?"

She'd been thinking about it. But if she said yes to Marek, she might not get that promotion. "I still think about it to past the time but I fell in love with hotels. I can still help and serve people here, without the gory details."

Marek laughed. "Of course, of course."

He stood from his chair, and patted the file to his lips. "As you now know, we're in need of a general manager by the end of the week…" He half sat on the table, his beady eyes on her. "And I know for a fact, you're perfect for the job."

Yes.

She tried to control her voice. "I will do my best, Sir."

"Hayden."

"Hayden." She repeated with a forced smile.

"Good, good."

Okay, can she go now?

Marek, once again, stood and circled her in a way that reminded her of a predator.

She heard the alarming ringtones going off in her head.

Please don't do anything stupid. Please don't do anything stupid.

She willed her heart to slow down.

He stopped behind her and grasped her shoulders. She flinched, but remained seated. Even as he sniffed her hair.

She felt the bile rising from her throat.

"Yes, good, good. You will be good."

"Please, take your hands off me." She pleaded, keeping her voice firm and stable. Her hands, closed into tight fists on her lap, to keep it from shaking.

"You will do everything I say if you want still want that promotion."

His breath smelt like cigarettes.

She tried her best not to gag.

But then, he licked behind her ear and she cracked.

She stood up, his chin hitting her shoulder with a loud thwack!

Marek yelped in surprise and pain from biting his own tongue. "Mah tang!"

She turned on her heel and threw her quivering fist on his nose. It landed square on and Marek fell down on his ass.

Her fist was burning from the impact. Hot ball of tears wet her eyelids. Her entire body, being, shaking from the assault. "You can have your promotion, you fucking pervert."

"You bitch!" He cried, pinching his bleeding nose.

"Don't ever tough me again." She hissed and with great effort, she ran out. She ignored the sly looks from the people she passed by and went straight to her office.

Sophia caught up to her. "Miss Biel? Miss Biel? Are you alright?"

She's here already?

She wiped the tear running down her cheek. "You found everything okay at my apartment?"

"Yes... Um." Sophia pushed her round glasses on the bridge of her nose. "Your luggage is in the lobby. Shall I send them up?"

She shook her head. "No. But can you book me my usual room downstairs? I'll stay here for the night."

"Of course." Her assistant gave her a wry smile.

"Dziękuję Ci, Sophie."

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

The sound of the rotors touching down roused him from his dreamless sleep.

He sat up from the nook and took his seat. The stewardess proceeded to arrange the pillows and blanket he slept on. Mario has already been awake on the opposite gangway. The old man nudged a snoozing Domenico beside him who jumped out of his chair. His hand going to his holster.

Glad to know, paranoia runs in the family.

Business in Rome has always been a pleasure. The one-hour flight was almost worth it. But right now, he's looking forward to the day off. After the drama with Anna, he wanted to be alone. He craved it, like a kid with a candy. He felt like he deserves a moment of solitude. Away from the drugs, the prostitution rings, the guns, the people, and Mario. Especially Mario.

May be I'll take out the Titan this afternoon.

Of all the things he owned, his yacht has to be his favorite. It was his cheapest yet most treasured escape. Only a few selected people have the prerogative to join him there. He's determined to keep it that way. Mario hated it. Then again, the old man have always hated and avoided everything with the word "Fun" on it.

The pressurized cabin door opened. Mario rose from his seat first before a yawning Domenico followed him out the aircraft. He stretched his legs before he, too, was up on his feet.

"Hope you had a wonderful flight, Signore." Flirted the stewardess before flashing him a toothy grin. She was pretty and looked too rangy for a stewardess. Domenico must have picked her out the litter himself.

He ignored her and stepped out the threshold. The sun was blooming on the horizon, warming the sky in an orange bluish blanket. He inhaled the fresh and sweet Sicilian breeze, relishing it.

Home again.

He closed his jacket and donned his aviators. The sun may be pretty today, but that doesn't mean he stopped hating it.

"Massimo," Mario started as soon as he entered the car. "Montisanno wanted to meet with you regarding the new armory shipments."

"It's already here?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes. It arrived only an hour ago. They want to know if you wanna take a look."

Fuck. So much for the day off.

He gave him curt nod. "We'll go straight there." He ordered the driver who pulled up at the arrival area where a sea of people are waiting in queue for their taxi.

"Why are we going this way?" He asked, irritated.

The driver looked nervous and stammered a reply. Domenico stepped in for him. He shifted from the front passenger seat to explain. "They closed the private road for some maintenance."

"Out of all the days, they chose today." He grumbled.

"Infatti, no?" His brother muttered back, chomping down his gum.

"Where's your toothpick?" He joked, his voice flat.

He knew that Domenico was trying (and failing) to quit smoking. His "alternatives", including toothpicks and gum, were only making it worse for him.

He told him that if he wanted to smoke, then he should. They're all gonna die anyway, some way. And with their lifestyle, it's a guarantee.

Domenico turned to him again, his eyebrows wiggling. He bragged, "The stewardess has it."

His lips quirked into a smirk.

The driver slowed as a couple wheeled their push carts over the trolley lanes. A traffic marshall recognized their car and immediately stopped the other vehicles. The man was pointing for the other cars to move aside and make way. The man was wearing a very distracting tattered, neon vest. It was hurting his eyes.

He was staring forward, making a mental note to mention this detail to the governor, when a reflection caught his attention.

Everything moved, as if in slow motion.

But, not slow enough.

A black haired woman was arranging her hair in a messy bun. All the while, she was staring at his window. Her eyes, ever so gray and penetrating.

He felt his pathetic excuse for a heart, stopped.

The hair on his arms prickled.

He bolted from his seat and removed his sunglasses.

He spun on his torso, as they passed by her, unwilling to take his eyes off her, in case he was dreaming.

He couldn't speak.

He couldn't think.

"Che cos'è, Massimo?" Mario demanded, alert. "What is it?"

The woman was still staring at the car, as if she could see him through the back tint. Another woman approached her, smiling and pointed to the cab driving to them. The raven-haired woman broke eye contact and smiled at her friend. They loaded their luggages when their cab stopped in front of them.

"Stop the car." His voice between a rasp and a whisper.

"What?"

"I SAID STOP THE CAR!" He bellowed, his voice shaking the interior of the SUV.

The tires screeched to a halt at the side of the road. The impact forced Domenico and Mario forward in their seats.

He threw the car door and sprung from his seat. He ran towards the trunk and watched as she entered the cab. Her smile, not leaving her face.

He heard Mario and Domenico got out the car.

"What happened?" His brother questioned, his head swirling back and forth to his face and the taxi zone.

"It's her."

"What?!" Domenico walked to him, his eyes not leaving him.

While his, were not leaving her ride.

"Where?! Are you sure?"

His entire body was shaking.

He was sure.

This time, he was fucking sure.

The taxi was still stuck in the traffic behind them. He couldn't take his eyes off it. The windows weren't tinted. She was in the back passenger seat, he saw her removing her cardigan. She was laughing at her friend.

It's her.

It's her!

"Domenico, tell the second car to pick you up here."

"Massimo, be rational. We have-" Mario began.

"I don't care! I'm not letting her out of my sight." He was pulsing.

"Who?!" The old man looked mad.

He couldn't waste time.

The traffic was starting to move.

"Get out the car." With hasty footsteps, he walked backwards to the SUV. "Get out, I'm driving!"

The driver stepped down and away from the car.

"Look, let's be calm down for a minute here." Domenico amended and pulled his phone. "I'll ask Alek and the other guys to follow. I'm calling them right now."

No. It has to be him.

He memorized how the cab looked like. A white Ford Galaxy. The company's name branded on the passengers' and rear doors.

"Massimo?"

She's here.

She wasn't a dream.

After all these years.

Five fucking years.

She's real.

"Massimo!" Domenico called again. "Did you get a look at the plates?"

"BB 03813. The Airport Taxi company." he responded in a minute.

Domenico repeated it to the phone. "Okay, okay. Good." He hung up the phone. "It's one of Stefan's."

Cars zoomed past them. Nobody dared to horn; Everybody seemed to recognize the seal on the side doors.

"Good. Tell the second car to pick you up."

"But-" Mario interrupted again.

"Get out of my way or I'll run you over." He snarled, stepping on the driver's stool. His eyes anywhere but the nasty, senile man.

"You're gonna leave us here in the gutter?" Mario complained.

For a minute, he let his eyes wander to his brother. "Domenico…"

His brother nodded at him in understanding. "Alek has your back. The second car is on its way here. I'll make up for your absence."

"Fanculo!" Mario threw his hands up in exasperation.

He was never more thankful for Domenico than that moment.

The taxi took the east 92nd exit, he changed the gear to Drive.

He rolled the windows as Domenico hollered, "I'll patch the taxi's GPS on yours. Vai a prenderla, brother." Go get her.

He smirked at Nico before flooring on the gas.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I made Laura (indirectly) curious about Massimo too, that way they're both weird together. LOL. I would like to believe that Domenico and Massimo have a great relationship. 'Cause I know Massimo won't have someone he doesn't trust to watch Laura. ALSO, I had different versions of the ending. At first, I don't want Massimo to come after her, but, after five years of pinning? It wouldn't make sense to me if he ordered somebody to do it for him. Tell me if you like it.

Still interested? 😬 My original plan was three chapters only, but if guys want maybe (?) I could do more and cover the entire movie. ?

PLEASE CHECK OUT THE AO3 site and Fanfic I added in the title. I’ll be uploading future chapters there. It’s so hard here on Tumblr. 

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 7

Chapter 7: The Alliance

It was going so well until the giant snake showed up.

The Anacondrai were on them in an instant. Maya’s raised shield met an Anacondrai sword with a clash! Ray tried to summon his fire again, but it didn’t respond. Only his instincts saved him from getting skewered. The loss of his katana crept back in, cold and fearful.

Then a battle cry erupted from behind. Ray chanced a look over his shoulder. There they were at last, the village defenders. Red masks were pulled over their noses, reminiscent of the ninja of days long past. Despite their disorganization and haphazard collection of old swords and spears, they never slowed.

The villagers crashed into a wave of violet. Metal clanged. Anacondrai roared. Ray found himself trapped in the middle. He tried to find an opening in the chaos, but he couldn’t shoot fire without hurting one of his own.

In his desperation, he thought he might have cried, “Maya!” Whether in his mind or out loud, the crashing of the battle drowned it out.

Then world slowed. A single Anacondrai sword cleaved the air over Ray’s head. He raised a hand, uncertain if fire would follow.

But the sword never dropped. Instead, as if yanked by an invisible rope, it flew straight up and soared away. The snake it belonged to was pulled along behind it. A cluster of Serpentine rose into the air and dropped again in a jumble.

Ray stared. “What the…”

Something swooped overhead; Ray ducked instinctively. He snapped back up, ready to fight, but it was no snake, no trick of the Serpentine. It was a man in a golden helmet, hovering in the air.

Lei’s wild laugh escaped the ruckus. She stepped out of the shadows to shake her fist at the flying man. “Dojin, you cut it close!”

“And you - behind you!” the man called back.

Lei spun to face a blue Serpentine and disappeared into the battle.

The Anacondrai ranks were reforming from Dojin’s attack. Before the nearest could rise, Ray shoved forward and slammed his boot into the warrior’s snout. He swiped up the Anacondrai’s fallen sword.

Woah. Ray allowed himself a millisecond to admire the craftsmanship of the weapon, even if he had no idea what it was made of. Each serrated edge had been formed with individual precision, needle-sharp and not at all brittle.

Maya appeared at Ray’s side again - she’d lost the shield, but she seemed alright. Many of the villagers lined up behind the two of them. Ray swung the sword in a wide berth to fend off the approaching Anacondrai. They were not frightened. Before he had the chance to defend again, they rushed forward.

Above, Master Dojin dove in again. He skimmed the top of the Ancondrai, swerving between their swords. He clawed at their snaky heads, pulled some off the ground with his strange power, and basically wreaked havoc. Ray’s hope spiked. They might actually have a chance. Together, they could win this!

Stupid giant snake.

The ground began to tremble. At first, Ray thought it was Serpentine reinforcements. And in a way it was. But it was worse than Anacondrai.

It curled around from the side of the mountain, crushing a section of village wall. A giant snake. A real snake, not a Serpentine. Its mighty maw opened larger than Ray’s whole body. Purple scales, darker than the Anacondrai’s, swept through the snow and rubble.

It reared its head in an “S” behind the floating Dojin, who was busy surveying the battle.

“Dojin!” Lei’s voice cried from somewhere unseen.

The man spun just in time for the serpent’s giant fang to pierce his shoulder.

Dojin did not scream. When the snake released him, he simply dropped from the sky and landed in a heap at the base of the fountain. His helmet clanged against the stone.

Ray wanted to push through the Serpentine, but they were too thick, too strong. Like fighting a stone wall.

Thankfully, he caught sight of Lei appearing in the shadow of the mountain face. She locked eyes with him across the square and shouted, “To the outer wall!” Then she and Dojin vanished.

Ray glanced to the side, where Maya was. She shot him a quick look, a determined look, and pushed forward.

The battle raged. Ray’s fear was long since evaporated. It was all instinct now, promising him life but not particularly caring if it was wrong. And he was getting tired. His Elemental energy seemed nearly spent.

Amazingly, the giant serpent seemed to retreat, as if its work with the old Elemental Master was its only purpose. An effective purpose - Ray and Maya were the only Masters left fighting. As the snake slid back around the mountain, the Serpentine renewed their attack with force. Villagers fell under the crushing might of the huge Anacondrai.

Maya kept fighting. Her expression was a fierce, fierce thing when she was angry. But Ray was used to the feeling of losing. He knew this battle couldn’t be won.

It wasn’t really his decision to make, but he made it anyway. “Retreat!” he called to the villagers.

It seemed they’d been waiting for the word. The line broke, and the villagers scattered. The snakes raised a cacophony hiss of triumph.

Only Maya remained. Her sight of the fountain was cut off and that seemed to be interfering with her powers. Smaller and smaller balls of water emerged from her fingers.

“Maya!” Ray shouted. “Let’s go!”

She threw more water. It sputtered.

“Maya!”

She dropped her hands with a frustrated yell, then turned on her heel and sprinted after him.

The Serpentine gave chase. Ray kept Maya and the villagers moving, but he had to turn and fend off the black snakes. A blade sliced his upper arm and he barely felt it.

As the warriors dropped away from Ray’s dying fire, he saw someone approaching through their lines. A regal green Serpentine with curling black markings, bearing a golden staff. Its slitted eyes landed on Ray.

Was this the leader, then? The commander of this forsaken battle? Ray wanted so badly to dive through the warriors and set fire to the creature. But he could see his death too clearly in that scenario. It took all his willpower, but he convinced himself to wait.

And run.

They reached the outer wall. Ray took one last look at the smoking buildings, and that green snake with the staff. Even from far away, it leered at him. Smiled to show its fangs.

Ray smiled back, baring his own teeth in challenge. This wasn’t over.

He would not rest until they were free from these monsters.

~~~

“Hold still.” Maya jerked Ray’s shoulder back. “Pouting won’t make it better.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“‘He said, while pouting’.”

This caused Ray to scowl. But he was quiet as Maya finished bandaging his arm.

Flying on dragonback was actually smoother than expected, but if three was a crowd, four was certainly pushing it. Maya had to lean over Ray’s shoulder to get a good angle, which did terrible things to his pulse.

He called to Lei against the wind. “Where did that big snake come from?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She shifted the injured Master of Gravity - for that’s what he was - against her dragon’s neck. He wasn’t dead, but he might still be, if they didn’t hurry.

Ray leaned to the side to avoid Lei’s flapping braids. Below, Ninjago was just sand and rocks. Ahead, the ridge of the Echo Canyons rose above the dunes. Lei’s dragon dipped, ever so slightly, until Ray could see their destination: a small valley between two stone walls, not quite a canyon but a tier above one.

People below scattered for Lei to land. Maya slid off, then Ray and Lei with the Master of Gravity.

Ray surveyed the “valley.” A few worn tents stood between them and the rock walls. Ray noted half a dozen people, if that, looking back at him. Many sets of eyes were drawn to the Anacondrai sword in his hand. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

A man hurried toward them, wearing an armored wrap and a full beard Ray would’ve killed for. The wind tousled the man’s black hair.

Lei saw him immediately. “Lorin!”

“Lei.” The man reached them. “I thought you were defending Jamanakai Village.”

“Were,” Lei corrected. “Not anymore. Lorin - Dojin is hurt.”

“I’ll take him.” The man scooped up the Master of Gravity like he weighed nothing - which he probably didn’t. His brow deepened as he turned to Ray and Maya. “Fire and Water, I take it?”

“Yes,” Ray said for both of them.

“I am Lorin, the Master of Earth.” He offered them his free hand. Pleased, Ray shook it, and Maya did the same.

“Lorin,” Lei interjected. “Where’s Wu?”

“Command tent.” He jerked his head toward one of the tents, slightly bigger than the others. “Go. I’ll come when I’ve taken care of our friend here.”

He jogged off with Dojin. Lei guided them toward the command tent. The other Masters followed - Ray assumed that’s who they were. A blonde woman in a long blue coat and boots. A short, mustached man with a fez and green vest. A pair of identical men wearing red full-body armor. What a varied, jumbled lot.

They ducked under the tent flap. Sure enough, there was Master Wu. Amazingly, his staff was away from his hands, leaning against the tent wall. He and an old man in blue robes leaned over a table of maps.

Wu looked up as they entered. “Master of Shadow. Ray, Maya - what are you doing here?”

“Jamanakai Village is lost,” Lei announced. She bowed her head. “I - I’m sorry.”

Wu’s gaze fell low, his eyes shadowed by the dim candlelight. “Dojin. I sent him-”

Lei nodded in confirmation. “He was injured, but he’ll be okay, with luck.”

“And the villagers?”

“Most of them escaped. Not all.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Ray couldn’t stand the silence. He slammed the table with his palms. “So what? Jamanakai’s gone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still stop the Serpentine. So what’s next? What do we do now?”

“Well said, Master of Fire,” replied the old man. He looked at Wu. “This does change things. We believed the Serpentine would abandon the effort to move through the Canyons if they could not obtain Jamanakai Village. Now that they have possession, we will likely be facing a war on two fronts. One will be here. The other will be their contingency route, which we have yet to find.”

“I see only one path.” Wu laid a finger on a map. “The direct way from the sands, south of the western Sea of Sand and the mountains. There is a pass here that will give them direct access to the majority of our lands. Ray, did you see Anacondrai?”

Ray started, surprised to be called on. “Yeah, we did.”

“Not many,” Lei added. “Only half a battalion. But that was enough.”

Wu nodded his agreement. He pointed at the brown smudge on the map that indicated the Echo Canyons. “Then of the half moving this way, few are Anacondrai. So the rest of the Anacondrai must be somewhere else. If we can stop them before they reach the pass, we may be able to push back.”

“Master Wu,” a voice rumbled from behind Ray. This was Lorin, who must’ve arrived while they’d been talking. His face was a mask of concern. “There is town in those hills, not far from the pass. My hometown. The Serpentine will have to move through it. We must defend it.”

“So we shall,” Wu promised. He straightened before the gathered Alliance. “It is decided. Five of us will remain here in the Canyons. The rest will go with Lorin and head off the Serpentine. Make haste, my friends.”

@greenygreenland