#because no matter how much less painful lying on my back is i cannot fucking sleep like that

[faggotry-enjoyer]

so fucked up that "most comfortable position" and "least painful position" are Not the same.

[creepy--claws]

[● It's time to hurt your feelings because this movie hurt mine with one scene let's go

Spoilers ahead btw you are legally not allowed to look at this post if you haven't seen Hot Fuzz (2007) go watch the movie first and then come back to this because you need to experience this spoiler free to actually feel the impact of this. Don't ruin the magic for yourself, experience it properly. I'm saying this because my partner has not watched it yet and I don't want them to get spoiled. Idc if you don't mind spoilers, you have to experience this in it's fullest.

So do you guys think Danny still thinks about that time he fucking stabbed Angel

Do you think it sometimes keeps him up at night in pure sadness and regret

Angel isn't all too phased by it at all even if it did fucking hurt but hey it wasn't the first time, but Danny is lying awake at night thinking "I really did that. He told me that being stabbed was the single most painful experience in his entire life and then I stabbed him. What is wrong with me."

To unhurt your feelings with a hc to follow this up: Angel doesn't care less about Danny because of it at all and always tells Danny that whenever it gets to be too much for him. Yes it hurt like a bitch but it's okay he forgave Danny a long time ago, don't worry about it

That scene still haunts me even though not much happened after it. The timing of it was fantastical, I lived without seeing how the story ended for days and it drove me mad because I wanted to know what happened after so badly but was stuck on a cliffhanger for a few days until I got home. That trip is kind of painful to remember actually now but it doesn't matter because I am here now and physically cannot go back to that place even if I wanted to. So yeah, thoughts that came to me because I want to be able to sleep tonight, see y'all on the flipside]

[qq-art]

i’ve been wanting to elaborate on what i mean when i say gender is a teenage breakup album ever since someone responded “i could never go back to being a teenager” and by another queer poc no less so i can’t even blame it on “well a cishet yt person obviously wouldn’t get it”

it was when i realized that all that i thought was self explanatory about my statement was not quite so. for me, teenage breakup album as gender means a couple things but definitely not “being a teenager again.” rather, it’s about the inherent romance of experiencing something so common place like “falling in love” and falling out of it, too, for the very first time. it’s so new and you’re so clueless and naive and helplessly foolish. and it’s powerful. you feel powerful.

they say ignorance is bliss and that’s true is many ways. the way it’s most true in a teenage breakup album is that you get to have an ignorance leaves you untouched by suspicion and and excess caution. you’re anxious, sure, because it’s your first time ever! but you’re also ignorant enough to be okay with the anxiety that comes along during the ride. and this isn’t just about the falling IN love part. the falling out of love part is full of beautiful discoveries and joyous ignorance, too. you get to experience for the first time what it’s like to break free from something that once caged us. for the first time you get to look back on something significant that impacted you and how you admire how you really did that.

even the pain in the immediate aftermath of a breakup is so different as a teenager than as an adult. we can rightfully and proudly admit you have no idea what we’re doing or how we’re supposed to do it.

and so maybe in a nutshell it’s about allowing ourselves to not only admit but embrace and rightfully claim that we don’t know shit and maybe sometime we’re not supposed to know. can’t survive as an adult by not knowing these things. adults are always supposed to have plans and rationale but if a teenager is acting a hot mess we just roll our eyes and think “typical”

yeah, it’s that ability to see a teenager acting a fool and celebrating or mourning the most inconsequential shit and we think “lol ofc let’s let her have her moment then hopefully we can talk some sense into her” instead of the immediate judgements of “omg stop being fucking stupid”

people expect too much from adults but i think adults have more than proven their level of incapability. incredulous are so many when they hear of adults who don’t respond to emails properly or return borrowed equipment ill-cared for if not straight up busted. “i cannot BELIEVE grown adults would do that” well believe it baby bc unfortunately that’s actually just about all of us and that’s just par for the course. would it be nice to be able to expect more from people 30+ years of age? yeah. can we? nope. and so let’s just stop lying to ourselves??? humans at any age are just dumb. but it’s the allowance of teenagers to be dumb that i love to watch, i love to listen to, i love to read about.

so many viral videos circulate of babies discovering something for the first time. do we ever wonder why that content excites so many of us? because it’s beautiful to watch a being find wonder in something we know consider common place and mundane.

tldr my gender a specific type of hopeless romantic. not one riddled with the burdens and baggage of adulthood that actually just mask toxic traits and internalize anxieties about other people and/or oneself. but a type that incorporates the feeling of realizing something everyone else in the room has known for a long time and it doesn’t matter that everyone else knew it before you did.

i don’t want to be a teenager again. that’s cruel and unusual punishment. but i do want to maintain the special kind of blinders that teens have on that help them cast society aside in lieu of the people right in front of them , embrace a moment for the sake of a moment not the sake of a penny, believe in someone else and then lose it and then believe in themselves , feel confident but questioning and stupid and know it and then keep doing stupid anyways because all that matters at the very end of everything is how times you got the laugh with your friends.

i don’t think that’s all of it but i can’t remember what else i’ve been thinking on this topic over the last month or so

[queenshelby]

The Judge’s Daughter (Part Two)

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Words: 4,753

 Warning: Angst, Drugs, Smut

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal  @chrisevanshoeee  @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse  @captivatedbycillianmurphy  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  

………

Struggling

After your intimate moment with Tommy, you both had become distant. You were angry at him and felt mislead.

How could you have fallen for a man like this? A man who was known to toy with women and who, in his own words, was incapable of loving.

Your desire for this man was almost painful, too much to bear. Even after he told you that what happened between you was a mistake and despite your anger towards him, you still wanted him. Why, you didn’t understand.

Over the course of the day, Tommy arranged another meeting with his brother Arthur and his aunt Polly Gray. The meeting was being conducted at your house. After all, it was Saturday and Tommy’s hearing to have the arrest warrant dropped wasn’t taking place until Monday. This meant, he still had to hide.

No one but close family knew he was staying with you and, after what had happened with Jimmy McCaven’s men and following what Jesse Eden had told him, matters needed to be attended to rather urgently.

What you didn’t know was that Tommy had arranged for his men to keep an eye on your father. He knew that he was in danger if McCaven’s men didn’t return following their attempted attack on you.

But, his aunt Polly didn’t agree with his decision and you overheard them talk about you and your father.

‘I don’t understand why you would be protecting the man who wanted you arrested Tommy’ Polly asked.

‘I have my reason Pol, you just need to trust me, eh’ Tommy said.

‘Is your reason a woman?’ Polly asked somewhat annoyed. ‘Because what you should be doing is give up Y/N Rosenberg and her father to Mosley and McCavern. This would make them less suspicious about you. But what you are doing instead is protect these people. Why?’ Polly asked.

‘Because it’s the right thing to do Pol. McCavern will be dealt with over the weekend and will no longer pose a problem. Some of Abrahama Gold’s men got themselves arrested yesterday and will deal with McCavern in prison. It will appear to have been a revenge killing, completely out of my control. Then I am just left to deal with Mosley’ Tommy explained.

‘Thomas Shelby, doing something because it’s the bloody right thing to do. Don’t fucking lie to me. Are you fucking her?’ Polly asked.

‘Am I fucking who?’ Tommy asked.

‘Y/N Rosenberg. Your judgment in this matter is questionable and it’s always a fucking woman when you can’t think straight. Your love for Grace almost got us all killed when you revenged her death. I am not ready to go through this again Thomas’ Polly said.

‘Don’t fucking mention Grace alright. This has nothing to do with Grace or any woman for this matter of fact’ Tommy said.

‘Alright Pol, it’s time to go. We have stuff do’ Arthur said, trying to break up the argument between her and Tommy.

‘Fine, I am coming’ Polly said as she walked to the car without paying any further attention to you and without saying goodbye.

‘Be careful brother, eh’ Arthur said as he left.

After Arthur and Polly had left, you finally found the courage and want to speak to Tommy again after what happened.

‘Thank you for protecting my father’ you said after Tommy walked into the kitchen.

‘It’s the least I can do Y/N’ he said.

‘Would you like some tea? I have just boiled the kettle’ you asked.

‘I would love some tea. Thank you’ Tommy said with a warm smile. This is the first time since the day before that you hadn’t talked to him full of anger.

‘I saw Arthur giving you another bottle of opium’ you said.

‘Yes, he did’ Tommy responded rather bluntly.

‘I don’t want you to take this stuff in my house Tommy. It’s bad for you’ you said, somewhat concerned about his health and wellbeing.

‘It’s bad for me, eh?’ Tommy chuckled.

‘It will kill you one day. Just like it killed my brother’ you said.

‘And why would you care if it did, eh? It’s not up to you to fucking save me Y/N’ Tommy said rather annoyed.

‘Because I care for you Thomas Shelby. I don’t know why, but I do’ you said.

‘I am not who you think I am. I do bad things Y/N’ Tommy explained.

‘I know, but what I’ve noticed is that you do them to a good end and that’s all that matters to me’ you said, causing Tommy to chuckle.

‘I can’t be with you. Not now’ Tommy said.

‘Why? Is it because I am too young?’ you wondered.

‘No, it’s because I am in fucking love with you, alright. Being with me will put you in danger and I cannot fucking lose anyone else I care about. Everyone I ever loved is dead now Y/N. Every fucking one’ Tommy said dishearted and full of passion and anger at the same time.

‘Well, Thomas Shelby, then I will wait for you until danger passes’ you said.

‘You might be waiting a long time Y/N’ Tommy chuckled.

‘I know’ you responded as you walked over to him and caressed his face.

‘Why would you want to waste your time waiting for a man like me, eh?’ Tommy asked, his hand running over your cheek gently.

‘Because I am also in love with you Thomas Shelby’ you said and, just like that, he leaned in to kiss you again.

The kiss started off slow and gentle but soon became urgent and heated.

It had only been midday but you desperately wanted him to take you to your bedroom yet again.

Your desire within you to be with him grew as your kisses became more passionate by the second.

You truly were in love, for the first time in your life.

‘I want you to make love to me’ you said as your lips drifted apart.

‘Y/N, its noon’ Tommy chuckled.

‘And? Do you have somewhere to be?’ you asked.

‘Apparently not’ Tommy smirked as he lifted you up with the intention to carry you to the bedroom.

‘Let me have a bath first, I’ve been out in the garden’ you said with a smile and Tommy put you back down to the floor.

‘See you upstairs then eh’ Tommy said and, just like this, you disappeared into the bathroom.

The First Time

You scrubbed yourself clean in the bath, nervous and excited, eager and hesitant.

On one hand, you were rushing, trying to get out to Tommy as quickly as you could. On the other, you knew the moment you opened the bathroom door, everything would change.

Something as simple as dressing after your shower took minutes to figure out. It seemed silly to put clothes on, knowing that Tommy was about to remove them. Walking out with nothing on, though, was beyond what your modesty would allow.

You finally decided to compromise with a silk robe, which you had hung in the bathroom earlier that day.

After you put it on, a smile played across your face as you stared in the mirror. Whilst you were nervous, you trusted Tommy and you wanted this. You wanted him.

Once your hair was dry, the robe was on, and you had sufficiently stared at yourself in the mirror, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

Tommy was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but his undergarments.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, he stood up. His lips parted, but he didn't speak.

‘I'm ready’ you said softly.

He came to you and took your hand.

‘Are you sure that this is what you want?’ Tommy asked, knowing that this was going to be your first time sleeping with a man.

‘Yes Tommy. I want this. I want you’ you said.

‘I know, you're set on this. But if you change your mind or if something isn't feeling right you need tell me, alright?’ Tommy said.

‘Yes Tommy’ you responded before leaning forward to kiss him.

As you kissed, Tommy let go of your hand, running his hand up the side of the robe to your shoulders before removing it, exposing your naked body.

He gazed over your body with his deep blue eyes. You were nervous as you stood in front of him entirely vulnerable, but you refused to let your nervousness control you.

After the robe landed on the ground and Tommy had the chance to stare at your naked body the first time, his hands travelled back up your sides, grazing your breasts lightly before they reached your neck. Cupping your face with both hands, he brought you in for another kiss.

‘You are so fucking beautiful’ Tommy said, making you smile almost with embarrassment.

‘If you think so’ you giggled.

‘I know so’ Tommy smirked before telling you to lie on the bed.

He guided you onto the bed, fluffing the pillows around you so you were cradled in a nest of clouds, propped up so you weren’t quite lying flat on your back. When he was satisfied that you were comfortable, he joined you.

Again, he kissed you, and again you felt your limbs go weak as your mind went dizzy. Hovering over you, his head was a silhouette in the golden glow of the lamp in the corner.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ you asked nervously. Since your mother passed at a young age and you had no older sisters, you didn’t really have anyone to talk about sex with you.

‘Relax and let me take care of you’ Tommy smirked.

His lips pressed against yours before you could respond. Then they pressed to your chin, a gentle caress before moving on to your neck. His hair fell to the side of his face, tickling your skin as he feathered his way to your collarbone, his lips worshiping each patch of skin they pressed against. The tip of his tongue traced paths from freckle to freckle, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he mapped out your skin.

Fingertips brushed against your breast, prodding lightly as he held one in his hand. The kisses journeyed on, marking your chest and the tops of your breasts until his face was nestled in your cleavage. Again, his tongue darted out, finding an especially sensitive spot between your breasts that made me tremble beneath him.

The mix of anticipation and apprehension was intoxicating. You wanted to lose yourself under Tommy’s body, revelling in the feel of his lips against you, but the fear and excitement of what was to come clouded your mind. You told yourself to relax, to enjoy what was happening, to embrace the new sensations and the way electricity seemed to spark at Tommy’s lips and travel through your body. But your mind kept playing tricks on you and your nervousness took over.

Tommy glanced up at you, aware of the tension running through you.

‘Tell me what you're thinking’ Tommy said.

You bit your lip, not wanting to admit that you were out of your comfort zone.

‘Just a little nervous’ you whispered.

‘Do you want to stop?’ Tommy asked.

‘No’ you said as you finally closed your eyes and let your sensations take over your mind.

Tommy sucked on your nipple, then flicked it with his tongue, and a jolt of that captivating electricity shot to your core.

You moaned quietly as the hot wetness of his mouth moved against you.

You hadn't expected it to feel so good and Tommy spent quite a while there. Your enjoyment of what his mouth was doing was obvious to him. It wasn't until you squirmed beneath him, your pussy so wet you could hardly stand it, that he tore his heated attention away from your nipples and began kissing the underside of your breast.

He kissed your ribs, his tongue resuming its roaming from freckle to dotted freckle down your stomach. Both hands gripped your sides as he nuzzled against your belly button, then lowered to your hips as his lips moved an inch lower. He kissed that spot, and then an inch lower than that, and again until his lips reached the top of your mound.

You watched, your lips parting in astonishment as his head moved between your legs.

You were completely unprepared for what he was about to do. Sure, you had heard rumours of it, but in your naive little mind, you had thought it was just a joke, an urban legend, that people didn't actually do that. But there you were with Tommy in between your legs, pleasuring you with his tongue.

‘Oh god Tommy’ was all that came out of your mouth, a breathless squeak of shock at the foreign feel of his tongue pressed against your inner lips. You felt Tommy smile, saw his eyes practically sparkle just before he looked away and licked along your slit completely.

It was by far the strangest sensation that you had experienced, though not in a bad way. He explored you thoroughly, his tongue tracing every curve and crevice and even dancing along your entrance. He kissed you everywhere, from the ticklish spot where your leg met the swell of your pussy to nearly the lowest edge of your slit.

But, it wasn't until his lips surrounded your clit and he sucked incredibly gently that you understood just how much pleasure his tongue could give you.

Your eyes pinched shut as Tommy began to focus his attention there. He alternated what he was doing, spending time licking it, circling it, sucking it, and stroking it. You gasped for breath, the chills that ran through your body almost exhausting to keep up with, and a steady stream of quiet groans found their way out of your mouth without even consulting your mind.

He shifted slightly at one point, bringing your legs over his shoulders. Your thighs touched his ears, his hair tickling the inner spots that it brushed against as he lapped at you possessively, practically drinking the juices that were flooding your crease. You couldn't help but stare, watching as he ravished you, entranced at the sight of him pleasuring you in a way you hadn't even known possible.

The overwhelming feeling of losing control had just begun to prick through you when Tommy stuck a finger inside you.

‘Fuck’ you moaned as you held onto the sheets tightly while his finger entered you and his tongue never left your clit. Again, just as you groaned loudly, you could feel the foreign feeling of a smile against your most private place.

Moments later, he inserted a second finger just like the previous night. But, this time, with you lying beneath him, he found a spot you didn't know was there, the pad of his fingers pressing against it as he flattened his tongue against your clit.

‘Oh god Tommy, fuck…’ you moaned as the ascent quickened, rushing you towards the edge.

Your hands found Tommy’s head and you ran your fingers through his hair without thinking, instinctively desperate for something to hold on to. He didn't stop what he was doing as your legs tensed, didn't react when your wordless gasp turned to a muffled shriek, and didn't let go as you submitted to the lightning that consumed your body as your orgasm washed over you.

Your back arched and your thighs pressed harder against his head. Your eyes weren't open, but all you saw was white light as your body shook, everything from your toes to your fingers going numb with an electric passion that burst through you. It could have been seconds or minutes or hours; you had no concept of anything but radiating euphoria for a stretch of time.

When your body relaxed, it relaxed completely. Your thighs fell away from Tommy’s head and your fingers unfurled, releasing the grip you had on his hair. He withdrew his fingers from inside you and pressed a final kiss to the top of your mound before sitting up and grinning as he wiped his mouth.

You tried to say something but you weren’t sure what, exactly, to say. You wanted to apologise for pulling his hair. You wanted to thank him and kiss him and tell him you would be his forever if he asked you. It was likely for the best that you couldn't speak, just opened and closed your mouth a few times before shutting your eyes and groaning.

He sidled up alongside you, taking you into his arms as you regained your breath.

‘Are you okay?’ he smirked and all you could respond with was a slight ‘mhmm’.

‘I didn't even know that was a thing. Doesn't it... I don't know, taste strange?’ you asked as your mind began to function again.

‘Did you never get curious and tasted it yourself?’ Tommy chuckled.

‘No’ you said as your face went red. Tommy loosened his embrace and moved slightly back so he was looking at you.

‘Well, kiss me and find out’ Tommy chuckled.

He waited patiently for you to lean forward and kiss him. You did so uncertainly at first, your lips brushing against his as your own scent filled your senses. His lips were warm, still slick from their devotion to your pleasure. As you tasted yourself for the first time, you deepened the kiss, suddenly curious about the sweet, tarty flavour that lingered on him. It wasn't a bad taste at all, but more importantly, the memory of where that mouth of his had just been and where that taste came from excited you in a way you hadn't expected.

The kiss became about much more than finding out what you tasted like. Tommy’s arms tightened again, holding you close against his body. He still wore his undergarments, but you could feel the thick stiffness of his cock pressed against you, scorching hot even through the fabric.

He had distracted you with his mouth, but you wanted the rest of him. You slid a hand between your bodies, reaching for his stiff arousal. As your hand closed around him, he took a sharp breath, his hips moving forward to meet your hand.

‘I want to feel you inside of me Tommy’ you said just before Tommy leaned in and kissed you again.

‘Are you sure?’ Tommy asked once again as your lips parted.

‘Yes I am sure’ you said and, just like that, Tommy settled you on your back again, making sure you were comfortable before he slid to the other side of the bed and removed his undergarments. You watched, entranced, as he climbed on top of you and positioned himself in between your legs.

Your heart had to be loud enough that he could hear it. You felt almost cartoonish, as though it might jump from your skin and beat frantically outside your body.

‘If I hurt you, you tell me and I will stop, alright?’ Tommy asked as he moved himself forward, parting your legs further as he exposed your pussy, letting the backs of your thighs rest against the tops of his as he moved in closer to you.

‘Alright’ you said with a warm smile as you stared down between your bodies. You weren’t sure how exactly he would fit inside of you as you glimpsed at his size.

He took hold of his cock, nestling it against you. His tip slid against your slit for a moment, then was positioned at the entrance to your body. Once it was there, he propped himself up over you, one hand still wrapped around his cock and his face just inches from you.

His eyes didn't leave yours as he guided his cock forward. There was a moment of pressure, then a feeling of stretching as the thick head of his cock penetrated you.

You couldn't help it and tense up. The muscles of your canal tightened around his tip, gripping it, making the alien feel of having something inside it all the more pronounced. Your arms shook as your body stiffened, and Tommy stopped moving.

‘You need to relax Love’ Tommy said gently, causing you to nod.

The arm that was propping him up was near your shoulder and his hand found your hair, stroking it lightly.

‘I will be careful, I promise’ he said as you took a breath and closed your eyes.

A gentle brush of a kiss was pressed against your mouth as he comforted you.

Tommy moved his arm from between you, letting go of his cock as he pushed slightly more inside of you. You kept your eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, the way your pussy was stretching to accommodate him and the feeling of his cock against your slick walls. There was a sense of discomfort, pressure, unfamiliarity as he paused again.

You opened your eyes and looked down in between your bodies. Tommy’s cock was about halfway inside you, your entrance encircling him tightly. It felt strange, almost unreal, and the sight of it was one of the hottest things you had ever seen.

A small noise left your mouth as Tommy pushed forward even more. You watched more of his cock disappear within you, felt yourself filling up with his body. Soft pants left your lips as he sunk further and further inside you, until his skin was pressed against yours. He was all the way inside of you.

Tommy waited as your body adjusted to being impaled on his cock. It didn't hurt, that much was true. It was unfamiliar and strange, a fullness you could hardly have expected or explained, but it didn't hurt. You wouldn't have said it felt good, exactly, but it wasn't painful.

Yet another new sensation followed: a sudden loss of that fullness. As Tommy pulled his cock back out, your body relaxed even more, until just the tip of his cock was still nestled inside you.

I took a breath, as did he.

‘Are you alright?’ Tommy asked, causing you to nod.

That was all he needed to hear as he started pressing forward again. That time, it felt less strange. The fullness overtook you as he buried himself inside you again. Again, he paused once he was fully inside you, then pulled back out.

The discomfort disappeared on his third thrust. The pressure became pleasure on his fourth. The fifth time Tommy buried his cock inside you, you sighed, your head tilting back. He dipped his head forward and kissed you, his lips warm and comforting against you as he withdrew his cock again.

You felt his weight shift as he began a slow rhythm. His arms were by your shoulders, supporting most of his weight, but you still felt the pressure of his body resting heavily against yours. He no longer paused when he was fully inside you, but moved consistently, treating your body as delicately as he would a butterfly. He kissed you, murmured soft words to you, told you that you were beautiful, before he moved his head to the side and buried his face against your neck.

Growing more comfortable with the physical aspect of having him inside you, you spread your legs as wide as they could go before wrapping them around Tommy, while holding on to his shoulders tightly as he continued to thrust into you.

Tommy groaned when you did. The sensation between your legs changed, his cock seemingly deeper inside you than it was before. His rhythm staggered a bit, a few shallows thrusts off-beat, before he held still for a moment.

‘What's wrong?’ you asked as gasped.

‘Nothing, it’s just that you feel so good and it’s hard going slow when I want you so fucking much’ Tommy said.

‘Then go faster’ you said as you bit your lip. ‘

‘I don’t want to hurt you Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘I will tell you if it becomes too much’ you said and, just like that, a low growl left Tommy’s throat and his teeth grazed your neck as he started moving again.

Even at that, you didn't think he let loose the way he wanted to, but his movements became faster, harder. A wave of intensity you me as he did, making my skin prickle with delight.

That was the point where it went from feeling comfortable to feeling good.

Tommy’s breath was hot against you as he thrust harder inside you. Small noises were pushed from your throat, tiny yelps as he took the pleasure he needed from your body. His chest moved against yours, your breasts bouncing slightly against him each time he buried himself inside you.

His breathing was heavy, hot against your skin. He pressed a kiss against your neck quickly before sitting up, your arms falling back to your sides and your legs untangling from behind him with the fluidity of his movement. Our eyes didn't meet until he had hooked his arm under your knee, pushing your leg up higher than you could on your own.

You cried out, your head tilting back into the pillow as he penetrated you again, deeper than he ever had.

‘Fuck’ Tommy grunted as his movements became more intense, slightly faster, his body slapping against yours as he tunneled inside you.

‘Tommy, oh god, don’t stop’ you moaned as he moved in and out of you in a violent speed. The thrusts were deep enough that you felt like the air was being pushed out of your lungs.

It wasn’t long until Tommy could feel your walls tightening around him and your legs began to shake and, just like this, with several more deep thrusts, your orgasm washed over you and it was more intense than anything you had ever felt before.

Just after you came, Tommy cried out with each thrust until his body shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut and his face twisting in pleasure as he came inside of you, filling you with his warm cum.

As he finished, he released your leg, leaning forward again and burying his face against you neck. A muffled groan vibrated against you, sending a chill through your body that made you grin.

Slowly, he pulled out of you before lying next to you and pressing his lips onto yours.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked after your lips drifted apart.

‘Never been better’ you responded before kissing him again gently.

Just in that moment, you heard a loud knock on the door followed by another.

Tommy instantly shot up and reached for his pants and then the gun on the dresser in the bedroom.

He indicated to you to call out to see who it was but, just in this moment, two men broke in the door.

‘We are after Thomas Shelby’ one of the men said and Tommy put on his undershirt and walked downstairs, holding the gun in his hand.

‘Drop the gun’ one of the men said and Tommy could see at least four more men outside your house.

He complied and placed the gun onto the table in the hallway.

‘Thomas Shelby, you are under arrest for the attack on Rubrik & Sons Factory and the murder of Joseph Rubrik’ the man said.

‘Officer, there must be a mistake’ Tommy said.

‘Unfortunately, no sir. We have the arrest warrant right here’ the man said, reaching for Tommy’s wrist.

‘Can I at least get fucking dressed, eh?’ Tommy asked, causing the man to nod.

‘Tommy, where are they taking you?’ you asked in a haste, tears were running down your face.

‘London I would say. It will be fine Y/N, alright’ Tommy said caressing your face and kissing you before putting on his shoes and shirt.

‘This is wrong, he didn’t do this’ you said, trying to argue with the officers.

‘Mam, please let us do our job’ they said before Tommy told you to calm down.

He assured you that he would be fine and he will be back to see you.

He gave you a last kiss before the police officers pulled him away from you and you broke out in tears again.

There was nothing you could do and there was nothing he could do other than willingly surrender.

[lovinga3characters]

My, I do be loving all these fictional characters and the things you write for them :3c (the ABO hc clotheslined me but I've never felt better) I hope it's not too weird to ask but would you mind to write something about what would the Autumn troupe be like if they ever bottomed for their partner? Thanks in advance if you decide to do

Fuck YESSSSSS! 🙏👏🙌 I just want you to know that I was so hype when I saw this is my inbox!! Thank you for your support on my A/B/O Headcanons, here’s that Bottom Autumn shit you’ve been waiting for! 😝

Warnings: EXTREMELY FILTHY NSFW, penetration/pegging, kinks, hot boys

(I’ll be making these as in what they think about it, what goes down, and what follows after 😏)

Bottom Autumn 🍁 Headcanons

Banri 🍂

Just a warning: he’s going to immediately refuse your suggestion, no way ANYONE or ANYTHING is going near his ass 😤

Then he thinks about it... and he thinks about it... until the idea just doesn’t leave his mind

The two of you have fooled around early on in your relationship (or maybe even before), so Banri’s experimented with quite a few kinks

Each time sparked a new curiosity in himself and this time was no different, and he also saw it as a challenge, he could totally take it!

And so Banri secretly prepares a big surprise for you, his butt himself 😙

Step 1: he has to practice the game, which shouldn’t be too hard since he’s pretty much perfect at everything

The first time he tried to finger/put a toy in himself, Banri’s face was extremely red and his body was flaring with heat, it was sorta uncomfortable

“This is... hng... not that bad but I don’t see how- ohhh... shit- shit!”

Obviously, he gets into a good rhythm quickly and, as he gets closer to cumming, he finds it harder and harder to stop himself from sinking into his bedsheets

Step 2: master the game, which basically means he continued to masturbate like that for a while, somewhat enjoying struggle to keep his voice down every time

Because he’s just so fucking perfect, he can take a lot with some practice, eventually learning how to ride on a toy just fine

Though the original goal was to get used to it so that way when you did it, the feeling wouldn’t affect him, Banri hates to admit that the restlessness of wanting you doesn’t leave

Step 3: play the game, it’s show time 🤩

He’s grinning really wide when he makes you lay on top of the bed, that’s immediately suspicious

“Relax, sugar, and you can watch me feel good, just like you wanted... ahahh!”

Your jaw dropped as you watched him take off his underwear and hop onto your lap, reaching behind his back to grab a bottle of lube (where did that even come from-?!)

His smug expression at your aroused shock faltered as he sunk down onto the member, a bright flush returning to his face and chest

It felt different to Banri... maybe it was the fact that you were there, he tried not to think about it as he started moving

Okay, a big miscalculation on his part was your movement, any time you bucked your hips up he had to grit his teeth in order to not make a loud noise

You noticed and tried to lift yourself higher, harder, Banri visible shivered, glaring at you with hazy eyes, those eyes that either said “Don’t you dare” or “I dare you” 👀

So, you pushed him over, grunting with effort, and managed to move forward inside of him even more

Banri protested, of course, despite the long whine that was brought out when you ground against that same hot spot he liked

What truly gets him is when if you grab his hair while fucking him, Banri loves feeling the tugs in time with your trusts

“Ughn- yeah! Fuck... harder, do me harder... shut up! I’m ah- hah... saying this for your benefit-!”

He demands that you be rougher with him, saying that he could handle anything you did to him, no matter what

Banri’s moans are quieter than expected but it’s still fairly loud, he gets really riled up the faster you go

By the time he cums, he’s gasping and he actually moans when he releases, you’ve only ever heard him growl out an orgasm

If you want to piss him off (if you can), cum inside him, it turns him on and he hates it 🙂

Banri recovers quickly so even after you’ve banged him into the mattress, he’ll be fine, much to your frustration (note to self: go harder next time)

“Hahh... ‘m fine, just don’t think I’ll always let you top me, babe! F-Fuck... wanna go again?”

Fav positions: reverse cowgirl (he likes to ride you/be in control and getting his hair pulled so it’s a win-win), doggy style (similar reasons, he also gets a little insecure when you look at his face too much), and pinball wizard (Banri likes to do this position to you a lot so why not reverse it, also you can tie his hands behind him 😇)

Juza 🍰

He stares blankly at you for a couple of seconds, looks down, looks back up at you, then he wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion, as if asking “how?” 😶

But for real, Juza doesn’t understand how you’re going to manage that, he’s just really... big

You quickly reassure him that you can manage, and you begin explaining the process, and what you want to do, he goes really red with shock and embarrassment

He doesn’t disagree though, just shifts awkwardly in place before replying

“Would that... really feel good? Cause if you wanna, I don’t mind but... I dunno how- I’ve never uh-“

The actual idea doesn’t put him off surprisingly, he just cannot grasp the concept

Luckily you’re more than happy to demonstrate 🤗

Even though the two of you have been dating for quite a long time, although it was balanced who started the sexy times, it was always you who initiated anything kinky

After taking a bath, you instructed him to lay down on his stomach and he gulped as he slid off his undergarments

Smirking slightly, you reassured him that you would be gentle as you patted his butt, Juza only snorted in amusement

He flinched at how cold the lube was as you rubbed your finger over his entrance, he was as tight as you expected

You couldn’t see his face but by the time you worked two fingers, the back of his neck and ears were flushed and his breathing was staggered

Juza gasps when you decide to push a little harder, adding another to make him stretch, the action makes him jump

It’s pretty sexy to watch him squirm and his back muscles flex with effort to hold still, though he doesn’t make much noise

“Hmm... enough, ya don’t hafta mhg- be so careful. Just go already.”

As you pull out your fingers out, his body bucks backwards, then freezes, obviously not intending to do that

You go in slowly (after adding more lube, of course), and you heard him grunt as he grit his teeth together

Despite his insistence that it doesn’t hurt him, you still go gently, which he secretly appreciates upon feeling how burning it is 😅

Juza’s a pretty strong guy, so even having something up his ass doesn’t fold him completely

... Except for one thing, when you steady yourself by grabbing the back of his neck

It makes him feel breathless, especially when you start fucking him harder, squeezing the sensitive spot, his shoulders visibly shuddering

Once you get into a rhythm, Juza’s practically panting into his arm/pillow, eyes squeezing shut in flusteredness when a quiet moan escapes

“... Ghnn- hah! Hhhmn- fuck- my head’s feelin’ all... fuzzyyy...”

He’s starting to think that doing this kind of thing was harder then fighting people because the longer it goes on, the less he can handle the heat-

If you dirty talk or praise him, it doesn’t help 😉

You’re not really in the position to touch his cock, so he’s settled for rubbing it against his bedsheets, an action that gets increasingly desperate as he reaches closer to the edge

Juza’s moan just tumbles out of him when he cums, it’s deep and quick, he covered it at the last second by biting his hand 👌

He’s sweaty and a strange, warm sense of relief fills his chest as you pull out of him and kiss were you left small bruises

You’ll probably have to wipe him down because Juza can’t even look at you without getting frazzled... and just a little bit turned on again

“Th-Thanks... mmmm... it felt- well, it’s really good. I liked it, so... if you wanna, I’m tough so I can handle more...”

Fav positions: doggy style (particularly when he’s fully lying on his stomach, with either you grabbing his neck or putting his hands behind his back), scoop me up (you’re basically spooning him while being inside him, bonus access to your body heat and to biting his neck), and the chairmen (it’s less stressful than riding and you can touch Juza’s boobs pecs, much to his grumpy annoyance)

Taichi 🐶

You better not catch him while he’s drinking something because Taichi will have the most genuine spit-take you’ll ever see in your life

His jaw drops and he’ll whip around from what he’s doing to look at you like you’ve just stripped naked in public 😳

You want to what?! With his what?! That’s way too kinky for him and he’s never even done that- don’t you need to prepare a lot for stuff l-like that?!

“I mean, I wanna make you happy in that way too but- but- but that’s really a lot!”

He calms down after a while when you tell him that he really doesn’t have to if he’s so opposed to it, it’s just something you’ve thought about

Taichi doesn’t want to disappoint you, so if you explain exactly what you want to do, he’ll warm up to the idea (literally and figuratively)

The two of you have been dating for a long time now and though he does have some fetishes, Taichi is more of a giver by nature and gets embarrassed when you do things to him

Later, you ask him to lay back on the bed and spread his legs, he obeys after some hesitation, almost immediately covering his face with a pillow despite your coaxing

No matter, you’ll make him show his face soon enough anyway 😉

You slowly pulled down his undergarments, rubbing his stomach and thighs in reassurance when Taichi flinches

By the time you actually got to the prepping part, Taichi’s already pretty hard because you decided to stroke him at the same time so he doesn’t feel that much pain

To no ones’ surprise, he’s sensitive, his hips jumping up unintentionally as you move your fingers inside him with lube

His hole squeezes around your digits and you have to roughly wiggle to get anywhere, much to Taichi’s protests, who was already struggling to maintain composure as it is

When you finally get three in, his body was chasing yours, already close to cumming despite the painful sensation

It honestly looked like his face was going to explode based on how red and sweaty it was, breathing like he was running a marathon

“Ah- HAH! Don’t pull it out so suddenly... I-I can take more! Ngh... please?”

His face looked so cute, his eyes pleading, but the way his toned body arched against yours was undeniably sexy 😍

You tell him as much as you enter inside, slowly of course, and Taichi let’s out a high-pitched squeak in shock

His arms wrap around your shoulders/back, as if to ground him against the foreign sensation while the rest of him wanted to fly away

Giving him praise along with sweet nothings and dirty promises is really important, it arouses him but it also distracts him from the uncomfortable moments

Taichi whines and squeezes you tightly when you thrust more, pulling in and out of his ass carefully as he tried (and failed) to hold in his cries

By the time he’s close to finishing, Taichi is so loud and he is jumping up to meet your member in time while it hits that sweet spot inside

“Yes- yes- YES! More... oh g-goddd babe, please more- AH! IT’S SO GOOD...!”

This man wails and begs you to keep going, he’s really feeling hot now and encourages you with desperate pleas and breathless praise

Taichi’s nails might dig into your shoulders or create marks on your back (not that you really mind), a new kind of bright red on your skin that he’s never given you

Your hand could’ve stroked his wet cock, just a little, and he would’ve been a goner, cumming with a deafening yelp

Panting, Taichi is boneless against the bed, looking like he’s having an out-of-body experience, only reacting when you started to wipe the drool that leaked onto his chin from his lips

Please give kisses and aftercare thank you, he’s a good boy 🐶

He’s voice his hoarse but giggly as he keeps his body wrapped close to yours, dazed from his intense orgasm

“Heh-heheheh... ah- that was awesome! Felt really hot, I can’t wait to have more~! I-I can, right?”

Fav positions: missionary (the classic, this works because you can see his face and he can cling to you easily), the om (it’s extremely intimate which Taichi likes, it’s also easier to ride), and show and tell (basically means touching yourself while really close to your partner, he does this as a top but it’s fascinating to watch him do it with his butt, gets puppy embarrassed)

Omi 🐺

He’s surprised, that’s for sure, but not as surprised as you are when you find out that he’s... actually tried it before 😱?!

Omi blushes and says that when he was a part of his motorcycle gang, sometimes his buddies would offer some... different kinds of riding as a form of stress relief

He’s quick to say that it’s all in the past and he didn’t even do it that often anyways...

You’d have to stay firm in your convictions in order for him to agree, as it’s just slightly humiliating for him-

“Well, uh, if my baby is sure of what they want, I wouldn’t mind trying something new tonight.”

But, of course, Omi eventually agrees 😈

After preparing the proper supplies (with him double checking out of caution), you laid back onto the bed per his request as he straddled himself on top of you

He was already fully undressed, and the daring position allowed you to gawk at his sexy, muscled body in all of its glory, your hand instinctively reaching up to brush against his face in reassurance

Omi leaned into your touch, only pulling away to grab the bottle of lube to lace it onto his own fingers

You watched in awe as he leaned back with one hand, and fingered himself slowly with the other

He grunted with effort, clearly uncomfortable and not quite used to the stretch but continuing none the less, for your own benefit, he assured himself

Determined to not let you down, Omi pushed another inside, his strong fingers having no trouble doing so, though his eyes closed shut at the pain

You took some pity on the poor man and made a move for his cock, which was barely half-hard, making your lover take a sharp breath as you stroked it

With your combined determination, Omi eventually relaxed considerably, moving three fingers and groaning your name as you teased his arousal

“Are... you having fun down there? I- mmgh- I feel like I’m not quite reaching something. Let’s get to it...!”

He sat up completely and sighed as he slipped his digits out, Omi bit his lip as you lifted your member up to his hole

Swiftly but careful, your boyfriend sunk his body down, legs spread open, hands resting on your chest momentarily (nearly crushing you in the process)

After a few minutes, you pat his butt as if he was a horse that needed to ‘giddyup’, making him laugh as his eyes glittered seductively 😋

Omi then proceeded to fuck himself rather ungentlemanly, his own dick slapping harshly against his abs at every bounce

At first for Omi, it didn’t feel that different from his hand, just the thickness made him slightly more sensitive

He leaned back a little bit to adjust, and suddenly his nerves were electrocuted with pleasure, you were reaching deeper than he could on his own and-

“Ohhhh- hah... ugh, right there. I found it just- god this is a lot to- HHn- process...!”

Omi’s body was dripping with sweat as his face and neck flushed red, gruff moans and pants stumbling out of his open mouth

It’s probably best to use your hands to help out his now very hard cock, it looked as ready to burst as the rest of his body did

His thick, scratched thighs shook heavily as he slammed his ass on top of you over and over again upon nearing his climax

Omi is praising your own dazed expression as he grits his teeth to contain the sounds of his orgasm, only throaty growls escaping

While he pants and returns to his senses, you can only stare and gulp at the dripping cum on his pecs and his honeyed expression

He speaks as he leans down for a kiss, finally arising from your lap-

“You made me feel so hot, like a wildfire... mmm- spreading. Hrmph... thanks. For next time, did you want to touch me more~?”

Fav positions: cowgirl (is used to this pace the most and it’s a bonus for you cause it’s nice to watch 😉), CAT position (aka. the Coital Alignment Technique, its close and intimate, which he likes), and the stickman (basically you bend him over a sofa or table with his hands on his thighs, perfect for the kitchen, also easy to get rough with)

Sakyo 💴

You honestly thought you were going to fucking die on the spot from the sheer iciness of the glare Sakyo gave you

Like, you wish to top him, but are willing to fight him to the death for it? Because that’s the only way he’s budging 😠

The thought honestly makes him so embarrassed he wants to die

The embarrassment only increases if you threaten suggest to complain to Sakoda about it

That guy’s already way too involved in his love life, he doesn’t need to be involved in THAT kind of thing too-

“... I’ll consider it. That is all you’re getting from me... don’t you dare tell anyone. And stop looking so happy!”

Later in the week, Sakyo is searching online for... certain products and tells himself that if they have a discount, he’ll let you do it

... Of course, the oNE TIME- guess he has no choice now 😑

More time had past and just when you thought that it was a pointless endeavor, one night on his day off, Sakyo dragged you into the bedroom

He stared at you intensely from on top of the bed as he shook off his jacket and belt before tossing you a small box

You choked on your own spit as your jaw dropped... what the box contained was... a vibrating dildo 😩

Sakyo rolled his eyes and told you pointedly that you were going to use that on him, and if he didn’t like it, there would be no continuation, understood?

With a “yes, sir” and a heavy blush, you agreed, tackle kissing him against the sheets

By the time you poured the amount of lube he considered ‘safe’ and shoved the toy inside him, Sakyo was already halfway to being breathless, not expecting the sensation to be so painful (or so pleasurable)

He covered his face with his arms but even you could see he was flushed, biting his lip to not let you hear him make a sound

Unfortunately, you get into a steady rhythm, practically forcing his mouth to open even before you turn the vibe on all the way

Sakyo’s legs shake as his ass feels like it’s getting violated, unable to control the heat the spreads quickly up his spine and dick

“Urgh- enough! J-Just move mmn-! Move on alre-adyyy...!”

He snaps at you, refusing to make eye contact, even as you put his leg upwards to get a better angle

Your lover is trying so hard not to lose it, hiding and masking his mouth with his hands, eyes squeezing shut because jesus- nothing’s ever felt like this before-

It makes him feel all vulnerable, like you’re prodding at something more than just sexually, so feel free to lean down and kiss-mark his neck, it grounds Sakyo a little

Obviously, you want to see him melt completely, so you flip him onto his back, much to his shock

This encourages you to thrust even harder, his gasps and pulsing cock edging you on further 🤫

Sakyo isn’t loud per say, but he isn’t quiet either, only able to pant and convulse in a desperate attempt to pull himself together

“God damnit- hah! Don’t think I’ll just lay here and take it... Mmhmm... ohh fuuuuh... pleassse- argh-!”

He’ll play a bit coy, giving you a look that, especially without his glasses, makes him look like a smirking, devilish angel

... Sakyo almost regrets it, as he immediately goes back to being a sweaty mess when you smirk back on return

He’ll never admit it but the whole back and forth was sort of fun/sexy in way he thought an ‘old man’ like him shouldn’t be able to experience

With one final push that lifts his hips off the bed, he orgasms, silently screaming as he feels the sweet release wash over his aching body

Bruises on his hips, hickeys on his neck, drooling and sweaty, you know as soon as his senses come back down from the afterglow, Sakyo will tiredly lecture you

“Geez... that wasted a lot of energy, you shouldn’t have- hhn! ... Th-Thank you for making me feel good, dear. Don’t go crazy without my permission next time though.”

Fav positions: the sidewind (it gives you the best control, which he secretly enjoys but it embarrasses him), eagle position (it’s simple and makes him flustered and feel good, again, can be used softly), and the chair (a position that’s meant to tease you once Sakyo gets used to it, literally sits on your lap)

[noladyme]

My Only Sunshine - Chapter 7

Liv is as human as they come – faults and all. After a dark experience in her past, she is determined to live life on her own terms, and never let anyone claim her as theirs again. This becomes an issue, when she meets a 1000-yearold vampire, who is dead-set on claiming her as his own.

CHAPTER 6

The first blow to my face, as Thomas tried to wake me up from my drug induced state, was so hard that I immediately came too. He wanted me awake for what he had planned.

“There she is”, he smiled. “This isn’t exactly how I’d imagined this going; but beggars can’t be choosers… Here, look this way…”. He held up his camera, to take a picture of us together. My body felt limp, and my head fell to his shoulder. “Thomas, please…”, I croaked. He snapped the photo, just as I said please; and turned the camera around, so I could see myself on the small screen. “Look, such a pretty smile”. His voice was breathy, as he leaned in to put his lips to my temple.

I tilted my head to avoid the gesture, when Thomas grabbed a hold of my hair to hold me in place. I was shaking from fear, on top of whatever drug he had given me. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know there’s something here”, Thomas said. “No. I don’t want this…”. He struck me across the face, and I felt a trickle of blood run into my eye from my eyebrow. For a moment, Thomas’ expression softened, as if he was surprised by his own action. Then he got on his feet, and began pacing the ground before me.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”, he growled. “Here, I’ve been the perfect gentleman, doing the right thing, asking you on dates, and keeping other men away from you; so you’d understand, that you belong to me…”. I used what little strength I had to crawl backwards. In the distance, I saw the back door to the club; almost in a fog. I just had to make it there, get someone’s attention; and I’d be saved. “Help… me!”, I croaked, as loudly as I could.

I felt a sharp pain in my side, as Thomas kicked me in the ribs. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”. He kneeled next to me, and hit me again. Blow after blow struck every inch of my body he could reach; as I tried in vain to cover myself. I knew this was it – I was going to get raped, and killed. I couldn’t move; the sobs escaping me were so weak, that I knew I couldn’t even speak, let alone scream. Thomas produced a small knife from his pocket, and began slicing at my meager clothing. As he went to cut up my sequined bra, he cut a gash into my breast, making me groan in pain. “This is all you’re good for, anyway. Lie back and take it. You’re mine…”. He began tugging at his belt, to open it, and forced his knee between my legs.

The was a sudden gush of wind, and Thomas flew across the alley; landing on the ground, out cold. Standing over me, was a young man, with intense and curious eyes. He was pale, and as his lips parted, I saw his fangs. “You…”, I rasped, still unable to speak properly. “He will not harm you anymore”, the man said. “But you are bleeding heavily, and the strikes he has dealt are severe”. “I… don’t want to die”, I whispered. He knelt next to me. “What is your name, woman?”. “Liv…”. A smile ghosted his face. “And so you shall… I can heal you, and make this man leave you alone”. He placed a hand on my cheek. “But I would like something in return”. “What?”, I asked. “I would like to taste your blood… Only a little. Just to remember different days”.

It was beginning to be difficult to breathe, and I knew the vampire – which I now understood he was – was right. “Who are you?”, I asked. “My name is Godric”, he replied. “But once this is over, you will forget it; and meeting me… None the less, I would like your consent”. I swallowed painfully, and tasted blood. “Alright”, I croaked. “Yes… Please just make this stop… make him go away”.

Godric nodded with a smile, and got back on his feet, walking over to where Thomas was laying. He was coming too, as Godric raised him by the neck. “Don’t… You have no idea who the fuck you’re messing with!”, Thomas croaked. “I think I have an idea… But it doesn’t matter”, Godric said, and stared deeply into Thomas’ eyes. “You will leave this woman be. You’ve never met her, and have no wish to go after her. You were never here. Walk away, and forget”. He let go of Thomas, who stumbled backwards – dazed. He turned around, and walked out of the alley.

Coming back to kneel by me, Godric gently put his arm around my back, to lift me into a seated position. The movement was painful beyond belief, and I almost passed out. Bracing myself for more pain, as Godric lowered his head to me, for what I thought was a bite; I was surprised, when he pressed his lips to my chest, sucking from the wound there. His skin was cold, and sent a shiver through my body. He made no sounds as he fed from me; his lips and hands didn’t travel anywhere. He simply drank. After a moment, he lifted his head, and I thought he was about cry, from his expression. “As it was…”, he breathed; before meeting my eyes. “Thank you”. He bit into his wrist, and put it to my lips. I felt the taste of my own blood mixed with something different – something cold and dark, but none the less lifegiving. I closed my eyes, and felt pain leave my body. After a final swallow of his blood, Godric moved his wrist away from my mouth; and I let out an exhausted breath. I could feel myself healing, and getting stronger by the second.

Opening my eyes again, they met Godrics. They were like deep voids into nothingness; and yet piercing at the same time. “You will go home and forget. Burn your clothes. This never happened”. I frowned. “I don’t understand…”. Godric looked confused for a second. “We have never met…”. “But you saved my life!”.

Godric let go of me, and got on his feet in a fluid movement. I got up myself, though with less elegance. “Forget me. Forget what happened!”, he hissed. I shook my head in confusion. Godric clenched his jaw, his expression a mix of fear and intrigue. “You are… It’s not possible!”. “What? What’s wrong?”, I asked. He stepped towards me again, and smiled in wonder. “I cannot glamour you”, he said. Someone laughed in the distance, and I saw that the backdoor to the club was slightly agape. Godric grabbed my arm, and looked intently at me. “Leave this place. Disappear. Do not ever tell anyone what happened here. Will you promise me?”. “Yes… of course”, I croaked. Another gust of wind, and Godric was gone.

Slipping back into the club, I grabbed my belongings; before leaving – never to return.

---

“Miss Sunday…? Liv!”. Erics voice pulled me out of my daze. His hand was on my shoulder, and he was hunched to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, master”, I said. “You don’t remember, do you…?”. Both Eric and Isabel looked at me intently. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. “I…”, I croaked. My mind raced. “Eric, I think miss Sunday had one too many drinks back at the suite”, Pam said sharply. Eric gave her a hard look. “Maybe she’d like to get some fresh air…”. “Akta henne”, Eric muttered. He reluctantly let go of my shoulder; and Pam led me towards a large glass door, leading to a large terrasse. The area was empty of people.

“Thanks…”, I said. “Whatever”, Pam muttered. “You looked like you were about to be sick; and I didn’t want that shit near my new pumps”. I looked down at the shoes in question; and internally agreed with her, that that would indeed be a shame. I searched my purse for my cigarettes; thankfully finding both them and a lighter. Putting the cigarette to my lips, I drew in a lung of smoke, hoping it would calm me down. “I can’t tell them I don’t remember…”, I said; looking out over the lights of Dallas. “I can’t lie like that”. “Why not? You’ve been lying about being Erics for days. Lying seems to come naturally to you”. “That’s different”. “Why? Because it’s not a lie?”. She smirked amusedly at me. I took another draw from the smoke. “Because… If I don’t tell the truth, Godric might get executed. And that will hurt Eric”. “And you care about that?”, she asked. I cocked a brow at her. “Are we girlfriends now?”, I smiled challengingly. Pam simply rolled her eyes.

“It won’t matter what you say. Godric is guilty until proven innocent. And one human’s testimony won’t count as evidence enough”. She nabbed my cigarette, and took a draw from it – surprising me. “They’re just putting you on the stand as a matter of process”. “Why is it illegal to feed from a human in dry states? If the human is willing…”, I said. “It’s not illegal to feed, technically. It’s illegal to bite”. Pam handed me back the cigarette. “What?”, I frowned. She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a good idea to read up on this shit, before you visit a somewhere new as a vampire… I have a bucket list for states I haven’t fed in yet. So far, I’m missing Illinois, North Dakota, Florida, Idaho and Alaska”. The thought of Pam roadtripping through the states to check of her list, made me quite uncomfortable. “So, you’re telling me that what Godric did wasn’t illegal?”, I asked. “He fed from you…”, Pam said. “But he didn’t bite me”, I retorted. Her eyes narrowed.

“And you remember that, how; exactly?”. Rose’s sudden appearance caught me off guard, and I coughed out a lungful of smoke. Rose nodded towards Pam. “Pamela…”. “Rose…”. Pam looked less than delighted to greet the other vampire. “You’re not fixing to throw our only witness off the roof, to help your grandsire; are you?”. Pam looked out the corner of her eye at me. “Can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind…”. Rose laughed heartily. “I’d have to kill you if you did”, she said, and looked at me. “No, we need this one. I for one, am going to make sure that she stays alive until the end of the trial”. “That makes me feel so much safer”, I grunted; and immediately regretted my words, from the look both vampires gave me.

Eric and Carl joined us on the terrasse; and though I hated his stupid vampire guts at the moment, I was happy to see the Viking. “Is there a problem here, ladies?”, Carl asked. Eric came to stand by me; taking a halfway protective stance in front of me. “Your human is mouthy…”, Rose said. “She forgets her place”. “Which is, of course, on her knees, baring her neck for you”, Carl said. “We know, Rose… Mainstreaming is wrong”. Rose smirked venomously at him. “Well, I see you’ve chosen a side”, she said. “Where is your beloved human, by the way…? Javier, isn’t it?”. Carl didn’t say anything, but I could tell Rose had struck a nerve.

Rose turned to Eric. “And you, Northman? We all know where you stand…”. “I stand on the side of Godric… that’s no secret”, Eric replied. “If you weren’t still attached to him, I dare say you’d be on our side; wouldn’t you…”. It was more a statement, than a question. “I don’t know…”, Eric smiled. “Mainstreaming has treated us well in Area 5”. Pam joined him in smiling. “So, you’re fine with your human being disrespectful to a fellow sheriff?”, Rose sneered.

Eric turned to face me. “Apologize to sheriff Pence”. His eyes were serious, warning me. “Of course, master”, I smiled. “My deepest apologies, sheriff. I’ll remember my place, from now on”. Rose didn’t seem convinced, but none the less nodded at me in response. “You seem different than the humans Northman usually brings to conventions”, she said. “They normally know how to behave, before they arrive”. “She’s new to our ways. Still learning”, Eric said. “I can tell”, Rose said. “Careful, human”. “Yes, sheriff Pence. My deepest regrets”, I smiled, finding it hard to let the gesture reach my eyes. “Leave the poor girl alone, Rose”, Carl said exasperatedly. Rose gave him a cold glare. “I have opening arguments to prepare”, Rose said, and left the terrasse. “Pence… any relation?”, I asked after they left. “Might be. He seems kind of anemic”, Pam smirked.

“Ow! Fuck…”. I shook my hand. The cigarette had burnt down to the butt; and scorched my fingertips in the process. Eric looked angrily at me. “I thought I told you how I feel about you smoking!”. Rage seeped through every pore of me. “I’m so very sorry, master. Please forgive me for my misdeeds!”, I mock-pleaded. Eric towered over me, staring me down. “This is another one of those situations I’m too uncomfortable with to watch”, Pam said. “I second that”, Carl muttered; and the two vampires left us to it.

Eric grabbed my arm. “What was that?”, he asked. “I’m not sure what you mean, master”, I replied quietly. “Why are you behaving like this?”. I looked down. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend you. Do you wish to feed? Unless my just smoking has tainted the taste of my blood, of course”. I tilted my neck, to invite him into biting me. “You’re not being yourself”, Eric said. “I am just trying to do the job you expect me to”, I said, an edge to my voice. “If you don’t want to feed from me, maybe you’d prefer to have sex? I’m sure we could find a corner somewhere before the trial…”.

Suddenly, my back was against the wall, and Eric was pinning my wrists down beside me, and pushing his knee in between my thighs. “If I wanted to, I’d have you screaming my name in pleasure within seconds”, he hissed. My breath caught in my throat. “Are you expecting me to go along with that, because you’re paying me?”, I challenged. From his expression, I’d caught him of guard, and he didn’t know how to reply. “Let me go, Sheriff Northman”, I said coldly. He immediately did as I asked, and stepped back.

Erics eyes hit the ground in front of me. “The magister is going to ask you, what happened between you and Godric”, he said. “He didn’t do anything illegal. He never bit me”, I said. “You can’t remember that”. “Yes, I can, goddammit!”, I cried out. “No, you can’t!”, he bellowed. “Godric glamoured you. You have no memory of that night”. I threw up my hands in frustration. “I can help!”. Eric simply shook his head. “Godric doesn’t want you too help. Neither do I”. He began walking towards the door. “That’s bullshit”, I croaked. “You love him… want to keep him alive. Did he command you to ask me to lie?”. Eric looked over his shoulder at me, but didn’t respond. “He did; didn’t he…? Why?”. “To keep you alive… he knows the hurt it would cause, if…”. He didn’t finish. “For whom?”, I croaked. “I don’t matter to anyone here, anyway…”.

I didn’t get a reply. Eric simply walked over to the door, and opened it; gesturing for me to follow him inside.

---

After being told to sit on a chair near the center of the room, I regretted having played dress up with Pam again. Every vampire present looked at me, as if I was a meal just waiting to be had. I was the only one in the room who was sitting, save for the magister; who’d taken his place on a throne-like chair, about ten feet away from me, facing in my direction. All other humans had been sent away, leaving me alone with the vampires. Eric and Pam stood as near to me, as they were able to, without crossing some invisible line, set up by some of the guards surrounding me. Rose had been right; they wanted me alive, at least for the duration of the trial.

Godric was led into the room, with silver chains around his wrists. His face didn’t give away any kind of pain or emotion; but it seemed Eric felt it all on his behalf from his pained expression. Pam gave him a short pat on the arm. When he caught my gaze, Godric smiled softly, and nodded. He was content to face whatever he had coming.

Eric had been truthful about the briefness of vampire trials. Opening arguments on both sides took very few minutes; as if everyone knew that the verdict had already been made. Isabel spoke as best she could about Godrics good deeds as sheriff, and how he had always followed the Authority’s laws, along with human ones, after the great reveal. Rose enthused about how Godric had broken these same laws, by biting a human in a dry state. She was a good politician, I had to admit; as she managed to speak about how important it was to uphold these same human laws, while still making her stance clear on how she felt vampire and human relations should be. I was almost dizzy at the end of both vampires speaking, and realized I hadn’t blinked in a long while; when a tear escaped my eye.

“Thank you, sheriff. Thank you, deputy”, the magister said unenthused. “Miss Sunday… are you feeling too emotional to testify?”. He’d turned his face to look at me, catching me off guard. “No, magister… I just forgot to blink”, I said. The magister laughed overbearingly. “Humans…”, he said, holding out a nonchalant hand. A murmur of laughter went through the room. Eric was tensing up, and once again, Pam put a hand on his arm; seemingly holding him back. “Are you ready to give testimony?”. I swallowed hard. “Can I ask a question first?”, I said. The magister narrowed his eyes at me. “You can try…”. I took a deep breath. “It doesn’t really matter what I say; you’ve already decided sheriff Godric is guilty”. “That’s not a question”, the magister said. “I guess not…”, I muttered. “What will happen, if you find Godric guilty?”.

The magister leaned back in his chair, and turned his cane in his hands. “Godric is old enough to know better. If we find that he’s broken the law, he’ll have to face the consequences”. “True death”, I said. “Yes”. The answer came promptly, and sent shivers down my spine – and not the good kind. I sat up straighter in my chair. “Now I’d like to get to your testimony… If that’s all right with you, of course”. It wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t, I knew; so, I simply nodded.

“A year ago, you were a dancer, at a human nightclub; called Sugar and Spices – is that correct?”. “Sugar and Spice. Yes”, I said. A cold smile ghosted the magisters face. “And on your last evening of that job, you met sheriff Godric”. “I did, yes”. The answer to that question should be safe enough, I figured. “Now, on the picture shown last night – at the event you attended with sheriff Northman – Godric was shown feeding from you”. “Is that a question?”, I said. Eric frowned at me, and I sighed. “Yes… the picture shows, he fed from me”. “Do you remember the picture being taken?”. “No”. That was the truth. I hadn’t been aware.

Rose stepped forwards again. “Magister. Whether or not this human remembers being fed on, doesn’t matter. The picture is proof that it happened. And it happened in a dry state”. The magister nodded. “According to human law, biting is prohibited in California”, he said. “If this picture is indeed not fabricated, Godric put our community in danger, by disobeying that law”. “And where is the proof that it is not?”, Isabel chimed in. “Are you claiming a photo-shop defense, Isabel?”, Rose chuckled.

“Here’s your proof!”. Stan barged through the room, with Thomas in tow. I felt myself shrink in my seat; and looked towards Eric for some kind of support; though I knew he couldn’t give any at the moment. I wasn’t even sure he wanted to. “Who is this, Stan?”, the magister said. “This is Thomas Porter. The photographer who took the picture”, Stan said. “Stan, you can’t bring in another witness all of a sudden!”, Isabel growled. The magister lifted a hand to halt her. “I want to hear this!”.

Stan led Thomas forwards, leaving him to stand next to where I was seated. I felt cold all over. “I was at Sugar and Spice that night; taking pictures for my piece”, Thomas said. “I followed this woman outside, to take a photograph of her winding down after the show. I went a little way off to catch the angle I wanted, when I saw this vampire attack her”. He gestured towards Godric. “That’s bullshit!”, I roared; real tears escaping my eyes now. “You’re sick, you know that?”. Thomas sighed, and smiled softly at me. “I think you’re confused, miss…”. I was shaking in my seat, and looked up at the magister. “That’s not what happened… Thomas Porter attacked me! Godric saved me…”. Godric sighed; a strange gesture from the ancient vampire. “That’s ridiculous!”, Thomas guffawed. “I just took some pictures of you”.

“Order in the court!”, the magister said. “Miss Sunday, whether this man attacked you or not, is for your own human authorities to handle. I’m focused on sheriff Godric’s crimes… Now, Mr. Porter; did this vampire notice you taking his picture?”. “I don’t believe he did…”, Thomas said. “He doesn’t remember! Godric glamoured him”, I said. It was the only viable explanation for Thomas’ forgetting. These vampires didn’t care what he did to me, so he didn’t need to defend his own actions towards me to them. All he knew, was that he had taken photographs of me. That was what he had meant, when he said he hadn’t forgotten about me. “Well, at least he did one thing right; if what you say is in fact what happened”, the magister said. Rose shook her head frustratedly. “Magister, please!”, she said. “No matter what passed between these humans, fact still remains. Godric bit, and fed on this woman! He cannot be chosen for another term as sheriff; and more importantly, he must be punished!”. “Miss Sunday just told you…”, Isabel began. “Godric glamoured her, obviously”, Rose said. “Made her believe another human had attacked her, and not him”.

The magister looked towards Godric. “Is this true? Did you glamour this woman?”. Godric looked at me solemnly. “I used my glamour on her, yes…”, he said; not lying. He had tried. “See? He even admits it!”, Rose said gleefully. “He is guilty!”. The magister nodded. “It seems he is”. A murmur arose, as vampires on both sides either rejoiced over Godric’s presumed guilt, or wanted to find a different explanation.

Not one of the vampires in the room cared about what had happened to me that night. Even though I’d told them, what Thomas did to me, and that Godric had saved me, it wouldn’t make a difference to his sentence. But lying about remembering; standing by, as someone claimed that Godric had broken the law, which would get him executed – I couldn’t do that. Even if it was because he’d wanted my blood, he had saved me.

“Godric fed from me, from a wound on my chest. He didn’t bite me”, I said, breaking through the sounds of the muttering crowd. The room went silent again. I looked around the room; and saw that all eyes were on me. “He didn’t break the law…”. “He glamoured you to forget, my dear”, the magister said. “No… No, he didn’t…”, I said. Eric shook his head at me; willing me with his eyes not to go further. “How would you know?”. I took a deep breath, and braced myself. “I-i… can’t be glamoured”. The magisters eyes widened, and he got up to stand. “Sheriff Northman, is this true?”, he demanded. “Sheriff Northman didn’t know”, I said, lying through my teeth for the first time during my testimony. Eric parted his lips, and I saw his chest heave from a silent gasp.

The magister walked towards me slowly. “You have witnessed the entire sheriffs’ convention, including this trial; without anyone succeeding in glamouring you?”. “Yes”, I whispered. In the blink of an eye, the magister was stood in front of me, having raised me to my feet by my shoulders. He looked deeply into my eyes, showing me the void in them I’d seen in other vampires when they tried to glamour me. He willed me to listen, and obey. “Miss Sunday… Liv. Let me feed on you…”. “No…”, I said quietly. He frowned deeply. “You’re going to tilt your head now, and let me feed on you!”. My heart was racing, and I was sure – for the second time in my life – that I was about to die; but I couldn’t give in to fear. “I’m not doing that”.

The magister stared at me for a long moment, before stepping back from me. “It seems the most reliable witness to this supposed crime, is in fact this young woman. She cannot be glamoured, and doesn’t win anything from protecting sheriff Godric”. He went back to sit on his chair. I let out a sigh of relief; unsure what I relieved about, really. I’d reacted too soon. “This is bullshit! Can’t be glamoured? You can’t take her word for it…”, Stan roared. “I’m not taking her word for it. I just tried glamouring her myself”, the magister said calmly. Stan exposed his fangs. “Put those away, Stanley”. “Fuck that!”, the cowboy-vampire snarled.

In an instant, Stan was on me; having thrown me to the floor. I was too shocked to scream, and wouldn’t have been able to, even if I wasn’t; because Stan was squeezing my throat with his large hand. Eric pounced at Stan, and struck him hard in the head. Stan let go of me, and the two of them got in to a full-blown fight. I was shaking, and tried to pull myself away from the tussling vampires. The SWAT-vampires pulled the two of them apart.

“Sheriff Northman, remove this human from the room”, the magister yelled. “Do not let her out of your sight until you are told otherwise”. Eric was next to me within an instant; and more or less carried me out of the room, tucked into his side. Pam gave all the surrounding vampires a wary look, as she walked next to us; ready for a fight. One of the bystanders took a step forward, and Eric bared his fangs at him.

Once we were in the elevator, my knees gave in; and I blacked out.

---

My eyes flickered open, and I found myself in my bed in the suite. Eric was seated at the foot of the bed, with his back to me. “What happened?”, I asked. “You passed out in my arms”, he said, not turning around. “How long was I out?”. “A few hours”, he replied. “Javier has been watching you, while Pam and I attended the sentencing”. “Godric?”, I breathed. “They’re letting him go, on the condition that he doesn’t run for another term”. He got on his feet, while I sat up; and went to sit next to me. “I want to thank you, for what you did… Even if I did ask you to stay out of it”, he said. “You saved Godric’s life. It means more to me, than you can imagine”. I didn’t know how to reply. Saying you’re welcome didn’t really cover what I was feeling about the situation. “Stan?”, I asked quietly. “He’s been sent away, after the scene he made at the trial. He took the human, Thomas, with him”. He snarled the name. “It seems he was using him to take down Godric”.

Eric took my hand, and met my eyes warily. “Why did you tell the magister that I didn’t know?”, he asked. “What good would that have done? They’d have just punished you; and it wasn’t a fact that made any difference to Godric’s situation… or mine, for that matter”. I sighed heavily. “So, what happens now? Am I gonna be the magisters midnight snack?”, I asked. “No… You’ll be watched, to make sure you don’t speak of what you’ve heard or seen these last few nights…”. “But I wouldn’t do that”, I exclaimed. “I’m not suicidal!”. A smile ghosted Erics otherwise serious face. “You could have fooled me, sunshine”, he said. “One thing came from you lying about me knowing… They are punishing me… for being stupid enough to bring someone like you to the conference”. I felt my heart drop. “I’m so sorry, Eric…”, I sighed. He shook his head in response, and intertwined his fingers with mine. “My punishment is that I’m to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t talk”. There was a warmth to his gaze, suddenly. “They’ll want monthly reports on your… situation”. “So, I’m a situation, now…”, I muttered.

I crawled of the bed, and got on my feet; but my knees gave, and Eric caught me against his chest. I was finding it hard not to savor being in his arms again. After a moment of us just standing there, he finally spoke. “What I said… it hurt you. And I'm sorry��, he said. They were strange words coming from his mouth, and I tried not to let them get to me; unsure if I could trust what I was hearing. “You were right… I knew what I was getting myself in to, taking this job… Hadn’t planned on the sex and blood-drinking part; but I should have known…”. Eric stroked my temple with his thumb. “Is that all it was? A job?”. I pulled away from him, and began walking towards the door; my legs not failing me this time. “I thought it wasn’t… But that’s what you said yourself.”, I muttered.

“I was jealous”. I spun around, my jaw dropping. Eric’s expression was earnest, and his arms hung by his side, making him look almost vulnerable. “Excuse me?”, I said. “You don’t get jealous about humans, remember?”. “I do about you". He hunched over a bit, looking at me intently. “You have men and vampires alike wanting you. And even though you’re not mine… or maybe because of that… let’s just say it rubs me the wrong way”. “Bill and Sam are my friends; my good friends… You can’t be jealous of every man that comes within 10 feet of me”, I said. “I’m jealous of the women, too”, he said with a slight smile; taking a few slow but confident steps towards me. “I still want you to be mine”. “Eric…”. I shook my head defeatedly. “You’re right. What you said hurt me. You hurt me… You can’t just feed me your blood to take that pain away”.

His face dropped from mischievous to somber, and he stopped in his tracks; stepping back to give me space. “I understand… I’ll let you rest, before the flight home”. There was clear pain in his voice. “What about your meeting with the Authority, before the sheriffs’ announcements?”, I asked. “Humans don’t take part in that”, he replied. “Your job at this conference is mostly over. I’ll see you home safe; and then you won’t have to see me again”. It was agony to hear him say that. “But… you’ll be watching”, I said. “You don’t want me there�� and I trust you to keep quiet. I’ll make the reports without bothering you anymore”.

He walked towards the door out to the hallway. “Eric…?”, I said. He stopped in his tracks, and spun around to look at me. There was something hopeful in his eyes, and I almost felt guilty for continuing down a different path of conversation, than he seemed to have wanted. “What about Thomas? Will he…?”. “I’ll handle him. Make sure he doesn’t bother you again”, Eric said. “Godric commanded me to not kill him, but there are other ways. I’ll make sure you’re safe”. I looked down at the floor and nodded. “Thank you”. He nodded, and left the room.

I got out of the uncomfortable clothes Pam had Gingered me up in, and packed my suitcase; so that I’d be ready for when the limo would take us back to the airport. Feeling strangely jetlagged from having been on vampire-time the last few days, I couldn’t sleep; and decided to take a long, hot shower to calm myself down. Once I was once again dressed – in jeans and a tank top, not feeling comfortable using the clothes I’d bought with Erics card anymore – I grabbed a sandwich from the mini-fridge, and ate it whole; while curled up on one of the couches.

There was a knock on the door, and I looked out the peep-hole; surprised to see Godric standing there, alone. I opened the door, and stepped aside. “Eric isn’t here, but you’re welcome to come in and wait”, I said. “Would you like some TruBlood?”. The vampire smiled almost wonderingly at me. “No. Thank you. I came to see you; before you leave”.

Gesturing for him to sit on one couch, I went to sit on the other. “You risked your life for me. Thank you; but it was unwise of you”. “Lack of self-preservation on both our parts, I suppose”, I said. “They would have executed you”. “I was ready to face my end… It was an honorable cause, to keep you alive”. It was like a bucket of cold water in my face. “Don’t…”, I croaked. “I don’t want that burden on me. Why is my life more valuable than yours?”. “I’m not alive”, Godric smiled. I didn’t have a response to that.

We sat for a moment in silence. “I’m sorry you can’t be sheriff anymore…”, I said. “I’m not”, he said. “70 years is more than enough time on the sheriff’s post. I know very few with the stamina to hold the title for that long”. “It’s a powerful position”, I shrugged. “Power corrupts…”. Godric looked saddened all of a sudden. “You think Eric…”, I began. “Eric was born to power. He was the son of a king, before I took his human life. Power corrupted him in the womb”. My jaw dropped. “Oh… I didn’t know”. Godric must have been worried I’d think ill of him, because suddenly, he felt a desire to explain himself. “He was half-way dead, when we met. Had I not turned him; he would have died in agony”. “No, I meant, I didn’t know he was the son of a king”, I smiled. “I know you wouldn’t have killed him, just to turn him”. Godric tilted his head, and smiled. “How do you know that?”, he asked. “You just don’t seem like that kind of man… vampire”, I said. “And, you saved me… Even if you did only do it to taste my blood; you could have taken it against my will. But you didn’t want to”. He smiled, and shook his head in agreement.

I thought for a moment, on how to phrase my next question. “If you think Eric was corrupted from the beginning, why did you make him?”. Godric smiled softly, and seemed to slip back in a far away memory. “When I met him, I was lonely; closer to dead than alive in my heart. Eric had such fire in him, and reminded me that there was more to my existing than survival. There was companionship, joy… love for another being – in our case the love of family. Father, brother, son…”. “And the corruption?”. I was about to repeat the question, worried Godric hadn’t heard me due to his long pause; when he locked eyes with me again. “I know my child better than anyone, but one thing that will always amaze me, is how he manages to love with all his heart, as if it is not cold and hard as stone”.

I played with the tassel at the corner of one of the throw pillows. “You are… fidgeting”, Godric said. I stifled a smile. “Yeah, sorry… I know how your family hates that”. The vampire grinned. “No… It’s very human of you. That constant need for movement”. “Eric says it’s irritating”, I shrugged. “Eric is emotionally immature”, Godric retorted, raising a brow at me. “He doesn’t necessarily know the difference between irritation and infatuation”. I shook my head with a smile. “I don’t think you’ve read him correctly… I’m just a human”, I said. “Yes. Just a human”, Godric nodded. “To Eric, your humanity represents life itself; and the one thing he loves more than anything, is life”. I felt myself flush red.

The door to the hallway opened, and Eric stepped inside. I got up to stand by the window; almost as a reflex. Eric avoided my eyes, as much as I avoided his; whereas Godric seemed amused to be looking between the two of us. My soon-to-be ex-boss sat down in the spot I’d formerly occupied. “Isabel was made sheriff of Area 9”, he said. “The authority made a good choice. She will handle the position well”, Godric said contently. “What will you do now?”, Eric asked warily. “I haven’t decided…”, Godric replied.

Eric leaned forwards enthusiastically. “Come with us to Shreveport! There is a home for you with me”. “I think it’s best if I leave America for a while…”. The tall Viking suddenly looked like a small child, and I had to will myself to stay where I was; in stead of running over to embrace him comfortingly. “When will I see you again?”, he asked quietly. Godric smiled lovingly at his child. “I will come see you before I leave… both of you”. “Pam will be glad for the opportunity to say goodbye”, Eric muttered; making Godric laugh heartily. “Pamela only cares about me, because she cares about you…”, he said. “She wasn’t who I was speaking of”. His eyes travelled towards me; and I wanted to go hide under a rock. “Liv is going back to Bon Temps. I’ll be making monthly reports on her cooperation to the Authority; but we won’t be working together again”. Eric was very matter-of-factly in his tone. “Is that so?”, Godric said.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “We have a flight in about 5 hours. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try to get some sleep”. Eric tentatively met my eyes, and nodded. “Of course. Pam and I will be at rest before you wake. Please make sure they load the right coffins into the car. Others will be leaving at the same time”. “I got it”. I looked towards Godric. “I’m glad that we met again, in spite of everything”. “As am I”, he said. “Take care of yourself, Godric”, I smiled, receiving a warm wondering smile in return.

Eric got up, and followed me over to the door of my room. “I said I’d remove those”, he said, and looked down at my neck. “Right…”, I said; and looked on, as he extracted his fangs, and pricked a hole in his finger. I met Erics eyes again, letting myself disappear into the vast blueness of them, as he gently stroked his fingertip over the fang-marks on my neck; and let his thumb brush against my jaw. “Sleep tight, sunshine”, he whispered.

I went into my room, and looked at Eric one last time; a pang of heartache streaming through me, as our eyes locked, before I closed the door.

---

I slept during the whole flight back to Louisiana. The sun was still up when we landed in Shreveport; so, I got in my old beat-up car – which was still parked by the airport – and followed the sedan taking the travel coffins to Fangtasia; where Ginger let me and the driver in to the bar. He and the carrier left the coffins in the back office; and after Ginger had finished flirting with them, they left.

“I can take it from here, sweetie”, Ginger said; startling me, as I stood in my own thoughts, looking at Erics coffin. “Great… that’s great”, I said. I lingered for a moment, letting my fingertips trace the smooth surface of the coffin-lid. “Are you alright?”, Ginger asked. “Yeah, just a bit jet-lagged, I guess”. “I know the feeling. I hardly ever see the sun these days. Makes it easier to work here, you know? Keep up with vamp-time”. I nodded with a slight smile. “I’m gonna take off”. “Do you need me to tell them anything?”, she said. “No… Just tell Pam that her Louboutins are in the small suitcase”, I sighed.

I left the office and made my way through the empty bar towards the exit. “And Eric?”. Ginger had followed me out. I thought for a moment. Thank you for the mind-blowing sex. Thank you for trying to protect me against a man that hurt me. Thank you for making me feel beautiful and special. Thank you for wanting me – I want you too, more than I can say. “Tell him… thanks for the opportunity”, I said, and hurried out of the door.

When I woke the next morning, I had received an envelope in my mailbox; without stamp or address. Inside was a check for 10.000 dollars, and a note. - Didn’t want to insult you by leaving a tip. You’re welcome for the opportunity. Thank you for your services – E I sat for a long while, just staring at the two pieces of paper. This is what my experience had boiled down to; as it should. Payment and a civil communication of gratitude. I should have been happy, and content to move on; but inside, I was screaming with frustration over how we had ended things. Everything seemed unfinished.

[tomuraxashes]

Found you (part 2)

—————————————-

The morning came quickly, and the LoV members were ready for the mission. At first, it all went so smoothly.

Kurogiri teleported Dabi and Twice there, Twice successfully made some clones who copied some employees (who got kicked out by Dabi), so they could find their target easily.

The problematic part stated with the stealing. That particular room when the secret file was kept, was obviously under a high security level, so they needed to immobilise the guards at first. The system of course indicated so they had not much time for the stealing.

The file was in a safe so at first they needed to open it. It wasn't a big problem cuz one of Twice's clones already find the key, but while they were busy with the opening, the heroes got into the room as well.

So then got Dabi in charge, to fight with them while Twice can get the folder.

It was okay, but suddenly there were too much heroes out of blue, which wasn't calculated in the plan. Even with some of Twice's clones of Dabi werent enough to fight with them all. They needed to be fast and retreat as quickly as they could.

When they had the file, Kurogiri came and teleported them back home.

The only problem was, Dabi got seriously injured.

- We need to take him to the doctors! - Toga insisted almost in panic - he will die!

- And what after? They will put him in jail! - Magne argued with her.

- Well, still better to be in prison then be dead - Compress stated - we would still have a chance to rescue him, but only if he is alive.

After a while, almost the whole League agreed that they need to go to the hospital. No matter what it takes, the priority is now Dabi's life. Even if they will be caught as well, and put in a jail - while taking him to the hospital.

They were about to decide who should bring Dabi to the hospital - and taking the risk to be captured as well, when Shigaraki suddenly interrupted their plannings.

- No one will go nowhere. Take Dabi in my room now, and that's all.

- How could you say this, boss? Don't you see if he doesn't get a professional medical treatment he could die easily? - Toga almost shouted, and the rest of the League seemed to share her opinion now.

- We already decided, we will take him to the doctors even if it costs out freedom. The remaining of us will make a plan to free us, but it doesn't matter now, Dabi is barely alive, don't you see? - she continued, while almost crying.

- I said, you don't go anywhere. Just take Dabi to my room and don't fucking piss me off - Tomura was loosing his calmness - and that's not a request but a fucking order.

Toga wanted to disagree again, but then Magne caught her arms as a warning. He is the boss, that's right. They cannot act on their own, without his permission. That would be a treason - however, they all were thinking about the same thing.

Maybe Tomura wants to protect them but what it costs? They cannot let their friend die just because Shigaraki is somehow too narrow minded. They need to convince him, or if it cannot work, then they have to unite - and go against the order.

Meanwhile this silent vow was made between the members, they took Dabi into the boss's room, as he ordered.

The flame villain was barely conscious, and he really needed to be healed.

Now, all the members of the League were standing in Shigaraki's room. They were ready even to commit a treason - (well not Kurogiri but the others) - they decided they won't let Dabi die, no matter what.

They were now waiting- what is Shigaraki up to now. Why he wanted Dabi to be in his room?

- Leave us alone - that was all they got.

If they weren't too hectic, they would see how Tomura is not exactly all right. But they were only busy with Dabi now. They were almost ready to disobey their boss, when Kurogiri stopped their intentions

- Before doing any recklessness, please trust Shigaraki Tomura.

The League was now merely confused. They always trusted him and obeyed him, but now they didn't know his plans and the matter was no less than Dabi's death..

- Dont be afraid I will cure him. Just get out! - that was all they finally got from their leader.

.

His own subordinates were looking at him with a heavy gaze. They made it clear - they are ready to disobey, they are ready to risk their lives in order to save Dabi's.

But he won't allow it. He is the fucking leader, and if someone has to, than he will be the one who will put his life into a risk.

He can't figure it out but he do care. He won't let them down. And mostly - he won't let Dabi down.

No one's gonna die from his subordinates.

So in order to achieve this goal, he will use his other quirk. Which he hadn't use for years. Not since his family died...

This would be the first time he's gonna use it on somebody else than his mom, sister .. and Touya.

.

"Cure?" - Dabi barely heard his boss talking to the others. He saw them leaving the room, now there were only two of them.

Dabi was slightly breathing. He felt his body overheated and even his old injuries got worse. It was so fucking painful for him - even the breathing was somehow difficult. He didn't really wanted to be taken to the hospital but he wanted to endure the pain. His heart almost melted when he heard the League members determined to saving him. So they really consider him as a family?

And now - what are Shigaraki's plans? Will he kill him? With his given quirk Dabi couldn't really imagine anything else. Decay is not the one for healing people...

He was almost satisfied with the thought of death, when he suddenly felt some relieving feelings.

He didn't open his eyes yet, but he felt his breathing is normal again, and his burnt scars are hurting less and less.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Shigaraki's hand over him and he felt the energies coming trough his skin and curing his injuries.

- What the.. - he mumbled quite surprisedly.

- Dont embarrass me! - he heard his boss a little anxiously.

- I'm not doing anything, damn just lying there as half dead, what's your problem?

- Just .. don't stare at me. I'm quite anxious anyways.

- Wow, chill.. but what exactly are you doing? How am I feeling so much better?

- If it's obvious, I'm trying to cure you. But I haven't done it for years, so please.. just shut up and close your eyes.

- Mkay - Dabi agreed - but wait. No. How are you doing this? I thought your quirk is decay, and now you are .. I just don't understand.

- My quirk is decay, but you know, there are people born with two quirks as well. So am I, I do have an other quirk, which is something like a reincarnation, and I'm trying to use it, so if you'd let me I would continue it - Tomura was a little bit pissed off now.

It seemed like it took Dabi some sec to get the information, because he was silent for a bit, but not for too long.

- So.. besides the destruction, you are able to reincarnate... are you a fucking Hindu god crossover or what?

-What - the bluenette was totally lost for now on.

- You know, the Trimurti? You are basically a Brahma x Shiva - Dabi said mischievously.

- I don't really believe in any gods but okay, think whatever you want. Just be silent for a bit and let me heal you finally!

Dabi somehow managed to not to speak, even if his mind was full of questions and conspiracy now, he let his boss doing his thing, what was.. really comfortable. The warmth coming from his hands were truly magical, he felt all his injuries healing - they felt like they never existed before.

That feeling was somehow familiar...

Tomura was almost done, when he noticed Dabi has a short but deep cut on his face. There was a liquid dripping out of it, and Tomura was certain it was a poison.

- Oh fuck... he mumbled.

- Sup? - Dabi asked immediately.

- You really got it rough - Tomura said a little worried - it seems to me that someone cut you with a poisoned blade. And they call themselves as "heroes", fucking ridiculous...

- Oh, I guess that was a guy with the ninja stuff - Dabi answered loosely - ladys and gens, just top hero things.

- Stop messing around, I need to deal with that - Shigaraki mumbled - the hell is that so small, I almost can't see a thing.

- Maybe just put the hand off and you will see? - Dabi suggested

- You... - Shigaraki started angrily ... but after thinking it over, the burnt man had a point. With "father" on his face he can't see the details and now he has to be punctual. He promised himself, he will save Dabi. - Ok. But fucking close your eyes and if you dare to open them I swear I will decay you at that very second.

- As you wish, my king - Dabi smiled

- Shut up!

Tomura - after seeing Dabi really closed his eyes and he is not watching him in secret, carefully took "Father" off of his face, and leaned closer to Dabis face. Firstly he carefully took off the poison and then he healed the cut itself. At the end, it looked like it was never there.

He did it, actually he did it well - he thought. He didn't exactly trust himself that much, he wasn't sure about the results, but here it was. Everything all right. So he can still do it.

He can save the people he want to.

He can save his League.

He can save Dabi..

At that very moment he suddenly felt a warm kiss on his cheek. He was so distracted he didn't notice Dabi is now all right, with his eyes opened - looking at him with an admired gaze.

Tomura instantly jumped off his bed and he felt he will die now. His words abandoned him, nothing came up his mind - he had no clue what to say.

This fucking bastard - not only he saw his face, he even dared to kiss him? How? Why?

He wanted to disintegrate him at least, and shouting his head off, but before he could do that, he felt two strong arms hugging him tightly, and when he looked up to the other man, those beautiful turquoise eyes just kept him as he was their prisoner.

- What.. are you thinking you are doing? - Tomura said but rather shyly than angrily. He wanted to free himself from the embrace of the other man, but his body wasn't obeying. He just stood there helplessly.

- I just want to thank you properly - the flame villain smiled adorably - for saving my life, and treating my injuries, well, again.

- What do you mean by again? - Tomura was quite confused right now.

But instead of an answer, he now got a longer but soft kiss on his lips.

- You know - Dabi finally spoke up - Deep down I always knew you didn't die, and that I will find you.

It's so wonderful I finally found you, Tenko!

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Vænn (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Vænn: beautiful, hopeful, promising (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Another attempt at writing snippets of Ivar’s PoV of νοσταλγία, this time this relates to chapters 11-12 of the main story, approximately.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: The usual

A/N:Today I was supposed to upload Sieghild’s PoV, and Ivar’s was supposed to be on December 1st but hey, I got it done beforehand so here you go.

I’ve been absolutely hating my writing lately, so I am really sorry if this sucks, I don’t know what else to say other than that. Hopefully it isn’t as bad as my worse thoughts make me believe lol, thank you for reading.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @heavenly1927​​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @pieces-by-me​​ @angelofthorr​​

You smile more freely now, he notices. Like you don’t resent the smiles that curve your lips, like you’ve started to realize he isn’t chaining you.

He watches you study a plum you’ve only taken one small and delicate bite off of, as you muse to yourself and, apparently, to him,

“Back home they made wines with these. With many things, actually. Dandelions, cherries,” Your words die with a small chuckle that shakes your shoulders, and you pause to take another small bite of the fruit. “My favorite is roses.”

Ivar only hums a response, because he doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. He was never the best at…talking, at this apparently easy familiarity; and while lately you do seem to be willing and able to strike a conversation about anything and nothing, Ivar will admit he doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he mostly chooses to stay silent and listen to you talk.

Which you do. A lot. He has a feeling you think you talk and share a lot less than you actually do.

But you give a lot away. He may not be good at talking and charming like Hvitserk or Sigurd, or approachable and easy to confide in like Ubbe; but he is good at watching people.

He watches you, and notices you flinch when a fire is breathed too much life, takes note of the way your eyes soften when he says your name, and is delighted to see your smile is colder when it is directed at someone that isn’t him.

And you also talk a lot. Which he doesn’t mind, the Gods know he doesn’t mind. The sound of your voice seems to be perpetually stuck in his head, and although the arrogant and insufferable little tone you get when you think you are right is infuriating, it is much preferable to when he didn’t know the sound of your voice at all, or the little drag of your accent when you speak his language, or the fluidity of when you speak in yours.

“Oh, and pomegranate wine!” You continue, licking a drop of juice from the side of your wrist up, and his eyes follow the movement. You lift big eyes to him as if you don’t realize how much he wants to trap that small wrist in his own hand and lick any offending drops himself. “You don’t have pomegranates here, do you?”

“Would you want some?”

But you shake your head almost immediately, “No, no, I can’t eat them. It’s…the fruit of the temptation, Hiereiai cannot eat the seeds of it.”

He remembers almost all your tales of the Gods you worship, and the six pomegranate seeds that made a Goddess remain in another realm for half eternity has always stayed with him. Maybe because of how it is one of the tales you don’t think much about before speaking of it, you don’t pick and choose at what to say when you speak of her.

And Ivar wonders to himself, if six seeds of this fruit could make a Goddess be bound to that Underworld; what they could do to a mortal woman, a woman that, like the Goddess you speak of, isn’t allowed to eat them.

The errant thought of telling his brother to arrange for some merchant to find him pomegranates stays for a few moments too long on his head.

Because he wasn’t lying, before, when he told you that he could give you anything you wanted. He would, even if admitting it is giving away control, and even worse, giving it to you, power for you to hold over him; he would.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. You’ll be his wife soon, he’ll have as much power over you as you have over him.

It will be even, then. You will be equals. That has to be what you wanted, even if you still refuse to accept the idea of marrying him.

You didn’t leave him any choice, after all. If he was the one with power, you’d be cold and look at him with hate in your eyes; but Ivar knows if he let you have power without keeping some for himself, you’d run back to your burnt city, you’d leave him.

Ivar knows sooner or later you’ll come to accept it. He knows it, and he knows you should want at least the title of queen if not that of wife. Because even if he didn’t know who you were, if he chose to ignore it like he did in those first days in the run-down village near Dublin, he would know you were made to rule, to command. It’s written in the way you walk, in the way you talk and hold your head high, in that insufferable arrogance, in that stubbornness.

____

There’s something strange about you when you say your goodnight after the announcement of your marriage is brought up before his brothers, but Ivar decides not to dwell on it. And, as he leaves the dim room where he introduced you to his older brother and announced you are to be his wife, he sees Ubbe waiting by a wall, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Ivar down.

“She’s beautiful,” Ubbe comments as he steps away from the wall, “Doesn’t mean she will make a good wife.”

“I’m not marrying her because of beauty, brother.”

He’s marrying you because he has to keep you with him, because he knows now just as he knew when he first saw you in that field, that you were sent by the Gods, by Freyja, to be at his side. The Gods called you to cross many seas, to travel across half a world, and he knows it was because you and him are Fated to meet, to know each other.

And he knows that slave was right, when she spoke of how it all leads to pain and suffering and so it is a proof of the Gods’ favor when people are chosen to suffer. She said those who endure are rewarded, he still remembers her quiet voice uttering the words, but he hadn’t believed her, not at first.

But now, and ever since he first saw that mirage in the red dress with gentle caresses and loving words turn around with a war cry and the fierceness of a Valkyrie, he knows that slave was right, and the Gods do reward those who endure. And one way or another, for a purpose he wishes he knew but doesn’t yet, you were sent to him as the Gods’ gift for enduring a life of pain and suffering; he knows this.

“What are you marrying her for then, Ivar?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because-…brother, you could do this the…the normal way. Find a woman you care for, a woman that wants to be your wife, not some captured witch that fears you.”

He wanted to interrupt him, tell him he has never had a chance to do things the normal way, because while Ubbe may try to tell him he is just like his brothers, he isn’t. And Ragnar was right, he had to accept that he isn’t a normal man, and that means he can’t do things the normal way, like normal men do.

Instead of bringing up a conversation that will make his brother look at him with that pathetic compassion, that brotherly pity, in his eyes; he clarifies,

“She doesn’t fear me. She fears you.”

The other man doesn’t relent, and when Ubbe steps forward, trying to make him understand, “And why do you think that is? I see what she’s trying to do, I see clearly. She’s bewitched you!”

He rolls his eyes with an exaggerated movement of his head, and meets the eyes of his older brother with what is sure to be the deadpan tiredness of hearing so many times about women being able to bewitch the men in his family.

The only woman he has seen use her cunt or her lips to actually gain power is Margrethe, but no, no one thinks she might have bewitched any of his useless brothers. Or cursed him, Ivar has toyed with that idea many times since that damn night when he tried fucking her.

But it is stupid to think a woman would bewitch his father, or him. He may be a cripple, but he’s not an idiot; he would know if you were trying to fool him, if you were trying to play with his head. He thought you were, at first, before he knew you and your mouth that betrays your truths before you can stop it, and your eyes that give away every softness and every fury.

He knows he would have been able to tell if you tried tricking him.

Mainly because you wouldn’t be this infuriating brat if you actually tried getting something you wanted from him, he gathers.

Ubbe just looks at him with the pressed lips and disappointed eyes of a brother that tries acting like a father, before turning his back and walking away.

____

Your surprise him by appearing in his rooms, but before he can fully form a question as to why you are here, you reach up with shaking hands to your shoulders

Your dress drops to the floor and you stand before him, bare and beautiful and his, his to admire, to touch, to…

But you talk, because you talk a lot, you talk a lot more than you realize. And you speak of how you’re willing to offer your body to him if only to avoid becoming his wife, of how he doesn’t have to do this.

And it is once again like sitting in front of a slave that trembles before him, that kisses him at his brother’s request, that barely masks her disgust when she is forced to touch him.

“Get dressed.”

You cover yourself, and soften your voice but not the way he wants you to. Because now you sound scared, helpless, desperate. And you plead for a way to avoid becoming his wife, for an easy path to escape him.

And he wants to punish you, he wants to make you regret ever thinking you can toy with him, he wants…he wants to make you admit it. He wants to make you shed that…that softness of yours, he wants to…

He doesn’t know what he wants.

He thinks a part of him actually wants you to hurt him, to be cruel. To just…prove him right, prove to him that he can’t have that warm familiarity of having you share your day with him, that fascinating enjoyment of being taught your tongue, those smiles that he earns more and more easily as time goes by.

A part of him wants you to prove him right, and to be cruel and a lie. A chimera, a vision, like he thought you were when he first saw you on that battlefield.

It would certainly make things easier, if he could let go of the childish and pathetic hope of having something normal, like a wife that does not despise him, a woman that actually wants him.

But things aren’t easy, so he just spews venom and barely-hidden insecurities in the form of accusations, and prays your own arrogance and your own temper keeps you from seeing how with nothing but you, you can have him at your mercy.

____

So yeah, there you go. I know it’s not much, only 2k, but I struggle a lot when writing Ivar’s PoV. I sincerely hope you didn’t hate it, thank you for reading and I’m sorry if it sucks.

Best of wishes! <3 <3

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home

Chapter One: Almost Heaven

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"When this is over, I'm going to be waiting for you. You'd better show up."

Those confident words felt hollow, moot. A disguised plea to the universe that she could accomplish the impossible. A prayer to return to the arms that were home.

That was before the searing burns, the blood, and the pain that struck with each beat of her heart. Oh god, the blood was everywhere. Each blink was a calculated risk as the blood threatened to cloud her vision; it meant having to stop find a clean - clean enough- patch of skin to push the liquid from her eyes. Each moment of pause tempted her body with respite, a siren's call for her failing body to expire.

Shepard had to keep moving.

To keep fighting.

They were waiting for her.

He was waiting for her.

"You'd better show up, Alenko. I'm dying here, don't make me die here." They would have been words if she could manage the strength to speak them. Instead, it became a silent anthem. A memento of strength, hope, anything to make her scraped, bruised, and battered body move against the tide of her fading consciousness.

It kicked back.

Eeeee, high-pitched electric screaming flooded her headspace,  eeeee, her head swam and pulsed. The jerking motions of her head frivolously searching for the illusory flashbang was only damaging to her weakened state and sending her swirling vision into a nauseating torrent of colors and light.

Mary knew she was a corpse walking. There was no way she could keep moving, yet she did. Tripping, stumbling, and blundering her way through the unrecognizable streets and buildings of what she assumed was London. The warmth of the smashed bits of Crucible fueling her away from what was a ticking time bomb.

But she wasn't moving fast enough, and she was too weak, too fragile to continue. A clumsy boot caught the upturned slab of road, and down she went. Crying out as her knees absorbed the blow, her elbows proving to be poor breaks as her form collapsed against the warm concrete. This wasn't right. She wasn't meant to die pathetically watching the blood pool and congeal around from her mouth like a drooling child. She wasn't supposed to be alone. Left without her squad, her friends, Kaidan...her home. She, if anywhere, was meant to die atop the burning Crucible... Dying like a hero, not out like a person forgotten...left behind.

What she would give not to be alone, to have someone's hand to grasp as she slipped away into the beyond.

Where the fuck was Alenko?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The glow of the blue light was comforting, illuminating but not to the point of brightness. She had succeeded in swallowing the first wave of panic that hit her nervous system, using the time to instead survey the room. It was empty, but there were visible signs of another living in the room- a cot lazily angled at the corner nearest her, the space sectioned off by a small table. Enough room to work with, but intended to give her a little bit of distance without cornering her.

Her armour rested in the opposite corner of the room, cleaned to whatever degree it was worthwhile. The set was junk- most of it bubbled and charred in whatever miracle brought her back to Earth. It was good enough to last another fight or two if it had to. Nothing remained of the color or scores from battles that had marred the pieces into something she recognized. Now, the weapon left on the table was blessedly pristine. Well, besides the old wear and tear left from months of battle. But her faithful Paladin had yet to let her down. The dog tags left at the bedside spiked shame, an emotion Mary was not ready to process.

Her head was tender, but that was the only physical complaint on her list. Outstretching her arm to inspect that area for more injuries and to test her field of vision. It seemed in order, even clearer than she was expecting. To test her theory, her hands explored the planes of her exposed scalp. Not even the most delicate fuzz had resurfaced. Mary bit back a scream willing her apathy to wash over her in a numbing blanket. It was only hair- it would grow back.

"I do apologize for shaving you," The voice interrupted her from the soliloquies that must have lasted much longer than the Commander had realized, "it was terribly singed."

"I had meant to change it for years anyway," the Commander dismissed.

The older woman ignored her remark, taking a seat near her feet, "you're THE Commander Shepard, aren't you?"

"That is a safe assumption," pulling herself to sit upright with her words.

"It's hard to tell without your red hair and that eye can-." the woman stopped, her demeanor turning from happiness to grief quickly, "honestly, it was the dog tags."

Years of well-intended crap through the military had spurred the change in hair color. Rather than being the dumb blonde, she could be the feisty redhead, which she had liked much better. People took her more seriously with red hair, and once she had reached Spectre status, the look had become her signature. None of her crew, even Kaidan, knew the original color of her hair. It was never a huge secret, just something that was now a part of her. Saving the world didn't allow all those little things to come to light. Or time to consider a change in appearance. Even Cereberus had found reason to keep up the ruse.

"I have to ask a favor," the woman's voice wavered, "I used most of my medigel. You're a hero-"

"When you put it like that, how could I say no?" Shepard gently teased.

Saddened beyond belief when the soft clearing of Kaidan's throat did not accompany her uncouth answer. But Mary had caught the slip of a tear from the woman; her eyes took in a deeper study of the room. A teddy bear lying in the middle of the room seemed less and less out of place. The woman's motivations became obvious.

"Well, let me start from the beginning." Or course she would. "After the Reapers attacked Earth, things have not been easy. I was the supply manager for a local hospital, so I knew where all of the medical equipment was. It kept me safe, but at a cost. When I found you, I was meant to deliver medigel to a gang of-" The woman searched for a suitable word.

"Raiders? Thugs? Ruffians?" It wasn't hard to guess.

"Yes, but I saw you. And, and I had to help you. Especially when I saw your tags, you," her voice stuttered into a soft coo, "saved everyone. I couldn't let you..."

"I don't see why you need my help," she stated, peppered with a cross tone the anger an unfamiliar bitter taste in her mouth; it didn't belong here.

"They took my son because I couldn't deliver, and now...now," the woman finished with a flurry of tears.

"How long ago?"

"Two days," the woman sobbed.

"Fuck," Shepard hissed, ambling from her cot, "we have to leave now."

Eyeing her armour then the woman and another pistol shoved haphazardly under the covers of the larger cot. Civilians did not belong in a firefight, but against forces she was unsure of, she had to take any help. Testing the fabric bunched around her arm with a sigh, she looked at the woman.

"Get in my armour, and grab that gun."

The woman balked, looking up to her in the empty and hopeless way. Without another word, Shepard placed the bear within the Mother's arms.

"I'll get you both out."

The march to the Raider hideout was a short one. Easy. Shepard was glad to find that her breathing and movements were unhindered without any unusual stings of pain. The woman following her had also proved adept at following instructions; luckily for them both, the months of lean allowed her to fit into her armour comfortably. A few inquiries later, she found the woman to be the same age as her, and the child was barely eight years old. She lost her husband in the chaos of the Reaper attacks, for all that mattered to the mission presented, but it stopped the woman from dramatics. Shaky emotions did not lead to straight shots.

But even talk of the lady's child soon fell to the side as the hideout loomed closer. Shepard could not shake the feeling of dread that hounded her. This was risky, and her health questions pushed at her, doubts consuming her usually clear battle state. But retreating was not an option, and it was not in her nature to abandon the person who had saved her, even if it was a suicide mission.

Four lookouts taken down silently later had not managed to ease her nerves. The options were down to one of two doors; testing either for locks was pointless; they would be caught at that point. So it would have to be hard and fast. Unfortunately, that was difficult when she was utterly blind to the layout of the room. Where was her son in the room? How many? What kind of fortifications? All crucial questions without answers. With no reliable source to watch her back.

"Look, we have to storm the door. Stay behind me at all times; I can use barriers to shield myself," but now came an essential part; Shepard made sure to look her square in the eyes, "I'm already going in blind; I cannot watch you. So stay on my six. No. Matter. What."

The woman nodded. Mary pat her shoulder, putting on the brightest smile she could manage, "you have my armour, a trusty sidearm- you can do this. Just stay calm."

She slipped the dog tags around the woman's neck.

Shepard moved toward the closest door, carefully placing each step so that a stray piece of rubble or siding would not alert the enemy to their presence. Sidestep, sidestep, sidestep, and the familiar tingling of the energy field pooling around her. The droplet of red absorbing into the fabric covering her chest went unnoticed. Three fingers in the air for five seconds, each finger went down with the space of one second between them.

Luckily, the door was unlocked.

One bullet took down the man watching the door. As that man fell, Shepard blasted into the building, taking a quick tactical appraisal of the building. It was almost pathetic; they were stationed in one large and open room. The child was in the far corner of the chamber, silent and looking glassy-eyed. The other men clustered around the table at the opposite end of the room; well were huddled, they all scattered for their weapon. Shepard's next move would make it difficult for the woman beside her to keep up, but she had no choice in the matter. She had to strike while they were still grouped.

Tendrils of energy snaked at lightning speed through her body, pulling the combined biotic energy into the mass of her chest. Their table was close enough not to merit a full charge at the men who were now her targets. Running would get her there quickly enough. Additionally, her barriers were still full. If she could manage to decimate the men all at once, this would be over without the loss of more thermal clips. She wouldn't need to worry about keeping up a barrier either. It was simple.

Release coiled from her core outwards. It was sweet as any orgasm. Tingling and electrifying in one move, though the heat was quite different. It burned through the Raiders, engulfing each before they could manage to scream. The table was gone, submerged in the same Nova of energy. Shepard slipped to the floor, sated, drained, and head pounding as blood dribbled from her nose.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Who's that, mum?"

"Don't be rude," she admonished with another kiss to his forehead, "it's Commander Shepard."

"She's staring at me."

The Commander was the rude figure in the room, and her eyes stopped on the child. Her body seized in fear. The blue eyes and sandy brown hair the visage that had haunted her sleep. Mary's vision turned red, the beacon's first assaulting visions filling her mental space. Her foot retreated, backing herself into the wall, her head suddenly slurring back into a splash of colors.

The silent room then crashed into oblivion. Neither of the entrances barricaded, and the front door remained unlocked. Shepard had enough time to roll out from being on her side -had she laid down?- before the ten more men filed into the room. Each carrying an assault rifle that was primed and loaded. Groggily she moved to her feet, needing the wall as support.

"It's the bitch with the supplies!" shouted the first man to survey the room, "and some friend she dragged along."

He didn't seem to mind the smoldering piles left behind from the corpses of his men. But the next man, taller and burlier than the rest, frowned deeply. His steps were more confident, more decisive.

"'The fuck happened?" The question directed toward the woman who placed herself in front of her son. The struggling Shepard dressed in civilian clothes wasn't on his radar.

The female quaked, unable to speak.

The large man grew tired of her silence. The smoldering bullet hole through her skull glowed as her body fell limp, the body of her son fell in line behind it. Now, Shepard was on his radar.

The female scrapped at the wall, blue energy congealing beneath her fingertips as they dug into the wall. Tears forming in her sky blue eyes. No words, just horror. Mouth clamped shut to suppress any reaction, anything to give her away.

Clip, clip, clip. The man stood before her, studying the shrinking female before him with disdain.

"What do you boys think?" his hand tightened around her neck as he lifted the Commander with ease "think this bleeding freak was responsible?" The still-hot barrel seared into the side of her skull

He would never get an answer; the person he held aloft glowed the last blue he would ever behold. Carrying his folded body with her as she trucked for the gaggle of men that stood across the room. Barriers refilled, and the devastating Nova swallowed each of the bastards into the azure wave of energy. If only it could swallow her too, but it didn't...Fate left her kneeling on the floor, alone again.

But now, she could scream. Alone, she could cry without shame. Blue tendrils wavered from her body. Illuminating the darkening room around her. Each shout fanning the blue flames with renewed vigor. Scorching the remaining biological and flammable material left in the room the scent of burning flesh drowning the room.

Where was the Normandy? Why was she still here? Shepard didn't belong here; Shepard was nothing without her crew. Nothing, pointless, useless. She couldn't even protect these civilians against these simple thugs. That wasn't who Shepard was; she didn't lose. Shepard didn't feel weak or have her ears explode on even the slightest provocation of her biotic powers. She sure as hell did not shudder as the thumping of gunfire surrounded her location.

What was the point of fighting? What could she defend? She couldn't save two civilians, couldn't save an entire galaxy. Shepard had failed. Was a failure.

In yet another cloud of judgment, the door whirred open. Engulfing the entire room in bright daylight blinding Mary from counting the targets coming through the door. It was a rookie mistake, and on top of expending all her energy on a naive temper tantrum, left her with limited options to defend herself.

But why should she?

She was exhausted.

Spent.

Empty.

Alone.

With gumption foreign or encouraged by lack of coherence from bloodloss, Shepard bull-rushed headfirst at the door and the person blocking her exit. The first shot fired over the leader's shoulder, the second absorbed by shielding, and the third went wide as the weapon flew from her grip. The Paladin clattered to a location somewhere behind her. The Commander fell to her knees quickly after it.

"If you had any balls, you'd shoot me now," it was a plea, not a challenge.

The second gentlest set of brown eyes caught her before she wrenched her attention away.

"Get up, Soldier," the graveled voice ordered gently.

Shepard struggled to her feet, completing the order. But the strain of following such a command came at a price. Staggering drunkenly, she collapsed into the hard encasing of his blue and white striped armour.

[alicemarion]

OUTLAST :  THE  MURKOFF  ACCOUNT  (  PART 2  )   sentence starters !

this  prompt  was  made  using  dialogue  from  issues  #4 ,    #5  and  #6  of  outlast :  the  murkoff  account  by  red  barrels .    feel  free  to  edit  any  of  these  to  make  them  more  suitable !

“  _____  wasn’t  fucking  around  about  disappearing .  ”

“  our  chances  of  finding  a  lead  in  this  are  vanishingly  slim .  ”

“  what  you  got  there ?  ”

“  i  hate  it  when  they  have  families .  ”

“  since  when  did  _____  hurt  women  and  kids ?  ”

“  sorry ,    that  was  in  bad  taste .  ”

“  he’s  been  gone  for  a  while  now .  ”

“  i  saw  him  back  just  last  night .  ”

“  i  saw  him ,     standing  right  over  there .  ”

“  drove  my  dogs  batshit ,    which  is  weird .  ” 

“  they  always  used  to  like  him .  ”

“  _____  said  _____  was  here  last  night .  ”

“  it’d  take  us  days  to  find  him  under  all  this  shit  if  he  was .  ”

“  guess  we  better  get  started  then .  ”

“  it’s  garbage .  ”

“  is  ...    is  some  of  this  garbage  moving ?  ”

“  ants .    the  place  is  infested .  ”

“  what  do  you  mean ?  ”

“  emailed  him  ants .    not  the  strangest  thing  i’ve  seen .  ”

“  these  look  like  passwords .  ”

“  ouch !  ”

“  little  fucker  bit  me .  ”

“  black  ants  don’t  bite .  ”

“  motherfucker !    motherfuckfuckfuck -  ”

“  they’re  all  over  me !    jesus !  ”

“  not  there !    not  there !  ”

“  water !    water !  ”

“  goddammit !    make  room !    i’m  coming  in !  ”

“  fuck  this !  ”

“  it’s  not  working !  ”

“  we  need  fire !  ”

“  take  your  fucking  clothes  off !  ”

“  now  do  me !  ”

“  got  anything  i  could  wear ?  ”

“  nope .  ”

“  what  the  fuck  am  i  gonna  do ?  ”

“  hey ,    that’s  the  same  homeless  guy .  ”

“  that’s  not  possible .  ”

“  i’m  sure  it’s  him .    he’s  following  us .  ”

“  hey !    stop !  ”

“  where’d  you  go  ...   ?  ”

“  you  work  for  _____  ,    don’t  you ?  ”

“  ...    who  are  you ?  ”

“  i  believe  you’ve  heard  of  me .  ”

“  you’ve  been  following  us .  ”

“  what’s  your  name ?  ”

“  yes .    i’ve  been  watching  you .  ”

“  you’ve  got  something  most  running  dog  mercenaries  don’t .  ”

“  i’m  not  a  mercenary .  ”

“  you’ve  got  shame .   you  know  what  you’re  doing  is  wrong .  ”

“  it’s  a  job .  ”

“  but  you’re  somebody  who’d  chase  after  me  ,    despite  the  fact  that  you’re  injured  and  naked .    who  does  that ?  ”

“  ...    i  can’t  stand  not  knowing .  ”

“  tell  me  your  name .  ”

“  i’ve  read  your  files  ,    _____ .  ”

“  six  years  ago  you  leaked  company  files  and  vanished .  ”

“  been  off  the  map  ever  since  ,    encouraging  other  whistleblowers .  ”

“  you’re  trying  to  destroy  _____ .  ”

“  of  course  i  am .  ”

“  they’re  evil .    you  work  for  the  devil .  ”

“  you’re  protecting  _____ ?  ”

“  you’ll  never  find  him .  ”

“  i  couldn’t  tell  you  if  i  knew .  ”

“  willful  ignorance .    i  remember  that .    almost  let  me  sleep  some  nights .  ”

“  how  do  you  sleep ?  ”  

“  how  do  you  justify  working  for  people  you  know  are  evil ?   ”

“  _____  was  a  pebble  in  a  pond .  ”

“  that  is  where  the  real  sickness  spreads .  ”

“  those  are  coordinates .  ”

“  if  you  cannot  look  at  what’s  there  and  not  eat  yourself  hollow  with  shame  ,    you’re  not  human  anymore .  ”

“  i  need  your  help .  ”

“  i  need  somebody  still  inside  _____ .  ”

“  i’m  not  asking  ,    i’m  telling  you .   you’re  going  to  help  me .  ”

“  ...    i  have  to  do  my  job .  ”

“  what  are  you  ...    the  fuck ?!  ”

“  freeze !    i  said  freeze  ,    motherfucker !  ”

“  i’m  leaving .  ”

“  please  don’t  make  me  hurt  you .  ”

“  he’s  ...    a  monster .  ”

“  what  was  he  shoving  in  your  face ?  ”

“  fucked  if  i  know .  ”

“  let’s  get  you  some  clothes  before  i  get  too  turned  on .  ”

“  dental  records .   my  identification .   he  wasn’t  done  with  me .  ”

“  and  we  weren’t  done  with  him .  ”

“  this  make  any  kind  of  sense  to  you ?  ”

“  nothing  i  feel  good  about .  ”

“  but  at  least  it  closes  the  books  for  now .  ”

“  the  evidence  couldn’t  get  any  more  thoroughly  destroyed .  ”

“  there  is  one  more  thing .  ”

“  nothing  i  know  of .  ”

“  i  wouldn’t  put  too  much  faith  in  anything  i  heard  from  an  animated  pile  of  maggots .  ”

“  maybe  we  should  check  it  out .  ”

“  nah  ,    leave  it  alone .  ”

“  you  should  get  home  ,    spend  some  time  with  your  daughter  ...    make  sure  she  doesn’t  grow  up  to  be  somebody  like  me .  ”

“  he  ain’t  gonna  let  us  get  away .  ”

“  every  step  we  take  ,    the  less  power  he  got .  ”

“  we’ll  get  to  the  wicked  part  of  the  world  ,    and  god  hisself  ain’t  even  gonna  be  able  to  find  us .  ”

“  do  you  know  if  yeshua - ha  nostri  was  a  real  person ?   like  ,    in  the  bible ?  ”

“  never  heard  of  him .  ”

“  when’s  that  book  report  due ?  ”

“  you’re  getting  an  early  jump .  ”

“  figured  i’d  be  too  beat  to  work  on  wednesday .  ”

“  you  didn’t  touch  your  dinner .  ”

“  i  wasn’t  hungry .   it’s  not  like  i  need  the  extra  calories .  ”

“  _____  ,    honey  ,    that’s  crazy .  ”

“  you’re  a  string  bean .    a  beautiful  string  bean .  ”

“  shut  up  ,    _____  ,    god  ...    ”

“  there’s  somebody  messing  with  our  mailbox .  ”

“  your  daughter  is  connected .  ”

“  my  partner  and  i  had  agreed  not  to  investigate .  ”

“  turns  out  i  was  lying .  ”

“  i  hear  you  now .    where  are  you ?    it’s  noisy .  ”

“  sorry  to  interrupt  you  on  a  sunday  ...    ”

“  you’re  not  interrupting  anything .  ”

“  i  was  just  ...    folding  laundry  ,    listening  to  prairie  home  companion .  ”

“  i  don’t  think  i’m  gonna  make  it  into  the  office  tomorrow .  ”

“  i  need  to  spend  some  time  with  _____ .  ”

“  no  worries .    we  all  need  personal  time .  ”

“  fuck  me  ...    no  service !  ”

“  i  guess  the  heat  and  the  sun  got  to  me .  ”

“  heavenly  god .  ”

“  _____ ?    what’s  wrong ?  ”

“  are  they  out  of  hot  chocolate ?  ”

“  multiple  perforations  of  the  intestines  ...    spread  throughout  her  blood  ...    had  to  induce  a  coma  in  order  to  arrest  progress  ...    internal  bleeding  ...  ”  

“  surgery  is  no  longer  an  option .  ”    

“  _____  is  dead .    i’m  so  sorry .  ”

“  aiiee !  ”

“  i’m  so  sorry  honey  ,    i  didn’t  mean  ...  ”

“  we  don’t  want  no  trouble !  ”

“  i’m  just  gon’  take  your  pistol .  ”

“  hey  ,    hey  ,    take  it  easy .    jesus  fucking  christ  ...  ”

“  don’t  you  take  that  name  in  vain !  ”

“  safety’s  on .  ”

“  who’s  the  girl ?  ”

“  jesus  ,    how  pregnant  is  she ?  ”

“  god  have  mercy  on  your  soul .  ”

“  i’m  not  going  to  hurt  you .  ”

“  you  need  helllll  ...    ”

“  mmm - hmm .  ”

“  that’s  all  you  got ?    ‘ mmm - hmm ? ’  ”

“  i  heard  you .   it’s  the  least  crazy  thing  you’ve  told  me  so  far .  ”

“  fair  enough .  ”

“  you  are  in  such  deep  shit .  ”

“  i  know .  ”

“  you  lied  to  me  ,    you  went  off  the  reservation .  ”

“  what  the  fuck  are  you  doing  ,    _____ ?  ”

“  i  fucked  up .  ”

“  don’t  fuck  yourself  any  deeper .    i’m  on  my  way .  ”

“  spill .  ”

“  okay  ,    number  one  ,    you  work  for  _____  ,    not  _____ .  ”

“  number  two  ,    you  don’t  interfere  with  ongoing  experiments .  ”

“  we  only  enter  the  equation  when  the  science  is  done  and  the  side  effects  need  mopping  up .  ”

“  shit  ,    you  don’t  even  know  if  this  is  an  experiment .  ”

“  and  number  three  ,    fuck  you .  ”

“  you  don’t  work  without  me .    we’re  partners  ,    you  stupid  motherfucker .  ”

“  sorr  ...    ”

“  don’t  say  you’re  sorry .    i  hate  that .  ”

“  you  want  the  silver  lining  to  your  shit  show ?  ”

“  you  don’t  suppose  you  brought  me  a  suit ?  ”

“  i  even  brought  you  a  tie .    hope  yellow’s  alright .  ”

“  you  called  it  a  ‘ vision ’ .    not  a  hallucination .  ”

“  it  felt  real .  ”

“  first  rule  in  the  playbook  is  don’t  get  high  on  your  own  product .  ”

“  what  about  brain  injury ?  ”

“  the  scan  must  have  been  corrupted .  ”

“  is  there  more  to  your  testimony ?  ”

“  yes  ,    of  course  ,    excuse  me .    i  was  just  ...    ”

“  could  we  see  those  brain  scans ?  ”

“  they’re  already  off  to  the  lab  ,    but  we  have  copies .  ”

“  evidence  ,    all  of  it .    this  had  become  a  matter  of  containment .  ”

“  we’d  love  to  meet  the  patient .  ”

“  the  little  guy  in  here  has  been  kicking  up  a  storm .  ”

“  is  that  a  tattoo ?  ”

“  a  globe .    no  ,    wheels .    ‘ wheels  within  wheels ’ .    that’s  biblical  ,    from  the  book  of  ...    ezekiel .  ”

“  you  can’t  have  him !    you  can’t .    i’ll  die  before  i’ll  let  you  kill  him .  ”

“  i  seen  the  messenger  and  i  know  i  ain’t  burdened  with  the  enemy .  ”

“  my  blood  is  true  ,    i’ve  sipped  at  the  fountain  and  borne  the  pain  and  marks  of  salvation .   ”

“  you  ain’t  gonna  take  my  baby  ,    you  ain’t  ...    ain’t  ...    ”

“  get  a  doctor !  ”

“  doctor !  ”

“  we  lost  her .    we  need  to  leave  ,    now .  ”

“  she’s  dead  ,    gone .    there  was  nothing  we  could  do .  ”    

“  minimal  footprint .  ”

“  i  realized  too  late  i  was  operating  above  my  security  clearance .  ”

“  are  you  sure  she  was  dead ?  ”

“  yeah  ,    case  closed .  ”

“  it’s  sad .  ”

“  still  ,    i  gotta  get  home .    i  said  i’d  be  there .  ”

“  you’re  a  good  dad  ...    you  always  take  care  of  your  girl .  ”

“  _____ !    you  home ?!  ”

“  you  work  for  us  now .  ”

“  we  didn’t  find  dick .  ”

“  there  we  go  ,    my  child .    every  last  drop  of  salvation .    your  children  are  waiting  for  you  in  heaven .  ”

“  god  does  not  pour  half  measures .  ”

“  the  storm  is  abating .    all  these  undeserved  blessings .  ”

“  he’s  still  not  answering .  ”

“  send  people  to  his  house .  ”

“  they’ve  been  feeding  _____  information .  ”

“  that’s  no  good .  ”

“  i’d  put  my  money  on  _____ .  ”

“  if  we  find  him  ,    i’ll  put  electrodes  on  _____ .  ”

“  how  many  bodies  we  looking  at ?  ”

“  hundreds .    it’ll  take  us  days  to  get  them  all  sorted .  ”

“  lot  of  these  local  corpses  show  signs  of  cyanide  poisoning .  ”

“  god  damn  this  guy’s  heavy  ...    ”

“  that  doesn’t  look  like  cyanide .  ”

“  yeah  ,    a  lot  of  them  got  creative  about  dying .  ”

“  took  a  lot  of  what  killed  her  to  get  the  job  done .  ”

“  last  name  sounds  like  a  crustacean  you’re  not  supposed  to  eat .  ”

“  how  did  you  know ?  ”

“  he  was  supposed  to  be  making  sure  they  didn’t  find  this  place .  ”

“  we  got  one  breathing  here !  ”

“  ‘ and  i  only  am  escaped  alone  to  tell  thee . ’  ”

“  is  that  from  wrath  of  khan ?  ”

“  it’s  actually  book  of  job  ,    by  way  of  moby  ...    ”

“  i  know  what  it  is  ,    you  don’t  have  to  try  and  impress  me .  ”

“  well  ,    holy  shit .  ”

“  his  eyes  are  all  pupil .    completely  catatonic .  ”

“  we  need  to  dig  in  his  head .    don’t  be  gentle .  ”

“  they  rarely  are .  ”

“  there’s  blood  on  the  walls .    looks  like  something  was  written  and  smeared  away .  ”

“  what  do  you  want  to  do ?  ”

“  actually  ,    no .    do  me  a  favor  and  find  his  corpse  ,    because  if  he’s  still  alive  ,    he’s  fucking  dangerous .  ”

“  where’s  _____ ?  ”

“  you’re  asking  the  wrong  question .  ”

“  i’ll  still  help  you  find  the  answer  ,    but  you’ll  need  to  trust  me .  ”

“  dead  ,    twice .  ”

“  how  about  you  just  tell  me  whatever  it  is  you  want  to  tell  me .  ”

“  it’s  not  surprising  religion  would  be  such  an  effective  delivery  mechanism .  ”

“  gods  communicating  with  men  ,    gods  dividing  themselves  into  components  that  men  could  understand .    a  trinity .  ”

“  in  the  name  of  the  father  ...    and  of  the  son  ...    and  of  the  holy  spirit .    amen .  ”

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 48

Masterlist

A/N: This chapter took ages, I'm really sorry. Last week week was kind of bad for me, so I didn't really feel like writing much.

----

Mor sits on a fence in Jurian’s camp and silently glares at Jurian, who is talking with one of his captains. Andromache’s army has been stationed here for over two days now, which means that Mor spends more time than she wants to in Jurian’s company.

As if sensing her attention, Jurian turns around to look at her. Mor quickly averts her eyes, but Jurian is already walking towards her. He leans against the fence next to her. Mor turns her head away and pointedly ignores him. Unfortunately, he seems intent to ignore the hint.

“You got a problem, Mor?”

She presses her lips together and makes herself turn around to him. “Yes,” she says, voice sharp, “I actually do have a problem.”

He is the problem. Him and his stupid nonchalance. He doesn’t even pretend to feel bad about what he did.

Jurian gives her a small smile, sharp as a knife. “If my presence is so unbearable to you, you are free to leave. No one forces you to sit around in my camp and glare at me as if my presence personally offends you.”

Mor bristles. How dare he act like she is the one in the wrong? When he is the one who did such terrible things to Clythia and doesn’t even feel bad about it. She jumps off the fence and turns her back to Jurian. She is about to walk away, but she can’t do so without further comment, can’t let him have this victory.

Over her shoulder, she snaps, “And you wonder why Miryam left you.”

She stalks off, but before she makes it more than a few steps, Jurian grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. His eyes are dark with anger. Mor rips her arm out of his grip and glares right back.

“You think this is why Miryam left?” Jurian asks and lets out a sharp laugh. “You don’t know her at all, do you?”

Mor presses her lips together. “She would never stand for torture.”

“Miryam,” Jurian says, each word clipped, “understands what is necessary.”

And if she gets tortured and killed because of you, will she understand that as well? Mor thinks. She longs to throw the words into his face, but both Andromache and Drakon told her to never, under any circumstances tell Jurian the true reason why Miryam got captured. So she swallows the words and merely turns around, walking off towards Andromache’s tent.

The guards waiting at the entrance are proof enough that Andromache is inside. Mor walks past them into the tent. She firmly closes the door behind herself, then turns around to the queen who is sitting in her desk.

“Why are we coddling him?” She asks, each word biting.

Andromache puts down the letter she was looking through. She looks tired – as far as Mor knows, she hasn’t slept since Miryam vanished. “Jurian?” She asks.

“Yes, Jurian,” Mor snaps. “He is the reason Miryam might be getting tortured and killed, yet you and Drakon have nothing better to do than coddle him like he’s some innocent child.”

It’s infuriating. Who cares about Jurian’s feelings? He caused the trouble they are in right now, yet all everyone seems to care about how he might suffer under the truth. Even more infuriating is that Andromache simply shakes her head like she is being unreasonable.

“Jurian,” she says, “is suffering and you know it. And making him suffer further won’t save Miryam.” She frowns at her. “It’s unlike you to want to make him unhappy just to punish him.”

Mor taps her foot against the ground in annoyance. Now, the problem is her? Jurian tortures and slaughters a woman, and somehow, she is the one to blame for being angry with him for it? Has everyone lost their mind?

“Maybe I simply do not like men who nail women to things,” she snaps.

Andromache taps her quill against the table, wincing slightly. “Sorry,” she says. “I get that this situation might be… difficult for you.”

“I simply don’t understand why you treat him the way you do!” She says. “It’s bad enough that Jurian is terrible now, but I don’t understand why everyone insists on acting like he’s the victim in this!”

It’s driving her crazy. All the lines are getting blurred, and nothing makes sense anymore. Even Drakon seems to be mostly concerned with making sure Jurian is well, and Mor just doesn’t understand.

“But you must realize that this is not the same thing,” Andromache says. “It’s not like Jurian went and murdered some poor, innocent girl. Clythia was a Loyalist commander. She killed and tortured thousands of humans!”

“This isn’t about her actions, it’s about Jurian’s.” Mor glares at her. “That she was horrible doesn’t make what Jurian did acceptable.”

How does Andromache not understand this? It doesn’t matter that Clythia was terrible, Jurian shouldn’t have done what he did. He is meant to be the good guy, a member of the Alliance, her friend. One of them. Yet what he did to Clythia wasn’t good at all, it was terrible, and he doesn’t even have an explanation for why he did it.

So that must mean Jurian is an enemy now. He did a terrible, unforgivable thing, after all. Yet she seems to be the only one who sees it that way.

“It doesn’t make it right,” Andromache replies, “but it certainly means I don’t feel a lick of sympathy for what happened to Clythia. I’m never in favour of needless cruelty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t also think that Clythia got what she deserved.”

Mor shakes her head. She can’t believe this. Clythia was the one who got murdered. She cannot, by definition, be the one who was in the wrong in that situation. Andromache shouldn’t be saying this, she shouldn’t be defending what Jurian did.

This entire situation blurs the lines. It blurs the lines in all the wrong ways.

“No one deserves that!” Mor snaps. “Just because she owns slaves – “

“Just?” Andromache cuts her off. Now, any hint of understanding, of sympathy, is gone from her voice. “Just slavery? That is how you see it?”

“No!” Mor wildly shakes her head. Dread shoots through her body, turning her blood to ice. “No, I didn’t mean that. It came out all wrong, I was just trying to –“

“And anyways,” Andromache cuts her off, “it wasn’t just owning slaves, either. She actively fought us to keep owning slaves. She spent centuries torturing humans with delight. And don’t get me started on how absolutely fucked her interest in Jurian was.”

Mor lifts her hands. Her heart is pounding. She has seen Andromache this angry before, but not with her. Never with her. She shouldn’t have said it like that. Cauldron, why did she say it like that?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Andromache shakes her head. “I think I’d rather be alone right now,” she says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

----

Drakon can’t sleep.

In fact, he hasn’t been able to sleep much ever since Miryam got kidnapped. He keeps jolting awake, drenched in sweat, unable to shake off the images of Miryam tied to the ceiling in a torture chamber, Miryam bleeding and screaming in pain as a faceless man approached with a knife.

According to Sinna’s sources, Miryam isn’t being tortured, but that knowledge barely manages to ease his worry. So he keeps tossing and turning in his bed, shifting from one position to another. The images keep rising, and no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t manage to chase them away.

A few hours past midnight, he gives up. If he can’t sleep anyways, he’ll go for a walk around the battlements. There will surely be some night guards around and they usually appreciate having company.

But when he opens the door to his rooms, the guards waiting outside step into his way. They exchange nervous glances. Lisi, one of the newest captains in his guard, seems to be in charge of the team tonight, and she looks entirely uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon arches an eyebrow at her. “Am I grounded?” He asks jokingly.

“No, of course not, Your Highness,” Lisi says, stepping from one foot to the other. She seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon looks between her and the other guards for a moment. This behaviour has only one possible explanation. And it means that Drakon needs to have a conversation with Sinna about which orders she can and cannot give his guards. Right now.

“I’ll go visit Sinna,” he says and shoulders past his guards. At least they don’t try to stop him, although Lisi looks more than a little uncomfortable in her skin.

The room Sinna and Nephelle share is just a few doors down the hall. Drakon only remembers that they are likely sleeping after he already knocked sharply at the door. To his surprise, it flies open almost immediately. Nephelle stands in the doorway, already fully dressed.

“Drakon,” she says. Surprise colours her voice and the smile she gives him is half-hearted at best.

“I wanted to talk to Sinna,” Drakon says.

“Oh.” Nephelle winces slightly, eyes drifting over to Lisi. “Uhm.”

“Nephelle.” Drakon looks between her and the guards, who suddenly seem to find huge interest in their shoes. “Where is Sinna?”

----

Lying flat on his stomach, Rhys stares down at the fort below. His army is waiting behind him in a ridge, safely hidden from the eyes of the guards standing along the walls of the fort. But Rhys wanted to get a good view of the terrain before the battle begins, so he climbed up the side of the ridge and found a viewpoint behind a small boulder.

From up here, the fort doesn’t look like much. It’s carved into the mountain, sure, but it doesn’t seem to be much better protected than the average castle. At least the mountain is nowhere near as massive as the one the Hewn City is built under. Really, Rhys doesn’t know what all the fuss is about. Even the wards aren’t that great, at least as far as he can tell from up here.

The Heseia Fort, he decides, is far less impressive than its reputation.

Carefully, Rhys slides down the slope, wings flared to keep his balance. Little stones loosen under his feet and roll down the mountain. His soldiers stare at him as he walks past. He can feel the anger boiling under the surface, but the Illyirans under his command have learned not to question his orders by now. Strength and brutality are the only languages they care to understand, and Rhys spent the past years teaching them in that exact language that he doesn’t care to be questioned. (Sometimes, Rhys feels a stab of embarrassment at it, but it is necessary. Even if most of his current friends probably wouldn’t understand, but that’s just how they are – too soft.)

His captains are standing together by the edge of the makeshift camp. They are mid-conversation, but fall silent when Rhys approaches. They even incline their heads, although he can see the anger in their eyes.

“Is the army ready?” Rhys asks.

“We are Illyrians,” one of his captains says gruffly. “We are always ready for battle. But you had the army flying for ten hours straight to get here. Giving them rest before battle would improve their performances.”

“And any moment we wait increases the risk of being discovered,” Rhys counters. “The moment of surprise is our biggest advantage.”

Amarantha likely knows by now that the Alliance chose not to save Miryam, so she won’t expect any action from them. She’ll likely keep tabs on both Jurian and Drakon, but with both of their armies still firmly at their intended positions, she’ll have no reason to suspect an attack. And that is exactly why Rhys will succeed where no one else would.

“We attack now,” he says firmly.

His captains exchange looks. “And you are truly asking us to risk our lives to save that…” His lips curl in disgust. “…that witch?”

That is perhaps the one detail of the plan that angers his soldiers the most. They don’t fear death, but apparently, dying for a witch is a dishonour. Rhys couldn’t care less for their stupid superstitions. There’s really no difference if they die in this battle or in another.

“I’m not asking,” he says in a voice he copied from his father and that usually gets people to do what he wants. Just to top it off, he also flares his power. “I’m ordering.”

“You, or the council?” A second captain challenges. “Because so far, you’ve never been put in charge of a battle on your own. Why now?”

Rhys doesn’t have a convincing lie ready to explain why the council suddenly gave up its absurd dedication to keeping Rhys condemned to the side lines, so he simply stretches out a hand. Dark power shoots from his fingertips and wraps itself around the captain who spoke up. The man grits his teeth, a vein bulges at his temple, but he bears the pain in silence.

“Last I checked,” Rhys says coolly, “I did not need to explain myself to you.”

He might need to explain himself to the council when they find out, though. And to his father. He doubts any of them will be pleased to find out about what he did.

But it won’t matter. Once this battle is over and he freed Miryam, no one will care that he went against orders. He will be a hero. After more than six years of war spent as a grunt, following orders and never being allowed to do anything on his own, this will be his moment. After that, everyone will know him as the one who freed the leader of the Alliance, who managed to do so against all odds and when even the most brilliant generals like Jurian and Sinna did not dare.

This is his chance. And he won’t let anyone keep him from it. Not his captains or his father, not the council, and not Sinna and Drakon with their exaggerated caution.

Even if he really doesn’t understand why Sinna refused to act. For Drakon, it makes sense – although Rhys would have thought his mate getting captured would be enough to get him to give up his usual caution. But apparently, Drakon entirely lacks the edge it takes to lead an army, or a country for that matter. One of the biggest mysteries in Rhys’s life remains how someone like Drakon ever managed to get this popular amongst the young Fae (if not amongst the older ones). It’s not that Rhys doesn’t like him, but he’s… well, not quite sharp enough for his taste. But Rhys was sure Sinna would press for action.

Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he needs their approval.

He releases his hold on his magic, allowing the captain to sag to the ground. “We attack,” he says. “Now.”

----

“I don’t believe this,” Drakon mutters. He stops his pacing and turns around to Nephelle, who sat down on the couch. They are alone in her quarters, the guards happily remaining outside. “You didn’t.”

Nephelle shakes her head. “Sinna left four hours ago, together with ten of her best soldiers.”

A part of Drakon is still waiting for her to laugh and tell him that this is a joke. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“You mean to tell me,” he says softly, “that my High General takes a group of my soldiers on a mission to save my wife, and no one thought to tell me?”

Nephelle winces slightly. “Sinna didn’t want you to worry,” she says.

She didn’t want him to worry. Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Slowly, he lets himself drop to the couch next to Nephelle and presses his hands against his face.

“How does she even plan to get Miryam out?” He asks, face still pressed in his hands. “Not even Sinna will be able to take the Heseia Fort with only ten soldiers.”

“There will be a diversion,” Nephelle says. She shifts around in her seat. “I wanted to go with them, but Sinna wouldn’t let me.”

On another day, Drakon would have tried to comfort her. He is about to do just that, but then, he remembers that Nephelle helped Sinna and his guards and everyone else with lying to him and remains silent.

“What kind of diversion?” He asks instead.

If Sinna took part of his army… But no, she couldn’t have. The ability to winnow is rare amongst Seraphim – it is actually not a Seraphim ability at all, but people with distant High Fae heritage sometimes get it – and Sinna would never have been able to get more than a hundred soldiers to the Heseia Fort this quickly. Which means that somehow, she got her hands on another army.

Nephelle winces slightly, looking more than a little guilty. “Rhysand and his army,” she says.

----

It takes exactly thirteen minutes from the first arrow being fired for Rhys to lose control of his army completely. It all happens so quickly that he barely understands what is going on, let alone give orders to avoid it.

The first five minutes went well. Rhys ordered the attack, and from there, everything worked flawlessly. He did everything just right. And really, he couldn’t have known that there was a trap woven into one of the wards around the fort. How could he have known? Breaking the ward was the logical choice, and what happened afterwards was not his fault.

Still, the blast of pure energy it set off killed a good fourth of his soldiers in one go and sent the rest into complete panic.

“Reform the lines!” Rhys roars at them, but now, arrows are raining down on them from the fort. Their tips are made from a blueish stone, and they pierce Rhysand’s shields easily. “Get back into formation!”

No one listens. Rhys isn’t even sure if his captains are still alive. They were likely at the front lines and got hit by the blast, while Rhys himself hung back to provide magical cover. Not that it did them any good so far.

He raises his hands and sends a wave of dark power crashing for the fort walls. It sizzles out uselessly against the first layer of wards. Their enemies don’t even bother with open combat, they just keep raining arrows, boulders and cans of burning oil down on them.

“Commander!” Someone yells far too close to Rhys’s ear. He spins around and comes face to face with one of his captains. Seems like at least one of them survived this far. “We need to retreat,” the man pants.

“No!” Rhys shouts back.

He can’t retreat. He can’t. Not after everything he risked to get here. If he returns with half his soldiers – maybe more by now – dead and nothing to show for, he will be done. They will put him on trial for disregarding a direct order, and his father will make sure he gets the highest possible punishment.

Another volley of arrow comes shooting down from the fort. One of them hits Rhys, slipping through a slit in his armour and burying itself in his arm. He hisses in pain.

“We need to retreat!” His captain repeats. “Or we will all die.”

No. No, he can’t do this. “There’s no honour in retreat!” He doesn’t care about honour, just about the consequences this might have for him, but this might convince his soldiers to keep fighting.

“There is no honour in stupidity!” The captain shouts back at him. “If you don’t order a retreat right now, we’ll all be dead within minutes!”

Rhys looks around the battlefield, then. All around him, his soldiers are dying. They aren’t even attacking, can’t manage to get through the wards, but they can’t run, either, not without his permission.

There are so many dead soldiers on the ground. Half his army. More.

The realization hits Rhys like a punch to the stomach. They aren’t getting into that fort. It is completely and utterly impossible. This entire mission is doomed, has been from the beginning. And if they stay her for a moment longer, they will all die.

“Retreat!” Rhys shouts. His voice barely manages to rise over the general noise, but his soldiers pick up the call soon enough. “Retreat!”

There’s nothing orderly about the retreat. They simply turn and run.

They don’t even make it a hundred feet before the first soldiers slam into an invisible barrier. A ward – one that surely wasn’t here before. Rhys sends his power barrelling into it. The air shimmers for a moment, but the ward doesn’t shatter.

And still, the arrows keep flying. Rhys looks around wildly, searching for a way out, but there is none. He is trapped and now, he and his soldiers will die.

Suddenly, the onslaught of arrows stops. Rhys looks up, startles, just as a woman steps onto the battlements of the fort. She is wearing black armour and a helmet, but her red hair is unbound underneath and it flies in the wind like a flag. General Amarantha, if Rhys’s guess is correct.

“Look at what we got there,” she says, voice carrying easily over the crowd. “Not quite the quarry I hoped for. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Silence is her only answer. The Illyrians that are still alive – a bare third of the soldiers Rhys arrived with – seem to relish the pause.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Amarantha calls down at them. “Whichever idiot is in charge of this army should probably announce their surrender now, before I decide to let my soldiers use you sorry lot for target practice.”

----

“Your Highness,” a muffled voice says through the door. “General Sinna is back.”

Drakon tries to sit up too quickly, gets tangled up in his wings and nearly falls off the couch. He manages to flare his wings and regain his balance just in time. By the time he manages to get his feet back under himself, Nephelle is already on her feet and halfway to the door.

She rips the door open so hard it slams against the wall with a bang. “Where?” She asks the servant who brought the news.

Drakon is glad she asked, he doesn’t think he would have been able to get a word out. Sinna is back. That must mean she’s alive. But Miryam… She has to be alive as well. It must have worked – Sinna’s plans always work. She is simply too stubborn to fail.

“In the medical wing, My Lady,” the servant replies.

Nephelle nods and sets off at a full sprint. Drakon follows, easily keeping up with his longer legs. His heart is racing. In running, he catches a glimpse of a pink sky and the rising sun through one of the windows. Sunrise. Him and Nephelle spent the last six hours trying and failing to control their rising panic as they desperately waited for a sign from Sinna.

They round a corner and Drakon narrowly avoids colliding with a guard. “Sorry!” He calls over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop running.

The medical wing is five stories down on the other side of the castle. By the time Nephelle and Drakon arrive, they are both out of breath and Nephelle’s wings tremble.

There is a small commotion in front of one of the treatment rooms. At first, Drakon can’t make out individual people in the chaos. Him and Nephelle just stand frozen in the hallways, desperately scanning the small crowd.

Then, Nephelle surges forward. “Sinna!” She shouts, voice rising over the noise.

A figure breaks apart from the group. Drakon barely catches more than a glance at Sinna before Nephelle crashes into her arms. Sinna catches her, stumbling back a step under the impact.

“It’s alright,” she whispers to Nephelle. She says something else after that, but it is too quiet for Drakon to hear.

Nephelle keeps clinging to Sinna, as if she’s scared that she will vanish if she lets go. Sinna runs a hand through her hair, then kisses her on the spot between her eyebrows.

Drakon remains rooted to the spot. He wants to walk over, wants to see if Sinna is alright, wants to ask after Miryam, but his body won’t obey. He is completely frozen, unable to move or speak. Even when Sinna gently frees herself from Nephelle’s grip and turns to Drakon, he doesn’t manage to get the question out. Did you succeed?

Sinna simply looks at him for a moment. Then, she inclines her head towards the room to her right. “She’s in there,” she says.

And just like that, Drakon snaps out of his stupor. He is at the door before he truly realized he is moving. He rips the door open and comes face to face with three startled healers.

Miryam lies in the bed behind them. She looks scarily frail under her white blanket, frail and far younger than she usually does. There is a fading bruise on the left side of her face. And other injuries are hidden by the blanket someone draped over her.

Slowly, Drakon steps forward, but one of the healers steps into his way. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” they say. “But you can’t be in here.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “But I need to…” He needs to be there for her, he can’t just go and leave her on her own. Not while she is hurt and he doesn’t know if she…

“You can wait outside, Your Highness,”

“No.” Drakon tries to step past them, but the healer gently takes him by the arm. “No, I need to… I need to see…”

“She isn’t going to die,” the healer says firmly. With a start, he realizes that he’s trembling. “None of her injuries are lethal, Your Highness, she will be fine. But I generally do not permit family to be in the room while I work unless explicitly demanded by the patient. So you will have to go wait outside while I do my job, and I will come talk to you after I am done.” They smile at Drakon. “Is that alright with you, Your Highness?”

Drakon nods numbly and allows the healer to gently push him out of the room. Sinna and Nephelle are both gone from the corridor. Somehow, Drakon ends up sitting on a chair somewhere on the hallway, staring down at his feet.

Miryam looked injured. Their spies might have reported that she didn’t get tortured, but maybe they were wrong. They might have been wrong. And then…

A pair of leather boots appears in his line of vision, making Drakon look up at the owner.

“You alright?” Sinna asks. She is still dressed in her armour, the grey leather splattered with dried blood. There is a bandage around her left arm and a shallow slice marring her cheek.

Drakon nods slowly. He isn’t sure if he can speak right now.

“We should probably talk,” Sinna says. “But not here. Come on.”

Drakon wants to object that he can’t go, that he needs to wait for the healers to finish, but he has been waiting for at least an hour now and no one came to talk to him. For all he knows, it might be several more hours before he gets any news, and he assumes that should the healers finish their work while he is gone, they will simply send someone to fetch him.

They don’t go far, anyways. Sinna pulls open the next best door and steps into a supply closet. Neatly stacked boxes line the walls, each with a label marking its contents. Bandages of varying sizes, alcohol to disinfect the wounds and dried mushrooms against the pain.

“We used our contact to get inside,” Sinna says. “It was rather easy, with everyone so focused on the attacking army that they didn’t even notice us. We had to kill a couple of guards, but that was it. In and out within just over an hour.”

Drakon just stares at her. He has no idea what to say. How is he supposed to react? What kind of reaction does she want?

“Rhysand’s army has been defeated,” Sinna announces. “Half of his soldiers are dead, the rest captured – him included, if my sources are correct.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “Seven hundred soldiers,” he says. He can’t manage to keep the shock out of his voice. “You sent seven hundred soldiers to their deaths?”

“I did no such thing,” Sinna says. She sounds far too detached. How can she talk about this so neutrally? “I did not tell Rhysand to take his army on some suicide mission trying to take a fort with less than half the soldiers that would be required to actually pull it off. I told him not to. I told him they would all die, and Miryam with them. But it was painfully obvious that the idiot boy wouldn’t listen. And if he was already going to get himself and his soldiers killed, why shouldn’t I at least make sure they don’t die in vain?”

Drakon can’t stop shaking his head. “You could have stopped him,” he points out, even though he doesn’t know if he would have wanted her to.

All of his morals tell him that it is wrong, completely and utterly wrong, to let hundreds of people die to save one. And Rhys might have chosen to risk his life, but those soldiers certainly didn’t. Sacrificing them was wrong. But at the same time, selfishly, Drakon is glad Sinna acted the way she did. Sacrificing hundreds of lives for one seems far less wrong when the one live belongs to the person you love and the hundreds are mostly strangers.

Only those strangers will have families and friends, too. People who care about them, people who lost their loved ones tonight.

“You’re right,” Sinna says. “I could have. But I didn’t. I chose to save Miryam, because she is important to this war and important to you.”

Drakon just stares at Sinna. He doesn’t know what to do, whether to hug her or yell. He is torn between gratitude and anger, both feelings so intense that he is nearly choking on them.

“Would it help if I apologized?” Sinna asks.

“Are you sorry?” Drakon asks.

Sinna seems to consider it for a moment. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she says. “But as for the rest? I would do it again.”

“Then no, an apology wouldn’t help,” Drakon says drily. Now, anger is winning over gratitude, if narrowly. “You should have told me.”

“Possibly,” Sinna agrees.

“Certainly. You can’t just…” He shakes his head. “You can’t just go behind my back like this. On purpose. It’s not like I require you to discuss every little detail with me – we both know you’re better at this than I’ll ever be – but this, you should have told me about. And you knew, since you conspired with my guards to keep me from finding out.”

Sinna crosses her arms. “I didn’t conspire,” she says pointedly. “I merely asked them to keep you in your room for the night, if at all possible.”

This is decidedly the wrong detail to focus on. “You should have told me,” Drakon repeats.

“But I didn’t,” Sinna says. “And because I didn’t, you will be able to look Miryam and Morrigan and anyone else who might ask in the eye and tell them that you had no part in sending Rhysand and his soldiers to their deaths and it will be the truth.”

“Well, I’d rather be able to tell people that I’m in charge of my own country and have it be the truth.”

Doesn’t she understand this? Drakon might not care much about his reputation and what the other royals think of him, but so far, he could always safely say that the things they said about him were lies. But if Sinna is ready to go behind his back so easily…

Sinna presses her lips together. “But would you have wanted to make that choice?” She asks. “I did not send the soldiers working for Rhysand to their deaths, but I willingly accepted it. I traded hundreds of lives for one. Is this the type of choice you would have liked?” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Trading lives like this is never easy, and these choices always stay with you. Forever.”

Drakon’s stomach twists, but he shakes his head. “But making those choices is my duty.” It’s not about choice, not about what he wants. And maybe it’s stupid that he has the final say on military matters when Sinna is so much more experienced – maybe he will change it one day – but for the moment, this is his duty. “You do not help me if you try to shield me from it.”

“You are too young,” Sinna says. “You shouldn’t be forced to make these choices.”

Drakon doesn’t say that Miryam and Jurian are also young, and Andromache, Mor and Rhys aren’t that much older than the three of them. “But you can’t change that,” he says softly. “I am Prince, whether you like it or not. These choices are mine to make. Just as any guilt they might bring is mine to bear.”

----

Andromache knows she has been too sharp. She knows that what her father did to her still haunts Mor, knows that it sometimes makes her snap. When that happens, her emotions run wild with her, making her say things she doesn’t mean. Maybe a better person than Andromache would have taken it with grace, would have let the comment slide.

But Andromache also has her sore points, and one of them is Fae – especially High Fae, and especially High Fae nobles – so clearly favouring Fae over humans. And for all she knows that Mor didn’t mean what she said, she also can’t shake the thought that no one says anything like this without meaning it at least a little bit.

“What did the two of you argue about, anyways?” Yanis asks. He is lying sprawled on Andromache’s bed, which is probably his unique interpretation of being on guard.

Andromache shrugs. “Jurian,” she says. “Mor doesn’t like what he did.”

“You don’t like what he did, either,” Yanis counters.

Andromache crosses her arms and turns around to him in her chair. She doesn’t have a reply to that, at least not one she can properly articulate, and she hates not having a reply. The thing is, she doesn’t have a problem with the fact that Mor dislikes Jurian’s actions, she has a problem with the how.

“She can just…” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, she’s so…” She gestures around in the air, searching for words. “Fae,” she finishes, hoping that Yanis will know what she means.

She doesn’t fault Mor for being Fae, not at all. But sometimes, she does things that make it painfully clear that she isn’t quite like her. Which, again, Andromache wouldn’t mind, if she wasn’t so…  

Yanis sighs. “Anny.” It’s her childhood nickname, and one he hasn’t used in years. At least since she became queen. "Do you really think that Mor's problem with what Jurian did is that he's human?"

Andromache makes a face. She doesn't think that, not really. Probably. At least not consciously. Mor certainly isn't like Shey and these other bastards on the council, but still, the way she judges Jurian doesn't sit well with Andromache.

"She doesn't have a problem with torture when Azriel does it," she says. "Or when Rhysand beats his soldiers because he's too incompetent a commander to get them in line through other methods."

And that's probably the core of the problem. (Well, that and the "just slavery" comment.) She would have no problem at all with Mor judging Jurian if she was consequent about it. But she is completely fine with torture when her Fae friends do it, even though their actions are arguably worse since they keep doing it and don't have the excuse of not being entirely in control of their own actions.

"Why is she fine with it then, but has a problem when Jurian does it?" Andromache asks.

"Because she can pretend that they only act that way because they don't have a choice and that they aren't actually like this," Yanis says. He has always been the more perceptive one of the two of them, the one who managed to look at things from all angles. "Rhysand has this entire thing going about how him being an asshole is only a mask, and Azriel can claim he's made to do it by his High Lord."

Andromache snorts. Of all the excuses she heard, 'I was just pretending to be an asshole' always seemed like the most idiotic one. If you torture someone, saying that you were just pretending certainly doesn’t make it right. You can’t just pretend to hurt people, you actually hurt them, and your reasons will never be able to ease the pain you caused.

“Mor,” Yanis says, “likes clear lines. Good and bad and little in between. And stupid as her friends’ reasonings might be, they allow her to still place them in the Good category. What Jurian did blurs the lines, and she doesn’t like that.”

Now, Andromache feels really stupid. Yanis is right, of course, and she can’t believe she had to let him explain her own partner to her. She knows that Mor generally sees people as either good or bad, no in-between. Anything that blurs those lines tends to make her upset, so of course she wouldn’t be fond of what Jurian did.

“Talk to her,” Yanis says. “Unless you are so upset that you want to end things, that is.”

Andromache flinches at the notion. “No!” Of course she doesn’t want to end things. It was one argument – one she already feels stupid about, if she’s being honest. She certainly isn’t fine with what Mor said, but she should have just dropped the topic instead of allowing it to escalate.

“Can you winnow me to Telique?” She asks. She originally hadn’t meant to leave the camp, but Jurian has been remarkably civil in the days since Miryam got kidnapped. He seems content to wait around for Amarantha to arrive, and he shows no sign of wanting to change his strategy, so she can probably risk leaving him alone for an hour.

Yanis slowly climbs out of her bed, yawning. “Sure,” he mutters.

 Mor is in her suite in Telique, as some of the palace guards inform Andromache when she arrives. Yanis leaves her behind to go visit his sister who works in the stables, and so Andromache is alone when she stands in front of Mor’s door. She allows herself a moment’s hesitation before she knocks.

Mor opens after only a moment. She freezes in the door when she sees Andromache, then gives her an awkward smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Andromache echoes. “Can I come in?”

It occurs to her that this is their first real argument. They had smaller disagreements, like the one about Mor’s interest in her powers, but they never really argued until yesterday.

“Sure.” Mor steps aside.

Andromache enters the spacious receiving room that belongs to the emissary’s suite. Mor closes the door, and then, they both stand around awkwardly, staring at each other. Andromache opens her mouth to apologize, but after the just slavery comment, she actually feels like it’s up to Mor to make the first step. Which she fortunately does.

“I’m sorry,” Mor says. “That comment I made… I didn’t mean to say it like that, it came out all wrong.” She shakes her head. “I was trying to say that torture is never okay, no matter against whom.”

Andromache sighs. “I know.” Even if that comment still echoes through her mind, and will likely remain with her for a while yet. “And I’m sorry, too. It’s just… I spent the past few days trying to get the council in line, which really isn’t easy without Miryam. And all the Fae who went on and on about how horrible Jurian’s actions were only seemed to have a problem with it because he’s human.” She offers Mor a half-hearted smile. “So you kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“Oh.” Mor winces. “I didn’t know that. Sorry.” She gives Andromache a tentative smile. “So we are still fine?” She asks in a small voice.

Andromache takes her hands and squeezes them. “Of course we are,” she says softly.

Mor smiles, eyes glittering wetly. Then, she throws her arms around Andromache and hugs her. Andromache absentmindedly trails her fingers through her light hair.

Perhaps Jurian isn’t the only one who’s slowly falling apart. They are all struggling, all desperately grasping for any ways to make this world of theirs more bearable. And if Mor likes to divide things into neat categories, if she doesn’t like to see that order interrupted, maybe that is fine.

A knock sounds on the door. Mor quickly lets go of her and steps back, putting some distance between them. She discreetly wipes her eyes.

Andromache waits until she composed herself, then calls, “Come in!”

To her surprise, Yanis steps inside. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing between them. “But I thought you might want to hear this.”

“What?” Andromache asks. Her throat suddenly feels tight. If there’s one thing over six years of war taught her, it’s that urgent news are usually bad. Mor silently takes her hand, as if she, too, is bracing herself.

“I just got a letter from Drakon,” Yanis says. “He didn’t give any details, but apparently, they somehow got Miryam out of the Heseia fort. She’s alive and safe.”

Andromache is silent for a moment. Slowly, she turns to look at Mor, who seems equally shocked. Then, she slowly begins to smile. Andromache begins grinning herself, and then, they are hugging, holding each other tight.

Some good news. Finally some good news.

“There’s something else,” Yanis says. Now, he is looking at Mor only. “I’m sorry, Mor,” he says, “but your cousin got captured by Amarantha.”

----

A/N: I don't like Rhys, and I hope the veiled criticism came across in this chapter lol. (I also wasn't very enthusiastic about the entire storyline of Miryam getting kidnapped, so I'm glad that's done now.) And I DO like Mor, but I still felt like I needed to hint at her having some characteristics (a certain tendency to divide into “good” and “bad” and ignore the nuances) that allow her to be a part of a government like the Inner Circle later on.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

[hanawrites404]

Wynne's Diary - Touch with Asra

@sweetalnazar

We were clearing out the shop today. Boxes filled with piles of aged magical books, masquerade masks and other important miscellaneous items were stuffed into the crates. Our home was full of countless varied and unique things you can ever imagine or guess of that we needed a separate day to sort the stuff out to what we might need in the future and keep it inside the shop, and then to things that we would not need unless for emergency purposes, which would rightfully be organised in the storehouse we had.

Me and my husband were raiding our shop, basically. Because one, it seemed like a detailed mission, and two, we were extremely tired and filthy from the dust the shop had amassed over time. We accidentally even demolished some of the spider's home webs while brushing so we had to carefully pick the spiders out and leave them outside on the lawn.

Poor arachnids.....they were so adorable and cute. I hope they find a better home soon. Though forming a web was never an easy job.

And so wasn't the task of clearing out such a relatively huge shop and stacking all the articles without damaging even a tinge of any material.

"Wynne, can you help me with this one?" My husband called me from inside the repository. His voice echoed through the walls of the room and reached my ears as a dusted my hands onto my apron and entered the dark room lit just by an orb of esoteric blue fire above.

"Is this the last one to be moved?" I placed my hands on my hips. Asra was crouched near the box as he rubbed his cheek to wipe out the dust and faced me, he had sweat on his brows and he looked pretty exhausted because......

We both had been working for hours. We started somewhere around midday and it's nightfall now.

"Yes...After this one, we can finally rest. I feel very thirsty and I could definitely use some of your lemonade" he huffed and ran his hand through his velvety white hair.

"Lemonade huh....sure. Let's get this over with" I took off the rubber band on my hair and retied it on into a small tail so that my hair doesn't impede much. I squatted down, and got hold of the edge of the box and gradually started to lift it with every strength I had.

Asra supported the other side of the box, and we both coordinated our steps to move the load together outside the storage room. I was not a lifter, and neither was Asra. We could have called Muriel over to help, but he was lying sick on the bed with Portia and Julian both aiding the giant man. So we agreed to not bother him and take the matters to our own ourselves.

It was our mart anyway, so we had to.

"Almost there!" Asra notified. I nodded and pulled in the air to exert the energy left in my arms. I walked patiently back, keeping a watch out to not bump with the other items on the floor and trip on my heel. Asra cautiously followed me, he rasped a bit and used his momentum to get a better grip of the end.

He knew that I was not much physically substantial, so he made sure to not let me take the heavier weight, but watching him take all the burden over himself just like how he always was, made me feel immensely culpable.

Asra was always like this. Votive, generous, selfless. These were very good traits in him, no doubt in that. But sometimes, he overdoes it, and that was not at all acceptable by me. He from time to time needs to know that his own self is as significant as everyone else he cared about. He needs to realize that at the end of the world, he would only have himself with him, and he better give a fuck about it sooner than repent it at later moments.

But.....I was not in the right niche to teach him such a lesson.

Because I wouldn't be the educator of this topic, I would be a student since there was hardly any difference in both of our sentiment towards our loved ones.

Votive, generous, selfless......

We both were a bunch of crackheads.

"Oof! Finally, everything is done. The shop barely changed, but at least it holds less weight than previously" Asra slumped onto the couch and caught his breath, his chest rhythmically rising and sinking with the teal pendant on his bosom.

Faust and Ichigo weren't home today. They both had gone to take a stroll around Vesuvia as we toiled. We didn't worry about both of them too much since they were proper grown-ups and can handle themselves faultlessly, unlike us both who can't even watch out for cobwebs and prevent ourselves to mercilessly annihilate them.

I still feel sad about them.......poor babies...

"Ahh...." I heard him groan and hold his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"My shoulders ache a lot. My arms too. Looks like a overworked myself. They feel quite fatigued" he tried gearing his joints only to wince in discomfort.

"Ugh, don't aggravate it. That would make it worse. Relax your shoulders, and try to slowly roll them to get some movement" I instructed him sternly.

"I can't. They stiffened up. I cannot even properly move them without feeling a lot of stings" he complained to me, still grabbing onto his ailing shoulder.

I watched him cynically and shook my head, sighing and closing my eyes, rubbing my own furrowed brows. He was seriously acting like a whiny child crying over a tiny scratch. But despite my dubiety, I did not blame him. It was true he did a lot of work today. He shifted hefty stuff, helped me tidy up the inside of the storehouse and shelves along with the rest of the two-storeys, and also renovated the mattress, sheets and curtains with new and clean ones. I couldn't have done all of them without Asra, and I did owe him enough to alleviate him from his post-pain.

"Turn your back" I ordered him again.

"O-Oh.... alright" he did as I told him. I cracked my knuckles and trudged towards him and sat near him, facing his back.

"Take your shirt off," I told him next. He obeyed me and dropped the piece of clothing in front of him. I tenderly skimmed his back, caressing his spine and feeling the bumps of his vertebrate. My nails trailed along his tanned back and I felt his shivers reverberating through my finger pads. His skin was soft like the petals of blossoms and tempting to sense as a downy kitten's fur.

And he was even kissable as a child's rosy cheek.

I shifted a little closer to him, grasping his shoulders carefully in my hands and enclosing my fingers around his shoulder blades. I lightly applied pressure on my palms and squeezed his shoulders. Asra lightly grumbled in return, and I continued my work around that area and his neck. I handily massaged his tendons and muscles, untying all the tangles and applying the right amount of force as not to cause too much throb on him.

"Mmmahh.....Wynne....." He sizzled. It didn't sound like a wince of pain but of genuine contentment and pleasure. He finally let himself loose under my hands as he leaned back onto my shoulder, closing his eyes and moaning against my neck. I softly chuckled and laid a peck on his nose as I kept pummelling onto his other aching places.

I moved from his neck to his arms and shoulders, and I sensually kneaded his well-built limbs and fondled with his biceps in-between my fingers. I pressed every spot of his arms and started laying butterfly kisses upon his neck and below his ear. He lightly purred from my touch, succumbing to my soft seduction as I nibbled onto his ear, and my hand slid up from his chest to hold his chin and the other reached down to twiddle with his nipple.

"Ohhh...Wynne....." He bit his lip, his cheeks dusted pink from impulse.

"Yes, darling~?" I whispered into his ear and took the opportunity to bite on his earlobe and pull it faintly with my mouth.

"Aahhh! please.....more......I want more" he pleaded to me. I gazed into his eyes, they were clouded with submission and fervour. He wanted to keep up with this play of pinch and flirt with me, and he wanted himself to be under my mercy and decree till I break him to his brim by making him reach his peak ecstasy and orgasm.

And who would refuse such an offer?

Well, the answer is simple.

I would.

Before he could make any other move, I promptly pulled myself back and stood up on my feet as Asra landed back on the sofa with a thud.

"Pervert" was all I said before I made my way to the kitchen to fetch him the spiced lemonade he was craving ever since he finished his work, and a playful smirk was visible throughout on my lips. It's not that I didn't want to continue exciting him, I stopped because I want this to be on a day where no chore, nonentity, and no interference come in the middle. I wanted the day we make love to be untarnished, ripe and vehement, where no one coaxed to unnerve us.

As far as I can remember, Asra's face was priceless by the heckler finale I gave him. He was completely bamboozled and hoodwinked, and damn I loved it. The taunting was one of my greatest pastimes, and working it out on Asra was even more fun. Why do you ask? Because he always gives the most adorable and unparalleled ripostes than anyone I had ever known, and it was always mirthful at which I can chortle about for hours and never forget it ever in my life.

Maybe one such day will arrive when he would be fortunate enough to receive my full attention.....one day..........

And I'm desperately but patiently waiting for it.

[angelrider13]

Alright, so I mentioned in discord yesterday that Thalassa’s been dimension hopping. (We all have that one OC.) She’s currently hanging out in MDZS/Untamed world and causing chaos - as she does. @starofthemourning asked what specifically she was getting up to. So have a ramble!

- Thalassa was just minding her business, cruising through Death’s realm as she does from time to time, visiting past children and friends, helping newly deceased souls cross over, etc., etc., when she gets yoinked into a completely different land of the living.

- Thalassa: Toto, we are not in Eos anymore.

- She’s been summoned into the body of a young woman by a group of demonic cultivators that pushed some buttons they should not have. They are a cult, because of course they are, and Thalassa has no idea what’s happening, but they are cuckoo bananapuffs and leaning WAY too hard on the cult thing - virgin sacrifices, child sacrifices, torture, lotsa bad things. Thalassa in her new, 100% human body, says no.

- Enter JC! Who, as we know, hunts down demonic cultivators with a single mindedness that is probably more than a little unhealthy. And this is...I’m saying like 3 years after WWX died, so some things as still fresh (and also, other people are still alive to react to Thalassa and her...Thalassa-ness).

- JC arrives to find that Thalassa has already solved the problem. Very thoroughly. This strange woman covered in blood, with lines of fire burning across her skin and a smile that’s all teeth and gold, gold eyes that burn with power, escorting children and missing travelers out of the smoking ruins of their former prison, carrying the dead and dying with her. Because she cannot save them, but they will die free.

- JC is immediately Suspicious. This woman is not a cultivator. She is also not human. He is sure of it. He absolutely cannot prove it. (The body she’s currently inhabiting is human, she used to be human in body and soul and still is to an extent - she’s not lying.)

- Thalassa ends up being dragged to Lotus Pier along with some of the kids she saved, because orphans and we all know that Thalassa can and will adopt everything that breathes if it stands still long enough. She has technically done nothing wrong and has earned the gratitude and good will of quite a few people, so it would look bad if JC just disappeared her. But Something Is Afoot, so JC isn’t about to let her go gallivanting across the countryside either.

- Thalassa notices pretty quick that these people bow a lot. In greeting, in farewell, to show respect. Thalassa is Not About That. She is the Sea and the Sea Does Not Bow. It’s not such a big deal at first because the circumstances of meeting are...messy. But once they’re in Lotus Pier, people start noticing that she never bows, even after they’ve bowed to her, and they are Offended. The only ones that are not are the kids that she adopted. No one says anything at first, but they all make spectacular pissy faces that Thalassa delights in. JC eventually snaps at her, snarling about respect, and Thalassa calmly replies that if she ever bows to him or anyone else, they will have earned it. (”I have only ever bowed to my Mothers, to Death and to the Light of Dawn, and no other.”) JC, knowing that she’s not human, but not knowing exactly how, doesn’t bring it up again.

- Thalassa likes Lotus Pier. It’s bright and colorful and loud and surrounded by water. It’s not as good as her waters, of course, but it’s nice to be able to swim when the mood strikes. It’s nice to be able to swim with the children, nice to know that everyone learns to swim at Lotus Pier and that they take it seriously. The first time she catches JC teaching the kids she brought with her to swim she stares because he’s not gentle exactly, but...softer. These people operate on different rules than her, but it’s nice to know that somethings always stay the same.

- It takes Lotus Pier a little while to figure out that they’ve been adopted, but they get there. Thalassa is the weird big sister/aunt/mother figure that will be getting you into trouble one moment and then helping out get out of it the next. She doesn’t bow and they don’t make her. She’s chaos in human skin, but some of them (far, far too few) remember that Lotus Pier has always had a soft spot for chaos gremlins and their antics. It brings smiles to their faces when they see this strange whirlwind of a woman trail after their Sect Leader, tugging at his sleeves and leaning into his space and laughing with a smile brighter than the sun when he swats at her, a secret grin tugging at the corners of his scowl.

- At some point, Thalassa meets other sects. It goes...well it goes. For maximum chaos, let’s say its a discussion conference. At Jinlintai. Which brings us right back to the Thalassa and bowing thing.

- JC and YunmengJiang have been dealing with Thalassa’s bullshit for - months? a year? who knows, it’s been awhile - at this point and know that it’s better to just Roll With It.

- The rest of the cultivation world has very much not learned this lesson.

- The Lan are Offended. So Offended. Depending on the Lan, at least. LXC is pretty chill and would probably also be offended, but not let it bother him much. LQR leans so much on propriety that he might just qi deviate. LWJ also leans pretty heavily on propriety but he is also that person who is So Done With Everyone’s Bullshit that he’ll just walk right out of the room so who knows.

- The rules of propriety! Broken!! Without cause or care!!! The Lans are flipping their shit. Quietly. And with great dignity.

- The Nie also kinda offended, but not nearly as much as the Lan. It’s not often that a woman will look Sect Leader Nie in the eye and refuse to bow to him, but NMJ can admire the guts it takes. He’s also the most likely to bring it up and Thalassa will calmly tell him what she tells everyone who asks - that she does not bow. Most especially not for social niceties that mean next to nothing at the end of the day.

- She absolutely bonds with NHS over the arts. He shows off his fans, she does a dance or two with them, they ramble at each other, they are now best friends. (JC is in the background being a Dispair because he knows, he knows, the NHS is an Enabler. He should never have allowed them to meet.)

- The Jin...well. Thalassa is a woman. Thalassa is very pretty. Thalassa knows she is very pretty and flirts as she pleases and moves with a grace that draws many a eye. And JGS...is JGS.

- You know that post that’s buried in my STotS story tag where Mera, literal Queen of Atlantis, breaks a man’s arm because he put his hands on her without her permission? I’m not saying that happens...but that 100% happens.

- JGS tries to be all smooth and Thalassa is Not Having It. She is well aware that 1) this jackass is married AND absolutely does not have the permission of his wife to fuck around and 2) JGS has a reputation among women. And it is not one that endears JGS to her.

- So he puts his hands on her. Pulls her close and tries to flirt. She tells him to let go. He smiles in that ‘aw you’re playing hard to get, how cute’ way that he probably thinks is charming but really wants to make women punch his face in, and gropes her. So Thalassa breaks his arm, snaps it in her hand and doesn’t let go. She uses the pain and the leverage of her grip to force him to his knees before her.

- It draws attention. JGS doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets in physical fights much - he probably doesn’t have much pain tolerance. He’s likely screaming. And you know cultivators are trigger happy little shits so swords are drawn. Thalassa smiles, all teeth.

- JGS is probably demanding that JC ‘put his woman in her place’. JC, having witnessed what happened and far less inclined to put up with this man than he was in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign when all he had was the ashes of his sect, is having None Of It. He’s like well if she’s my woman why are you touching her and if she said no, why are you still touching her?

- NMJ approves. JGS deserves this. He’s had it coming for years. He is so happy he gets to witness this. As far as he’s concerned JGS brought this on himself and if he can’t handle it, maybe he should try keeping his dick in his pants.

- Thalassa is not impressed. She’s heard the titles thrown around. Sect Leader, Chief Cultivator, Your Excellency. She is well aware that leaders do not represent the entirety of the people, yet these people overthrew a tyrant and let this take his place? (”So you allow an oathbreaking rapist to lead you. This explains so much.”)

- JGY steps up and tries to smooth over the situation. Thalassa does not allow it. (”The next time he touches me, I will cut off his cock. If any woman he’s touched comes to me for help, I will rip out his intestines and strangle him with them.”)

- The Jiang are the only ones who know that she means this 100% literally. More than a few of them are okay with her following through. JC is standing at her shoulder, glowering at the whole room because Thalassa is one of His People at this point and you better believe he’s not going to let someone, not even another Sect Leader, not even the Chief Cultivator, disrespect her this way.

- JGY continues to deescalate with varying levels of success. (Thalassa is old. She is old and has lived through much. She knows what a viper looks like no matter how honeyed the words or how silver the tongue or how sweet the smile. This child thinks he can manipulate her. How cute.)

- In the end, no action is taken against Thalassa. JC is loud in his defense of her actions and NMJ and LXC side with him. JGS was in the wrong and his behavior was disgraceful. The Jin have no choice but to concede fault.

- Thalassa may or may not spend the rest of her time in Jinlintai teaching as many women as she can how to cripple a man twice their size.

[monchikyun]

XVII. ghost stories

Connor doesn't want to admit it to himself but he has is currently over the moon. Living alone in that dreadfully dull apartment whose purpose has been that of a prison cell, a place where he'd spend the rest of his days waiting for some kind of divine punishment to restore the world's balance by putting him through suffering most soul-wrenching has not been a very pleasant experience. But Sumo, that helpless creature he gets to call his friend and roommate, has done nothing wrong to waste his life like that, cooped up in a supersized terrarium. The angel of a dog deserves a proper home. And if Gavin doesn't mind the android tagging along, then who is he to deny the floofpuff his favourite company.  Maybe it’s a bit presumptuous to think that Sumo has any distinct preference towards him, but that’s something Connor allows himself to indulge in, the idea that he’s doing a good job taking care of that overgrown puppy, that no one else would love him the same way Connor does. Of course, this kind of love would be better defined as an emotional dependency, but the canine doesn’t have to know that. 

He's happy, no one can deny him that, but with it also comes to the violent inner conflict, for the joy that flows through him never stops feeling wrong, one way or another. As if every little bit of content that he steals for himself extends the sentence he made himself serve, that he has to make up for each and every time he smiles or feels his heart flutter in something else than fear.

Yes, he did agree to Gavin's proposition, but it doesn't mean his mind is automatically set on actually going through with it. 

Every time they're locked in a shared moment like that it's hard to deploy rationality. Hard but not impossible. And if he really was against the idea of sharing home with the one person he’s sure he loves, he wouldn't have answered so enthusiastically. It's just that there is a mess inside of him and he can't quite sort through all the excess guilt and sorrow. 

“Hey, Con, what’s going on inside that head of yours? I can basically hear your brain cogs grinding.” 

They've been lying side by side on the bed closer to the window, keeping a polite distance between their bodies. The snowing outside has ceased, which can’t be said for the weather beyond his eyelids. Connor hasn't wanted to face anything tonight, so he has submitted his vision to the darkness, listening to Gavin's slow rhythmical breathing, one of his favourite sounds in the world.  

Many times has he found himself wishing to share the events that lead him to his current devastated state, times upon times did he want to transfer his memories to some innocent bystander just so he doesn’t have to suffer alone. But never to anyone close to him. It used to be a wound too ugly to be shown, and he feared that once it’s revealed, it would make him revolting in the eyes of the recipient. If it's just him who has to bear the hideous burden then he can justify it as a consequence for his shortcomings, that was something agreed upon in his mind. But when the weakness is stronger than his resolve to let it stew inside of him for all eternity, he can't do anything else but to listen to its cries for help. Because when he closes his eyes and concentrates, the voice screaming for someone to come and save him is no one else's but his own. 

And Gavin just happens to be the first one to get near enough to hear. 

"I'll tell you, but only if you really wish to know what happened on that day. It won't be an easy story to tell, and even less so to listen to." 

"I'd bet you anything that I've heard worse. Witnessed, even. Maybe."

Connor turns to face him, just to give him an expression that conveys how unconvinced he is about that. 

"Okay, sure. Just. This is very… hard for me, so…" 

"Hey it's fine, we don't have to do this if you're-" 

"No, I need to get it out. It's been weighing me down for almost a year, and I don't know how much longer would I be able to last like this.," he squeezes his eyes shut again and dares to grace Gavin with a minuscule smile. 

Gavin extends his hand far enough to almost touch him, letting it linger in the vast space between them. It feels like they doing something like this for the first time, like they’ve regressed back to how it was before this December. He can’t stand it, so he seizes the hesitating hand and clutches it like it’s the only thing keeping him from slipping into the endless dark. 

"Let's be fair here, no one deserves to be my outlet more than you." 

He's the main reason Connor's still here, after all. 

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

What a terrible fucking day has it been already, and it's only ten in the morning. Hank has woken up with a hangover tracing his every step, directly followed by his ever so caring partner. They have been stuck working on a seemingly never-ending case, and the lieutenant isn't known for his patience. Every day he grows wearier and wearier of not being able to find their guy despite it feeling like they're oh so impossibly close to apprehending him. Like he's hiding just around the corner, laughing his ass off at their incompetence. It bogs down not only him, but Connor has been invested in this more than everyone else. The poor android probably blames himself for the fact that the perp is still walking freely among all of his potential victims. 

So when they finally get the call of his whereabouts, when this nightmare of an investigation is about to come to an end, he is so wired-up he cannot see anything besides that what matters to him right now, which is nothing else but the hooded figure fleeting away across the busy street like exhaustion doesn't even exist to him. Unfortunately, Hank is an old man and his muscles are not what they once used to be, so he has no choice but to leave this chase to the one of them who doesn't need any organic tissue to run at the speed of a motorcycle. When the lieutenant does eventually catch up to them, he releases a sigh of relief that gets lost in all the breathless heaving as he watches the monster of a man lying on the floor in the pool of his own blood. He is not a callous person, not usually that is, but right now he wishes that the person on the ground wasn’t breathing anymore. Maybe he'll regret thinking like that later, but at the moment it feels more than justified, given what inhumane atrocities the man has committed. 

He's about to praise Connor for his good work when an arm sneaks around his shoulder, and he senses something sharp against the skin on his neck. 

"Tell me Jake’s not dead or I''ll kill this geezer like the pig he is." A gravelly voice grazes his ear and he wants to throw up from the undesirable proximity. 

"You won't." 

Leave it to his android partner to always have the upper hand in a crisis. He’s is sure that the gun Connor’s holding in his hopefully steady hand won't miss his target and that he'll be released from this death grip in a matter of seconds. It's not the first time he's found himself in a perilous situation like this, but that doesn't mean he's isn't sweating like he's about to get murdered in cold blood. Because he isn't. He can’t be-

A loud bang reverberates through his head down to his spine, ending at his feet just as devastatingly hot lava takes his mind under. It's the worst pain he's ever been in, yet it feels so… liberating.  He can just make out a desperate scream of his name in the voice he's got used to hearing these past months before all his thoughts slowly disappear into the all-encompassing darkness that is carrying him somewhere distant, somewhere painless. Here, in the great void of salvation, he's nothing but an idea.  

Happy because he’s arrived in the place he's been trying to get to all this time, for a hope that he can meet the most important person in the entire world, the missing piece of his soul. Sad because he’s leaving the other one behind. 

He doesn't know if the flickering light that is gradually moving closer is the thing he's been longing for, but he's more than willing to find out. 

Because nothing burdens him anymore. He's finally free. Home at least. Just like he should be. 

@a-convin-new-year should i continue tagging this blog or it too late? 

[misrihalek]

This is for one person in particular. Well, maybe two people. 

...I wasn’t good for you, was I? 

You found me at a pretty low point of my life, I’ve said that before. I was trying to do what the world told me, trying to be a good little boy, get that job, earn my place in the world and...I failed. I was lying on a bed in a house in the suburbs, flatmates fighting in the ungodly hours of the morning, desperately trying to escape from the world. That was how you found me and for some reason you saw something worth a damn. 

And then I proceeded to bleed you dry. I didn’t know how to get myself out of my hole and so I just started dragging you down with me, using you as just another means of escape and demanding so much of you...far too much. How many times did you lament that your love wasn’t enough to help me stand on my own two feet? How many times did you think that you were inferior because of it? Did I make you hate yourself because of my failures? 

That’s not to say that it was all bad: we wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did if we didn’t click on some level, after all. The talks we had, the things we shared between us...it would be disrespectful to say that they meant nothing: maybe their value to us makes this whole thing worse in retrospect, who knows. What I do know is that, even if only ashes remain now, you were the best friend I ever had: you were kind, funny and passionate and your presence in this world stood in defiance of the forces that sought to bring you low. You fought for your right to exist, so maybe it makes sense that you waited for so long for me to do the same. I’m sorry I let you down. 

That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it: why didn’t I leave that hole that I found myself in? I can blame outside forces (and I often did), but the fact of the matter is that I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to be the person that the world demanded of me and no-one seemed to be able to tell me, so somewhere along the way I just grew comfortable in that wretched hole, at home in my misery. I started pantomiming my own life, living as if death would never come and not really living in the process, and it was this awful piece of theatre that you ended up being an unwilling part of: despairing about the future that I couldn’t see and slowly wearing yourself away. I imagine the tipping point came after those three weeks together ended and you saw how little things had changed. 

Those three weeks...before long it will have been two years since that trip to see you and it’s...weird to think about. I know that time has lost a bit of its meaning since then, but even then it’s hard to believe that it was really that long ago. I still remember the elevator up to your apartment, walking to the tramlines and going to that one tea shop - and you bet your ass I remember that hike uphill to the castle. The emotions have faded over time, but I have no qualms in saying that those were quite literally the best days of my life: I know that the word “literally” has kinda lost its meaning in this day and age, but I can confidently say that no experience before or since has compared. So why didn’t it change anything? Why did I go right back into my hole when I got back? 

I don’t think either of us knew at the time, but come a few months later it didn’t matter all that much anyway. You found someone else and left and, now that I look back, I really can’t blame you for trying to find a less bleak fate than what was in store for you. I remember you saying to me how scared you were of a future where you had to support the both of us: why wouldn’t you be? I had demonstrated no ability to be a functioning human being and I would have inevitably become a burden...well, more of a burden. What kind of future is that, for either of us? And so you left to find a brighter one. 

It was ugly and painful and I have no doubt that it still hurts you, just like it does me. For a decent amount of time I was blinded by my own pain and I said things that I can no longer stand by in good conscience: I blamed you for how things had gone and eventually cut you out of my life so I could best deal with my wrenching sorrow. To some degree that action has proved successful: being able to live without having reminders of my failures at the forefront of my mind has let me claw back pieces of myself and move forward with my life, even if it has taken some time. I cannot however defend the reasons why I did it though, born as they were from an inability to reflect on my own deficiencies. 

It turns out that there might’ve been a reason for that inability, actually. You remember me talking about my Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis? It was something that I got told about as I was growing up and it was basically conveyed to me as a low-strength form of autism, something fairly surmountable in comparison to the more traditional forms. Last year though, I found media that suggested that Asperger’s Syndrome was a less-than-credible condition from a doctor that quite literally collaborated with Nazis and further research revealed that the term was no longer in official use. I talked to my mother about this and she casually dropped into conversation that I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. 

ADHD! So many goddamn things clicked into place once she said that and I imagine that the same might be happening for you right now. No wonder I had so much difficulty functioning in that job, how infuriating it was to focus on things, how I would sally forth into different trains of thought mid-conversation. My mother’s general mistrust of the medical system also meant that I’d been dealing with these things all my life without any sort of medication, the usual way that other people with ADHD make themselves co-operate with the strictures of society. No wonder things went to fucking pieces the moment I stepped into the real world. 

I’ve had to do some serious thinking since then, not least of all about my future. I tried to keep on the jobsearching grind for a while after that bombshell dropped, but after months of no luck I snapped and decided to take an alternate route, one that I couldn’t consider while we were together. Since then I’ve moved away from home and I’m studying to maybe one day be a social worker: to one day have the tools to help people like me, people stuck in their own holes and unable to get out without the helping hand of someone who understands what they’re going though. No doubt you’d say that you’re happy for me and I don’t doubt that statement: you’re a better person that I was and even through all this you’ve wished no ill towards me. You’re a good person like that. 

These days I’m doing decently okay: I’m living with 3 flatmates who I get along with pretty well and my studies are progressing as they should. I’m trying to write a bit more as well, although about the only thing I’ve done lately of any tangibility has been...well, this. Even with the progress I’ve made, what happened between us still bobs to the surface from time to time and I have to process things all over again: it gets easier as time marches onwards, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy. That probably explains why I reacted so violently to the message you sent me, among other things. 

What I said there was true: I can’t face you while things are the way they are. I’m not strong enough to watch you be happy with someone else, because it’s a reminder that I can no longer elicit that same joy from you: a reminder that our time has passed because of my failures. It’s knowledge that hollows me out from the inside. I tried to be strong - tried to ignore that hollowing out and remain friends - and failed over and over, coming close enough to nothingness to feel it encroaching on my soul, so now I put up my walls to protect it.

I need to be okay. And I can’t do that with you around. It’s an awful thing to say and you don’t deserve it, but it’s the truth. Once more you suffer for my deficiencies as a human being. 

I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person that you needed: I guess the deck was kinda stacked against us from the beginning, considering what I didn’t know about myself and, y’know, the whole long-distance thing, so don’t go thinking that any of this was your fault. You remain one of the best people I have ever met and I am eternally grateful for the time we shared together: do not doubt that you are worthy of love, even in your lowest moments. You’re a damn good human being and you deserve to have good things happen to you, better things than me. 

I imagine you’re expecting me to say this, but oh well: I’d prefer it if you don’t send me a response to what I have written here. Beyond just safeguarding my own wellbeing, I’ve been meaning to write this for a long time now and what you see is pretty much every single thing that I can conceivably say in regards to all that has transpired between us. I don’t really have anything else to say and after this I will hopefully not think about this so much anymore and get on with my life. I would implore you to do the same. 

I wish you all the best. 

...

...there’s a small piece of me that doubles back on what I’ve written here, seeing if it can instill its will within the paragraphs wherein it can wend its way to you. It’s the piece of me that still loves you, that holds out hope that I may one day see you again and that we can rediscover what was lost. It tells me to leave my heart open to the opportunity, to hope against hope that things change. This last paragraph is my concession to it in the vain hope that it’ll finally fucking shut up.

[backandimbamon]

part III

a/n: ive been sitting on this chapter for weeks. being a perfectionist...will do things to you. enjoy and please leave a reply!

Perhaps something happened on the other side between Damon and Bonnie.

Perhaps something happened between them that shattered the defenses, the bickering, the banter, the tension... maybe it was all too much to handle and one day they decided to resolve it in a new way that was less stressful and more natural.

What if they finally focused their vision on the situation and realized it was demented, downright unfair, to trap a handsome sex pot of a vampire and a stunning little witch with magically delicious blood together forever, the last two on earth, and swear them to a platonic relationship?

A kiss? Or sex? Caroline is full Sherlock Holmes, investigator style because there is no possible way that the dynamic between Bonnie and Damon remained the same after such a...dynamic...event occurred to both of them simultaneously. She has a hunch.

But a kiss? Sex? She knows she’s jumping the gun. As much as she can project, the denial between them both would prevent such forward actions. But-

It makes sense, she thinks, perfect sense. If they decided to break that forbidden rule, are they truly to blame? She’s sure she isn’t the only one who could physically see the sexual tension brewing between the vampire and the witch since their first formal introduction. Throughout the years, it’s only increased in intensity and anyone with decent deductive reasoning skills could predict that maybe, just maybe, there was a hiccup in those roles they played so dutifully. They “hated” each other. Sure.

Being the last two on a repeating day, desperation settling, solitude dancing, they’re under the radar... anything could happen. As if on queue, her mind begins to sift through the possibilities again. She always had a knack for probability.

A bite... now that is highly likely.

Caroline can imagine Bonnie being her normal selfless, sacrificial self, asking Damon if he’s okay- it seems like he’s tired or beat since he’s been slack on their banter, his comebacks lackluster and falling flat. He lies because lying is as effortless as breathing to Damon and he politely but solidly asks Bonnie not to worry about him, that he just misses home so his mood is sour.

He tries to maintain his normal devil-may-care, overly nonchalant, effortlessly sexy character with the huge ego but it’s not quite the same. He’s not as clever and though he’s close, he’s not close enough.

She observes this.

Bonnie picks at him, rapid question-asking all while being inquisitive and selfless and caring and healing, she tells him she knows him better than he knows himself. She says she can feel when he lies.

Damon probably experiences a foreign emotion at this point, wondering why his undead heart seems as though it’s hammering, beatboxing against his bones, threatening to reveal what he wants to hide so bad.

He’s hungry.

And he’s never felt a hunger quite like this. He’s emptied every single blood bag in the freezer, still there’s this nagging sensation that no matter how much blood he consumes, even if he decides to bathe in it, if it’s not what he really wants to devour, he will never be satisfied. It’s like eating fast food when craving gourmet, that craving never ceases, it’s just mitigated for a moment with a bottom-of-the-barrel substitute. The next time the hunger returns, it leaves its victim in gut-splitting agony so much so that it’s exhausting. The hunger is kicking his ass to force him to get what he’s denying himself. Damon is the victim. For once, he is the victim here.

Bonnie being intelligent and knowing Damon, she can guess what his struggles consist of. It takes her a week to consider it. He never says it explicitly, that he wants to bite her, but the shadow of veins under his eyes says enough. Damon Salvatore is a predator. It is unnatural for him not to hunt prey for an indefinite amount of time. She is all he has.

She thinks hard on this, questioning if her empathy has reached a new level of desperation. She asks herself what is her infatuation with being needed. She asks herself why she would rip herself apart to heal others. Why she feels this undying, naked, indelible need to do for others without doing for herself. She asks herself if the roles were reversed would Damon do the same?

For a week, she watches him get weaker with want, endures his shitty moods and back talk. Not once does he ask or even hint that he’s starving.

It makes Bonnie want to offer herself up on a platter even more, there’s something wrong with her.

So she does it, in the kitchen, cuts a sliver of red at the wrist “by accident” and Damon- he looks bad. He looks blue.

She turns to grab a napkin to dab at the blood but when she turns back around he’s gone. Upstairs, his door slams hard enough that she can hear the wood split.

“Damon!” She calls after him but he doesn’t reply and she doesn’t see him again until the next night because he refuses to step out of his room.

“Stop. We need to talk,” he’s fixing Italian trying to pretend like nothing ever happened twenty-six hours before; apron on, back turned, humming. He’s not okay.

“Then talk, Bon Bon.” he adds some herbs to the white wine sauce, grated cheese beside him, back still turned.

There’s something that’s frightening her about this and it could be herself. He hasn’t even asked yet she wants this for him so bad.

“Damon. I know you’re hungry.”

“Ding, ding. I’m making dinner right now, Bon.” His voice is rough like it’s warning her not to push this any further. The pots and pans clatter a little louder in his palms. Red tomatoes a stark contrast against the pale noodles.

“I cut myself on purpose last night.”

This grabs his attention. Swiftly, he drops everything, turns around and walks into Bonnie, forcing her to walk backwards until the cabinets halt her with a soft thud. His hands are at her shoulders with a dizzying shake as he says “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Damon Salvatore, always so invasive, too animated, with a face that’s intimidatingly perfect.

It’s unsettling and downright unfair for him to possess such appeal; even angry and a threat to her life span, any woman would want him. Hell, Any man would want him. She wishes she could steal whatever that quality is. She wants that for herself.

It’s almost comical that after all these years of his presence, he can still startle her with his beauty. With his mouth shut, he’s so unassuming and pretty. In all seriousness, he looks like an angel. The slanted smirk and jaded attitude is the only hint that maybe this book doesn’t match the cover.

He gives her another shake as if the answer will tumble out of her, it makes her think of the time they hated each other. Way back when.

But now, this is too close for comfort. His eyes are an angry blue and she’s swimming laps, her words get caught in her throat before she can reply.

Weakly she says, “Just stop fighting it, okay? I’ve made up my mind and I trust you.”

“You trust me? You trust me, Bon? I don’t even trust me! What’s the matter with you?”

Honesty is not suitable. She can’t say that it’s lips anywhere on her body that she needs even if it’s at her wrist. That her withdrawal has her fingers exhausted and her body aching because she needs some sort of physical connection outside of herself. Bonnie wants Damon to drink her like wine so she can remember what it feels like to be desired and she can see it, the desire she needs, veiled and trapped behind the denial she knows too well. She wants to open that door to see if he needs her just as bad as she thinks he does. She wants to set it on fire.

“Damon, please.”

When she tilts her head and locks her green eyes with his, he sees the deprivation. Like she’s starving too. Like it pains her to not have his teeth in her neck. The look on her face reveals everything she cannot say. Damon shudders.

He doesn’t mean to trail his nose up the slope of her neck but he does and his stomach growls so violently that he’s surprised he doesn’t shake. There’s a new scent in the air and it’s Bonnie’s arousal.

He clenches his jaw with a painful force, half expecting it to shatter.

The words are no louder than a whisper when she says, “I’m your friend. Let me do this for you.”

People who are actually friends seldom use the word “friend.” But Damon and Bonnie ware the word out trying to convince one another that it’s all they are, nothing more. They haven’t said the word more than they have in this hell because it’s a reminder when sanity starts to slip. It’s a reminder when they start to wonder what would happen if they weren’t just “friends.”

Best friends.

Bonnie makes it hard for him. She makes everything hard for him and this hell where she’s the only one to exist makes the things he could easily ignore blatantly obvious. The feminine curve of her breast, the spread of her hips, the lovely enigmatic green of her eyes, he’s always thinking of Bonnie. Even asleep, she haunts his dreams with golden brown skin and a crooked smile. The ghost of her fragrance creates a tornado around him in this tiny cramped space called hell, it’s comforting and devastating.

Everytime he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of the fact that everything he wants he takes. Even if he doesn’t want it, he takes it. But with Bonnie, it doesn’t quite work out that way. There’s rules with Bonnie. His charisma is useless to her because that’s his best friend. She’s immune to him and maybe he’s not okay with that.

Poor Damon, he could weep now because Bonnie was never supposed to be the one to snap first. He was supposed to be the unhinged vampire with bountiful problems, the rebel and she was supposed to be the very stable, very perfect witch but she’s breaking. He’s her lesser and she’s the one who’s breaking. This has to be a cruel dream where if he hits himself hard enough, he’ll wake up.

His fangs slip out by accident, they feel the presence of Bonnie’s blood just humming with delicacy and complexity under her skin. She’s waiting to be tasted, she takes her hand and guides his mouth to her neck so his tooth pricks her skin. A bead of red shoots up but his tongue is quick to swipe that first drop almost sampling to make sure Bonnie is serious. She says something under her breath but the bloodlust has the rest of his senses useless. He doesn’t hear her.

Damon gnashes his teeth into her delicate skin, his expertise never allowing one ribbon of blood to trail away because he laps it up so greedily, so manically that he almost chokes. It feels like heaven busted and started showering its essence into his open mouth. He can’t take the time to breath or else he’ll rob himself of perfection for a few seconds too long. The life surges back into his body.

A montage of honey, patchouli, iron, lilac, roses, metal, bergamot, smoke, magic, fire, fear all on his tastebuds at once. In the distance, desire begins to bloom.

Then there’s a click and he starts to feel it.

Bonnie’s arousal is creeping up on him slowly like a distant claw of nails down his spine, the ghost of a sopping mouth around the head of his cock. He emits a wet groan then takes another tactless slurp and can practically feel Bonnie’s walls gripping against his shaft- it frightens him how bad he wants it. It scares him how he can feel the phantom of her nipples through his apron and t-shirt. He’s sweating when his pants start to bunch at the center. She’s breathing erratically, wraps her legs around his waist so she feels that lovely poke between her legs and it terrifies him.

Never has he untangled the web of feelings he associated with the complicatedly simple Bonnie Shealia Bennett. However, that web has been slowly unraveling since their first day here. Those feelings he never was honest with himself to admit are dousing him right now, of his own volition. He’s frightened out of his mind with the realization that he’s always wanted to take his best friend, little Judgey, Bon Bon, Elena’s BFF, and sex her into a stupor until the only word in her vocabulary is his name.

Damon Salvatore wants to fuck Bonnie Bennett so deeply that they must excavate his dick from her slot to retrieve it.

Oh God.

He can see himself, inside of her, inside of his best friend as she begs him to go faster and harder but he won’t listen. He never listens and it’s driving her up the fucking wall as her pleas to let her cum all over him fumbles his rhythm. Damon has never been more afraid of himself. Damon has never been more oblivious of a desire that waited for a moment like this since their first encounter. He feels baited.

Fear of this discovery, this dormant longing, brings him back to earth and violently disconnects him from the bloodlust, he removes his fangs too quickly, his head spinning with filthy thoughts of his best friend. The moan that tumbles past his lips is dire, it rips through his throat and says she has to fuck him or he will simply die.

Somewhere an invisible candle burns in the air labeled “Bonnie’s Lust.” It’s so strong Damon can taste it.

They look at each other differently. They are strangers. She’s painted in red, his mouth is a mess, the erection in his pants is hard enough to unearth his grave and bury himself alive. He offers his bleeding wrist up to her and tries not to cum when her mouth latches on.

When she’s done, he decides he won’t distract himself with the gorgeous sight of a panting Bonnie, looking as if she’s been thoroughly fornicated with her eyes all glossy like that.

Damon is dizzy, tipsy from blood, pleasure and a bombardment of epiphanies.

He turns around too sharply on his heel and passes out, just like that. A lifeless heap of beauty on the kitchen floor.

Bonnie’s definitely scared of whatever took over them as she crouches next to him and fans his face. Her mind is still far from her after such a disastrous high. Her heartbeat sounds like the pounding of an incessant guest.

Knock, knock.

In that moment, Deja-vu gives her a kiss. Bonnie’s mind floats back to Elena’s lapis prom dress with the silver clasps in the back and how she always thought Damon was perfect for Elena like that tailored dress. The way it hugged her and snapped in place. The way it clicked.

Bonnie remembers trying that dress on first and falling in love. She loved that feeling, how it felt like it was made for her and only her but Elena insisted. Not even Caroline knew. She gave the dress up for her, anything for her best friend. It was just a pretentious mélange of fabric and thread. A lifeless heap of beauty on the fitting room floor.

When he awakens, they pretend as if nothing happened and Damon wonders if he dreamt that but the little wounds on her neck mock his question. Desire still sleeps between them, dependent on that next slip up to pounce. But it never gets the chance.

Damon relives that moment when he meets himself in the mirror and the hint of teeth marks is on his neck from Bonnie’s “tipsy” courage.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” he says to himself and ironically being a century-old vampire he never understood the saying. He lets the little phrase stagnate the air because he doesn’t want to concern himself with figuring out why Bonnie’s teeth marks aren’t disappearing with his rapid healing ability.

Anyways, it’s kind of cute.

He sends her a picture message with a text to follow:

Twice bitten, once dead.