#but I would never strip Red of his magic - I know just how precious it is to him

[reverienne]

Ok, I have an important question - would any of your OCs want to start a romance with Aeran? Like, before the drama. If yes/no - why? Me curious 👀

Ding ding dong, we have a winner! Congrats to @bluekaddis for sending the most difficult question so far!

I tried to keep it as spoiler-free as I can for the benefit of Loes and Sierra who may be lurking, but I still recommend not reading anything below the cut, if you haven't finished Ep 2 of Wayfarer.

Okay, to sort things out - a bonus question "Which Wayfarer master would my OCs get?"

Jedi Exile Siri: Amali Sero Emerald Aeducan: Brissa Varyn Kallista Tabris: Rindan Cenric (though I could see Amali Sero being tempted) Corina Brianta: Brissa Varyn Juliander Strzygomski: Rindan Cenric (though I could see Amali Sero being tempted) Bogumiła Niepołomska: Amali Sero (though I could see Rindan Cenric being tempted) Malve: Rindan Cenric

Based on that we can already exclude Emerald Aeducan and Corina Brianta from the dating pool. While I'm not judging any Varyn apprentices who fell for Aeran, to Emerald Aeran would have the same appeal as Gorim, which is to say, none at all, and Corina Brianta, much like her Wayfarer counterpant, would see Aeran strictly as a brother.

Kallista Tabris is excluded from the competition on the grounds of being a lesbian, obviously.

That leaves us Siri, Jul, Bogusia and Malve.

You know too well that I genuinely have no idea how to get along with Aeran. My only experience is with Corinne Varyn and goodness knows that Corinne cannot stay in Aeran's good graces for longer than 5 minutes. It's a constant hit-or-miss with him. Therefore, I genuinely don't know whether I - and by extension any of my characters - am capable of romancing Aeran.

HOWEVER, I can always speculate!

I feel that Siri could possibly be Aeran's closest friend out of all my characters - both as children and as adults. Their energies just seem to match. As children, they would be wild and carefree, as adults, they would be clearly Trying Their Best but also Burdened with Their Pasts. Whatever Aeran's deal, there's a chance that Siri's done something worse… so Siri Gets Him, they wouldn't pry, no matter their former closeness. I also could actually see Siri seeing the deeper reason for him lashing out in Ep2 and being the bigger person, and pushing for a reconcilation with him in Ep3 or maybe even earlier. Siri is generally very chill, it's not easy to push their buttons, and in Kotor 2 I'd say that they spend a lot of time listening to podcasts about psychology while tinkering, so if anyone could reconcile with Aeran without triggering a couple of red flags within me, it would be them. However, I just can't see Aeran and Siri as a romantic match. They strike me as ~platonic buddies~ only. It doesn't help that teenage's Siri crush was a cool guy a couple years their senior so generally quite a difference from a fellow classmate Aeran.

As for Juliander, we both know that he's a human magnet for familial connections and based on that, I'm pretty sure that Aeran is bound to become an instant brother figure to him. It doesn't help that Aeran's master is Varyn and Juliander's master is Cenric, and they're kind of together (on and off) so it's pretty much a family already (or at least they would be in Juliander's eyes - again, no judgement to any Cenric apprentices who fall for Aeran). I just can't see Juliander being attracted to Aeran romantically... which is a good thing because their relationship would be complicated enough already. I feel that Juliander would be quite hurt by Aeran's commitment to secrecy. While he's pretty much the most understanding and not-noisy person you can meet, he believes that relationships should be equal, with both sides showing vulnerability and being honest with each other, and it would hurt him how, despite all these moments where their relationship is almost the same as in the older days, there's this huge chasm between them and apparently Aeran isn't as... serious or committed to this relationship as Juliander is? At least that's roughly the way I understand him.

Bogumiła is just the funniest person to come with his question because she seems to match Aeran's type too well. She's fallen both for her childhood friend (Zori) and her adolescence friend (Red). In the very brief (scrapped) worldstate where Caine survived and she didn't spend Ch1 very mopey because of it, she's got a bit of crush on Trouble who, newsflash, was her first friend in the Shepherds. Her trend of falling for her first friends wherever is just too well established. She'll pine for you wordlessly, but since you're her friend, if you don't pick up on that AND you aren't receptive to that, she won't ~ruin your friendship~ (or embarrass herself for someone who'll obviously turn her down) by confessing. If she fell for you deep enough, her feelings will survive a decade apart and start flourishing wildly with every second you spend together from then on. She's 100% the type to confess her feelings to you during a shouting match after you get yourself seriously injured or otherwise push her buttons in a very specific way. If there's this one character of mine that statistically wouldn't have "Eww, platonic only" feelings towards Aeran, let's face it, it would be Bogumiła. It doesn't help that kid!Aeran just... seems like somebody that she could crush on. He's nice, he reminds me of Zori a little and Bogumiła responds well to braver, more adventurous types who'll push her out of her comfort zone. Obviously you can nitpick that Bogumiła's type skews towards kindness and nerdery, and not only Aeran is NOT much of a nerd, but also his dramatic backstory most likely goes back to his childhood, but I feel that the odds speak for themselves and she would fall for him anyway.

~Spoilers commence, please skip this bit if you haven't played Ep2~

Since she's a bit of a caretaking type, she would do her best to be understanding and considerate of Aeran's trauma, even though it was hurting her how he's been constantly pushing her away. However, if she got injured in late Ep1 and Aeran ended up confessing his feelings to her on the ship, only to keep ignoring the topic throughout the voyage... oof, it would sting. Again, Bogumiła would try to be understanding - he's got his baggage, he doesn't feel ready to start a relationship, he confessed to her only in the heat of the moment... but gosh, haven't they been having plenty... not-so-platonic moments together already? Why can't they just seal the deal and get properly together with her?! He's not ~choosing~ to fall in love with her, he's in love with her already, the choice is only to let himself act on his feelings! And then all the hot-and-cold moments throughout Ep2... they would definetely mess with her. I think that she would be able to connect the dots, see that Velantis has a bad impact on him, but still... she would feel bad for being seemingly left hanging after his confession (that's the moment where, ideally, they should be sharing a kiss by the sunset! enter a romantic relationship together!). She would try to push all the romantic drama away and be a supportive friend to him, though. Aeran's words during their fallout in Ep2 would hurt her badly. While he would be true in that she was depending on him a little too much (or at least Bogusia and I can both see his reasoning here), him calling her a pathetic Wayfarer who always needs to be rescued? That would be UNCALLED FOR. Saying that he regrets reuniting with her, that he regrets his confession? Well, personally I would call it unforgivable, though other people's mileage here may vary. While I don't think that Bogusia would be the type to end a relationship in the heat of the moment (starting-changing it, preferably with a makeout session, is fine, ending it... generally requires a calmer head, in her opinion), she WOULD storm off. She would hate being a nervous wreck at the gala - she's not the subtlest when it comes to masking her emotions and she doesn't need to be Varyn to know not to trust anyone there (which would only make the anger at Aeran leaving her like that stronger) - but she absolutely wouldn't return to their room quickly. Thankfully, she would find some solace with Melchior. While I don't think that she would sleep with him, he would give her a safe space to be mopey in and there are other questionable choices that you can make during an afterparty... like not sleeping well because you're tormented by the direction in which your life is going. She would spend early Ch3 giving Aeran a cold shoulder (an even colder one if, having heard that she attended Melchior's party, wanted to know whether she cheated on him... "Maybe I should have", she would tell him coldly, feeling a bit angry at herself for not having done just that, for not being the kind of person to do something like that), somewhat revelling in his asking for forgiveness OR very aloof if he ignores the matter and doesn't even go for a single sorry. If he doesn't try to apologize, their relationship is done for and it's non-negotiable. If he does apologize, then, whatever he says, Bogumiła can't forgive him just yet. If he wants to keep her in his life, despite believing her to be such a burden, he needs to work for it.

~No more major spoilers, feel free to resume reading~

As for Malve... neither I, nor Malve have the faintest idea. While they fell for Oisein who was also their friend, they don't know what specifically made them fall for them. They're very new to the concept of romantic or sexual feelings, they have never experienced them before. However, they're very curious about this newfound aspect of themselves. They want to know the answer and they would be willing to try! Thank you, Malve, your commitment to science is truly impressive. I guess I have a new Wayfarer MC now?

[night-market-if]

Sooo, say RO and MC just had a baby. How do the ROs feel holding their child for the first time? (This ask is ASSUMING both RO and MC want the child!)

So this isn't exactly them holding their child for the first time, but within the first week of the baby being born. And you guys! You are not helping me fight my personal baby fever over here! LOL! Also, speaking as a mother, I have gone through every single range of emotions these characters have in these shorts. Parenthood is crazy, y'all.

Gabriel: The night streamed in through the open window, wafting the curtains gently.  You had seen him come in. Watched how he entered the room quietly so as not to wake you or the babe.  Leaning over the bassinet, he scooped his child into his hands.  The baby seemed so small when curled near his chest.

For the first time, Gabriel held his child in the crook of his arm, standing motionless in the trickling light of the lanterns outside.  You thought he was never going to move again with the way he paused. Then, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the downy bit of hair on the top of their head, breathing in the bundle he held.  

“I will always protect you,” he whispered.

Belladonna: Tilting her head to the side, Belladonna observed the sleeping bundle in her arms.  She had wrapped the child in the finest silks the second she could, adorning the newly born babe in soft cotton clothes that she had custom-made.  She wore a robe to match and had kept the baby tucked close to her chest since.

“Seems a little odd, doesn’t it? Me being a mother.  I never wanted that.” She viewed the baby carefully, as if trying to decide if this was truly happening, or if she was locked in some strange dream. When it was clear magic was not at work, she sighed a little in concession. No one but the baby was around to see it at least. 

“You are precious.  My little miracle, I suppose.  The things I am going to teach you,” she whispered.  “I knew I paved the way in this world for something great.  I just hand’t realized until now that it was going to be you.”

Hazel: Not even a day old, and the baby was strapped tight to Hazel’s chest as she wandered the familiar paths of the garden.  The newborn slept soundly against their mother's chest, one little hand curled up over the steady thrum of Hazel’s heart.  One arm was wrapped beneath the babies body as it was held securely to Hazel by long strips of muslin wraps.  The basket by Hazel’s feet was nearly full of flowers for her next order.  

As the baby stirred, Hazel stopped. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the little bundle. The one she had helped create.  A random penchant for crying had consumed her for the last nine months, and it didn’t seem as if it would be going away any time soon.  Hazel vowed she would be a better mother than hers had ever been though.  The second she found out she was to be a parent, she saw no other option.

Resting her cheek on top of the downy curls, she swallowed thickly.  “I love you, little one.  And I’m going to spend every day proving it.”

Milo: The baby was crying. Again.  Milo held it out in front of him, his head cocked to the side and a frown on his face.  “I mean, I get it,” he said over the baby’s wails. “The world kind of sucks and you were just shoved into it after enjoying your cozy little home for nine months.  I’d be crying too.”

Squirming, the baby’s face screwed up into something red and puckered.  Milo felt a tendril of fear shoot through him, almost positive he was going to drop the kid.  Pulling them close, he tucked the baby to his shoulder, patting the kid's back as he had seen so many parents do. Why that helped? He didn’t know. After a week of crying, no sleep, and a range of emotions he never wanted to feel again, Milo was almost certain that little ones were sent to their parents just to knock them down a peg or two.  It was clear now that Milo’s ego had maybe gotten too large.

Bouncing the baby, he sighed, leaning against the wall tiredly. “Alright, button. Fuck it. Keep crying. I’m going to be a mediocre dad for sure, but I’ll always listen. Don’t hold back just for me.”  If possible, the baby’s wails got louder.

[doopy-n-loopy]

Yan!TF2 × reader headcannons (SFW and NSFW)

// obsessive tendancies, mentions of violence, blood, sexual themes, noncon

[SFW]

Let's start with the defense classes

Defense:

Demoman

Deffo didn't admit that he loved you

Tbh he probably blamed it on his drunkenness

But dude you're always drunk

I mean seriously if he sobers up he'll genuinely die so like-

He would usually drink with you or just around you if you don't drink

He's generally a fun chill guy to be with

He would watch you from a distance at times, especially during battle you might distract the cyclops

He's okay with you asking questions

One time he broke his eyepatch and needed a new one

You gave him a nice black eyepatch with the demoman emblem on it

He gets all red whenever you say his full name, because he knows you remembered it

He is generally against kidnapping, I mean especially since he lives with his ma he'd rather not

And because he's a gentleman

If you ever reciprocate his feelings he'll make sure to treat you right

He is a messy person but for you? He'll clean

Probably would get carried away and make home made bombs with all the cleaning supplies 🤦‍♂️

Takes you to meet his mom

"ooo Tavish, yer gonna get me some grand kiddos are ya?"

That made you both blush like crazy

Soft cheek kisses

Probably made a special bomb and named it after you

"this one's for you, luv!" *Proceeds to set off all stickybombs which blows up the entire enemy team*

Blew up the last guy who looked at you funny

Hell, even worse when they make a sexual remark to you scout probably did it

Likes to give you your space but when he's paranoid he follows you to wherever or watched you from a distance

Heavy

Two words: big boy

Hugs are 10000000000/10

Sometimes it fewls suffocating but man it's like hugging a cloud

Soft forehead kisses

Russian pet names

He sometimes lets you touch Sasha, that's how he knows he loves you because he doesn't even let medic, his best friend, touch her

Probably named a gun after you or one of the pet names he calls you

You definitely met his family and they loved you

Zana especially

Doesn't get jealous easily but will not hesitate to unload 12 pounds of bullets into someone who even LOOKS at you the wrong way

Lord have mercy on the ones who dare flirt with you, rest in pieces scout

Doesn't really follow you anywhere (you're a bit too fast for him) but he does watch you and check up on you

He preforms okay on the battlefield but when you're around, he'll show off

Will cook for you, mainly russian dishes

He's very against kidnapping and would rather not do it

Doesn't shut up about you when he's around medic

Engineer

F l u f f y

Very softspoken in general but he gets all flustered when you talk to him

Will check up on you occasionally

"Darlin'" "Honey bunny" things like that y'know

Huge smile when you're around

Will cook for you most definitely, knows what you like

Makes little robots for you

Likes seeing you use his dispenser

Doesn't get jealous easily either but will try and take you away from someone who wants your attention

Likes just having you in his presence, doesn't need to talk to be happy with you around

Very very against kidnapping like all other defense classes, wouldn't do it unless if he truly felt the need to, last resort kind of thing

The last guy who flirted with you had a sentry gun shoved up his ass

Doesn't really follow you anywhere

Offense:

Scout

Nothing short of a horomonal teenager

I mean he's 21 but

He gets so giddy around you, very loud, tries to show off

He loves you very much

"oh yeah? Well I once absolutely smashed a guy into peices, he was still screaming when he was dead!"

He brags about brutal things but hey you love it since you're also brutal

Flexes his non-existent muscles around you

Would talk about his mom to you all day

Definitely got a tattoo of your face and name somewhere on his body, most likely his bicep

Your name is probably misspelled too but you never say anything about it because he can't read so it's fine

He hasn't really thought about kidnapping in all honesty, again, a last resort kinda thing if he can't get you to love him

He will make a damn SCENE if anyone flirts with you

"you think that's funny, chucklenuts? I eat guys like you for breakfast lunch AND dinner!" "I'll blow yer freakin head off if ya talk to y/n like that again!" Would definitely drag you away

God help anyone that makes you uncomfortable, he'll fuck them up, if that person is medic I mean he'll try to but we all know how fucking scary medic is

Follows you at times

Pyro

"Mphmphmpph"

Seems more lovey around you

Definitely gave you a hand full of the enemy's bloody bones thinking it was a bouquet of flowers

Absolute baby

Just so precious, scary but precious

Hugs for days

Good luck trying to get their ass off of you when you're on cease-fire

Very warm though, they smell like smoke with a bit of blood

Likes petting you

Isn't against the idea of kidnap because they don't realize what they're actually doing, they think they're just taking you to a magical place

Snuggles

When someone flirts with you their whole world changes

Gets angry and starts yelling at them

"MPHMPHMOHMPHHH! MPHMPHNHUMAHUMA!" - Pyro 2021

Will not let you get a checkup alone, he trusts medic but not with you

Very sweet tho, he'll turn around when you need to strip down

Will follow you almost EVERYWHERE and if they can, while holding your hand

Soldier

Yells at you a little less than the others

At first doesn't realize how he feels but then realizes that he loves you

Is pretty protective over you

Rants about America all day to you

Probably got you an american flag to wear

Doesn't really take off his helmet but he likes seeing you in it, makes him proud

If you ever live with him you'll find out that he owns like 20 racoons

"YOU ARE CUTER THAN A RACOON" "YOU WILL BE SAFE ON THE BATTLEFIELD, DO YOU HEAR ME MAGGOT?"

He loudly wakes everyone up in the morning but tries to avoid waking you up

Loves you as much as he loves America

Will show off on the battlefield for you

Isn't against kidnapping you, he probably did it early on if you showed immediately that you didn't reciprocate his feelings

Will blow any guy that hits on you to absolute bits

"MAGGOT DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU WILL LEAVE THE LADY/MAN ALONE THIS INSTANT!"

Probably put you on his back and rocket jumped just to show you what it felt like

Follows you around a lot, it's really obvious because he wears a bucket over his head and crashes into things, when you look back he'll stand behind a lamp post or somewhere really obvious

Support

Ah yes, everyones favorite class including mine

Sniper

Very quiet

Takes secret glances at you

Pays more attention to you than the others

S h y

Asks how you are, how you slept, etc

Doesn't really need to be holding you, tbh he's against PDA

But he likes being in your presence

Just sit down next to him and he'll be fine

When he's on the battlefield, he'll look for you and make sure you're safe

God forbid anyone try to hurt you, he'll make them suffer

Talks about Australia to you and accidentally admitted that he wanted to take you there

Doesn't like the idea of kidnapping but he isn't totally against it, I can see him doing it

He smuggled you all the damn way to Australia

He'll nonchalantly show off to you on the battlefield, he'll let you get cornered and come in to save the day

"love" is a word he uses a lot with you

Will grumble to himself if he sees someone flirting with you

If it's a random person, well, that'll be the last time you ever see them

Has talked about you to his parents

Kind of follows you? I mean he sits atop a high placeand watches you through his scope whenever you're going somewhere

Spy

SEDUCTIVE ASF

He knows what he's doing

Will kiss your hand a lot

Likes to flirt with you and see you blush

"honhonhon"

Sleazy french fucker

Watched you from afar at first then approached you a little later

Isn't against the idea of kidnapping, pro kidnapping, definitely did it not only to have you to himself but for some sort of sexual satisfaction

Just very uh... Lewd? Can't find the right word

He treats you very respectfully though

If he hears anyone else flirting with you he'll be fuming but won't show it

"Oh please, like you could EVER satisfy y/n's desires"

That person mysteriously disappeared that night

Very cocky bastard

Definetly follows you home, not only that but he watches you through your window

And stalks you

He knows everything about you

Would get you either by knocking you unconscious or by blackmailing you

Medic

B a s t a r d

Gets LOUD when you're around

And giddy

Very touchy, always has a reason to put his hands on you

Talks a lot with you around, I mean he already talks a lot but now he won't shut up

Keeps his office nice and clean for you

He restocks on everything so when you come around you can take a loot at all his medicines

Big smile :D

Like spy he is not at all against kidnapping you

Makes sure you're comfortable during checkups

Will make you wait to be seen last just so he can take his time touching your body

"it's all part of the procedure".mp3

Compliments you in weird ways, ex: "your skin is so smooth and lovely, it's the perfect texture to make leather out of" "you have an amazing colon"

Look he's just trying his best here he has a screw loose

You're the only member who he's careful with really

Sometimes allows you to get hurt or has you get hurt by something just so you can see him

Always follows you wherever

Knows everything about you

If someone is flirting with you, he'll get quiet at first and use a low tone to speak to them

"you have guts talking to y/n like that"

They were never seen again

With kidnapping, he won't hesitate to use blackmail against you, or will just use anesthesia

Bonus: Pauling

Pauling

This lady values her work over her life, but to her you're so much more important

Will call you a lot on the battlefield to check in on you

Won't give you extremely hard missons to do because she doesn't want you to get hurt

"Hey (class), Pauling here. I need you... No not like that I just- I mean- for a mission yeah a mission"

Gets all flustered when you're around

Will take her only day off to spend time with you, what a sweetheart

Keeps multiple tabs on you

Follows you around

Doesn't really have time for kidnapping

But if it comes to that, she'll make something up so she has a reason to kidnap you

If anyone else is flirting with you she won't show that she's annoyed

She'll make something up as an excuse to execute them

[NSFW]

Defense

Demo

Has definitely thought of what you'd look like while naked

B l u s h

Has used a mental image of you to get off before

Probably has an actual photo of you

When he drinks a little more than usual, he'll accidentally brush his hand against your ass or get touchy with you

Will not force himself on you, he's 100% against that

If you decide to have sex with him, praise is what you're gonna get

"you're as beautiful as a shot of whiskey in the sunrise"

Very gentle with his hands

Heavy

Not the type to masturbate

Unless if he gets THAT worked up

Again, against forcing himself on you

But if you want it no doubt you will top

He's also gentle with you

And loving

Praise is all you're gonna get

Sometimes russian sometimes broken english

Either way he will worship your body

Engi

Again, a more modest guy, doesn't really touch himself

Might just use a robot to pleasure himself when thinking about you

Probably has a photo of you and him around his workshop

Never forces himself on you

He's sweet and gentle when you do want it though

Sometimes gets help from his robot friends

Offense

Scout

Gets off on thinking about you

Won't force himself on you though

Sexual remarks × 100

Calls you handsome/beautiful in bed

I wouldn't say he's the best in bed but hey he's good I guess

Cuddles after sex most likely

Probablh threw out all his sexual magazines because they just didn't do the trick anymore

Sometimes when he runs past you, your shirt/skirt gets lifted up by a gust of wind and he can't help but look ( ͡◉ ͜ ʖ ͡◉)

Since I hit the text limit, I'll be making a part 2, stay tuned

[oneirataxiahiraeth]

Can I have a sub!kai fic where he annoyed the reader Thx

Uhmmmm yeth👹

Rules

pairing : vamp!reader x sub!kaiparker

Warning : language, smut, penetrative sex, oral (masc & fem), face riding, orgasm denial (m.), bondage, Kai stubble, dirty talk, 69ing,

Requested ;)

Word Count : a little over 3k

A/N :

I had wayyyy too much fun with this one. I’m not really used to writing sub!kai so I had this one was good enough for you<3 (also I’m sorry it literally took FOREVER) also, there’s is little to no plot, srry

He groaned as the ropes rubbed harshly against his skin. His wrist red and irritated as he pulled to feel the tiniest bit of relief that he wasn’t getting.

“It’s only going to hurt more with every pull, Malachi.” You hummed, a sadistic smirk finding its way to your lips as you watched him struggle.

That’s what you were.

A sadist.

You enjoyed watched him like this. Helpless, vulnerable, borderline pathetic. A shiny layer of sweat coating his forehead, and disgustingly dirty thoughts of you on top of him filling his mind. You were truly one evil bitch. How could you do this to him? Strip him of his dominance, just to prove a point. It was oh so fucking hot, but torture not being the one on the other side of these ropes.

“You do realize that once I’m out of these ropes the rest of the night is going to be absolute hell for you... right?” He cleared his throat. He was just itching to inflict some type of fear in you, but in his current state he was making much progress.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him. You’ve never done all this before, but you had a plan for exactly how you wanted it to go. Kai was a dick. He has been one all fucking week. Lately he’s been treating you like precious cargo. Not letting you do anything on your own, not even a shower without him sneaking in. At first it was somewhat sweet sentiments, like ordering your favorites at the grill, then driving you around town to handle errands. Slowly that sweetness faded into him making every decision for you. Not letting you speak for yourself, and finding ways to punish you for speaking out against him. Putting silencing spells on you if he didn’t feel like hearing you rebuttals, and just yesterday he put you into a deep sleep for a few hours so he could ‘have a few moments of peace’.

He was dictating your life.

“What makes you think you’re getting out of these ropes tonight?” You hum.

You watched as he swallowed down the air bubble caught in his throat.

You were set on proving a point. He wasn’t the boss of you in any way shape or form. Not in public, not in private, and he definitely did not have you wrapped around his finger like he was your pimp or some shit. In fact, the whole point of tonight was to make him see that it was quite the opposite.

“Because we both know I can satisfy you way more if I’m untied. Just untie me and I can make you feel good, y/n/n.” He smiled, thinking that you would give into his offer. Instead of actually untying him you just let out the most seductively cynical laugh ever, causing his body to tense under yours.

“We’ll see...” you smirked, lifting your hips from his crotch as you leaned down to place a soft kiss on his collar bone. “Now should we go over the rules or do you have more empty threats to make?”

"Rules?" He nearly laughed in your face.

“Tonight is all on my terms... you will do whatever I want you to do.” You relied, ignoring his failed attempts at taking you seriously. “First rule, not touching. But that shouldn’t be much of a problem, huh?” You smirked, watching his eyes roll. “Second rule, you will ask for everything...” suddenly his smile dropped, and he was so amused by the situation anymore. “You want me to touch you? You ask. You want a kiss? You ask. And if you want to cum... you better beg as if your life fucking depended on it.” You nearly giggled feeling the way he giggled under you.

“Y/n-”

“You will not cum unless I say that you can.” He took in a sharp breath. “Not too bad right? You can be a good boy for me, just for the night, right?” You pouted mockingly, looking deeply into his eyes dark with lust.

“Are the uhm... ropes necessary?” He asked, voice an octave higher than usual.

“No.” You sighed. “But you look so fucking hot all tied up like a doll.” You hummed, finger tracing the vein bulging from from his neck. “So pretty. So perfect.”

“T-that’s usually my line.”

“Did I give you permission to speak?” Your hips grinding down into his, earning a low groan from his throat.

He remained silent, putting a soft smirk on your lips. Your hands traced down his chest, oh so lightly, scooting down his body until you’re hands ghosted lightly over the bulge in his boxers. He felt the heat of your fingers over him. He decided to take advantage of the fact that his legs weren’t bound by anything to push his hips up into the air for some relief. Unfortunately for him, you could read him like a book. Your hand moved away from him before he could even move, resulting in a disappointing action that caused a tiny whine to leave his lips.

“Y/N!” He groaned, head falling back as he tugged at the ropes keeping his bound. You smiled at his frustration, he was in for a long night.

“You didn’t ask.” You shrugged as if you did nothing wrong. Hand placed on his lower stomach, fingers tracing through the outline of his abs.

“Touch me. Please.” He grumbled, not too happy with his position. He was usually the one having you bed for any sort of touch from him. This was all different kinds of unnatural.

   "I am touching you, you're going to have to be more specific than that, Princess." You smiled, voice sweet, but the words coming from you mouth made him want to murder you.

“Aw, but I am touching you. You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Princess.” You teased, voice sweet and condescending. He lifted his head just to glare at you for the nickname. You lifted an eyebrow, challenging him to speak out of turn but he decided to play nicely.

  "I want you to-" he wanted a lot of things.

“I want... I want you to-” he wanted a lot of things right now actually. He didn’t want to give into you no matter how badly he wanted you. His mind fighting against your sudden rebellion while his body ached to be under your control. There was a way to get what he wanted. He just had to show you that he still had control over you, even in restraints. “I want to taste you.” He blurted, a sharp breathing entering your lungs for a moment. You automatically knew what he was doing, and how he must’ve thought that this was so smart of him. “I-I want you to sit on my face...” he spoke, ideas running through his mind at 100 miles per hours. “And I want you to suck my dick too.” Your whole body tingled with excitement at the request.

“What’s the magic word?” You asked, eyebrow raising at the devilish smile beneath you.

“Please, oh please.” He played along. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before you were untying him, and begging for him to fuck you until it was difficult to function properly. He stuck out his bottom lip to ass to the effect.

You scanned the mischief on his face before do anything. Slowly you moved off of him until you were standing on your bedroom floor, his eyes following you closely. In the position he was now he just seemed so vulnerable, and perfect. Just like you had mentioned before. You could see how rock hard he was through his boxers, and how his abs tightened even when you weren’t on him just proved how badly he wanted to be touched by you. You didn’t think he realized but his hips were slightly bucking into the air, trying to find something, anything, but it wasn’t working out too well for him.

You slid your panties down your legs, letting them rest on the bedroom floor. You stepped out of the fabric, walked back over to the bed. Kai watching intently as your fingers traced down his chest, your beautiful being so close yet far at the same time.

“Can you kiss me? Please?” He spoke, a genuine request. Your eyes slowly trailed up to his, not detecting any hidden intentions besides just wanting you lips on his. You were fine giving him what he wanted, but that wouldn’t be fun if you gave into ever request. He’s be a total dick to you all week, so you denying him just one simple pleasure was totally fine with you.

You brought you’re face to hover over his, hand moving up to the soft skin of his cheek. The soft yet prickly hairs of the beard he was growing out tickling your aura. You’re lips barely grazing against his, allowing him to relish in the closeness for a moment before pulling away.

“There are much more productive things you could be doing with that pretty little mouth of yours right now.” You grinned, watching his jaw fall in amazement as you climb back onto the bed. You maneuvered yourself carefully, making sure both of your legs were positioned on either side of his head.

His view of your face was gone, nothing but you glistening pussy waiting for him to give into you. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting on your already heated core. You lowered you’re body down slowly, just until you felt his warmth barely touching you. You leaned over, hands tracing slowly down his abdomen, slowly reaching under his boxer band, listening to his breathing change as your fingers wrapped around him.

He pulled against the ropes, hoping to gain even just a little bit of leeway. His eyes rolled at the light laugh you gave under your breath, realizing you really weren’t going to let him free. He just had his plan to hope will work. He didn’t have to move too much before his tongue was flattening against your folds, licking a single bold stripe against you. A soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth began to move against you, you’re hand slowly pumping him as he took over you mind for a brief moment in time. For some reason, though he hadn’t to admit it, being bound right now felt surprisingly good. The idea of being at your mercy as his tongue worked against you... just did something to him that he couldn’t explain. His eyes closed as he focused on solely pleasuring you before he became a bit distracted. You soft lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, collecting his precum on your tongue. His jaw fell open at the relief, letting out a soft moan.

His tongue worked into you, lapping up and sucking down all of your sweet juices. His facial hairs tickling the insides of your thighs as he ate you out. You made sure to make the most of this moment. You wanted to drive him crazy, by giving him everything and nothing at the same time. Your tongue flattening against his shaft as you took him in your mouth. In his mind he was debating on just siphoning some of your magic to get out of the ropes so he could handle you... properly. Though he quite enjoyed the way your hips were rocking against his mouth as you tried your best to contain yourself.

“Faster,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away from you. “Please- god, I need faster.” He begged, in a voice that sounded way too needy for his own liking. Which basically meant he sounded perfect for you. You hummed, sending vibrations through him before taking your mouth from around him with a pop. You pumped him in your hand a few times before sitting up above him. His lips connecting to you once again earning a gasp and moan that you weren’t prepared to release. Kai always knew how to work wonders one you. He was most proud of how submissive you would be for him in the late hours of the night. He knew how to work you up, and push all the right buttons and he always made sure that no matter what happens he made you cum.

Just another joy you got to swipe away.

You lifted you hips too far for him to reach, listening to him whine form the loss of your taste. You maneuvered yourself around his body again until you were straddling his lap. His stubble covered chin glistening with you juices, watching his chest rise and fall with heavy breathing. You bent down, placing a soft kiss on his lips, being sure to make sure he knew you just were getting a taste of yourself.

“You should grow out the beard, it would be so fucking hot.” You smiled, his throat let out a needy whimper as he tugged again at the ropes keeping him bound.

“y/n- please, m’gonna explode.” He groaned, causing your wicked smile to widen.

“sorry, what? I didn’t hear that.” You hummed, turning your head so he would speak right into your ear.

“y/n.” He whined loudly, hips bucking into yours harshly. You hands moved down to his hips, holding them down before he could try again. He was right where you wanted him. Needy, pathetic, and easy to break. “I need you, so so bad, please.” He groaned, tugging at the ropes again, pure frustration and sexual tension taking over him.

“You need me?” You asked, trying to sound confused, hands moving further down his body until your fingers were tracing the base of his cock. “Like... right here?” You cocked your head to the side, watching as his jaw clenched. His eyes locked on your face, watching you find him amusing enough to smile. He would never in his life admit this out loud, but he definitely enjoyed this. He was aching right your your hand, just like how you wanted him.

“I w-wanna feel you.” He breathed.

“You want me to fuck myself on your dick?” You dipped your head down, placing you lips right below his jawline, pressing a series of light pecks along his neck.

“Please- fuck, please baby.” He whined again.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft once again, pumping him slowly in your hand. His mouth fell open at the friction again. Your hand sped up in its action as you watched his eyes close for a brief moment in pleasure. If this is what having total control felt like... being able to see the person you love most revel in the feeling of just you and only you... you could understand why it was so addicting to him.

Doesn’t mean you weren’t still annoyed with him.

In his mind flashed pornographic pictures of you echoes of your moans on repeat in his mind, along with the sensations of your fingers coursing along his skin. You always held the power to make him fall apart at your finger tips, he just never let you see that.

“Aw, you like this don’t you?” You hummed, poking out lips at the soft moans you were earning as you jerked him off.

“Please let me feel you.” He asked again, aching to feel your heated walls wrapped around him.

“You think you deserve to feel me?” You sigh, handing tightening around him as your pace quickened earning an audible reaction. “You make such pretty noises, you know.” You hummed, leaning over him a bit. His tip barely brushing against you stomach as you watching him glide closely to the edge. “Are you close baby?”

“Y-yes, god, I’m so close.” He groaned out, hands turning to grip the comforter to relieve some pressure.

You watched his eyes squeeze tighter together, and his muscles everywhere tense. A light layer of sweat forming over his chest as he body produce a heat that was lethal. Throaty moans escaped him, and your body heat so close to him was only bringing him closer to his euphoric release.

Or what would’ve been if you hadn’t stopped.

“Y/N-” he whined, tugging at the ropes a little extra hard with frustration.

“I didn’t say you could cum, did I?” You responded to his childish whine.

Your lips curved up into a devilish smile that has him weak in the knees. You hand squeezing the base of his cock once again before you lifted yourself on your knees above him. His tip gliding along your folds slick with his saliva and your own arousal. His mouth feel open, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of your dragging him along your heat.

“Wanna be in you, babe.” He groaned, “please, lemme feel you.”

You hum, moving you hand away from him breaking the intimate contact between the two of you. Both of your hands reached the his, grabbing the ropes keeping him bound before breaking each one. His hands immediately try to go to you, but you catch them before they can manage to.

“No touching rule is still in effect, Malachi.” You grin.

“Then why untie me?” He pouted.

“I love to see you squirm.” You commented with a light shrugged, leaning over as you placed his hands over his head. Your nose barely brushing past each other. “If you touch me and without permission we’ll stop, got it?”

“You’re so evil.” He whined, head lifting up to bring your lips closer together.

“Wonder who I get it from.” You smiled, finally pressing your lips together bringing sinking down on his cock that’s been waiting for you all night. He let out a breathy moan into the kiss, your hips lifting back up before falling again. Air slowly leaving your lungs as you let out a breathy moan into his lips. Kai’s hands gripping onto the comforter once again for dear life.

You kept up a steady place, bouncing on top of him, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Your lips tore away from each other’s as you tried picking up pace, watching Kai’s face twist as he watched you use him for you’re own satisfaction. You noticed the tired euphoric look on his face on how he was already beginning to twitch inside of you. Your walls clenching around him, making him go ballistic as you fuck your self on him.

“I-I’m go-nna-” he moaned, trying to make coherent sentences through the ecstasy. “Can I please-”

“No, not yet.” You spoke clearly, pace not altering. “Look at me.” You demanded notices how his eyes fluttered shut every few seconds. He tried to keep his eyes open for you, staring you dead in your pretty face wondering how in love he had to be to end up in this position. “So good for me.” You smiled, nearly making him break one of your rules... possibly all of them.

“P-please let me t-touch you” he pouted.

“So needy.”

“Please.”

You nodded allowing him to move his hands. They went straight towards your hips, gripping your skin tightly, causing you to realize how close you were to the edge. Your walls clenching around him with every move, making it harder to keep himself contained. You’re eyes locked on each other, watching each other as you both fell completely apart. You noticed how heavy his breathing was and how he was trying his best not lose his shit. It was mesmerizing, noises flowing from the both of you so disgusting erotic that you wished everyone in this house was listening to the best sex they were never going to get to have. That’s when you realized you were beginning you’re ethereal trip on ecstasy.

“Y/N-”

“Cum for me, baby.” You moaned as your legs began to shake around him, body jolting with pleasure as you tried milking out your orgasms by slowly rocking you hips on his but the sensations became too much.

You leaned over placing your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt his hot seed spilt into you coating your walls, as you listened to the rapid pace of his heart beating.

“Can we uhm... can we do that again?” He breathed, voice vibrated through your sensitive body.

“Fuck yea.”

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Eight

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: this chapter is long but the end is worth it puppies;)

Warnings: angst, language

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MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART EIGHT

Loki never came back home that night. Nor the next morning. It was odd without him in the loft. You ventured to other rooms, which as you’d guessed, were other rooms. You didn’t want to sleep in Loki’s gold bed with silk sheets. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea if he came back home from some sort of battle or whatever he did when he was out. 

You didn’t want him finding his soulmate in his bed and think something was going to go down.

Not yet anyway. 

You cringed at that thought, sitting on the side of the bed you’d borrowed last night. Your feet hung from the edge; the bed was so gigantic you’d practically thrown yourself into it to be able to board the goddamn thing. 

You peaked from the open door, listening for any sound, but the loft was dark and quiet, just as you’d left it the night before. There were no windows in this place, so you went through the hallway and kitchen, flicking on lights in your cotton pajamas you’d taken from Loki’s wardrobe. 

He’d stocked the kitchen with all assortment of human candies. Twizzlers. Starbursts. Lucky Charms. 

Sour Puss? Why did Loki buy eighteen-year-old liquor? 

You made yourself a bowl of Lucky Charms, playing with your cereal, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do for the day. As far as you’d seen, there were no books. No internet. No computer to play games. What the hell did Loki even do in this loft anyway?

A fleeting thought answered you. All of this is temporary. This is not his home and it never will be.

The bare walls, the rooms full of nothingness, no paraphernalia of any kind anywhere. There weren’t any of his clothes in the wardrobe either. Loki just slept here. Barely. 

The bathroom was sparkling, as if no one had ever used it. The loft smelled like a new car, the leather couches gleaming and new.

You weren’t going to stay here long, either. 

Loki was on Earth temporarily, surviving on Lucky Charms and illusions. 

You didn’t know what to make of yourself, and you certainly weren’t about to lie on your bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for the God of Mischief to grace you with his presence. No. 

After breakfast, you dressed in black trousers and t-shirt, and a pair of boots that would sustain a lot of walking. You tied your hair in a low braid.

You took one large breath before grabbing the front door and yanking. If Loki had locked you in, you’d kill him.

But the door swung open, breaking open the cap on the noise. Chatter, clanking, beeping, smoke came crashing to your senses as you opened up the door to the lab sitting just on the other side. The unbearable heat washed over you as you stepped out, your eyes taking in the ragged, sprung up lab life vibrating before you. 

Curiously, you ventured deeper, keeping close to the wall, making sure no one really paid attention to you. Everyone there seemed really, really into their job, anyway. As if they were in a trance. 

Mind control, you thought shyly. Loki had used his staff, you were sure. Upon closer inspection, heart beating in your chest, inching closer to a woman overly invested in a piece of glass, you saw it. The blurred gaze. Irises as blue and nebulous as the tip of Loki’s staff. Broken, chapped lips. Skin ashy and sickened, as if she hadn’t eaten or drank anything in days. Or slept. The sunken, black skin beneath her eyes told you this lab worked 24/7. 

Gulping, you whirled, trying to find the exit. People milled by you, paying you no mind. As if you were just another one of them. 

This was making you sick, the moral of it all reaching a valuable place inside you. The fact that Loki has stuffed these peoples’ heads with - what? - and turned them into living, breathing robots made you want to yell. At him, mostly.

Just then you spotted a sign over a door. Exit. Well, at least Loki cared about fire safety. You walked to it, determined, and all but burst through the doors, the sound of them slamming shut behind you echoing into the hallway, which you walked through with the same harsh pace. 

It was only when you’d burst into the warehouse, the sound disrupting the small bubble of peace, did you finally take a deep, soothing breath. The outside world shimmered before you, just beyond the yawning mouth of the warehouse. You saw a shimmering horizon, hot, blazing cement.

This wasn’t a warehouse, you realized. It was a hangar. A huge, awning hangar with a stolen, SHIELD-issued jet in the far left corner. 

You remembered how you even got here - the tightening of your skin, the feeling of it ripping and rippling as time and space shivered around you. No wonder you didn’t remember the extent of the “warehouse” when you’d landed here, the state of your mind and stomach making you woozy.

“Hey!”

Someone came running to you. It was one of those tall, all-black clad figures. His reflective mask glimmered in the lights of the hangar as he jogged to you, left hand on his hip, where a baton dangled.

“You’re not supposed to leave,” he said, his voice monotone, emotionless. Robotic. Controlled.

Frowning, taking a careful step back, you said, “I’m not allowed to leave?”

“Correct.” Then, more harshly. “Loki’s demands.”

There was a brief, hot red moment where you wanted to batter your fists against this man’s entire being, but then you remembered he didn’t even know he was here. He was being mind controlled. He was just a body, just like the entirety of the lab buzzing behind you. 

“I want to leave,” you said, squaring your shoulders.

“Impossible.”

You set your jaw, looking at this guard from under your brows. “Loki,” you said, unsure if this would work. “Loki, tell this idiot to step out of my way or so help me God I will destroy your precious little lab behind me.” Just to emphasize your words, you put your hand back on the doorknob.

There was a second where you thought the guard would just burst out laughing and bend over, mocking you. But he just stood there, reflective mask showing you your distorted reflection. 

And then his head cocked, his hands flexed. 

You knew Loki was listening, through whatever kind of bond he’d set on these people. 

“Let me go, Loki,” you grit through your teeth. 

The guard shrugged. “I am inclined to watch what you’ll do with this little freedom,” the guard said, Loki’s words in his mouth distorted. “But I am afraid the Avengers are hot on your trail.”

Your fists clenched. “There’s nothing but Lucky Charms in the loft,” you groaned. “What in the hell am I supposed to do?”

The guard chuckled. “Wait for me to come home in a little skirt with dinner?” he suggested sarcastically.

You wanted to hit him, but you knew you’d only be hurting this mind-controlled man and not Loki. 

“Wow, I never took you for a backwards and traditional man,” you gritted.

Another chuckle, but this one felt condescending. “I am only expressing my deepest fantasy, darling.”

“Ew.” Then you inhaled, closing your eyes, mustering the energy to talk to him. “Loki, please, I - “

The guard put his hand up. “I am coming back soon, my darling,” he said, again, his voice distorted by Loki’s words. “I have stocked the living room with books you may enjoy in the meantime.”

And then the guard shuddered, his head dropping momentarily, Loki’s persona stripping itself from the stranger. The guard inhaled sharply, took one long look at you, and then turned on his heel and headed back to his post. 

You were tempted to make a run for it, but where? You had no idea where you were. The shimmering, hot horizon indicated not New York. And it’s not like you knew how to pilot a jet. 

With a bruised ego and a slump to your shoulders, you walked back to the loft, passing through the heated, messed-up lab without a wayward look. And as Loki had promised - through the guard - the living room table was stacked with leather bound books.

You picked one up. Legends and Myths of the Gods; Odin’s Pantheon. You rolled your eyes. Of course, Loki had stocked your book requiem with stories about him. How had you not seen this coming?

You huffed, throwing yourself on the brand new leather couch, opening the book, the spine cracking from time unused. 

The first chapter was all about Odin’s conception, down right to Loki’s adoption from the Frost Giants on Jotunnheim. A brisk, fleeting thought went to young Loki, learning that his father was not really his father, and that his mother, who loved him so, was not the one to bring him into this world. 

You skimmed through the chapters on Thor, because, let’s be honest, all you truly wanted to get to was Loki’s life. 

You read about his trickery, his skill and love for magic, something he’d picked up from the Queen. How Loki loved horses and literature. He loved delicacy, the richness of royalty, women, and - 

You read it over. Yes, Loki loved women. A lump formed in your throat as you skipped along, trying to find mention of any women in Loki’s life. All you found of concrete evidence was the women in his realm had started calling him Silver Tongue.

A blush crept up your cheeks, heating the flesh so bad that you had to slam the book shut.

And Loki stood right behind it, leaning against the wall leisurely. You all but jumped in your seat, knees to your chest, book clattering to the ground. 

He laughed. “Curious about good ol’ Loki’s past?” he asked, sauntering over, throwing himself down next to you. He lounged his left arm over the back of the couch, his dark blue sweater stretching over the expanse of his chest. 

Oh, if only he knew just what past exactly you were looking at. 

He spread his knees, black trousers clean, completely at ease. 

You gulped, pressing your knees further into your chest. He quirked his brow, his question still unanswered. 

“Oh,” you said, stuttering with the next words trying to come out. “I was just, um, reading through your family history.” Silver Tongue, you wanted to say. 

He huffed. “Nothing interesting there,” he hummed. You felt like there was something more to it, but you didn’t want to dig deeper because maybe you’d unveil something you didn’t want to see.

“Where were you?” you asked, deciding that maybe this conversation was going in a direction you rather not go. Yet.

He smiled. “Didn’t want to wait for me with dinner?”

You rolled your eyes. “I couldn’t find a skirt,” you mumbled sarcastically.

His brows rose so high on his forehead, you thought they’d fall off his face. “I could provide one, if you wish.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat on your cheeks. You unbent your knees, picking the book off the floor and replacing it on the pile. “I don’t like skirts,” you said, not really sure why you were saying this. 

“Why?” he asked, frowning. His left hand, the one draped over the couch, was dangerously close to the back of your head. “You’d look good in them.”

Again, heat rose to your cheeks, a group of butterflies taking flight in your belly. “No, I’m, uh, self-conscious.”

He leaned closer, frowning, the smell of him invading your senses in a rush. His knee bumped yours and your eyes fell there, where there was only the fabric of both your pants separating your skin. 

“Why?” he said, his voice low. 

You gulped. “I’ve never liked... my legs,” you admitted with a nonchalant shrug, still looking at his stupid left knee. 

There was a silence, a long silence, and you still stared at his knee as if his knee would start telling that your legs were nice.

Instead, his left hand landed on your thigh, not gripping, not groping, just lightly touching. When you looked up at him, his eyes bore into yours with a sincerity you’d never seen before. 

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m sure you’re just as beautiful from the waist down.”

It was a weak attempt at making you feel better, but at least he tried. And even if it almost made you laugh, the idea that Loki thought you were beautiful made something tug deep in your belly. 

His hand shifted, fingers grazing exposed skin at your neck, tracing lines on your flesh. Raising goosebumps. Humming to himself. 

“You have such wonderful skin,” he murmured. You looked down at his lips molding the words. His fingers inched to your jaw, tracing up to the corner of your eye, bringing fire up with him. “Such beautiful eyes.” His words were like a melody to you, your body buzzing, reacting as much to his words as his touch.

His finger slid down to your lips, tracing the bottom one with his thumb, and you involuntarily turned to him. His eyes dropped down to your mouth quickly, returning to your gaze with a new, flickering flame. “Such a charming mouth,” he said, his voice roach, low, almost a whisper. 

You swallowed hard and Loki watched your throat bob. 

He inclined his head, his forehead grazing yours. You wanted to reach up, grasp the strands of his hair, but your fists were glue at your sides. 

He smirked, huffing. “I’ve wanted a soulmate for so long,” he admitted in a low voice. He licked his lips. Inching closer to you on the couch. “I want to do so many things to you,” he whispered.

You felt the heat creep up your face and you looked down, Loki’s thumb pushing against your lips, and he chuckled softly. 

“If you want to kiss something, I’m right here,” he said mockingly, and you smiled, pushing his hand away. He laughed softly, replacing his hand on the back of the couch.

He gave you a second to regain the normal temperature of your skin before chuckling to himself. “If you were in Asgard,” he said, his voice faraway. “People would bow to you. They’d call you Princess. You’d have a title and land. A crown. They’d call you My Lady when you are being stubborn.” 

You tried not to imagine it, really, you did. You tried not to imagine what a life could be like with Loki, on splendid and gold Asgard, living out your mortal days with a God. You really tried not to imagine it all because then it meant leaving Bruce behind, and leaving him in New York had not been easy, but leaving your brother forever? The thought was unimaginable. 

A lump rose in your throat when you said, “Tell me more.” You leaned into the couch, bringing your knees to your chest, chin on your kneecaps. 

Loki smiled brightly, his fingers lightly playing with your hair, and told what your life would be like if you were immortal, if you were Asgardian, if you were not truly and wholly you.

tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor 

[straydawg-writing]

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦.

- 𝓚. 𝙯𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙮𝙘𝙠

• hunter x hunter series!

summary:

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙖�� 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮.

𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙝.

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨.

ˏˋ♡̩͙♡̩̩̥͙♡̩̥̩ ⋆ ♡̩̥̩♡̩̩̥͙♡̩͙̩͙ˊˎ

- 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙆𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙖. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩. (𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙩 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙘)

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

Chapter 1 —

⋯✰⋯

"Book."

"Gain!"

Bisky's eyes shined like stars as a smooth blue gemstone appeared in front of her. You could spot tears of hers spring up as she cradled the glittering rock like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"What should I name it? Blue-chan? Planet-chan?" she gushed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. You stifled a laugh, catching a glimpse of Killua's dumbfounded expression. If one thing were true, it's that he does not understand women.

While Gon and Killua endured Bisky's brutal training during Greed Island, you had grown to like her. Despite her being 45 years older than you, you imagined she was the closest thing to what a big sister would be like. Or maybe a mom? You wouldn't know.

Unfortunately, you weren't special enough to escape her unforgiving training either. Bisky knew no mercy. While training their physical bodies, she also trained the trio's nen abilities.

Gon developed his special punch move by using the rock, paper, scissors of Chinese martial arts. Killua learned how to better channel his electricity, though Bisky had looked concerned when he first demonstrated it to her. You couldn't blame her. Killua's ability to withstand electricity only came from years of shock torture, and you noticed how he rarely mentions the fact that he still feels the pain. You caught on to it the night you watched his Heaven's Arena match, remembering his voice floating to the stands.

"𝘐'𝘮 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴."

Your heart clenched for him every time you remember this fact. He has a tendency to hide his pain, in order to not burden his friends.

Then there's you, who Bisky took upon herself to help.

Since the day Wing opened your nen pores and declared you a Manipulator, you practiced your nen with Gon and Killua daily. When the time came to decide your special ability, the answer was as clear to you as a cloudless sky.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

Since then you'd been seen carrying around leather pouches of dirt, water, and vines wherever you went. It was a nice start, but it sure did make your back hurt. And of course, Bisky would not accept that. Ordering you to dump out all of your pouches to the ground, she had you draw out your power from the scattered elements that had begun already mixing with the dirt.

Unsure, you had hesitantly stretched out your arm and tried pulling from the water. It took you a number of tries to get it right. You had squinted long and hard, focusing on extending your nen to the elements around you. To your giddy surprise, small, sparkling droplets of H20 were separating from the glob of inky mud to float just a few inches above your hands. Concentrating harder, the droplets began orbiting one another. They looked like little planets.

Sensing the vines, you were able to control their movements too, even manipulating ones that hadn't originated from your leather pouch.

Bisky's wide smile was all that you needed.

From that day on, you only practiced manipulating whatever was around you. The earth was your ally.

"Well, what will you do once you find Ging?" Bisky's voice snapped you out of a daze.

"Naturally, I'll introduce him to Killua, my best friend in the whole world!"

"What am I, a roach?" You mocked, but couldn't keep a smile from spreading across your face.

Gon's unyielding positivity and bubbly voice was like honey to your ears. No one could ever doubt the adoration he held for his best friend.

"Stupid, cut that out! It's embarrassing," said Killua, turning red as a tomato. He looked away in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, except you were right there to catch his blush.

You flashed a mischievous smile to Killua. "You know, I think an I-Love-You-Too-Gon-I-Also-Think-You're-The-Best would suffice once in a while."

"Shut up."

Killua was as stubborn as ever. You are playfully rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to the rest of the group. Gon was inviting Bisky to come with them and meet Ging, but she had said something about not being interested in men who already have kids.

"If I stay with you any longer, I really will get too attached..." Bisky tried to mask it, but you've always been good at noticing little details. She was going to miss them. And truth be told, you were going to miss her too.

"The hunter world is a small place. We'll all see each other again in no time!" you reassured your friends. "See you later, Bisky."

"Take care, Bisky." Gon said his goodbyes, Killua nodding next to him.

⋯✰⋯

"Accompany on."

"Nigg!"

At that, a bright light enveloped all of them, streaking them through the sky. Every time you did this on Greed Island, you had always shut your eyes tight. You'd never get used to the feeling.

The next thing you knew, the three of you landed in an area thick with white fog. It was slightly chilly, causing you to shiver. A hundred feet in front of you was a tall sakura tree with roots so large they could be mistaken for a magical beast. It had to have been there for at least a couple hundred years. Soft, pink petals drifted in the wind, dancing around you and your friends. As your eyes focused, you noticed a shadowy man reclining on the tree's roots. Could it be Ging?

Before you realized what was happening, the mysterious man turned towards the three of you and opened fire on Gon.

Then, Killua was diving in slow motion and pulling Gon out of the way and the two of them were rolling on the ground holding onto each other. Getting a hold of your senses, you looked down at dozens of bullets that had made holes in the ground and noticed an injured ant lying motionless on the floor. The thing was completely decapitated.

"Now look what you've done, you killed an innocent soul!" you exclaimed to the man, pointing at the poor bug.

"That's not Ging..." Gon whispered.

"What was that all about?! First, you push us down, then you fire at us. Stop messing around!" Killua accused the Not-Ging.

After helping Gon back up, Killua examined the insect too. That is, before it ruthlessly attacked him.

"Oh. It wasn't dead," you stated the obvious.

The man quickly finished off the ant biting Killua's leg with his machine gun before scoffing at you. He took off the black jacket he was wearing, unveiling straight, platinum white hair so long it almost touched the floor. You could get a better look at him now. He was lanky, and the beret he wore casted a shadow over his eyes. If you had to guess, you'd say he's about 6'3. Just who was this man? Had God finally sent an angel to cleanse you from your sins?

"I was being dead serious. If I hadn't opened fire, you would have been attacked. That was no ordinary ant, it was a Chimera Ant."

"A what?"

"An aggressive, carnivorous insect that's been designated Quarantine Level 1. You three didn't realize it, but you were standing right in front of their nest. If I hadn't fired the moment I did, an army of Chimera Ants would have consumed all of you by now," the angel explained.

You gawked at his beautiful long locks, gracefully flying in the wind as he turned to leave.

Gon seemed to have recognized the man, asking something about if he were the one who had saved him back then. Gon told a story about being rescued from a fox bear, though it looked like he had remembered something else because he held his cheek as if he'd just been hit. For the first couple of seconds, the man looked at Gon like he was in denial about the person right in front of him. Then, like it was nothing, he called Gon by his name. And if by a miracle, he also knew Ging.

"My name is Kite. Ging was my master."

You nudged Killua, "Did you hear that?! He knows Gon's dad!" Killua looked just as shocked as you.

The three of you followed Kite to a small campfire as he told them stories about Ging, himself, and his current mission. You were thankful for the heat source, warming your hands against the flame as it was only getting colder as night fell. You cursed yourself for not being like Gon and Killua, who always had their long sleeve layers and could just strip them whenever the weather deemed it necessary. All you were wearing were burgundy shorts, combat boots, and a black t-shirt. And of course, your necklace. You reached your hand and held onto the choker pendent around your neck. It was all you had left of your home. Just holding onto the pink pendent brought you enough comfort to warm you from the inside out again.

The sun was beginning to set by the time you met Kite's friends and the cute dog that had taken a liking to Gon. Your eyes softened as you watched Gon play with the puppy, having found its sweet spot right behind its ear. He caught you staring, and flashed his pearly whites.

"Y/N, come rub his belly! He's so soft!"

Getting up from your spot next to Killua and wiping the dust off your shorts, you traveled to where Gon was now teaching the dog new tricks.

"How are you gonna teach him anything without any dog treats?" you asked, petting the little dog.

"With this!" Gon pulls out a handful of goldfish from his pocket. He tossed one to the pup, who caught it in midair.

You held in a laugh. "Gon, why do you just have goldfish lying around in your pockets like that?"

"You don't always have time to snack when you're training you know.. Plus, It's in a baggy!" He showed you the zip -block bag that was stuffed inside the pocket of his green shorts, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. This time you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Oh I see, as long as it's in a bag, right? Can I see one?"

Gon nodded and put some goldfish in the palm of your hand. Looking for Killua, you spotted him sitting on a log watching as the sun set under the ocean's horizon. He looked so ethereal as the orange light reflected off of him. The light made his fluffy white hair shine, and a slight breeze made delicate strands wisp in the wind like snowflakes. You almost felt bad for disturbing the picturesque scene in front of you.

"Hey, Killua! Come feed this dog Gon's two-year-old musty goldfish with me!"

Yeah, you had ruined the moment.

"It's not two years old! I bought it in Yorknew," he whined.

"But it's musty?"

Killua walked up to the two of you with a questioning look, and you paused your bickering to hold open his hand and transfer the goldfish. The dog barked.

"I'm not sure, animals typically run away once they smell Mike on me," he said, referring to the oversized human-eating guard dog at the Zoldyck estate. Considering it's job was to deter people, you guessed that made sense. Still, you had faith that this innocent pup could show Killua some love. He needed the free therapy.

"Just try it!" Gon pushed.

Killua succumbed to Gon's request, holding the treat out to the tail-wagging puppy. Though, instead of taking the treat, it knocked Killua clean over, licking his face.

"What the heck— Help!" Killua desperately tried wiping the slimy slobber off of his lips.

"I think he's trying to kiss you." You giggled.

Mission accomplished!

"Kite did say that hunters are well-liked by animals. This means you're a great hunter, Killua!" Gon excitedly shared.

Killua offered a small smile. "I haven't passed the test yet, dummy."

⋯✰⋯

author's notes: hope you guys liked the first chapter! i'm excited to keep this story going!

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Guilty Pleasure

A/N: No real plot here, just a platonic imagine with the Asgardian Gods! Feedback’s appreciated as always! :))

Pairing: Platonic Loki x Platonic Thor x Reader

Warning: Strong language.

Word count: 1718

"Alright (Y/N), time to get out of there." Steve’s stern voice came in through your comms.

You looked around briefly before returning your gaze to the computer screen in front of you which was currently transferring all of it’s hidden files to your connected external drive.

"Nearly done Captain. I need two minutes." you replied, pleading that the security camera’s would stay deactivated for just a few more minutes.

"Your cover’s about to be blown up (Y/L/N). Get out. Now." Steve sounded worried, authoritative and gentle all at once.

"Look I’m almost done, it’ll be done in the next two min-"

"It’s an order (Y/N). If you’re not out in thirty seconds, we leave without you."

Steve concluded before cutting the line. There was no bargaining after that.

You grumbled a few curse words as the Captain was no longer on line, before pulling the drive out abruptly halting its file transfer midway, and made your way outside where the quinjet stood waiting.

As you made it inside, Clint took off immediately and Nat approached you, knowing you’d be pissed off.

"You were good (Y/N), don't beat yourself up. We’ll get the info by some other means." She reassured.

"Yeah well that wasn't the mission Nat. Couldn’t have just two fucking minutes could I? I swear I would’ve got it. Just-"

Your rant was interrupted by Steve walking in.

"You did what you could (Y/N). Not worth getting caught in the process. There’s always a next time." Steve said offering you a pat on the back and a smile. The eternal optimist.

"I’m sorry Cap." was all you managed to say as you walked past them, disappointed in yourself, and sat on the chair next to Clint, pulling the seat belt on while keeping your eyes out the window.

The rest of the journey back home was pretty silent. You tried your best not to punch something out of frustration and Nat tried her best to distract you.

It would’ve been so much easier if Cap would’ve allowed Loki to accompany you. His illusions would have made the job so much easier. But Captain being Captain, thought he was better off handling other worldly things with his brother.

Contrary to popular belief, you and Loki had always worked well together. He was starting to gel well with the team. You had a special connection with both the brothers.

The initial intimidation had worn off quickly when you found out how thoughtful and considerate they really were. They were super protective of you, but also knew you could hold your own.

Maybe the reason y’all were such great friends was the sheer dissimilarities of your lives that made for endless conversations.

You were supposed to hang out together tonight for your weekly “Midgard movie nights” as Thor called it, but they had Asgardian business to take care of.

Which meant you were free to do whatever the hell you wanted, however the hell you wanted. You didn't get days like these often, and when you did you’d either spend time with Loki, or Nat - your best mate in the team, or sparring with Steve in the gym, working on your combat skills. You figured you’d make the most of your alone time.

...

The brothers had made it back earlier than they thought, which gave Loki some time to prep for your designated movie night. He had dragged his brother along to help, who agreed immediately when Loki mentioned “movie treats”. They really wanted to do something special considering you were always the one hosting these nights, complete with delicious food and drinks.

“How about pop tarts?” Thor asked pointing to the box of strawberry pop tarts lying in your top shelf, you weren't much of a sweet tooth but you kept those for Thor as he loved them too much.

“We cannot eat those ridiculous sweets as a meal brother. We need something more substantial.” Loki was mildly irritated at this point as his brother wasn't being of any help.

“What if we cook something?”

“And light (Y/N)’s kitchen on fire in the process? Never. I would very much still like to be her friend Thor.”

Loki thought for a minute before he remembered you mentioning something about Italian cuisine being your favorite.

“What are those round breads with cheese and what not that your precious team keeps ordering? (Y/N) seems to love them right?” he asked; he wasn't always around to eat dinners with the team and do the whole bonding thing, but Thor was. And he had comparatively spent more time here.

“Pizzas!! Good thinking brother! We can get Friday to order them.”Thor bellowed patting Loki on his back enthusiastically.

...

The quinjet landed in the compound and you made your way out.

“Don't be too hard on yourself kid. Relax.” Clint said as he walked beside you before sprinting inside.

You were looking forward to unwinding and spending the night treating yourself.

As you stepped into the elevator, Loki heard Friday’s voice announcing your arrival.

“She’s here early. We need more time!”

Thor had opened the box of pop tarts and had already begun munching on it.

The pizza was on its way but it wouldn't be here for another twenty five minutes. Loki figured it was a good idea if he kept all of this as a surprise, so he worked his magic to hide both him and Thor from your view as you arrived on your floor and walked in.

You closed the bedroom door with a loud bang and began stripping as you made your way into the bathroom.

A long bubble bath was what you needed so you began filling the tub with hot water and picked out your favorite bath bomb that you kept away for special occasions.

Self pampering was a valid occasion right!

When the bath was ready, you instructed Friday to put on your ‘Guilty Pleasure’ playlist and to make sure no one would barge into your apartment.

...

Out in the kitchen, Loki and Thor hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next. You clearly looked like you needed to be with yourself tonight.

“Maybe we should just leave.” Thor suggested.

“And who’s to explain the four large pizzas that will get here any minute?” Loki said jeeringly, rolling his eyes.

“So we just stay hidden?”

“For now.”

…

The songs along with the bath water were working its magic and you were in a much better mood.

Your skin started to prune so you hopped out of the bath, wrapped a fluffy towel around you and walked out into your bedroom to find some comfortable clothes to slip into. You opened the packet of your foot exfoliating socks to put them on - you had been saving those for some other time as well.

By the time you made it outside, you were jamming out to Backstreet Boys. Now a few beers, junk food, trashy TV and you’d be set for the night.

Deciding on a big bowl of popcorn you put the bag in the microwave still sashaying to the music, you realized it had been forever since you let your hair down.

By the time the popcorn was done you were attempting to moonwalk towards the microwave while singing This is how we do it a bit off key but who the hell cares?

The Asgardian Gods were finding this too amusing and were enjoying seeing this carefree side of you way too much.

By the time Eminem’s Real Slim Shady came on, Loki was horrified at your choice of songs.

“This is barbaric! What sane person finds this music worthy of listening?” He hissed loudly knowing you couldn’t hear them even though they were just a few feet away.

You took the big bowl of butter popcorn and a couple of beers to the living area and plopped down on your sofa putting your socks covered feet up on the coffee table. With the bowl in your lap, you asked Friday to turn the music off as you surfed Netflix for a while but decided on Friends because that never disappointed and settled in.

You were singing the title track loudly when Friday’s voice came through.

“Your pizzas have arrived Mr Point Break.”

Thor looked visibly pissed off at the name which Tony had made the AI regard him with.

“It’s Thor. I’m gonna punch you Stark.” Thor's voice boomed loudly as he suddenly came into view, making you jump from your seat.

“What the fuck are you doing here Thor?” You shouted straightening up and sending the popcorn flying across the floor.

“In our defense- Loki started as he stepped out too, making your eyes widen further.

You were sure you were red with embarrassment at the point. How long have they been here?

“How..what the he..what are you guys doing here?” You were fumbling with words as you looked at them.

“Okay before you get mad, we wanted to do something nice for our movie night, so we thought we’d surprise you. But clearly we are the ones getting the surprise.” Loki tried to hide his smirk but failed as he spoke.

You covered your face with both your hands and uttered a muffled, “I am mortified.”

You figured there were two ways that this would go down, you could ask them to leave you alone and get mad at the two, or you could face the situation like a grown up. They did want to do a nice thing, and their intentions were innocent after all.

Deciding on the latter, you sat up and said, “Someone wanna get the door.”

“Are you not going to kick us out?” Loki asked, his eyebrows raised.

You stood up and walked into the kitchen nonchalantly, careful not to step over the fallen popcorn.

“You got pizza right? I’m famished, let's eat.”

Thor brought the boxes and you settled on the sofa once again. The events of the night hopefully forgotten at this point. You took a slice of the pepperoni pizza and sat back on the couch to resume the show when Thor spoke up.

“Lady (Y/N) you have exceptional dance moves. Maybe not the best voice though.” Thor said and soon was met with a flying pillow hitting his face.

...

[lesetoilesfous]

5. Comical roleplay for Kanders?

Ok I went A DIRECTION with this and I really hope you like it, thank you so much for the prompt!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Kanders

Characters: Anders, Karl

Tags: the Circle is violently abusive, reference to infanticide, reference to suicide, reference to abusive religious institutions, tyhe author Gets Political (when doesn't she), Anders is going to change the world in a bright pink dress, Karl is hopelessly in love with him, pro-mage propaganda

Rating: Mature

It’s almost midnight halfway through the month of Wintersend. The Circle is dark, the enchantments controlling the tower’s heat and lighting having long since switched into nocturnal mode. Despite this, and the high, thick darkness that came from rooms and rooms without windows, a handful of stars are suspended in the air at one corner of the apprentice’s dormitory. At least, Karl assumes they look like stars. His own memory of the night sky is blurred and vague, fuzzed over by the veil of early childhood. And of course, he hasn’t seen enough but watercolours of the sky itself since he was seven years old. But he likes to think the cloud of glittering witchlights that he, Anders and the other have summoned into the air might look like stars. He sees some of the younger children staring at the lights with an expression of something like awe, their dark eyes wide in hunger-stricken faces. Karl ignores the ache in his chest, and coaxes the lights to glow a little brighter.

In the middle of the crowded children, Anders is wearing a bright pink dress. Where exactly he got it, Karl has no idea. He also has no idea how Anders has managed to keep the thing away from the templar’s attentions for nearly five years. Every child is stripped of their own clothing as soon as their brought into the Circle and issued with the same, standard, worn apprentice robes that all of them had to wear. The clothes itches, and were often mended. Many of them smelled of sweat and other things left behind by the many generations before them. Choosing their own clothing: especially clothing as ostentatious and lurid as the pink affair Anders was currently strutting about in - was strictly forbidden to even the Senior Enchanters. Which means that this in itself is something of a sight to behold.

There’s also the fact that Anders has plaited his long strawberry blonde hair onto either side of his head, rouged his lips and dusted his face with powder. He looks ridiculous. He looks beautiful, and Karl is trying very hard not to think about it. Karl and the other older apprentices Anders has roped into this are not just managing the lights: they’re also running several low level heat spells. The trick was keeping the magic low enough not to alert the mages and enchanters on the second floor, whilst making it strong enough to beat back the thin layer of frost that crept across the stone floor of the dormitories at this time of year. The templars said that the Circle’s enchantments were designed to keep the building warm enough to live in, but Karl and the others had noticed how many additional layers the templars tended to wear during Wintersend down here. (They didn’t speak of the children they’d lost. Usually the youngest, more shocked by the cold than anything, taken in the night so that when the others woke up at first they though they were sleeping.)

Karl is jerked out of his reverie by Anders’ voice in a ridiculous falsetto. “Oh no!! Not the evil Hessarian. If only there were some friendly mage to help me. Shartan, catch me as I faint my love.” With that and a pirouette, Anders dropped himself into the arms of the much shorter Seran Amell, kitted out in a robed version of elvhen armour. Amell flushes red to the tips of his ears when Anders catches his face and kisses him, soundly, and several of the children giggle. When Anders pulls back, Amell’s lips are red with makeup and Anders’ eyes have a wicked gleam of gold in the witchlight.

“Oh friendly mages, where might I find you.” He reaches out into the dark, searching.

Anders’ ‘Unedited’ Wintersend carol was a piece of theatre he’d performed every year since he’d turned thirteen. Every year around midwinter, the Chantry Sisters would give them a long, special mass which was compulsory for all apprentices and junior mages. The mass explained, in detail, why the children in attendance were personally responsible for the ruin of the world: for the blights, for demons, for all evil. That they were born twisted, and dirty, violent and corrupt. That the best they could do was hope that one day the Maker might welcome them back into his light.

Not coincidentally, Wintersend was also when the number of attempted suicides among the junior mages and apprentices skyrocketed. At seventeen, Karl has seen too many ways to die, and most of them have been self inflicted. He tries not to think about it.

Anders, on the other hand, puts on plays. A soapy, silly pantomime in which Andraste turns in her hour of need to the ‘good mages’ never mentioned anywhere in the Chantry gospels. And together with her lover Shartan, the elf, the mages help her win a mighty victory. Every years, the kids from the alienage and kidnapped by force from their Dalish clans attach themselves with force to the notion of Shartan, a name that the new arrivals have often never heard. Every years, the kids boo and cheer in hushed whispers in the precious hour between templar patrols - mercifully spare in the colder months, when none of the soldiers in their prison want to be on the colder lower levels in their armour.

Karl thinks, probably, Anders has saved more lives than he knows. But he steps into the witchlight, compelled by an ache in his chest that never seems to go away when he looks at Anders, and he meets the fire in his brown eyes, and he thinks that maybe he knows. Softly, Karl speaks, the faces of the children and teeangers around them fading into blurred light. Anders is wearing fake pearls and fake gold in his ears, and everything about him is bewitching and lovely. “Blessed Andraste, I am here. My friends and I do not wish to see harm done to anyone, and our magic has only ever been used for good and healing.” Karl falls to one knee, and thinks that it is not only an act when Anders’ hand brushes lightly against his shoulder. Karl stares at Anders pale, scarred feet as he goes on. “Please may we help you.”

The children hold their breath.

Anders’ fingers run beneath Karl’s chin, his fingertips silky and cold. Gently, he lifts Karl’s chin, and Karl looks up into his face: all sharp lines framed by twists of red and gold. Anders smiles at him, lips fuller with the rouge and smudged pink by the kiss. “Yes.” He says, softly, to whispered cheers from the children. “I welcome the assistance of my friends, the mages.”

[seethesuncoming]

Blackinnon Week 2021 - Day 4

You can also read this story on FFN

Last picture

Two figures materialize at the southern end of Diagon Alley, in front of a trinket shop that neither of them has ever bothered to enter. They do not attract anyone's attention, it is usual for wizards in a hurry who want to avoid going through Muggle London to appear in that place, one of the less crowded in the area.

The shorter figure walks to the large window of the shop. She looks at herself in the glass, the tousled brown fringe and wrinkled nose in disapproving expression. She tries to comb her hair as she turns to her companion.

"Are you serious? Did you drag me from the door of Caradoc's house to come to Diagon Alley?"

The boy, a head taller than her, stands next to her and runs his hand through his hair looking at his reflection in the same glass.

“Of course I am” He smiles cheekily. "It was a routine meeting, Marlene. Reports of the last missions, in which we participated. Nothing we don't already know”

He turns to look at her and winks.

“Besides, there is something more important that I have to do today”

She doesn't remember, but few days ago, she gave him the perfect idea for Harry's birthday present. He had been searching for an ideal gift for three months, until she told him about the launch of a new line of children's brooms.

A toy flying broom fits the profile of what Sirius was looking for: something fun and rebellious that allows him to get on Lily's nerves. That is the reason that has led them to Quality Quidditch Supplies. That day is the launch of the new Shooting Star 3000 toy broom and Sirius is willing to get one before they are sold out, he will spare no expense.

Sirius offers his arm, in a formal gesture he only does when he's in good mood and flirty. He smiles seductive. Marlene rolls her eyes, but accepts the gesture and puts her arm around him. The corners of her lips betray her and curl upward. They start their way to the store. As they get closer, the number of people in the alley multiplies to become a large crowd at the doors of the premises.

"It will take hours for the queue to advance," the girl complains as she receives shoves and tries to find a clerk in the crowd, "that if the brooms don't run out first.

Sirius finds a shortcut.

"Hey boy!"

A boy his own age in a blue robe with red edges approaches obediently.

“Yes sir?”

"How long is the waiting list for the Shooting Star 3000?"

"Well ... they'll probably be sold out before half the people here can be served."

Then Sirius does something that surprises Marlene and the store clerk: he puts one arm around the girl's shoulders and places his other hand on her belly. She fixes her expression immediately, understanding Sirius's plan.

"The child will be born in five months." He reads the name written in the pin of the boy's tunic. "I'm sure you could do an excited couple of future parents a great favor, Marius."

Marius stares at Marlene's flat stomach in disbelief, then moves on to her hair, Stevie Nicks styled, which gives her a bohemian look. She smiles at him sweetly. The boy then notices Sirius's shirt that says "The Who", with an arrow sticking out of the 'o'. They definitely don't fall into the stereotype of responsible future parents. It was probably an oversight by the young couple, but neither seems displeased with the idea.

To finish convincing him, Sirius takes out a generous amount of money and shows it to him. That ends up dispelling his doubts.

Moments later, Sirius Black walks out of the store with an elongated package and a childish smile. Marlene comes out laughing next to him. They have gotten away with it.

"Do you know what else you should do?"

When he turns his head toward her with interest, she continues.

"Instead of giving him the broom wrapped in that bland brown paper, you could wrap it like Muggles do, with what they call wrapping paper."

Sirius takes the advice, leaves the toy broom at The Leaky Cauldron and they head out the front door onto Charing Cross Street. Sirius has visited the Muggle world several times, but to attend concerts or visit music stores and bars. He has rarely been to large shopping malls or gift shops. He definitely has no idea where he can get the paper that Marlene mentioned. He is guided by her to a large building through which people enter and leave all the time.

"I once came with Lily and Mary to find a gift for James." She explains as they walk through the large doors of the mall.

They don't take long to get to the place they are looking for; but they do take a long time to wait for Sirius to choose the layout of the paper. Marlene, tired and bored, goes out window shopping while Sirius finishes making up his mind. As she turns to retrace her steps, she spots a photo booth out of the corner of her eye. A beaming smile spreads across her face as she quickens her pace to return to Black.

.

"You just stepped on me!"

"If you would just stop moving around so much, I might be able to accommodate myself fine."

Finally, they stop being a jumble of legs and arms, and manage to sit in front of the camera.

"When the count hits zero, they'll take four pictures of us, okay?"

Sirius nods inattentive, he's more interested in understanding how the machine will take four photos of them and deliver them to him as soon as they come out without using magic.

"The muggles’ ingenuity never ceases to amaze me." he says, his brow still furrowed when the first flash blinds him.

Marlene laughs with amusement.

"Relax your expression and smile for the next one. Remember that these photos have no movement."

Then, he shows that smile with which he used to melt hearts at Hogwarts. The flash illuminates them again. She turns to look at him and adjusts a rebellious lock that fell over his left eye. Sirius looks her square in the eye and smiles at her, mischievous and genuine. Both are lost in the gaze of the other and everything else disappears. The cabin lights up with the last flash.

The session is over.

When they go out, Sirius expects the photos to appear in his hands, as they would if it were a magical photo booth. Marlene scoffs at his ignorance once more and sticks her hand in the groove. She hands the boy two strips with four photos each.

He examines them, detailing box by box. He smiles at his own confused expression on the first and Marlene teasing on the next. His face turns serious with the last one, a photo that portrays the complicity and intimacy between them both. A photo that could turn against them if it falls into the wrong hands.

"Take them yourself."

Marlene looks at him confused. He explains, all trace of joy has disappeared from his face.

"There is… I think there is a traitor in the Order. If someone sees me with these photos... no one can know about us.”

She nods and receives them. She caresses his cheek lovingly, understanding how worried he is.

"They'll be under the loose tile on the ceiling of my room, okay?"

He nods. He knows which tile she means; they've kept things there before.

.

Thirteen years later, a large black dog enters the McKinnons' abandoned house. Inside, safe from prying eyes, he transforms into a slim man with a dirty and unkempt appearance.

Sirius has returned to London as soon as he learned that Harry's scar had hurt again. He takes advantage of his return to recover memories buried under the tile of the last room to the right of the second floor, Marlene McKinnon's room.

He holds his breath as he searches for the tile. Contrary to what he expects, the tile is still there. Still after more than a decade.

Its precious content has also survived time.

[petri808]

my story for the @bakudekubigbang w/artist @kurisutythehero

Summary: Kitsune yokai Midoriya Izuku is a simple shrine fox protecting the Tamaki-jinjja shrine as well as the surrounding forest. One day he comes across hunters who dare to poach in his forest along with an injured wolf they'd shot. But after nursing this wolf back to health, Izuku learns... he's a yokai too.

Tags: fantasy AU, Japanese folklore, Sex, A/B/O elements, marking, elemental magic. Kitsune & Okami.

Ch 1 of 4 to be posted in completion between now and New Years 😊 and when the artist posts I’ll add a link into the story.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352196

The loud cry of a wolf rings out through the sacred forest surrounding Tamaki-jinjja shrine. It’s spirit keeper, a kitsune fox yokai named Izuku Midoriya looks out, training his ears towards the direction it had come from. A second guttural growl pierces his ears causing him to flinch; the animal was in pain, followed by the fainter sound of male human voices. How dare! Hunters in his forest and so close to the shrine! Furious, the kitsune races through the dense brush using his keen senses to track the hunter’s movements. They would pay dearly for coming here.

In the 1100 hundred years since the shrine had been created, a kitsune yokai has protected it and all those that sought to gain enlightenment through Shugendo. Nature was sacred to these mountain worshipers and they believed that deities could be communed with there. The forest surrounding Mount Tamaki was precious to Midoriya and he didn’t care if a wolf could provide meat for the humans, they needed to leave this place in peace! He was only 200 years into this job, and he would be damned if he let a bunch of hunter’s ruin Tamaki’s tranquility.

The men were traipsing through the brush as well searching for the wolf. Midoriya could hear them talking now, the animal had been hit by an arrow twice but managed to escape into the dense underbrush. He needed to be careful, scare these men away and not become a victim too, but his cleaver and somewhat devious nature was one of the reasons a fox yokai guarded the temple. His two-tails swish excitedly as he survey’s what turns out to be only two men, one with a bow and the other brandishing a large broad-bladed knife. Based on their attire, he assumed they were most likely just peasants from a nearby village at the base of the mountain.

He needed to work quickly for the stench of blood rang true in the air. The wolf was definitely hit and bleeding badly enough for its smell to permeate the surrounding area. Midoriya turns on his invisibility magic and moves in to where the hunters would be able to see him.

“Who dares to disturb this sacred forest! We will not allow you to hunt within our territory!”

“What the hell is that?!” Midoriya sees the hunters ready their weapons and frantically scan the area. The one who’d asked the question has their bow knocked and raised.

“This land is protected by the spirit guardians of Mount Tamaki.” Midoriya sends out a blast of spiritual, blue-flamed fox fire close to the men as a warning. “Leave now and never come back or face the wrath of the kami!!”

“I told you this place was inhabited by spirits!” The second man now speaks up, punching his friend in the shoulder. “That’s why no one hunts up here, baka!”

“I don’t believe in stupid spirits!”

‘Oh, you don’t huh?’ Midoriya sends out another blast of fire this time hitting the man’s bow. The man screams and drops the weapon as the fire quickly consumes it. He takes off without a second look, running along with his friend, and heading down the mountain. “Good riddance,” the kitsune grins and turns off his invisibility. Now to find the wolf.

It couldn’t have made it very far. He tracks the trails of blood and scent through the forest for about one hundred feet back toward the side of the mountain. Perhaps it was heading for a cave? But beneath one of the ancient cedar trees, he finds the wolf barely clinging to life. One arrow had hit it in a hind leg, and the other the chest area. The frightened wolf growls at him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Midoriya shuts off his cloaking magic to show the wolf he was no ordinary human. “I am the spirit guardian of the mountain and shrine. I can help you.” He tries to reach out, but the wolf continues with a low growl. “You will not survive unless we take care of those wounds.” Frankly, until he inspected the chest wound, he wouldn’t know for sure. He lowers his ears to show concern, “please let me help you. It is my duty to care for this forest and its inhabitants and I do not want to see any die.”

Now that he was up close, this wolf was unusual for the area with its yellowish fur and red eyes. Japanese wolves were usually a brownish gray color. He kneels next to it and tries again to reach out his hand, very slowly, allowing the wolf to take in his scent. The wolf’s heartbeat was strangely calmer than he expected it to be, shouldn’t it be beating rapidly? But just as Midoriya lowers his hand again, the wolf tries to get up and run. It makes it only a few feet before collapsing with a pained cry.

The kitsune rushes over and drops next to the wolf with tears building in his eyes, its tail flicking with agitation. “Please let me help you!” He reaches for the wolf, but this time, it growls low, and turns its head away, communicating its intention not to stop him.

Midoriya assesses the wolf to determine the best way to get it back to the shrine. He would have to carry it as gently as he could. The terrain shouldn’t be too difficult for him, but ugh, it would be so much easier if he had more powers. Those came with age and experience, and at 450 years old, he was still young in the eyes of other yokai. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers as he picks the wolf up, knowing the jostling and shifting of its body would cause more pain. It shrieks, but at least doesn’t try to bite.

He takes the wolf to his part of the temple, a section reserved only for the spirit guardian where the human priests are forbidden from entering. There he creates a simple make-shift bed and begins collecting medicinal herbs to treat the wounds. The monks keep many on hand in case lost or injured travelers are found. Midoriya places a few drops of Hokuto mint into the wolfs mouth, hoping it will have the same pain killing effects on an animal as it does for humans.

“This will hurt, so I am binding your mouth and limbs to keep you from injuring yourself or me,” Midoriya explains as he wraps a strip of fabric around the animal’s mouth. “I need to remove the arrow.” Luckily, based on what he saw from the hunters, they were only using plain pointed sticks rather than full arrow heads. If he’d had to dig out arrow heads, things would be a lot more complicated.

“Okay guy, brace yourself,” he warns regardless if the wolf understood him or not. But when the wolf looks away and locks the muscles its jaw, Midoriya realizes that somehow it understood. Odd, but nevertheless a minor mental note is made for later.

Using his sharp claws, the kitsune slices through the skin where the arrow has lodged itself to make freeing it a smoother transition. Surprisingly, the wolf’s body only reacts with a slight tremor and nothing more. Animals often refrained from showing weakness, but this was strange. Shoving that intrigue to the back of his mind, Midoriya focuses on his task, removing the two arrows and using various medicinal rubs to stem the blood loss. He stitches up the wound’s gaps, then wraps bandages around the area to keep infection to a minimal.

He sits back on his haunches, twin tails flickering as he gauges the animal. “You’ll need time to heal Mr. wolf, but you can stay here where no one will bother you. I’ll have to change the ointments and bandages daily, and hopefully you’ll be back to new in no time. Until the flesh mends and the stitches are no longer required, you shouldn’t move around.”

The wolf just stares at him but makes no movement to get up from where it lay.

Midoriya smiles and chuckles, “It’s so weird that you understand me. Stay here, I’ll fetch you some food and water, you must be hungry.” Maybe it was a part of his magic that allowed animals to understand him. Wouldn’t it work both ways if that was the case? Again, he pushes the idea to the back of his mind for now. He places a bowl of water next to the wolf along with some fresh meat and goes back to his shrine duties, promising to check on him through the day.

He swore every time he entered the room where the wolf lay, it’s ruby red eyes would track his movements like a predator stalking its prey. No sounds, no head movement, just the eyes. If it was a human, Midoriya would have sworn it was glaring at him. He didn’t blame the wolf for being wary. All across Japan, wolves were slowly being hunted, and in some areas to extinction. Well, as long as there was a forest guardian, they would do their best to protect this area.

“Not hungry?” the kitsune questions the wolf when he sees the food untouched. “Does it hurt to eat? You really should put something in your stomach,” he holds the bowl closer, “to help you keep up your strength.” But the wolf doesn’t make a move. “Here,” he picks up a piece of meat and holds it next to the animals mouth, “please?”

After a couple of seconds, the wolf blows out a puff of air as if it was huffing in annoyance but takes the meat gently from Midoriya’s hand. Did it roll it’s eyes at him? Regardless, the kitsune repeats the action, and again the wolf takes the meat. Well at least this was working. He continues to feed the wolf until all the meat was gone, then holds the bowl of water close enough to the animal’s mouth so it can lap up the liquid.

“I’m going to check your wounds, okay? To make sure it looks okay.” Midoriya feeds the wolf a few drops of the mint once more, enough to last him the night. He then slowly unwraps the bandages, careful not to pull in the areas where the drying blood has stuck to the wounds.

The wolf flinches and growls lightly when he tugs to get the last of the stuck areas off. “Sorry, sorry!” the kitsune flinches too, ears drooping. He’s never endured such a wound before, so he couldn’t even imagine what kind of pain the animal might be in. When the wolf settles down, Midoriya leans closer to inspect the flesh. There was a bit of bruising, but the area was a nice pink color indicating the blood flow was good and working on healing. So far, so good, no indication of infection, and the bleeding had stopped.

He smiles at the wolf, “you’re on the road to recovery my friend.” After removing the old bandages and placing them to the side, he readies fresh ones. He wipes off the old honey and ointments gently with a wet cloth, then pats the area dry. Then he applies a new coat of medicinal ointments and honey, explaining as he goes along. “I know, it probably seems weird right?” he chuckles, “but the honey helps against infection.” The kitsune finishes securing the new bandages and sits back to admire his handywork; not bad for his first time tending to a wounded creature.

“Are you comfortable mister wolf? Hmm, you know I should give you a name.” He taps his chin, “how about Akaime?” The animal blows a deep puff of air at him and growls. “No? Okay, um, what about Tsuyoshi?” Again, the wolf just stares at him looking irritated. “Alright fine, how about Ryota since you’re such a strong one.” The wolf puts his head back down. Midoriya couldn’t tell if the wolf was annoyed, gave up, or really didn’t care. “I’m just gonna call you Ryota then.” He bundles up the old linen to wash and stands up, “I’ll see you in the morning Ryota. Good night. Oh,” he turns back around and smiles, “I’m Izuku by the way.”

He finishes tidying up, depositing the soiled linens into the laundry pile, washing the food bowl, and putting away the medicine jars. After one last look at the wolf who appeared to be asleep, Midoriya grabs his candlelight and moves into an adjacent room to set up his futon bedding. It had been a tiring, but exciting day for sure and he was ready to get some sleep.

Part of him wondered if the wolf had been waiting until the cover of darkness to sneak away in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t surprise him considering it was a wild animal that shouldn’t be very comfortable around a human establishment. But then again, in its condition Midoriya also knew it wouldn’t be able to get away very quietly. Judging from the fact it hadn’t moved at all through the day, not even to adjust its position, the wolf had to still be in a lot of pain.

‘I wonder if there are other wolves in the area?’ These animals tended to live in packs, but where was Ryotas? It wasn’t impossible for it to be a lone wolf, just odd if it was. Maybe because he looks very different from the others… In fact, why was it a different color? Is there something special about it? All the questions that had concerned him were coming back up as he tried to get to sleep, but probably the biggest one was why did it seem like the wolf understood what he was saying? ‘I’ll probably never get an answer,’ considering the animal couldn’t talk.

Guess it can’t be helped.

As the week went by, each day Midoriya would dutifully care for the wolf’s injuries, making sure it was fed, and carrying it outside whenever it needed to take care of bodily functions. It was a strange little relationship that by the second day, the monks were aware of the animals presence in the shrine because the kitsune required extra meats and supplies. Not that they questioned anything, nor would they dare to venture too close, but it was unusual.

Slowly but surely, the wolf was getting better. By the end of the week, it could limp outside to do its own business, and yet would still return to the bed Midoriya had made for it. This only added to the kitsune’s confusion, confirming that the animal truly understood it was being cared for. Confused, but it brought a smile to his face to know he was doing something truly good. Under his tender care the wound was almost fully closed up and soon the wolf would be able to return to the wild good as new.

But another part of him wasn’t happy about that idea. It was almost a full two weeks since the day he’d saved Ryota from those hunters and the wolf was becoming like a roommate to the kitsune. Even though the animal couldn’t talk back, it didn’t stop the forest spirit from conversing with it, sharing things that happen at the shrine or just things about himself. It passed the lonely hours away especially in the evenings and he looked forward to hanging out with the wolf once his shrine duties were finished. He couldn’t tell for sure and yet it felt to him as if the wolf was tolerating it... maybe even enjoying the company too? Yeah… he was sure gonna miss his new friend when it left.

“Well, Ryota,” Midoriya sits back after unwrapping the last bandage, “you’re pretty much all healed up now.” A bit of moisture gathers in his eyes. “You could go home now, wherever home may be.”

The wolf looks at where the injury had been as if inspecting it for itself, giving it a sniff, before looking back to the kitsune. After a minute, it stands up, stretches it’s body and legs, then bolts out of the door into the night.

Midoriya hangs his head, wiping the fresh tears away. Knowing this day was coming didn’t make it any easier, but hey, ‘you did a great job,’ he assures himself, ‘you saved that wolf.’ “I know,” his voice murmurs out to no one but the empty room. Maybe he’ll see the wolf around again. “Goodbye, Ryota.” ‘I’ll miss you.’

For the rest of the night, Midoriya putters around through his normal routine. He disassembles the makeshift bed the wolf used while under the kitsune’s care and disposes of the soiled linens. When he was finished cleaning up, it was as if Ryota had never been there at all. With a heavy heart, Midoriya climbs into his own bed and closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be a new day. It was time he resumed his normal life once more.

“Mmm, warm…” Midoriya mumbles and wraps his arms around the furry warm body. His mind was only semi lucid and certain it was a dream, but a really amazing one for Ryota had come back and curled up next to him in his bed. “Missed you…”

When he opens his eyes the next morning, Midoriya yawns and stretches, reaching out but finding nothing. He frowns, it really was just a dream that felt so real! Wait a minute? The kitsune sniffs at the bedding. It smelled like Ryota! The wolf had come back in the night but left before he woke up. Why had it done that? This wolf brought about a plethora of unanswered questions for the kitsune and even after two weeks he really knew nothing.

Days turn to weeks as a strange new routine takes root between the kitsune and the wolf. On random nights the wolf would return after Midoriya has gone to sleep to curl up with him in bed. There was no rhyme or reason to these visits. Sometimes the wolf would sneak in for several nights in a row while at other times it would disappear for many days. Always waiting for him to be asleep and always gone by morning, leaving only his scent and the lingering warmth he’d brought to the kitsune. It was odd to say the least, like having a ghost for a pet.

Life at the shrine could get lonely at times, so these gestures filled Midoriya’s heart with happiness. He hoped Ryota was doing it because he cared for the kitsune. Sort of like accepting him into its pack. His only wish was that it would show itself when he was awake. So many nights would go by with Midoriya’s last thoughts centered around the wolf and those ruby red eyes that almost peered into your soul.

But this wasn’t the only change in their relationship.

Because of the shrines location set away from urban settlements and knowing that visitors would leave money in the offering box, wayward robbers would occasionally pass through and break into the prayer box. It happened so infrequently, that Midoriya and the priests didn’t try to stop them because it would require someone to be on guard all night, every night. All that would remain was a broken box empty of its contents.

“What’s this?” Midoriya surveys the broken offering box laying on the ground that morning. It appeared to have been cracked open, but the money was still in it. He looks around curiously and notes a few more signs of the intended robbery. The gravel area next to the box was disturbed as if a scuffle had taken place as well as finding several drops of blood still tacky to the touch along the stone walkway leading away from the shrine.

Someone or something had evidently thwarted the robbery. The kitsune tips his nose to the air scenting for any other traces, then follows it to a nearby shrub. There he finds a tuft of yellowish blonde fur stuck to the brush. “Ryota?” Midoriya looks around even though the wolf’s scent was no longer in the immediate vicinity. Had the wolf stopped the robbery? And where were the robbers? He hoped the wolf had not killed them, for even though what they did was wrong, he didn’t believe in killing unless absolutely necessary.

A part of him wanted to search for his missing friend, but his duties at the shrine were more important for now. He washes the blood off the stone walkway, smooths back out the gravel of the garden, and takes the offering box to his rooms to fix. Ryota’s scent was definitely on the box, so it must have touched it at some point during the fight. Was this the wolfs way of paying him back for his kindness? If it was such a gesture, the kitsune was appreciative and so were the priests.

Almost a month later, a similar incident is discovered bright and early one morning. Another broken offering box, another thwarted robbery. This time the thief had gotten farther than the last one. There were coins scattered across the stone walkway, but the bulk of it remained inside the vessel. To Midoriya, it looked as if the box had been dropped, perhaps when the savior had caught the robber in the act. He gathers up all the coins, placing them back into the box before taking it back to his room to fix, while another priest takes care of cleaning up the area.

As he works on fixing the wooden container, Midoriya can’t help but think about what’s been going on. He was certain that Ryota had snuck into his room last night… and come to think of it, the wolf had been here during the previous robbery as well. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, only that it made the thwarted robberies easier on the wolf to deal with. “Maybe that’s why he comes here?” He thinks out loud. “So, he can be closer?”

But on the third incident a few weeks later, that logic doesn’t apply. Ryota hadn’t made his nightly visits to Midoriya for several days, and on the night of the latest attempted theft, the wolf never came to his room. Yet it was clear based on a few strands of fur left behind, it was Ryota that had saved the offerings once again.

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 3: Hope is up! Alucard is still sad, and Sypha and Trevor are Worried™. Also, some Sypha POV because I love her :’)

Read here or on AO3! Read from the beginning

Adrian watches as magic gathers around Sypha. It is a faint blue glow that makes her eyes spark, that builds and builds and pools at her fingertips. A subtle wave of warmth rushes towards him, touching him.

The scroll is before her, being held aloft by what seem to be invisible strings of air. Her voice is but a soft whisper as she speaks the chant under her breath. It is a fascinating thing, it always has been, to watch her cast, to witness the sheer amount of power that her slender frame is able to hold. Fountains of it. Rivers. Oceans, and it has only grown since the last time he's seen her.

It is more than a little unnerving.

Adrian’s own magic is entirely different to hers. He is familiar with the arcane in some ways; he has studied the philosophy and foundations, but most of the spells the Speaker magicians use are either foreign to him, or he has tried and failed entirely to grasp. It is an innate talent, his father told him once, entirely different to that of vampires. That makes the fact that Sypha now wields that power with ease no less transfixing.

Belmont is lying on the bed, unmoving and oblivious to their presence. Adrian’s mixture helped somewhat in keeping the infection at bay, but his fever has dropped only slightly. It tugs at Adrian, in a way he is entirely loath to admit, to see Belmont in that condition. Weak and frail, when he is usually boisterous and loud, obnoxiously so.

Perhaps, after all, I do still possess a heart, Adrian thinks. If barely.

The shimmering strands of magic that spring forth from Sypha’s fingers twist in the air above her, like silk threads moving through water, before settling over Belmont. The light engulfs him for a quick moment, seeps into every pore; he is radiant now, the bright light that suffuses him taking away some of the pallor of his skin. The spell is gone in an instant, dissolving into thin air and leaving no trace behind it.

The light around Sypha dims too, almost simultaneously, the warmth dissipating. As soon as it does, she closes her eyes, and brings her hand to her temples, swaying lightly. Before he can stop to think, Adrian leaps to her side, catching her by the elbows to steady her.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I… I’m fine,” she says, a touch hoarse. Her eyes are screwed shut, a pained grimace twisting her features. “It seems the spell took more out of me than I thought it would.”

She’s leaning into him now; the sweet, subtle warmth of her body seeping through his clothes. He stands motionless, frozen for a long moment, unsure what to do.

“Yes,” he manages finally. “You did say that healing is not your expertise.” He guides her to the edge of the bed, helps her sit, then takes a safe step away.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” She rubs her temples, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. Her eyes are clear and luminous, a trace of the spell still shining in their depths. Adrian swallows, looks away.

Belmont is still lying perfectly still on the bed. It could be Adrian’s imagination, but he thinks his colour is not quite as pale-grey as it was a few moments before.

Sypha reaches out to place the back of her hand on Belmont’s forehead. “He feels a little cooler now,” she says, and the relief in her voice is palpable. Her hand drifts lower almost immediately, drawing the blanket back, peeling away the fabric of Belmont’s shirt. The bandage that they had placed on the wound only a short while before is already drenched in blood, and Sypha instantly gets to work in removing it. She does so smoothly, carefully, as if she is handling precious glass. Adrian takes a step closer too, watching the gentle movement of her fingers as she undoes the wrappings with a mixture of dread, hope and anticipation. Neither of them knows what they’ll see once the bandage is removed.

Sypha hesitates only for a moment before peeling back the final layer and revealing the wound.

“The infection is gone.” Her fingers hover over the wound for a moment before she withdraws. She looks up at Adrian with a hopeful smile. “It worked.”

“To an extent,” Adrian replies, leaning closer. Most of the infection has disappeared, leaving behind healthy, if still damaged skin and flesh. “It will take a while to heal fully.”

“Yes. Of course. But it will heal like any normal wound would. Right?” She pauses, holding her breath, searching his eyes.

Adrian lets out a slow breath. At that moment, he wishes he could give her a hard and fast answer, and a positive one. He wishes he could reassure her with words, put her mind at ease. The truth of the matter is, though, that injuries like these are unpredictable. Belmont could seem perfectly fine now, then raise a fever high enough to kill him in a few days.

He decides not to tell her that.

“We shall see. You’ll need to keep an eye on him, day and night, at least for a short while.” It isn’t the answer she hoped to hear from him, surely. But it is all he can give, right then.

Sypha takes that with surprising stoicity. She nods, her lips tightening in a line, then turns to Belmont once more.

Adrian takes another, small step back.

“I… shall leave you to it, then,” he tells her. “I suppose you’ll both be needing rest. There is food in the kitchen, should you get hungry.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he is about to say. “You are welcome to stay until… until Belmont has fully recovered. I’ll stay out of your way until then.”

The look she turns to give him is a surprised one. She stands up slowly, blinking at him. “Where are you… will you be around?”

There is surprise in her gaze, and worry. It warms Adrian in a way he does not expect, but he decides not to let the feeling linger. He backs towards the door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. "I wish you luck," he says quietly, and walks out.

~

Sypha does not see Alucard again for three days.

Three days of tending to Trevor’s injury, pressing cool cloths to his fevered brow, changing him out of shirts damp with sweat, and milling endlessly about the castle when she isn’t doing any of the above. Three nights of light, restless sleep.

She can’t complain, not exactly. The bed is comfortable, the mattress soft and filled with rich down, and the blanket the warmest and least scratchy she’s had on for months —all her life, it seems— with only the faintest smell of must. The tall window of their room is overlooking the expansive forest below and the snowy mountain range beyond, and the large hearth that burns day and night keeps the space comfortably warm. Trevor’s fever drops more every day, and the wound is healing nicely.

She still sees evidence of Alucard’s presence, if not the man himself. There is freshly cooked food whenever she goes to the kitchen; she isn’t quite sure how Alucard manages to cook it without her ever walking in on him doing it, but every time she goes there the smell of baked bread and the welcoming scent of spices she has never smelt before linger in the air. There are trays of sweet or savoury pies, roast game or grilled fish, steamed and buttered vegetables. Had she known that Alucard had such refined tastes, she would never have offered him the over-salted dried jerky and suspiciously moldy cheese they used to find while on the road, and that was often the only food they had.

Along with the food, there is always a pot of thin broth —she assumes it is for Trevor—, as well as strips of crisp white linen to dress and clean his injury, accompanied by a pot of antiseptic ointment that she assumes he makes by himself. The tiny note left next to it with instructions for use is written in Alucard’s elegant, flowy handwriting.

Sypha is touched. The care and concern is evident in everything he does, and she is not the least surprised by the fondness that creeps in, along with her bafflement. The man is an enigma— the more she stays in that place, the more certain she becomes of it, but his thoughtful gestures do not change the fact that he’s stayed away for three days.

She has never felt more lonely.

Dracula’s castle, or rather, Alucard’s castle now, is a frigid, unliving thing. Just walking down its endless dark corridors is enough to make her hair stand on end, but she does it anyway. There are only so many hours she can spend locked up in the room; besides, she and Trevor have made exploring abandoned villages and old manors a bit of a habit while on the road. It has always been a bit of fun on the side, even when it was a necessity. Now, as she passes through room after empty room, the air thick with cobwebs and layers of dust, she has to admit that there are moments that she dreads what she will see if she turns around the wrong corner, if the staked corpses by the front door are anything to go by.

Alucard himself does not seem overly eager to take the bodies down, or even to give the slightest explanation. He doesn’t even seem to have any intention of fixing the damage that the castle sustained during the fight with Dracula and his vampires. The red carpet that lines the floor of the entrance hall is burned in places, completely in tatters in others and drenched in blood in more spots than she can count. One side of the staircase is falling apart, and more than half the stone columns are in not much better condition. The mountains of broken bottles she finds when a wrong left turn accidentally leads her to the wine cellar confirms her suspicion: Alucard isn’t in the least interested in making this place a home.

Haunted. The place feels haunted. Heavy and dark with secrets of ages past.

She can’t quite explain the sadness that wells up inside her to see the place that her friend, their friend, has been living in for the past few months. There’s a terrible coldness that’s hanging over the space like a blanket, muffling the sounds, draining any sort of life, of warmth. It’s as if Dracula never died after all— it’s as if his grief overflowed in the end, escaped the confines of his body and boiled over, seeping into every corner, every crevasse, every inch of the space. It is thick and sticky like tar, and Alucard is trapped in it. It almost feels like, the more she stays there, the more she gets trapped in it, too.

It is only the fourth day, when she discovers the baths on the second —or is it the third floor? She has lost count— that things start to look up a little. A room filled with large, copper tubs, and metal pipes with switches that release cold and hot water. Sypha melts in it and lets it take away the sore from her muscles, scrubs her skin with soap until it’s flushed and raw, stays there until she’s all pruned.

She leans back against the carved bronze headrest in the shape of an ivy vine, and looks out of the small window at the top of the wall that lets a circular sliver of grey-blue sky peek through, and she suddenly realises: she’s almost used to this place. Almost.

~

Sypha walks back into hers and Trevor’s room thoroughly clean for the first time in what feels like ages, with her damp hair slicked back and combed through, and with the clothes she washed in one of the tubs and then dried off with magic neatly folded under her arm. The fire in the hearth is reduced to embers now, and she kneels before it to feed some more wood in it, when a tired groan comes from the bed.

“Too bright.”

Sypha looks back over her shoulder and smiles at Trevor, who is blinking blearily, wincing at the light that’s streaming in through the window. “It’s bright because it’s morning, sleepyhead.” She gets up and walks up to him, sitting at the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shite.” He groans again as he sits up with some effort, pressing his palm to his forehead. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s still quite pale, but there’s a vitality to his complexion that wasn’t there a couple days ago. “I feel like shite.”

“Do you, now? What a surprise. It’s almost as if you didn’t almost die from a cursed night creature wound.” Sypha rolls her eyes, laughing. “I’ve brought some food. Are you hungry?”

“Bloody ravenous,” he says, eyeing the tray that she brought in that morning. He reaches over to it, when Sypha pushes him back.

“Take it easy. Your wound is still not fully healed.” She stands up to pick up the tray, then sets it carefully in his lap. She ignores his muffled protests that he isn’t an invalid as she props some pillows behind his back and eases him on them, then warms up his soup with a quick fire spell. “There. Now you can eat to your heart’s content.”

Trevor says nothing as he lifts the cover from the bowl of soup and starts gobbling it down, and if that isn’t proof as to how hungry he is, then she doesn’t know what is. “Did you make this? It’s very good. Haven’t had soup like this in…” He frowns in thought as he chews. “I’ve never had soup like this.”

“I didn’t. Alucard did.”

Trevor’s eyes widen in surprise. He glances down at the bowl, his lip curling ever so slightly in disgust, as if he’s just eaten a pile of wriggling worms.

“Relax, it’s not poison,” Sypha says with a laugh. “He’s the one that’s been making food for both of us actually, all this time, though you’ve been too dazed to notice. He’s actually a very good cook.”

“Has he?" He quirks a brow, "Then why was I always the one to cook when we were travelling?”

“Skinning rabbits and roasting them over the fire until they’re all charred on the outside and still a little raw on the inside is not cooking.”

“It’s more than you did,” Trevor mutters, bringing another mouthful of soup to his mouth, his expression of mild disgust disappearing straight away. “I should have known that it was Alucard who made this. If it were you, it would have just been overcooked and over-salted vegetables in tasteless broth.” He huffs a laugh when she smacks him playfully on the shoulder.

“Just finish your meal, Belmont,” she says with a chuckle, leaning back with her palms on the bed. She watches him gulp down the rest of the soup and then attack the bread and cheese on his tray. His recovery is going well, she thinks, with his appetite back in full force, and that is enough to send a wave of warmth coiling through her. She’s missed his bad jokes, his endless groaning and griping, the mess he makes when he eats, leaving crumbs everywhere. The fear of losing him is still not far from her mind.

“So how is our gallant host?” he asks, leaving the tray aside when he’s finished and wiping his lips with a napkin. “Have you two been making friends? Has he tried to woo you into leaving me yet?”

She snorts and shakes her head, but a certain bitterness slithers in. “No… not really. I haven’t exactly seen him since… well, since he helped me find the scroll to heal you.” She did catch a glimpse of him, she thinks, a couple days before. It was only a flash of golden hair, disappearing around the curve of the stairs that led to the upper floors. By the time she had climbed the stairs, he was already gone.

Trevor’s brows furrow in a curious frown. “So he’s left you on your own? All this time?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad. I’ve been… occupied.”

“Huh.” Trevor lets his gaze sweep around the room, taking in his surroundings. “That’s odd. Even for him.”

Sypha nods, though ‘odd’ is an understatement.

“Any news on the…” He looks past their door, where the front entrance lies half a castle away. She shakes her head, her stomach clenching.

“No. Hasn’t said a word about it.”

His frown deepens. “I don’t like this, Sypha. I don’t like it one bit.”

“I know.” She sighs, gathering her legs up and sitting cross legged beside him. She reaches out, her fingers threading through his as if on their own; his skin is warm and comforting against hers. “I know. I’m not sure what to think of it either. And this whole place is…”  She shivers despite herself. “It’s so cold. And empty. Just being here makes me feel... numb.”

She looks up at Trevor, who is looking at her like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He does have this way of understanding exactly what’s on her mind sometimes that she can’t quite explain. She takes heart from the warmth of his touch, the solidity of his presence. “Still,” she continues, “no matter what’s happened here, no matter what he's done, he helped us. He helped you. Your life would still be in danger if it weren’t for him. You should thank him next time you see him.” She twists her fingers more firmly through Trevor’s, squeezing his hand gently. Her voice trembles only slightly before she speaks. “You would probably have died if it hadn’t been for him. Do you know that?”

“Don’t say that,” Trevor says quietly. “I wouldn’t have died. Not while I still had you by my side.”

“No. No.” Sypha shakes her head stubbornly, her eyes burning. All the worry she has barely suppressed those past few days rises to the surface, choking her. “You didn’t see how you were, Trevor. You were at the brink of death, and Alucard helped me drag you back from it. I could not have done it on my own. I was…” She lets out a tremulous exhale as she looks away. “I was powerless. Before we came here, I was completely powerless. You were dying, and I was on my own, and I didn't know how to help you. I didn’t—”

“Sypha.” Trevor’s voice is soft, his palm, when it cups her cheek and brings her gaze back to him, is softer still. “You aren't powerless. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles, a hint of mischief in the curl of his lip. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, you know.”

He pulls her close, and Sypha lets herself be drawn to him. When he wraps his strong arms around her, a sigh of relief leaves her lips. Home. She is home.

She squeezes her eyes shut and hugs him back. The warmth of his chest, as it presses against hers, puts her heart back in its rightful place, his deep, earthy scent filling her lungs. He is there. He is there, and she will keep him close, for as long as she can. “You’d better not be,” she mutters wryly. "For your own good."

Trevor chuckles, lifting her chin with his thumb. “Duly noted, my lady,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

It is everything Sypha needs. Her arms link behind his neck, deepening their kiss. He pulls her closer, drawing her flush against him, his palms running up her back. She hums against his lips, threads her fingers through his hair as she holds him tightly. She wants him. Needs him. She-

She gasps when Trevor rolls them both to the side, flipping her on her back on the bed. “Wait— What are you doing? Your injury—”

“Fuck my injury,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss her once more.

She chuckles despite herself. This man. She's missed this man. She's missed him being strong and steady beside her, she's missed the grip of his hands and the softness of his lips. Before she knows it, his hand is slithering under the hem of her robes, and she's lifting the edges of his shirt, tugging, urging him. After so many days drifting through those halls cold and alone, she needs his warmth, she craves his touch.

“Oh, Trevor,” she sighs, leaning into him. “I missed you, I missed you—” His lips leave a trail of kisses down her neck, just as his palm smooths up her leg. Her eyes are half closed as she works the laces of his breeches open, then slips deft fingers past his waistband. A wicked smile widens her lips. “Someone’s missed me too, I think.”

Trevor lets out a sound that’s between a laugh and a moan. “Still worried about my wound?”

Sypha laughs, breathless, as she pushes him on his back and straddles him. “Stop talking, Belmont.”

~

Later, they both lie sated, wrapped in a tight embrace as they both catch their breaths and their hearts slowly find their natural rhythms. Sypha’s limbs are relaxed and deliciously heavy with sweet, warm weariness. She kisses the top of Trevor’s head before she peels herself from him, rolling on her back beside him. Her eyes are closed when Trevors sinks back into the pillows with a deep sigh. “Oh, that was nice.”

“Hopefully better than beer,” she teases.

“Only slightly.” He chuckles as she swats at his arm, then reaches out and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She presses her cheek to his chest and lets the warmth and calmness of the moment seep into her, listening to the quiet thrum of Trevor’s heartbeats. His breaths are easing now, and his fingers are soft and light when they brush down her arm. She cracks one eye open to glance at the wound at his sides. The bandage is still intact, crisp white, not a speck of blood.

Good. He is better. He will be fine. She lets out a deep sigh and snuggles closer against him.

“I missed this,” Trevor whispers, pressing his lips to the top of her head and taking in a deep breath. “See, if we had some ale just about now, I think it would be my personal heaven. Even with broody half-vampires roaming beyond the door.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sypha snorts. “You and your ale. How do you even enjoy drinking that thing.”

“You’ve taken a liking to it, and don’t you deny it.” She can hear the smirk in his voice without even having to look up.

“I only drink it because most inns don’t serve anything else,” she protests sleepily. “Besides, you drink enough for both of us.”

“Not now, I don’t.”

“Good! There’s one good thing this injury has done for you. Let’s hope it lasts, shall we?”

Trevor groans. Sypha grins.

They stay like this for a long while, in each other’s arms. The only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth and their soft, sleepy breaths. She can feel the tug of sleep just at the edges of her consciousness, and Trevor’s body fits so smoothly against her own. She closes her eyes, preparing to surrender to the pull, but it’s not long before the distinctly cold feeling of unease that has followed her since stepping foot in that place invades her thoughts. For some odd reason, she can’t get a moment’s rest here.

Sypha lets out a sigh and sits up, hugging her knees. Her gaze falls past the clear glass of the window, roams over the wide expanse of trees and snowy mountain peaks, the serpentine twist of the river. She suddenly longs to open the windows wide, to fly away like a bird. Buildings have always suffocated her. She feels more at home now in her and Trevor’s carriage, with its hard wooden floor and the cold wind drifting through every crevasse. Sleeping under the stars or with the canvas roof of a carriage fluttering in the night wind is what she’s used to. She’s only ever had a ceiling above her head when her clan stayed in old or abandoned buildings for short periods of time during their travels, or when she and Trevor stay at inns, occasionally. She doesn’t deny that it has its luxuries, but staying in any one place for long periods of time is foreign to her. Her people never spent too long anywhere, and she’s been accustomed to being lulled to sleep by the soft movement of the carriage, the sound of the horses’ hooves or the crackling of a campfire. People always say that staying in houses made of bricks and stones is safer than living on the road; for Sypha, the presence of her people has always been the only safety she’s needed.

Trevor has become that for her. He and Alucard are her people— or at least, that’s what she believed. She’s not entirely sure what to think, now.

Trevor’s hand caresses her bare back. “What’s wrong?”

She turns to glance at him over her shoulder. “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Alucard.”

Trevor stays silent for a moment, then lets out a soft sigh. His eyes drift towards the door again, towards where the front entrance and the staked bodies lie.

She worries her lip as she studies Trevor’s pensive profile. “It just doesn’t feel like something Alucard would do. He is not like that. Is he?”

“I didn’t think him capable of doing something like it either, no,” Trevor replied thoughtfully. “But a lot can happen in a few months. You and I both know that, better than anyone. Besides…” He pauses for a moment. “He is half a vampire, you know.”

“What of it?” she asks guardedly.

“Vampires are vicious. They’re violent, thirsty for blood. It’s in their nature. Perhaps… perhaps he suddenly decided to get more in touch with that part of him. Who knows?”

Sypha frowns. “I don’t think that’s likely. One does not simply stake people for the fun of it, or to ‘get in touch with their nature’.”

“Dracula did it,” Trevor shrugs. “Alucard is his son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Isn’t that what people say?”

“Yes, but Alucard killed his father,” Sypha retorts stubbornly. “If that doesn’t show a difference of opinion, I don’t know what does.”

“Even more reason to believe that he’s capable of terrible things.”

“That’s hardly fair, and you know it. He did it because he had to, and we helped him. If he’s capable of terrible things, then so are we, but that hardly justifies the bodies by the door.”

“Alright, fine. You have a point.” Trevor sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “What do you think happened, then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine what it could be that pushed him to do something like that. The very thought scares me.” She glances away and hugs her knees closer to her chest. The unease in her gut, that deep, invasive feeling, is stronger than ever. “I… I worry for him.”

Trevor says nothing for a long moment. His chest rises and falls with his even breaths, and his frown deepens, carving a line between his brows. “Yeah,” he admits quietly after a while. “So do I.”

“You haven’t even seen the state of this place. It’s worse than I thought. It’s… cold and dark like a tomb. And Alucard himself is so cold, so distant… More so than before, and God knows he was near impossible to get through to even then.”

“He’s grieving, Sypha. Grief changes people.”

Her heart clenches at the thought. Of course he’s grieving. To lose one parent to the Church, the other to his own madness, and then have to fight him himself, on top of everything else. She can’t help the shiver that runs through her.

“We shouldn't have left him.” It is a bitter admission, and one that drives that gut-twisting feeling ever deeper, but there is no denying it now. Both she and Trevor were so eager to leave after Dracula was dead, so determined not to linger in any one place for too long, that they did not even stop to think about what it would mean for Alucard to be left alone with that, to face this overwhelming emptiness on his own. It makes her wonder now, whether it is that same emptiness that they were both running away from.

“When I lived with my clan,” she says softly, “when one of us passed away, that was the time when we would stick closer together, more than ever. If a wife, or children, or parents were left behind, we would spend most of the day with them, looking after them, commemorating their loved one with them. They weren’t allowed to do chores or cook for a week. That is how my people deal with mourning.”

Trevor blinks at her. “One whole week of no chores, with people cooking for me and fawning over me? How can I join the Speakers? Do they accept applications?”

The laughter that tumbles from her lips startles her. “You don’t need to join the Speakers, you daft bear,” she chuckles despite herself, leaning against him. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, smirking at her as if he’s made the cleverest jest in the world. “You almost got killed by a night-creature, and you got pretty much the same treatment.”

Trevor’s arm comes around her shoulders, as if by rote, the vibration of his rich, throaty laugh running through her. He kisses the side of her head, and when he pulls back, his features have grown somber once more.

“Sometimes a man needs to be left alone when grieving,” he says thoughtfully. “You know, to lick his wounds and all that. There are moments when it all gets ugly, and I know for sure I wouldn’t want someone that I care about to see me when in a similar state. Perhaps… perhaps we just came here at a bad time.”

“‘A bad time’?” Sypha lifts a brow, nodding towards the main entrance. “Is that what you would call it?”

Trevor opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” His fingers drum a gentle beat against her shoulder, where he is holding her. “He was the one who wanted to stay behind. We asked him to come with us, and he didn’t want to.”

“Do you always know exactly what you want? Or what is good for you?”

“I should certainly hope so.”

“No,” Sypha smiles knowingly. “No, you don’t. And I think we both know that.”

“Hey, I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Perfectly good, perfectly wise decisions. Very, very wise and mature— why are you laughing? I’m serious.”

“You don't have a serious bone in your body, Belmont,” Sypha says, still trembling with laughter. She cackles in delight when he starts tickling her, trying to swat his fingers away.

“Are you quite sure about that? Hm? Absolutely sure?” He grins when the sound of her laughing protests fills the room. When she’s flushed and out of breath, he pulls her against him, his arms coming around her in a warm hug. “Alright,” he says. “You know best. What do you think we should do?”

Sypha takes a deep breath to calm her beating heart, and meets his gaze levelly. “I think we should stay.”

“What?” Trevor’s eyes widen. “Stay here? In Dracula’s castle?”

“Why not? It’s not like we have anyplace else to be right now.”

“Sure we do. We have night creatures to hunt, and gold to earn, and—”

“Don’t you think we’ve both had enough of killing night creatures for a while?” She reaches up, pushing a strand of dark brown hair away from his brow. “Alucard needs us,” she says softly.

Trevor blinks at her, evidently ready to protest, but lets out a deep sigh instead. He leans into her touch, gazing at her with warm, blue, trusting eyes. “How can I refuse when you look at me like this, hm?”  

She grins, shifting closer to kiss him. His lips part readily under hers, and for the first time since stepping foot in that castle, she feels hope.

If you enjoyed this chapter, I’d love to hear your thoughts! :)

[mariinara]

Heyyy if you’re still doing HCs please can you do one where y/n and Sam are besties, you used to have feelings for him but he still does and he finds out your bf is cheating on you?

Oh, man.. Cheating is a sore subject for me as well as for many on here whom I personally know. So I won't tag anybody in this, just in case, and I won't put much detail into what happened.

(I want every single person on here who's been cheated on or double-crossed by a previous partner to know that YOU deserve so much better. YOU are an amazing human being, who has to keep moving forward and constantly be reminded that YOU are worth so much. Nothing is worth your time and attention. Focus on YOU and know your worth because YOU are so fuckin' precious. I'm always open to talk to and remind you just how much you're worth and that YOU deserve the world. Never settle, you guys, and don't EVER let a massive dickhead dictate your worth. Never wonder what you've done wrong or whether you were adequate or not. You ARE enough (whatever that might entail for you). You're always enough. I love you. ❤)

____

TW// Cheating:

-Everyone always knew that what you and Sam shared was something way deeper than just a platonic friendship.

-It almost seemed as if anyone but the two of you admitted to being completely and utterly enamored with each other.

-Whenever anyone would bring it up, you'd just shrug it off and say that you were just friends.

-Sam would do the same, except that he'd add that you were pretty damn amazing and that he'd hate to get into a relationship with you, lest he fucked it up and lost you for good.

-But everyone close to both of you knew that there was something behind the stares you gave each other– something far deeper than just admiration.

-It seemed to be something closer to pure, unadulterated adoration.

-The amount of times Sam would cancel on Nate or Sully just to spend hours with you, strolling around town, grabbing a drink or two, or even spending the nights at each other's places, watching movies or playing cards and cooking dinner together.

-Some nights, Sam would put on some upbeat country music and danced around with you, elated by the sound of your joyous laughter as he dipped you or spun you and glided across the parquet floors with you.

-And it was an odd feeling to Sam.. So foreign to fall in love so hard and so unexpectedly. And, God, did he wish he didn't have his guard down to save himself the pain of watching you go on multitudinous, failed dates with the most unlikely of men who weren't even your type.

-But, oh, Lord, the moment he knew he had it way to deep for you was after one of those miserable dates.

-You'd just had about enough of those. You thought that maybe they weren't the problem, but you were.

-And you went home, disgruntled and tearful and frustrated.

-One drink brought another and two glasses were followed by almost an entire bottle of wine.

-The movie you had playing was completely muffled by the overlapping sounds in your own head. Everything seemed like a big blur– Whether this was a result of alcohol consumption or your own tears– you didn't know and didn't care either.

-Sam had tried to call you about a thousand times. Texted you a billion. Left hundreds of voice messages.

-But the sounds from your phone were just as muted as the sounds from your TV.

-He knew that you should've been done with your date by then. And he knew that there was no way you'd go back home with a guy on the first date. It just wasn't you.

-But just when he was about to ring you again, you were calling him. And in an instant, he answered.

-He heard your voice. He knew that you were drunk– instantly. He heard your sniffles and your breaking voice and he was up on his feet in seconds and on his way to your place in milliseconds.

-And so he spent the night with you, sobering you up and holding your hair back while you knelt in front of the toilet, gasping for air after every retch and trying to not seem so disgusting in front of him, but he didn't mind.

-He wanted to talk to you– to be there for you. To make this all go away.

-And when you were done, Sam stayed with you, watching you brush your teeth, giving his back to you as you stripped from your clothes and stepped into the shower.

-The tension was palpable and he wasn't uttering a word.

-Not even when he was cleaning you up, fighting himself about a trillion times– fighting his mind. He fought the urge to study your body. Every nook and cranny beckoned him. Called for him to touch and to hold and to please and to show what love would actually look like.

-But he kept his eyes on your shoulders as you turned to him, his hands gently cleaning down your arms and up again, then across your sternum.

-But he didn't catch the look in your eyes until you softly said his name.

-And he saw it. That glint in your eyes. It was all he needed.

-The way your fingers curled against his chest, gripping his t-shirt as you pulled him in almost made him dizzy.

-And in what seemed like mere seconds, his clothes were off his back and his lips were agains yours, hungrily connecting and parting, only to connect again with more fervour and heat as he climbed in with you.

-And when you two were done, you promised each other..

-You promised that it'd never happen again and that it was only in the heat of the moment.

-That you'd never bring up how inexplicably good it felt to be chest to chest with him, his steamy breaths shattering against your neck and his lips tracing the most tender patterns on your skin, completely contradicting the rough, well-paced movements of his hips against yours.

-That he'd never bring up how incredible it felt to be buried inside you to the hilt. To feel your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. To feel your legs hugging his waist intimately. To feel your body arching off the wall in his arms. To hear your shameless, loud moans echo throughout the bathroom.

-You made it clear that you didn't regret it and that he didn't either, but, God, did it awaken something within both of you.

-It's not the sex he couldn't shrug off. He had plenty of that.

-It was that look in your eyes. The way you made him feel even when your bodies aren't molded together.

-It was the cheeky grin you'd give him or the small giggles or your hugs or the care you displayed.

-Sam then knew that he was in deep shit. He was hooked beyond repair and he wasn't sure how long he'd keep it hidden. He was usually a very vocal person about what he felt toward a woman, but this one was different.

-'Don't fuck this up, Drake..' , he reminded himself. Over and over again.

-And you kept it natural. You hung out and forgot that ever happened. Dating was off the table for you for quite a while and you started realizing your feelings for Samuel too but– much like him – you didn't wanna ruin whatever it is you two had.

-It wasn't until you stumbled upon a great guy in your workplace that things started to change for you.

-He was very sweet, extraordinarily funny, very helpful, and had a great smile. Overall, he was very eye-catching.

-So when he asked you out on a date, the natural answer was yes.

-A part of you was afraid to tell Sam anything because you were aware of what he was feeling.

-But at the same time, you wanted him to be the first to know.

-And he was.

-He took it surprisingly well, gave you advice, was completely calm about it, and even helped you pick out a dress from your wardrobe.

-But, oh, was he absolutely boiling on the inside.

-However, he loved you. He cared about you more than anything and thought that if this was what it took to see you happy, then so be it.

-Besides, he faced himself with the truth as one must. Which was that he was an absolute coward.

-And as a result, he was probably going to suffer with his feelings more than he already did.

-As expected, the date went marvelously well and one date turned into two and then four.

-Sam didn't take a major chunk of your time as he did when you were single and he made sure he didn't drop by at your house as much because, if Sam were your boyfriend, he wouldn't like to know that there's another guy spending way too much of his time around you. Alone.

-Months rolled in and Sam was trying to get himself out there again.

-He went on some great dates with great women but all of them seemed to have the same problem.

-They just weren't you.

-And it drove him to the brink of madness.

-He'd scroll through your old chats and chuckle lightly at the way you aggressively flirted with each other or when he'd see the memes you exchanged.

-Periodically and exponentially, those chats seemed more dull and very uncharacteristically platonic as he scrolled lower until he figured out that you only texted every two days or so.

-And as if by magic, just when he was starting to spiral down into a deep, dark hole of depression, his phone lit up with your name.

-He sat up so fast, he actually became dizzy but he didn't care. He'd never swiped 'accept' so fast but closed his eyes tightly, grimaced, and mentally groaned at himself at how desperate that might've seemed to you.

-But you didn't care.

-This was the LEAST of your problems apparently..

-"Hey, what's wrong..?" , he gently prodded you, his eyes flickering around as he heard your sobs on the opposite line and he swore he saw red when you uttered the words that he'd be damned to ever hear from you.

-"He's cheating on me.."

-Sam didn't know what to say. The anger was running so quickly through his veins that he wanted nothing more but to act on instinct and bash that fucker's skull in.

-Prison style.

-But, again, he wanted to be there for you as you were for him numerous times before.

-That's what friends are for, right..?

-"You sure..?", was all he managed to say. His voice was surprisingly calm as well.

-"Mm-hmm..", you sniffled, "I saw the text messages and I confronted him."

-At that, he smiled softly and closed his eyes, his head hanging low as he listened to you.

-No amount of ass-kicking from Sam Drake can compare to how painful your anger-laced words could be.

-"..And I kicked him out." , you finished, making his smile drop and his lips press together in a thin line.

-Awkwardly (almost shyly), he picked at the loose threads in his duvet and cleared his throat, "Do you want me to come over?", he asked you, hesitantly, causing you to laugh lightly through your tears.

-'What a fuckin' idiot..' , He thought as he shook his head. In his opinion, your boyfriend (now ex) must've been a complete idiot to do that to you.

-And for what?

-Because you were too occupied with work to actually get in bed with him.

-Moron.

-"That's why I called you, Sam.." , you replied. It was your turn to seem all timid. You also picked at the threads in your duvet, tearing some with your nails as you bit down on your lip, awaiting his answer.

-You heard him sigh softly, "I'll be there in a minute." , he promised and when you smiled and said your goodbyes, you felt comforted. Content and relaxed, for some reason.

-You took the opportunity to push yourself up from your bed and tidy around the house a little and, just when you finish, you hear the doorbell ringing.

-You put the couch cushion in place and quickly make it to the door, opening it up for him.

-And, Lord, you felt your chest swell with happiness.

-Not only was he there, standing tall with a warm, inviting smile and a bag of your favorite take-out food with him, but he had the most adorable puppy eyes as he opened his arms for you.

-And you never leaped into anyone's arms so fast and so excitedly. It made him stumble back a little with a small chuckle.

-Sam had his chin on the dome of your head and his free hand rubbing slow circles on your back that made your eyes sting with tears and your face buried in his chest.

-When you pulled away, your hand was in his as you led him into your house.

-It only took half an hour to get you smiling and eating with him.

-He took your mind off things by telling you all about the disastrous details of his dates. He made some of them up, but then you said something that made him stop chewing his food mid-way.

-"And, of course, none of 'em were half as fun as me."

-It came out in a joking manner and you didn't even pay attention to the way he completely froze. You didn't see the way he looked at you, either.

-"Not even close." , he said. His tone was what made you look up at him to see the look in his eyes, "Not even a little.."

-A small chuckle left his lips as he looked down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers and chewing on the inside of his cheek.

-"That was all I could think of on these.. pointless dates.." , he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

-You blinked in surprise at him and put down your food and beer on the table and took his and did the same with them.

-And before he could ask you what you're doing, you grab his face and pull him in for a deep, passionate kiss again that made him inhale sharply, close his eyes, and arch his brows in surprise.

-But it took him exactly a second to kiss you back with equal amounts of passion.

-When you pulled away, your forehead was against Sam's and all he managed to breathe out was: "Fuckin' finally.."

-The small giggle that erupted from you awakened the same burst of warmth within him again and, in mere seconds, you were pushed on your back on the couch, laughing loudly as he showered you with kisses and promises to never let you go again.

[hotpinkstaples]

veer-zaara for yunoasta !!!

Anon, thank you for the wonderful prompt. I hope you enjoy the feels.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

~~

It's Captain Fuegoleon who tells him that he'll never become Wizard King.

It doesn't burn as much as he thinks it would. There's no sneer accompanying the older man's words, no actual distaste on his part, just the cold hard truth of the matter.

He's not cruel about it, either. He simply calls Yuno to a formal meeting, and communicates what the rest of the Clover Kingdom nobility wants him to communicate. A prince of another realm can never rule as our rightful king, is what Captain Fuegoleon says.

I'm sorry, is what Captain Fuegoleon means.

Of course, that doesn't mean Yuno is stripped of his citizenship, or kicked out of the Magic Knights. He's Vice Captain of the Golden Dawn, and one day, he'll become their Captain, but that's where his career ends.

He tells Sister Lily, because out of everyone he knows, she's the only one who knows how to listen without interrupting. He sends Belle away to play with the children, and recounts his story as they sit across from each other at the rickety little kitchen table that still hasn't given up.

Somewhere along the way, he begins to cry, but he doesn't even notice, not until she takes his hands into her own, and squeezes them lightly.

*

The rest of the world finds out a few days later, when Belle is chewing out some junior Golden Dawn members, promising them that after Yuno gets tired of looking after them, she'll steal him away to the spirit world where he can become her king, because to hell with Clover Kingdom.

*

Once the rest of the Magic Knights find out, word swiftly travels back to Ralph Niaflem, who's strategically set up a small base on the border of Spade Kingdom to keep tabs on Yuno without breaking the uneasy peace treaty between Clover Kingdom and the transitional government currently leading Spade. Its been six months since the invasion concluded, and Yuno's only a few moons away from his eighteenth birthday, so Ralph is bolder than he's ever been.

Yuno doesn't need to do anything. He's leading reconstruction efforts along the border of the Neutral Zone on Clover Kingdom's side, so it's Ralph who finds him at the mead hall after the last round of meals have been served.

Come home, is all he says.

Leave them, is what Yuno hears.

*

The assumptions don't baffle Yuno as much as the audacity does.

It makes sense why some would talk. It's a nobleman's world, after all. Yuno knows parentage is as important as power, and he has the power, he's always had the power, but he simply does not have the parentage. He knows this, understands it, and gets why Captain Fuegoleon looks at him with pity, gets why Captain Jack offers him a spot on his squad if he ever gets bored of running around with the hoity-toity soldiers of Golden Dawn, because it's just a fact of their world, the fact that no man is born equal.

But the audacity – the fact that people think that being Wizard King is all that's ever mattered, that's what burns Yuno alive.

Because none of it matters, so as long as the people he loves are OK.

As long they're OK, Yuno will accept anything.

Maybe that's why Ralph comes with a contract next.

*

Come to Spade, and you and your foster family will never have to worry about food ever again, says Ralph.

Come to Spade, and Clover will never be able to look down on you ever again, Yuno hears.

*

Asta is the only one who contests the decision in high court, charges at Damnatio and the council, demanding justice, demanding equality.

He doesn't get it, of course, because Asta himself is only around so that Clover Kingdom can save face, not because Asta is their savior, not because Asta put his life on the line to establish a contract with the Anti-Magic Demon – no. Asta's only around because Damnatio can't deny that Asta has saved millions of people across borders, and Damnatio knows that exiling him is the same as offering him up as a free resource to another kingdom, and Damnatio can't have that, can't have a weapon that strong in another realm.

So Asta gets to stay – but like all other weapons, he doesn't get a say, and once the nobles are tired of hearing him yell on Yuno's behalf, they tell him that Yuno can become an advisor to the king like Marx Francois, should the future king ever desire, but that's about as far as they'll budge.

And that burns Asta alive.

*

Captain Vangeance and Yami Sukehiro are finally cleared for duty by the time Ralph prepares his third strike. This time, it's a missive from the transitional government in Spade, offering Yuno the opportunity to rule over his own army, because now they think that Yuno is an ambitious little soldierboy, and that if they can get him into the country as a high-ranked general, he'll eventually take the mantle as king.

As always, Yuno declines as rudely as possible, because there are no niceties left to share with Ralph – no respect for a man who desires nothing more than to snatch Yuno away from the only home he has ever known.

Maybe that's why Ralph's fourth strike is the worst.

*

Asta breaks Solid Silva's nose defending Yuno's honor, because Asta will accept any and all disrespect thrown his way, so as long as the insults are only directed towards him. Yuno doesn't think the Silva tribe has much common sense, because the young man, Solid, he says something in full earshot of seventeen other Magic Knights, so when Asta throws his punch, no one makes a move to help until Solid starts wailing about his precious face.

Yuno only finds out after Klaus and Mimosa hurry him to the courthouse where Asta is awaiting suspension details for attacking a fellow Magic Knight. He's outside when Asta comes out with a limping Captain Yami, whose hand is around the back of Asta's neck as the shorter of the two is dragged out like a ragdoll. He's there when Captain Yami throws Asta at him like he's a sack of potatoes. He's there when Captain Yami yells at Yuno to get the chibi in line before Asta gets himself fired for picking fights with every blueblood in the country.

He's there when Asta grumbles underneath his breath that if the asshole had kept Yuno's name out of his filthy mouth, then maybe Asta wouldn't have had to break his nose in public with seventeen other Magic Knights standing around.

He's there when he realizes it's not all for naught.

*

Yuno doesn't need to tell Asta he loves him. Instead, he shows him.

They're back in Hage, because Asta is suspended from his duties for a month without pay, and Yuno's just as petty as the rest of them, so he flies Asta home on his broom. After Asta's gotten his scoldings and scarfed down twelve baked tatoes in record time, Yuno leads him into the forest towards Fanzell Kruger's old house, having already promised Sister Lily and Father Orsi that they'd be back the next morning.

Asta doesn't understand until they're in front of the old house that's still furnished with the basics, a house that Yuno keeps tidy and well-stocked because he oftentimes needs a quiet place to do his paperwork.

Yuno doesn't tell Asta he loves him. Instead, he leads his beloved through the doors of the old house, and into the bedroom upstairs.

*

A week later, Ralph approaches him while he's lunching with the Vice Captain of the Green Mantis, finalizing the details of a new community center that will help the isolated villages have a place to congregate outside the old Grimoire Tower now undergoing renovations. It's good work, and En Ringard is an intelligent man, and things are going well until Yuno catches a glimpse of Ralph's sandy blonde hair.

*

The fourth time, Ralph slides over a copy of Clover Kingdom's constitution of rights. The section detailing the ban on same-sex marriage is marked with red ink. Before Yuno can punch him in the throat, Ralph slides another missive across the table.

This one promises Yuno he can marry anyone if he becomes the Spade king – including Asta.

*

It's the only time he doesn't rudely decline Ralph's offer. Instead, he's shaking with rage he can't understand. Ralph excuses himself and disappears from sight, while Yuno spends the rest of the day pouring through the documents, comparing notes, imagining a life where he can hold Asta's hand and be recognized for it.

*

They're not hiding it, of course, and the nation hasn't outlawed their existence, but that's about as far as the King's mercy goes. They can't marry, can't take in children unless they take up the cloth as celibate fathers, can't inherit wealth from each other, can't even claim each other during a health crisis. They're out in the open, in love and bound together for life, but they have nothing to show for it in the eyes of the law. They know it, and the kingdom knows it. They know it, and even Captain Yami and Captain Vangeance give them pitying looks, because they know Yuno and Asta will end up just like them – living detached lives with their respective men, lives that only matter to them and them alone, because Clover Kingdom doesn't care about them, doesn't recognize them.

And so the fourth strike is the worst, because Ralph is a master tactician, and worst than Damnatio will ever be. Clover Kingdom's citizenry sneer at them when they hold hands at the fish market.

Ralph offers him a kingdom, an army, and the right to marry Asta – all in the same breath.

*

They sleep in the same bed now, whether it be at the Black Bulls base, the Golden Dawn headquarters, or Fanzell Kruger's old house. The only place they don't share a bed is the church, and only because Father Orsi claims that only only married men can share a bed under God's eyes. At first, they're scared, because perhaps they've miscalculated, and maybe their love isn't enough, but the old man is of a different breed, and he's already yelled at seven different barristers for rejecting a marriage license for two men even though Asta and Yuno never asked him to fight on their behalf.

But he does, and so does Sister Lily, and so do the orphans who pick fights with the children who disrespect them, and that's how Asta and Yuno know that they're loved, that they'll always be loved.

So when Ralph comes to him a fifth time, Yuno has his answer prepared.

*

It's two weeks after his and Asta's eighteenth birthday, and Captain Vangeance has gifted them enough wood to build their own house in Hage, so that they have a place to canoodle until Father Orsi is able to threaten a barrister into approving his and Asta's marriage license.

It's funny, because they don't even have to propose to each other. Their loved ones do all the work for them.

Ralph approaches him while he's going over measurements for the kitchen. They meet under the bright, mid-afternoon sun, a day when Asta is away on a mission, and both Father Orsi and Sister Lily are in the capital for a formal meeting of the nuns and priests under Clover Kingdom's church.

“Your Highness-”

“Please, call me Yuno. There are no princes in Hage.”

*

He hums into Asta's chest that night as they canoodle beneath the stars. Asta's limbs are splayed out in every odd direction, while Yuno is curled up against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The chill hasn't settled in yet, but when it does, Yuno knows that he'll be fine, so as long as Asta is fine, so as long as they're together, forever.

“When I'm Wizard King, I'll make you co-Wizard King,” Asta tells him for the sixth time that night.

“Still not the actual Wizard King,” Yuno hums.

“Then I'll kick Damnatio's ass until he makes us both Wizard Kings!” Asta yells at the sky.

Yuno can't help but laugh, because at one point, it did hurt knowing that he wouldn't be able to follow Asta to the top, but he'd forgotten that no matter what, Asta will never let him fall behind. One way or another, they'll both get there, regardless of who gets there first.

Whether it's as the Captain of the Golden Dawn, as an advisor, or as co-Wizard King – it will always be Asta and Yuno, together forever.

Yuno presses kisses up against Asta's throat before reaching his lips. The sky is free of clouds tonight, and the empty field next to Fanzell Kruger's old house is illuminated with an abundance of moonlight. Yuno smiles down on his beloved before pressing his lips against his forehead.

Asta's fast, too fast, and Yuno's on his back again, pressed against an old blanket as Asta kisses the daylights out of him. When Asta finally lets go, Yuno laughs into his neck, laughs as Asta leaves kisses along his shoulder while adjusting his hips, laughs as he falls in love over, and over, and over again with the same man, now and forever.

*

Ralph doesn't show up again after that, not until many years later when Asta and Yuno are pushing thirty, and Father Orsi has finally succeeded in threatening the council into signing off on Asta and Yuno's marriage license with the help of two royal houses, countless nobles, many of the commoners, and almost all of the peasantry.

Ralph gives Yuno his birth family's old engraved bookshelves as a wedding gift. He fills the furniture with books, photo frames, and his and Asta's grimoires.

And all is well.

*

[queenmuzz]

Siren’s Song

If his father found out where Nero had gone, all alone, he’d drag the finling’s tail back and lock him somewhere in the depths of the ocean.  His dad, (and mom, to a lesser extent) tried their best to keep him from the danger of humans, but by the Dawnfather, he was almost thirteen migrations old, and finlings his age were allowed to go where they wanted, within reason.  Besides , he thought as he flexed his fist, his soul weapon had fully materialized, he could defend himself from practically anything.  Only two weeks ago, his entire right arm had changed into a beautiful scaly claw that glimmered silvery blue and red. His parents seemed relieved more that his newly developed weapon was permanently bonded with him, than the fact that he’d gotten one earlier than usual.  It meant he didn’t ever have to worry about ever getting separated from it, a fate worse than death.

Even then, The only two reasons he had managed to get closer to the shoreline was that he was supposed to be with his uncle, who was supposed to be teaching him how to hunt with his new arm, but with the promise of picking up a human trinket for him, Dante had left him to his own devices, while his uncle went on a hunt for something called ‘pizza’. His uncle was weird.

Another reason Nero had gotten so close to the shoreline, was because his dad seemed to think this area, despite the human settlements, was safer than most areas.  This island, this Fortuna…. It didn’t have the large fishing tankers other places did, only the easily dodgible small fishing boats.  And unlike other sandy banks where the dry land met their home, there were few humans wearing those tiny strips of cloths that provided little protection.  When they rarely showed up, they were covered head to their stubbly legs in clothing.  And they almost never went into the water.  

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.  The legends spoke of how dangerous humans could be, especially when you encountered them on their own domain. The rules were simple:

Never let yourself be seen by them.

Never accept a gift from them.

And most importantly:

   3. Never promise a human anything.

You can also read it on Ao3 HERE

Humans were a strange people, with inexplicable powers that were said to compel or even worse, bind Merfolk to them.  How many tales had his father sang to him about foolish mermen and maids suffering captivity and death because they didn’t understand the danger they were courting by encountering humans?

Well , Nero thought, as he slowly got closer to the shoreline, the tide went out for them, but I’m different.   Besides, he had his new weapon, he’d be perfectly fine.  Already he had perfected his hunting using a manifestation of his claws to shoot out and either spear, or grab a fish, before yanking it back to be devoured.  A group of Cordina swam a tail’s length away from him, and he effortlessly yanked one of them, and with pride, he began to take a bite of its belly.  He wasn’t old enough to swallow them whole, but probably by his next migration, he should be…

Mid bite he heard it.  A beautiful sound that reminded him of the haunting choral singing of the whales of the North.  Except this was higher pitched, came from only one throat instead of many, and strangely enough… it sounded like it came from above the surface?  

Resisting the urge to give in to curiosity and break the surface, he compromised by slowly following the entrancing song from beneath the waves.  It couldn’t be far, sounds in the air didn’t carry as far as they did in water, and sure enough, within a few strokes of his fins, he found the source, a lone wooden dock jutting out over the water.

Or rather, WHO was on it.

Nero had been told by his father that singing was something only Merfolk and the warm blooded fish of the sea could do.  If humans could sing, he explained, they would have to stand right next to each other in order to hear, and their songs couldn’t possibly convey the depths that his people’s songs could.

And yet, this human… this… girl… (She seemed about his age, and his mom had explained that human children had different names for gender) sang so sweetly, it almost felt like she was luring him in with magic.  

But it couldn’t be magic, since he still had the wits to remain hidden, to check for danger, before settling underneath the creaking wood of the dock.  Even so, her voice was so beautiful, he risked silently breaching the surface to hear her more clearly.

He didn’t know why she was singing.  She was apparently alone, so she wasn’t telling a tale, and she was far too young to be singing for a mate.  Tidemother have mercy, he couldn’t even understand the words.  Something about  ‘darkness’ ‘wind’ and… a ‘garden’?  That was a strange word.  Maybe his uncle or mother would know.

But in the end, it didn’t matter as he listened, his claws embedded into the slippery post to stabilize him.  Whatever she was singing, it was beautiful.

And, as he risked a peek through the planks, she was as beautiful as the song she sang.  Her clothing was whiter than seafoam, brighter than the icebergs that floated from the south, with lines of what seemed to be glittering sunlight etched into it.   But that wasn’t the most stunning thing.  Her hair was a vibrant shade between coral red and earth brown, a colour he’d never seen in all of his travels.  And her eyes!  For a moment, he thought they were seaweed green, but then they flashed into dark sand brown, so rapidly, he wasn’t even sure they were different colours, or just a melding of them.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  His father had told him most humans were brutes with harsh voices, but he hadn’t said all of them were. Maybe his dad was wrong, that humans weren’t the monsters the tales said they were.  Or maybe, this one human was an exception, a pearl in an oyster.  

She slowly stopped her singing and with a beautiful smile, she pushed her hair back to form it into a tail of some sort, revealing her creamy skin with reddish speckles (did humans have scales?  He’d have to ask his mom about that, she was really knowledgeable about that stuff) and sighed happily while basking in the son.

“Oh!”  She yelled out, and Nero froze.  Had she seen him, or somehow sensed him?  He clung to the post, quickly calculating paths of escape.  

Instead, he heard a tinkle, a Thud! and a Plop!, as something hit the dock, before slipping through the crack between planks and fell into the water, to sink straight to the bottom.  He could only get a small glimpse as it plummeted down, but it sparkled, like a falling star.

“Nononono!” the girl yelped, and above him, he heard her scrambling, and her head popped down over the side, obviously trying to locate that glittering trinket.  

Nero was totally not terrified.  Not at all.  Sure, this was the closest he’d ever been to a human, and he stilled his breath, she was so close she could probably hear his heart pounding.  All she had to do is look in his general direction, and he’d be spotted. It was only her intense gaze to the sea bed below that saved him.  He couldn’t even flee, because any movement he made would undoubtedly attract her attention.  So, he clung to the post, silently praying for both the Dawnfather and Tidemother to protect him.

The only upside to his situation was that he had an even closer look at the girl.  She was so pretty, and hadn’t been for the fact she had legs, she could have been indistinguishable from one of his people.  But even so, there was an expression on her face that hurt him deeply, a deep sorrow.  Whatever had fallen into the water, it had been very precious to her.

“KYRIE!”  A voice called out from the shore, and the girl's attention swung over to the source, allowing Nero a moment of reprieve, “I told you not to get your dress dirty!  The ceremony is happening very soon!”

Rapid footsteps clattered as an older woman, who bore a resemblance to the girl strode up.  “I’ve been looking all over for you, have you been here all this time?”

“I-I-wanted to practice my singing here, mama.” “You know you don’t always  have to come here alone dear, everyone loves your singing!” “Yeah,”  she didn’t sound convinced.  Did she think her singing was bad?  Nero scoffed at the idea.

“Well, it’s time for your performance,” the older woman wiped off traces of dirt off her daughter’s dress, before gasping, “Where’s your new necklace!?”

“It… fell off my neck,” the girl admitted, hanging her head, “the clasp unlocked and it fell…” she glanced down to the water below.

“Oh Kyrie....” the woman was disappointed, yet not angry. “Your papa and I just got that for you...you need to be more careful with your possessions.”  She glanced over the edge of the dock, and Nero had yet another flash of panic.  Thankfully, she didn’t spend much time scanning the water.  “Ah well, there’s no time to retrieve it.  Your father and Credo will have to look for it tomorrow morning, it shouldn’t go far. Now,” she patted her daughter’s head, “let’s be on our way, your singing will delight everyone!”

Nero didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity, even when the two humans were gone, in the small chance that this was a feint, a trap.  Because that glittering fallen star, that...necklace that glittered in the sand, like an anglerfish’s lure.  But, there were no signs of any other humans laying in wait for him, so cautiously, he made his way towards the sparkly item. Despite it shining like the Dawnfather, it wasn’t hot, in fact it was cool to the touch.  But it glimmered and sparkled like his father’s amulet, it even had a little red gem in the middle.  But the lady was wrong, the way the water moved around here, it would be washed away by tomorrow, or buried by the shifting sands.  Nero had a conundrum:  He could either let it get washed away, lost to the sands of time....

Or he could grab it.  But it belonged to the girl, and the rules about accepting gifts from humans...what if it put a terrible curse on him?

But , he reasoned, it’s not really a gift.   He was merely retrieving it, and he’d give it right back to her… maybe he’d put it on the dock.  

His fingers caressed the shiny metal, as reflective as his father’s blade. No, he couldn’t just leave it here, some bird, or some other human would pick it up for themselves.  Nero couldn’t have that.  He’d just have to hold onto it until he saw her again at the docks.  She apparently hung out here to sing.  Yeah, he’d find her, figure out a way to leave it nearby, and hope she noticed it without noticing him.  Simple plan, really.

The necklace glistened once more in the sunlight, before suddenly with a golden flash, disappeared into his scaly claws.  So his soul weapon could do that too... interesting.  At least his uncle (and dad) wouldn’t be on his tailfins about the trinket he had.  It would be hard to explain how he had gotten a hold of something like this.

“Heya guppy!” his uncle met him a good distance from the shore, ruffling his hair, “you got anything cool?”  

Nero pretended to be annoyed, “Nah, sorry. But,” he scratched the bridge of his nose, “can we come back tomorrow?  I think I heard some of the humans talking about a ‘pizza party’ on the beach tomorrow?  Maybe we could…”

His uncle’s grin widened, “Oh yeah!  We can do that!  I knew you’d pull through!”

Nero almost felt bad for lying...almost.  But his dad would never let him get so close to the shore unaccompanied, and his uncle was the only one who trusted him to go by himself.  He'd just give it to her tomorrow.  Besides, how hard could it be?

It was much harder than Nero had thought.  Finding Kyrie was incredibly simple, she had a very set schedule, spending hours in the morning just singing, or ‘practicing her scales’ as she put it, her voice ascending and descending like the waves.  And he’d hide under the dock to listen, entranced by everything.  He almost was tempted to sing along to the songs she sang, if it wasn’t for the fact he’d be caught for sure.  Sometimes, her parents would come to call her home, or her older brother, but usually it was just her...and him.

But every time he felt he should give back the necklace, he felt… he couldn’t.  And it wasn’t magic, he was certain of it by now.  Honestly, the more he observed her, and the others, the more he was certain that humans couldn’t EVEN do magic.  They were just a slower, weaker, more clumsy version of merfolk, who couldn’t even breathe underwater.

But Kyrie… there was something about her.  Nero wanted to be near her at all  times, and holding onto that necklace seemed to be the only way he could do that.  So, every time when she was called home, he’d promise himself that tomorrow would be the day he’d give it back.  

Unfortunately, that day never came.  “Wait, what do you mean we have to go?” Nero tried to stop his father from swimming off.  He still had plans for the day.

“It’s time, the shoal is on the move to the north,” his father gruffly said, “we’ve wasted enough time on whatever you and your uncle have been up to, if we wait any longer, we’ll spend far too much time chasing instead of hunting.  Tell your mother we must be on our way.”

“But…” Nero still hadn’t given back the necklace.  And now, he might never get another chance to.

His father’s furrowed brow softened as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Nero,” he spoke softly with misplaced understanding, “I know you’ve enjoyed your new found freedom in this area, it’s why I have put off the migration for as long as possible, I wanted to see my son happy and free in a safe area. But,” the sternness returned, “the Ways must be followed, we must move on.  You understand that, right?”

He was right of course, already the Cordina shoals were slim, and Nero was lucky if he found one on his own per day, and he didn’t relish the thought of eating kelp as a replacement.  (A trait apparently passed down from his father, who detested the stuff)  But still…

“Do not worry” his father patted his head softly, “We will return.  We always do.”  

It was an attempt to reassure him, in his father’s awkward way, but still...Nero hoped that she would keep to her pattern as he did his.  He’d have to get it to her next time on their migration.  It would be easy.

It wasn’t easy.  Eager as he was to see her again the next time they followed the shoal to the balmy shallows of Fortuna, he still couldn’t give up the necklace.  She still stood at the end of the dock at the same time each day, singing not only the same songs as before, but more complex ones as well.  She’d gotten taller, and dare he say it, even more beautiful.  But still, even with multiple opportunities, he couldn’t part with it.  It was like keeping a piece of her with him, and when he took it out of his clawed arm, just the caressing of it calmed him down when he failed miserably at hunting, or when he had an argument with his parents about how independent he was allowed to be.  And so, by the time they had to move on, he still carried it.  There was always the next migration....

He told himself that after the first one, then the second, then the third…

They were approaching Fortuna for the fourth time since he had first met (no...that was the wrong word, but how else could he describe it without sounding like he was hunting her?) and after a particularly aggravating hunt where his uncle constantly ribbed him about ‘If you’re that bad at hunting, maybe you should stick to kelp, guppy’ , Nero had found a secluded shelter to calm down.  He was a krill’s whisker away from punching that smirk off his uncle’s face, and the last thing he wanted to happen is to give his father a reason to restrict his movements, especially as they approached the island.  He rolled his shoulder, and out came the necklace, pristine as the day it fell into the water.  He smiled gently as his fingers traced the shape, like bird wings, that enclosed the brilliant gem.  If he closed his eyes, he could swear he heard her voice.  Perhaps she has another new song?

“Ah, there you are!” His mother’s voice snuck up on him, giving him no time to hide the necklace without looking suspicious. “When Dante said you stormed out of the hunting party at the speed of a sailfish, I was a little worried you’d get yourself in trouble.”   She drifted down towards him, a makeshift satchel made of salvaged cloth from the surface world at her side.  No doubt it was full of shellfish, her favourite food.  She wasn’t as quick at hunting as his father, his uncle, or to be honest, any of the other merfolk, and Nero always worried that she had been injured early on in her life, something that put her at a disadvantage.  But she was always cheerful, and found other ways to contribute to the hunt.

“It’s just…”

“Dante...I know… trust me... sometimes I wish a jellyfish would sting him on the tongue, just to shut him up for a while. But,” she sat down beside him, and began prying open one of the clams with her soul weapon, a small pearlescent knife, and offered him the contents. “ He thinks he means well, he just doesn’t realize he’s swimming against the current.”

He gratefully took it and slurped down the contents.  His mom was always able to mediate between the three mermen, she’d find a way to make his uncle apologize, and things would be back to normal...for a while at least.

“Oh… that’s beautiful Nero! Where did you find that?”  Too late he realized that by grabbing the shell, he’d inadvertently revealed his prized possession.

Parrotfish Sand! He thought, Welp, time to fib a little.

He put on a convincing smile.  “Oh this?  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?  I found it while investigating an old shipwreck a while back!”  Yeah, that was believable.  His dad was more permissive about him going down into the depths than into the shallows.

Unfortunately, the doubtful look on his mother’s face shattered the illusion, “Oh really?  If it came from an old shipwreck it would have had more corrosion on the brass clasp, to the point where only the pendant should still have a possibility of retaining its shine.  That is, if the jewelry had a high enough percentage of gold.  If not, it would have been just as corrode d.”

Nero was stunned.  How had she known he was lying?

“Corrosion?”

“It’s where the water and the salt…” she paused as if she was trying to find the right words, “well, simply put, they change the metal into something different, and often weaker.  Human metal of course, not the metal of our soul-weapons.  It’s why some shipwrecks at the bottom of the sea are all brown,and fall apart just by brushing up against it.  Some metals, like gold, are resistant, some not at all.”

“How..how do you know that? About human stuff?”  

She smiled softly at him, “Nero...I suppose it’s time I told you that once…” she looked up at the dappled surface, the flickering sunbeams shining down on them, “Once, I was one of them.”

Nero choked on the last of the clam he was slurping up.  Maybe he hadn’t heard his mom right.  There’s no way that his dad of all merfolk would have fallen for...a human?  Maybe his dad didn’t know…?

“I’d hoped that your father would have explained our ‘unique’ family situation earlier on...but…” she sighed… “well, if he won’t take the first step-I mean, first stroke.  I guess I should.  Yes, I used to be human, and yes both your father and uncle knew about me.”

“But-” Nero was at a loss for words.  True, his mom always seemed a bit ‘different’ than the other merfolk, but he’d never really minded.  She was a wonderful mother, why should he care?  “How?”

“Magic I suppose, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around, and I’ve had over a decade and a half to try to make sense of it.”

It still didn’t make sense to Nero.  Of all the mermen to settle down with a ...human? “Dad hates humans!” he blurted out without thinking, “He always reminds me how dangerous they can be, that I should never talk to one, or be seen by one.” Instantly, he felt the urge to slap himself for such an insensitive statement.

His mother looked sad, but not because of what he had said, “I… understand where your father’s coming from, he’s had...an unpleasant history with humankind, it’s tainted his views.  One day he may tell you about it, when he’s ready  But,” she stroked his cheek,   “even he understands humans aren’t all bad, there are some that are ignorant about what happens past their shorelines, and others that are willing to take a chance to dive beneath the waves, so to speak.  I was one of the latter, and it still took me the better part of a migration to gain his trust and love.  I suppose he tries to tell you those stories to keep the risk of you getting hurt as low as possible but,” she looked down at the necklace, “it seems that our family’s obsession with the surface still runs in the blood.  So…” she smiled, “spill the beans, (her penchant for weird turn of phrases suddenly made a whole lot more sense), who’s the lucky human?  I won’t say a word to anyone else about this.”

“It’s...it’s a girl.  Her name is Kyrie...and she likes to sit on the docks and sing in Fortuna.”

“Awww, how sweet!  How did you two meet?”

“Sh-she hasn’t actually met me yet” , he must have turned as red as a snapper by now, “ I just sit under the docks and listen to her singing.”

“But you have her necklace.”

“Yeah, she dropped it about four migrations back, and...well, I wanted to give it back...but…”   ah well, he might as well come clean about it.  Perhaps his mother would understand.  “Everytime I do, I get the weirdest feeling, like I’m giving up a part of myself.” He scratched his nose, “You probably think I’m being dumb as driftwood, eh?”

“Not at all,” his mom said, surprisingly “the heart is a strange and stubborn thing, that makes us do things that we really don’t understand, but,” she smiled, “don’t be like myself and your father and deny your feelings, because you don’t know what the next wave will bring.”   She pulled him close to give him a kiss on the forehead.  “Just promise me that you be careful, alright?  I want you to be happy, AND safe.”

Kyrie was there, sitting on the dock, just like always.  Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was the same.  Instead of her brilliant white clothes, she wore a dress of deep black, like the depths of the ocean.  And instead of singing, she remained silent, not even humming a tune.  And worst of all, her beautiful smile, the thing that only the Dawnfather could compare to in brilliance, had vanished.  Instead, she sat, her legs dangling over the edge, staring out to the horizon, not moving.  Her beautiful eyes had lost their vibrancy, like dead seaweed, and her skin had gone pale, and sickly, like a bloated dead fish.  Strange, there was wetness on her cheeks, that dribbled down before landing in her lap.  Nero wasn’t sure what had happened to her.  Was she ill?  Hurt?  All he knew, it caused his heart to constrict, and that he’d do ANYTHING to bring back her smile.

Steady footsteps on the worn wood caused him to dart back to his hiding spot under the dock.   He knew the gait, even if he didn’t see him very often. Credo strode down, but slowed as he approached the young woman at the end.  He was also dressed oddly, his usual white and gold outfit replaced with a dour black, quite similar to his sister’s.  Was there something going on, a sort of celebration?

“Kyrie…” he spoke softly, as if he didn’t wish to disturb her, but was forced to.  “I was beginning to worry when you didn’t come home after school today.”

There was no response, her eyes still locked on the horizon.

“It’s getting late, and the funeral is early tomorrow.  You and I need our rest for what’s going to be a long day.  The entire family will be coming over… Aunt Lisandra will be taking care of the food preparations, and- ”

“I can’t..” her voice sounded raspy, rough like a shark's skin, “I can’t go home...because mom should be there, taking the poppy seed buns out of the oven, and dad should be there in his study, putting the final touches on that painting he was working on…. But there won’t be the smell of bread in the kitchen, and that painting will always be unfinished.... Because they aren’t ever coming home again....”

Nero was perplexed.  What did they mean by never seeing each other again?  Even if humans couldn’t swim, they could travel anywhere in the world, they could even fly in those metal bird things he would see sometimes up in the sky.

“I know…” Credo answered soberly, “I miss them too…” he placed a hand on her shoulder, before crouching down, “but I know, wherever their spirits have gone, that they would want us to persevere, to remember them, but move forward.”

Only then, did it hit Nero with the force of a tidal wave: Kyrie wasn’t ill, or hurt...well, not in the physical sense.  She was mourning for the dead.  Dawnfather strike him down, what an idiot he was!

“It’s going to be difficult,” the older man conceded, “but you don’t have to bear the burden alone.” “I know…” came the response, a little less soulless, but still with grief.

“If you don’t feel like it, you don’t have to sing at the service.  I don’t want you to feel unnecessary pain, just because some of our relatives desire a show,” her brother muttered darkly.

“No, I need to do this,” she argued back, “not for great uncle Lorenzo, or anyone.  Just for me.”

“If that’s what you desire…”

“Yes.  I just…” she sighed, “I just need some time alone for a bit more.  I promise I’ll be home in an hour or two.”

“Are you sure?” “Credo…” she smiled at her brother, sadly, but with more sincerity, “I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about me.  But,” her smile lost some of the grief, “thank you for everything.”

Nero stayed still for quite a while after the man had departed, ruminating on what he had heard.  He hadn’t had to deal with the pain she had dealt with, but his father had, and it was obvious that his grandparents’ deaths had affected him.  If there was a way to ease her pain, a way of healing the absence in her heart.

The necklace!  

He looked at it in his clawed hand.  He’d expected the usual reluctance to give it up yet again, but not this time.  This time she needed it more than he could ever.   The only issue was how to give it to her.  He couldn’t just  swim up and plop it in her hand, nor could he attempt to throw it up onto the dock, where there was a good chance it would  just bounce off and back into the water, attracting her unwanted attention.

He looked at the glistening jewelry in his softly glowing clawws, and realized the answer was in the palm of his hand….literally.  All he had to do was find the correct position, speed, and angle...it was just like spearing a fish.

Swimming far enough to get a good angle, but deep enough to not be noticed, he clenched the amulet in his hand one last time, took a mental deep breath and with a force of will, his spectral hand shot out of the water, almost silently, and with precise control, dropped the necklace on the dock with just the barest of noise, enough to get her attention, before it retracted back to himself, and he quickly returned to his hiding spot.

“Oh!” Kyrie had heard the clatter, and turned almost too quickly, a second sooner, and he would have been caught.  But her eyes were immediately drawn to the necklace, glittering in the light of the evening Dawnfather, as she gingerly scooped it up.

“How in the…” she slowly caressed it in her hands, no doubt trying to figure out if it was the same one she had lost all those migrations ago.  Nero swallowed as he peeked through the crack in the wood, getting as close as he dared.  She closed her dull eyes as she clasped the necklace in her hands, pulling it close to her forehead.  After a few moments of silence, her eyes opened, not quite back to their beautiful state, but much more clear, and on her lips, a small smile.  

“Thank you…” she spoke quietly, and Nero froze.  For some reason he was certain she was speaking to him.  But that was impossible!  He had made sure that he was completely undetectable!  She hadn’t ever given an indication that she had noticed his presence.  Maybe she was just speaking to the spirits of her parents or something.

But it didn’t matter, as she began to sing, a song he hadn’t ever heard before, a song full of grief, and yet hope.

Quando sono solo sogno all'orizzonte e mancan le parole

Sì lo so che non c'è luce in una stanza quando manca il sole

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me

Su le finestre

Mostra a tutti il mio cuore che hai acceso

Chiudi dentro me la luce che

Hai incontrato per strada

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso sì, li vivrò, con te partirò

Su navi per mari che, io lo so

No, no, non esistono più

It's time to say goodbye

And even though Nero couldn’t make out most of what she was singing, it still gave him a feeling of peace

It was the next migration, his seventeenth, when Nero finally broke the last rule.  He was doing his typical thing, hovering under the dock, relaxing to the soothing music that Kyrie sang.  She looked healthier, happier, and more at ease.  The loss of her parents undoubtedly still had affected her, but she had grown from it.  He was happy as well, hoping his action, as little and delayed as it was, had brought her some comfort.

So lost in her melodious voice, he didn’t even notice her slowly lower herself down, and with a sundenness  that would have caught a dolphin off guard, poked her head underneath the dock.

“Hello there!”

His instincts screamed that he needed to flee, that he was in an extreme amount of danger right now.  His muscles spasmed, and instantly he began to calculate on whether it would be safer to dive down and then out, a slower but safer way, or risk making a mad dash from the docks, putting as much distance between her and him.  Then never, ever, EVER come back.   He’d played far too long in the low tide, now he was in danger of being beached, metaphorically speaking.

“Wait!”  Her voice called out, and against his better judgement, he paused, “Don’t go, please? I’m not going to hurt you.  I just…” she paused as she tried to think of what to say, “want to thank you.”

He froze.  He hadn’t expected that.

“Thank me?”  Her eyes lit up brilliantly at his response.

“You CAN talk!  I’m so glad!  I always worried that you didn’t speak our language.” Her smile grew in delight as she pulled herself back up.  Nero floated there, momentarily at a loss what to do.  Should he make a swim for it?  She hadn’t made a move to attack him, in fact, she was giving him an opening to escape.  But what if it was a trap?  He shook his head.  The way she spoke, it seemed like she had known he was there for a while, possibly for multiple migrations.  So, slowly, and with more than a little wariness, he swam from underneath the dock and popped up in front of her.  The delight on her face was infectious, and that smile, Dawnfather be praised, that smile was for him, solely for him.

“Thank me?” He repeated, confused as he looked around, still worried he would be spotted.  But aside from a few fishing vessels on the horizon, there was no one but her.

“For everything…” she explained, as her hand went to her throat, playing with her necklace,.  “Every year around this time, when I’d come to the docks, I swore I felt someone watching me, supporting me, like a guardian angel.”

Nero had no clue what she was talking about,  but he wouldn’t interrupt her.  Her singing was beautiful, but now, her speaking to him, directly, was pure bliss.  If this had been a trap, he would have been a stunned fish right now, easily hooked.  But nothing happened.

“But unlike an angel...it didn’t come from above, it came from below…the water.  It was you.”  Her toes grazed the surface of the water, and she was so close, she could have reached out and touched him, but she didn’t.  Not that he would have minded…

Her eyes went down to the necklace between her fingers.  “In the darkest moment of my life, you gave me something precious.  The necklace, yes… but,” she looked back at him.  “Whenever I couldn’t sleep, when I felt like I was falling into despair, I would hold onto this and would feel a sense of peace, like the rise and fall of waves, of seagulls, the songs of whales.  It was so comforting…  That was you, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t know what to say.  He hadn’t intended it, but perhaps keeping it so close to himself for all those migrations had some residual effect.  

“Uh....yeah.”  It wasn’t a lie, but he wanted to slap himself with his own fins on how stupid he sounded.  “I-I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner, I-”

She laughed, and Nero felt tingles everywhere in response.  “It’s okay, I’m glad it was safe with you.  So,” she leaned forward, getting even closer, and Nero lost himself in her eyes.  If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it (not that he would want to), “Can I have your name?”

Somehow, his mouth was able to work, and he didn’t even stutter…

“Nero...my name’s Nero”

For what seemed like ages, he and Kyrie talked.  She told him all about the surface world, from how they managed to stay sane despite living in the same place for migrations at a time, to her family, (he decided not to pry into her parents), to why she sang.  It stunned him that not all humans enjoyed singing, how in the watery depths were they supposed to pass on knowledge to their children?

But he kept his questions to himself, and when she cautiously asked about him and his people, he felt comfortable to tell her about his family, and merfolk in general.  She never pressed for more details, but she asked how long he would remain in Fortuna.

“It’s about one cycle of the Tidemother, the shoal moves out, so we gotta follow it, or else we’ll be stuck eating kelp”  He couldn’t help it, he gagged at the thought.  “We should be heading out when she hides Her face.”

Kyrie’s face fell a little bit.  “Oh, that means you’ll be heading out pretty soon.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, and for the briefest of moments, the thought of him staying in Fortuna for the rest of the migration, eating nothing but kelp didn’t seem that bad.  But explaining why he didn’t want to leave this island to his father… not so appetizing.  “But guess what, I’ll be back to see you on the next migration!  And I won’t hide under the dock this time!”

“You promise?”

There was a slight pause, as Nero recalled something he’d heard innumerable times

Never promise a human anything.

To the depths with that… he thought, and smiled at the young woman, the one that had unwittingly lured him in, and captured his heart.

“I promise”

[themysteriousauthor18]

Me attempting to write BillDip for the first time.

Dipper stared down in disbelief at the being in front of him. It didn’t appear that way, no they just appeared like any other human being. But with the searing pain of his hand and the flash of blue prior to touching the statue that was no longer there, Dipper knew. He knew this wasn’t just another person. 

What any other person would see is a young tanned man that looked to be in his early twenties sitting on the forest floor in front of him. His apparent however was a little off. For starters, his hair appeared to be black aside from his bangs parted to the right of his face that was a bright blonde. A nice contrast to the rest of his hair. But considering dyed hair was now a thing it could have been plaid off as such. 

The odd hairstyle was the least of the weirdness that stood out. No in fact the weirdest thing about the man was the black triangle eye patch the seemed to stick to his left eye without any visible strap. As if that were his eye or apart of it. 

Well, there was one more thing, the oddities of all. 

He was naked. 

Dipper, his mind finally clicking back to reality was quick to avert his gaze from the man who sat as if he were star gazing despite it being the middle of the day. With the 20 year olds pale face substituted with a dark crimson now he managed to utter what his mind was barely processing. “B-bill..?” His voice came out more scared than he would have liked. If Bill was truly back why did he appear like this? Appear human..and a better question, why the fuck was he naked? 

Hearing a ‘hm’ in response was weird enough. One for the fact that he wasn’t immediately destroyed just for uttering the name. And second, he did indeed sound like Bill, but the strange echo his voice always seemed to come with wasn’t there. So his voice just naturally sounded higher. 

Keeping his eyes off the dream demon was a bad idea but he couldn’t force himself to look at him especially with human...male parts. 

“What’s this? Thought you flesh sacks wouldn’t be around. I guess the sun hasn’t burned out yet..I don’t see any flying cars either so I guess I’m not that far into time.” Dipper listened closing to the sound of the rustling suggesting the other male was standing up. He chanced a look with the blondes back turned to him.

Is he really human, or this an illusion..does he have a tail maybeee--Nope keep your eyes up.

Visibly holding a hand out to block the lower half Dipper continued, ignoring the red on his cheeks. Now he was reminded why he always stalled in the boys locker rooms until all the other men left to get changed. 

But as Dipper struggled to form a sentence the blonde looked over his shoulder. Eyes widening as the dots connected. “Wait a minute! Wow! Is that my old flesh sack! Pinetree. Wow you humans really do grow.” Dippers jaw unhinged, weather it was in fear or just plain shock was unknown. 

When the dream demon turned and progressed forward the brunette backed away by extension. “S-stay back!” Bill laughed, amused. 

“Or what?” He pressed, taking another step forward and Dipper a step back. 

“I-I’ll punch you!” Idiot. He’s a dream demon, what is punching him gonna do? 

His threat did anything but intimidate Bill. It only earned another laugh from him, this time one enough to get the newd blonde to shed a tear with how had he laughed. 

“You may not be a squeaky kid anymore, but you still got your childhood humor haha!” Dipper, now up against a tree paled as Bill sighed as his laughed subsided. He grinned menacingly. 

“Listen kid,” he raised a hand. “Its been fun but I’ve got a pathetic world to concour.” He spared a glance down at himself shaking his head in disapproval. “Hm. Can’t do it naked!” He clapped his hands to summon some clothes.

...But nothing happened. 

For the first time both men shared the same reaction. 

Confusion. 

Bill clapped his hands again, when that didn’t work he tried snapping his fingers and when that didn’t work he had even tried saying ‘hocuspocus.’ Nothing worked. 

Powerless, he was powerless. 

Dipper couldn’t believe his eyes, this was to good to be true. Sure Bill could probably still stab him, but as far as having his magic? It wasn’t there.

He sighed in relief but that breif moment didn’t last long. Bill had the front of his hoodie within seconds and even without the red of his eyes there was still a slight bit of it on his ears and cheeks. “What did you do pinetree!” Even without the filter on his voice he still managed to intimidate Dipper if just in the slightest. 

“I didn’t do anything. All I did was touch your statue.” Bills one eye seemed to be enough to pour into the wide brunette’s eyes. After a second he moved away crossing his arms over his bare chest. 

“Well drat. Looks like that pesky salamander really did strip me of my powers.” 

And your clothes. Dipper mentally added. He watched the taller male shrug turning back around. 

“Oh well, I’ll just have to get them back..somehow. But for now I can’t exactly live out here. If he wants me to life among you mouth breathers then if thats what it takes to get my magic back, guess I don’t have a choice.” His tone carried a thick layer of passive aggressiveness. Clearly he wasn’t as happy or calm about it as he made himself out to be. 

“Now, all I need is a place to crash.” He tapped his chin, eyes slowly trailing over to the scared brunette. 

“Oh no-hell no!” 

“Didn’t think you’ve ever curse. Guess ya grew a pair kid.”

“There is no way I’m letting you stay at the shack!” Dipper said, coming off the tree now and glaring at Bill. The blonde grinned, strolling up to the brunette, shoving a finger against his chest. His face uncomfortably close.

“Oh yes you are. Otherwise you want me to tell your precious little family about how you’ve kept my statue a secret for,” he paused counting his fingers. “Hm lets see, seven whole years? Wow! I feel special.” Dipper growled, bearing his teeth as he clutched his fists at his side. Bill only grinned wider, pressing more onto that nerve. “And let’s not forget all those dirty little secrets you told me.” Bill paused, using his free hand to mimic a mouth. “ ‘Is it weird that I kind of miss the weirdness. Does that mean I miss you?’” Bill mimicked the poor attempt at Dippers teen voice.

“Seriously pinetree if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a thing for me. Wow your weirder than I thought.” 

Said brunette was a dark shade of red from the anger building up.  “They’d never believe you.” Inching a little closer Bill continued to grin. 

“Do you really wanna chance that? Besides, what will old foredsy say when he sees me around? If I choose to reveal myself that is.” Dipper stared him down. 

“If you hurt them-” Bill gave a harsh pat to the top of Dippers head. 

“Relax kid! Live a little, who knows when your pathetic life will end.” Dipper kept his eyes on the dream demon in the human body. “Now give me your hoodie or something, walking around naked ain’t exactly my style. But I’m sure your enjoying the view.” Dipper growled once more, averting his eyes when Bill swayed his hips.

“I hate you.” 

“Why thank you!” 

[moonknightly]

So Ruthless, Darling : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: FO!Poe x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Excerpt: “His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink.”

Warnings: Blood, violence, cursing, gets a little heated. Drugs, I guess what could be considered a brief mention of torture? This is...dark. 

You fuckers better thank @tintinwrites​ for making me write this.

Complete darkness. Absolute silence. He was disoriented, the lack of sight and the inability to hear leaving him dizzy in a way he never imagined possible. Two of his senses, completely stripped from him, taken by some unknown drug unwillingly pushed through his veins, the small pinprick of the needle setting his skin on fire as the combination of chemicals swirled into his bloodstream.

It still burned. He could still feel, though moving was a different story, and every sensation felt electric, but not in the way he usually enjoyed, like when her hands wandered across the expanse of his back or when her fingers tangled themselves into his short curls. It was overwhelming — the feeling of the hot sand beneath his bare feet and hands gripping his arms so tight as he was marched towards some unknown location. It hurt, and Poe could usually handle an impressive amount of pain without even flinching.

He could still taste the blood in his mouth, leaking from his split lip, or maybe it was from his bloodied nose, because he could smell the familiar, tangy iron so strongly he was sure that it was the only thing keeping him from passing out at how fucking dizzy he was.

Time was a foreign concept to Poe in that moment. How long ago had he been walking through dark streets, alone and head just a little too fuzzy for the dismal amount of alcohol he had consumed at a bar earlier that night? They had slipped something into his drink too, he was sure, because even drunk he never would have allowed himself to be captured by a lousy group of Resistance members.

Would she be awake yet? Had she noticed that he wasn’t in bed beside her, that he hadn’t made it back to their small ship from the bar?

The idiots who took him definitely didn’t account for her, and the thought brought a proud smirk to his face — one that didn’t falter as the burning sand beneath his feet turned to cool stone, and remained on his lips even as he was forcefully pushed to his knees, the coarse feeling of rope scratching against his wrists as his hands were tied behind his back.

Could the Resistance not even afford a decent pair of stuncuffs?

His head snapped back suddenly, from the force of a fist meeting his jaw. Poe grit his teeth, fresh blood filling his mouth, hot and heavy like red wine. He shook his head, the look in his eye somewhere between lethal and defiant, though they were still unseeing. He hoped that whoever had hit him was standing close enough, because he spit and wanted nothing more than for it to splatter in their face, and it was safe to assume that he was successful even temporarily blind because his actions were met with a blow to the temple from the butt of a blaster.

And he laughed. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it in his chest, and he could tell by the way it rolled off his tongue that the sound was dripping with an underlying venom so caustic, he was sure the eyes of his captors held the terror they had hoped he would be the one to feel.

He only felt excitement. He wasn’t worried, had no reason to be. His girl was more than capable of finding him, more than capable of getting him out of this. They wanted something from him, if they didn’t they would’ve shot him back in the streets. The drug hadn’t even begun to wear off yet. She had time. He wasn’t worried.

And the pain — it was almost delicious. The wet, sticky red on his face, the bruise he could already feel forming between his ribs where a boot had just knocked him on his ass before a set of hands yanked him back up to kneel, the friction of the rope against his wrists burning so enticingly.

He liked it.

The more pain placed on him, the more they would endure at her hand.

The thought was erotic to Poe.

But when had the Resistance gotten so dirty?

It seemed a little too dramatic for Organa, but he could remember seeing the familiar symbol stitched onto the sleeve of a leather jacket worn by one of the men — it had been the last thing he had seen before his vision faded to black. He supposed the jacket could’ve been stolen.

But it didn’t really matter. If they were with the Resistance, the carnage left behind would be one hell of a message for their precious General. If not, then it would still be a story, a warning.

The Dameron’s had a reputation for being ruthless, and that would only be further solidified in the wreckage they left behind — in the remnants of the hurricane that his wife would bring.

They had really fucked up.

He took every blow, every kick, every drag of a blade across his skin with complete silence, with the controlled discipline he had learned in his years of serving the First Order. Poe wouldn’t give them even an ounce of satisfaction. They could brand him, and he would only grit his teeth at most while violent pictures of her filled his mind.

Time still didn’t exist to him. All he knew is that his ears were beginning to ring and he could see blurry shapes dancing around his vision. He almost liked the nothingness more than the inbetween.

He guessed another thirty minutes passed, and his vision returned before his hearing, and he didn’t even try to hide it — his eyes following the movements of the one wearing that leather jacket. There were two others, another man with a spotty mustache and a woman, none of them paying any attention to Poe at that second.

They were talking, and Poe didn’t read lips well enough to be able to make out any words other than his name here and there. He rolled his eyes, already growing annoyed with the muffled ringing in his ears.

It was bullshit.

And the blaster fire that sounded throughout the room minutes later only made it worse.

But it also brought that signature proud smirk back onto his lips, his eyes full of delight as he watched each of his captors fall to their knees as they were shot out from under them, their own blasters sitting on a small stone table a few feet away from Poe, completely out of their reach.

Maker, they were fucking stupid.

Organa really needed to get her shit together.

She walked into the small hut, her pace slow, expression almost bored though her eyes showed how truly pissed she was. They were cold, harsh, yet blazing with an unforgiving and relentless fire that he adored to no end.

She didn’t even glance his way, but he caught how her shoulders stiffened, and the way that her hand twitched. She had seen him, and the initial rage she had felt only intensified ten times over.

And Poe watched, that satisfied smirk still on his face, as she let that rage fuel her actions.

Time suddenly made sense again, and he reveled in the twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds his wife spent working her magic. His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink. The only other indication that Poe was enjoying this was the callous laugh that flew from his lips as the last body, the man in the leather jacket, fell to the ground with a solid thump, chest still moving with shallow breaths that would only last another minute or two, his eyes holding Poe’s as his wife made quick work of tearing her blade through the thick rope binding him.

He stood swiftly, as if he hadn’t just been kneeling for Maker knows how long, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists before turning, one of his arms encircling her waist while his other hand fell to her ass, pulling into a searing kiss that might have been just a little exaggerated for the sake of showing his lame excuse of a captor just how exhilarating the whole thing was for him. The sinful moan that dripped from his lips however was one hundred percent truth. Watching his wife tear those who tried to wrong them apart was undoubtedly a turn on.

He only pulled away once the urge for his own thirty seconds of vengeance became too much.

Poe wasn’t sporting a smirk anymore, instead choosing to adopt the rather bored expression that still adorned his wife’s face as he glared down at the other man, his fingers twitching at his side as he thought for just a moment. He knelt down, grabbing his jaw with bruising force as he simply looked him over, eyes daunting.

“You made one real stupid fuckin’ mistake,” Poe chuckled darkly, straightening back up to his full height before bringing his foot down onto his face, once just to hurt, to hear the satisfying crunch of bone breaking under his boot, waiting several long seconds to relish in the scream that sounded throughout the room before bringing it down a second time.

All that followed was silence.

He turned away from the body on the floor, his eyes immediately finding hers across the small space. He could see her hands trembling, and the fire that had been in her eyes quickly gave way to another emotion Poe hated to see.

She looked terrified.

But not of him. No, never of him.

Poe slowly closed the distance between them, taking her hands between his, looking down at them, covered in crimson that he knew would stain. He shivered gently, and let the feel of her skin on his deliver another wave of comfort that he would only ever admit or show to her.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice breaking his small reverie.

“I would’ve found a way back to you,” he replied instantly, tilting his head to the side. “No way in hell am I going to die at the hand of a few lousy Resistance members.”

His words didn’t seem to do much for her. She only shook her head, mouth falling open and shut again several times as she tried to find something, anything to say.

Poe didn’t give her the chance to even attempt to speak again, though. He took one of his hands, grasping her chin lightly between two fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes met his once again. His other hand softly encircled her wrist, and he held her gaze intently as he brought her fingers up to his mouth, his lips closing around each individual digit as he licked the blood away from her hands, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave her other hand the same treatment.

But he stopped at her pinky, quirking an eyebrow as he slowly offered it to her, his eyes flickering down to her lips as she pulled her own finger between her teeth, sucking it clean, no longer trembling, eyes no longer haunted.

And that damned smirk fell back onto Poe’s face just as his cock twitched in his pants, and he couldn’t refrain from pulling her flush against his torso, dipping his head until his lips found hers in a greedy, passion filled kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to push his tongue into her mouth, pushing past the bittersweet taste of iron until he found one that was entirely and completely her — so familiar, so inviting.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled against her lips, bending so that his hands could sweep her knees right out from under her, her hips meeting his as he held her tightly against him.

“I’ve got you.”