#but i cannot seem to crack down on what exactly i am drawing in the moment to Make It A Specific Style

[dandyshucks]

as much as i love being able to randomly churn out a bunch of different styles of art, i have very little actual control over how things come out fhdkdl so ,,,

working on some studies now to try to figure out how tf i am doing what im doing fjdkdl - hopefully i can sniff out some patterns in the styles so that I can better control what comes out of my pencil ( ╥ω╥ ;;)

[abronzeagegod]

ETS WIP Chapter 3: A Crumbling Temple within a Computer

<first>||<more>

The ruined church seemed like something that could be found in the Old World, far to the East, something that was built a millennia ago and with much more rudimentary tools.

Dust pooled in grand lakes between the empty pews and around the altar.

There were no windows here, just the empty hollows where they should have sat made of beautiful stained glass, instead Aeth feels a nice breeze filter through the church.

The world around them feels both grand and small at the same time. They feel small and somehow inconsequential among the age and ruin.

The only splashes of color are bright chalk drawings of a child across the floors and walls. They seem to grow like ivy, clinging to the walls and creeping, growing along the cracks, filling the wounds in the walls with art and life.

Something rumbles within the church and out of one of the dust lakes comes what Aeth had been waiting for.

It was long, with a body made of metal and cables, there were little arms and legs like the prongs on any number of chips and computer components to plug into the motherboard.

It was both vaster and smaller than the tech support representative.

It emerged and flew up into the air on wings of beautiful stained glass.

With each beat of it's stained glass wings Aeth could see different and fantastical worlds. Worlds they recognized from some of the games they played as a child.

The long, multi-legged, many-winged, creature of cables and metal flew above their head and stopped eventually to speak with them.

"I am Sir Lance Corporal," it says in a voice that sounds so much like the synthesized voice that old computers used for text to speech. "What are you doing in my crumbling domain?"

"I work for tech support," they explain.

"Why have you disassembled my church?" the synthesized voice of the representation of Sir Lance Corporal asked.

Aeth knew from experience that they were going to have to tread very carefully here. There's something incredibly dangerous about talking with something like this. And really it's moments like this that make Aeth very glad they are a priest with no god. In this realm, no gods could help them.

In this realm, this this church, this temple, they are at the mercy of the small god of a singular computer. Sir Lance Corporal was a god.

"I was tasked with seeing to it that this family's computer was functioning properly since it is very old and starting to wear down," they explain.

"My body is dying," the god of this particular computer said with it's synthesized voice somehow conveying the deep resignation, sadness, and regret that comes with the existential knowledge of the soon-to-be-doomed mortality.

They nod. "It is. Eventually it will be unusable."

Sir stretched it's wings and takes flight once again. Aeth can see now the tarnish on the metal, the places where there should have been more wings, but they had fallen off some time ago.

"What will become of me?" Sir asked.

They shrug. "I don't know. Depends on what the family wants to do with you."

"I cannot be saved. I feel the age in my circuits, the speed of the world around me is too fast, I cannot keep up." There is a lengthy pause. "I have a request for you, priest of tech support."

"If it is within my power to do so, I will do it, that is all I can promise."

"I wish to say goodbye to my priest. The one who came and colored on my walls and made me feel alive."

They know exactly who that was, and while it doesn't surprise Aeth given everything, it does make everything infinitely more complicated.

"That, I can do. When we're done here, I will put you back together and give you some time," they explain. "But first, I want you to tell me your story."

Aeth sat in a pew, and listened to the story of a fading and dying god of an old computer. They listen, absorb, and even pray a little.

Eventually when they are let go they

feel

the

dust

the

ruins

rush away from them and they are back in the house where everything is lovely and nice with the family and the child and the computer that has more than just a ghost inside of it.

They take their time, using all the screw drivers, and put the computer back together as best as they can. It takes all of Aeth's skills to get the impossible machine back together, and they have to pray a little bit to get things back together, as it wouldn't work without it.

"Is Sir Lance Corporal all better?" the kid asked as they watch Aeth put the casing back together.

"For now, yeah," they say. "You can still play your games. Why don't you do that while I talk with your dad."

"Ok!"

Aeth watched the kid load up the computer and their favorite game about learnings things set in Ancient Semminatar. Briefly, they spot the metal butterfly they conversed with, flying across the background.

They can tell that the computer and its god were happy with the kid. But Aeth had matters to attend to with the dad.

"What's the prognosis?" the dad asked.

"Well, that's a complicated question," Aeth said as they took a seat at the kitchen table. "What do you know about faith and belief?"

"A bit," he said with a sly smile. "I'm a philosophy professor. Which is not easy, let me tell you. In a world with more religions than we can count trying to vie for attention, making sense of everything is no easy feat."

"I can imagine. But let me tell you how i was explained this concept a long time ago, and maybe you'll correct me, maybe you won't."

Aeth took a long steadying breath before continuing.

"Kids are essentially nonentities when it comes to religion. Kids, up to a certain point, don't really believe things, they know things. It's weird and complicated and feels like at some point you're splitting hairs," they said, trying to get the complicated thoughts into words that will come out of come out of their mouth and vocal chords in a coherent way. "But kids don't have faith, they just know stuff. You tell them that this is the way the world works and they don't believe you, they know it because they don't have the experience to know any different." The dad looks at Aeth intently, nodding, listening, not interrupting even once. "But when a kid believes something, they believe it with their whole being. They don't have doubt, so when a kid does believe something that faith is worth like fifteen adults worth of belief. And when it comes to religion that's a huge amount of faith that any god would kill for. And, well, your kid believes in your computer so hard that they created a god."

The dad nods. "Hmm. That makes some sense. I will confess that my Applied Theology is a bit lacking, but some of this tracks with what I know and study. What does this mean?"

They sigh. "I have to report this. I would be too irresponsible if I didn't. Sometimes when kids believe things like this and make entities, the results can end badly. Like what if a child believes in a nightmare?"

There's a heavy pause that Aeth can't seem to escape or find their way out of.

"I see."

"I talked with Sir Lance Corporal," they say, eventually, "and I'm pretty sure that they're not anything malevolent or violent. Just a computer god that wants to provide fun and learning to their child priest. If it was something bad, you can trust I would have done something about it."

"Ok, I believe you. Ha, believe you. What do we have to do now?"

"I'm sure someone from the Catalog and Archive Bureau will be by within a day to tavelk to you, and examine Sir Lance Corporal. In the meantime I can send you some recommendations for new computers if you'd like to purchase one with our services, it comes with a free install and data transfer. If the CAB clears Sir Lance Corporal, you can call me and I'll come by to put them in their new temple, if that is something you'd like to happen."

The dad nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "We will just have to see what is going to happen."

Aeth gives him their card with all their information so they could be informed of what was going to happen with Sir Lance Corporal.

"I just have one question though," they said, as they couldn't help themself and had to know. "What's with the name? Sir Lance Corporal? Where did they get that?"

The dad laughed. "My partner was in the military for a bit, before we met. And he was a Lance Corporal when he was discharged. She heard someone call him 'Sir, Lance Corporal, Sir' so she repeated it ad nauseam for a few weeks. I guess it just stuck with the computer for some reason."

---

"You've reached the Catalog and Archive Bureau," said the voice on the other end of the phone. "How may I direct your call?"

Aeth gives them their name and employer. "I have two things. The professional one first. A new entity needs to be examined."

"Understood. Please give me the location and description of the entity."

They list the name and address of the house. "It's a computer housing a small god, one built on the belief of a child who seemingly believed that their old computer was the same as their friends' so it evolved the ability to do things that it otherwise shouldn't be able to. The god seemed harmless and wanted to be a god for education and learning and care of the young kid."

"We will be the ones to determine that," the cold voice said in response.

Harsh, but Aeth couldn't blame them for that. There were a lot of entities out there that could spell disaster and ruin for many people. That's what the Bureau even exists.

"The other matter is personal," they said next, steeling themself for the question and the answer.

"One moment," the operator said as Aeth heard the clicking of a keyboard. "What is your inquiry?"

They restate their name and ask, "I'm checking in on an entity I reported many years ago. Is subject 3812-B still in captivity?"

The silence is only punctuated by the clacking of the keyboard.

Aeth stopped breathing as they waited.

"Yes. We have round the clock surveillance, and there has not been any successful breaches in containment since... the incident a few years back."

"Oh. Good. Good. That's good."

"If anything changes, you'll be the first one we call." Aeth couldn't help but notice the change in tone from cold business, the mask of a call center employee taking a routine phone call had fallen away to the person who had their incident file in front of them, reading what they had created.

"Thank you," they say as they hung up.

i have a kofi where you can read early chapters of this

[sasamelons]

one line any fic! rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten people.

Thanks @the-marron​ for the tag! ❤️ I thought it would be easy picking my ten favourite children, but looks like I’m not that heartless after all 😆

In reverse chronological order:

1. we all have a hunger (Guardian novel-verse, post-canon, Weilan)

As if in a daze, Shen Wei kneels down in front of the creature and, after a moment of hesitation, puts a hand on its head. For some reason, Shen Wei expects to feel the warm silkiness of fur, despite knowing that it is not an animal. Instead, the creature’s body is cool, more so than the temperature of the mortal shell Shen Wei is wearing. Its energy runs over his fingers and through the cracks between them, with a fluidity and smoothness like water from a faucet.

Soothing like water too, Shen Wei realizes, the thought rising unexpectedly in his mind. Looking down at the creature at his feet, now nuzzling its head into Shen Wei’s hand, he tries to remember if he has ever touched a member of the ghost tribe like this before.

2. hearth and home (Guardian novel-verse, post-canon, Weilan)

The Kitchen God, while smug with the attention he has been receiving all evening, is at least self-aware enough to hear the dismissal. “Ah, of course,” he says as he stands as well, then has to put a hand on the table to steady himself. “Time to go meet with the Heavenly Emperor,” he says with some regret. Then, emboldened by either the wine or Zhao Yunlan’s sugar-coated words, he dares to put a friendly hand on the primordial god’s shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, there will only be good things from me!”

“Ah, please make your report as you see fit, I wouldn’t dream of influencing how you do your job,” Zhao Yunlan demures, as if he hasn’t been, like every human since the Department of Household Oversight was established in the Heavenly Court, angling to do exactly that.

3. 团圆, or, the making of a whole (Guardian drama-verse, post-canon, Weilan)

When Shen Wei turns to look at Zhao Yunlan, he sees that the other man has leapt to his feet and his attention has been drawn fully back to his father. His lips are pursed as Zhao Xinci continues to lay into him. “Life isn’t a movie, you can’t always get a perfect ending! You’ll always lose something, so you have to keep your eye on what’s important!”

Zhao Yunlan crosses the room and steps up to them. He seems to be steadier, Shen Wei notes with some relief. He draws to his full height, a few inches taller than Zhao Xinci, and stares at him with his eyes blazing. “I am. Just because you don’t think it’s important, doesn’t mean that’s true.”

4. 眼前的星星 | the stars we see (MDZS/The Untamed, Space AU, Wangxian)

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It means—” he pauses, perhaps recalling the other times he has encountered the word, or a previous lecture, “—the place one is from. Where one belongs even while elsewhere.” But even that doesn’t quite encompass all that seems to be buried under that one character, Wei Ying knows. There is still something else there, something deeper, in the blood and the bone. Something that Wei Ying can just about grasp at sometimes when he isn’t trying, but cannot truly understand.

(And how could he? After all, he has only ever known the Ship, even as they hurtle past planetary systems and star clusters and nebulae.)

Wei Ying is quiet for a moment. “This word must have been important,” he says finally. “It’s everywhere in the old texts. The poem is about travelling away from home. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Travelling away from where our ancestors are from. So shouldn’t we understand it? Shouldn’t we know?”

5. full (MDZS/The Untamed, Modern Diaspora AU, Jiang Yanli-centric)

Beside her, Jiang Cheng was slumped down in his seat and Wei Ying seemed to be trying to disappear into his corner. She knew that she would have to take Jiang Cheng’s hand and tell him he was enough, to give Wei Ying a hug and tell him it wasn’t his fault. But that would have to wait until she could catch them alone; for now, she ladled more sai mai lou into their bowls.

6. the place hidden amidst clouds (MDZS/The Untamed, Modern Cultivation AU, ghost!WWX, Wangxian)

The apartment is not exactly the same as Lan Zhan remembers it, but it’s close enough to make him shudder. Some of the pictures in the frames have changed, and the TV has definitely been upgraded. But the sofa they sit on is still the same one of cracked black leather and when Jiang Cheng brings them tea, the cups are as well. Lan Zhan stares at the frosted glass, his fingers tracing the lotus flowers inked on the side. It takes Lan Zhan a few minutes to realize that there is another reason why he feels a shiver down his spine.

“You have a ghost.”

7. homeward (MDZS/The Untamed, Modern Cultivation AU, Road Trip Fic, Wangxian)

He shakes his head from side to side, trying to clear it of the errant thoughts and make himself focus. But it’s as if the delicious smells have tapped into some hunger beyond the physiological, turning him aching and irrational and helpless. He has to stop every few minutes to steady his breath, angrily wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes and forcing his hands to stop shaking.

8. For All of Our Mistakes (X-Men: First Class, Unpowered AU, Cherik & Raven)

The night after Erik leaves, Raven arrives at Charles’ apartment with two bottles of expensive wine. They are the only things she consents to spending her inheritance money on — what Sharon hadn’t managed to drink away, at least — while they joke about the irony. It has been something of a tradition for the past ten years, when the two of them are on amicable terms, the many bottles of wine coming and going with the lovers in Charles’ life, their beautiful empty bottles sitting briefly in the corner of Charles’ kitchen before being collected and forgotten.

9. to dash against darkness (Sherlock, Soulmates AU (sort of), Johnlock, TW: Suicide)

"That's amazing," he breathes.

"Really?" Sherlock ask, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "I did just point out your suicidal inclinations. Aren't you supposed to punch me or something?"

"I might still do that later," John says, letting out a light chuckle, "so don't let your guard down just yet." Tentatively, Sherlock relaxes his frown and begins to mirror John's smile.

10. Precession of the Equinoxes (Sherlock, Apocalypse AU, Johnlock)

On quiet, solemn nights, they whisper stories into the safety of the tent. Stories that have no place in the light of day. John speaks about the nightmares that still haunt him, the things he saw and the acts that were performed by all sides in the war. He talks about going to see Harry on that Day, after the world had collapsed around their ears, and asking her to go away with him. Instead, she just took another gulp of her whiskey.

Tagging: @yilian0203, @elenothar, @lacommunarde, @aroceu, @jayswing101, @dragongirlg-fics, @tehfanglyfish, @buriedbybooks, @t-eyla, @clevermanka

[startanewdream]

James and/or Sirius laughing at Harry for growing (or trying to) grow a beard 🧔

That’s it

That’s my comment

Ahhh, it's midnight for me I work early tomorrow but I just *had* to write something along these lines!

Set during winter break at Year 6 (or my fave pining Harry time). Warning for some slang and also that I edited on the phone

________

“Fuck. No, no, it can’t be… fuck!”

The first slang would have made Sirius stop on his way down the hall, but the tone of desolation that follows it, added by the most hopelessness he has ever heard in Harry's voice, makes him open the door to his godson’s bedroom without waiting for an answer.

(Always risky when it comes to teenagers, but it seems to be an emergency)

The first thing he notices is the rotten smell, then the smoke coming out of a cauldron with the fire beneath still lit; sparkles are coming out of Harry’s wand, which he holds high (underage magic? That he won’t tell), but then Sirius’ gaze falls on Harry’s face and he ignores anything else.

Because on Harry’s face there is something so horrendous that Sirius won’t dare to call it a beard. It’s hair.

Harry’s chin spots the same hair as in his head. It’s a dark messy beard that makes him look as if his hair grew all around his mouth.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry tells him immediately, a little bit threatening, but Sirius is truly too shocked to even break a smile. This thing is too ghastly for even him to crack a joke about it. “I… I messed up, okay?”

“Kid, that’s an overstatement,” Sirius says, getting closer to his godson slowly. He touches his beard. “How did you get hair on your chin? That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ugh.” Harry throws a guilty look to the cauldron on the floor. “It’s Grandpa Monty’s fault.”

“Unless his ghost came back to screw your face, it seems as if you did this to yourself, kid.”

“No, I… Look!” He picks a scroll, waving it in front of Sirius’ nose. “I found his old notes in the attic. Five-Second Eazybeard! I swear I brewed the potion exactly as he wrote.”

Sirius eyes the smelly potion.

“Are you sure it was your granddad’s notes? This doesn’t seem like Monty's style at all.”

“Well… I thought so. He was the potioneer in the family, right? And he invented Sleekeazy!”

“And then he didn’t launch anything else,” Sirius reminds him, looking at the potion instructions.

“Because he was rich enough and didn’t need more money?”

Sirius laughs. “Nah, Monty was curious enough to keep inventing. This was probably an attempt that didn’t work.” Sirius shakes his head, smirking. “Look, I am not trying to pull a Lily here, but trying untested potions? That’s a bad idea, Harry.”

"I haven't had problems so far," Harry mumbles to himself. As Sirius is about to ask him what he means by that, Harry grabs his hand suddenly. "I learned the lesson, ok? Now you gotta help me!"

Sirius lifts an eyebrow. "The only thing that would help you is a scissor."

"I've tried! The bathroom is full of this thing, but it just grew back! I've tried to cut it magically, and it's all the same. You are the adult here, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? I can't do an antidote just looking at the ingredient list! You need Lily, just call her—"

"I…" the part of Harry's face that is not covered by hair flushes. "I can't. She is at the Burrow now, helping Mrs Weasley with the New Year's party."

"Then let's go, I am sure it will be easy for her—"

"No!" Harry looks in panic now, his eyes widened. "She cannot know what… what happened."

"Lily will know as soon as—"

"Not… not Mum, it's… look, that's fine. Mum will be back tomorrow, I will just spend the New Year hiding in my room pretending I don't exist."

"Harry… there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, growing hair body is perfectly normal at your age—"

"Ugh, stop teasing me."

"I wish I could, but you look truly horrible." Sirius winks at him, sitting on Harry's bed. "What prompted you to do this?"

Harry's flush intensifies.

"I was trying to grow a beard."

"Oh, really?"

"It's… it's stupid, okay? But Ginny was… I mean, I heard some girls saying that they enjoyed guys with a beard and I can only grow that stupid stubble and—argh—I just thought I could give it a try but now I have hair growing all around my head and—"

"You are babbling, kid, I got it."

"No, you don't." Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking very much like James when he is most nervous. "You get to grow a beard when you want it. You get this whole shining hair. You get women to sigh for you and I… I am just this stupid teenager who can't even have a full beard."

Sirius blinks. "You are worrying way too much, Harry. And, well, if you want to be assured, you are nice—girls have taken a fancy to you, haven't they?"

"That's just the Chosen One thing, it's not really… me."

Sirius fights back a smile. Harry seems really desolate.

"Look, you've grown well. You are still growing. I am sure people notice you. You have your mother's gorgeous eyes and you do look like James—if there is any comfort in this, I remind you that James got Lily to feel attracted to him, so you can't be that bad." Harry frowns, and Sirius isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to think of their parents being attracted to each other or if because he doesn't trust Lily's opinion on this matter. "I am sure Ginny thinks you are attractive, beard or no beard."

Harry jumps.

"Who said anything—"

"Oh, are we still pretending you don't fancy her?"

Harry looks away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, sure. So you don't mind going to the Burrow now and showing up like this?"

"Of course I do! I mean… Ron would tease me."

"Ron."

"And the twins. I mean, look at this!"

"Yeah, I would be upset if they didn't. So many joke opportunities. You are hairy, Harry."

Harry puts his hands in front of his face. Sirius refrains from telling him this doesn't hide his beard at all.

"So… what do I do now?"

"We truly need Lily's help on this… we need to go to the Burrow."

"I can't—"

"Don't worry." Sirius breathes heavily. "Your godfather won't leave you alone on this."

_________

"It was an accident, Lily," Sirius tells her, his hand playing with the hair over his chin. His new grown hair beard reaches his chest and Sirius is almost finishing a braid by now. "I was trying some old potion, and then Harry was close and it just splashed in both of us."

Lily lifts her eyebrows, her eyes moving from Sirius to Harry and then back.

"An accident?" she repeats, incredulous.

"I am so sorry," he says, the portrait of innocence. "Could you help us with an antidote? And before you say anything, I know I shouldn't have tested an unknown potion. But do this for Harry, not for me. Poor kid doesn't deserve to spend the night hiding. It's a New Year's party after all!"

Lily shakes her head, amused.

"Fine, because you asked so eloquently. I will grab my potion kit, a hair inhibitor should be enough."

"You truly are the best, Lily," Sirius tells her, beaming.

Harry waits until his mother is out of the room to let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks so much, Sirius," he says.

Sirius nods, still messing with the hair on his chin. It's so weird and it looks as ghastly in him as it does on Harry.

He doesn't regret applying that potion to his face. His sacrifice worked just as he planned to: with two people having hair growing out of their chins, the attention was divided and with Sirius taking the blame, people felt sorry enough for Harry to not mock him much.

"Hey," they turn around to see Ginny coming closer, holding a tray with some sandwiches for them. "Mum thought you would be hungry while hiding here."

"Thanks," Sirius says, because Harry seems too busy pretending to look outside the window, anything so he can try to avoid Ginny looking at his beard.

Ginny nods at Sirius, but she approaches Harry anyway.

"Your mum is already working on the antidote, don't worry," she tells him gently. "Look, it's not as bad as that time Percy tried to grow a moustache, remember?"

Harry chuckles. "You are so lying."

"I would never," she assures him, voice light. "Look at me."

Harry turns to her almost as if he can't control it. His eyes soften as he gazes upon her, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of how Lily always looks when she sees James.

Ginny raises her hand slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to back away, but he just stays quiet as she touches his beard, her fingers running through it. Sirius suspects Harry isn't even breathing anymore.

"It's soft," she tells Harry and for a moment they just stare at each other. Sirius decides that he is really witnessing a moment that he doesn't want to, but his attempt to quietly leave the room only alerts them to his presence. Ginny's hand falls back as if she got electrocuted. "Anyway, you look better without it."

Harry grimaces. "I guess that stupid stubble is better than this."

"Stupid stubble?" Ginny blinks, evidently surprised. "It's not stupid, I… I mean, girls love it on you."

"They do?"

"Yeah, well, just thinking about your stubble brushing my skin—I mean, their skin, as in other girls' shoulders, or holding your face while… never mind, I just… I just heard it, that's all. You are drawing a lot of attention."

"I know, all this Chosen One stupid thing—"

"It's not it... you are really oblivious to your charm, Harry."

"You think I am charming?" Harry asks, longing evident in his voice now.

"I…" Ginny hesitates, turning away as if she doesn't want to answer this while looking at Harry, and her eyes meet Sirius. He smirks at her, knowing perfectly well her answer. Ginny's face reddens even as her jaw sets in a protective instance. "Yeah, with the stubble. Everyone knows it. It's common knowledge. I… I have to go, I think I heard Mum calling me."

Sirius could point out that Molly didn't call her at all, but he opts for just letting Ginny go, his smirk more than enough to let her know she didn't fool him.

At the other corner of the room, Harry's face is spotting a huge grin, watching the door with a dreamy expression.

"She likes my stubble!" He declares happily. "Oh, I need to take off this stupid long beard now."

Sirius shakes his head at Harry, amused. At least Harry won't ever complain about his inability to grow a beard again.

[iknewyoudunderstand]

omg thanks for understanding! I feel bad because I want to support everyone’s work but sometimes I can’t read it :/ but if you’re taking requests, what about Hotch accidentally walking in on Spencer talking to Penelope about his crush on Hotch?

“I know something you don’t know!”

“Statistically unlikely,” Spencer says, his voice thick from the early morning and the copious sugar in his coffee. “But it’s possible.”

Penelope, a shock of pink on an overall beige day at work, bounces on her toes. Her chunky jewelry clinks and clatters as she jumps around. If his brain wasn’t still sleep-addled, it would be too much for him, but he’s been up all night and his coffee hadn’t kicked in yet and he wasn’t prepared for a conversation so early in the morning. Right now, his senses are coasting on him barely being able to process the stimuli. The sun is barely even up. He has to summon a lot of energy to even make his mouth move.

“What do you know?”

“It’s a secret!”

He sighs. “Garcia, it’s 7:30 and you’re going a million miles an hour. Can you just tell me?”

She stops bouncing, arms dropping to her sides. Something like a scowl, an over-exaggerated imitation of Hotch, settles on her face. “Reid, that’s no fun.”

“Why does it have to be fun?”

“Because I love fun! Everyone knows this—it’s one of my best and most obvious features. Now ask me!”

“Ask you what?”

Penelope lets out a loud, put-upon sigh. “You’re killin’ me, whizz kid.”

“You’re killing me!”

“I would never.”

“What’s the secret?!”

“It’s your secret.” Her eyes flash and her smile turns devilish. “I know who you have a crush on!”

Spencer stops cold. “Garcia, I’m twenty-four. I-I don’t have a crush. I don’t have crushes. I haven’t had crushes since I was thirteen. No adult has crushes—”

“You absolutely have a crush. You’re stuttering, you’re doing that hand thing—” Spencer stuffs his hands in his pockets to stop himself from wringing them. “Uh huh. I’m not a profiler, but I know the signs! You have a crush.”

“So?” His voice cracks so loud he winces. “Listen, it… most adults spend a minimum of 1,680 hours in the office per year.” Penelope scoffs. “Exactly. So there’s not really anyone else for us. It’s very normal to be attracted to people you spend so much of your time with! There was a study in 1968 where college students were shown photos of faces, and some photos were shown up to twenty-five times while others were only shown once or twice, and the most liked faces were those that had been seen more. Prolonged exposure leads to increased attraction, so it’s normal that someone like Hotch would be—”

“You have a crush on Hotch?!”

Spencer throws his arms up. He probably won’t need a second cup of coffee, because he could run a marathon—as long as he is running in the complete opposite direction of this conversation. “Everyone has a crush on Hotch! It’s simple psychology! People are attracted to authority; in evolutionary terms, a person in a position of power is seen as someone with resources and abilities that will create viable offspring—” Garcia’s eyes go wide and Spencer feels like he’s dying. His face is so hot, sweat is beading on his upper lip. “Not that—I’m not saying that, I’m saying that’s where it comes from. It’s an instinctual attraction.”

“Spencer—”

“Plus, plus, I mean, he’s also… I mean, as a person, he’s…” The words are stuck behind his teeth and under his tongue. This is the first time he’s ever said any of this out loud, and these feelings have been rattling around in his head for so long it’s strange to let them out. “There’s obviously more dimension to him than just as an authority figure. He’s intelligent, he’s compassionate, he’s passionate… the intensity created in a work situation can mirror the intensity we experience in sexual relationships, so… oh, God—”

“Reid!” Penelope hisses. She grabs his arm, her fingernails sharp like talons, and stops his train wreck of thought.

“Everyone has a crush on me?” Hotch asks, his eyebrows almost at his hairline. Briefcase in hand, obviously having just walked in, Spencer can’t tell if he’s horrified or amused or concerned or any combination of those because Spencer cannot look at him. Spencer is five seconds away from curling up on the floor and transforming into a pile of confetti, with “IDIOT” inscribed on every shred of paper. Penelope seems to be five seconds away from hyperventilating. “I think that’s a little generous.”

“Hotch, I am so sorry—”

He holds up a hand. Spencer nearly swallows his tongue. Penelope’s nails just might draw blood.

“I’m very flattered,” Hotch says softly. “In the future, there are more appropriate places to have conversations such as these—as I have already told you several times, Garcia.”

“Sorry,” she squeaks.

“In the meantime, everyone will be here shortly; we’re being called in to Oregon for a series of missing children cases.” They lock eyes. As always, it sucks the air right out of his lungs. “If you feel comfortable, Reid, we can discuss this more once we return home.”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah.”

Hotch smiles. It’s small, but the hint of a dimple on his cheek and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes spell out genuine… something. Something genuine. Spencer refuses to let hope bubble up in his chest, just like he refuses every time they brush fingers or shoulders or Hotch looks at him for too long, or when he notices Hotch listening intently to his rambling or laughing at his obscure jokes. He squashes it down every time Hotch shows how much he cares—more than any boss would—and, yes, every time Hotch shows exactly how capable he is, in the field and at containing and responding to all Spencer’s chaos and fragility… that’s just who Hotch is. Everyone has a crush on Hotch because he does that for everyone. Spencer refuses to foster hope—but hope settles in him.

Hotch smiles at him, and then he walks away.

“What just happened?” Spencer asks.

“I think I just got you laid.”

[starxscream]

Color-Coded Deck

“ Once again Rouxls challenges Swatch to a battle of wits- though this time it doesn't exactly go as planned. “

SwatchKaard fic!

Bc I saw that there were none and so I had to do smth about it, click the read more to view! (Also check it out on ao3 if it’s easier for y’all to read there!

It had been another long day at the cafe, working various loud-mouthed customers that seemed never ending in Castle Town.  Swatch has to wonder if moving out here was worth it, putting up with some of the patrons here almost made it not.  The bird sighs, making the final rounds while the swatchlings finish cleaning up for the night.  As the final chores and tasks are completed, Swatch excuses the swatchlings to head home and rest for tomorrow, staying behind to finish up the managerial paperwork.  There was always more work to do, and Swatch had no time to rest until it was completed.  Such was life.  The same routine that they were so accustomed to, it didn't truly bother them really.  In fact, Swatch enjoyed the brief moment of quiet and privacy of being alone in the cafe.

As the last swatchling exits, Swatch double checks the store before meandering towards to flip the sign from "open" to "closed".  However, as they move to flip the sign, there's a glowing flash of light, causing Swatch to lift his arm to block out the glare before it dissipates.  Oh no.  A feeling of knowing dread nestles in their gut.

Before Swatch can react, a blue hand rattles the door, pushing it against Swatch who had finally moved to try and hold it shut.  Of COURSE it just had to be him…

A loud shrill voice echoes through the crack in the door, "Greetings thou most commonest worm-avian! I haveth decided to graceth thine nighteth with thy presence!" Swatch inwardly groans, releasing the door and taking a step back to allow the other to dramatically swing it open and saunter through the now open doorway.

Rouxls Kaard.

Truly, could Swatch ever catch a break?

"What might you be doing here Kaard? Need I remind you that you have been banned from the premises."  Swatch crosses their arms across their chest, false niceties dripping off of their voice, trying not to let their impatience shine through.

Rouxls tuts, wagging a finger in the air, "That waseth at thou previousth establishmente, whiche waseth the highesteth forme of slandereth I haveth ever been subjectedeth too mindeth thou, howevereth, I haveth not been bannedeth here! So thy musteth allowth my graciouse presence to be bestowedeth upon thy grounds." A smug look sits on his face, chest puffed out proudly, 'sneakily' gesturing to the sign that was still flipped to "open".

Swatch resists rolling his eyes, a part of them wondering if Rouxls even knew the cafe's hours...probably not.  Though they supposed Rouxls was right, he had not been banned from this cafe.  Maybe he would be within the upcoming days, it was inevitable really, but for now he wasn't and Swatch was left with their hands full.  With a sigh, they consider trying to explain that to Rouxls, but they figure that Rouxls wouldn't listen to that...whenever the self acclaimed "duke of puzzles" set his mind on something there was no way to get him to listen to anything else.  Swatch knew that firsthand.

"Well, here you are then...arriving just as I was closing.  What can I do for you Kaard?" Swatch keeps it simple, but not without a small jab, moving his arms behind his back, standing straight with his beak perked up just slightly.  A mixture of professionalism and their own pettiness that made them want to show off how much better he was, especially around Rouxls.  They wouldn't admit it, but they did enjoy the competition that Rouxls consistently brought to their doorstep…that is, if you could call it a competition.

Grin widening, Rouxls whips out a foreign deck of cards, sauntering past Swatch, and slamming it down onto a nearby table.  Then he spins on his heel to face Swatch once again, face nearly splitting into two with how wide his grin was, and threads his fingers together.  Swatch raises a single eyebrow, gaze looking over the strange deck of cards, before looking back at Rouxls, awaiting whatever long-winded explanation that was about to be given.

“I have cometh to challengeth thee to a duelth of wits!” Rouxls makes a grand gesture towards the table, "Thoust three heroes bestowedeth upon thy a gift,” Meaning, Rouxls probably whined until they gave it to him, “A supremeth gifte thou shalt not be wastedeth!  I shall knocketh thou offeth thine pedestalth like a batteringeth rame knockingeth downeth thy castle doorsth! ” He motions for Swatch to sit down at one end of the table, waiting expectantly with shining eyes.  Swatch opts not to say that a battering ram knocks open doors and not off, but that was their petty side talking.

Inhaling deeply, Swatch slowly moves over to the seat, placing a hand on the seat and pulling it out.  Sure the polite thing to do was pull the seat out for Rouxls- as was their job, but they were not going to give Rouxls that satisfaction.  His eyes bore into Rouxls, half expecting the guy to pull out another handful of worms and run off, but he seemed much too invested in the task at hand.  Always with the games and puzzles that one, truly Swatch had to wonder how many times would Rouxls have to lose before he gives up?

“I foughte againsteth thy three heroes valiantlyth, takingeth thou on in thine own gameth.  Sucheth a nobleth duty of thy to do, no?” Rouxls laughs, swiftlying moving to the seat across from Swatch, “Twas a longe and arduousth battle of brainse, and beingeth thy generouse and benevolenteth soul thy am, could not beareth to standeth thy thoughte of thrashingeth thine darling water-beetle’s closesteth allies.  So I humbledeth thyself and allowedeth thine three hereos to besteth thy in battleth unscathedeth to spareth thine ailsth.”  Meaning, Rouxls utterly lost.

“So you...‘valiantly’ turned tail and came crawling to me instead?” Swatch lets out a quiet scoff, unable to keep it contained at Rouxls’ blatant attempt to save face when anyone who knew Rouxls would know better than to believe the theatrics he was spouting.  Easing himself into the chair, Swatch crosses his arms across his chest, “Alright then, I can spare a moment on your childish games.  Would you care to explain the rules of the game you have so dutifully brought to my doorstep while I was trying to close up shop for the night?  I would like to get this over with so that I may go home.”

Rouxls’ eyes narrow at Swatch, dramatically pointing across the table over at the bird, “Thou do not intimidateth me worm-avian!” Rouxls huffs, “Our battleth will be througheth the mighty gameth of what thy lightenereths call “Uno”!  Whereupon thy willeth finally proveth my titleth of butler supremeth over thy worm-avian!”  His point moves towards the deck, “Draweth foulest beast!”

Swatch makes no indication of moving, “I cannot draw if I do not know how to play, or are you resorting to needing unfair advantages to win?  Truly, I expected more from you...” The bird trails off, feigning a sigh, watching Rouxls’ face light up in a vibrant embarrassed flush.  He was so easy to read...it was kind of amusing really.  A small smirk etches onto Swatch’s face at the sight.

“Of couseth not! I wouldeth never bringeth thy illesteth omens upon thy nameth!  I haveth no need for sucheth ‘advantages’, thy willeth win no mattereth the circumstanceseth of oureth battleth as thy am thy grand duke of puzzles!”  Rouxls covers for his mistake quickly, moving to cover the back of his hand with his mouth, “As for thine rules…” He hesitates for a moment, thinking, “I...shalt not wasteth my time explaining! Thereth is rule cardeths for a reason!” The irony…  Rouxls paws at the deck, pulling out the card with the written words littered over its surface, before sliding it towards Swatch.

“Make haste! I do not haveth all nighte.” Rouxls puffs out his chest, arrogance dripping from his voice.  Swatch gives Rouxls a cold glare at his words, a part of them still bitter they were the one being kept up this fine night.  Quickly Swatch skims over the rules of this ‘Uno’ game, a simple color and symbol type of card game- first to get rid of all the cards in their hands wins.  Easy enough.

“Alright, daresay I believe that I am ready now.”  Swatch carefully sets the card back down on the table, reaching over to draw seven cards off of the top of the deck.  There was a wide arrangement of colors, mostly blue ironically, and a couple of special cards with effects that they would need to play strategically.  After Swatch draws his cards, Rouxls quickly follows suit, flipping over the top card to reveal a green number card to begin the game.

“With thy graciouseth self, I shalt allow thee to make thy first moveth!” Rouxls confidently announces, leaning forward with a tight grip on his cards.  Swatch rolls his eyes again, looking over his hand and rubbing the bottom of his beak with his free hand.  Then, without a word he places another green number card on top of the discard pile, a simple play to begin with.

The game continues on like this for a few rounds, with every turn Rouxls announcing how great he was or how he was going to win and Swatch shooting back with some sort of rebuttal that only served to fluster and make Rouxls even more agitated.  Swatch isn’t sure why he liked poking at Rouxls as much as he did, truly Rouxls was the only one who managed to consistently break through his customer service facade.

It was...nice Swatch supposed.  As idiotic as Rouxls was and his constant pestering to try and best Swatch, it was nice.  A break in an otherwise methodical and boring day.  As much as Swatch hated to admit it, they had grown to have fun playing with Rouxls.

However, the peaceful part of the game soon came to an end when Swatch placed down a draw two card onto the discard pile as Rouxls hand seemed to lessen with every turn, complete with the biggest smirk on their face.

“Now, if you could please draw, I can make my next move.”  The bird hums, watching in curiosity as Rouxls sputters, slamming his hands on the table.

“Whateth is this sorceryeth!?” Rouxls glares at the cards as if they were the ones at fault, “Why musteth I loseth my turne? Draweth two!?” He huffs indignantly, Swatch raising an eyebrow.

“...You read the rules too, didn’t you Kaard? Being the ‘grand duke of puzzles’ yourself, surely you know about the special cards, right?” Their voice drips with faux sympathy, sounding more condescending than nice, Swatch stifling a chuckle at the sudden turn of events.

The rule card sits open on the table, Rouxls glancing between it and Swatch with a growing scowl on his face.

“Of courseth I know thy rules! I haveth bestedeth the most strongesteth beings in thy battleth of Uno!” Rouxls mind whirs in thought, “Thy justeth...won so quickly thateth card nevereth neededeth to be usedeth!” With a burning embarrassed flush once against rising to his face, Rouxls quickly covers his own ineptitude at the game, having bitterly come here after losing to the three heroes to try and best Swatch once again to try and lick his wounds.  

Rouxls snatches the rule card after that, Swatch covering his mouth as they let out a snicker while Rouxls quickly skims through it.  After a few moments, Rouxls throws the card back down, once again puffing out his chest.

"I shalt do this draweth two as thou cards stateth, but feareth not! Thy shalt stille remaineth victoriouse in the endth!" Rouxls swipes at the deck, a little frustrated if Swatch had to guess, gripping the cards in his hand even tighter.

Frustration of the evening having long since melted into amusement, Swatch rests an elbow onto the table to use his hand to keep his head propped up as he continues to play.  Carefully setting another card onto the pile, Rouxls following suit a little too fast.

"I am afraid that this little game will end how it always does, though, I suppose that is why you challenged me after everyone left.  Couldn't bear to take the bitter taste of defeat in the face of the public again, could you?" Swatch begins to idly speak, deciding to make some conversation even if it sounded more like he was targeting Rouxls.  Truthfully they just wanted to see how the man would react, it was always so entertaining to see Rouxls theatrics in action when he wasn't purposefully being a thorn in your side, and Swatch found it more amusing than they should.

Rouxls laughs haughtily, gaze focused onto his cards as he keeps playing, "Fool! I wouldeth happily beeneth a target for thine adoringeth publice, howevereth I waseth ever so busyeth with thy duties of greateth importanceth that I hadeth to scavengeth thine timeth to graceth thee withe thy prescenceth.  Thou shouldeth be gratefule thy oh-so busyeth scheduleth allowede it!"  Truthfully he had been lurking around the outside of the cafe for hours, procrastinating and planning out his "grand entrance" until the store had reached closing.  So alas, here they were.  Sure the patronizing laughter when Rouxls had lost prior bothered him but there was no way he was going to let Swatch be right!

"Ah yes, lucky me." Swatch deadpans, smirk still hanging on their beak, "I cannot imagine how else I would like to be spending my evening.  Why would I want to be relaxing at home after a long day of work when I could be playing a silly card game with you?"  The chirp, sarcasm edging in their words.

"Tsk tsk, thee are justeth afraide of losingeth.  Thou can admite it!"  Rouxls slams another card down.  "For I shall  sooneth claime thy victory in oneth fell swoopeth, prepare thyself worm-avian!"

Swatch scoffs, "Afraid of losing to you? My apologies Kaard, but something actually has to be a reality for me to be scared of it." Rouxls, childishly, sticks out his tongue.  He would not claim it to be childish if you called it out, however.

Setting his own card down, Swatch calls out 'Uno', holding his single card in his grasp.  Meanwhile Rouxl still had multiple cards left, there was no chance of him winning.

Yet somehow, Rouxls hadn't started throwing a fit yet.  Usually when it was clear he was to lose, he would get even more rambunctious than usual- yet this time Rouxls still had his cocky grin, staring at his cards.  Swatch's smirk fades, eyes narrowing, knowing that the other man was up to something.  Of course it wasn't a normal card game, this was Rouxls, something unexpected always happens with him around.

The bird tenses, awaiting the surprise bound to happen.  Rouxls grin gets wider, before he cackles wildly, "Aha! Thou hasn't madeth thine finale moveth! I, Rouxls Kaard, shalt noweth claime thy victory!" Swatch's eyebrows furrowed together, there was no possible way-

Rouxls slams down a red skip card atop the red number card.

Swatch skips his turn, Rouxls putting down a red draw two card- causing Swatch to skip his turn again.  He hesitantly reaches over to draw two cards.

There's no way…

Rouxls tosses down another draw two card, this time in green.  Swatch's grip on his cards get ever tighter as they stare at the pile of discarded cards.

"I dareth say this is wheneth thy say 'Uno'!" Rouxls says triumphantly, Swatch's gaze snapping up in disbelief.  Their beak opens and shuts again, dragging two more cards off of the deck.

"Sayeth thou prayers worm-avian! For tonighte, I reigneth victoriouse!" Swatch watches Rouxls dramatically leap from his seat, pushing the chair back, and slamming down his final card with all the energy in his being.

The card was to choose your own color and draw four cards.  The biggest insult to injury that the game of Uno could give.

Swatch stares in utter shock- he had...actually lost.  Rouxls had actually made a good play and won the game.  Rouxls Kaard did.  The guy who could barely craft a feasible puzzle on his own- outwitting them of all people.  It was an impossibility, and yet, here it was staring Swatch in the face.

Amidst the frustration of losing, Swatch couldn't help but feel...impressed.  That is, until Rouxls starts speaking again.

"There!! Noweth thou see thine wretchedeth worm-avian! Thy am superiore to thou inst everyeth way!  Everytimeth before noweth has beeneth nothing moreth than a fluketh!  For this is thy proveth!  I am trulye bettereth than thou!" He laughs loudly, kicking a foot onto the chair seat and propping himself up into a pose with one hand on his hip and one covering his laughter. "Henceforth thou shalt bowe downeth and call me butler supremethe, thy grand duke of puzzles- Rouxls Kaard!"  A pause in his triumph, looking over at Swatch, " ...Thou hearest me lesser worm-avian?"

Swatch sets down his card, controlled, carefully.  Rouxls boasting makes the guy much less impressive and instead Swatch simmers into annoyance and frustration.  Rouxls got lucky.  And Swatch was never going to hear the end of it.  A scowl breaks his beak in half as he stands stiffly upright, keeping it shut to not say anything without thinking it through first.  Every motion was so strictly controlled, his thoughts whirling around and around until-

Swatch was never going to hear the end of it...unless…

They get an idea, sure it was going to be demeaning and incredibly out of poor taste in Swatch's opinion- but it would be better than anyone finding out about their loss to Rouxls.  Besides, after working for the Queen, demeaning had lost its meaning to Swatch.  At least this time they were going to be the one in control.  So a distraction, enough embarrassment so where Rouxls never wants to talk about this moment to anyone.

Swatch steps out from the table, moving over towards the side Rouxls was on, who merely stared at them in confusion.

Abruptly in one smooth motion, Swatch bows to Rouxls, who they can hear sputter in surprise.  A pleased grin appears on Swatch's beak, hidden from sight.

"I surely hope that will suffice, butler supreme.  You are truly the duke of puzzles, Sir Rouxls Kaard, unmatched in his fantastical puzzle prowess." Swatch pulls himself upright, feeling the grating feeling of forced praise and ridiculous titles being pulled from his throat.  However, the look on Rouxls face was worth it- the bug-eyed look of pure shock combined with the fact his cocky smirk had been replaced with a nervous smile- all the while his face seemed to be a darker blue than usual.  Oh this was worth it.

"Uh...Yes!  Thou is correcteth and shouldeth now understande thou place beneatheth me! I maketh the ordereth now worm-avian, thou can no longere banneth thy from thou fineth establishmente and musteth admiteth always thateth thy am forevere bettereth than thou! Lest thou suffereth thy crippling humilationeth of thou defeate once moreth." Stepping off of the chair, Rouxls manages to get out, his voice wavering at the start- a crack in his carefully portrayed persona.  Startled by how...well Swatch was taking it- he had expected him to get mad or bite back or just...something.  This wasn't like their usual banter at all and Rouxls wasn't sure what was going on.

Swatch listens intently, nodding along to show that they were listening.  Even if they, personally, thought it to be pure nonsense, they did not let it show.

Their head so carefully tilts to the side for a moment, "Beneath you?" They coo, taking a calculated step forward into Rouxls space.

An arm casually snakes around Rouxls waist, pulling the smaller man closer.  He lets out a surprise squeak- trying to stammer out something before he is shushed by Swatch's next words, "Would you not prefer to be side by side? After all, you have proven yourself to be better than I- your chosen adversary since the day we met." He chuckles, "With how obsessed you are with me, dare I say you were trying to court me- hm?" A soft chuckle lingers on his lips as he watches Rouxls nearly melt out of pure flustered nerves.

It was…

Hm. Cute. For Rouxls.

"WHAT? I AM NOT-" Rouxls gasps, much louder than intended, his smarmy accent seemingly fading for a moment before he gulps for a breath trying to readjust himself, "Do not thinketh so highly of thouself! I couldeth care lesse abouteth thou, thy games were merelyeth a simpleth pastime, a pleasureth that thy bestowedeth upon thou!"

Leaning ever so closer to Rouxls, Swatch's voice lowers, a quiet coo for Rouxls' ears only, "Then why is it you always throw a fit when I'm too busy to play with you?  You claim to just want to prove you're better than me, but you've done that now, so what next? Honestly, Rouxls, just spare us the trouble and tell me how you really feel."

A hum.

"If you just wanted to go on dates you could have simply asked." It's said with a wink.

Rouxls chokes, and Swatch thinks they finally have this under control, soon to be wrapped up in a nice pretty bow.  Sure was this a little cruel? Perhaps, but Swatch kept finding it so damn endearing, it was frustrating.  So selfishly wanting to see more of Rouxls' reactions.

But of course, this was Rouxls Kaard they were talking about here.  When did anything involving him go as planned?

Suddenly there are hands grabbing the side of their head, and Swatch can feel his feathers poof out in surprise at the sudden motion.  Before they can react, Rouxls practically slams his forehead into Swatch's, keeping it there and pressing hard as if to challenge the bird.

"Thou sauveth trickery shalt not wortheth on I!" Rouxls announces, before adding his own rebuttal, "Maybe THOU is thee one courting I? Thou claim to be bettereth than I but hereth you stand, arm arounde thy waist.  If thou really haveth better thingeths to do, theneth why are thou hereth and noteth at thou homestead?" 

The two were impossibly close now, pressed together as a different kind of tension fills the air around them.  Swatch can feel Rouxls panting shaky breaths on his beak, the man's false confidence easily seen through, yet- Swatch stutters.  And they never stutter.

Then suddenly- his arms are empty and the simple touch is gone as soon as it had started, and Swatch let out a breath they hadn't realized they had been holding.

"Alas, I am sureth thy leech of a darlingeth prince needs thy attentione!" Rouxls skitters towards the door, "I bideth thee a bittersweet adieu! For now thee willeth be without thine majestic presenceth, whicheth I am sureth you shalt miss.  However, I must informeth thou that I, Rouxls Kaard, willeth not be easily impressedeth with thy simplest flatteries..." He pauses in his escape, looking back at Swatch before glancing down at the floor looking a little...unsure, adding on just a little quieter, "But I shalt be backe, I may haveth won thy battle, but not thy war- so...uh...prepareth thouself for thy return!"

With his final words, which were possibly just an excuse to keep seeing Swatch even though he's already gotten his win, Rouxls escapes through the door and flees faster than Swatch had ever seen him move before.  The bird just...watches him go, dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events.

Swatch stands there for a moment, blinking, wondering if that even just happened.  Rouxls rebuttal swirling around in his brain, them? Courting Rouxls?  A ridiculous assumption, entirely out of left field.  And yet…

Swatch sighs, smoothing down his ruffled feathers, Rouxls was right- if Swatch wanted to they could have easily booted out the nuisance and went home.  Yet, Swatch played Rouxls game.  And every game before.  The bird’s fingers flex, still feeling the faint ghost of Rouxls in his grip, as if it were haunting them- taunting them really.

…

Swatch rubs his face with a hand, a flush rising to his cheeks.  This whole time they had thought they were the one in control, but unfortunately they had long gotten swept up in the uncontrollable whirlwind that was Rouxls Kaard.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! I'm so slow in reading fics lately, so here are only 9 fics I read this month. All my love for the authors in this fandom. Thank you so much for still writing so many many fantastic stories ♥

A Certain Satisfaction | delsicle and creamcoffeelou | 1960s - porn stars - period-typical homophobia - smut - fluff - 52k “Sit, sit, please,” he said, so Louis sat, folding up his hands in front of him. Harry cracked up his bottle of water, looking at Louis for a long moment as he took a drink. When he was done, he set the bottle on the desk, then pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, looking at Louis over the edges of the frames. “So,” he said, “Louis. Do you have any previous experience with pornography?” Louis blinked, shuffling his feet. “I’m sorry, what?” OR: The porn au where Louis is a university student who needs money and runs across an ad that sounds too good to be true.

Better Mistakes | lovelarry10 | enemies to lovers - mpreg - unplanned pregnancy - cheating - affairs - angst - mutual pining - smut - 117k “Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world-” “Oh but it fucking is,” Louis said, shaking his head. “How the fuck am I going to tell Matt I’m pregnant with a baby when we’ve not had sex in months? He might be a bit thick sometimes, but he is gonna know there’s no chance this baby is his.” “You don’t have to, uh, tell him it’s mine, right?” Louis scoffed. “Why, are you scared he’s gonna come and kick the shit out of you?” “He wishes,” Harry laughed, looking back down at the test. “Shit, I … I can’t believe this. Louis, I didn’t mean for this. Honestly. It was just sex for me. We have great sex, and I didn’t see why I should have to turn that down, not when you clearly wanted it as much as I did. I didn’t want this to end in a baby.” »｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡« Louis knows he shouldn’t be sleeping with his boyfriend’s enemy. He knows that. But there’s something that draws him back to Harry over and over again. Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan...

Mead Of Poetry | MyEnglishRose | a/b/o - regency - arranged marriage - rivalry - angst - mild hurt/comfort - implied/referenced character death - smut - slow burn - enemies to lovers - fake/pretend relationship - miscommunication - 65k Under the pressure of continuing the Styles viscountcy line now that he is getting older, Harry sets himself three rules to finally settle down and marry: firstly, the omega needs to be reasonably attractive, secondly, they must be of great mind, thirdly, they cannot be anyone he would ever fall in love with. Enters Charlotte Tomlinson, the diamond of the first water of the upcoming season and seemingly the perfect candidate to the viscount’s plan, but her omega brother, Louis, is in Harry’s way. Louis only seeks to protect his sister and he sure is not going to let a rake play with her heart. Or. A Regency ABO AU very loosely inspired by the second book of the Bridgerton series, "The Viscount Who Loved Me".

7 Up | cherrystreet | friends to lovers - growing up together - fluff - angst - smut - major character death - 51k Very loosely based on the British TV show "The Up Series" and somewhat inspired by the song “Something I Need” by Onerepublic, we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the arse.

Violent Delights | ohpleaselarry | a/b/o - fluff - smut - light angst - 76k Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

Lies & Liability | 4ureyesonly28 | a/b/o - regency - fake/pretend relationship - royalty - enemies to friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - no smut - 34k Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season: that his sister has rented a townhouse that will provide him as many of the comforts of the country life he has grown accustomed to as possible, that he will not trip and fall when he is presented to Her Majesty the Queen, and that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

It's always darkest before the dawn | Marchessa | a/b/o - pack dynamics - attempted rape/non-com - angst - 16k The full moon was hiding behind dark clouds on that night, filling the air with something sinister. Harry lived that evening like an out of body experience, as if it hadn't happened to him. Because something horrifying like that can happen only to fictional characters and people from old-wives tales, not to actual breathing people. Or so he thought. Everything that happened after nightfall seemed surreal, and he couldn't put his finger on where it went off the track. Probably sometime during the train ride back to Holmes Chapel after a long, exhausting week of university classes. Or the one where Louis saves Harry's life by biting him, but the younger man has to pay the price for it.

No One Likes to be Alone | lululawrence | a/b/o - college/university - hurt/comfort - emotional hurt/comfort - anxiety - roommates - nesting - 6k Harry was a full-on fucking failure. Letting out a whimper, Harry pressed his hands to his face as he finally allowed himself to cry. After a few sobs, he realized that something soft was pressed to his face, catching his tears instead of his hands. Harry pulled it away to see what it was and saw it was one of his sister’s shirts. Shaking his head, he turned and placed it very specifically right where he usually tucked himself up against the wall. As he carefully shifted the shirt so he could see the faded image of Britney Spears looking out at him, Harry was overcome with a need he had only ever felt once before. He needed to nest.

I'm having your baby (make it your business) | thegirlontheblackhoodie | mpreg - famous/not famous - 6k His mother always told Harry he ought to be more careful about the choices he made after getting good news, insisted that the adrenaline rush clouded his judgement. He had always claimed that to be "motherly superstition", since those choices had taken him through some of the most exciting times in his life. Now, this one choice (and all the ones that followed in that night), sure made for an exciting time, but Harry could already see the loud I told you so that would show on his mom’s face when he told her how and why exactly he had ended up pregnant and with no way to contact the other parent.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding AU Part V (SW Time Travel AU #27)

Part I - - - - -  Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV 

After a meandering walk through what felt like every path the hanging gardens and marsh pools had to offer, Obi-Wan stopped to lean against a stone wall. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you ready to stop and eat something? As nice as this has been, I’m getting hungry and I’m guessing you are too.” 

Anakin was only being a little sarcastic. It had genuinely been nice to peacefully spend the day with Obi-Wan like this- they hadn’t been to the marsh habitats since the war started. He had resigned himself to watching Obi-Wan enthusiastically greet every wandering knight, master, and elder who they passed. 

It was actually starting to become impressive- Anakin never realized how many members of the Order his Master was friendly with- no wonder he was given a seat on the high council! But after the last heartfelt clasping of hands with a completely unfamiliar Bothan (thankfully for Anakin’s petty jealousy, Obi-Wan wasn’t hugging everyone), Anakin had asked who the knight was.

Obi Wan frowned. “No idea. But I suppose I must have seen him somewhere.” 

Anakin was no longer feeling impressed.

When a group of crechelings wandered by, Obi-Wan appeared briefly overwhelmed with emotion. His shields (apparently even better drunken than sober) didn’t let anything specific slip. But he knew Obi-Wan was feeling something intensely. Bizarrely, instead of saying hello, Obi-Wan hurried out and away with Anakin dragged behind, bringing them back to the stone wall and their skipped breakfast.

“Not yet.” Obi-Wan responded hoarsely. “I want to visit the Room of A Thousand Fountains first, and say a few more goodbyes.”

“Goodbyes?” Anakin asked, a slight chill running down his back. “We’re not shipping back out until the end of the week. Do you always say goodbye to everyone this thoroughly before redeployment?”

“No. Do you think I should have?” Obi-Wan frowned. “I feel like that would have been more upsetting than anything else.”

“Ok then, why are you saying goodbye now? To the whole order?” 

Obi-Wan didn’t reply, he just pushed off the wall to continue on his quest to apparently visit every corner of the temple.

“Master, please, you’re worrying me. If you won’t eat, then let me take you to the Healing Halls so they can check you over for drugs. We can visit the fountains after.”

Obi-Wan finally paused, thinking that over. “I would like to see Bant. She should be there, right?”  

Bant did end up being there, and was more touched than disturbed by Obi-Wan’s sincere joy to see her. While Obi-Wan wandered the halls greeting injured Knights, she ran several tests.

“As far as I can tell, all you had last night was human-appropriate alcohol. No force-user specific drug interactions, and no traces of Spice. It’s possible there’s something I missed, but your force presence doesn’t feel off balance in the manner I specifically associate with drug-induced altered perception. Your blood sugar is a little low and you’re somewhat dehydrated, especially considering you’re in the temple, not out on a mission.”

“I’ll take care of my physical needs after I visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Just because a vision isn’t purely induced by the force doesn’t mean I can’t draw meaning from it. I do appreciate how you always looked out for me though, Bant. I’ve missed your fussing.” Obi-Wan smiled, clasping one of her hands in his.

Bant sighed, “If Master Yoda wasn’t off world I’d urge you to talk to him. I haven’t seen you this shaken by a vision since we were younglings. Even if you do seem to be handling it fairly... calmly.” 

Obi-Wan laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that someday. I might be wrong, but I think he’ll be happy to learn about-” Obi-Wan gestured around vaguely, “all this. I’ll talk to him at some point. I’m sure of it.” 

She glanced over at Anakin, who had been a quietly looming shadow the whole visit. He seemed both relieved by the diagnosis as well as bewildered. “Can I speak to you privately?”

Obi-Wan nodded and Anakin stalked out of the test room. 

She scrutinized him, worry more obvious now, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slipping tenses this whole time. You’re still not sure where your vision ends and reality begins, are you? Do you even know when you are?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “I know what’s real and what’s not. I’m just...enjoying not fully living in the moment. I have every intention of waking up.”

“Yeah, that’s a BIG red flag, Obi-Wan. Force.” She tilted her head back and forth, examining him with obvious concern. “I am scheduling an appointment for a soul healer and you are going to go, understand?” She demanded.

Obi-Wan agreed far too easily. She reluctantly let him leave with an earnest promise to eat something real.

Obi-Wan came outside to find Anakin pacing. 

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he told his former Padawan, ignoring the ache in his chest.

“Of course Ori’vod,” Anakin said, ducking his head with a shy smile. “What did Bant say?”

“She wants me to eat something real and visit a soul healer.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, I can do at least one of those things.”

“A soul healer! She thinks you’re crazy?” Anakin asked offended. 

“First of all, you don’t have to be unstable to visit a soul healer. I’ve seen them in the past, when there wasn’t as much wrong with me. I’m sorry if I led you to believe you couldn’t seek out help for your problems.” Obi-Wan said. Another mistake.

“I-I know that. I just thought, you know, Jedi can be judgmental of that sort of thing. A good Jedi is supposed to be able to just, meditate stuff away.” Anakin said bitterly.

Obi-Wan thought furiously. Was this why he had been so blindsided by Anakin’s fall? Had his padawan been so afraid of judgement that he hid all of the warning sides of his struggles with darkness? Maybe he could ask Owen for some sort of petty assistance when he brought over bantha milk next time, to demonstrate to young Luke that it was ok to ask for help. No, he was probably still too young for those sorts of lessons to have much meaning. The insight would require meditation, when he was more sober. 

Unsure how ‘Anakin’ would respond, Obi-Wan tentatively said, “You’re right, that some Jedi might judge for seeking such aid. But I think in the last years of the war, that sort of opinion became less and less common. After all, an ideal Jedi shouldn’t be leading an army. I don’t know if anyone can be perfect during war, let alone a peacekeeper.”

When that failed to garner positive or negative reply, Obi-Wan let out a breath. “It hardly matters, since I can’t exactly visit a therapist, let alone a soul healer, given my present living conditions.” 

Anakin seemed to process that, giving Obi-Wan a long, searching look. “What’s your next point?”

“Hmm?”

“You said first of all, and I think that was all one thing, so what’s your second point?”

“Not exactly being able to visit a soul healer regularly doesn’t count as a separate retort?”

“I guess? I’m just trying to understand what you’re trying to tell me” A twinge of frustration crept into Anakin’s otherwise level tone.

"I appreciate that, truly, and I regret the number of hurtful miscommunications that sprung up from me failing to do just that. Well, I suppose, by most reasonable standards, I am ‘crazy.’ Getting some help with unraveling my mind would probably be best, if it were an option, but it isn’t so...” Obi-Wan shrugged.

Before any followup questions could be asked, they finally arrived at the main entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The archway was stunning, water flowing upwards along the stone in intricate, shifting tessellations. When they stepped through, Obi-Wan was delighted to see Mace Windu sitting on a bench by the entrance. 

“Mace! I was hoping to see you.”

Mace looked at him. He seemed at first, to be utterly unsurprised by the duo’s arrival. But the longer he stared, the more visible shock overtook his features. “Master Koon recommended I look for you...force what happened.”

Obi-Wan just chuckled. “Oh you know. What didn’t happen.”

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked urgently. “What do you see, Master Windu?”

Obi-Wan tried to wave them both off, laugh a little more forced. “Please, I came here to relax. I’m sure it would be easier to say what’s not wrong with-”

“Kark it, Obi-Wan this isn’t a joking matter.” Master Windu’s voice was calm, but insistent. He slowly started approaching Obi-Wan as though the fellow council member were a feral loth-cat. 

“You look as if...nearly every shatter point around you has broken open. Force, I think you’ve been carrying some of these with you since you were a child. Usually when things that deep break...And some of these- some of these are too big to have just affected you.” Mace hesitantly reached forward, brushing against something invisible.

A chill ran down Anakin’s spine, again. What the kriff did Obi-Wan see in his vision? Last night he mentioned the temple burning, their rooms turned to ash, and Anakin had just...let that go in favor of greedily spending time with this addictively affectionate version of Obi-Wan.

“Mace...” Obi-Wan groaned. “I had been wondering what you might say to me but this is...please, can’t you just give me a hug and let me enjoy the peace for one more hour.”

“Master Kenobi,” Mace said, seeming to revert to an even more serious version of himself. “What I see cracked open around you is bigger than the reemergence of the Sith on Naboo, bigger than the first battle of Genosis. Whatever has happened, you cannot possibly keep it to yourself, practically or morally.”

To the shock of both Windu and Skywalker, Obi-Wan actually rolled his eyes at that. “Mace. You are not telling me anything I do not already know. And I am choosing to spend a little longer enjoying the unique joys of the Temple before dealing with the harshness of reality. Haven’t I earned a small break? I’m not abandoning my duty, but if I don’t take care of myself where I can I’ll go madder than I already have.” 

At no point did Obi-Wan’s voice get whiny or upset, he just calmly dropped a series of bombshells like he was repeating an argument.

Mace and Anakin exchanged glances, but if Mace was trying to communicate something, it was utterly lost on Anakin. 

“Alright, Master Kenobi. I trust your judgement.” 

And, to Anakin’s shock, Mace pulled Obi-Wan for a tight hug. “And I care about you, Obi-Wan.”

For a brief, hysterical moment, Anakin Skywalker wondered if he was about to witness his Master break down crying on the shoulder of Mace Windu the Master of the Jedi Order.

But Obi-Wan just let out a slow breath and returned the embrace before bowing deeply in Respect. Windu returned the bow with a placid expression. 

“If you’ll excuse me...I think I’d like to stand by the waterfall alone for a moment.” He paused, turning to address Anakin. “If you’re willing to wait for me, I’ll happily rejoin you by the glowing mushrooms.” Anakin nodded silently and Obi-Wan beamed before leaving the two alone together.

Mace turned to the young knight in a silent demand for answers, and, for once, Anakin was eager to share what he was dealing with. “He came back drunk last night, talking about the temple burning down, and being well-”

“Unusually emotionally expressive?” Mace offered.

Anakin nodded. “Took a blood sample to analyze in the morning. He woke determined to hug every sentient being in the temple. I actually managed to get him to the halls just before we came here; Master Eerin said there was nothing in his system and...I just don’t know. He’s been off today, but not in a bad way, exactly. Could a vision have caused the shattering you saw?

Mace furrowed his brow. “Not any vision like I’ve ever seen but...these are dark times. And Master Kenobi has had historically bad luck. If some new cataclysm is coming for us- I absolutely believe he’d be the first of us to stumble into it. Something terrible and extraordinary must have happened in the 24 hours since I last saw him in person.”

A beat passed.

“I should go to the mushrooms before I lose track of him,” Anakin said quietly.

Mace nodded. “Skywalker, if you need assistance dragging him back to the healers for whatever reason, comm me, understood?” 

“Understood. Master Koon said the same.” the Knight replied, heart pounding.

The Windu clasped him on the shoulder firmly, "I’m going to check in with Master Eerin. It’s possible she has some suspicions that my observations will help her confirm. Until then...”

“I’ll look out for him.” Anakin promised.

Part VI

[omniscientwreck]

Hi🖤 Omni! If you're looking for a fic request I've got one.

Okay so Essek is Feeblminded by remaining Volstrucker at his tower. Verin came to visit later that day and has been taling care of Essek, as they both would be scared of the Umavi's wrath should someone find out.

Well Caleb comes to visit a few day's later and Certainly gets a surprise.

Fluff ensues.

I'm talking the Unicorn from Despicable Me level Fluffy😁😁😁

Hi Umbra! Sorry I'm incredibly late answering this, life is weird but I hope the length makes up for it! I know I said drabble but like this just turned into a whole fic so I hope you enjoy!

Verin had worried when Essek’s door hadn’t opened of its own accord, usually he knows when he’s arrived. Deciding something was certainly wrong he barges his way into his brother’s tower. He finds it silent which is normal but unnerving and the unnatural stillness as he calls for Essek has his hackles up.

His knuckles pale as he grips the hilt of his sword and searches methodically throughout the tower. Finding the main floor empty he heads up the stairs to the library. There’s a shuffle, a falling book, a whimper. He draws his sword, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The door is ajar and he can hear shuffling. He thrusts it open is momentarily relieved to see his brother. His hair is tousled and white is stained with flecks of red, his robes are torn and his mantle is askew.

He’s never seen him like this before and his heart lurches. Surprise and fear are plastered across his features, far more freely than Verin’s ever seen him feel. He doesn’t talk and he seems to not even recognize him. Checking the rest of the room, the sword is returned to its sheath and Verin crouches, reaching a hand to Essek.

“Brother, what happened?” Silence, a whimper. “Essek? What’s wrong? It’s Verin, your brother.” His brows unknot, and the tension in his jaw slackens. There’s a looseness to his demeanor and as he stands he waves his hand as if to float, but nothing happens. He tries again and again. The first try was decisive, after watching him for so long Verin knows what it looks like when he casts it. The second time it’s not quite right, the third time it gets looser still. By the time Verin has stopped counting and Verin has grabbed Essek’s hands to calm him it seemed like Essek didn’t know what he was attempting to do.

“Is this some kind of spell? What happened?” His brother looks up with the face of a stranger. His eyes are open and sad, his ears fall just a touch and Essek leans in to hug Verin. He’s never wanted to do that before.

Verin hugs him back. “Oh Essie, what are we going to do?”

Caleb approaches Essek’s tower and is struck by immediate concern when the door doesn’t open for him. Essek always lets him in when he arrives, and with everything that’s happened he immediately panics. Caleb tries to tell himself Essek must be busy and has missed him tripping the wards. So, he lifts the knocker and gives the door a few raps.

He’d asked Caleb to meet him here to assist in the transport of his most important items after their trip to Aeor. He needs to run, he knows it and Caleb knows that turning himself in to the Dynasty would mean certain death so he’s agreed to help. No amount of good will from the Bright Queen would let them bargain for his favour. Selfishly, Caleb won’t allow him to get caught, so he will harbor Essek for some time, helping him stay out of the eyes of the Dynasty.

Eventually he knocks again, beginning to hold a firebolt just in case. “Uh, just a minute,” calls a stranger’s voice from behind the wood. “I’ll be right there.”

The door opens just a crack, “Who is it?”

“I am Caleb Widogast of the Mighty Nein, who is this?” His hand is up and encircled in flame.

“Oh thank the Light, one moment.” Whoever he is, he’s clearly relieved. Caleb’s firebolt stays held.

As the door opens Caleb is greeted by a tall drow, muscular with long braided back hair. He looks familiar but Caleb cannot place him. His features are slowly fading into relief from what must have been a deep concern. “Hello Caleb Widogast, I am Verin Thelyss and I am so glad you’re here. Your the wizard yes?”

Nodding, bewildered as he’s being dragged into Essek’s home by his brother, Caleb can hardly remember to respond, “Uh ja, that’s me. Where is Essek?”

“Well so I came by a few days ago and he didn’t let me into the tower which was weird. There have been some rumors going around and when our mother said he was back I had to ask. I don’t know if you know but… well it’s bad.”

He’s leading him upstairs as he explains and the back of Caleb’s neck is on fire. Verin doesn’t know, but there are rumors that are most likely true. Is he too late?

“So, I’m hoping since you also practice the arcane you might know what’s happened here and how to solve it.”

He leads Caleb into the library and Essek is seated on a chair idly flipping through a book far too quickly. It doesn’t even look like he’s reading, Caleb knows what he looks like when he’s reading. The quiet concentration and the tension it brings his jaw is completely missing. When Essek looks up at him there’s recognition but no words and when he rises to make his way to Caleb, he walks.

He’s wide-eyed and has a sweet smile across his face, it’s difficult to look away but if he doesn’t the heat rising in his cheeks will show. “Essek, what is it mein Freunde?”

No words. Why can’t he talk and why isn’t he floating?

“Essek?” A gentle hand reaches up to rest on his cheek and the heat takes over at the abrupt contact. Especially with Verin standing over his shoulder observing them. “Verin how long has he been like this?”

“About 2 days. I didn’t really know what had happened and if the Umavi found out well… I’m unsure what she would do.” Verin is a little more easier to map out than Essek had been initially and he’s been told enough stories about Dierta to understand the undercurrent of Verin’s words.

“Ja, I understand.” Verin starts at that and Caleb just continues past it, “I believe he has been affected by the spell Feeblemind. I - ah - have experience with this kind of thing. We have friends that can cure him but I will have to contact them, which I will not be able to do until tomorrow.”

Essek’s hand has wound its way into Caleb’s and he tries and fails miserably to contain the blush that he knows is spreading to his ears. Memories of little touches in Aeor flood back and Caleb pushes away thoughts of conversations he’d promised they’d have later, after Essek was safe. To call to attention this thing between them and get it out in the open before it drives him mad. Even if Essek’s feelings do not align with his it will be better to have it in the open.

“So this isn’t hurting him?”

Caleb turns to Essek, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He remembers a blur of time, when his mind had failed him. He remembers terror, looking down at his hands and not knowing whose they were. He didn’t have an anchor, nothing but his own thoughts, with someone there it might be different. Essek can’t understand him but the tone of voice seems to elicit some positive emotions and Essek squeezes his hand, a contented smile across his face, “He seems alright to me. It is unpleasant to be cut off from your casting, but he isn’t in pain and he isn’t alone.” It’s difficult to mitigate the emotion bleeding into his voice.

He pushes down memories of the years he’d been locked away and squeezes Essek’s hand back, reassuringly. “Have you gotten him to eat?”

Verin nods, “Occasionally. Probably not as much as he needs. I’m not exactly an excellent cook and nobody can see him like this so I’ve sent his staff away.”

“Alright, well I’ll just do this then.” he begins casting the tower, “I understand if you want to stay but if you need to go I can care for him.” he wants Verin to leave, he wants him gone so badly, to just take care of Essek properly without the shadow of somebody who doesn’t know hanging over them.

“I should be back to Bazzoxan soon. They’ll begin asking after me.” Caleb finishes casting the tower and leads Essek in. Just before he enters, Verin stops him, “You mean something to each other. I’ve never seen him act this way before, granted there’s an arcane influence but genuinely he has never smiled like he did when he saw you. I trust you with this because I think he would. Do not betray that.”

Caleb nods, “Of course not. We’ve faced the most difficult challenges of my life together and with our friends. I will care for him.” Verin seems satisfied with that and makes to leave, and Caleb enters the tower to find Essek waiting in the centre of the tower. He has an idea of where he wants to go. As the tower door closes behind Verin, he and Essek begin to drift upwards. Essek opens his mouth as if to reflexively murmur ‘up’ as had become their custom in their long travels together and his brows knot in distress, as if he’s realized again that his voice will not come. Caleb reaches for his hand, to comfort him and says it for them both, to which Essek smiles.

The drow releases Caleb’s hand and begins to swirl around, never leaving the central column and Caleb is forced to mirror his motions lest they collide. He flashes back to a moment of levity when they’d first come to Aeor. They had showboated then, dancing around each other as their works often did. This Essek is less restrained and his eyes and nose crinkle into a genuine smile when Caleb joins his frivolity.

They stop at the ninth floor which Caleb had known to be Esseks’ destination and immediately Essek lays on the pillows he always places in the corner. Usually, on their research expedition, he tranced in his room but on particularly emotional days they both preferred an expanse of stars above them as they rested. It became tradition and over time they’d drifted closer and closer together, until they would sometimes come to consciousness to find that through the night Essek had curled into Caleb’s side or that their hands had wound together unknowingly.

Now, Essek’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open in wonder as though it’s his first time seeing it all over again. Caleb stands over him, following his gaze up to the idly shifting starscape above. Caleb is quickly distracted by the versions of them that traverse different paths. Sometimes in each other’s company, other times in solitude. In a few they hold hands or make contact at the shoulders. Those are the ones he likes the most.

When his gaze is pulled back downwards, Essek stares up at him with a tenderness that quickly turns to expectation. He’s arranged burgundy cushions across the floor beside him for Caleb and so he obliges. As he stretches out across the crude bed slender, cool fingers interlock his own and he lays back and tells Essek of the constellations he’s hidden among the stars.

When Caleb himself was in this state he remembered lacking familiarity. Nothing around him made sense and the upheaval of his life only moments prior had only amplified the disorientation of the magic that kept him prisoner for 11 years.

Essek has someone to watch over him, he’s in a place that evidently brings him much joy and in recent months he’s found himself halfway to peace. Caleb finds his heart swell at the idea of making this experience bearable.

The silence was always the worst so he points to guide the elf’s eyes as he tells them the stories behind each constellation. He tells him of Nila, gentle and fierce. Of Twiggy, ever optimistic and wholly delightful. He tells him about Reani who Essek has spent some time with. Brief recognition flashes across his face, though it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Caleb remembers. He remembers knowing that someone was there who he should recognize but not having the words to know he had forgotten their name. He was in terror and treated everyone as a threat. Essek treats everything with wonder and discovery. The innocence is sweet and a syrupy feeling pools in Caleb’s throat as he’s again confronted with the way his heart swells when Essek looks at Caleb with that same contented smile.

He scoots closer and this is entirely too much. The idea that this version of Essek may curl into his side willingly, while they were fully conscious where the other version cannot unsettles him. Instead he stands, offering his hand, “Why don’t we get you something to eat ja?” There’s a momentary droop of his ears, much more pronounced than any movement he’d seen before before he lifts Essek and they go down to the dining room.

If there is to be anything significant between them it cannot be spurred under these circumstances. Caleb has to know he means it. As they wait while he cats prepare what had become their usual fare while traversing Aeor, he defaults to telling stories. First he tells him of the tunnels they traversed to reach the Dynasty, crafting an illusion as well as he can of the crystalline caves they made camp in. Food arrives and he continues weaving story and image as Essek picks at the well spiced soup comprised mainly of squash and potato. As he crafts an illusion of the dragon turtle they’d fought just after the peace talks out of amber and morphs its shape to a smaller turtle and then a sea slug, laughing to himself at the absurdity, he notices the clink of Essek’s spoon has long subsided.

Glancing over electric eyes focus on him instead of the illusion, so he drops it. “Ah, Es tut mir Leid, I know I tend to get carried away.” A little contented noise bubbles from Essek’s throat and his heart squeezes. In a desperate attempt to try and get Essek to eat more he turns back to his own soup and looks expectantly over to his friend.

Giving him a look of exasperation, he mirrors Caleb and eats most of the soup. Caleb rips up bread and encourages him to dip it in what’s left of the soup and finally, the bowl is empty. They leave the cats to clean up and Essek’s hand grasps Caleb’s again and squeezes. He knows he shouldn’t draw conclusions or let himself be taken by these gestures that the man wouldn’t make if he’d had the presence of mind, but it’s turning into a losing game.

With the time spent on the ninth floor and the prolonged battle of coaxing Essek to eat they only have a few hours until sleep. Essek takes his customary seat on the couch in the study and Caleb withdraws some of the lighter fiction that now populates the shelves. Lying back on the sofa, feet resting on the armrest, head by Essek he holds up the copy of Der Katzenprinz to show the illustrations. “You seem to like hearing me talk so why don’t I share this with you? Either way you won’t understand what I say so I will read it to you as it was originally intended.”

He begins, in Zemnian to tell him the fairy story that had brought him so much joy as a child, and the cats bring them hot chocolate as instructed. Warm mug in hand, Essek sits patiently through the story and as it turns to a close, picks up another of the books Caleb has gathered and thrusts it upon his chest. A real laugh bubbles up at that and he obliges.

As the night winds on and the mugs are emptied, Essek’s hand winds its way through Caleb’s hair, gently combing. When he looks up at Essek he’s met with soft, drooping eyes and a plain smile laced with nothing but care. He tries to stop Essek over the course of the book but finds that the drow always goes back to his hair so eventually, he leaves it. When Essek’s breaths even and elongate and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open, Caleb sends him to trance.

He’s met with a slightly mournful look as Essek settles into the cushions he’s provided for trancing, but Caleb squeezes his shoulder, “If something goes wrong the cats will know to come get me. This is for the best.” Looking not at all reassured, but staying in place, Essek lets him leave without protest.

In the middle of sleep, dreamless and warm, there’s pressure. Then a caterwaul cuts through his subconscious followed by several more. He awakes with a start and immediately the cats gather around his feet as he pulls on slippers. They lead him to Essek’s room, where through the closed doors he can hear the sounds of furniture being disturbed.

Barging in, heart pounding, he finds Essek with tears streaming down his face. “Essek Schatz what’s wrong?” He kneels, abandoning any sense of propriety or boundaries and as he collapses into Caleb’s arms with nearly silent sobs he’s struck by how small the other man is.

“It’s alright Essek, whatever it was it cannot hurt you. I will keep you safe as you have done me.” They’ve never talked about the nights when the cats would do the same to Essek as they’d done to Caleb. When he’d been awoken from nightmares with angry red scratches down his forearms and a friend to bandage them. They’ve never quite discussed the comfort in Essek trancing just beside Caleb’s bed on difficult nights and he’s tried to stifle contemplation about the safety the man brings to his subconscious. The timing wasn’t right and despite his own longing he couldn’t make that step towards Essek. Not then.

Now, however, the elf shudders in his arms and he brings him into his lap, lighting soft amber globules of light to examine Essek. When he finds no physical harm he puts them out again and draws him in tighter as Essek clutches at the sides of his nightshirt and curls into his chest. He sings gentle lullabies his mother had once used to soothe him, voice cracking slightly as he flexes it in a long forgotten way. Eventually the shaking stops and breath becomes more solid, but hands stay grasped into his shirt so, with assistance from the cats, he maneuvers them into an easier sleeping position. Ever determined, Essek stays in his arms the whole time and when he tries to encourage him to trance beside him, arms wind around his waist.

“Okay, okay. If this will help.” Caleb resigns himself to creaky joints the next morning and sleeps with Essek in his arms, pushing away any indulgent thoughts of future nights spent with him in the same orientation.

When he awakes Essek is gone from his lap, though their fingers are laced and his head rests atop the drow’s on his shoulder. “Guten Morgen Essek.” He startles and smiles over at Caleb. Open, honest, vulnerable. They need to fix this. “I just need to prepare and then we will see Jester ja?” He receives a blank stare in return and nods to himself. “I will be back in a few moments and then we will go to Nicodranas. Just wait here.” He leaves and dresses quickly, returning to find Essek essentially where he’d been left. He takes a moment to glance over his spellbook and concentrates as he casts Sending, “Hallo Jester, I need your assistance with a pretty big restoration. Can you help today?”

She sounds half-asleep as she responds, “Caleb? Oh hi! Yeah I can help, just come to mama’s, we’re in Nicodranas. Oh my gosh I have to tell you, the dragon turtle-” her word economy same as ever.

“Okay Essek, Jester can help. I don’t know where you kept your parasol but I’m sure she can make you another.” With that they head out the door and Caleb transports them safely to the Lavish Chateau. Essek’s hand never leaves his.

Upon arrival they’re beset by a shouted greeting and Jester crushes Caleb in a hug before even realizing the other man is there. “Ohmigod Essek hi! I missed you!” Instead of awkwardly patting her back as he usually does, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in. “Hey Caleb, what’s going on with Essek?”

She pulls back and sees his broad smile and dancing eyes and looks at Caleb distinctly concerned. “Ah- I’m afraid he is a victim of the Feeblemind spell. It’s what they used against me in… well.” Her face clouds with understanding. “He’s okay physically though, whoever attacked him clearly just needed him out of the way. If you can use Greater Restoration that will undo the effects. He’s been ah - rather clingy.”

She waggles her eyebrows at him, making suggestive noise, and gets out the required diamond dust, sprinkling it delicately over Essek who watches in wonder. She puts both hands on her shoulders and green radiant energy emanates from her and passes to him. Before long he’s shaking his head and stepping back, voice hoarse from disuse, “Where- Jester? Thank you oh my gods thank you.”

She grins back at him, “I’m glad you’re back Essek! It’s a good thing Caleb brought you here you were acting so weird-”

She’s cut off as he chokes out, “Caleb.” and looks over with a deep violet flush and wide, apologetic eyes. “I ah- I am sorry for putting you through that. I-”

“Nein, do not apologize. Maybe we should get back to your tower to try and piece together who did this to you and what they were after ja?’

Essek nods and casts his levitation cantrip, shoulders sagging with relief when it works. “Yes, of course. Thank you Jester, I’m sorry we can’t stay but-”

She hugs the both of them again, “It’s okay, you have lots to talk about probably I don’t know bye!” she gives Caleb a wink as he begins casting the spell again and to his surprise Essek’s hand winds itself in his as they vanish.

They’re back in the tower and Caleb looks down, Essek’s hand still in his. Essek drops it and there’s a flush set deep into his cheeks and it spreads to his cheeks as their eyes meet. “Caleb I-” he swallows “I remember most of what happened, though not very clearly. I um-” his eyes are downcast and Caleb braces for what he believes to be coming, “Thank you for your patience. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable it is very difficult to explain but I think you’re aware of the feeling. I didn’t exactly have my full faculties and I fear I broke boundaries that may have encroached too far on your hospitality and our friendship.”

It’s difficult to see him so apologetic for the affection displayed. This thing between them has gone unspoken quite too long and before he realizes it he’s speaking, “Don’t apologize for that Schatz, I ah- I didn’t mind. There’s something I think we ought to discuss fairly plainly because I do not want to mince words about the way I feel anymore, it’s tiring.”

Essek looks up to meet him, steeling himself and as Caleb is about to speak he cuts him off, “I am aware enough of how I acted to realize I cannot properly hide my feelings further.” He takes a deep breath, the back of Caleb’s neck is burning and time has all but frozen, “I care deeply for you Caleb. It is difficult to bring myself to those words for I know this is the last thing I deserve but here I am, a fool for you. I know that there were moments in Aeor, I hold them close to my heart as precious things in a life of solitude. If you do not do the same, if you do not feel the same I will remain your friend if you’ll allow it, your research partner, anything. But-” he looks down almost sheepishly, “I owe it to you to be forthright and so I will tell you that if you’ll have me, I would very much like to see where this takes us.”

A smile breaks across Caleb’s face as their eyes meet, “May I kiss you?”

Essek draws in a sharp breath, eyes wide, and nods. It takes Caleb only a moment to close the gap, hands sliding around Essek’s waist and over the back of his neck as he leads them together. Essek’s hands hold his shoulders and his eyes flutter closed as their lips meet, electricity and heat mixing. When they finally pull back they’re both flushed. Essek lets out a huff of a laugh and Caleb wraps him tightly as he brings him in again, smiling into another kiss.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 11

 -----------------

As soon as I walked into the veterinarian office, I felt it. Like a total drain of my muscles and my head started to hurt. 

“Mountain ash.” Dr. Deaton said as he came out from around the corner, “It weakens werewolf abilities so they cannot shift their form.” 

“That would explain it.” I smiled, shoving my hands in my pockets. 

“How can I help you, (Y/N).” He knew my name.

I squinted at him, “Have we met?” 

“We have, but you wouldn’t remember. You were here with some minor injuries and your parents weren’t sure if you were going to turn and just in case…the hospital found something interesting.” He said, a small smile on his face, “But I see you have finally turned.” 

I nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t know how.” 

“I believe I may have an answer.” He pulled out a book from the front desk. It was a dark leather bound book, its pages were brown with age. 

“It was a spell used by werewolf clans that were being hunted hundreds of years ago, in France, Scotland, England. In some cases, werewolf hunters would test werewolves in their human form with Mountain ash, rendering them unconscious. Et obscuratus lupum. Wolf Eclipse.” I looked at the book, seeing a drawing of what looked like a child, half human, half wolf. 

“Parents would perform this spell to cloak their child from hunters. The Mountain ash wouldn’t affect them and they would be spared and safe until they could transform. This spell would also remove any memories of werewolf behavior from beyond that point so they couldn’t give away the rest of the clan by accident.” 

I looked down at the desk, “But why now? Why did I turn now? And why am I an alpha? I’ve never killed anyone.” 

“As for your turning now, many children are given back their power by their parents. Or if their parents were killed, they usually don’t unless something triggers the change - high stress, fear, terror, torture. But I can’t explain the alpha part, the only people who could were your parents.” 

-

“Derek? Derek!” Isaac’s voice echoed through the building. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek turned away from what he was doing. Isaac looked frantic and scared. 

“My dad… I think he’s dead…”

“What did you do?” Derek asked firmly. 

“That’s the thing…It wasn’t me.”

I woke up on the couch. Not the best place to sleep all night. 

I sat up and cracked my back, twisting from side to side. I shuffled into the kitchen, seeing Uncle Noah already there. 

“Morning, kiddo.” He said, sipping his coffee. He went with the dark roast this morning. Bitter. Something serious had happened. 

“Morning.”

“We found Lydia, I don’t know if you heard.” He said. 

I nodded, “Of course, talk of the town. Stiles is gonna get an A in economics.” 

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. He was still slightly sleepy, meaning I could probably get something out of him about what’s making him leave this early. 

“What’s going on?”

He yawned and raised his eyebrows. He looked around the corner then back to me, “Promise you won’t tell Stiles. And I’m only telling you because it involves one of your players.”

“Isaac?” I asked, “Is he okay?” Uncle Noah narrowed his eyes at me, clearly confused how I knew. 

“I had my own questions about his home life. A guess.” 

“Well we found his dad dead this morning. Mauled to death in his car in an alleyway.”

“Mauled?” Great… This is exactly what we needed with this hunter situation going around. Didn’t Derek tell Isaac that humans were off limits, especially right now? Isaac didn’t seem like the type, but if he was getting abused, maybe he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Yeah, not pretty. Oh, by the way.” He rifled through the mail, “This came for you at the station.” It was a brown envelope. It had multiple stamps and postmarks. The text was written in old English calligraphy. 

“The Lunar Circle.” I shook my head, “Never heard of it.” I looked at the return address, “Scotland?” 

“I guess so.” He looked at his watch, “Alright, gotta go.” He kissed the top of my head, making his way out the door. 

-

I got into the locker room later than usual, but in time to watch Scott and Stiles stare at a chain that was falling out of Stiles’ locker. Coach walked between the two of them, staring at the chain as it finished pooling on the floor. 

“Part of me wants to ask… the other part says knowing will be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine. So, I’m gonna walk away.” Before I could speak to the two, Coach slipped the blind fold onto my eyes, the elastic slapping the back of my head. 

“Good looking out.” I nodded vaguely in his direction. Stiles shoved a bag in my hands, Scott and Stiles started shoving the chain into it and froze, Scott tensed up. 

Another scent. Someone like us. 

“There’s another in here.” Scott said. 

“Another what?” Stiles asked. 

“Another werewolf.” 

Once the players were on the field, Stiles pulled me aside. 

“Alright, switch Scott with Danny for goal and then you use your sniffer on the guys on the bench.” 

I raised my eyebrows at him, still not over what he said the other day. 

He stared for a minute, then closed his eyes, “The silent treatment, really?” 

I smiled slyly, nodding. 

“Oh my god.” He groaned, “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to protect me. I get it. We can have this conversation later, please.” 

I thought about it for a minute, then nodded, “Fine. I’ll go tell Coach.” I found Finstock and told him. 

“Why would I want McCall in goal? McCall is co-captain. He needs to play offense.” 

“That’s true, but what happens when Danny gets hurt during a match. Are you gonna put in someone from second line or someone with those reflexes?” He stared for a minute, thinking about what I just said. 

“Think about it like this. Danny’s out, it’s tied and we are ten seconds from overtime. Who are you putting in? Second line or McCall.” 

He nodded and chuckled, “Good thinking.” He turned back to the other players and blew his whistle, “Let’s go! Line up!” Players made their way onto the field, “Faster! Make daddy proud.” Daddy… I hate it. I scanned the line up, there was number fourteen at the end - Isaac. 

Coach blew the whistle again, signaling the drills to start. Scott ran from the goal, tackling the player. Scott was many things. Subtle was not one of them. 

“McCall!” Coach shouted, his eyes wide and his hair seemed even wilder. 

“Yeah?”

“Usually, the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Let’s try it again!”

“What the hell, man?” The player shouted. His name was…  Matt Daehler if I remembered correctly. 

Coach blew the whistle again, throwing another ball into play. Again, Scott knocked the next player down. 

“McCall!” Coach called again, “The position’s goalkeeper, not goal-abandoner!’

“Sorry, Coach…”

“Let’s go!” He blew the whistle. Again, Scott knocked the next man down. 

“Stiliniski!” Coach pulled Stiles up by his helmet. Stiles stood up from the bench on the other side of me, “What the hell is wrong with your friend?”

“Uh, he’s failing two classes, he’s a little socially awkward, and if you look close enough, his jawline is kinda uneven.” Stiles said in a rush. 

Coach and I turned heads to the side, looking at McCall. Was his jaw always crooked? Had I not noticed in all of this time?

“That’s interesting.” He said, dropping Stiles' helmet. Scott knocked over Danny next, landing on top of him. Danny was having a good year so far. 

“McCall!” Coach shouted, clearly frustrated, “You come out of that goal one more time, and you’ll be doing suicide runs ‘til you die! It’ll be the first ever suicide run that actually ends in a suicide! Got it?” 

“Yes, Coach.”

“Yeah!” Coach glared. 

Jackson looked at Scott warily, “Uh, Coach, my shoulder’s hurting… I’m gonna-I’m gonna sit this one out…” He watched out of the line and onto the bench. What’s gotten into him? Besides not the bite. Scott ran forward at Isaac. But instead of Scott taking him down, they both collided and fell to the ground. That’s when I saw Scott pause, he found his werewolf. 

“Dad?” Stiles asked. I turned around, seeing Uncle Noah and two other officers heading towards the field. They must have been coming to bring Isaac in for questioning. 

“Don’t tell them…Please don’t tell him.” I heard Isaac say. 

-

I stayed back with the rest of the team while Finstock was talking to Uncle Noah. Scott was listening in on the conversation. 

“His father’s dead. They think he was murdered.” Scott said. 

Stiles looked at me, “Is that what you and my dad were talking about this morning?”

“There may have been something Uncle Noah told me not to tell you.” I grinned innocently. 

“Come on…” Stiles sighed, “Are they saying he’s a suspect?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours…”

“Like, overnight?”

“Those generally are the same amount of time, yes.” I said. 

“During the full moon.” The full moon. Not only would it be Isaac’s first turn, it was going to be mine. 

“Crap.” I mumbled. 

“How good are these holding cells at holding people?”

“People? Good. Werewolves? Probably not that good.” Stiles said grimly.

“Stiles, remember when I said I don’t have the urge to maim and kill?”

“Yeah…”

“He does.” How Scott could tell that, I couldn’t tell. Because I didn’t get that vibe.

-

I made my way through the hall, seeing Uncle Noah in the hall outside the principal's office. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, not seeing Isaac near. 

“We’re interviewing Jackson Whittemore. He’s Isaac’s neighbor, we’re just trying to see if he knows anything. I’m just waiting to meet the new principal.” 

“New principal?” I asked. Right after I spoke, the door opened. And there stood Gerard Argent. I tried to hide my shock when I saw him, since the last time I saw him I watched him cut someone in half. 

“Sheriff Stilinski, I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Just a phone call from one of my teachers.” He said in his brogue, he turned to me, “And Miss (Y/N), assistant coach for our lacrosse team. I have been anxious to meet you.” He held out his hand. Oh, he was anxious? Yeah definitely. 

I blinked, a small smile on my face, “It’s good to meet you as well. I apologize for my shock, I was not aware that you had been hired.” I shook his hand. His hands felt cold, like the ice in his heart spread through his veins. 

“I understand. It was quite unexpected. But I am excited to get started.” He played his role well. An older man happy to help and be accommodating to his new surroundings. I knew the truth though, and it terrified me. But I needed to lay low and stay on his good side for right now. He declared war, no longer following the code and Chris couldn’t stop him like he stopped Kate. 

“Of course. I’m excited to work with you too, Mr…?”

“Argent.”

“Oh like Allison. She’s such a sweet girl, I always see her at games.” 

“She became a fan.” He nodded. In the distance, I could hear Jackson’ walking down the hall. How did I know it was Jackson? His brand new shoes squeaked.

“Well, I gotta head out. Delivery came to the front office for the team. Pearls and crosses. It was good meeting you, Principle Argent.” 

“Please, call me Gerard.” He smiled. 

I grinned and nodded, “Gerard.” I looked at Uncle Noah, “I’ll see you tonight.”  I made my way towards the front office, glad that the hunter couldn’t hear my heart beating out of my chest. 

“You okay?” Derek’s voice echoed in my head. 

I sighed, taking a deep breath, “No. They took Isaac into lock up, Gerard is the principal, and I am going to turn tonight whether I want to or not and I’m scared.”

“We’ll talk.” 

-

I sat on the front steps, looking over the envelope. The Lunar Circle. Was this something my parents were involved in? Just as I was about to open the envelope, I got a text from Scott to meet him and Derek at Isaac’s house. 

So I met them there, looking up at the sky. I had already cracked all of my knuckles so now I just was wearing a hole in my shoe from tapping. 

“Are you alright?” Scott asked. 

“I don’t know, Scott, were you okay when you turned the first time? Because I can recall you almost killing me the last time.” My eyes flashing red.

“Hey, I apologized for that.” Scott defended himself. 

“(Y/N), look at me.” Derek stood in my line of vision. The red left my eyes and I sighed. 

“Sorry, I’m just… anxious.” I clenched and unclenched my hands. 

We snuck into the Lahey household, making our way down to the basement. 

“If Isaac didn’t kill his father, who did?” Scott asked as Derek led us through the house. Derek moved slowly, keeping a flashlight beam ahead. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Then how do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Because I trust my senses. And it’s a combination of them.” He looked at Scott over his shoulder, “Not just your sense of smell.” 

“You saw the lacrosse thing today?” Scott asked sheepishly. 

“So you saw him tackle and sniff everyone on the field, his big plan.” I added.

“Yeah.” Derek said plainly. 

“Did it look bad?” 

“Yeah.” Derek and I said together. Derek opened the door and we all looked down to the bottom of the basement, Scott and Derek’s eyes lit up the space a little, enough to see what was below. There were the usual things - chairs, dust bunnies, boxes.

“You wanna learn?” Derek asked, “Start now.”

“What’s down there?”

“Motive.” We started down the stairs. 

“And what are we looking for?”

“Follow your senses.” Derek said. I strayed from the group, seeing dust covered toys and games, covered with age and gray. It looked like a normal basement, but it felt like something terrible had happened here. Derek took my hand in his, pulling me back to them. 

“What happened down here?” Scott asked. 

“The kind of thing that leaves an impression.” Derek said in a low voice. It was kind of creepy, in addition to the spider web covered basement. As we went further into the basement, we saw chains hanging from the wall. My heart sank. I took Derek’s flashlight and lit up the floor, there were groove marks in the floor. Scott bent down and placed his fingers within the groove. Scratches in the cement floor. My attention was brought to a large freezer in the corner of the with a rusted padlock. The energy radiating from the cooler made my heart drop into my stomach. 

“Open it.” Derek told Scott as we stood in front of it. Scott took off the lock and lifted up the lid of the freezer. My mouth fell open in shock, tears burning at my eyes. Scratch marks, covering the entire inside of the freezer. The worst were the rust covered marks, meaning that Isaac was so desperate to fight his way to freedom that his fingers bled. I turned away from the freezer, feeling nauseous. Leaning over, my hands on my knees. 

“This is why he said yes to you?” Scott asked. 

“Everyone wants power.” 

“If I help you, you have to stop. You can’t just go around turning people into werewolves!” Scott had a point. It was dangerous to be a werewolf right now. That’s why my parents did that ritual on me. 

“I can if they’re willing.” 

“Did you tell Isaac about the Argents? About being hunted?”

“Yes, and he still asked.” 

“Then he’s an idiot!” Scott shouted. 

I stood back up and stared at Scott, “An idiot? He’s been tortured his whole life, Scott, and he’s the idiot for trying to save himself.” There was a growl in my voice as my anger rose. Derek put a hand on my arm.

“You’re the idiot dating Argent’s daughter.” Scott looked shocked at Derek’s words, “Yeah, I know your little secret. And if I know, how long do you think it’s gonna take for them to find out?”

Derek grabbed Scott by the shoulder, “You saw what happens to an omega. With me, you learn how to use all your senses. With me, you learn control.” He lifted Scott’s clawed hand, “Even on a full moon.” Seeing Scott’s hands, I lifted mine and saw the claws had grown in. I hadn’t even felt them come out. 

Scott pulled his hand away, “If I’m with you, I lose her.” 

“You’re gonna lose her anyway. You know that.” 

I shook my head, thinking about the night Peter was killed. The look in Allison’s eyes as she shot arrows into Derek and I was cold, no emotion at all. “Scott, don’t you remember what happened? She shot us down.” 

“That wasn’t her, that was Kate.” He defended her, like a love sick puppy. 

“Was it? You didn’t get to see her when Kate brought her down to that cellar and watched as Derek got electrocuted, over and over. She did nothing to stop her, she knew it was wrong but she didn’t stop her. Allison’s loyalties are never going to be with us.” My voice was calm but the shaking was starting to take over. It felt like my chest was going to burst at any moment. Even my gums ached. 

“Come on.” Derek said softly in my ear. He escorted me to the stairs, a gentle hand on the small of my back. 

“Wait!” We turned back to face Scott, “I’m not part of your pack… but I want him out. He’s my responsibility too.”

“Why? Because he’s one of us?” 

“Because he’s innocent.”

-

I sat in the parking lot of the Sheriff’s office, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. I can’t do this. How can I help break Isaac out of jail when I can’t even keep myself in control. I shouldn’t be around people. I shouldn’t be around Stiles or anyone else in the deputy department. I jumped when I heard the knocking at my window. Derek and Stiles stood there, looking a little concerned. I opened my door and got out, sticking close to Derek. If anyone could stop me from attacking Stiles it was him. 

“Okay. Now, the keys to every cell are in a password-protected lock-box in my father’s office. The problem is getting past the front desk.” Stiles stared at me like I was from Mars, “I gotta tell ya, I don’t think I’m going to get used to the red eyes anytime soon.”

“Yeah, me either.” My voice had a growl too, quickly shutting my mouth. 

“Well, there goes plan A. Letting you distract the front desk.” I glanced inside, seeing a woman sitting there, sipping her coffee. 

“I’ll distract her.” Derek said, turning towards the building. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s jacket and pulled him back., “You? You’re going in there?” Derek eyed Stiles hand, then Stiles, telling him to get his hands off of him in his usual way - without words.

“I’m takin’ my hand off.” Stiles quickly pulled his hand away. 

“I was exonerated.”

“You’re still a person of interest.”

“An innocent person.” 

“Ah-” Stiles blew out air, “You? Yeah right.” He sighed, “What’s your plan?”

“To distract her.” Derek said impatiently. 

Stiles nodded, “Ahuh, how? By punching her in the face?” 

Derek let out a fake laugh, “By talking to her.” 

“Is he even charming?” Stiles looked at me. Derek looked at me expectantly while I thought for a minute. 

“Compared to when I first met him, he’s very charming.” I smiled awkwardly. 

Stiles rubbed his temples, “Okay. Alright. Give me a sample. What are you gonna open with?” Derek only stared. 

“Dead silence. That should work beautifully. Any other ideas?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

“I’m thinking about punching you in the face.” Derek said snidely. Once Stiles agreed, we made our way towards the station but before we went in, I pulled Derek aside. 

“I can’t do this.” I looked up at the moon, “My body feels like it's going to fall apart and I feel so angry and-” 

“Just hold out a little longer.” He placed a hand on my cheek, “As soon as we get Isaac out, I’m gonna bring you somewhere where you can let it all out and you won’t hurt anyone. But right now I need you to get inside and make sure nothing happens to Isaac. There’s a hunter in there who’s going to kill him.” 

“Okay, I’ll try.” 

Derek led the way into the station, Stiles and I stayed low to avoid the deputy. 

“Good evening, how can I help-” She paused, looking up at Derek, “you?”

Derek gave her a thousand watt smile, “Hi.”

“Hi.” The woman said with a little tremble in his voice. She leaned on the desk. 

“Um, I had a question…” he chuckled, “Um, sorry, I-I’m a little thrown. I wasn’t expecting someone…”

“Like me?” She asked. 

“Oh, I was going to say ‘so incredibly beautiful’, but yeah, I guess that’d be the same thing.” Derek said sheepishly. Stiles stared at Derek’s back in disbelief. I shoved his side. He shook his head and we crawled down the hall to uncle Noah’s office. 

Once inside, Stiles used a code on a keypad on the wall that opened a small hatch. It was empty inside. In the next room we heard the jingling of keys.

“Oh no…” Stiles and I ran towards the source of the noise, getting closer and closer to the cells. On our way there we were stopped short by a deputy. 

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles apologized, “Just lookin’ um…” I looked over the deputy, then I saw it - an arrow sticking out of his leg. I hit Stiles' side. He looked down, then back up at the deputy. 

“Ah shhh-'' We tried to run for it but he grabbed us, pressing his hands over our mouths so we couldn’t scream. I wanted to rip his hand off with my teeth but that would be putting Stiles in danger and outting myself as a werewolf to a hunter if he got away. As we were dragged back towards the cells, Stiles pulled the fire alarm. 

Once in the cells, he threw Stiles and I into one of them. I clenched my fists together tightly, desperately trying not to turn. Sharp teeth poking at my lips. Stiles grabbed my arm, bringing my attention to the other cell, the empty cell. Isaac was loose. The hunter’s shout brought us back to see him being attacked by Isaac. He pinned the hunter to an examination table, then threw him against a wall. The hunter struggled but got up, trying to stab Isaac with a syringe but Isaac grabbed his arm and broke it. Isaac slammed the hunter’s head into the wall, he fell, dropping the syringe. 

Derek came into the room shortly after, stepping on the syringe. The sound of glass breaking turned Isaac’s attention to us. His yellow eyes took us in, his fangs and claws sharp. He stalked forward towards us. I shoved Stiles behind me, baring my fangs at Isaac as he came closer. Derek’s roar broke Isaac out of his trance, making him fall to the floor and scramble to the corner. He looked up from the wall, looking more human. He was trembling in fear. 

“How did you do that?” Stiles asked, trying to catch his break. 

“I’m the alpha.” Derek smirked, his eyes red. 

Ignoring the trembling the best I could, I walked over and kneeled beside Isaac. He was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room like he was expecting someone to show up. 

“Isaac.” his eyes focused on me, “Let’s get you home.” I smiled and held out my hand.

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

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[chockfullofsecrets]

okay, this is very much a WIP but i am stressed for the finale and needed something fluffy so! wizard reward tickles!

(extremely mild episode 140 spoilers, no specifics)

He’s making his way up to the third floor of the tower, Fjord and Jester floating alongside, when Jester turns with cautious concern writ large on her face. “Essek, have you been crying?”

Essek is enough of a stranger to tears, until recently, that he cannot tell how she knows. “It is all right, Jester, I am…” He pauses, fishing for a suitable word. “Recovered.”

He looks at Fjord over her head, willing him to convey some kind of guidance. The reason for the aforementioned lapse, one he is hardly sure of his reasons for committing in the first place, is sleeping safe and whole just a floor below in this magical tower of Caleb’s - surely there is no reason to keep the matter open? 

Jester beams at him, fangs on full display, and claps her hands together. “I know exactly what will make you feel better, Essek!”

“As do I, I would hope,” he rejoins, gesturing to the vast library that the three of them are currently hovering in the midst of. “I know it is a little late, but I have not had a chance to take the, ah, the full tour, and I am certain I can find something of interest-”

“Essek, no!” Jester interrupts, throwing her arms wide. “You need cheer up tickles!”

At the last word, he instinctively clutches his mantle closer. “Ah - what?”

Fjord snorts. Essek pointedly ignores him. “Jester,” he says weakly, “I am sorry, but frankly I do not think my heart can take any more strenuous activity today.” 

“It’s not strenuous,” Jester insists, arms still brandished to either side. “It’s super gentle and relaxing! Caleb loves them!”

His disbelief must show on his face - Jester pouts, and Fjord shakes his head indulgently and steps up to wind an arm around her waist. “He does, truly,” he reassures. Essek watches Jester tip her head back and grin at him, two synchronized sweethearts, and smiles a little despite himself. “Ask him, if you like, I don’t think you’ve seen us do it to him before.”

Frankly, Essek is more familiar with the brand of tickling that sends Caleb scrambling to Teleport away when the Nein so much as look in his direction with particular intent. He’s particularly proud of that Counterspell. “I - I am not quite sure where he is, at the moment, and I do not wish to disturb him.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to be in a room alo-one with him?” Jester wriggles her entire body suggestively and promptly returns to pouting when he refuses to blush. “Come on, Essek, we fought an evil flesh city together this morning, can’t you trust us for like five more minutes?”

Perhaps someday trust will stop seeming so new and fragile to him - but today, looking at both of their faces and seeing no trace of deception, he sighs and lowers himself slowly to the ground. “I suppose it cannot hurt.”

“Yes!” Jester cheers. She shakes Fjord’s arm off and digs his out of layers of clothing, towing him into the library and over to a cozy lounging section patterned in Zemnian reds.  “You’re gonna feel so good, Essek, I promise. Take your cloak off!”

There’s little else to do but obey. He drapes it neatly over an adjacent seat, gestures questioningly at his boots and removes them as well when Jester nods authoritatively. “And now your shirt!”

He freezes. “What.”

“Kidding, kidding!” She flops down on the lounge, fluffing out her skirts, and beckons for him. “Come here - Fjord, go away, you’ll make him nervous!”

Fjord glances over at Essek, eyebrows raised in clear amusement. “He’s not a stray cat, Jes.”

“He’s a wizard, it’s practically the same thing!”

“Ah-” Essek starts. Fjord raises his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be over here.” He backs towards the lounge with Essek’s things strewn over it, mockingly cautious. “If I’m allowed to stay in the room, that is.”

“Of course you can stay!” Jester tells him. “You know, I bet this library has a copy of Tusk Love somewhere-” 

She breaks off into giggles as Fjord grimaces at her. Essek watches the two of them, back and forth, and almost feels glad when Jester turns back to him with more instructions. “Okay, now you lie down in my lap.”

“Jester.”

“Essek.” She pats encouragingly at her knees. 

Essek steps closer and - he doesn’t know how to get in a lap. He frowns, twisting minutely to one side and then the other as he tries to judge the best way of lowering himself-

Jester grabs him around the waist and yanks, pulling his back flush against her, then pushes his chest down with one muscled arm and scoops his legs up with the other.

He stares breathlessly at the ceiling. “Oh.”

A grinning blue face bobs into his field of vision. “I’m gonna tickle you now, okay?”

Essek closes his eyes and braces himself.

Seconds pass without the immediate zinging shock that he’s expecting. He cracks an eye open. “Jester?”

She’s frowning. “You’re so tense, Essek! Just-” She sucks in an exaggerated breath, cheeks ballooning, and whooshes it out. “Breathe.”

He tries. As he’s exhaling, Jester rests one warm palm on his belly and starts to rub gentle circles. 

He sighs despite himself - it is a new feeling, but not an unpleasant one, and he can feel himself relaxing as she widens the circles to climb his chest. “Jester-”

“Shh,” she soothes, and trails her fingertips down his chest and back onto his belly. “Aw, does that tickle?”

His breath hitches as she draws her fingertips slowly from side to side, fluttering at his hips where the fabric of his shirt bunches. “I - hnnnh - nnnn-”

His belly twitches involuntarily as he tries to keep himself from laughing outright. Jester clucks in disapproval and goes back to her circles. “Ess-ek, don’t fight it, just relax!”

She stays at his belly this time for what seems like minutes, smoothing gently over an expanse of skin that warms with each pass. Essek feels his breathing slow, his eyes start to drift shut. The weight of heat and proximity press down on him like a blanket, and he thinks he might fall asleep then and there.

Then she tickles him again, that same light trailing of fingertips, and a laugh slips out before he can think to contain it. 

She doesn’t stop, tracing light swirls of sensation over his belly and sides, and he can’t quite bring himself to try and stop snickering either - it’s pleasant, the waves of warm tingles radiating up into his chest and down to his hips, and all his muscles are loose and pliant enough that he doesn’t even feel the need to squirm away.

Jester coos at him through the haziness. “Aw, you look so comfy, are you having fun?”

“Mm - heh - mmhm,” he manages. 

“Oh, good - I’m glad you like it, Essek. I wanted to do something really nice for you since you did such a good job in Aeor with us, you know?”

There’s a proper response to that, something about how much he owes all of them already and how no amount of good cheer now will see him through his uncertain future, but it’s hard to come up with words at the moment. Instead, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back even further as Jester starts to skim her gentle touches up to his ribs. “So many cool spells-”

Her fingers creep up into his armpits, a distinctly more ticklish spot, and he’s halfway through humming out a protest when she shushes him again and starts rubbing slow, careful circles in the hollows with her thumbs. “And when you broke that crystal to make sure we could all rest and heal up - that was really good, Essek.”

“Hnnnn,” he manages.

Every muscle in his upper body feels like jelly. He can’t even twitch as she repeats that same skimming swirl under his arms, just giggles a bit harder. “Doesn’t it feel nice to relax and not have to worry about all that anymore?”

Oh, that’s a question - he thinks for a long, liquid moment, trying to string together a sentence. “Hhh - hehe - mhmm, s’nice.”

“It is! You did such a good job, you should get all the tickles.”

“Tickles,” he nearly purrs. He can feel his ears flicking contentedly.

Jester shifts beneath him, whisper-shouting over to where he assumes Fjord is still sitting. “He’s so cute, Fjord.”

“Adorable,” Fjord whispers back. “And - hey, looks like we’re about to have two of them.” 

And then, louder - “Hey, Caleb.”

Caleb? Essek’s eyes snap open.

He’s walking over to them, sans coat and scarf with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Ah, I did not expect to find anyone else here.” He turns to regard Essek. “I see they’ve gotten to you too, hm?”

Essek struggles for a moment, trying to wake himself with the realization that Caleb is usually the one receiving Jester’s attentions in this way - and this isn’t a conversation he wants to have while Caleb is standing and he’s flat on his back. 

Jester makes a frustrated sound as he tries to sit up. Caleb looks a little surprised too - even more so, when Fjord walks over and wraps a hand around each of his shoulders. “Oh, don’t be jealous, you’ll get your wizard tickles too.”

Essek blinks. “Caleb, I didn't mean to take anything from you-”

Caleb’s ears go red, but he leaves Fjord’s hands where they are as he crouches down by Essek and pats his shoulder. “I did not mean to tease, my friend - please, relax and enjoy yourself.” He smiles, then, a little flick in the corner of his mouth. “Or Jester will make you, I’m sure.”

He blinks again. “You’re not - upset?”

Caleb shakes his head, sending wisps of red hair flying around his face. “Not one bit.”

Essek lets Caleb press him gently back down into Jester’s lap, watches blankly as she grins down at both of them and reaches out to tap Caleb’s nose.

He stands before she can, quirks a loose smile in her direction. “Not today, Lavorre, I think.”

He turns as if he might walk away, starting to lock his hands behind his back again, and Essek nearly calls him back, offers to let him take his place - but Fjord is just behind him, hands still on his shoulders, and he pins him easily in place. “Oh, I’d love to see you try to avoid this.”

Caleb opens his mouth to reply, snaps it shut again as Fjord’s hands slide off his shoulders and bracket his sides, fingers curling in ever so slightly. 

Fjord’s a little taller than Caleb, enough that when Caleb starts to shrink in on himself he has to stoop to get his mouth next to his ear. “You’ve had a hard day,” he says, low and steady. “Don’t make us watch you hide from a little lightness, after all that.”

Caleb looks all of them over once, frantically, and then looks pointedly away. It’s a sentiment Essek is familiar with - looking for escape, and resigning yourself to none - and he’s surprised when Caleb gives a slight nod.

Fjord’s face splits into a relieved smile, tusks on full display. “Right, then,” he continues, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s waist and lifting him straight off the ground to carry him the few feet to the other lounge.

He sets him down and sits next to him, waiting patiently until Caleb huffs a quiet breath through his nose and leans over to put his head in Fjord’s lap. “Right.”

Jester reaches for Essek’s belly again, but he catches her wrist and looks up at her to shake his head. 

She raises her eyebrows. He tilts his head ever so slightly towards the other lounge.

Jester’s mouth forms a silent O of understanding before pursing into a mischievous smirk. Essek frowns - he’s curious, there’s no need for eyebrow waggling. 

She does draw her hands away, though, so he contents himself with a single stern look before turning his attention towards Caleb. “You’re healed, yes?” Fjord asks.

He starts patting at Caleb’s ribs as if to check them, but the way he starts massaging little circles into them seems distinctly meant to tickle. Essek watches, perplexed, as Caleb doesn’t laugh at all,  just sighs a little and lets his shoulders lay flat. “Ja, Caduceus helped with that.”  

“That’s good. Proud of you,” Fjord says approvingly. 

Caleb looks more flustered at that than he has at anything else said tonight, a reluctant smile working its way over his features. Fjord smirks and bends down to whisper something else to him  - Essek doesn’t catch it, but apparently it’s terrible enough to make him squeak and roll defensively onto his side.

Their eyes meet.

They both stare for a moment, and then Caleb’s eyes narrow - Essek has just barely seen him mischievous enough times to recognize the look. He flicks his fingers in a particular pattern even as Fjord rolls him back over with a series of nibbling little pinches to his ribs that send him squirming, and there’s a slight pop as an illusory feather appears by Essek’s bare feet.

He doesn’t even have time to protest before the damned thing wriggles up against his sole and he’s squealing. He bolts upright, clinging to Jester as he laughs frantically. “HAAA - ahaha - Caleheheb!”

“Cay-leb, stop that!” Jester cries, but she looks absolutely delighted as she cuddles him close with her own fingers wriggling mischievously. “Do you know how long it took us to convince him to let us tickle him?”

Fjord laughs. “ I think someone’s trying to tell me they want their feet tickled. Isn’t that right, Caleb?”

The feather switches to his other foot, and Essek presses his face into Jester’s shoulder and cackles loudly enough that he nearly misses Fjord’s next statement. “Oh, feeling shy? No, no, tell me - do you want feathers or fingers?”

Between one flick and the next, the feather disappears with another pop. 

Essek pries his face up from Jester’s shoulder and turns to strongly protest this treatment, but it looks like Caleb’s been thoroughly distracted from him - Fjord’s taken his chin in one strong hand and tipped it gently back, leaving the thin column of his neck hopelessly vulnerable. He’s already giggling, hiccupy little things, as Fjord runs his fingers gently along a tendon. “Well, speak up - feathers?“

He switches suddenly to the other side of his neck. “Or fingers?” 

Caleb whines, scrunching his shoulders as far as he can against Fjord’s thigh. “Ahaha - nngh - nein, mean! Mean!”

“I’ll be nice just as soon as you tell me what you want.” Fjord tells him. “Come on, you can do it.”

“I - heheheeeeh - I can’t!” Caleb pleads. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered Essek, then,” Fjord scolds lightly. 

Caleb makes a helpless little sound, still giggling. Fjord’s voice softens then, to something cajoling. “This is supposed to be fun for you, Caleb. Let me know how I can do that.”

Caleb whines a little more, squeezing his eyes shut, but he seems to relax a bit at the command. “Feathers,” he says finally. “There’s a writing desk around the corner with some quills.”

“Good boy,” Fjord says, letting go of his chin and patting his cheek. “I’ll be right back, then.”

He helps a heavily blushing Caleb off his lap and lays him back down, smoothing once over his ribs and getting the same blissful giggles Essek remembers himself echoing just a minute ago.

Caleb flops back, catching his breath, and looks wryly across at him. “If you run now, maybe you can get away before they learn too much about you.”

“Nope, too late!” Jester says cheerfully, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. Essek jumps as she starts to tickle his sides. “Aw, Essek, are you going to get all embarrassed if we tell you you’re a good boy?”

Essek scoffs, fighting the laughter and the blush that threatens to climb the back of his neck. “I have received many accolades over the years, I do not think so.”

“A good friend, then? One that we trust completely?” Caleb suggests. It’s more the way Caleb looks at him as he says it, like he already knows how much that means, but Jester still squeals excitedly at the dark purple gathering in his cheeks. 

“Ooh, and what if we tease you about how ticklish you are?” Jester asks, worming her fingers onto his tummy and tapping them there until he’s giggling helplessly at the implied threat. “Cause Essek, you are really, really ticklish.”

“This is not what I was promised,” he manages through his laughter. A few weeks ago, he would have been fearful at this clear intrusion, a transparent search for weakness. Now he mostly wants to calm himself enough to trance in the next few hours.

“Oh, shitballs, you’re right,” Jester rushes out, and stops tickling in favor of rubbing warm circles up his sides. “Okay, okay, lie down and I will give you the best cheer up tickles.”

“I heard that,” Fjord says, rounding the corner with a feather dangling from his fingertips. “You two are going to have to compare notes afterwards and let us know who’s really better.”

“I don’t think-” Caleb starts. He yelps as Fjord pounces on his feet, protests for a moment before dissolving into soft laughter at the introduction of the feather.  

Essek’s busy falling back into dazed, happy snickering as Jester trails her fingertips back up under his arms. 

He feels very cheerful, at the moment.

[legendaryoikawa]

ares / suna rintarou / masterlist

pairing: suna x female reader

word count: 2k

synopsis: your stalker must’ve adore you so so much, he intends to kill for you.

quote:  “If you're that obsessed with someone, why would you kill her? Humans are full of contradictions.” - Ai Yazawa

genre: stalker!au, caters mature themes such as manipulation, voyeurism, public masturbation, murder, violence coercion, borderline obsession. 

note: i do not condone these behavior in real life. this is just a work of fiction. 

minors dni

taglist: @boosyboo9206 @dokisaki (can’t tag) @godjo@flavostella02 @heykoutaro (can’t tag) @aleacarnin@licitix@katsukis-sad-angel@k-sakura @dokisuki (can’t tag) @black-water-78​@throughtheinterstices​ @iloverarepares @newfriendjen @aizawaslovebot @ratatouille407​ @midnightartist​ @ya-kkun​ @daicrie​ @mochipk​ @kanesshiiweeb​ @134340-cm​ @svgafresh​ @annexerca​ @neavil​ @paigypol (can’t tag) @aggressivelyshoutsokay​ thank you for the love and support!

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Truly an ace of all fools. 

Ares, the god of war. As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals.

Name it, Suna knows every possible if not, unique ways to kill. He prefers the crowbar as it’s efficient and easy enough to send a person to their graves. For his very own pleasure. It fuels him especially when he sees those eyes that were once full of life drown down to darkness of death. 

Suna is known as one of the notorious lads at school. He never fails to leave an astonished look to every person he has passed by at school. People are stunned whenever he walks down the hallway with his school shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. His overall appearance is unruly with the noticeable scars that lingered on his face like ches. His disheveled jet black hair. Eyes that bore nothing but darkness. Chains dangling from each of his ears. His aura that is explainable and unassailable that could even strike the thunderbolt of the great god Zeus. 

Suna is handsome. He looks like bad news. Wild.

He wielded an enormous influence among girls. Some swoon at the mere sight of him; others even resorted to some chase yet ended up a crying mess. Boys even fall for his charms, but one sharp glance is enough to wave them off like flies. 

However, you on the other hand are not fazed by him nor his silhouette. Which made him to be drained by a pure soul like you. 

Suna is so private and closed like an abandoned establishment and that could be the sole reason why people want to pry into his life. He had everyone controlled on the palm of his hand but he can’t seem to play with you like he initially plans to. 

Suna has the patience of a boar. He shows signs of violence that it’s alarming. But people seem to be in love at his bad boy facade, no one dares to report him.

 He is a living contradiction. Suna is a ride, a deadly one.

He comes to school with his boisterous friends that look exactly like how he presents himself. You can always hear their uproarious banters about their lives, endless wolf-whistling. They are the group of boys you wouldn’t want to mess with. Especially the mysterious Suna. 

You made a promise to get the shit out of the tracks that had traces of the boisterous boy that is  Suna. 

Not just the boys that have brought out the never ending fiasco circulating around your highschool. There have been a high number of mysterious disappearances of students that you may have never heard of or slightly familiar to you that you cannot recall. Their skulls are cracked open with a brute force or a bullet to the head. Some are strangled, some are mutilated, and what makes it terrifying is that most of the victims are leading down to you.

You can still remember how Kang Hana spent her afternoon with you in the library for a philosophy project. You admit it yourself that Hana isn’t the preferable company. She’s too nosy, noisy and quite violent towards you as she keeps on hitting you on the arm whenever you spill something stupid. Nevertheless, you held no grudge towards the girl. And you were really stunned at the news of her sudden death. 

Oh, you didn’t know someone was watching from the windows of the library outside. Irritability bubbles inside his body like a brook. He allows no one to go near you, let alone to hit you like a ragged doll. He always had a thing for you, he didn’t know when it started but by the way you looked at him like you are almost something to be disregarded. He is drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

It is always in Suna’s system. His mind is a bully, gushing him to do things that would make him thrilled, something that could awaken his fantasies. 

He wants to kill. And he did. 

He stood in all his glory, wearing his uninterested look while scrutinizing the other students walking along the hall. There at the lockers he spots Kang Hana awkwardly fumbling with the entangled bag straps. 

His dark eyes bore into Hana’s figure. Eyeing her from head to toe. At this moment he is thinking of what he can possibly do with those limbs. Break it? Smash it? Mutilate it like how they do in the slaughterhouse? Suna approaches her figure, his switchblade ready in his windbreaker’s pockets. 

He breaths, trying to muster his oh-so-charming smile. “Hey.”

Hana raises up her gaze and she is surprised that the notorious Suna is approaching her. Only if she knew his real intentions. “Oh my god. Hey.”

Suna is charming. Quite egocentric. It doesn’t take him long to persuade someone to sp with him or to go out on a date with him. If there is something you should be afraid about Suna, it is his ability to deceive people without them knowing his real motives. He has a calm demeanor but sometimes his arrogance fuels him to be so wild-driven. 

He leads Hana to the abandoned establishment at the rundown part of the town. He made sure to give her a signal to meet him outside where no witnesses could see them. It’s always a step when considering crime, get rid of witnesses. 

At this moment, Hana starts to get excited because she has foreseen what could happen. For her it’s sex. For him, it’s blood. Suna draws his switchblade near her carotid artery. She widens her eyes but laughter resonates in the eerie place. 

She purrs. “I am a kinky person but I can try knife play.”

Suna doesn’t play. He draws the knife deeper to her neck until she realizes he is not joking at all. Kang Hana’s heart made a beeline for her throat and tried to make a f for her life but Suna had his strong hand gripping her hair. 

She struggles but after every move she dares, the knife further penetrates her neck. Beads of sweat are dropping down to her cheeks. A hot sticky liquid from where the knife is trickling down her neck, dampening her collarbones down to her bra. She cries loud. “What do you want?!”

Suna smirks. He misses the familiar scent of blood flooding in his nostrils. “Your life.” 

Her eyes widened in pure horror as the charming prince transformed quickly as a ruthless psychopath in just the blink of her eye. Hana tries to fight against his hold once again but Suna wants to finish off and not to take care of a wailing woman. 

He repeatedly lash out the knife through her neck. The impact of his pounds set out her blood gushing out, splashing his pale cheeks. His right hand is dripping with her hot blood. Suna’s chest rose as his breathing became ragged but overall he felt so alive and content. He stares at Hana’s figure sprawled on the floor bathing with the pool of her own blood. Suna felt so driven with just crimson clouding his vision. He runs his tongue on the rows of his pearly teeth, a sinister smile tugging the corners of his lips. He did it for you. 

The following days have been hell for you. No, you weren’t killed but you faced a frightening number of police interrogations for the victims were always drawing down to you. Like Hana, you were the last person she was with before her neck was slashed out like a cow in the slaughterhouse. The pulse of a blue and red strobe from the police mace being parked in the circular driveway. You stare at the officer's badge, his holstered Glock. The night air settles the eerie night, still, gauzy full of humidity. 

The interview lasts about a good hour but you are deemed innocent as Hana’s whereabouts where the crime took place didn’t match your activity. Her clothes are missing on the spot but the investigators found it drenched in this liquid they believed was an oxygen producing detergent didn’t match. Since the laboratory personnel couldn’t get any fingerprints from her body, it has been declared useless for the crime.

It has been weeks since you find yourself able to breathe again but it didn’t last long when you were bombarded with unknown and creepy messages that you couldn’t withstand at all. 

I know you. From everything you do, I know it all. 

You belong to me, your full name. 

I find it romantic to see how excited you look whenever I send these messages. Shall I start sending my pictures as well? Or the throne I made for you?

From morning you go to your mother’s flower shop to gather primrose to deliver to your grandfather that lives in the twenty second street downtown. 

Your favorite thing to do is to draw, my sweet. I am right, am I? I’m always right. 

I saw you talk to that small loser from class D. Now don’t ever talk to him again or you will see his head delivered right at your doorstep. I love you and I’m being the nice guy here. 

Do you perhaps like the idea of your friend's limbs personally delivered to you? Your pick. 

I am always watching you, your name.

Oh, you had a museum date with your friends? Don’t go, I am at your grandmother’s restaurant, she serves the ultimate broth soup. Too bad I can stop her from serving these delicacies. 

I know deep down, you love me too. Don’t you ever try to date behind my back without telling me. I did kill for you. 

Your parents aren’t home. Do you want me to visit?

So much love for you. Your long secret admirer :) 

I love you. I will kill for you. 

He isn’t joking. He knows everything about you. All the meticulous details no one knows but your family. Whenever you receive a message from him, your heart would pound against your rib cage. It terrifies you to the core that he exactly knows the precise details of your whereabouts.

 You immediately reported this matter to the police, to your parents but it didn’t settle the problem. The number isn’t traceable. They keep on insisting that the number used is from an unregistered sim. You fear for your life, your personal space, everything. 

You weren’t just experiencing the never ending terror of your stalker’s messages. But some of your things are now starting to disappear, from your bracelets, your baby pictures now, now, your white lacy underwear. 

You are blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that follows every movement as you exit the school grounds. He looks down on his hand, gripping his favorite underwear of you. He had a picture when you wore the garment, and it was his favorite among all. 

He makes his way to his heavily tinted car, a smile never leaving Suna's face as he clutches the garment tightly on his hands. His soulless eyes stared back at him the moment he stared at the rear view mirror. And drives to the nearest convenience store. 

He keeps on fantasizing about you. The way your name rolls out of his tongue while jerking out never fails to send himself to ecstasy. He can’t wait to meet you, but one thing he is sure of, he will be watching you tonight. 

Suna is always a step ahead of his plans. He is meticulous and calculative. His plans never backfire for he knew what methods to use. For the days he has been killing he already knows how to get rid of evidence that could lead to him.  The boy’s got a sharp tongue as well, a serpent’s, he uses lies to cover up the real  Suna that hides behind the charming facade he puts front. 

He wore black. Black that is a mystery. Eerie. He wears a black bucket hat that covers his beautiful features that compliments his youth. Despite the dusk ebbing its way, his moles are always as alive as the constellation. He secures his mask tighter on both ears, as appealing as it sounds, he cannot show his face to you, just not yet. He had a thing to do, he had something to accomplish.

“Just in time” he breathed into the shadows. His eyes follow your figure marching down the dim lit streets. A smirk paints his lips as you still try to swat everything and thinking to yourself everything is still normal. But no, not until he is dead. He could have easily needle out your background from Kita but you were his and it gives him satisfaction whenever he discovers something about you. Things that aren’t open for others but just for him. 

He immediately hid behind a large tree, once you entered your home. He makes sure to secure a great and measurable distance from him to you, not so far yet so near. He clenches his fist, the idea of watching you undress from your windows sends him a big wave of pleasure. 

He begins to scramble up trying to get a hold of the strongest branch his forearm could manage. Some twigs tried to interrupt him midway but nothing can stop a hungry predator from lurking on his prey. He finds the perfect spot just parallel to your window.

“Fuck” he hiss as he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. “What it is now  fucking Atsumu?”

“Lover boy, I forgot to place your camera in your bag, bye.” 

The camera is not his top most concern. He has his phone that is full of you. 

You were humming quietly. He follows your hands, removing your school blouse that left the boy’s mouth agape. His cock immediately hardens at the sight, and he cannot risk himself to jerk while on the tree. He scrambles immediately, carelessly fishing out for his phone to take a picture of you naked. 

Suna is always not satisfied with the bare minimum. He records you, doing your private thing in your room. He is biting hard on his lips, his erection sticking out painfully against his pants. He has to endure much longer till you have finished your routine applying lotion to your shiny long legs. Those legs that he can’t wait to touch. 

Suna left the place shortly. He’s astounded. You drive him wild and wild he is. You fuel the monster more. 

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

I hear you like prompts? Well I am well known for. The List. *unrolls scroll* sick fic, jealousy, fighting suitors, hostage situation, hypothermia, use of safe word, spa day, ruddiger v Hugo

AO3

It’s midday by the time Hugo finally deems his companions worthy of his company.

They’ve been staying at a small estate in Galcrest, with some friends of Nuru’s family who were kind enough to put them up for the weekend.

The last few trials have been grueling--if Varian’s being completely honest--what with the cave of mirrors and the hall of memories haunting Nuru’s nights and Yong’s smiles and Varian’s everything. So a break in what their gang was affectionately nicknaming “the air kingdom” seemed in order.

The first few days go by fine--Nuru drags Hugo out to the marketplace, talking shop about swords and armory to her heart's content, while Varian and Yong scour the countryside and set off fireworks in the clear skies.

It’s exactly what their group needs to get back on track--a little rest and a lot of free time to relax and get to know one another better.

Then Hugo shows up for breakfast one morning and all of Varians’ optimism flies out the window.

“Whoa, are you sick?” Yong says, popping his head out of the pantry. “You look terrible.”

Hugo sends him an irritated glance. “No,” he says and then immediately sneezes. “I’m not sick,” he says, peevishly when they all continue staring at him in silence. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling rocks.

Nuru places a hand on his flushed forehead that he immediately swats off. “You’re burning up,” she says with a frown. “Did you leave your window open last night?”

“More likely that he got it from town,” Varian mutters. He seems to remember a kindly merchant lamenting about his daughter coming down with a spring cold. Dammit Hugo.

“I’m going to heat up some soup,” Yong says decisively, already making a bee-line for the cupboards.

“I don’t need soup.” Hugo literally cannot sound any more like a sulky pre-teen right now. “What I need is for you all to stop ganging up on me.”

“What you need is a doctor,” Nuru mutters.

Hugo turns his scowl on her.

“How about this,” Varian says, once again playing diplomat between his two best friends, “Hugo eats the soup, and Nuru doesn’t make him see a doctor.

Hugo and Nuru continue to eye each other for a moment before Hugo mutters out an annoyed “fine.”

Varian has a feeling that today is going to be an exercise in not dumping his best friends.

____

About three hours into the “Hugo is pretending that he’s not sick” fiasco, Nuru has decided she’s had enough.

“I’m taking Yong to town,” she says, wrapping a scarf around the younger boy. “If the idiot won’t see a doctor, than I’m at least going to get him some medicine.”

Varian, who was the person who had to deal with Hugo throwing up in the bathroom half the afternoon, privately agrees.

“Is there anything I should do?” he asks, not exactly sure what to do with sick people. His dad never got sick and Rapunzel had about a million physicians taking care of her whenever she contracted some illness or another.

“Try and keep him in bed. I also left some tea leaves in the kitchen, if he feels up to drinking anything.” Nuru adds, halfway out the door. “I know you want to kill him most of the time, but it would be most inconvenient to hide his body.”

Varian rolls his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he says, dryly.

He doesn’t actually plan to antagonize Hugo--let alone kill him. Despite the fact that the blond still manages to annoy him on a daily basis, he’s also kinda friends with the guy now.

They’ve fallen into an easy companionship with mutual banter and annoyed antics that usually have their friends up in arms, but it works for them.

Besides, the guy just looked far too pathetic, dry heaving in the sink this morning, to give him a hard time.

A few minutes after Nuru and Yong leave, Varian makes his way to the room Hugo is staying in. At first glance, the place appears empty--bed unmade, small sitting area absent of life--but after a quick scan of the large room, Varian finds him.

Hugo sits on the window seat. His legs are drawn up under him and his head rests against the wall. The breeze filtering through the open window brushes his hair back from his forehead and makes the open collar of his white, unbuttoned shirt, fluttering slightly.

Something about the sight of him--flushed, exhausted, unguarded--twists something in Varian’s stomach.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking too loudly in the quiet.

Hugo doesn’t turn his head, but his shoulder inch up slightly. “Hey,” he says back, eyes glued to something outside the window.

Varians’ eyes narrow in on the gooseflesh raised on the skin of his neck. With a sigh, he snatches a blanket off the bed and goes to Hugo, draping it over his shoulders.

Hugo turns his head at that, blinking up at him owlishly through round glasses. “Oh,” he says, like he’s just noticing Varian’s here. Which is concerning. “Thanks.”

Varian shrugs a shoulder, throwing himself on the other side of the window seat. It’s a large enough space--or maybe Varian’s just short--for the two of them to sit without touching. Not that Varian’s thinking of touching him.

An uneasy silence--on Varian’s part, at least--falls over them as Hugo continues to stare blankly out the window. His usually brilliant green eyes are glazed over, enhancing the flush that’s spread from his face, down his to his neck.

He sniffs a couple of times, nose wrinkling.

“Nuru wants you to drink some tea, I think,” Varian says, tapping his fingers against his knee nervously. “I can go get some for you if you wa-”

“It’s fine.” Hugo’s voice carries no intonation. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Varian says, in a very measured voice. The last thing he wants to do is upset the guy right now.

Hugo’s eyes shut. His lips press together tightly, but not out of anger. He looks like he’s just barely holding it together, and Varian doesn’t understand why.

Or, maybe he does. Varian used to be very open and free with his emotions, but over the past few years--since everything in Corona with his dad, the amber, Cass--Varian has gotten used to putting up shields around his heart. Vulnerability was a very scary thing, especially with those you cared about.

Hugo didn’t seem to be the type of person who liked to show weakness.

A particularly chilling breeze brushes through the window. It’s enough that even Varian is shivering at it’s touch.

He reaches out slowly and gently pulls the blanket around Hugo tighter. Hugo’s eyes open at that, watching Varian with an unreadable emotion.

“I think you should lie down,” Varian says.

Hugo shakes his head. “Can’t.”

“Hugo-”

“The bed’s too soft,” Hugo exhales, sounding embarrassed.

Something in Varian’s stomach twists painfully. The year after prison hadn’t been easy, but most of it was just getting used to being able to walk around without having the entirety of Corona’s military breathing down your neck. The other half was getting used to how soft his threadbare bed in Olde Corona felt.

Varian gets it. He doesn’t know Hugo’s story yet, but he gets it.

“Lie down here then,” he coaxes, one hand coming up to cup his neck. It’s warm--too warm. The worry simmering in Varian’s gut flares.

“What, on you?” Hugo snorts, sounding--if for a moment--a bit like himself.

Varian feels his own face flush about as badly as Hugo’s face is right now. “Would it make you feel more comfortable?” he asks, voice pitching up high.

Hugo’s stares at him hazily, the fever most likely getting in the way of his higher processing powers. “Yeah,” he says, looking not quite all there. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And then he flops face first into Varian’s lap.

Varian lets out a surprised laugh, one hand going to his hair. “Okay then,” he says, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Mmphf.”

Varian snorts, coaxing Hugo into rolling over so that he can at least breathe. “Why do I put up with you?” he mutters, more amused than exasperated for once.

Hugo blinks a couple of times at him. “It’s weird,” he says at last. “You’re weird. I’ve never had someone who’s wanted to put up with me before.”

Varian’s hopes Hugo can’t tell his heart just shattered into about a million pieces. “Well, you do now,” he says, easing Hugo’s glasses off his face and delicately placing them on the nearby end table. “You have three people, in fact, who are willing to put up with your dumb ass.”

The blond squints up at him. “But you were first. That’s-” he gestures gracelessly with one hand, “-that’s important.”

Varian smooths his hair back from his forehead, mentally taking note of the amount of heat coming off his flushed skin. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Hugo’s eyes close. “You keep doing that. Surprising me.”

“Well someone has to knock your ego down a few notches.”

A ghost of a grin. His eyes open again, almost as if he’s worried Varian has left in the few seconds he stopped looking.

“Hugo, go to sleep,” Varian chides. He runs his fingers through Hugo’s hair again, hoping it will draw him into sleep. “I can continue to surprise you tomorrow.”

“You’re surprising me now,” Hugo mumbles, but he’s becoming more and more pliant with each pet of Varian’s fingers through his hair. “Don’t go anywhere, ‘kay?”

Varian swallows. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “Now go to sleep.”

Hugo’s eyes finally drop shut, breath evening out. Varian leans back against the wall, one hand in the blond’s hair. The weight of the other boy is both grounding and sends strange flutterings to Varian’s stomach that he doesn’t understand.

Hugo lets out a small snore in his sleep. It’s adorable. Hugo’s adorable, Varian realizes, much to his horror.

Another breezes brushes in through the window, setting the white, transparent curtains afloat in the air. Hugo shivers slightly, curling up closer around Varian.

His face is pressed somewhere between his thigh and stomach, one arm wrapped loosely around his torso. Varian runs his fingers through Hugo’s soft hair again and comes to two realizations simultaneously.

Varian has feelings for Hugo. Positive feelings. Fluffy, mushy, fluttering feelings that reside somewhere between his aching heart and the butterflies in his stomach and Varian wants to cry or throw up or maybe kiss the dumb blond until those feelings settle themselves.

Hugo might--a very, very tentative might, because Varian isn’t great at reading other people at the best of times--just might have feelings for Varian. Maybe.

That’s important, he had said, eyes glazed, pupils dilated, lips parted. You keep doing that. Surprising me.

Varian shuts his eyes. Yeah, he’s totally and utterly fucked.

[fandom-blackhole]

Mando May 2021 Week 2 + Day 12

AN: Next prompts are done! I had fun writing this bittersweet ficlet, and I hope you all enjoy reading it! Again this wasn't entirely edited and all LIKES and REBLOGS are really appreciated and help with exposure! Love you all!

Prompts:

Ret’uryce mhi- “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Mandalorian goodbye, their fate not fixed in fact.

Yaim- Home

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x GN!Reader

Words: almost 1.6k

Summary: You’ve been hearing blaster fire for what feels like all afternoon when things go eerily quiet, and then you here a thud outside your door followed by a heavy knock.

Warnings?: gunfire/fighting mentioned, angst, soft Paz

The day had started as any other. You'd woken up, crawled out of bed and into the refresher for a quick shower, and then headed down to the small bakery you owned and lived above. The day wasn't anything special, no holiday or big event planned, it was just supposed to be an average day. 

After heading downstairs to the small bakery that you owned, you grabbed a stale pastry that didn't sell the day before and ate it quickly as you turned all the lights in the store and kitchen and fired up the ovens as you took stock of what you had and needed more of soon. Then you set about measuring and mixing, and once the pie crusts were cut and filled, and the bread doughs were set aside to rise, you went about prepping the small confectionery molds and worked on measuring and melting down sugars and chocolates.

By the time the store opened you counters were filled and there was more baking in the large fire ovens. Admittedly, you had gone overboard with the baking this morning, but it was only because today was the day that your favorite customer would be coming in, a large tower mandalorian in blue armor that you had taken to calling Blue Bird after he had not given you his name and you had noticed the jetpack strapped to his wide back. The mandalorian had also found the nickname funny, chuckling when you had first called him that, saying, "That is a first, no one has given me that name before."

At the time you had smiled, and basked in the fact he had liked the nickname, especially considering it had fueled you're attraction to the man who was softer than he appeared to be. Blue Bird always came in once a month and bought the old baked goods that had not sold and were still editable, as well as completely clearing out your candies with a soft, "The children always like your candies the best." 

You always snuck in fresher goodies, knowing that stale bread was nothing to live off of, and the first time you did this had resulted in Blue Bird to try and pay you extra the next time he came in. In the end it only started a game between the two of you and you eventually found yourself giving only fresh breads, pastries, and sweets that you had made that day, or the day prior, saving the older staler things for yourself and to hand out to those unlucky few you came across sitting and shivering in dark alley ways or on corners with cups and hopeless looks in their eyes. You and the mandalorian grew closer over time, seemingly like a force was drawing you together, and while neither of you had made the move to cross into that uncertain area of relationship territory, the both of you knew clearly that the other was fond of them.

As time went on as well Blue Bird explained some of the mandalorian culture to you, though only very basic things. He told you why he could not show you his face or give you his name freely, and you had accepted that fact with a smile, knowing that even without those two things your heart would always long for him. He made sure you were aware of the importance of his armor, and the wars that had been fought with the precious metal. The large man had even gone as far as taking you out and teaching you how to use blaster, all the while telling you how important weapons were to his religion and culture, then at the end of the night gifting you the weapon he had taught you to use, and the gesture was met by a soft look from you and you knowing exactly the commitment and feelings behind the deeply meaningful gesture. There was absolutely nothing you could do to stop your heart from yearning and falling for the man after he showed you the soft, kind side to his hardened warrior facade.

So each month, on the same day you waited with baited breath, watching the door to your store every second waiting for his hulking figure to walk through the frame. And that was exactly what you were doing today, even as you shared kind smiles and words with your other regular customers, you still distractedly watch the door. You knew he never came until it was close to closing time because he liked not being surrounded by people and he liked the privacy of the late hour. Did that stop your impatience, or excitement to see him again, not in the least. 

The day absolutely dragged on, to the point that you had only had two customers by the time midday had come and gone and you were starting to wonder if you were going to be counting losses for the day. That's when you heard the muffled blaster fire and your stomach started turning. Blaster fire wasn't exactly uncommon here on Nevarro, but to this extent it was. You were too scared to venture out and look to see what was happening yourself, but it sounded as if every being in town with a blaster had turned up and started shooting. The loud shots echoed off the walls of the buildings, and you thanked every deity that it sounded like the fire fight was slowly traveling away from your small bakery and not towards it.

It felt like the fight dragged on for days, and the shouts and blasters refused to stop as you curled up behind the counter with Blue Bird's blaster clutched in your hands bringing you some comfort. But, after hours of shaking in fear and waiting, the loud noises slowly came to a stop and everything seemed eerily quiet. You still refused to move, not trusting whatever was happening to be over yet, and you took deep breaths to try and calm yourself down. Only after a few minutes of silence you jumped out of your skin as you heard a loud thud right outside your doorway and then a heavy knocking thud. Slowly you peaked your head above the counter to see the top of a familiar blue helmet through the small window that framed the top of you door. You will admit readily that never before had you run so fast to the door and opened it, let alone eagerly pulled in a dirty, post fight warrior before locking the door, but in that second you did just that.

Once he was inside, you finally let your fears engulf you and let tears fall freely down your face. Through blurry vision you saw Blue Bird reach out to you and cup your face tenderly wiping away the tears. 

You weren't sure when you closed your eyes, but they shot open when you felt the slightly cooled touch of rounded metal on your forehead and found yourself looking eye to eye with Blue Bird's visor, as he slowly stroked your cheek, and you finally registered the soothing words he was speaking to you. Once the tears had stopped, the mandalorian's low soft and steady voice spoke, "I am leaving, mesh'la. The imperials have found our small covert, and we are also being hunted by the parsec's guild, so we must all leave and scatter ourselves…"

"But- Leaving? You...you'll visit still right?"

"Mesh'la, I don't think I will be able too, at least not for a long while."

You felt you heart cracking at the mandalorian's small admission and you clutched onto the hand that was still on your cheek as you frantically darted your eyes along his visor and breathed out, "Then...then I'll come with you...Just..just give me a second to grab a small bag." 

Immediately after saying that you tried to turn out of his arms and rush upstairs but you found yourself mandalorian's arms wrapped around you waist holding you in place and his helmet pressing slightly firmer into you forehead.

"I cannot take you with me, cyare. I will not put you in more danger by you just traveling with me."

"Bu-"

"Please...please don't make this harder than it already is…."

You were crying again by this point, with chest rattling sobs, trying to choke out pleas to convince the mandalorian holding you, but only managing soft wailing noises. Then the scuffle of footsteps sounded outside and you heard him sigh before whispering, "Mesh'la, my darling starlight, you will always be my yaim, my home, the holder of my heart, and I will try everything to come back to you, but I must go now to keep you safe."

You couldn't find it in yourself to do anything but listen as the man you loved said goodbye for what could be the last time, and you felt like your chest was caving in on itself.

"Blue Bird…"

"P-paz, my name is Paz Vizsla, mesh'la."

Feeling another sob make its way up your throat you forced it down so you could brokenly say his name as he squeezed you close on last time before pulling away. You watched unable to move as he took steps towards the doorway to your shop, and after he unlocked the door he turned to you and said in a language you didn't recognize, "Ret’uryce mhi," then you watched himnstep out of your shop, and disappear upwards into the sky, leaving you to sob alone on the floor of your shop.

(Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it sooo much, and if you would please LIKE and REBLOG it helps me out a bunch. Love you guys!!)

Taglist: @ollovaemisc @ace-kit-kat-witch @goblinsimp @kikiinden @shellyc9 @cappchen

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: IX

A/N: Apparently I cannot write short chapters. Thank you for your patience and for all the likes and reblogs and kind comments on the last chapter. I love you all so much. Special shout-out to @starlight-starwrites​ for listening to me whine about this chapter.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17, for acts of warfare (blood, guts, and gore--our Tully is a little mean), Face-sitting, fingering, using sex to go to sleep, a few kisses

Word Count: 14.2k ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Read Chapters I-VIII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Nine: The Monster, The Maiden

King’s Landing still smelled of piss and soured bread.

Robb’s missive had come just after they had set the Lannister fleet alight at Lannisport. Yara and her fleet would be left to sack Casterly Rock with a majority of Y/N’s small band of men while Obara and Arya and a handful of Riverlanders set off toward the capital with Y/N.

Cersei had grown desperate and crazed. Growing only more bold and paranoid after she was crowned Queen.

King Tommen was dead. Margaery had been thrown into the Black Cells under suspicion of his murder and the new queen had pulled nearly all of her loyal bannermen to protect the city. Obara surmised that it was a Faceless Man, sent after the king after the Iron Throne refused to pay their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

So much had changed since she had left the safety of Sunspear’s shadows. And yet not enough. The Lannisters still called themselves the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and the Realm still suffered.

Obella’s tactics had kept all but a handful of the men under Y/N’s command alive. The Westerlands had been put to the torch and their gold and silver mines plundered in the dark of the night. The small band of Riverlanders hid in the dense forests and picked off the Lions’ bannermen when the roads forced them to march two-by-two. She, Arya, and Obara had been welcomed as guests at Pinkmaiden and settled there as their first command stronghold. When asked why she did not think to travel to Riverrun, Y/N’s answer was simple. “I have asked men to leave their homes to fight. I do not go home until they do.” They had never stayed in a location for longer than two days, moving from target to target with brutal efficiency.

But now she was back in the gods-forsaken capital that she had narrowly escaped.

“Has it always smelled like this?” Obara asked, nose crinkling as the wind carried the putrid stench up to the high hill above the city.

“Yes,” both Arya and Y/N answered.

The men at their backs looked grim and anxious in their cloaks, trying to hide their armor. While the Northmen and Dornish were still marching toward the capital, the Reach knights and cavalry had been the first to arrive at the gates of the city, demanding the release of Margaery—the rightful queen. It provided a well-enough distraction.

Y/N slipped off Qēlos’ back and patted the mare’s side in thanks. The beautiful horse had earned her weight in apples a thousand times over in this terrible war. She handed the reins to Lord Blackwood who promised to keep her safe until she returned.

“But are you certain-”

“Lord Blackwood, my answer has not changed since the last time you asked. I thank you for your concern but it is unwarranted.”

The older lord’s face colored with an embarrassed blush and he dipped his head. “Of course, my lady.”

Arya barely concealed a laugh as she, too, dismounted but Obara was stone-faced as her feet hit the damp grass. Patrek Mallister was quick to offer his hand to take her horse’s reins. (In truth, he’d been quick to do anything Obara needed. When they were still setting the Westerlands ablaze and picking off their infantrymen from the cover of forest, Y/N noticed that the majority of men under Obara’s command were either half in love or half terrified of the eldest Sand Snake. Patrek was decidedly the former. His time as a captive of the Freys after the Red Wedding had stripped him of the wandering eye he was known for.)

Obara and Arya stepped to Y/N’s side and they each took a deep breath.

“May the Warrior protect you,” one of the men whispered at their backs.

But Y/N could scarcely hear it over the thudding of her heart. No matter how many times she had readied for battle and shadowed warfare, her heart always leapt into her throat. And maybe that kept her alive, the slight-panic keeping her senses heightened.

“This way,” Arya said, leading them down, down, down. While Tyrion’s crude drawing of the placement of the wildfire around the Red Keep and King’s Landing was safely tucked into Y/N’s small pack, Arya was the one leading them into the mouth of the passages beneath the city. She had warned them about the smell.

It did not help.

Once pleasant and cool water gave way to stink and muck that had Y/N retching. Arya shushed her above the lapping brown water as one of Euron Greyjoy’s longboats neared where they had been treading against the waves. And then, much to her horror, it became clear that they would have to submerge themselves in the muck to avoid detection as the boat sailed by. Through the brown water and with burning lungs, Y/N watched the boat sail across the surface and she nearly vomited when they quietly crested, feeling the disgusting water line her mouth as she clutched her pack to her chest.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, starting a slow swim toward a dark corner of the wall.

They were quiet as they hoisted themselves up into the stone hole, gurgling with more sludge. But Y/N could not hold back her retch any longer as they finally curled around a jagged corner. It echoed in the dark and she winced when she heard it.

“Come, Little Fish, do not let your stomach fail us now.” Obara’s words of encouragement were stilted as she tried to keep her own rolling stomach contained.

“The worst is behind us,” Arya whispered with a small smile, murky water on her lips.

Both Obara and Y/N sighed at the girl’s unflinching (if not dark) optimism they quickly set off after the young Stark, following her steps in the dark, twisting tunnels and up the tight steps of uneven stone stairs which led to more tunnels and more stairs. They walked in silence for a long stretch of time, the squish of their soaked boots the only sound they heard. But dim light soon trickled down from some unseen room above to light the path Arya led them on. With the light came the realization that they were surrounded by dragon skulls, damp and dusty with the passing of time.

“I once thought they were monsters,” Arya whispered, a far-off look on her face.

“Is this what you found when you disappeared for half a day?” Y/N asked, skirting around a skull with teeth as long as her arm. It all seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been worried about where Arya had hidden away and Ned had sent Y/N and half his guard out into the city to look for her. When Arya arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, reeking and dirty, near dark, Ned had been both relieved and furious with his youngest daughter.

“It was,” was all Arya said, voice sad. It had been a lifetime for her, too.

And now they were here, in the bowels of the castle that had tried to rip their lives asunder and had very nearly succeeded. But now it was their turn.

The dim light only grew a fraction brighter as Arya finally slowed to a stop—but the noise grew, too.

The first voice was unmistakably Cersei; “the Red Keep has never fallen.”

“Our own father helped it fall. Have you forgotten everything?” Jaime near-snarled in return.

Y/N crept closer to light on quiet feet and followed it so she could more properly hear the conversation. Any bit of information was valuable, even if she was soaked in muck down to her skin. She pivoted so she could look up into the room above, a tiny sliver of stone crooked in its place. She recognized the carved pillars and marble lions of one of the interior courtyards even through the small field of vision the stone allowed.

“Father is here—he will never allow-”

“Our father is not a god despite your best efforts to make him one in your heart of hearts. And neither are you.”

“He will keep us safe. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Let them try to take my crown.”

“They will try!” Jaime pressed. “The Tyrells are at the gates and the wolves and Martells are coming. What will you do when they arrive and Father’s plans fail you? Yara Greyjoy’s fleet have taken Casterly Rock. There are whispers of Riverlanders picking our bannermen off from the trees after torching most of our bannermen’s lands. What will you do?”

There was a pregnant pause and Y/N felt Obara tug on the back of her jerkin, trying to get her to move.

“Let them have ashes.”

Obara tugged again and Y/N let herself be pulled away this time as she fumbled to grab the wax-coated map of Tyrion’s wildfire storehouses from its hiding place in her pack, unhearing of Jaime’s reply. “We must be quick.”

Arya huffed. “You were dawdling.”

But the three of them set off in search of the glowing jars of fire and found them almost exactly where Tyrion had said they would be and quickly—and carefully—started to move them, hoping that Tyrion’s map proved accurate again. It took hours of cautiously shuffling in the dark to move the cracked glass jars and half-filled barrels they found to where they needed them for this plan to work. They did not have the time to completely empty the city of its wildfire caches and knew there were still piles of them in secret coves and shadowed corners of the city’s underbelly.

Through more thin walls and cutaway stones, they heard whispers. Whispers of the forces outside the walls. Whispers of movement of the gold cloaks and Kingsguard around the city. Whispers of doom with the arrival of the Northmen at the gates.

Whispers whispers whispers.

When her arms ached and her clothes had dried, they moved the last little jar into their pile. But the tiny jar refused to settle and tried to topple from its perch. Y/N thrust her hands out and caught it before it shattered on the floor. A single drop leapt from the jar’s depths and missed her hand before it spattered on the ground, hissing and smoking against the stone.

“We have to go,” Obara said. Even through the thick walls, they could hear the din of movement along the balustrades, readying for battle. Obara had a small barrel in her arms, too. The second-to-last piece in their plan.

Y/N froze for only a moment before she tore off the sleeve of her tunic and shoved it into the top of the jar in as a makeshift stopper. She could use it later, she reasoned to herself, as she stuffed it into the small bag at her back.

Arya was pressing her ear up to the slab of stone at the end of a squat, dead end tunnel. She only needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, face tight with concentration. “We’re good,” she whispered before reaching up to move the stone. A whoosh of cooled night air came with it.

Obara started to slowly pour out the contents of her barrel, leaving a sickly green trail from the pile of jars up to Arya’s side. “You first, Pup,” she said, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

Arya then leapt and scrambled up into the dark. Her little hands reached down for the barrel Obara was holding and Obara followed her path up once the barrel was out of her grasp.

“Little Fish,” Obara whispered, “come. We’re nearly finished.”

Y/N glanced back at the pile of wildfire. It looked so much smaller from a distance. She hoped it was enough. Obara held out a hand for her and Y/N took it, needing the help to get out of the tunnel. They were just outside the city now, right at the edge of one of the Old Gate. The grass was damp beneath their feet with early-morning dew as Obara took the barrel from Arya and quickly emptied its contents down into the hole and then trailed it away to leave a smoking green puddle. She discarded the barrel as they crept toward the sparse forest, hoping the growing sun would provide enough cover so the guards on the walls would not see them. The murmur of a city ill-at-ease crept over the high walls and gave a beat to their retreating steps.

Tytos and Patrek were hidden behind the first handful of trees, looking more worried than Y/N expected.

“The Tyrells have retreated for the moment. The archers on the walls have kept them from battering down the Lion Gate,” Tytos said as he handed over the reins to her horse. “And the Northmen have arrived.”

“Have they seen you or our men?” Y/N asked as she rifled through one of the saddlebags for a canteen and a scrap of cloth and quickly wet it, wiping it across her face.

“I do not believe so, my lady.”

Y/N nodded and then tossed a fresh and damp cloth to Arya and Obara, letting them clean their faces, too. She then grabbed a small canteen of ale and swished it around her mouth before spitting it out. “Raise your banners. It is time we made our presence known.”

Tytos nodded once again and signaled toward the men lining the dark of the trees.

Y/N hurried to pull on her armor and huffed out a thanks when she felt Obara’s rough fingers tightening laces or adjusting the pauldron over her shoulder that she had skewed in her haste. Arya’s armor was impeccably placed even without help and Obara slapped at Patrek’s hand when he tried to assist her.

The banners of the Riverlands started to rise as they stepped out of the tree line. Shouts came from the wall when they were spotted.

Y/N patted Qēlos’ flank as she pulled her bow and quiver from the horse’s tack, sending the mare further into the woods to wait.

“Archers!” Some gold cloak yelled from his perch. “Archers!”

Y/N nocked her arrow and Arya lit the end. Dirty fingers pulled the string tight for just a moment as she angled it up into the sky and then let it loose. It sailed through the air and hit the small puddle of green at the base of the wall.

A terrible crack and boom filled the sticky dawn air and Y/N nearly lost her footing as some invisible force shoved her back. Green flames filled the air and the city wall erupted into a storm of broken brick and black dust.

“The wall!” someone cried, muffled against the ringing in her ears. “They’ve breached the wall!”

Y/N righted herself and watched as her small band of Riverlanders and Obara and Arya surged forward in a wave, quickly followed by men in copper armor, pressing into the city’s wound as the green flames of the wildfire continued to eat at the wall and screaming soldiers.

The Dornish had come.

She nocked another arrow and let it fly, tearing into the neck of a distracted solider at the top of the crumbling wall. Another pushed an archer taking aim from his perch. Again and again she picked off the remaining soldiers on the balustrade above the hole in the wall until her quiver was empty. But then, even over the din of the battle, she heard a distinctive crack. Metal breaking and smacking against stone and brick.

“The gate! Defend the gate!”

And now there were two.

Y/N slung her bow across her shoulders and drew the pair of small blades from her belt and pushed forward, trailing behind the press of Dornish and Riverlands.

The city was in chaos. Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard and Westerland bannermen were scrambling over the rubble and wreckage, swords clashing against the invaders. But the Reach and North had pushed their way through the Lion Gate.

There would be no escape.

A man in red and gold armor screamed as he ran at her, spear thrust out in front. Y/N was able to dodge it but his feet could not be stopped and she sank the end of one of her blades through the eye slot of his helmet. She knew she needed to keep moving. Her armor was not meant for full-scale combat like this. But she would not leave her men, Riverlander or Dornish, to fight alone.

But the battle raged. Her small blades were coated in crimson and her arms ached as they pushed forward toward the Red Keep. Toward Cersei.

She caught sight of Arya in the skirmish ahead. The little wolf was holding her own for the most part against some City Watch brute but a well-timed kick to her stomach had Arya falling to the ground, her little sword slipping from her grasp.

“Arya!” Y/N screamed as her heart leapt into her throat to strangle the air from her lungs. “ARYA!” She pushed through the pulsing group, watching the Gold Cloak sneer and stalk toward Arya who struggled to get to her feet. Y/N fought against the crowd, dodging an ax at her throat and a sword at her stomach with a desperation and savage grace a person could only conjure for someone they loved. But she knew… She wouldn’t get to her in time. She wouldn’t make it. The man raised his sword, sweaty face pulled tight with glee and ready to strike the life from Arya Stark and then-

A golden hand caught the sword just as its reached its crest and Jaime Lannister shoved the man back before driving his sword through his belly.

Y/N slid to a stop on her knees as she reached Arya’s side, pressing Needle into Arya’s grasp again and urging her to her feet and back into the near-safety of the advancing crowd. Jaime gave them both a look as they stumbled back, unreadable and…sad. But then he was gone between the swarm of swords and shields.

The Bells did not ring. There would be no surrender. She expected nothing less from the queen.

But perhaps she should have remembered Cersei’s cruelty, her need for control, and Cersei’s own words. All Y/N could think about was finishing this—finishing this war, this stupid war that had taken too much from everyone she cared about.

As the sun started to settle high in the sky, she heard a rumble. Even over the roar of the growing battle, she heard it. Felt it shake the stones beneath her feet. And then the city burst. Green flames and thick smoke filled the air as brick and wood rained down like a terrible storm, ripping through Westerland armies and invaders alike. Dirt clouded her mouth and she tasted fire as her ears started to ring with an intensity she had never experienced, pushing her back and on unsteady feet. With dazed eyes, she watched a man in a gold cloak stumble forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the emerald flames blazed across his armor.

Someone’s hands grasped at her arm and tugged her to the side, finding a bit of refuge behind the fallen remains of an inn. Arya was looking up at her, covered in soot and blood and Y/N watched her mouth move for a few moments, unable to hear anything but then it came back in a wave.

“-taking the Red Keep.”

“What?” Y/N asked, tongue heavy in her mouth.

Arya frowned. “Did you hit your head? Robb is about to take the Red Keep. Cersei must have sent someone to light the rest of the wildfire.” Arya turned to look at something over her shoulder and stiffened. “Come on. We haven’t finished this yet.” The younger girl pressed Y/N’s blades back into her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had lost them. And then Arya was striding away through the rubble, disappearing into a haze of smoke as green flames continued to lick at the wreckage.

Y/N shook herself, trying to free her mind of the buzzing and sluggishness and opened her pack, making sure that her own stash of wildfire had not started to crack or bubble. It was intact, thankfully, and it gave her enough momentum to push forward. Another gold cloak ran into her path a few steps later. His armor was blackened and charred, and buckled when she kicked at his chest to knock him toward the ground before driving one of her blades into the small gap between his cuirass and helmet.

It was easy when they staggered and stumbled or looked too long at the green flames. It was easy. When had it become so easy?

But it didn’t matter when she kept Obara from falling to some red cloak’s sword through her back or when Tytos was knocked from his horse by a City Watch soldier. It didn’t matter that it had become easy when she was keeping her people alive. The ground continued to rumble as more small pockets of wildfire roared to life and burned everything it could. But she kept moving forward, her steps trailing behind Obara’s as they pushed up the steps toward the Barbican of the Keep. It had been reduced to chunks of splintered wood and twisted metal, trampled over by the advancing armies. Y/N turned as she reached the top—just for a moment—to see the destruction the war and wildfire had brought upon the city. Almost a quarter of King’s Landing was gone, swallowed into the maw of black smoke and broken stone. The Red Keep was still burning. More green flames had reduced most of its outer walls to piles of smoking rock and ash. Only the Holdfast still stood tall. If Cersei’s plan had been to burn the advancing armies in the streets—she failed. But a sizeable group of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks still stood between them and the crown that sat on Cersei’s head.

And they pushed and swung their swords and battered their shields, driving the loyalists back or into the ground.

But then something caught Y/N’s eye. Drew her attention like the Stranger had placed their hand upon her head and turned it.

Tywin Lannister was standing outside the smoking Tower of the Hand. His sword was bent and his helmet fell from his fingers with a clatter. His guards had abandoned him; his grand army reduced to only a handful of men. But his face still hardened when his cold eyes raked over her. Even as the battle had clearly been lost, he held his head high and pointed his sword toward Y/N with a sneer. “Come along, girl. Let us finish this.”

Equal parts dread and joy stoked her soul then. And her heart thundered in her chest even as she knew that the time was short. As Tywin took a step toward her, she threw one of her blades, aiming for his throat—and he deflected it easily, as she knew he would. But her hand dove into her pack and her fingers found the warm glass. Y/N threw the jar at him, uncaring of how her shoulder popped and ached with the sudden movement. All she could do was smile when she watched it smash across his chest plate, dripping green. His eyes grew wide as recognition flickered across his face. She bent to pick up a piece of burning wood and threw it at him, watching the green flames erupt.

Fire makes people dance. And Tywin was no exception. He screamed through the green.

The scrape of a sword against a sheath gained her attention.

It was Oberyn. Dark eyes alight with want and fury and, with a single stroke, took Tywin’s head from his shoulders. It still burned as it rolled across the stone, spitting green embers in its wake. The body slumped to the ash-covered ground, plate armor smacking against broken stone. And then Oberyn was marching toward her, sliding his bloodied sword back into its sheath. With his usual brutal grace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slanted his mouth against hers, uncaring of the grime or dirt. Y/N quickly reciprocated, pressing her lips firmly against his. Months of separation, months of wondering if she would see him again despite her promise, months of yearning poured out of her as she grasped at the back of his neck to pull him closer, uncaring for the moment of the surrounding destruction. All there was, was Oberyn Oberyn Oberyn and his beautiful mouth that she had missed too much.

He only pulled back to breathe before he took another kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Blood suits you, my moonlight.”

And it suited him, too.

**

Tywin’s head looked large as it sat next to Cersei’s. Most of it had escaped the wildfire because of Oberyn’s quick removal but half of it was still charred.

The man and woman who had destroyed her family had been reduced to silent heads on a soot-covered floor.

Robb was sitting on the Iron Throne, Widow’s Wail across his lap and a hammered bronze and iron crown settled over his dark auburn curls. The grime and blood of battle still streaked his armor but he looked every bit the portrait of a king with Grey Wind sitting near his feet, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like someone’s arm. The remains of the Throne Room were filled with dirt-smudged commanders and lords who had sacked the City. Oberyn found all of it tedious and had slipped away with a kiss to her temple to help his men settle into camp for the night.

The sun was setting, casting the entire room in the warm glows of pink and orange over its broken walls and melted windows, like the gods were presenting them all with a bit of beautiful quietness for their victory. Their dead would be tended to later, before the city would be looked over to see what could be salvaged. The story that Cersei had set the stashes of wildfire alight as a final effort to kill the advancing armies was already being whispered throughout the smoking city. No one needed to know that the only reason why more destruction had not been reaped was because of Y/N, Obara, and Arya’s actions in the winding tunnels. It was their secret to keep and hold.

As Robb started to hold court, presiding over the captured Lannister forces and learning Euron’s fleet had turned and run when the wildfire had started, fleeing East toward Essos, Y/N excused herself, trying to fill her lungs with something more than soot. She walked through the winding halls, some half broken and others still filled with groups of injured needing a healing touch. And perhaps it was muscle memory, but Y/N found herself standing outside the door of her old room before she could remember turning that corner or walking down this hall. Her fingers brushed against the wood. The wound from Gregor’s sword had not been patched and it splintered under her touch when she pressed against it. For a moment, she thought of opening the door and walking in and seeing what else had changed or stayed the same. But her hand retreated. Her life was not here anymore. There was no need to step into a place of terrible memory just for memory’s sake.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and Y/N’s heart leapt into her mouth at the sight. “Jon?”

His face morphed from anger to surprise to joy and then he was running toward her with outstretched arms.

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him, uncaring of the blood or dirt and grime. He still smelt of fresh snow and pine even over the stench of battle. His gloved hand found the back of her head and he held her close—like he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp if he let go too soon. “Your hair is so long now,” she murmured into his shoulder.

And his answering laugh sounded choked in his throat. “I have so much to tell you.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

But then Mace Tyrell cam huffing and puffing into the hall, still clad in his gaudy golden armor and red in the face. “My lady, Lord Snow, His Grace is requesting your presence.” He then turned and half-ran back toward the throne room without an ounce of grace and his tarnished golden armor untightened and slapping against his extremities with each step. Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

“You have not changed at all, Y/N,” Jon quietly mused.

“Oh, I have changed quite drastically, dear cousin. But not the parts that matter.”

Jon shook his head with a small smile. “I will hear your stories one day.”

“As I shall hear yours,” she promised just as they walked through the broken threshold. But the respite was torn away the moment she noticed who had been lead in chains in front of Robb’s new throne. A handful of Freys were on their knees and snarled at her as she walked past when Robb waved her forward to stand at his side. They were surrounded by the small band of men she had brought to King’s Landing—every one of them looked hungry for blood. And if there had not been an audience, Y/N would have let them slake that need.

“House Frey has refused to bend the knee,” Robb said, his light eyes cold and hard as his gaze moved to the men at his feet.

“Usurper-!”

Whatever insult the Frey had wanted to spout was silenced when Tytos cracked him across the face with a closed fist, his dented gauntlet still covering his hand. “Silence!”

He turned and spat blood. A tooth clinked against the floor. “Bitch.”

Tytos raised his hand again to claim the rest of his brown teeth but Robb stood from the throne and strode down to the man and grabbed the Frey’s greasy hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. The edge of Widow’s Wail pulled a thin line of crimson from his throat as he gulped. “Tell her what you confessed. Tell her, braggart,” Robb seethed, making sure to angle his face to look at Y/N. But every other person was staring at her, too.

And Y/N wished she had Oberyn to stand with—to feel his steadying warmth at her side when the man’s hard stare ripped across her face. But Arya was a comfort too, moving to stand at her side with a snarl of her own. “We found your father outside Pinkmaiden. He tried to bargain, said the Red Wedding did not have to stain all of our hands.”

Y/N could feel her heart stutter in her chest but fought to keep her face neutral. “But you did not care to treat with my father.”

“We dragged him to Harrenhal,” another man said with a laugh. “Took his head and gave the rest to the bear.”

Y/N felt her stomach roll. Bile was rising in the back of her throat in a terrible wave as she curled her into fists behind her back. Grey Wind rose from and licked his bloody chops, baring his sharp teeth and the man cowered and shriveled. “You boast of your own damnation. Have they never taught you of what becomes of men who do not heed the gods’ warnings? Or have the gods never touched The Twins?”

The Freys bellowed, screaming and hollering this and that but all she could hear was a dull roar in her ears, watching their dirty faces contort with their own simple rage.

She dragged her gaze to Robb. “I have heard what they had to say, Your Grace. What else would you have of me?”

Robb stood straight, ignoring how the prisoners still fumed. “I would have nothing of you, my lady. You and your house have paid a high price for your loyalty.”

Robb’s words pushed something both cold and soft against her fragile heart. She nodded once, knowing his words meant more than their simple meaning. “House Frey has wronged more than just me and mine, Your Grace. You know that better than anyone. Do with them what you will. I do not care for their mortal coils and the gods will not care for their souls.” And she watched, a little entranced as they were dragged away, one by one, and slowly the Freys’ screaming was snuffed out. Y/N noticed a bit of tension leech from Robb’s posture as the quiet settled over the crowded room and he retook his seat.

But it was quickly washed away as the next prisoner was brought in, chains singing with each step. A quick kick to the back of his legs brought Jaime Lannister to his knees in front of Robb. And the last living lion in the city actually smiled. “Stark, we must stop meeting like this.”

Maege Mormont started to draw her sword when Robb held up a hand. “You once made my mother a promise. An oath. To return her daughters to her care.”

“I did.” His green eyes flickered to Arya at Y/N’s side.

“You failed.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“And then we find you fighting alongside your sister.”

“To be fair, it seemed your sisters were already in the care of your cousin so my oath-”

“My sister is the only reason your head is not on a spike,” Robb seethed. “She told me of how you saved her life.”

“Is this true, Lady Arya?” Some lord from the Reach asked. He was quickly met with looks of derision from the surrounding Northmen for questioning her or Robb. (“Of course it is true! She’s no reason to lie!”)

“It is true,” Y/N said, stepping in front of Arya who looked ready for the ground to swallow her whole. Her pride was a fearsome thing. “I saw it with my own eyes. Against his own bannerman, he raised his sword to keep Arya safe.” Murmurs started to slide through the assembled crowd and Robb’s jaw ticked to the side but all Y/N could see was Jaime’s soft, sad smile when he looked at her, like he was remembering how she cried and asked him not to tell anyone. A quiet kindness repaid.

“Your brother has been granted exile.”

And Y/N watched Jaime’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, as Robb continued to speak.

“You will have until sunrise to find a way out of my kingdom. If I see you again, your head will be thrown into Blackwater Bay.” Robb waved his hand and the chains encircling Jaime’s wrists and ankles were released. “A life for a life, Lannister. I suggest you make the most of it.”

**

“Perhaps they’ll have a song about my father when this war is truly over and the city is rebuilt. They can call it the Fish and the Bear.”

“I would hope the bards would grant him a more fitting song. He had more tales to tell than the way he left this plane, my moonlight.” Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as they stood on the balcony of her room, watching the city settle in for the night and she pressed her ear over his heart, listening to its beautiful beat and letting it steady her own.

It had been nearly a week since they had taken the Red Keep and Robb had been proclaimed king. Everything was slowly being rebuilt. Northmen and cavalry from the Reach were staying to help the city’s smallfolk resettle and survive, creating a sense that all would be well. The gold taken from the Westerland mines settled the Iron Throne’s debt with Braavos. Margaery had been surrounded by the maesters and healers the Tyrells had ferried with them in the war, making sure her time in the Black Cells had not permanently injured her, but had been presented to Robb just this morning and he had gladly accepted her as his queen. It was all a show, of course. The alliance between Robb and the Reach had been forged in the shadows long before he ever set foot in the city. The plan that Oberyn and Ellaria carefully crafted had unfolded beautifully. There were a handful of pieces left to move but Oberyn and Dorne were thankful for a bit of respite and Y/N was grateful for his arms to fall into when she felt that insidious ache once again grow in her chest. Oberyn made it easier to bear. He had kept her close when the other lords and ladies started to learn of her campaign in the Westerlands and what she had done—looks of horror and morbidly curious whispers disappeared when Y/N was in his arms. She only wished that Ellaria was there, too. It had been far too long since she had them in her arms. She needed them both.

“You are being called back to Sunspear, are you not, my prince?” A raven had arrived from Dorne just after they had broken their fast.

“We are being called back to Sunspear,” he mused before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But you are not coming with me.”

Y/N had not said anything to give him that inclination. But Oberyn always knew. She felt him breathe in the scent of her skin as she sighed, burrowing a little closer to his warm chest. “I have to finish it.”

“I know, my moonlight, I know. And I will never keep you from your wrath.” He leaned back to gently cradle her face in his warm hands. “But I will have you promise me, again. Promise me that you will not forget us. Come home. When you are finished, come home.”

**

“Tell me something, Arya. Something good.”

“I met a boy. Named Gendry.”

A dense fog had settled over the damp grass, curling its ghostly fingers around the trunks of the trees that sheltered Y/N and the armed men from any eyes that might be scanning the land from the safety of their chambers.

Arya spoke, unhurried but succinctly, about her time disguised as ‘Arry’ with Yoren and then the Brotherhood without Banners, as Y/N waited for her men to finish a perimeter check. Most she knew, having gleaned it from conversations with Arya back in Dorne when they took breaks at the training grounds with Obara. But it seemed she placed the secret of Gendry a little closer to her heart. “I thought I saw him in King’s Landing before we left. Working as a blacksmith again.” Arya almost sounded wistful. “I didn’t ask or get too close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if it was him.”

“I think we have both learned that fear gets us nowhere, Arya,” Y/N said softly. “If he makes you happy, makes you laugh, try. Seven know you deserve some joy.”

Arya’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and she looked out toward the formidable fortress of The Twins, seat of House Frey. A strange location for such sentimental talk but it seemed the pair both needed a bit of respite. The handful of Riverlands men who had gone with her to King’s Landing were accompanying her for one last mission. And a small band of Northmen who were heading home were given leave by their king to help Y/N if they chose—and they did.

Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, trotted to her side on silent feet and Qelōs whinnied in greeting. Y/N had met Ghost after taking King’s Landing when she found Jon wandering the ruins of the holdfast, trying to find a kitchen so he could feed Ghost. The direwolf was decidedly quieter than Grey Wind but no less protective of his chosen Stark or anyone Jon seemed fond of.

And where Ghost was, Jon always appeared. She watched Jon slide through the trees to stand at her side.

“Twelve guards on the perimeter. Five archers in the Water Tower.”

“Inside?”

“No more than forty.”

Y/N nodded and tightened her grip on the reins. She knew most of the Freys and their allies had been in King’s Landing and had been disposed of in battle or by the ax.

But she wanted all of them.

“They seem to be gathering who they can. Must’ve heard whispers of us marching North.”

But the Freys had few allies left. They were the only house in the Riverlands who had not sent forth supplications and oaths of fealty to the new king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the simple bit of parchment in Y/N’s saddlebag was all the protection and fodder she needed to fan the flames already consuming the dark part of her heart that had led her here. It read simply; House Tully was once again Lord Protector of the Trident and the liege lord of the Riverlands. Any and all actions House Tully made on behalf of the Crown to secure allegiance and peace were sanctioned and accepted.

Perhaps Robb did not know what Y/N meant to do. But maybe he did, letting her loose on the House that had caused both her and her sweet cousins so much pain. She had kept her wrath contained while at war. It burned and raged under her skin but she had pulled it back like a tiger on a chain, knowing that if she had let herself be blinded by her need for vengeance, she would have only caused herself and others more heartache as her men would fall to the sword and ax because her plans would have left them vulnerable instead of safe. But now they were safe. This was the final piece. And she could let it finally burn.

A window pushed open and caught Y/N’s eye. A glint of metal, a cage, was revealed in low candlelight. The rookery, it would seem. Y/N watched a raven fly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it and pulled her bow taut, listening to the string sing under her fingers. The arrow flew and took the bird from its flight. They would have no support.

Y/N drew another arrow and turned to Jon. “Give the signal.”

**

“Your father would be proud, my lady. You are a force, just as he.” Tytos was still filled with compliments even as he let a maester stitch up a gash on his arm.

Y/N managed to smile and dipped her rag into a bowl of fresh water and dragged it across her blood and dirt caked face and neck as she glanced out the window. For a moment, she doubted Brynden Tully would be proud of her. Letting loose a band of men still raging from victory and anger from the betrayal of the Red Wedding onto enemy territory and giving them permission to do whatever they wanted and needed to take the fortress was not honorable or something he would have ordered. But he was gone and she still breathed. She was a survivor—and she knew he would be proud of that.

Portcullises crumpled and arrows flew. Swords ran red and the fortress burned. The siege had lasted all of a handful of hours—just long enough for her to spend her quiver of arrows as she picked off fleeing Freys as they ran across the bridges. But it was finished. Almost.

Y/N grasped Tytos’ uninjured shoulder and squeezed, telling him to rest as Patrek ran into the room and told her they had finished gathering the Freys as she requested. He led her out of the damp, dark castle and onto the grass just on the edge of the Green Fork. A band of about twenty men were on their knees as the Northmen and Riverlanders created a circle around them with dirtied swords kept them from wavering.

The last of the Freys. All of them were guilty. Every single one of them knew of the plot and drew their blades when the time came. Each one had benefitted in some way from the slaughter of the Red Wedding and murder of her father.

Patrek continued on as Jon separated himself from the group and touched her arm just before they reached the group. “This will not bring them back,” he whispered, dark eyes pleading. He had seen enough bloodshed.

Y/N pushed his hand from her arm and stepped forward. “No, it will not. But blood begets blood. And I shall bathe in it. There shall be no root or stem left.”

Patrek had dragged a large stump from the tree line and set it at her feet. She watched a few of the men nervously glance between the stump and Y/N, knowing what was coming.

“Your men have refused to swear fealty to King Robb, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your House has refused to bend the knee. Guest Right was violated for greed.” Y/N held her hand out for the ax Lord Cerwyn had across his back and he gave it readily. “I have learned that if you pass the sentence, you should swing the sword. I gave the order.” The weapon was heavy in her grip as she remembered Ned’s words. She’d just been a girl when he had said them and his eyes were sad. But she knew the words to be true and just. “Bring me Lord Walder Frey.”

Two Northmen darted into the group of Freys and pulled a snarling man, still in his sleeping clothes, up and then dropped him to his knees at Y/N’s feet.

“Little Lady Tully,” Walder sneered with rotted teeth. “If your cousin had been half the bitch you are, she might still be breathin’.”

“The gods gave you a chance to be true when they sent Lady Catelyn to your door. They gave you another when your men found my father. You and your wretched family betrayed mine. Now you must reckon with me.”

Walder’s face contorted and splotches of red dotted his grey cheeks. “You-”

Y/N swung the ax and buried it into his neck but it caught on this spine. His eyes grew wide as blood spurted and oozed from the wound. Walder’s mouth opened and closed with silent curses and stained his brown teeth red. She yanked the ax back and watched the Frey crumple down onto the stump before finally cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. “Bring me the next,” she called out over her shoulder. “I should like to finish this before nightfall.”

She needed a new ax after the third Frey. And a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her face and hands.

“Bring me the next!”

A tall man was then shoved to his knees in front of her, brown hair thin and greasy as it stuck to his sweaty face. He snarled up at her, as a handful of others did before.

“Name?”

“Raymund Frey.”

And that gave Y/N pause. “Arya!” Arya came running, a stranger’s blood streaked across her cheek but still bright-eyed. Y/N handed over the ax. She took it with a frown and glanced at the Frey. “This is Raymund Frey.”

Realization dawned on the young Stark’s face and her grip tightened. If the Freys had not been so fond of bragging, perhaps they would not have known he had been the one to slit Catelyn’s throat at the Red Wedding. But they knew. And so, Y/N watched Arya bury the ax into the man’s neck.

And when all of them were gone, bodies left out to be pecked by hungry carrions, Y/N walked out into the river and washed the blood from her hands. It was finished. The blood in the rivers had washed her clean.

**

Riverrun had managed to survive a handful of sieges and a brief Frey occupation without losing its integrity. Jon and Arya accompanied her to her family’s seat and she invited the Northmen to rest in its halls for a fortnight before continuing North.

Houses from the Riverlands descended upon Riverrun when they heard of her return and Edmure’s release from the bowels of Casterly Rock. And Y/N was not sure if they had heard of her campaign at the Twins or in the Westerlands but a handful of them stuttered and avoided eye contact when they once again swore fealty to House Tully and bumbled through lathing compliments for King Robb as if he were standing beside her. It amused Arya endlessly who poorly concealed her giggles behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

But Edmure had been much changed since his time in Casterly Rock’s dungeons. He walked with a limp and was in need of a cane. The fingers on his left hand were crooked, healed broken and at strange angles. And his vigor had left, his pride, too. Whenever anyone asked for an edict or command, his blue eyes flickered to Y/N and she found herself answering.

Settling feuds, giving instruction on how to rebuild, granting clemency, and doling out justice when needed. Through all of it he seemed to look to Y/N for guidance, to answer for him. She had only planned to stay long enough to make sure the Riverlands were at peace but Edmure gave her pause.

It was exhausting and confusing and Y/N, more often than not, found herself in the familiar kitchens late at night in search of wine. While she had anticipated that being within Riverrun’s familiar halls would finally grant her some peace, all she found was longing for the warmth of the Dornish sun and the gentle touch of Ellaria and Oberyn. The sound of the little ones laughing in the Water Gardens while Obara hollered out formations at the training field. Riverrun was so…quiet. Had it always been so quiet and cold? A small comfort was taking her father’s childhood rooms as her home. It was a way to feel close to him but the ache that had settled in her heart grew a little easier to bear with each passing day. And receiving a raven from Winterfell made her smile, too. It was from Sansa, stating that she had sailed North from Sunspear and had settled back into Winterfell without issue, a small band of loyal Northmen at her call. She had been named Warden of the North by her brother Robb and Y/N remembered how the broken throne room had been filled with cheers at the news, even if Sansa had not been present to hear it. But her own troubles persisted.

Jon found her the night before he, Arya, and the Northmen were to depart for their homes. She poured him a large glass of wine and ushered him into a seat in the dark room and finally pried his story from him. He spoke of betrayal and death and love and loyalty until the sun rose with the next morning.

“Out of all the Starks, you were the most prone to finding trouble.” She reached out to grasp his hand and squeezed, matching tired smiles on their faces. “But you survived. That is all that matters to me.”

He laughed and rubbed at his eyes as she smiled. “If you ever tire of the snow, come to Dorne. I will always have a place for you.”

And then she led him out into the sun to join the rest of the Northmen and bid him goodbye with a tight hug and a kiss against his head and she turned to Arya who begrudgingly gave back the Sand Steed she had stolen before hugging Y/N with a ferocity only she was capable of.

“Find your joy, little wolf,” Y/N whispered into her hair as she held Arya tight. “You deserve it. Now, stay safe.”

Arya nodded and sniffled once before clearing her throat as she pulled back. They both whispered soft goodbyes to each other as the morning light continued to grow. And then Y/N watched them disappear on the horizon with a heavy heart, knowing she was strangely alone now in the place she had called home. As she stepped inside, she nearly bowled over Roslin. Apologies tumbled from Roslin’s mouth as she cradled her son to her chest, almost shaking.

Y/N bit back a sigh and plastered a smile on her face. In truth, Roslin was a genial and gentle woman. Pretty. Loyal. So unlike the rest of her family. Y/N saw how she constantly looked to Edmure with love in her eyes and was met with a broken smile in return. And when the news had come of what had been become of her family, Roslin almost seemed relieved. It made Y/N wonder what she had endured while under her father’s thumb. “It is nothing, my lady. My fault. You are Lady Tully now. Apologize for only what is necessary.”

Roslin froze for a moment, as she always seemed to do whenever Y/N spoke with her, but then nodded with a small smile of her own. “Of course, my lady. Thank you.”

The pair spoke for a little longer, Y/N asking after the health of her babe, a boy nearing his first nameday and named after Edmure’s childhood idol and pride of their house, Kermit Tully, who had led House Tully to the height of their power during the Dance of Dragons. Yes, Y/N supposed, Roslin would grow to be a fine Lady Tully.

If only she could ensure Edmure would become the man she needed him to be.

Y/N eventually found herself slipping away after bidding Roslin a good day and walking up toward the rookery, she wanted to send a raven to Sansa to ask how she was faring. The ravens cawed in greeting as she stepped inside. They always recognized her, the intelligent little beasts. But it was the open window that drew her attention. A white raven cawed as it turned to watch her approach. The noise came again as she brushed a finger against the bird’s back and it fluttered its wings, showing the slip of parchment tied to its leg.

Y/N already knew what the missive would say – white ravens only appeared with the changing of the seasons.

The raven cawed against and nuzzled against her finger as she untied the parchment before flying away. And she was right – “winter has come” was all the Citadel had written, probably in haste to finish the hundreds more needing to be sent.

When she asked Edmure what should be done, finding him sequestered away in Hoster’s old rooms, he gave her another tired smile and asked her to make sure the other Riverlands houses were informed and cared for. Yet another obstacle. Dorne had never seemed so far away.

Y/N ordered the overfilled storehouses of the Twins be emptied to make sure the houses beleaguered by the long war would not starve and wrote to Willas and Olenna in Highgarden to secure a few hundred bushels of grain and barley as well. Even with the war, the Reach had enough to spare. And so, more weeks slipped through her hands. Lords and ladies from across the Riverlands came to Riverrun to receive what House Tully could give them and continue to ask for guidance from their liege lords.

An envoy from House Vance was the latest to arrive and it was then that Edmure seemed to finally show some of his former self. He smiled and greeted them, welcomed them, and helped them settle for the handful of nights they would be housed at Riverrun. And a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding finally pushed its way out of her tired lungs. He would be fine, she told herself. He just needed time.

Even Roslin seemed to settle more into her role at Edmure’s side. It was comforting to know that House Tully was secure once again. She sent a raven to Dorne, telling Oberyn and Ellaria she hoped to leave within a fortnight and arrive before the first snow of the new season. It put a certain spring in her step to think that soon she would be back in Dorne. She would be married and-

“Y/N!” Edmure called her name and snapped her from her pleasant reverie before the evening meal. She walked to his side in the hall and offered a small smile. “I have a gift for you, cousin.”

Before she could ask what the gift was, they were ushered into the hall for the meal. Edmure then pointed out Lord Vance’s third son and prattled on for a majority of the meal. Kirth Vance was handsome, she supposed, and he spoke kindly to servants and squires alike and tended to his horses and hunting dogs with care and doted on his nieces and nephews—if Edmure could be trusted. But every word nearly turned her stomach and she resorted to pushing her food around her place in a poor attempt to look like she was eating.

Ser Kirth was almost bashful as he met her gaze and quickly ducked his head with pink cheeks. “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen,” Edmure continued to whisper. “Kirth is not one to overstep—he would listen to your commands and see them through as a faithful consort to you here at Riverrun.”

And then she saw what this was.

“I would have the room,” Y/N said, rising from her seat. While most everyone quickly scurried away, including Roslin and her babe, Edmure signaled for Kirth to come closer. “No, no, Ser Kirth. My dear cousin has misread my intentions. I would speak to him alone.” Another ruddy blush took over his cheeks and he tipped his head before all but running from the hall. When the door firmly shut, she rounded on Edmure. “How dare you.”

Edmure stood, cane clacking against the floor. “Y/N-”

“If you think for a moment that you have the ability to coerce me into staying by offering me a man like that, you do not know me at all.”

“You led the Riverlands to victory. Not me. Not little Robb. You, dear cousin. You raised the banners and called on their loyalty and oaths. You bled alongside them.” Edmure pulled in a shaking breath and pressed harder onto his cane. “Riverrun should be yours.”

“I do not want it.” Y/N turned away from him, trying to hide her disgust. “Is this why you have shunned your duties? You believe you cannot serve your people.”

“I know I cannot.” And he sounded so defeated that she almost turned to comfort him. But rage kept her still.

“Then the Lannisters have won. They sought to strip you of your will and pride and make you a soulless creature of their making.” And Edmure was quiet and that was what had her turning. Her once near-boastful and handsome cousin had all but curled in on himself, face warped and scrunched like he was near tears. “Don’t let them win, Edmure. They are gone. You are still here. You are the man who led men into battle without flinching. You are the man who sheltered smallfolk here, in your home, because you knew they were scared.” Her voice cracked, broken in her throat. “You are the man who read me stories when I was a child. You are a good man. True, brave, and honest.”

Edmure shook his head and a single tear escaped his eye. “I cannot be that man again. I am tied to the family that imprisoned me, killed my sister-”

Y/N reached out to place her hand over Edmure’s on the head of his cane. “The Freys are dead and at my hand. I would gladly do it again. But that woman loves you—loves your son—despite your best attempts to spurn them. The gods have given you a fine wife, Edmure. Do not squander it.”

“She-”

“Is your wife. The mother to your heir. You were once a man of honor. Be so again. No one shall claim the Twins. Let it rot if you wish. Roslin loves you, chose you over her family. There is no ill will in that woman’s soul toward anyone. Just love.” Y/N sighed. “We know love in any form is rare, Edmure. You have found it in Roslin. I have found it-”

“In Dorne,” Edmure grumbled. “Yes, I have heard of your betrothal to Prince Oberyn and your dalliances with his paramour.”

Y/N pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, a sad shield against the wound he had cut. “I am happy. They love me. I love them. Why can you not see-”

“He has daughters older than you, Y/N. All of them bastards. Do you not believe you could find someone more suitable to call husband?”

“And you think Kirth Vance would be suitable?” She bit out, anger replacing the hurt. “I would give Oberyn eight more bastards if the gods allowed!” She bellowed as something protective struck at her stomach, even if the targets of her cousin’s ire were thousands of leagues away. “He loves me and I love him and Ellaria. He fought beside me, for me—for the gods-forsaken pile of brick and mortar because he knew I once called it home.”

“It is your home!” Edmure yelled in return. “You are a Tully-”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell’s wife in all but name and I am going home!” Her chest heaved and she wiped a hand across her face, trying to calm herself before said anything else. “You are the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Paramount of the Trident. You are not a child. Your life has led to this moment. Do not forsake Hoster’s teachings for your learned meekness. He named you as his heir—be the man he knew you to be. Because I cannot and will not be.” And then she left, leaving Edmure alone.

**

Y/N pulled her fur-lined cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as she strode out to the stables. Qelōs was being tended to by the stable hand and her tack was waiting to be placed on her gleaming back. Full saddlebags were ready for one last journey South. Y/N had spent the last night in Riverrun’s Sept, praying for guidance and for her father’s soul one more time—another quiet goodbye. She thought it would be fitting to do it here, in his former home. And as the sun rose the following morning, it was the most at ease she had felt in almost a year.

“I am never coming this far North again,” Obara said, moving closer to her to try to get a bit of body heat. The large fur cloak and gloves were not enough, it seemed. Obara and Oberyn had led an envoy to the Riverlands to collect Y/N and ensure she was safely delivered back to Sunspear. Frost had started to stick to the grass around Riverrun, thin sheets of ice collected over patches of the rivers and Obara had been distraught about the temperature since she arrived with her father two days ago. Ellaria and the rest of the Sand Snakes had stayed in Dorne. Loreza and Dorea had apparently caught a bit of a fever with their first Winter and Oberyn and Ellaria both wanted to keep the rest of their daughters healthy. The little ones would be fine, but Ellaria and Oberyn always wanted to be sure.

Y/N chuckled at Obara’s plight and pulled a thick wool stole from one of her bags and wrapped it around Obara’s shoulders, making sure to tuck it high around her neck. “What of your plans to see Seagard? Hm? Lord Patrek will be devastated.”

Obara sniffed and looked away. “He must wait for Winter to end if he wishes to have me at his home. I am of Dorne. He-”

“Is in love with you, Obara. And Lord Mallister is amiable to the match if you wish it.” Y/N assumed tales of Obara saving his heir’s life and fighting beside the Riverlanders may have something to with Lord Mallister easing his views on who could be a possible match for his son. That, and Oberyn Martell being her father, a Prince of Dorne and the man who took Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders was a definite bargaining point. Y/N finished tucking the stole around her frigid companion. “But I am happy to simply see your face again.”

“Sap,” Obara said with a small smirk. “If I have to hear Father wax poetic about your eyes the entire ride to Dorne, I will be forced to murder you both.”

“Oh, I expect nothing less.”

They spoke a little longer, watching their horses be readied for the ride before one of the stable hands said, “Oh, Lord Tully! Good morrow!”

Y/N turned to see Edmure at the mouth of the stables. Roslin was at his side, a small smile on her delicate lips. Something was bundled in his left arm, his right still holding his cane. It had been a tumultuous two weeks within Riverrun’s halls. Edmure had stumbled when regaining his duties but fulfilled them with more confidence with each day. He had kept his conversations with Y/N at a minimum and had steadfastly refused to speak to Oberyn more than necessary when he first arrived. But Edmure softened. At almost an alarming rate. But perhaps that was simply Oberyn’s charm. His pervasive magnetism that could draw nearly everyone to his side if he wanted them. Edmure was no exception. And that gave Y/N a little comfort, to know that Edmure did not hate her betrothed as he had tried. Knowing her two families, no matter how different, were coming together was a solace. Riverrun would survive under Edmure’s lordship.

The pair stepped closer and Roslin helped Edmure press the bundle into Y/N’s arms. “It is a gift for you. A reminder of… of Riverrun.” Not of home. Not anymore.

Y/N looked down at the bundle and watched it move, the tip of the fabric peeling away to reveal a fluffy snout. Y/N quickly unwrapped the dog with a huff of a laugh as it wiggled in her hold. The pup fit comfortably in her arms and had the most beautiful black fur with a tuft of white on his chest.

“He is of the Riverlands, hearty and loyal. Even if Riverrun is no longer your home, I’d like… I’d like if you still had a piece of us with you.”

The pup squirmed in her grasp and raised up on unsteady legs to lick at her chin with a happy yip. A fortuitous distraction for both Edmure and Y/N as they tried to clear the tears from their eyes. Y/N nodded and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before leaning up to kiss Edmure’s cheek. “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Edmure. A treasure to be sure.”

It was not an apology, not an outright one anyway. But Y/N accepted it just the same. It was a soft ending to a hard chapter.

But she was ready to start a new one.

And as Oberyn walked into the stables, a soft smile on his face, she knew it would be a good one.

**

The distance between Riverrun and Sunspear seemed so long and so short at the same time. Each night was spent in Oberyn’s arms, trying to reclaim the time she had lost. They would whisper about their plans for the future, of how they both wished Ellaria in their arms when the nights grew colder and colder.

But it was good. It was soft and gentle and eased the ache she had held against her heart like a shield since she had left his arms. It was good.

The pup had grown astonishingly fast. He often squirmed out of her grasp in the saddle to trot alongside their horses. If there were ever a body of water near the road, he quickly jumped into it to wet his fur and then happily scampered back into line, proud of himself.

“He is a little bear,” Oberyn once griped as the pup’s sharp teeth nipped at his leg when Oberyn had moved to help Y/N down from her horse. The pup seemed a little insistent on having Y/N’s attention at all hours and he only grew bolder as the distance from Sunspear grew shorter. Obara found her father’s frustration with the pup endlessly entertaining and would also lathe attention on the pup at any moment. She followed her father’s lead in calling him a little bear, much more affectionate in tone. And Y/N supposed the name just stuck. She called him her little river bear in High Valyrian, but settled on just calling him Gryves for short.

As they crossed under the stone arches of Sunspear and the crowds cheered, little Gryves happily pranced next to Qelōs and snapped his jaws, catching the flower petals the people of Sunspear had thrown into the air in celebration of their return. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes were waiting on the steps of the fortress and Y/N dismounted before Qelōs even stopped and raced up the stairs. Tears were in Ellaria’s eyes as Y/N wrapped her in her arms and she could taste them as she pressed her lips to hers again in again in a fevered frenzy as an incandescent warmth bloomed in her chest at just the simple touch of Ellaria’s skin. And it took Ellaria holding her still, gentle hands on the side of her face, to realize she was crying, too. “No more tears, my Tully,” Ellaria whispered. “You are home.”

A happy shriek had them pulling apart to see Dorea and Loreza bowled over on the steps being licked by Gryves whose entire fluffy body was shaking with how quickly he was wagging his tail.

Oberyn stepped to their side and kissed Ellaria soft and slow before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s smiling mouth.

Yes. She was home.

**

Gryves huffed for the third time, disturbing her attempt at sleep. Or maybe the dog knew she couldn’t sleep and was sharing in her plight. Y/N gave up after she heard him huff again and slipped out from under her blankets and padded over to her balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over her as she pulled the doors open. Gryves’ nails tapped against the stone beside her and they both walked to the railing, looking out over the still-bustling fortress.

Her wedding was tomorrow. Her dress was carefully hung and her maiden’s cloak alongside it. Daisy had been bouncing in each step in the last week, happy to have her friend back safely and to “finally see you married to your prince, my lady!” Daisy and Daemon’s own ceremony would be held the following day. People were buzzing about down below, readying for the festivities. While the ceremony would be small, Doran insisted on letting them have every finery they wanted. Y/N did not care if she had to marry in a threadbare sack and in bare feet and they only had blood oranges for their wedding dinner—she simply wanted to be married.

Gryves placed his front paws on the railing and looked out over the small crowd, too. He let out a soft ‘boof’ as he watched. He was still growing, his head now coming to her waist but he was still as playful as ever—and patient. Loreza had fashioned him a hat that looked peculiarly like an otter and he let the girl set it on his head and sat still long enough for the girls to coo over him before getting distracted by a gull he promptly chased into the sea. He was doted on by almost everyone who resided in or worked around Sunspear. (Oberyn was still trying to find a way to get the dog to like him and stop nipping at his leg whenever he tried to kiss Y/N.) Sarella was home (“For only a moment!” she insisted.) from the Citadel and the Sand Snakes were all together again and Y/N found them all to be wondrous company. Daisy and Daemon were still steadfastly in love, perhaps even more so that Daemon had returned unharmed. All of it was so idyllic. So perfect. And for a moment, Y/N once again wondered if the world was about to crash around her—but she quickly dismissed the thought and she thought of Ellaria telling her that happiness does not have limits and that she had the ability to choose every joy and happiness that was placed at her feet. And Y/N wanted to seize every last opportunity.

A knock at her door had her turning and Gryves kept to her side as she walked back into her rooms to open the door. Ellaria was on the other side with a soft smile and Gryves darted around her and into the darkened halls, probably in search of Loreza or Dorea. Y/N stepped back to let Ellaria in and softly shut the door behind her. Before Y/N could ask what she was doing, Ellaria had grasped at her face and pushed her lips to hers, easily delving into Y/N’s surprised mouth to lick and explore. Y/N faltered for a moment before letting her hands slide around Ellaria’s waist, bunching the silky fabric of her dressing robe between her fingers. Ellaria pulled away for a moment to press soft, wet kisses against Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, humming as she felt the thrumming pulse beneath the skin.

“I knew you would not be sleeping, my Tully.” Another kiss to Y/N’s panting mouth. “And I will have to call you something else after tomorrow, won’t I?” Ellaria’s laugh was light and her fingers started to trail up and down Y/N’s arms, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You can call me whatever you desire,” Y/N said, tone breathy.

“And if I simply wanted to call you mine?”

“I am already yours.” Y/N leaned forward to press her forehead against Ellaria’s as her hands gently grasped Ellaria’s hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around her wrist. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered the vow against Ellaria’s lips. It was no Sept. There was not a Septon in sight nor any other trappings of the ceremony. But Y/N meant the vow as seriously as she would tomorrow with Oberyn.

And then Ellaria was kissing her again, tightening her grip on her wrists like she wanted to brand her touch to Y/N’s skin. “I am yours and you are mine.” Ellaria then dragged Y/N forward and spun her around before pressing a hand to her chest and pushing. Y/N didn’t even realize they had come so close to the bed until she fell onto it with a laugh, greedily grabbing at Ellaria’s legs as she climbed over her and stole another kiss against her smiling mouth. “You need to sleep, yes? I have two options for you.”

“Oh?”

Ellaria nodded and trailed her lips across Y/N’s chin, nipping at her jaw, before sliding down her neck again and letting her tongue dip into the notch between Y/N’s collarbones. “I can have you brought tea. Or…”

“Or…” Y/N played along, letting her hands slide up from Ellaria’s legs to her hips but her grip stuttered when Ellaria’s mouth suddenly pressed over her chest, tongue finding her nipple even through the cloth and teasing it to a hardened peak. When she was satisfied with one, she quickly did the same to the other.

“Or I can tire you out myself,” Ellaria said, situating herself with ease so she could lay her cheek against Y/N’s chest, undoubtedly listening to her fluttering heart. “Which would you prefer, my Tully?”

“You. Always you.”

Ellaria’s smile was bright even in the dark of the room as she sat straight and shuffled down the bed while signaling for Y/N to center herself in the blankets. She gracefully stretched out beside her slowly pushed the edge of Y/N’s chemise up, up, up until it exposed her lace-edged small clothes. “You’re always so pretty for me,” Ellaria mused before her fingers trailed over the front of them, already coaxing a moan from Y/N’s lips. “It has been too long since I’ve been able to touch you like this. You are never to leave us like that again.” She leaned down to kiss Y/N’s lips again, licking into her mouth. “Swear to me.”

“I swear it,” Y/N said, last word a breathless gasp as Ellaria’s talented fingers slipped beneath her small clothes and found her heat, ready and wet for her. Y/N had not even realized she had become so wet, only able to focus on Ellaria.

“Good.” Ellaria dragged the damp small clothes and dropped them to the floor. “So pretty,” Ellaria whispered as her fingers started to push through Y/N’s folds, gathering her slick before trailing up to her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have Y/N’s hips lifting from the featherbed. Again and again, Ellaria would push through Y/N’s folds, barely dipping into where she needed her most, as she pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses against Y/N’s panting lips.

“Please,” Y/N near-pleaded. “Please.”

“And always so polite.” And then finally—finally—Ellaria curled her fingers into Y/N’s pussy in one single motion and delighted in Y/N’s high pitched whine and how the younger woman fisted her hands in the silk sheets at her sides. Ellaria leaned up just enough to seal her mouth over Y/N’s, all teeth and tongue and heavy, warm breaths as her fingers started to move, dragging in and out even as Y/N’s fluttering walls tried to pull them tight.

The familiar coil was starting to grow and unravel at an embarrassing rate and Y/N heard herself nearly wailing as it snapped and that delicious wave of pleasure washed over her. But Ellaria did not stop. Her fingers continued to curl inside her, Ellaria’s other hand pressed down against Y/N’s belly and pinned her to the bed. Y/N cried out at the burst of pressure she felt bloom and the coil started to wind itself again, now with an unfamiliar bite and sting that sang with each movement of Ellaria’s fingers.

“Oh please,” she said, words choked in her throat. She reached out to grasp at Ellaria’s wrist, pushing her further, letting her fingers brush against the spot only she and Oberyn could reach.

“That’s my good girl. Take what you need.”

Even through her hazed mind, Y/N keened at the praise. She wanted to be a good girl.

Ellaria licked across her panting mouth and bit at Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, smirking the entire time. Y/N’s walls fluttered around her fingers and she pressed her thumb against her clit with enough pressure to have Y/N cry against her mouth. Slick soaked her hand but she did not cease her movements, pushing her fingers into her until her hips pressed up against her grip and Y/N’s fingers clawed at her shoulders.

“El-Ellaria I-”

But she pressed her down to the dampened blankets and smiled. “So beautiful,” she said. “Give me another. My good girl.”

Her thighs shook, nearly clamping down over Ellaria’s arm as wave after wave of terrible pleasure wracked her body. The room blurred as her arms slid down Ellaria’s back to pull her close as if she were not the one inflicting this delicious torture. The sounds that came from Y/N as her fingers continued to move could only be described as lewd. Wet and frenzied.

“Give it to me,” Ellaria said, steady and low against her heated skin.

Y/N cried out as another jolt of blinding pleasure shot through her, hips finally lifting from the featherbed as her vision went white. Her heart continued to roar in her ears. Ellaria’s fingers slowed their assault before pulling out, leaving Y/N feeling empty and spent even as her body shivered with residual tremors. Ellaria’s glistening fingers dipped between her kiss-bitten lips and her tongue twisted and slid to gather everything she could. When she was finished, she shuffled down Y/N’s body to press a kiss against her wet cunt and Y/N let out a broken moan. Her dark eyes sparkled when she looked up at her. “One more.” She licked a broad stripe up from her hole to her clit and Y/N keened, nerves alight and near painful. But the long strokes of Ellaria’s tongue continued, broken up by little kitten licks against her clit or dipping inside. Every flick of Ellaria’s glorious tongue brought Y/N closer to the precipice but it came sooner than either of them anticipated, dribbling out of her with a broken sort of cry and a new puddle between her thighs. With a final kiss, Ellaria rose and walked to the vanity near the open balcony and pulled a golden cloth from its pile before dipping it into the small basin of water Daisy had left for Y/N to wash her face earlier. She slid onto the bed again and wiped between Y/N’s still shaking thighs with a gentle touch, delighting when she shivered. “Are you all right?” Ellaria asked as her tongue peeked from between her lips out to clean the shining mess from around mouth.

Y/N sighed with a tired smile. “I am perfect.” She reached out toward Ellaria’s soft skirts and felt the silk slide between her fingers. “But I would like to please you, too.”

Ellaria smiled and dropped the damp fabric to the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I am. But I hope you do not mind guiding me.”

Ellaria slipped back onto the bed and her knees bracketed Y/N’s thighs as the younger woman gently pulled the skirt up to reveal Ellaria’s uncovered mound, shining in the candlelight. Y/N’s hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging Ellaria up toward her face. Ellaria had taught her many things, one of them being how to give her pleasure with just her fingers and Y/N had delighted in the taste of her love. But, in truth, Y/N had been fascinated by watching Oberyn make Ellaria cum with his wicked tongue. She wanted a taste from the source, too.

“By the gods, you are perfect,” Ellaria murmured holding her skirts higher so she could look to see Y/N’s face between her legs. She reached down to curl her hand around the back of Y/N’s head, pulling her up to meet the crux of her thighs.

Y/N quickly licked a short but firm stripe from Ellaria’s hole to her clit, earning a soft sigh in return. The bitterly sweet taste of Ellaria was heavenly and Y/N quickly, selfishly, licked again and then wiggled her tongue against Ellaria’s hole, trying to collect as much as she could.

“That’s it.” Ellaria’s grip tightened on her head and Y/N licked again and again before taking a chance and pulling her clit into her mouth and sucking. They both sunk into the pillows.

Y/N reached up and around to grasp at Ellaria’s hips as her licks grew bolder, encouraged by Ellaria’s moans. They grew louder as her tongue started to delve and lick and press. Ellaria would sometimes murmur instructions, “to the left” “right there” “a little harder, my darling” and Y/N followed each with wild abandon and squealed when Ellaria pressed down onto her mouth and moved her hips, grinding against her tongue.

“So good,” She panted. “So good.”

Y/N ate her out in earnest, sloppy and spit sliding out of the corner of her lips between covetous licks. Ellaria could suffocate her like this easily—and Y/N would die happy.

Exploring fingers slid down and Y/N simply pressed against the bundle of nerves and smiled when Ellaria wailed in response, head tilted back to press the sound into the sticky night air. Her hips moved faster. Y/N did all she could to keep up, to give Ellaria as much as she had given her. The hold on her head tightened and Ellaria suddenly stilled above her with a groan. The thighs on either side of Y/N’s head shook and the taste of Ellaria flooded her mouth. Y/N pulled her fingers away from her clit but gave a few final licks before Ellaria pushed off and then sat beside her on the pillows.

Ellaria caught her breath with a laugh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “I cannot wait to teach you everything I know.”

Ellaria kissed her again before Y/N rose and wet her own bit of cloth to wipe between Ellaria’s thighs. She lathed a kiss against each of Ellaria’s legs before pulling her skirts down again as she lounged on the featherbed. “I will be a dutiful student.”

The laugh Ellaria let out was tired but joyful. And they spoke for a few more stolen moments, Ellaria constantly checking to make sure Y/N was not overworked or feeling strange as they shared slow kisses in the moonlight. “Will you be able to rest now?” Ellaria asked as Y/N yawned.

“You have thoroughly exhausted me.”

Ellaria’s smile grew and she kissed Y/N one more time before she slipped off the bed again. “Then I shall see you in the morning, Princess.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the title. “In the morning, my love.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711 @huliabitch​ @stitchers-in-stitches​ @iellaren-uodo-rian​

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

KitTy Flower Cards Fan Fic - I have loved you & you haven’t known it (last Chapter)

KitTy fan fic based on Kit and Ty’s flower cards (art by Cassandra Jean), to celebrate the release of Ty’s latest flower card. I alternate between Kit and Ty’s POV.

If you prefer reading it on AO3 or if you have missed the previous chapters, Link is here. AO3 Link - Am I forgotten?

Following Chapter is the last: Chapter 9 - I have loved you & you haven’t known it.

****

Kit was staring, frozen in shock, as Ty crumpled to the floor and curled up against the wall, his hands covering his head, his forehead resting against his knees. His knuckle was bloody and red streams were running down his hand, his forearm. He didn’t seem aware of it. He started rocking back and forth.

‘Ty… let me see your hand,” Kit said gently. All the anger had left his body.

Ty must not have heard – or cared – because he replied, in a muffled voice. “Why won’t you let me… be there for you? What- What else can I do to… to be there for you?”

Kit took a sharp intake of breath as realization dawned on him.

“It wasn’t Anush, was it? He was only helping you. You were calling the shots. I know it now. All the intelligence we received from the Scholomance over these past two years… All the missions you picked… everything, all of it. It was all about… me ? You did all of this for me ?”

Ty didn’t answer. He was caught up in his own world, rocking restlessly. His hands were now fluttering above his head like butterflies, sending specks of blood everywhere.

“Why, Ty? Why? You haven’t tried to contact me once. You never wrote me a single letter. Hell, I was one phone call away. But nothing. You left me with nothing, all these years. I thought you had forgotten me completely. Every night I lay in my bed and asked myself. Am I forgotten ?”

“I thought YOU KNEW!” Ty cried. He lifted his gaze then, and Kit saw that silver tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“I thought you knew,” Ty whispered again, in a softer voice. He wiped his tears with shaking fingers, leaving smears of blood on his cheeks.

Kit was desperate. He couldn’t stand there and do nothing while Ty was having a breakdown. Worst of all knowing he was having a breakdown because of him.

He wanted to hold Ty, the way he had done on the London Institute’s roof. The way he had done in the nightclub. To hold him tight and never let go. But would Ty welcome his touch? Or would he push him away?

“Knew what, Ty? Knew WHAT?”

“I thought you knew… that all these years… I loved you. But it seems as though…” It was as if the dam gates had been opened, and water kept pouring out of his eyes. “It seems as though…”  His shoulders were shaking now, with deep shuddering sobs. “I have loved you and you haven’t known it.”

For a moment, Kit just stood there, stunned.

The sight of Ty’s crumpled figure, the sight of his wet cheeks, the sight of his bloodied hand, acted like an electric shock, bringing Kit back to his senses. He fell on his knees, before Ty. He put his arms around him and held on tight, using all his strength. He knew he was using too much strength. Much more than anyone would use in any affectionate embrace. But he also knew that this was exactly what Ty needed.

“You… love me?” He whispered in Ty’s hair.

Ty let out a deep sigh and relaxed against him, laying his forehead on Kit’s shoulder. “How could you not know?” Ty’s voice was barely a whisper, Kit was not sure if he had heard or imagined it.

“Ty,” he said. “All these years… I loved you, too. This is the reason I left. I loved you then, and I love you now. I have never stopped.”

Ty whimpered. “I thought… you hated me,” he whispered. Kit’s shirt was already drenched in salted water.

“Ty, I could never hate you… Let me see your hand now.”

****

Kit took Ty’s hand with gentle fingers, as if he were holding the most fragile and precious thing in the world and started drawing an Iratze with his stele. “Do you remember?” he said. “You were the first one to give me a healing Rune. It was my first Rune.”

“Of course, I remember.”

Ty lifted his free hand and traced the Voyance Rune on the back of Kit’s right hand, with a feathery touch of his long, calloused fingers. Kit shuddered.

“When I thought I could never have you, I held on to the fact that wherever you would go, whatever you would do, there would always be something to remind you of me… And even if you never spoke to me again, even if you had forgotten me completely, I was selfish enough to think that at least I would have been the first one to… mark you in some way. To mark you as mine.”

“Ty…” Kit said. “Look at what you did for me all these years. You are one of the most selfless people I know.”

Kit released Ty’s hand to bring his own hands on either side of Ty’s face, cupping his wet cheeks, drying away tears and blood with a gentle stroke of his thumbs.

“And I am yours. I always have been.” Kit sighed. “From the first moment I lay eyes on you. You had me completely. And God knows there is nothing I could do – nothing anyone could do, not even you – to change that. But why didn’t you tell me, Ty? All these years I thought you didn’t care…”

“I wrote you a letter a few weeks ago.”

“I didn’t receive anything.”

“Because I never got to send it. I was so angry when I wrote it. It’s probably better this way.”

“Can I- Can I read it someday?”

“You can read it now,” Ty said. He reached for a pocket in his jacket and winced. Kit wanted to offer help but Ty had already retrieved a folded piece of paper. It was stained and wrinkled as if it had been folded and unfolded several times.

He handed the letter to Kit, who opened it with shaking fingers.

Dear Kit,

I am not good with words, but trust that I am at telling the truth.

I have no excuse for acting as I did three years ago, but I beg you to consider my youth.

I dream every night of words you said, wishing you had not taken them back,

When you told me you wished you had not known me, I swear I felt my heart crack.

You think I only care about myself, but how could this ever be true,

When my every thought, my every breath and my whispered words are only for you.

When an idea comes to my mind, it feels empty if not sparked by you.

When a mystery is finally solved, victory is bitter if not shared with you.

When I witness something funny, my laughter dies like a flame without air to nurture it too.

When my eyes behold something beautiful, its shine is lost if I cannot show it to you.

How can you accuse me of being selfish when you disappear all of a sudden without a clue,

Leaving me to figure out on my own the words I Love You.

When you tore yourself away from me, my chest felt as if it had been cut through,

Leaving me only with my reflection to speak the words of my heart to.

Ty

Kit could barely see through the tears that were now freely rolling from his eyes, so he closed them and bent to press his forehead against Ty, whispering over and over three simple words that would heal both their hearts. I love you. I love you. I love you.

****

Tagging @arangiajoan @nenyx @naerysthelonesome @adoravel-fenomeno @unorganisedbookshelf @blindbandit1515 @whyhastgodfarsakenme @noah-herondale-lightwood @georgiaherondale @nicotheangel17 @joonjxne @that-dreamer-girl-m @mariiaarranz @writeforjordelia @shadowfae1878 @majollica-blog @mferraz @darkkitai @justanothermultifandomgirl @kitty-appreciation-week @gabtapia