#but it sounds like someone instilled fear into this couple so I let it slide lol

[tamayokny]

I think that people who don’t work in the public section at their place of employment should work at least 1 hour a day to understand what it’s like to directly serve the public

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for language and blood + references to violence Warning: Lil bit of kisses with dubious consent (initial surprise, then “hmm this is nice, I guess”), as well as a tiny bit of blood. Oh, and, ya know, mild referenced cannibalism. Notes: Still no beta reader, we die like innocent chickens unfortunate enough to be in Ethan Winters’ way. Also, I’m hoping this isn’t too ramble-y, I kinda. Got excited. Maybe sorta stayed up late to write this instead of sleeping, so... PS sorry for the cliffhanger, I could not resist. Next chapter will include the reader earning their PHD in Bullshittery, while also moving us into the, like, actual central plot of Serenade (or at least the part that the romance revolves around). Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne

Chapter 2: Overture

     By the time you made it back to the maidens' quarters, it was nearly half an hour after your "shift" officially ended. Daniela hadn't taken up that much of your time, but her words had instilled a vigorous sense of anxiety in you, which had only drawn out your remaining tasks. You also weren't terribly looking forward to being interrogated by your coworkers. What would you even say? "Oh yeah, I accidentally played a note on the forbidden piano but instead of killing me, Lady Daniela just flirted with me and let me go! Haha smiley face emoji!"

     Yeah, that would definitely go over great with the others. Maybe you could get away with pretending you hadn't been the one to play? Even though, you know, your daily duties were posted on the same wall as everyone else's, and anyone could see that you were the only person working in the music room today. Damnit, you think, everyone is always a bit tense when someone "gets off easy". Not that it happened terribly often. It simply made people nervous, considering they never knew if the Ladies of the house had been denied the "stress relief" they so desired, and whether or not they would want to take it out on someone else.

     Hoping things would sail a little smoother this time, you took a deep breath and pushed the door to your quarters open. As soon as you stepped in you felt a dozen pairs of eyes turn your way. There had been muffled talking as you approached, but now it was silent, a heavy curtain of discomfort hanging over the room. Well, fuck, you thought, struggling to think of how to react. In the end you settled with a slightly-too-enthusiastic wave and a shy smile.

     “What the hell is wrong with you?” One of the maidens asks, almost instantly, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed with confusion. If you remembered correctly, her name was Cynthia, and she was one of the (currently) longest running survivors. The two of you hadn’t spoken before, which made her next move all the more confusing. Without much of a warning she moved in front of you, reaching out to grab your hands, before gently holding them in front of her chest. When she speaks, it’s with a hushed voice. “How are you not dead right now?”

     “I… have absolutely no idea,” you replied, doing what you could to avoid her gaze, but ending up meeting eyes with the others in the room.

     “When you didn’t get back with everyone else… we assumed the worst,” Daphne, the closest thing you had to a best friend, said. She was towards the front of the small crowd of maidens, all of whom were now gathering around you out of curiosity. “You’re probably just lucky that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t home while you played, otherwise, well, I think we can all guess what would have happened.”

     “Thank the Mother for that, literally,” Cynthia chimed, dropping your hands as she did. That caught your interest for sure. Despite being part of an eccentric “extended family”, it wasn’t that often that Lady Dimitrescu actually left the castle to visit the other Lords; or their leader, for that matter. Was something big coming? Or was it simply time for a regular check up? You didn’t have time to ponder that thought, as soon Cynthia was speaking again. “Now, please, regale us with your story, dear. It must certainly be interesting… seeing as you escaped unscathed.”

     “Alright, alright,” you said, putting your hands up in a “slow down” motion. Sighing, you moved over to your bed, sitting on the edge, before starting to tell the others what happened. You left out a few details, such as the severity of Daniela’s flirting, as well as the way she touched you. By the time you reached the end of your story, the other maidens had settled in a semi circle around you. A few had started to get ready for the day shift while you spoke, but their movements were deliberately slow, and their gasps let you know they were definitely listening. It was, however, difficult to tell how anyone really felt about what you were saying. Were they looking worried because they were concerned for your safety, or for their own?

     Hard to say. All you knew at the end of night was that no one was looking forward to the following night.

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

     Every shadow in the corner of your eyes makes your heart skip a beat. All day (night, technically) you’ve been overly paranoid, expecting Daniela or one of her sisters to pop out at any moment, their sickles raised, blood-stained lips pulled up into a grin, promises of violence dripping from their mouths. So far your anxiety had proven irrational. Experience, on the other hand, was reverse-reassuring you with memories of maidens you had hardly had time to get to know. Who were you to avoid such a fate? Could playing a little song really justify your existence to these people? These mutants?

     Distracting thoughts like that swirled around your mind for hours, leaving you feeling faint and dizzy, as you desperately tried to focus on your work. Ironically, it was your tunnel vision on your worries that brought them to life.

     “Humph, you should really pay more attention, sweet thing,” a voice whispers, right besides your ear. Immediately you jump, a little yelp escaping you, and whirl around to see who had crept up on you. Your wide open eyes soon settled on the youngest Dimitrescu daughter. A toothy grin lit up her face as she took you in, leaning in just close enough for you to feel her breath. “Missed me?” She asks, words melting into a fit of giggles. One moment she’s face to face with you, the next she’s evaporating into a swarm of insects, moving around the room with frightening speed before settling on a nearby table. Both her legs dangle off the edge, swinging a little in a childlike manner.

     “Lady Daniela, I-” you stutter, hardly able to will yourself to speak. You can’t help but glance at the table with a feeling of anxiety, knowing that you had just finished cleaning it, and wonder if your work would be for naught. But it seems that Daniela doesn’t appreciate you focusing on something other than her. Again she buzzes into a cloud, this time coming closer to you, the insects circling you, occasionally tugging at your skin. Fight or flight tries to kick in, yet all you manage to do is freeze in place.

     You don’t open your eyes until the sound of hundreds of wings beating dies down. Fresh drops of blood trickle down your brow, as well a few from smaller cuts on your arms. Panic still roots you in place, even as you stare up at Daniela with a frightened expression. At first all she does is laugh. Loudly, with no softness to it at all. This was exactly the sort of thing that you had been afraid of in the first place.

     “Oh, you poor little thing… Did that hurt?” Daniela asks, trailing a hand up your arm, pausing just before her fingers touch blood. Then she leans in, once more putting her lips right next to your ear, slowly pulling off one of her gloves as she does. “Good. Maybe you’ll pay more attention to me now. You really should, being in love with me and all.” She says it so casually, and with such conviction, that you almost wonder if she knew something that you didn’t. Though you try to turn to look at you, you find her gloved hand holding your head in place. The other moves so slowly that you almost don’t notice it until her thumb is sliding across your forehead. Blood smears as she does this, but she doesn’t bother trying to be neat about it.

     Instead she simply brings the finger back towards herself, her other hand turning your face as she does, so that you could make eye contact as she licks her thumb clean. As soon as the blood hits her tongue her eyelids flutter and a soft moan rises in her throat. Astoundedly the sound brought a strong blush to your cheeks. It was less about attraction per se, more about the inherently intimate nature of the moment. Daniela was so close, her hand resting on the back of your head, her eyes slowly returning their focus to you. When she sees you she can’t help but don a prideful grin.

     “You taste even better than I expected, sweet thing- what a fitting nickname, mhmm?” Another giggle, another rush of blood to your cheeks. In the rush of the moment you found your fear fading out, slowly, gradually being replaced by a mix of confusion and… warmth? What is wrong with me, you think, mind racing with countless half-thoughts.

     Suddenly, as quick as the strongest of impulses, you found yourself being pulled closer to Daniela, her bare hand moving to rest on your waist. For once her eyes left your own. Now they drifted lower, to your lips, giving you a single moment to realize her intentions before she acts on them. Your lips collide with hers before you can even think to protest. It’s a million times softer than you would have ever imagined- not that you had imagined. But now that you had felt this… damnit, you know you shouldn’t enjoy it, yet you found yourself kissing back nonetheless. It wasn’t like it meant anything, right? Not like you’d have a chance to kiss anyone else around the castle, either.

     Within a couple moments you realize two things: One, Daniela was smiling into the kiss. Two, by Jove (by Miranda?) was she seemingly inexperienced. Based on how much flirting she had done, you had naturally assumed that she was in no way, shape, or form new to this. The kiss was a bit sloppy, although passionate, and Daniela seemed quick to mimic your movements. More than that, it seemed like she was unable to catch her breath (did she even need to breathe? Or were the movements more out of habit than anything else?). By the time she pulls away she needs to gasp, and you’re left absolutely reeling, unsure how to process any of this. On the other hand, Daniela was softly grinning, gently resting her forehead against your own.

     “Delectable, darling,” she murmurs. There’s a softness to her voice that you simply cannot fathom is real, at least not entirely so. Then a pause, with her gently running her fingers through your hair, before she gives you one more little peck on the lips. When she pulls away, just far enough to really look at you, you see something in her eyes that fills you with dread: Hunger. “I think I know what you want, what you need. You want to be with me, forever, a part of me, don’t you? They always do, in the end…” Her eyes shift to your neck, and suddenly her grip on you is dangerously tight.

     Instantly you shift into panic mode, trying to squirm out of her grasp to no avail. This seems to irritate Daniela, who digs her nails into your waist, making you gasp. Without hesitation she seizes the opportunity to push you against the nearest wall, the hand that had caressed you so gently now pinning you down. Your thoughts are racing, desperately searching for anything that might buy you some time to get away, or even dissuade her entirely. But seconds tick by with nothing coming to light, your hope quickly fading. Gulping, you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to accept your fate.

     And then… it hits you. An idea, maybe, that might just be stupid enough to work. Here goes nothing…

     “Wait! Don’t you want me to show you my love?” You ask, somehow managing to mask the pure terror you were feeling. Hell, you slipped in a bit of confidence, sounding far, far more sure of yourself than you really were. Apparently it was enough to give Daniela pause. Her teeth had been mere inches from your neck, but now she was watching you closely, head tilted at a slight angle. “I can hardly do that if you kill me so soon, love. Don’t you want to see everything I have to offer? To know me truly, fully, before we become as one?” Another pause, a little hum from Daniela, then a slow, spine-chilling smile.

      “Go on, then… show me.”

[forpeopleidontknow]

falling into you - h.o.

chapter four - lonely heart

mob!haz au

warnings - swearing, bruising, yelling, angst

author note - I hope you guys like this chapter! I made this one have some angst because why not. Also I made a playlist for the series so if you like to listen while reading, click here!

chapter three ✕ masterlist ✕ chapter five

“HARRISON!?”

He heard y/n call his name, it was panicked and shaky. All thoughts rushed out of his head. He dropped the ice cream he was holding and turned to run back to the tree, but then he saw you. You were sprinting, you ran straight into his arms.

“There was a man a-and he ha-d a gu-n and I thought I wa-as going to d-ie.” you start sobbing. Harrison engulfs you in his chest, trying to shelter you from everything else that was happening. Softly cooing at you in hopes that it would calm you down. He pulls out his phone.

“Were you there?” His voice was angry but kept it at a low volume.

“Yeah boss, I got her out. She ran away before I got her to the car.”

“Alright, I’ll walk her over there now. Thanks, Scott” After the events that just occurred, you weren’t focused on his conversation. You just wanted to go home.

“Hey princess, we are going to walk over to that car over there, okay?” You nodded your head, unable to form a sentence. Harrison kisses the top of your head, unwrapping his arms around you. He puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the car. He helps you in and shuts the door. You start tapping on the window, he opens the door again.

“Don’t leave, please stay with me.” Your tear-stained face broke his heart. He crouched down

“I wouldn't think about it. Just give me a minute with Scott.” He smiled, bringing his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb. He gets up and closes the door again. You couldn’t hear them but you weren’t focused on trying to hear. You were just trying to make yourself as small as possible, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your head. Hearing the door open, you lifted your head. Harrison slides into the car next to you.

“Hey love, so we are going to go back to mine, you will be safer there then at your apartment but if you need anything from yours, we can send someone. Sound good?” You nodded your head and brought your body closer to Harrison. Laying your head on his chest, your legs still close to your body. His arm was around your waist. He was using his thumb on his other hand to rub shapes onto your leg and that’s how you two rode back to Harrison’s. I wasn’t a long drive, 30 minutes at most but you manage to fall asleep. Not wanting to wake you, Harrison picks you up and brings you into the house. Carrying you up the stairs into the room you stayed in last night. Laying the fuzzy blanket that was at the end of the bed on top of you.

You wake up many hours later, greeted by the darkness of night. The day had come and gone and you were confused about where you were. You start to recall the events that took place earlier this morning, not sure if it was a dream or not. You got out of bed and noticed the closet door was open. You walked inside and hanging up was a white jumper with a note on it.

“This one should match x- H ”

You take the jumper off the coat hanger slipping it over your body. You walk out of your room and wander down the hallway. You make your way toward double doors, you knock. No answer. So you knock again. No answer. You decided to just open the door. The first thing you see is the balcony doors, the moon casting light through them. You turned to the right, going through the archway, taking a look at his bed. It was huge, way bigger than what one person needed which led you to the thought, it must get lonely. Having this huge house to yourself, not being able to share this bed with someone. You decided to go look for Harrison, suddenly overwhelmed with feelings towards him so you head out the doors, closing then gently.

You walk downstairs and into the grand foyer. You looked around, still surprised nobody had seen you yet. Walking into the den you start to hear noises. They were muffled voices so you followed them, walking down a hallway until you were greeted by another set of double doors. Harrison didn’t expect his meeting to run so late, he wanted to be there when you woke up but that isn’t what happened. You pressed your ear against the door trying to listen in but only catching a couple of words.

“enemy ” “target” “y/n”

Why were they talking about you? You were so deep into your thoughts that when you backed away you tripped over your feet. Falling to the floor you caught the attention of the people inside of the room.

“What was that?” You heard Harrison’s voice then footsteps. The door opened shortly after. “Y/n? Are you okay?” Harrison’s eyes widened, face written with concern.

“I just stumbled, that's all” He helps you up from the floor so now you are standing in front of him. “My ribcage kinda hurts though.” You rub your side trying to subside that pain but only making it worse.

“What about your face?”

“What about my face?” Throwing him a confused look, he led you into the room. It reminded you of the library from beauty and the beast, just not as big. Not that the room was small but in comparison, it was less impressive. He brought you to a mirror that hung in the corner. It wasn’t until you saw your face that you realized what they meant. Splotches of blue, red, and purple vandalized the right side face. You brought your hand to your cheek, lightly tracing over the bruise, wincing at the pain it caused. Harrison was dumbfounded, he was no longer the collected and confident man that he portrayed in front of his men. Seeing the tears welling up in your eyes hit him harder any punch had. You caught his eyes in the mirror, you weren’t mad at him but you no longer felt the feeling you had beforehand. You walked out of the office fairly quickly, not bothering to check if Harrison was behind you, but even if you did check he wouldn’t have been there. He was standing in the office, the same spot he was when you looked in the mirror, frozen. Maybe it was fear, or shock, or hatred for himself for letting something like this happen to you.

“What do we do now boss?” Tuwaine

“We kill that son of a bitch.” Harrison whispers teeth clamped together. He was mad, no he was livid. At himself. At his men, at his staff, at the guy who did this to you and of course, fucking Ray.

Ray was the leader of a rival mob. They have been at war for many years now and since Harrison distanced himself from his family had nothing to use against him, until you showed up. It had slipped his mind completely, Ray would stop at nothing to be the most powerful Mobster in London. Fuck, he would even kill an innocent girl. Harrison snaps out of his thoughts

“Alright Tom, you lead the integration. Don’t kill him, just make him wish you would. Tuwaine you join him.” The gun shot from earlier wasn’t a real gun but it did knock him out long enough for the man to get stuffed in the back of a car and put in a warehouse. “Sam, Harry, and Jacob find out where Roy is and until further notice someone will be by y/n’s side at all times.” It crossed Harrison’s mind at the park before the events occurred to get you a bodyguard, now it was necessary. He would look in the morning, but right now being with you was the priority. He walked upstairs to your room. The door slightly cracked open. He opened the door a bit more to look inside. The lights were out, the only things emitting light was the moon and the bathroom. He walks towards the bathroom, catching you in deep thought. The sweater was off and your dress was lifted past your rib cage, you looked at it in languish. More bruises laid on top of your skin. Your forearm and rib cage painted with the same blue and purple color scheme. Tears slipping from your eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” You were taken aback. So absorbed into your thought that you hadn’t noticed Harrison in the doorway of the bathroom. You pull down your dress and flatten it out with your hands. You look back up at him.

“What is going on?” Your voice had an underlying tone of anger and it didn’t slip past Harrison.

“I wish I could tell you bu-“ you cut him off. Ever since you got here you had been in the dark and you weren’t going to take it anymore

“But what Harrison, huh? You can’t tell me because of what? Will it put me in danger? I’ll be scared? Well it’s too late for both of those now isn’t it? Now fucking tell me!” You were mad, not angry enough to start screaming but your voice was raised.

“Y/n, I wish I could-“

“Cut the bullshit Harrison, you aren’t protecting me…. Just tell me what’s going on?” Your voice lowering the last part of the sentence. He walked away from you and sat at the bed. This was it, the moment Harrison was coming clean. He lowered his.

“I live a life that you might not agree with and I didn’t want to tell you because…” he took a deep breath in “Well I wanted to keep you safe but I was also.. scared of losing you.” He looked up at you. Looking for some kind of reassurance but your face was blank. You were angry and confused, you wanted to tell him that he couldn’t lose you but at this point, you didn’t know what to expect.

“Y/n... I’m the boss of the largest mob in London.”

The words didn’t seem true. They couldn’t be true. He couldn't be a cold heart person, could he? You recalled the interaction with the bartender, the fear he instilled into him. The doubt you had slowly washed away, getting replaced with fear and anger.

“Y/n, say something... please.”

“I’m leaving.” you grabbed the sweater and started to walk toward the door but Harrison jumped in front of you, blocking the way.

“You can’t leave, there are people after you. You would be in too much danger.”

“SO NOW YOU CARE IF I’M IN DANGER?!?!” You were fuming.

“I COULD HAVE AVOIDED THIS IF YOU HAD JUST TOLD ME TO BEGIN WITH!” Harrison didn’t know what to do. Nobody had really yelled at him before, especially not someone like you.

“Either let me leave or get out.” He just stood there.

“GET OUT!” You threw the sweater at him and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Harrison stood in that spot for what felt like hours but it was only minutes. He finally turned to walk out the door. He muttered two words before shutting the door.

“I’m sorry.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

I’m starting a blurb series called “brothers” which is a holland!sister au! The first blurb will be released on Monday!

[ahgasescenarios]

Corrupting the Innocent Pt. 3- Dong Sicheng

Word count: 1.6k

Genre: fluff with hints of angst/suggestive

Plot summary: In which (Y/N) decides to “help” innocent exchange student Sicheng win over his crush. Except she has ulterior motives and Sicheng is too clueless to notice.

 A week had passed and here you were, getting comfortable in this environment you had instilled for your lessons, with a different version of Sicheng seated by your side. Apparently, treating the situation as though it was a university course had been the right move- the exchange student wowed you with his completion of the assignment. He even vouched for extra credit, surprising you with a new fashion sense.

Your eyes skimmed over his notes, a full list of attributes on display before your eyes. Hair, eyes, lips, ears and the list went on. You nodded approvingly before handing him back the textbook.

“I’m impressed, bravo.” You paused, gauging his reaction. “How did that exercise feel?”

“Good, honestly. I hadn’t taken the time to think about it before.” He seemed pensive, a different aura about him. Could a week of changing his mindset have done this much?

 You reoriented the conversation to the reason you had started this coaching in the first place.

“Now, I want you to tell me something. Have you talked to Rosé before?” He lowered his head, embarrassed.

“Not exactly.”

“Lovey, that’s going to be your assignment for the week.”

“But I’m not ready.” His eyes had taken on two sizes from pure astonishment and dare you say it, fear.

“Sure, you are.” Seeing as your words didn’t have the reassuring effect you had expected them to, you switched gears.

“Here, I’ll help you. Just pretend I’m Rosé.” You wriggled in your seat, getting comfortable for the role.

“This isn’t going to work.” His lip was caught between his teeth now. What you’d give to bite that lip.

“Yes, it is, try it.”

He finally gave in, a familiar love-shaped glimmer traveling across his eyes when he angled them back towards you.

“Hi, Sicheng.” You coaxed him into a “natural” flow of conversation.  

“Hi, Rosé. What’s- um, how are you?” He scratched the back of his neck. Adorable.

“I’m great! You?”

“Um, good. Thanks.” Silence thickened the air in the room for a second, both of you standing awfully still. Sicheng was entranced by this meager roleplaying and he reached over to you, caressing your cheek lovingly. The way he was looking at you almost made you rethink your plan. You pulled back admittedly not soon enough. Why was your heart beating so fast?

“See, you’re ready.” You smiled at him encouragingly. His mind felt elsewhere, though.

“Yeah, um I should get going. I have an exam Monday so.” His vibe was off, but you dismissed him, brushing the awkwardness aside. You had probably just been nervous because of the sexual tension between you two. The newfound confidence did multiply his already obvious sex appeal (or potential, in his case).

 You retired to your bedroom for the rest of the evening, alienated from the rest of the world as you rolled reruns of your favorite tv shows, barely even acknowledging the outside world. An incoming text message jolted your phone awake, only slightly capturing your attention.

Have you gotten him laid yet?

You sighed. I wish, you thought.

No, I have to keep pretending that I’m setting him up with you.

Rosé: How long are you going to keep this up for?

You shrugged; you didn’t have an answer. What Sicheng didn’t know was that you were actually friends with Rosé, and she was in on the whole thing. This scheming was what kept you two close, toying with people so they wouldn’t toy with you. Rosé shared the same view as you when it came to people and relationships which had made it easier for you to form this dynamic duo. Plus, none of her friends were keen on her “habits” so you were all she had when it came to this.  

 How’s project J coming along? You texted. “Project J” was code for her own plans to get Jaehyun in bed, the hot but oh-so-catholic eye candy.

Ugh, don’t get me started. He’s so much of a prude- even at the party, he would barely touch me. I’m sick of the “no sex before marriage” bullshit, I just want to fuck him already.

You could relate to that. If anyone else was reading these texts, they’d probably think you were both horrible people. That didn’t bother you, everyone was a little horrible anyway- you were just more public about it. You enjoyed these games of yours, it spiced up your otherwise rather dull life and kept you feeling alive. There was nothing like manipulating other people’s lives to make you feel in control of your own.

 “Sicheng, what are you-“ You had jolted awake at the sound of someone knocking on your door, just now identifying the culprit.

“I did it, I talked to her.” He beamed with excitement; his eyes illuminated with joy. If it wasn’t so damn early, you would’ve faked happiness.

“What did you say?” You rubbed your eyes, trying to rub the fatigue out of them.

“We just talked like we rehearsed and guess what, I’m seeing her tomorrow!” His brows furrowed together. “Do you think she thinks it’s a date?”

“I don’t know Sicheng, it’s too early for ME to think.” You sighed, the word think slowly decomposing to a mess of letters you couldn’t fathom.

“Right, sorry. I should’ve called first.”

“It’s fine.” You squinted your eyes at him, he wasn’t budging from his spot. “Did you need anything else?”

“Um, can I come in actually?” He was biting his lip again, by now you had figure out the habit was the manifestation of his nerves. You stepped aside and opened the door wide.

He was twiddling his thumbs, pacing around your living room. What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Remember at the party when we were in the closet together?” You nodded, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Where was this going? you asked yourself. Your question was soon addressed as a prominent blush overcame his delicate features.

“Did you mean it when you said you would teach me how to kiss?”

You licked your lips, knitting your brows together. This had taken an interesting turn.

“Of course.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Sicheng, have you kissed a girl before?”

His teeth reflexively caught his lip as he timidly shook his head no. A virgin, yours to corrupt. Things just kept getting better and better.

“No need to be embarrassed, I’ll show you.” You offered him your most reassuring smile and he seemed to relax a tad. He sat down on your couch, gaze averting yours. His palms ran down his thighs, his nerves transpiring over every inch of his being. He looked everywhere but at you.

“Honey, this isn’t going to work if you can’t even look at me.”

To this he turned his head back around, eyes boring into yours. Emotions were wrestling each other behind those coffee brown eyes, you could tell.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Making them feel like it was their choice was key.

“Yes.” All hesitation from before had evaporated from his voice, perhaps those scenes before his eyes had given him a pep talk.  

You crossed your legs under you, now facing the exchange student. You guided his hand to lay on your waist and he gulped. You rested your hand on his cheek and brought his face closer to yours.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” He nodded and you pressed your lips on his. You gave him a few seconds to get used to your lips on his before you started moving your lips against his. It took all your willpower not to devour him right this instant, it was just too good. He shifted towards you, asserting his hold on your waist. Your lips moved in a steady rhythm against each other’s and Sicheng slowly started to get the hang of it.

You broke away to catch your breath, Sicheng’s eyes following you avidly. You dove back in, deciding to spice things up a bit by sliding your tongue in his mouth. A single yelp resonated into your mouth before he relaxed into the kiss, tentatively adding his tongue as well. He pulled back, not realizing that the lip he had caught between his teeth was yours until you moaned out loud. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You breathed, truthfully the sound had escaped your mouth unbeknownst to you. You shouldn’t be so careless. The expression scattered on his face was one you had never seen him wear before.

“I’m gonna go.” The air was thick with tension, and not of the sexual kind. You didn’t even protest, cursing yourself for that slip-up. You hoped he wouldn’t make a habit of leaving anytime things got remotely awkward.

You let your thoughts wander as you hopped in the shower. You were enjoying him way too much; it was bordering obsession. It was the first time you had wanted someone this badly before and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

 The next day, your phone buzzed on the counter, the screen illuminating the following words from Rosé:

Next time, could you not involve me in your hook-up projects? Thanks

Right, their “date” was today. If only Sicheng knew…

Rosé was radio silent for the next couple of hours and you busied yourself with household chores, homework and things of the like. Only around dinnertime did you finally hear back from the blonde.

He barely looked at me, let alone talked to me. He seemed completely uninterested in me, weird since he asked ME out. Good work though, you’ll get him laid in no time!

Had your plan already worked? Was he already growing disinterested in Rosé? You found yourself to be the one biting your lip this time. If you had indeed succeeded, why did your heart feel like it had dropped into your stomach?

____________________________________________

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: hi loves! I just finished this series and I wanted your opinion on smth- did you want me to post the rest sooner than every week? I hope everyone is staying safe and doing well xx 

[hawkbucks]

Number One With A Bullet

I saw a prompt comment on the WinterIron subreddit, and I thought I’d try my hand at it. It read:

Tony grows up in an average household, but his brain still lands him at MIT. One unlucky night, his trip to the bank gets interrupted by a robbery. However, the criminals leave as soon as they see Tony’s face. Looking into it, it turns out Tony was put on the No-Harm list by the leader of a global crime syndicate who goes by the Winter Soldier. He is completely flabbergasted when the Winter Soldier looks exactly like his ex-boyfriend, Bucky Barnes.

Tony doesn’t live in a bad neighborhood per se, but he wouldn’t be caught at an ATM in the dead of night with no more as defense than his keys poking through the slits his fingers make when they’re balled up in a fist.

And yet, that’s how he finds himself, standing under a cloth awning with a yellow light doing its best to illuminate him and provide a feeling of safety. He slides his card into the slot and waits for the mechanical voice to tell him to punch in his PIN. Damn the fact that the nearest convenience store is cash-only (seriously, they might as well be an inconvenience store with that policy in his very humble opinion), and damn the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s going to need at least 2 extra cans of Red Bull to get through his courseload tonight. He squeezes his keys harder, his keyring starting to dig almost painfully into his palm. Maybe leaving New York was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just went to NYU; at least then he’d be surrounded by familiarity.

The ATM asks for his PIN.

As his thumb hovers over the keypad, something sharp presses into the base of his spine. He freezes, breath catching in his throat, and hopes to god that he’s just imagining things.

“We just need you to withdraw a li’l something for us, alright?” a raspy voice sounds from over his right shoulder. It’s muffled slightly, probably due to a ski mask or a pulled-up scarf covering a mouth. “We don’t want this to get ugly.”

Yeah. So much for imagining things. He has his makeshift claws, sure, but he never thought that he’d actually have to use them, and the usage of ‘we’ isn’t exactly instilling any sort of confidence in him, especially when the presence of another person is confirmed by a low hum in agreement.

‘Course, it’s either stand here and let these guys bleed him for all the money he has in his account, or act out—and possibly get stabbed to death—in hopes of scaring them away once they see he isn’t going to be that easy of a target. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t mind doing a little tango with death if that means he isn’t going to be evicted from his apartment and end up living out on the streets. It’s not like he has that much to lose anyway (unless you count his piles of rising student debt and well-worn clothes as something).  

“You know what to do, right?” the voice continues. “Just give us some money, and we’ll be right outta your hair.” The sharpness grows insistently, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until it breaks through his clothes and sinks into him.

“Just money?” he asks, swallowing down any residual fear.

“Just money.”

He blinks and nods twice. Now or never, Stark. Now or never.

He wildly turns around and punches out with his “claws,” satisfaction settling in his chest when he hears a grunt of pain. The knife clatters to the ground, and he watches as they reel back, holding the side of their face.  

He sets his shoulders, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his breathing becomes heavy. He glares at the other, daring them to come forward.

Except that the other doesn’t come forward. No, their eyes are wide through the holes in their mask, and their knife is hanging loosely at their side. “Oh, fuck,” they start, their voice higher-pitched and more nasally. They look at recently-punched-guy out of the corner of their eye before looking back at him. “Uh, shit. Dude, it’s him. Norman, fuck, it’s him.”

Tony furrows his brows together. “It’s him”? What the hell does that mean? Last he checked, he wasn’t anyone that would get people caught up while attempting to rob him, unless he somehow turned into a celebrity overnight.

“Aw, man,” recently-punched-guy—or Norman, as he’s recently learned—moans, looking at Tony, knees buckling from underneath them. “The Soldier’s gonna have our heads.”

The Soldier? The closest person he knows to a Soldier is Rhodey, and he’s pretty sure Rhodey isn’t the kind of guy who would go around threatening to have people’s heads if they screw with him. Or maybe he is, but he’s definitely not the kind of guy who would make good on that promise if the way his would-be robbers are looking like they’re staring their death sentence in the face is any indication. (Speaking of which, probably not the smartest move to have given Tony one of their names.)

“We didn’t know it was you, man, we swear!” Not-Norman pleads, sounding on the verge of hysterics. “Dude, you gotta tell the big man that we didn’t know!”

He stays silent, racking his head and trying to figure out who this Soldier could be and why it seems like they want to protect him so much. Rhodey’s out, obviously. Pepper may be the next most likely candidate, but there’s also the fact that she has better taste than to call herself the Soldier. It can’t be Peter, that kid he tutors, since Peter is 12, and it’s not Peter’s Aunt May because he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t hurt a fly even if it was buzzing all over her lasagna.

Norman and Not-Norman, however, take his silence to mean that he is, in fact, considering not telling the “big man” that they didn’t know. “Listen, if we knew it was you, we wouldn’t even have approached you!” Norman says. “Just tell him that, yeah? ‘Cause we have to go. You—fuck—you hit hard!”

“I’ll tell him,” he says. If he could ever find out who “he” was.

“Okay, okay. We good?” Not-Norman’s already backing away.

Tony nods.

Norman, still holding his face, turns tail and runs. “You can keep the knife!” he shouts out, Not-Norman lagging just a few strides behind him.

Tony looks down at the knife, considering.

See, someone calling themselves the Soldier sets off alarms in Tony’s head. Unless they’re some 14-year-old on an MMORPG, they’re probably involved in some shady, shady business, and it’s not like he can just Google who they are. Fortunately, Tony knows someone who deals in shady businesses (mostly because they’ve been friends since elementary school and, while they went down incredibly different paths, she’s always looked out for him). He sprawls himself out on his couch and dials a familiar number.

“Who the hell’s the Soldier?” he asks once he hears her pick up.

“Wow. Not even a hello,” Natasha quips dryly. Rustles of cloth and faint shouting can be heard in the background.

He decides not to ask. It’s probably for the better. “Hello.” He pauses for what he assumes is an appropriate amount of time. “Who’s the Soldier?”

“What makes you think that I’d know?” Natasha says in a tone of voice that makes it painfully clear that she does, in fact, know.

“C’mon, ‘Tasha. I’m curious.”

Natasha hums in acknowledgement. “Answer one of my questions first.”

Oh, great. Intelligence for intelligence, as she says. “I—sure, okay.”

“You’ve never asked me about them before, which leads me to believe that you’ve never even heard of them until now. Who told you about them?”

He stares at his ceiling. “Uh, Rhodey? You know how he works for the military and all? He—”

“The truth, Tony,” she sighs exasperatedly, cutting through his lie like a knife through butter. So much for that.

He mumbles, “I was in the middle of… getting robbed—”

“Getting robbed?” Natasha’s voice is razor sharp, concern seeping through.

“It’s not—that isn’t important.” He waves a dismissive hand although he knows she can’t see. “I wasn’t hurt, which is exactly why I’m curious, because those guys stopped once they saw me and then they started acting like this Soldier was gonna kill them.”  

“Who was trying to rob you?”

He could rat out Norman and Not-Norman, but he thinks that not even they deserve whatever kind of hell Natasha would rain upon them. “Not important.”

“It’s important to me.”

“Not to the story overall. ‘Tasha, please, I don’t want to talk about this any more than I have to.”

“…Fine,” Natasha acquiesces in her own way of apologizing. “I know him. Not personally, but I know him. Give me an hour and I’ll send you his address.”

“You can’t just tell it to me now?”

“I’m working, Tony.” With that, she hangs up.

He wonders if it’s revenge for him not telling her about Norman and Not-Norman. Knowing her, it is.

His base is near Boston, Natasha’s text reads, his text tone startling him awake. You’re lucky. Tell me how it goes.

If he’s being honest, he didn’t expect the base of someone with enough power to make a couple of simple-Joe-robbers nearly piss their pants at the thought of them to look so… plain. Bricks stained a dark red from the passage of time and accumulation of grime, black-tinted windows denying any nosey onlookers the pleasure of being able to look in, and a rather nondescript sign proclaiming the building to be under the ownership of a company calling themselves HC Inc.

He takes a deep breath and enters.

There’s a receptionist there, maybe a year or two younger than himself. Blonde. Her eyes widen when she sees him, but she quickly clears her throat and goes back to typing on her computer.

“Hi!” he greets once he’s up at the counter. He flashes her what he hopes is a friendly smile, because something about her tells him that she won’t hesitate to put him through the floor if she thinks he’s suspicious in any way, shape, or form. “I’m looking for, er…”

She smiles back up at him, eyes glinting. “The boss, right? Don’t worry, I’ll phone him.”

He nods politely before backing up and walking a few steps away, just far enough that he can still hear her without looking obvious (or at least he hopes he isn’t looking obvious).

“There’s someone here to see you, boss man,” he hears. “No, it isn’t her. It’s—” she glances at him— “it’s Stark.” A pause. “I’m sure. He looks like the picture.” Another pause. “Yes, of course.” She places her hand over the mouthpiece and beckons him over. “Can I see ID?”

He fumbles with his wallet as he fishes it out. He flashes his MIT ID, hoping that’s enough.

And enough it seems to be. She nods towards a hallway off to the left. “There are elevators down there. The boss is on floor 30.” She uncovers the mouthpiece as he walks away. “I’m sending him up right now.”

The room the elevator opens up to is far more extravagant than he would’ve expected looking at the outside of the building. A heavy-looking mahogany table sits in the middle, magazines splattered all over the surface, while a pair of thick maroon curtains help block out anything the tinted windows can’t. A chandelier illuminates the room in a soft yellow light unlike the harsh flickering from the ATM before.

Either he’s about to be served the finest glass of red wine he’s ever had, or he’s about to be executed while Chopin bombards his eardrums. It could be both. Not that he’d mind.

He takes a few careful steps, looking around the room. “Uh, hello?” he calls out, trailing his fingers on the table. After a couple of seconds of no response, he picks up a magazine and flicks through it. He can play the waiting game.

“Tony?”

He yelps, turning around to smack whoever that voice belongs to with the magazine, but is stopped when a large hand wraps around his wrist. “Wh—” he starts, then everything he’s about to say dies in his throat. No way, right? There’s no way?

It’s been a few years since they’ve seen each other, since they broke up because he wanted so desperately to go to MIT, to leave their state, but he’s pretty sure that he’d recognize the other anywhere and in any life.

“James?” he squeaks. James is taller now, broader and more muscular with a fair amount of scruff on his chin and hair that reaches his shoulders, but his eyes have always stayed the same: this cool blue that brings him back to the ocean. “You’re the Soldier?”

“Winter Soldier, technically,” James says, releasing his wrist. “Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Winter Soldier?” Tony narrows his eyes and rubs at his wrist. He doesn’t doubt that James didn’t mean to harm him, but his grip is strong. “Like… like from when we used to play Runescape?”

James cringes, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I couldn’t think of anything else. What are you here for anyway? I never thought that you’d… that you’d find out.”

“I—” Tony throws the magazine back on the table— “was approached by a couple of lovely guys, and they mentioned you. Said something about how you’d have their heads for even coming near me.” He crosses his arms. “I’d like an explanation, please.”

James rubs the back of his neck. “There’s a list that I have of people that, uh, that shouldn’t be hurt. You’re on it. So are a couple other people, but… yeah, you’re on it. You’re number 1, actually.”

“Number 1?” Tony isn’t sure if he should be flattered or afraid. Flattered because, well, it shows that James still cares for him, still thinks of him, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t send his heart aflutter. Afraid because there’s bound to people out there that aren’t scared of the Winter Soldier’s wrath, and the fact that James just offered his name and face up on a silver platter… he’d just have to hope, as with most things.

“Yeah. You’ve always been my number 1.”

No. Tony can’t have that. His head is already spinning what with all of this information that he’s under the protection of some mob boss (although Tony strongly suspects that James is the head of more than just a mob) and that mob boss is his high school boyfriend that he thought he left in New York. He can’t have old feelings resurfacing. He can’t think about the nights where he stared at James’ contact information in his phone, never quite building up the courage to call or text. “We haven’t talked in years, James.”

“Doesn’t mean you’ve grown any less important to me.”

Tony exhales. He can’t really come up with something to say against that. Or at least he can’t come up with something to say that wouldn’t make him feel like a monster (which is funny, because James has probably dealt with much worse people than an old flame with a lashing tongue). “What is that supposed to mean?”

James shrugs loosely. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

Oh, no. Oh, no, Tony, don’t, his mind says. James has changed. He isn’t the same boy that used to quote Star Wars with you all day. He’s dangerous, more than likely. “And if I want it to mean something along the lines of us trying again? As friends, and maybe… maybe we can see where it goes.”

James smiles sanguinely. “I can accept that definition.”

[let-it-raines]

Have you heard of that number neighbors thing? I think that would be a really cute CS story!

lol. No, nonnie, I hadn’t heard of it, but then you sent me this and @blowmiakisscolin sent me the picture above and asked for a prompt. So here we are with this short little thing💙

-/-

Captain: I’m currently being forced into spending time with my mates and eating a burned chicken pot pie.

Birdie: Ugh. I’m starving. I’m stuck at work late. I’m supposed to be getting dinner with friends too.

Captain: Hopefully it’s not burned food.

Birdie: With my friend’s cooking, I’d bet that it was. I’ll probably stop and get something on the way and guiltily eat it in my car.

Captain: That’s what I’m going to do when I leave here.

Birdie: This is only making me hungrier.

Emma moves to text back only for her to see Mrs. Moscowitz move from inside of her building to the street, a dark-haired man behind her. They kiss before the man walks away, and she snaps a picture of it, proof that she’s cheating. A pit forms in her stomach that Mr. Moscowitz was right about his wife, but she’s used to this. Being a private investigator means she mostly finds out about a lot of indiscretions and affairs, not really giving her a lot of faith in committed relationships, but then sometimes the person is wrong and their spouse is simply doing some kind of surprise.

Then again, that means one spouse doesn’t trust the other, and that doesn’t instill a lot of confidence either. But she’s not doing this job for some kind of hope in relationships. She’s doing it because she likes having a roof over her head and food in her stomach and flexible enough hours to not have to be at work before eight in the morning.

After tidying things up with the Moscowitz file, texting Mr. Moscowtiz that she’ll meet him tomorrow, she puts her car in drive and runs through a McDonald’s, not at all caring about her arteries as she eats fries and heads to Mary Margaret and David’s apartment for whatever kind of dinner they’re hosting. They have them all the time, nearly every week, but she doesn’t always make them depending on her work.

(And because the cooking is not always great.)

When she pulls into their building’s parking garage, maneuvering into the guest section, she finishes her fries, stuffing them into her mouth and wishing she had something to drink as the salt gets on her tongue. She’s got a few text messages that have popped up since she started driving, and she quickly responds to Ruby and Elsa before opening up her text conversation with the Captain.

That’s still the most stupid name, and she cannot believe that as a grown adult, she is texting someone she doesn’t know under a nickname. Stranger danger and all that jazz is screaming at her, but she’s probably never going to meet him even if she talks to him more than she talks to most people in her life.

He’s her number neighbor.

That is also the most stupid thing in the world, something she had never heard of, but then she got a text seven months ago describing some kind of new trend on Twitter where you text the person with the number next to yours. For some insane reason, she answered the text.

And then answered the next one.

And then kept answering it.

Like a crazy person, right?

It’s basically turned into some kind anonymous pen pal thing, and she most definitely does not have some kind of feelings for the man on the other side of the screen. That would be crazy and stupid and completely and totally ridiculous for a woman who doesn’t even like talking to some of the people that are in front of her.

Then again, maybe that’s perfect for someone who isn’t too fond of people.

The Captain (a name he chose for himself) is in his thirties and also lives here in Boston. He’s got a thing for boats (obviously) and goes out sailing with his brother on the weekends. Several times he’s offered to take her out sailing, but she’s simply not comfortable with that. Maybe one day if they reveal names and she does a thorough background check, but the sailing will have to wait for that day. When he’s not sailing, he spends his days as a professor at Boston College. He didn’t tell her what subject so she couldn’t look him up, and as much as that annoyed her, she also appreciated that he thought that through.

But she really doesn’t care about any of those surface things when she knows that he’s witty as hell and can make her laugh simply by his choice of words and whatever gifs he chooses to send. He’s quick on his feet, always one step ahead of her, and even though he can be far too flirtatious, he’s actually pretty comfortable to have a conversation with, whether it be about how shitty their childhoods were or about how much they both love pizza.

How could anyone not when it’s good pizza?

(He does like pineapple on his pizza, which she thinks is an abomination, but whatever.)

It’s…nice. The way they met is ridiculous, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to and complain about work and her friends and everything else in between without fear of judgment or having her private life spread around.

Captain: I could eat an entire pizza right now.

See? Pizza lovers are the best lovers.

Wait. No. that’s the wrong thought. She doesn’t know this man. She’s not thinking about him as a lover.

Birdie: Wish me luck. Going in to see my friends now. I hope I don’t smell like I was just eating fries.

Captain: I’m sure you smell delicious.

Captain: Because of the fries, I mean.

And sometimes he’s a bit of a dork, and she kind of loves that. In real life, he’s probably all swagger and confidence and flirtatious jokes, and as nice as those things can be, she kind of likes that nerdiness and the odd jokes. It makes everything more…real.

It takes three minutes to get up to the Nolans’ apartment, and she doesn’t bother knocking, simply letting herself in only to come face to face with Killian Jones and his stupid blue eyes and stupid dark jeans and really stupid white smile.

Why can she not think of any other word but stupid?

Probably because he’s an asshole whose mere presence makes her want to burn down whatever building he’s in. That’s arson and murder and all kinds of awful things, but she has hated him for five years and isn’t about to stop now.

That’s what he gets for hitting on her the night that they met only to proceed to go home with another blonde woman who was dressed eerily the same and then not even bring it up the next time that he saw her. He pretended that it never happened when it most definitely did. It’s not that she’s mad he went home with someone else. He can do whatever the hell he wants. She’s mad that he seems to think that there are no consequences to his actions and that he never acknowledged that he was an asshole to her that night and all of the days following.

Is it a little petty to still hate him? Yes.

Does she care? No.

“Swan,” he greats, doing a little bow that has her rolling her eyes. He only does it because he says that she acts like she’s some kind of royalty on her high horse, which is not at all true. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“I’m sure you were waiting on baited breath for me to show up.”

He dips his head to get in her eyeline because he’s always getting in her space like that, and she scoffs at the way that he flashes her a pearly white grin, his eyes crinkling. “You have no idea. I’m always excited to see you.”

“Well, you do like blondes.”

“Aye, I do.”

Her jaw clenches, but she will not take any more of his bait, so she steps around him so that she can walk into the kitchen where David and Mary Margaret are sitting at the island while Ruby talks on the phone, Graham at her side continuously pointing towards a piece of paper.

“What’s going on here?”

“Mary Margaret burned the chicken pot pie she was making,” David explains as he slides a basket of rolls across the counter. She picks one up and stuffs it in her mouth. Those fries are good, but totally not filling for the amount of calories in them. “So we’re ordering pizza.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, “pizza sounds so much better than that.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret huffs. “My chicken pot pie is good.”

“Honey,” David soothes, rubbing her back, “you either undercook it or overcook it every single time. Neither of us are good cooks, and I think that’s something we’re just going to have to live with.”

The Nolans: perfect in every way except for their cooking.

“Ruby, order the pineapple.”

“I am not putting pineapple on pizza, Graham. You know my policy on this.”

“It’s what Killian and I want. Just get a small.”

“No, I refuse. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“How long until they sleep together, do you think?” she asks David and Mary Margaret, knowing that Ruby and Graham aren’t listening because they’re too caught up in their arguing.

“Probably about the same time that you and I do, love,” Killian adds in.

She’s nearly forgotten about him, but that was probably mostly wishful thinking that he’d just up and disappear from the apartment.

“Fuck off, Jones.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

She tosses a roll at him, only for him to catch it, ever the athlete. It’s infuriating that he’s so good at nearly everything.

Ruby finally puts in the pizza order, even though she and Graham are still arguing about it, and Emma opens up a cabinet to get a wine bottle out and pour herself a very healthy glass. If she’s going to make it through tonight, she’s going to need it. Leaving the married couple and the might-as-well-be-married-couple in the kitchen, she steps into the living room and settles down in her preferred armchair before pulling her phone out and scrolling through all of the things she missed while working. There’s not much there, so she opens up her texts again to text the Captain.

Birdie: You should be jealous of me because I’m about to eat pizza.

It takes twenty seconds for her to get a text back.

Captain: Funny, so am I.

Birdie: You caved and ordered some?

Captain: We did, yeah. Though I’m not sure about what type I’m going to be getting. The person who ordered it has a thing against pineapple on pizza.

Birdie: As she should.

Captain: I’ll never understand your prejudice against it. Let me like what I like, love.

Birdie: Never.

Emma looks up to see Killian settle down across from her, his phone in hand with his fingers flying across the screen. She has no interest in his life or who he’s texting, and yet she finds herself curious. Which is, as Killian makes her think whenever she’s around him, stupid.

She keeps texting the Captain for a little while, the two of them arguing back and forth over pizza choices and food choices in general (he’s a much healthier eater than she is), and she finds herself relaxing into it so that she doesn’t really focus on anyone else around her. They’re all wrapped up in their own conversations anyways, so it’s fine that she’s doing this.

Absolutely fine.

Until she feels a heavy presence over her shoulder and there’s a clattering of a phone falling to the ground, the glass probably breaking. He should have bought a case.

“What the hell?”

“What the hell, Jones?”

She turns to see Killian standing above her, his mouth gaping open as he blinks more times than any human being should in such a short time span. What is wrong with him? Why is he standing over her having some kind of weird reaction? Can’t he just mind his own business?

“Jones, what the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how in the world the woman who hates me is the same woman who I also talk to all day long?”

“I’m sorry…what?”

He’s lost it. Seriously. Whatever screw is loose in his head has completely come undone.

Killian waves his hands at her phone, his mouth still unable to close, and she has never seen him this flustered in her entire life. “You’re Birdie.”

And that’s when her entire world flips on its head and crashes down around her in the most dramatic fall in the history of ever.  

She stands up, unable to sit down, and moves around the chair so that they can have a little space in between them as her mind comes to the last conclusion she ever wanted it to come to.

“No,” she starts, putting her phone in her back pocket and holding her hands up. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re the Captain?”

“Aye.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Ruby yells from the kitchen.

“Nothing,” they both yell back at the same time.

She is not cluing her friends in on this. No way. She’ll never hear the end of it.

“This cannot be happening.”

“Well it is, love.”

“I don’t believe you. Prove that you’re him.”

He rolls his eyes, completely and totally exasperated with her. “We are both at a dinner tonight where there is a burned chicken pot pie. Our friends are ordering pizza but Ruby won’t order pineapple pizza. What are the odds of that happening to two different people in Boston?”

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh shit.

Killian Jones lives in Boston.

Killian Jones is a World History professor at Boston College.

Killian Jones likes to sail with his brother on the weekends.

Killian Jones likes pineapple on his pizza.

Holy shit.

Her number neighbor is Killian freaking Jones.

One of her closest friends is also the man she’s hated for half of a decade.

Holy whiplash, Batman.

“So,” he grins, that white smile making an appearance again, “I bet you don’t hate me so much now.”

“Oh no,” she protests as her mind starts to calm down, the hatred and fondness she feels for his two personas somehow mixing together. “I definitely still hate you. I just don’t hate the Captain. That’s a stupid name by the way. So is texting your ‘number neighbor.’”

He smiles, and her heart does not flutter. Not at all.

“You sure do like to use that word a lot to describe me, Birdie.”

“Well, you make me think a lot of incredibly stupid things.”

“Hopefully one day you won’t think I’m so stupid.”

-/-

Three months later she admits that she is stupid in love with Killian Jones.

In person. Not over text. They do that now.

They never do agree on pizza toppings.

[jaynnie-jane]

 As a child I was taught to fear the world. My earliest memories of walking down alley ways with my Mum are all the same “don’t ever walk down here alone because it’s dangerous” she would say, that message never left me. When I wanted to visit my friend that lived 10 houses down, she would walk me down there, right up to the age of 10. Why? Because it was dangerous, “you might get raped and murdered”. I learned this crazy instinctive fear of lane ways, and to a lesser degree walking by myself anywhere right up to my mid twenties. 

Our house was somewhat of a fortress. Every external door had two locks on them, some had three! It wasn’t even a particularly bad neighborhood. Every night there was the ritual of checking the three locks on the front door, checking every dead lock along the glass sliding doors (that were reinforced or something) then locking the communicating door to that part of the house. I remember the number of times I was scared doing it, the number of times I would be alone in the computer room as a 14 year old and hearing the tree outside brushing against the roof and me freaking out so hard that I would be in a slight panic state for hours. I remember checking the front door was locked then walking the 5 meter long hallway, checking every one of the six locks on the glass and the 2 on the mesh. Glass that looks out into a dark backyard on one side and the sunken, dark games room with the bar and table tennis table I couldn’t see behind on the other. Countless times I would have to turn the lights on out of fear. Many more times I refused to turn the lights on to check for an intruder because I was so sure someone was there, watching me and if I saw them they would kill me. This fear stayed with my until we moved from that house when I was 23. As a 10 year old, I remember having escape routes plotted in my head. I remember thinking if they come in this way, I go that way. I remember the number of times I double checked that I could definitely crawl out my window without making a sound, and depending on where the intruders came from I would climb into one of the four neighboring yards to safety. I developed the same plans when I stayed at friend places over night, the house layout and which walls could be climbed to get to safety. I was 10 and nothing had ever actually happened in my life to instill this level of fear in me, just my Mum. That level of paranoia stayed the same until my early twenties. Meanwhile, my brother was allowed to go riding with his friends from an early age, mostly because he always used to when he stayed at one particular friends house and my Mum had no knowledge. This allowed him to test how dangerous the world really wasn’t for himself. He is one of the most fearless people I know, fearless without being reckless or dumb... any more.

The first person I ever kissed (properly) was when I was 14 and he was 16. We always used to see each other at the dog park and a little baby relationship grew, nothing serious as I was sure I had feelings for someone else, which I talked to him about too. I was forbidden to see him again because he was too old and not to be trusted when really, he was a decent dude and was patient and kind to me at a time when I felt like an ugly outcast. As a 14 year old who falls in love with her best friend, but is terrified my parents will forbid me from seeing her, just like they did with my first kiss I suddenly felt like there was no safe place in the world. I couldn’t talk to them and I was taught not to trust other people (and learned this by being a bit of a social outcast at the same school for 10 years). The basic lesson I learned is everything is scary, everything will murder you and everyone can’t be trusted. So when shit was hard at home and I wanted so hard to establish myself as my own person, or needed to go for a walk to just get away from everything, I didn’t think I could. Every fiber of me told me it was unsafe and dangerous. It did change, slowly, mostly because I just stopped telling my parents the truth about where I was going because I knew they would say no. I was still terrified of alleyways and avoided them at all costs, even if it meant walking past a house that was dodgy or walking a road that had lots less people on it. I remember wanting to see my girlfriend really badly one day because I had a fight with Mum. I knew she wasn’t going to drive me there and I knew there was no way in hell she would let me walk there. I told my Mum I needed to clear my head and when she insisted I take the dog for protection I told her I just really couldn’t handle it right now, plus I might go see Jonnie if I was feeling better on my way home. Jonnie of course was a trusted family friend who I had known from birth so hanging out with him was no issue. I walked the 5km there, well aware that my curfew was in 2.5 hours before she would worry or just randomly pop in at Jonnie’s place for a cuppa. It taking an hour to get there and an hour back, meant I only had half an hour with my girl, but it was enough. The entire way there I was thinking I was going to get jumped. I was so sure of this that by the time I got there I was almost in tears at the stress of it.  To say I am miraculously hyper vigilant is an understatement. Growing up, I had no clue how much I was being protected because I honestly believed that the times I went out and nothing happened it was because I was being very careful. The times I cut across the park or went down a lane way that made my stomach knot, without harm coming to me were just because this time I was lucky. It wan’t until I had a little more freedom that I was able to start questioning the “wisdom” of my parents. When I was 17, I had my own car and a decent group of friends my parents knew, and knew I would crash with them. This meant that I practically lived out of my car, always told my parents where I would be and who I would be with and pretty much only go home to do my washing or if I had an early shift at work. This had been going well for a year until I wanted to see someone my parents had never met. I told my parents I would be late home which means no latter than 10 pm but I did not specify when, nor did I restate who I was seeing because I had told Mum a few days ago that I was looking forward to catching up with this friend again. I had gone straight to this friends house after work to have dinner and watch a movie. Mum was aware that this guy lived with his girlfriend and was an old acquaintance I had bumped into at university and had reconnected with. Neither of my parents had met him or his girlfriend.

At about 8 pm I realised my phone probably needed recharging so I went and grabbed my phone to put it on charge, only to find I had never put the ringer on after it being on silent at work. At least five missed calls from home since 7 pm. I panicked, I thought someone had died. My parents never called me so many times while I was out. I dial as Home starts calling again so I answer immediately but do that awkward pause when you’re not really expecting to accept an incoming call. “Hello? Hello?!” I sound panicked because I was, I thought something bad had happened. Everything was fine. Dad had expected me home for dinner because he didn’t ask Mum where I was. He had called to find out where I was, then getting no answer proceeded to freak out. He grilled my mother for information on this guy, to which she had to say I only knew him from my goth days, that yes he was three years older and that while he has a girlfriend, she wasn’t there tonight. The fact that I didn’t answer my phone made everything worse. My Dad is a worrier and I never realised until that night that more than half of the fear my mother had inflicted on me was actually from my father. After a less than 5 minute argument on the phone with him, it was decided he was coming to pick me up. I think he had decided he was going to come get me around 7:30 but didn’t know the address. I was beside myself. I was so embarrassed that my Dad was forcing me to come home and upset that I had to abandon my evening. I burst into tears. Now my friend is concerned. He and I had spent a long time chatting back when we were younger so I think he had always felt pretty darn protective of me. He gives me a hug, asks if I’m going to be okay and reassures me that we can still do this another time. In that moment I remember being angry with my Dad for thinking that this guy would ever hurt me. Dad gets to the house that has a couple of goth looking things out the front like a skull candle holder and I think a dragon on the door or something. He knocks on the door with his chest puffed out, not ready to fight, he’s not like that but he was trying to posture this guy that was in his mind probably taking advantage of his daughter. The issue here is that my friend was no slouch. A couple of piercings, visible tattoo, strong jaw and broad shoulders. My friend wasn’t trying to be imposing, I think he was trying to be helpful and apologetic, while also feeling protective of me because this bloke he doesn’t know just made his friend cry. It was pretty obvious that if it came to fisticuffs, my dad was going down pretty quick. Of course now, 12 years later I do look on what he did that night lovingly, at the time it was embarrassing and a little sad. Dad bundled me up into his car, leaving Patryick (my car) behind. He wouldn’t even let me drive home. I think he knew he was very much in the wrong, but we never spoke of it again. I did my best to distract myself the next morning at 8 am when Dad drove me back to get my car, knowing full well I had to open at work that morning. I was so insanely protected and taught to fear the world that eventually, I did. I never wanted to run away because the world was scary and I never wanted to do anything that remotely upset my parents because I didn’t want to have to live through that same experience again. So then, how did I become the person I am now? That’s an even darker story for next time I guess.

[probably-not-star-lord]

Opposites Attract (Pre-Deadpool!Wade Wilson x Reader)

A/N: Wow! I feel so bad because I got this request literally over the summer. That makes me think about how long it has been since I’ve replied to a request so I sincerely apologize. Anyway, thank you for your compliments, anon, and I appreciate this awesome request!

Request: OH MY GOD you write wade so fuckin well!! if requests are open could we maybe get a pre-deadpool merc wade x reader where the reader is just super small and shy and soft and they're basically polar opposites but fall for each other anyway? you can do whatever you want for the plot honestly you're such a good writer adfklfkdf

Summary: You’ve always been Wade Wilson’s shy neighbor, but deep down you know you long to be something more.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, a little bit of angst

-

You’ve been Wade Wilson’s neighbor for three years now. He lives in the apartment right across from you and the thought that he is always so close to you sends shivers down your spine. The first day you moved in, you developed sort of a crush on him when he flirted with you as he helped you carry in some moving boxes. But, you were too shy to act upon how you felt. The result was only seeing Wade occasionally when you went out to get the mail and falling into a fit of giggles whenever he made a funny joke or flirtatious comment at you. Sometimes he would try and be serious and have a pleasant chat with you, but it was hard to continue conversations with him without blushing at his handsome smile. So, Wade Wilson has simply remained in your life as a friendly neighbor, nothing more and nothing less.

Occasionally, in the late hours of the night, you’d hear arguing coming from the hallway or bangs to the wall which made you wonder if there was fighting happening frequently. The idea of Wade being a criminal or hitman of some kind made you fear him slightly, but it also made him so much more mysterious.

Wade knows you don’t like to talk much. He knows how you spend most nights alone in your apartment watching reruns of old shows or rewatching your favorites movies. The fact that you are extremely introverted is something Wade never thought he’d like, but for some reason, it makes him more drawn to you. He loves talking and even making jokes to the point where it makes people uncomfortable, so the thought of you just listening and laughing to him ramble filled his heart with warmth. Yet, Wade already knows that a sweet, shy girl like you would never go after a violent mercenary, let alone a violent mercenary like him. He also likes to tell himself that opposites attract, and that’s what gives him the sliver of hope he has about the two of you going out sometime.

Wade is actually known by you more than he thinks, as he comes into your place of work a couple of times a day. You had been living in New York for a few weeks when you had decided to finally go out and search for a simple job to pay the bills. You looked for a waitressing job in a nice place, but those were a lot harder to come by in the city than you would have imagined. It felt like you had been walking forever as you turned every corner, peeking for “Help Wanted” signs. Eventually, you came across a quaint place named “Sister Margaret's Home for Wayward Girls” with a large poster in the window seeking bartenders.

As sketchy as the bar is, you found yourself enjoying your job at Sister Margaret’s more and more with each passing night. You and Weasel bonded easily and the regulars at the bar didn't end up being as intimidating as they seemed the first night you began working. You could even sense yourself stepping out of your comfort zone a little bit more, starting up conversations with the customers and being friendly with new people. Usually, you’d enjoy being at home alone by yourself, but now you genuinely have a good time at the loud bar you work at.

Tonight, the bar is particularly crowded and Weasel asked you to come in for an extra shift. You don’t mind coming in at all, and you’re excited to see the new wave of people that come in at a different hour of the night. You and Weasel chat behind the bar for a while, laughing and making fun of the men that come in. You have always found it easy to talk to Weasel, he’s a little awkward but makes funny jokes and that makes him someone you feel able to start conversations with comfortably.

A familiar figure struts into the bar and Weasel gets ready to serve him. You bend over and begin collecting clean glasses off of the bottom shelf, finally deciding to get to work on such a busy night.

“Well if it isn’t the one and only Wade Wilson!” Weasel exclaims as Wade takes a seat at the bar. “What the hell can I get for ya?”

Wade exhales deeply, his eyes searching around the room as he thinks of his drink order. His gaze lands on you and he turns to Weasel with a smirk. “Now, who might that be over there?”

“Don’t get any ideas, Wade,” Weasel instructs him. “She’s our best bartender.”

He grins before sliding over the bar and making his way over to you. He leans in close to your ear, his body practically on yours as his voice gets low and hoarse. “So what’s a girl like you doing working in a place like this?”

You can’t help but smile to yourself at the fact he can’t tell who you are. For one, you’re certainly dressed more provocatively for your job whereas Wade usually sees you in your pajamas and robe when you go out to get the mail in the morning. He also has no clue that you work here, even though you know Wade stumbles into Sister Margaret’s regularly. You turn on your heels abruptly to face him with a smirk. “Hello, Wade.”

Wade takes a step back, dumbfounded. “Wha-what? Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“She’s been working here for almost three years, dumbass,” Weasel chuckles.

“I see,” Wade says, giving you a once-over with his eyes. “I never pegged you for a girl who would be into the whole Coyote Ugly thing.”

“I’m not,” you defend. “We obviously don’t do that here.”

He takes a step closer to you, nearly backing you up against the wall. “Well, maybe now I wished we did.”

“All right!” Weasel yells, pulling Wade off of you and sitting him back down at his seat. “That’s enough out of you for the night. Stop hitting on my bartenders!”

Wade winks at you and you giggle, causing his stupid smile to grow more. You find yourself only working at the side of the bar he is sitting at as he talks to Weasel. Every few seconds he glances up and you, the two of you locking eyes for a few brief moments. This instills his confidence and makes him begin to wonder if maybe a girl like you would be into someone like him, so he decides to give it a shot.

“Y/N,” he calls you over with the wave of his hand. “I’d love a blowjob from you.”

“What?”

Weasel groans. “It’s a drink that he has me make.” He stirs the drink together and tops the shot off with some whipped cream. “Here you go, asshole.”

Wade smirks at you. “Now, be a dear and send this blowjob over to that table over there.”

“The one with the giant, scary men?” you ask, picking up the drink.

“Bingo.” He nods. “Tell fat Gandolf that Dusty over there is the one that bought it for him.”

You cringe. “Fuck, Wade. You know that they’re not gonna like that.”

“That’s exactly why I do it.”

You walk over to the table and drop the drink off for the man, informing him that Dusty ordered it for him. He looks at you like you’re kidding but you just shrug and waltz back over to the bat next to Wade. The two of you watch the madness unfold as a stool is broken over Dusty’s head as men everywhere begin fighting and attacking each other everywhere. Wade watches the bar go wild with a childish grin.

“So you don’t like to get involved in the fights?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I just like to start them.”

The rest of the night you find yourself leaning over the bar and chatting with Wade. The drinks Weasel has let you sneak intoxicate you, making you feel tipsy and confident. Wade is surprised but how much you’re talking as he usually receives giggles or short statements from you. He is also surprised by how you genuinely find his inappropriate humor funny. Weasel jumps in on the conversation and asks Wade about his work today, causing him to stiffen up and become uncomfortable.

“It...uh...it was good.”

“Any good stories?” Weasel questions. “Usually you come sprinting in here with something legendary to tell me about whoever you fucked up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Fucked up?”

“Yeah, fucked up.” He hesitates. “I’m a mercenary.”

“Retired!” Weasel corrects. “He’s a retired mercenary. He doesn’t really do the job anymore but he continues to help out people who pay him to fuck people up.”

“So, basically, you take down the bad guys?”

Weasel laughs proudly, patting Wade on the back. “That’s exactly what he does.”

You look into Wade’s concerned, brown eyes, reassuring him with a soft smile. “You’re like a superhero.”

“No,” he retorts. “All I am is a bad guy who fucks up worse guys for money.”

“That’s the understatement of the year!” Weasel exclaims. “He almost always lets the kids off easy and gives the girls back their pay.”

“Why are you trying to make me sound like I’m some decent guy? Huh?” Wade snaps at Weasel.

You take his hand in yours comfortingly. “That’s because you are a decent guy, Wade.”

“See? Even Y/N thinks so!”

“Yeah, I see that, Sherlock,” Wade says, turning to face Weasel. “Now get lost so we can have a moment.”

Weasel rolls his eyes and begins walking away. “I wouldn’t really call that a moment. She barely touched your hand but...whatever.”

“Get lost quietly!” Wade chuckles.

“We were having a moment?” you ask.

“I mean, I like to think so.”

Feeling bold from the flirtation and alcohol, you lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips. He immediately returns the kiss, deepening it by being a hand to the back of your neck and entangling his fingers in your hair. You didn’t fear Wade like he thought you did and he certainly didn’t mind how different and innocent you were from him. He also didn’t mind how you kiss like you’re not sweet, shy, innocent. You kiss like a badass who wants to get in Wade’s pants.

Before you knew it, Wade Wilson, your neighbor of three years, quickly turned into your boyfriend.

A/N: Sorry that the ending to this sucked I lowkey had no clue where I was going with this fic lmao

permanent taglist: @lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace @crazystarlady @gloomybisexualemo @yougottalovefandoms

marvel taglist: @verkyun

x-men taglist: @spacesuitsforemergency

[whitleyschn33]

A Gentleman Thief (title subject to change)

Prologue

The first thing he felt was the bone-chilling cold. It soaked through his body, and he shivered in a tight ball, trying to hide from the wind lashing at his skin. Through the slits of his eyelids, he could see nothing but broken speckles of white and crests of shadows rising up around him. Where was he? What was this place?

He let out a whimper – of pain, of confusion. "Help," he murmured, the word freezing off his lips the moment it left his mouth. "Please, somebody –"

But there was nothing in the darkness; no one to see him, no one to hear him. There was only the shifting snow and ice that was doing its best to bury him, to drag his body down into the freezing banks. He tried to pull himself up, to stand, but there was no strength in his limbs, and he could do nothing but drag himself on his side. The wind howled like the Grimms of his nightmares, and seemed to redouble its efforts to break him, icy shards slashing at his back and face like claws.

"Help me," he cried. "Please, please, help -"

Through the darkness, somewhere in the distance, he suddenly saw a light flicker into being – a gently pulsing blue light that glittered tantalizingly as it fluttered towards him. It illuminated the grey landscape as it passed, and as it drew near to his face, he could see that it was more than a ball of light; it was a winged creature - it took him a moment to recognize it as a butterfly - that gave off its own light. He could hear music now; a woman's voice singing soothingly over piano and strings.

"You are a lost soul," A young girl's voice called to him; the butterfly was speaking to him, it sounded like. "Abandoned by all those who are meant to care for you, left to weather this harsh cold alone." The butterfly flitted past his face, raining blue sparks in his eyes. They did not burn; instead, they filled him with an indescribable warmth.

"It does not have to be this way. You have great power within your heart. Please, for the sake of your future, and that of your world and the ones you still care for, find your strength, and unleash it." The butterfly landed in front of him, resting delicately on the snow. The wind and hail didn't seem to affect it; its sapphire aura repelled the elements, shielding it from the cold.

"Please, stand up, and fight!"

The world glowed a rich blue, the cool light from the butterfly rising and enveloping him. He felt a rush of warmth fill his muscles, and suddenly the screeching sound of ice on ice seemed to fade to nothing. It was nothing, he realized with a thought. He could rise against it.

Slowly, muscles burning with the strange feeling of light, he pulled himself up off of the snowy ground. The wind raged around him, but he could not feel it. He felt nothing but the indigo light.

The butterfly rose with him, floating to eye level. "You must claim your power. Find your strength, and rise on your own."

Seized by an impulse, he reached a hand out towards the butterfly. It did not waver from him, and slowly, he began to curl his fingers around the creature.

With a start, Whitley opened his eyes. The frozen wasteland was gone; instead, his blurred vision focused on the roof of his canopy bed.

What . . . a dream?

His hands were twisted into fists in the bed sheets, his body wrapped again and again in the thick blankets. Achingly, he loosened his grip on the cloths and began untangling himself from their hold. He shivered violently as he sat up; the chill of the wasteland must have been brought upon by the chill of his room - it was freezing in the large suite without the insulating blankets.

A creaking noise caught his attention, and he whipped his head towards the source. One of his windows was open, swinging smoothly on its hinges with the cold night wind. Snow was slowly decorating the windowsill and the floor, glinting grey on the white marble in the moonlight.

Quickly, Whitley's eyes darted across the room. He had been sure that he had closed his windows tight before he had gone to bed. How had one come open?

There didn't appear to be anyone else in the room that he could see. Still, he kept his eyes wide open as he slowly crept out of his bed and padded across the stone floor to the window. Tiptoeing around the piles of snow and throwing glances over his shoulder at the shadows, he grabbed the window and pushed it shut, making sure that the latch clicked shut as he locked it into place.

Whitley looked once more around his room as he slide back into bed, but still saw absolutely no one. Uneasy, he laid back down and drew his blankets tight around him.

How very . . . unsettling. His window had been opened, even when he was sure that he had closed it. And that dream . . . it had felt so real. Even now, Whitley could feel the ice and wind on his back, and the sensation of the butterfly's light flowing through him. He had never had such a vivid dream before, nor one that had stuck with him like this even after he had woken up.

A lost soul . . . abandoned by all those who are meant to care for you . . .

Whitley wished that those words didn't hit him so hard. Now more than ever, with Weiss fleeing all the way to Vale without a second glance at him as she walked out the door, he had been feeling forgotten and left behind. First Winter, then Mother, and now, just a couple weeks ago, Weiss. They had all left him behind. Left him alone to live with Father.

He knew what they must have felt like, how desperately they wished to live somewhere other than in this mausoleum of a mansion. He knew, because he felt that same yearning as well. But there was nothing that he could do about it, not like his sisters or even like his mother. They must know that, know that he is unable to fight like they can, but they still left him alone. It hurt, more than he would ever dare to admit to either of his sisters, to know that they prized their freedom over him. He couldn't truly blame them for it (who knows how he would act if the positions had been reversed?), but that didn't stop the pain, or the loneliness or the fear or the anger -

It does not have to be this way. You have great power within your heart.

Whitley almost chuckled. He wished that that was true. He wished he had a way to follow his sisters, a way to escape his father. He wasn't a Huntsman, though, or a soldier. He had never been taught to wield a sword, never been allowed to learn his family's gift. He was too afraid to want to face the Grimm, and his sisters had scoffed at his cowardice and left him behind as they sought their own paths. Great power? A joke at best and a taunting lie at worst. He was powerless; that was why he was still here.

Whitley pulled his covers even tighter around him and closed his eyes. It was just a dream, nothing more. Empty and meaningless, like every single dream he'd had before it.

Behind him, tucked in his nightstand's drawer, Whitley's Scroll blinked on with a notification.

Instillation Complete

Feel free to yell at me to work on finishing the first chapter. I was going to hold off on posting this until after I at least got to a certain point, but I kinda want to discuss this with someone other than my sister. So, anyone want to be my brainstorm buddy?

[arrowheadproductions]

The Harpies & Aristaeus

After the stable scene, Coach Hedge subjects the seven to an unexpected lesson that is somehow more awkward than it sounds.

No Archive Warnings Apply- Rated T

Relationship(s): Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace/Piper McLean, Jason Grace & Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase & Piper McLean, Percy Jackson & Hazel Levesque, Leo Valdez & Frank Zhang, Coach Hedge & Everyone

Characters: Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Piper McLean, Jason Grace, Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque, Leo Valdez, Coach Hedge, Athena (Percy Jackson)

                                                                                                           Read on Ao3

If you were ever curious how to piss off an over-enthusiastic, bat-wielding satyr, I could provide you with a proper step-by-step. It really isn’t that hard for someone of my expertise, because evidently, I am incredibly gifted in the art of frustrating people. Annabeth will vouch for this since she’s made a point of letting me know for the past 6 years. Any of my foes of past and present could probably give a similar reference, but with more bias to their reasoning.

Anyway, back to satyrs that are taking their chaperoning job way too seriously:

        Step 1: Sneak out after curfew at the beck and call of your beautiful/amazing girlfriend.

        Step 2: Fall asleep.

        Step 3: Get caught sleeping beside your beautiful/amazing girlfriend.

So now, thanks to the biggest misunderstanding in modern history (I’m sure Annabeth would normally have a tragic Greek tale about a grander example of miscommunication, but I doubt she’d dispute me now), we’re grounded. I haven’t been grounded in forever. To be fair, I’d been missing for a while and just before that I was kind of thrust into almost dying in the second Titan War, but I’m a good kid regardless.

I don’t regret spending the time with Annabeth, because it’d been forever since we’ve had a moment alone. My heart pattered when I thought about how she didn’t scare when I mentioned the idea of New Rome. It upgraded to full-scale pounding when I pictured the way she’d kissed me shortly after and how it still made me feel like I was floating.

Frank found and alerted the media, because apparently everyone was pretty worked up over the idea of losing us. I mean, I do have a record of going missing and losing my memory now so I can’t say I blame them for the concern. Their tunes completely changed when they saw us sprawled across the clear door cuddling. Frank seemed pretty embarrassed, which probably would have been closer to my response too if I walked in on Hazel and him like that. Piper smiled like a Cheshire cat for reasons beyond me. Whatever it was, it made Annabeth super uncomfortable whenever she looked at her pointedly. Jason seemed pretty indifferent, if not relieved he wasn’t in my shoes. Leo was relentless as if a day ago I hadn’t almost attacked him when I thought he set the canons off on Camp Jupiter.

Coach Hedge was as scary as I’d feared, but I wouldn’t say that to Annabeth. I don’t think I needed to, because she rolled her eyes when she looked over at me while we were chastised. There wasn’t much heat in it though, which told me that maybe she didn’t regret getting caught either. You could tell she’d been through a lot, too much, in these past 6 months. She barely even hesitated as he laid into us with threats of contacting our parents. While I half-expected Athena to storm our ship, scoop me up, hang me, and turn me into a flag, I was more afraid of the idea of Coach Hedge calling my mom. My mom has made it really clear that she does not want any grandbabies yet.

I thought we were safe from humiliating punishment until that night, Coach called for a group meeting. Leo said we’d never actually done that before on Argo II, so I knew something was up. It had just been an incredibly long day of near-death experiences so the fact that Annabeth and I dozed off was so far from my brain. As she laced her hands through mine while we walked from the lower cabin to the upper deck, it seemed to be far from her mind too.

It should have tipped me off that everyone was sitting towards Coach like he was performing a one-man show. Gods, I would imagine his singing voice would be on par with Chuck Norris and Dog the Bounty Hunter, just like the rest of his personality.

He set down a whiteboard on an easel and I could tell Annabeth was immediately cued in. My girlfriend is such a Brainiac and while ADHD like the rest of the demigods, her attentions were always easily grasped through organized visual aid, especially when it was educational. She looked cute when she was learning. She looked cute all of the time, because duh, it’s Annabeth, but her eyes get super focused and she leans forward a bit, occasionally nibbling on her lip.

I, on the other hand, am not taken with graphs or statistics the way I am with her. Whenever she feels the need to recite whatever he said, I’ll listen much more carefully from her. She must have felt my gaze, because I’m being far from discrete. Being away from her for all of that time, even if it was really only a few weeks for me, made me want to capture every detail of her and force myself to save it in safe keeping.

I thought she was going to smack me for zoning out so badly, but her face goes a little dumbfounded at whatever Coach is preaching and then her gray eyes flash to me in… Horror? Oh Gods, what did I miss?

She gently reaches out and turns my head to face the very red and very sweaty Coach Hedge, who looks the opposite of happy at me (or someone directly behind me). It takes me up until that moment to see everyone else is looking at me too, except they seem mad too, which is weird.

“Jackson!” He hollered and that brings me back to reality at a crashing rate.

It’s probably useless to say I was listening and play along.

“I was listening.” Stupid.    

His nostrils flared. “Tell me what I just said.”

I had one of those typical Percy Jackson moments. You know, the ones that make everyone around me gasp at my superior intellect and amazing capability of remaining hyper aware at all costs.

“Uh… Duh…?”

“Smooth.” Annabeth muttered.

“That’s what I thought.” He barked. “If you don’t get your head out of your bungle hole right now, I’m going to tie you to your mattress, so you can’t have another infraction like last night’s ever again.”

“Why don’t you leave that to Annabeth?” Leo snickered cheekily.

I felt my face turning hot while Annabeth gave Leo one of her trademark glares that sent him sliding into his seat to avoid her gaze. Coach didn’t seem impressed by the comment either, because he hovered over Leo and resembled an exploding bottle of ketchup.

“I would hold my tongue if I were you, Valdez. This talk is for all of you little horn-balls. I should expect this from the child of Aphrodite-”

“-Hey!” Piper said indignantly.

He powered on. “But since Annabeth Chase has been dirtied up, it can likely happen to any of you. So, that’s why we need to take a moment from all of this world-ending business and move onto a different kind of life-or-death.”

The glare he sent me when he said “dirtied up” made me want to sleep with my eyes open tonight. Or you know, forever.

“I have not been dirtied up!” Annabeth snapped. I admired her bravery, but we’d already gone in circles about how nothing even happened, and no one believed us. At this point, Coach Hedge was going to trust a son of Hermes not-guilty plea of pick-pocketing over us.      

“Oh really, I know your mother wouldn’t be pleased about your recent deeds.”    

“We didn’t-”

“-Save it!”

I could feel myself sweating and could practically hear my own heartbeat in my ears. The implication behind all of this was uncomfortable at best, even if we had been innocent. It was no secret that Annabeth was born from Athena, who was one of the Maiden Goddesses. In other words, she never biologically produced kids. While Aphrodite was definitely sex-positive when it came to her children, Athena was… Not. She saw more important values than love like battle strategies or instilling constant fear into her daughter’s boyfriend.

“Anyway, it’s time that I have a little talk with you kids. Nobody else seems to have so it’s up to me.”

Everyone around me got super pale and started stammering in disagreement. Me? I was just confused and trying to hide it. I mean, I can’t say I enjoy long conversations with Coach Hedge, but this had to be better than having to sleep outside in the rain or sharing a room with him, right?  

“Why should we have to sit through this?” Frank stumbled over his words and wouldn’t look at Hazel.

“Because I am becoming very aware that you folks seem to think this is a romantic couple’s cruise and I will be having none of it.”

“I am not part of a couple.” Leo pointed out.

“Yeah, but don’t think I haven’t noticed the goo-goo eyes you’ve been making at Miss Levesque here.”

Gods, it looked like Frank was wishing his eyes were snipers by the way he was glaring at Leo. Leo seemed very aware of this and once again sunk down in his seat in an ill attempt to become less of a target. His rescue came in the form of Hazel placing a hand on Frank’s bicep. He looked down at her and calmed down almost immediately. I’m usually the last guy to notice this kind of thing, but maybe being in love has sort of made me more attune to other people in love.

“This ship will not become the playboy mansion!” Coach emphasized this point by referring to a poster with the word “sex” scratched over with red slashes. “So, in order to stop this, I’m going to give you the talk my old man gave me: The Harpies and Aristaeus.”

“So, looking at ugly harpies made you swear off sex?”

Everyone groaned. I bet some of them were wishing they’d never picked me up in the first place, because I was still lost. Coach Hedge looked like he was about 3 seconds from chucking his clipboard at me.

Annabeth smacked my shoulder and was glaring at me with that “can you be more stupid” look in her stormy eyes. A deep blush clung to her cheeks and the back of her neck and if she didn’t already look mad enough to throw me overboard, I might have commented on how cute it was.

Still, she clarified. “Aristaeus is a minor God that is a protector of many arts, Percy. A big one is bee-keeping."

"How is bee-keeping an art?"

Thunder rolled in the distance.

"Sorry." I murmured and tried to put the pieces together.

The bee keeper? That still sounded lame. And what did that have to do with harpies?

        The harpies and the bee keeper.

        The ugly bird people and the bees.

        The birds and the- oh crap.

Needless to say, I felt dread. Like, titan-fighting dread. I couldn’t bring myself to look anywhere near Annabeth’s direction as it dawned on me. My sense of panic must have translated to the outside, because Coach seemed much smugger than he had been earlier. My tongue seemed to swell in my mouth and my face definitely invented its own shade of magenta for the occasion.  Everyone else looked pretty stiff too, but it was hard to believe anyone could be more awkward than me about this kind of thing.

“I had that talk with my mom… A while ago.” I tried, and it was true. It was painful then, but something told me hearing it from a big and loud half-goat with my girlfriend right beside me was going to be infinitely worse.

“Well, if you’re such an expert, you’re going to point out and name every part of the female reproduction system.”

Right then, I wished that maybe, just maybe, Gaia would rise early so I wouldn’t have to live through this. Wow, super selfish and absorbed, I know, but you have to understand that this is basically akin to slow and brutal torture. And I have been tortured before.

Gaia is spiteful and probably saw this as a lovely little way to prolong suffering.

The diagrams were awful and graphic. Coach wasn’t exactly a stand-up comedian, so he wasn’t joking about me having to point out and name every part of the female anatomy. I was wrong about almost all of it, but I couldn’t give the legitimate terms for the parts of the male anatomy either, I swear.

“Is this thing upside down?” I asked at one point.

“Poor Annabeth.” Murmured Piper to Jason, who looked just as dumbstruck and confused as me. Annabeth had her head in her hands out of pure mortification and I was wondering if the entire purpose of this exercise was to embarrass me so much that my girlfriend would never want to so much as touch me ever again, let alone do anything resembling sex.

“Poor Annabeth, indeed.” Coach Hedge agreed after shouting at me for getting the term “clitoris” wrong for the third (or was it fourth?) time.

“Why does Annabeth even need to know this? Doesn’t she just have brain babies like Athena? I mean… Can she have kids the normal way?” Leo asked.

She scowled. “I can’t have brain children and even if I could, it would require an impossibly strong connection of intelligence.”      

Everyone simultaneously turned back to me and Jason clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I guess that’s out of the question.”

“Hey!” I protested.

Consent was talked about, which shouldn’t have surprised me considering how many gross people live in the world. I guess I was just surprised that any sane person would be able to sleep at night knowing they’d just totally broken someone’s trust in mankind in such a violating way.

“NO MEANS NO!” He yelled over and over again. “MAYBE MEANS NO! MAYBE NOT MEANS NO! YES IS YES AND THAT IS ALL THERE IS TO IT.”

But it wasn’t, because he started grilling us on situations where consent was properly given. I passed this was flying colors, because honestly, I’m the kind of person that usually needs intense verification to do much of anything. You saw how long it took for me to admit I liked Annabeth. I know I am not always good with subtleties.

I glanced over at her, who also didn’t seem the least bit worried about this part. I gently took her hand and hoped that it reminded her that I would never hurt her.

Coach went on to explain protection, which seemed like it would be the most mild portion of this TED talk, but when he handed all of us bananas and condoms, I knew it was going to be bad.

“This seems excessive.” Hazel laughed nervously, which made sense since she’s not exactly from a time where even talking about this stuff is the norm. I can’t say I was too comfortable either. Plus, I was pretty perturbed about the fact that while everyone else had a full-sized banana, Annabeth had been given half of a carrot.

“I ran out of bananas.” Coach tried to justify but wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Sure.” I grumbled.

“If you don’t know how to put on a condom, you will die.”

Piper smirked. “Nice Mean Girls reference.”

We spent the next half hour explaining Mean Girls to him while simultaneously trying to take this fun little meeting off the rails. It worked a little bit and Coach even seemed to enjoy some of the smart remarks made in the movie, but he’d apparently drank a lot of persistence juice before calling us together so he was not being shaken from his original purpose.      

It turned into a contest at who could put it on the quickest and the most secure. Annabeth was the first to accomplish this feat, but again, she had the smallest and most slender object to work with. I didn’t do as badly as Leo or Frank, who kept dropping the banana.

“It’s not really staying on.” Annabeth murmured and wouldn’t look at me.

Leo snickered. “Poor Annabeth again.”

This time, she thumped him upside the head and I would be remiss to say I didn’t support the reaction.

“Valdez, I’d hold your judgment since you can’t even seem to finish.”

I laughed this time.

Coach realized we were all having a little too much fun with this exercise and went on to explain the intricacy of orgasms, both male and female. I felt my stomach lurching again, especially as he was clearly trying to dispel any positive thoughts from the girls’ minds by harping over the fact that guys our age do not last long in bed. I was trying to find other stuff to focus on, like the impending mortal threats that were coming our way, but he kept reeling me back in by using me as an example.

“Take Jackson, here--”      

“Please don’t.”

This didn’t stop him. “Someone of his anxiousness and stupidity would have no idea how to pleasure a woman. He’s better suited at maneuvering the Labyrinth than the vagina. He proved that earlier.”

“Thanks for that.”

“I can promise you, that the 15 seconds will not be worth it. And that applies to all of you boys.”

Needless to say, it got a lot worse before it got better. Frank was asked what the best way to prevent teenage pregnancy was, was given the hint that it started with an “A”, and then panicked and said “anal” instead of abstinence. Hazel took a solid 4 steps away from him then and I thought the big guy was going to throw up. Jason, Hazel, and I were then given a nice chat about how if we had children, they would be so powerful that there would be a quorum about whether or not they should even live. Leo asked if it was possible that he would accidentally light a girl on fire mid intercourse. The answer was yes. Annabeth was the only one born of a virgin Goddess present, so of course the majority of her segment focused on “purity” and “clear-thinking” and also the mention of her mother’s intense disapproval.

She’d told me about how her mom already claimed she failed her and I could see her flinch at the idea of failing her further, but then unexpectedly, her gaze turned to a hard steel.

“Hold on a second,” She said angrily, and I knew that look. I’ve been on the other side of that look many a time. She gave me that look a lot in our time of knowing each other, especially when I was being dumb about whether or not she liked me/whether or not I should admit I liked her.      

“What is it, Chase?” He asked gruffly.      

“This is ridiculous.” She snapped. “How is virginity, which isn’t even a physical or tangible thing, something that could possibly increase or decrease my value as a human being?”

“Well…” He started, but she didn’t let him continue.

“If Percy and I have sex, does that make him a terrible person and me dirty? Because that’s how you made it sound earlier.”

Hearing it point blank like that almost made me swallow my tongue and frankly, made my heart race a bit more than I’d ever admit.

“Not on my-” He was going to say “watch”, but she pushed onward with confidence akin to when she’s marching into battle.

“We talked about consent earlier, so clearly you understand the concept of it being my body and my choice at what I want to do with it. So tell me, how is sex more deplorable than going on life-threatening quests that could potentially rip me limb from limb? How is that encouraged, but something that is so biologically basic and innate is considered irredeemable? Do I suddenly become less if I decide I want to feel human every once in a while?”

“You don’t want to get-”

“-Pregnant, I know, and you’re right. I don’t right now, but I’m not exactly an idiot. There are ways of preventing that as we talked about earlier. That is all this should be about, though. Preventing pregnancy, preventing STI’s/STDs, consent, understanding the body, etc. Not guilt about a very natural and human experience. Given the lives we’ve lived, I’d say we deserve it.”

My mouth hung open like the hinges of my jaw had broken and I was left with an open cavern for a mouth for the rest of my life. I tried to shy away from Coach’s shocked stare as if to say, “don’t look at me, I didn’t tell her to say that”, but I couldn’t. I agreed with Annabeth, of course, because she should be the one to get to decide what she does. She’s proven herself capable of that more than a billion times.

I met her gaze while she sat back down and she closed my mouth for me, the smallest remnants of a smile lingering on her lips. Her stare was… hard to read, but I couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. Everyone else seemed to follow my lead, with Jason whistling slightly in approval of her tangent, Piper looking like she wanted to fist-bump her, Hazel smiled cautiously, Frank seemed relieved she shut Hedge up, and Leo looked a little scared and a little aroused.

Hedge cleared his throat as he muttered the words “meeting adjourned” roughly under his breath. Everyone made their move to get away from each other as quickly as possible. We could all probably use a moment to ourselves after that utter humiliation. In the end, Hedge ended up getting the short end of the carrot, so that was semi satisfying.

Annabeth and I walked to our respective quarters in silence and my mind raced on whether or not there was a good thing to say right now. What was appropriate for this moment?

        "Thanks for stopping him before he got to sex toys."

        "I literally cannot stop sweating right now."

        "FYI: mine isn't the size or color of a small carrot."

Thankfully, she spoke. However, when she did, I couldn’t have seen it coming if it was right in front of my face.

“Do you ever think of me like that?” It was so rushed and abrupt that I’m not totally sure she even meant to say it.

I swallowed hard, but I knew if I didn’t answer quickly enough she was either going to get offended or annoyed and I didn’t want either right now after she’d basically saved us all from having to sign anti-pregnancy pacts.

“Sometimes.” I tried to make it sound casual, like I wasn’t a horny, sex-obsessed teenage boy that spent all of him time ogling his girlfriend. I definitely ogled at her, but not like she was an object or anything. She’s just insanely beautiful. Truthfully, I always felt lucky she’d have me in any capacity and didn’t really register that she might want me in that way. Also, I’m usually busy thinking about simple things like food or whether or not I’m going to die painfully in battle. But the thought occurred to me on occasion. Like when we go swimming and she’s climbing out of the water in a bikini or when she sits on my lap and wriggles around a little too much.

The time we made out in the strawberry fields and she placed my hand under her shirt made all the blood leave my brain just thinking about it.

“You?” I asked.

“Sometimes.” She affirmed and looked away and it was obvious in the dim lighting of the hallway that she was blushing again. I couldn’t help but wonder when in Hades she saw me like that, because I’m not exactly smooth. That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful she did.

“So…” I rocked back and forth on my heels. “You… Want to? Someday? Not today. Obviously not today, but at some point in our lives you want to-”

Thanks, the Gods almighty, because she cut me off from that embarrassing tangent with a kiss. I felt myself relax against her immediately, because she wasn’t totally repulsed by me after both my inability to correctly label the female anatomy or my stupid tendency to make things more awkward somehow. Her fingers threaded in my hair and she tugged a little bit out of satisfaction. My hands found their usual residence on her waist. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and she smiled against my mouth when I inadvertently moaned in response. We stayed like that for a while, her tangling her fingers in my hair while pressing me against the door of my cabin, my hands playing with the loops of her jean shorts, everything seeming impossibly right with the world.

She pulled back and looked at me through sparkling eyes that danced with a knowingness that I will probably never fully understand or stop appreciating. She gently tapped her fingers along the back of my neck in a light drumming movement. She leaned up and kissed me again, this time chaste, which was probably for the best since Coach Hedge would likely be doing some kind of inspection soon.

“We’ll get there.” She smiled, and I wondered if she could feel my heart doing jumping jacks in my chest cavity. “Soon.”

Soon.

She opened the door to her cabin and winked at me before leaving me to the influx of thoughts that decided to attack my brain all at once, leaving me standing there like a big dumb idiot. I wouldn't even have been surprised if I ended up standing here all night out of shock and... Anticipation? She was always going to be miles ahead of me, but I was more than okay with that.

[drhu0806]

8 - “I’m not doing that again.”

(I’m still behind with this final upload for the night but I DUN CARE)

---- Lark is beginning to wonder how she got into this situation.

She still doesn’t know who thought pairing one of the worst actors in the group with her would work, as if she was some miracle pack animal who could carry anyone no matter the weight.

Next to her, Basil emotes as much as a boulder, his lies as believable as a child caught red handed in some mischief. By the end of the night Lark is mentally exhausted trying to cover his tracks, so much so that even she was too tired to keep up the pretense of being a couple at times. She even snaps at him a few times for being such a dead weight, and it’s infuriating how little he reacts. Just once she wishes he would drop the stoicism and crack, do anything. Perhaps the gods or whatever divine power out there took pity on her, since they are finally graced with the information they were hunting for. Wasting no time, Lark and Basil sneakily make their way towards a forbidden corner of the palace, and she welcomes the break from the constant talk. At last, he makes himself useful as he guides them through the shadows.

They slow as they come to their target, hearing the sound of activity further down the dark corridors. Basil puts an arm in front of her and raises a finger to his lips. They wait, and Lark holds her breath until the bustling fades away. Yet right as she’s about to move, he holds her back.

“Wait.”

Right when she’s about to ask, she hears something: more clatters of activity, coming from behind them near the direction they came from. She panics, rising to bolt, only to be held down once more by Basil. He gives her an urgent look, nodding sharply down the hallway she was headed towards. “Down there too!”

Lark’s eyes go wide as she frantically tries to think of an escape route that doesn’t involve a corridor awash with blood. The sound of heavy footfall comes closer, and she moves before she can even think. Lark grabs Basil’s collar, wrenching him up and hoisting him against the wall. She lurches forward and her lips crash into his, and even through the terror she can feel the way he immediately stiffens against her.

She refuses to relent, leaning into the kiss like her life depends on it as she hopes to instill her urgency into him. Even now he’s as stony as a rock, immovable and rigid.

Act, you idiot! Pretend to enjoy something for once in your fucking life!

She’s never known Basil for one to fall for seduction, but Lark does her damndest and pours all she has into the act. Leaning fully against him, her tongue dips out and she runs it along the length of his lower lip before gently suckling on it. His hands rise and have her shoulders in a death grip, so tight she’s almost certain he’s about to throw her off of him. Basil interrupts her ministrations as he slides his own tongue in between her lips. She doesn’t dare open her eyes in fear of what she might see in his own and continues the performance, sliding her hands from his collar up to his face and holding him there.

The footsteps finally arrive and stop, and Lark swears she can almost hear the shock in their silence. She refuses to budge first, pretending she’s too engrossed in her partner to notice.

Someone finally clears their throat. “Oy! You two!”

At last, they leap apart. The flush that’s permeated Lark’s neck and face is genuine, but she uses it to her advantage as her head swings around.

“Oh! Um… This is…!”

She plays the part of the ditzy schoolgirl, pretending to be shy and embarrassed at being discovered. “Oh no, I’m so embarrassed, we were… Uh… We really just wanted some privacy…”

The patrolling guard who is unfortunate enough to stumble upon them shakes their head, but Lark can already sense little hostility in their body language. “Skies above, the things people at these parties get up to… Get out of here you two, and don’t let me catch you doing this anywhere else, you hear?”

She apologizes profusely before dragging Basil away, heads bowed in a show of mock shame. Once they’ve rounded the corner and the guard is out of sight, she immediately drops the act, her hands immediately falling away from Basil’s person as she shivers and rubs her face.

“Fuck, I am not doing that again,” she growls.

Basil has not said a word and in fact has gone as pale as a sheet. Lark wonders if it’s just her imagination, or if she really did catch a glimpse of his hands trembling before he turns away from her.

“We’re done here,” he mutters. In the next second he’s gone, leaving her standing alone in another corridor. And for once, she’s grateful for it.

Lark shuts her eyes tight, raising her fingers to her lips and tracing them. She swears she can still taste him, recall brief moments during the kiss where his mouth was surprisingly soft against hers. Taking a deep breath, she desperately tries to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

“I am not doing that again.”

But now, she’s not so sure.

[janeofcakes]

Chapter 63

(Sherlock opens his eyes the next morning to find they have the uncanny desire to explode under the pressure of the throbbing headache behind them. He groans and turns his head to find that John is missing. Fearing the worst, he pushes himself up quickly with his arms only to fall on his back again immediately. He presses his hands to his eyes to keep them from bursting out of his skull.)

S: God, why did I do all those shots?

(He twitches his head to the left at the sound of footsteps approaching.)

J: (quietly) Good morning.

(Sherlock moves his hands away from his eyes and turns his head quickly. He winces instantly and sighs heavily. John smiles and climbs onto the bed, offering two white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.)

J: I brought you something for the headache.

S: (petulantly) Why don’t you have one?

J: You didn’t drink as much water.

(Sherlock rolls his eyes, an act that only increases the throbbing. He sits up slowly, groaning and grimacing all the way, and takes the pills. Handing the glass back to John, Sherlock eases onto his back and closes his dull silver eyes. John places the glass on the headboard table and snuggles up next to the taller man, basking in his warmth. The man really is a space heater. An absurdly tall, sexy space heater.)

J: You’ll feel better soon enough. (He runs a finger lightly along a new bruise on Sherlock’s face.) Look, I’m sorry about last night. You were right. It was too soon to try something like that.

S: (turning on his side) You’ve nothing to apologize for, John.

J: (tenderly) Please, let me finish.

(Sherlock closes his mouth with a click and gives John a nod. The doctor clears his throat and focuses on a spot just below Sherlock’s chin.)

J: That was... (swallowing hard) one of the things he did. A lot.

(Sherlock touches John’s face with gentle fingertips. Dark blue eyes meet his own. Sherlock tries to send comfort, encouragement, and affection from his own body to John’s through every point of contact. John wets his lips and continues in a shaky voice.)

J: He tried oral sex too, but it didn’t really work. I couldn’t... (pausing to tactfully choose his next words and failing) get it up. He’d get mad, jerk off, and come all over m... (He closes his eyes at the memories and shakes his head.) God, Sherlock, being with him was so awful.

S: (cupping John’s cheek) You don’t have to talk about it. You’ve been through enough and you don’t owe me anything.

J: I want to talk about it, Sherlock, I do. It helps me...deal with everything. Little by little. (sighing) I want this to be over, Sherlock. I never want to think of it again, but the only way to do it is to face it.

S: You are truly the bravest and wisest man I have ever known.

J: (huffing a laugh) I know that can’t be true. You grew up with Mycroft. (They laugh together.) Really though, I’m making this all up as I go. Besides, I hate you not knowing as much as I hate telling you. It feels like I have all these secrets and lies. I don’t want him putting walls between us.

S: Then I shall listen whenever you require me to. I only hope I can help.

J: You always do.

(John smiles softly and kisses him. It is a kiss of deep love and longing, and it takes Sherlock’s breath away. When their lips part, he looks into John’s eyes with intense emotion. It is like nothing he has ever felt before and it nearly overwhelms him. He bites at his lip and searches John’s face.)

S: I will always love you. Always support you. You don’t have to worry about me or about sex. We will take things at whatever pace is best for you. We are in this together, John.

(John cannot speak. This incredible man has robbed him of words, of coherent thought. He leans in again and presses his lips gently to his detective’s. Sherlock’s eyes slide closed as John’s tongue tickles at his cupid’s bow. The detective sighs as he begins melting into his doctor’s embrace.)

(John pulls back after a moment that was far too short in Sherlock’s opinion, thank you very much, and smiles sweetly.)

J: Will you get up with me?

S: (raising a brow) Is that some kind of code?

J: What?

S: I did just advise taking things slowly.

J: I know. Oh, no. No, I mean I have to get out of bed now. I’m working today.

S: Ah. (then feeling playful) And what will I do all day on my own?

(He wraps his arms around John smaller body and holds him close. John raises his brows and smiles.)

J: You’re very creative. I’m sure you’ll come up with some experiment.

S: Mm. (as if in thought) On the contrary, I don’t think I can distract myself from thinking of you. (kissing him gently) Your lips. (dipping his head to kiss John’s pulse point) Your neck. (mouthing down) Your chest. A very broad chest too. Firm with muscle.

J: (laughing) All right, all right. As much as I’d love to stay here and let you worship my body, I have patients to see. (Sherlock’s mobile sounds.) And you have a case to solve.

(Sherlock grumbles as John squirms out of his grasp and walks to the loo. He plucks his mobile from the night stand and watches John saunter out of the room before pressing the phone to his ear.)

S: Traitor.

G: What?

S: Never mind. You have a case?

G: Murder. Text you the address.

S: Laters.

(Sherlock ends the call and rises from the bed gracefully. The shower is on and the loo steamy by the time he enters. After answering the call of nature, he steps behind the curtain and stops at the sight that greets him. John, naked under the hot spray with his back turned, hands rubbing frothy soap into his golden hair. Sherlock looks him up and down approvingly, silver eyes coming to rest on the marred skin of his shoulder, the exit wound from his time as Captain Watson.

It doesn’t share the same starburst features as the scar on his chest. It looks more like the torn landscape after a landmine explosion, but somehow not quite as distinct as the raised markings on the front of his body. Almost as if the bumps had been sanded away like those on a piece of wood, leaving only their ghosts behind. Sherlock swallows around the lump in his throat. The pain must have been devastating.)

J: If you’re coming in, close the curtain. I’m freezing over here.

(Realizing how distracted he had become, Sherlock closes out the cooler air from the rest of the room. John starts rinsing his hair. He opens his eyes when he’s finished and flashes Sherlock a smile before turning back to the spray of water raining down. He squirts some body wash into a flannel and begins lathering up when he feels two hands at his waist, a firm body against his own back. John’s eyes slip closed and he leans back into the man behind. He stops spreading soap over his body and places his hands over Sherlock’s. The taller man lowers his head, tucking it into John’s neck where it meets his shoulder, their cheeks touching. Sherlock inhales deeply and holds his doctor close. Neither of them knows how long they stay this way, only that the water begins to cool before they stop. They both wash before it goes completely cold and get dressed.

When the two men emerge from their bedroom, there is no time for tea or toast. John smiles at his love, pecks his lips, and trots down the stairs to leave. Sherlock is not far behind, glancing at his mobile and hailing a cab.)

*              *                     *

G: Jason Standish, 45, ex-military, found early this morning by a friend who worried because he didn’t show for work yesterday.

(Sherlock is squatting next to the battered and tortured body. His home is in one of the nicer parts of London, which means the fenced in gardens put more space to drown out screams between him and his neighbors. The man also spent much of the beating with a scarf in his mouth, now stained with his own blood.)

S: The neighbors heard nothing.

G: Nope. Whoever it was is good at not attracting attention. None of them remember noticing anything strange or any people they didn’t know. Anderson says he’s been dead for no more than five hours. (Sherlock hums in agreement.) How long do you think he was tortured?

S: Hours. Judging by the age span of his injuries, at least 24 hours. (He looks closer at an older head laceration.) His attacker was here when he arrived home two days ago. Subdued him with this blow to the head and tied him here. The variety of method is vast. Standish was meant to suffer terribly without danger of death. The rest of the house is untouched?

G: Yep. It was all done here. (He watches as Sherlock very carefully examines the broken body.) Donovan’s interviewing the coworker about enemies, secrets at work. This guy is a nurse and not even at a place that would get big name clients who want to be anonymous. I mean, it’s possible somebody stole something or thinks Standish knew something and wanted to keep him quiet, but why the torture?

S: Indeed. Such a person would kill, not spend 36 hours with him and risk being caught. A killer with such a motive would also fail to plan appropriately. It would be more off the cuff. Standish surely would have cried out at some point and alerted the neighbors before his attacker thought to gag him. This is the work of someone who has tortured before. (tilting his head for a closer look at a slash across the man’s throat, a precision cut, deep enough to terrify but too shallow to kill or even slowly bleed to death) Who is an expert at using pain to instill fear. Who knows the human body well enough to know when to stop so death doesn’t come prematurely.

G: Like a doctor?

S: Possibly.

G: Christ. (running a hand through his hair and shaking his head) I just can’t imagine what this man could possibly even know that would justify all this to a professional. And why not just tell the killer? Why make it drag on for hours?

S: (rising to his full height) It was something he cared deeply about. Or someone. A friend. (Greg’s jaw drops at the implications of that statement.) He’s single, has no family. The only photographs are of an older couple. Obviously his parents and dead already. He’s fiercely loyal. His military experience and the fact that he still has a photo of his parents displayed prominently exhibit that. Standish was protecting a friend, probably someone he served with. Find out who his friends are, Lestrade. One of them is in danger.

G: Right. You’ll be at Bart’s with Molly later?

S: Of course.

*                   *                     *

(The darkness of the evening sky is just beginning to fall on the streets of London as Sherlock stares out the window of 221B. With his violin tucked under his chin and his bow swaying back and forth over its strings, he considers the Standish case. He spent his day with Molly, and then with Greg and Sally. Standish suffered greatly for his silence and would only have been allowed to die if he had given up the information. What Sally found on his friends and coworkers revealed nothing. No one is likely to be a target for someone of this caliber.

As Sherlock plays, so deep in his mind palace, he almost doesn’t hear the ring of his mobile. Expecting it to be John, he lowers his instrument and walks to where it lay on his desk. Lestrade. Sherlock swaps his violin for the phone, hearing the door to the flat open as he answers.) 

S: Have you uncovered anyone else?

J: (walking by the doorway with a paper bag in each hand) Kept yourself entertained, I see. I have takeaway. Mediterranean. 

S: (glancing in time to see John drop out of sight) None of Standish’s friends or acquaintances merit the killer’s attention.

(When Greg speaks, he sounds wrecked and exhausted.)

G: Is John with you?

S: What? Yes, he just walked in. Have you found something? Shall we meet you?

G: I was just talking with the police chief in Aldershot. Hampshire.

S: A friend of Standish?

G: No. (pausing for an uneasy silence) Harriet Watson lives there.

S: John’s sister?

G: She’s dead, Sherlock.

(Sherlock’s eyes blink wide in shock. He wants to say something, to ask Greg what the fuck he’s talking about, but he can’t form the words. John and his sister have not spoken in years, long before he and Sherlock met, but he knows John still cares for her a great deal.)

G: She was murdered. Tortured in her home for days before she was found. She was supposed to be on holiday, so no one came looking.

J: Did you say Standish?

(Sherlock jumps at the sound and stares at John, who now stands before him. He holds up a finger to indicate he will only be a moment and listens quietly while Greg continues quickly and ends the call.)

S: You know someone called Standish?

J: Jason Standish. I went to University with him. He was a couple years ahead of me. Ran into him in Afghanistan a few times. Turned out we both enlisted. He helped patch up my shoulder. Lives here in London.

S: You see him?

J: Every so often. Less since I met you. He came back shortly after I got on my feet again. We reconnected. He’s the one who finally convinced me to see a therapist. (John frowns, suddenly realizing that if Sherlock and Greg know of Standish something is likely wrong.) How do you know him?

S: He’s my case. He’s been murdered.

J: (stunned) What? Why? Why would anyone...

S: John.

(He steps closer to John and looks at him steadily with soft eyes. Concern paints his face and he swallows hard. John stares back expectantly, worry growing by the second.)

S: It’s Harry.

J: (blinking, completely bewildered) Harry?

S: (voice clipped) She’s... she’s been...

(John’s shoulders drop and his face goes ashen as realization washes over him. His lips part, eyes already filling.)

J: No. No.

(The smaller man crumples. Sherlock pulls him into his arms and rests his chin on John’s head. John gasps out a sob and clutches at his flatmate. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet and pained.)

J: Why? How?

S: (soothing) Now may not be the best time.

J: What happened to her, Sherlock?!

(John’s words are harsh and demanding. He pulls away from Sherlock to look him in the eye. His cheeks are wet, but his face is fierce and angry. Knowing he has no choice but to tell his friend all he knows, Sherlock wets his lips and holds tightly onto John’s arms.)

S: She was found in her home in Aldershot. She was murdered.

J: Oh, god.

(He lets his head fall forward to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective closes his arms around John carefully, already feeling his shirt wet with tears. John’s body trembles under the weight of his sorrow.)

S: The police there spoke with Lestrade.

J: (sobbing openly now) Just, no. I can’t. I can’t now. I just... please.

(Sherlock holds him closer, bending to John’s kiss hair. The doctor is shaking. Sherlock doesn’t bother with platitudes. Words like ‘It’s okay’ or ‘You’ll be all right’ are meaningless and he is unaccustomed to caring how people feel. But John isn’t people. John is his life, his love, his very humanity, and his desire to comfort this man in his arms is almost too much to bear.

Sherlock raises his hand up to John’s nape, gently encouraging him to fully bury his face in Sherlock’s broad shoulder.)

S: (whispering) I’m here. I’m here for you. That, I promise you.

[feroluce]

Day 1: Haunted

For @shouritshou and their event, Ritshou Fall Week! 

Warnings for major injury (its just like a bg thing, though, its not described) 

“Ritsu blinks. A shadowy form appears in front of him. It's gone again before he can scream.“

Ritsu can't sleep.

This isn't too unusual. It's been his normal since...for a few years now. It's just that it's never been for three days in a row.

Something twitches in his peripheral vision, but disappears when he tries to look straight at it.

It's also been three days since Reigen Arataka very nearly lost his life during an exorcism gone wrong. He's still in Chili Powder Hospital, laid out on an ICU bed with his body full of tubes and more medicine than the pharmacy on the bottom floor. Ritsu had gone in to see him once on the first day, when Shige and Reigen had both been hospitalized. His brother had been released the same day, but his emotions have been...running high since then.

Ritsu jumps when he hears something crash from the room next door. It's probably Shige's bookshelf hitting the wall again. It's the fourth time today. His brother has stopped bothering to pick up the spilled books.

There's been one explosion per day, at least that Ritsu knows of. On day two, he had come home from school to find Momozou and Shige floating in the living room, glued to each other's sides as half the furniture whirled around them. Something had happened with Reigen while he was gone and caused Shige's emotions to run so wild that they trampled all over Momozou's mental barriers. He'd been left helpless against the onslaught until they were both drowning in Shige's feelings, to the point that they had shared in the explosion.

Shige's eyes had been too wide and white, his obsidian hair flying above his head too much like that one time...

They both had turned to look at him, both had murmured his name in the same ominous tone, synced together through their shared thoughts.

"Ritsu..."

Ritsu had nearly screamed and passed out right then and there.

(He kind of wishes he had. At least it would have been some kind of rest.)

The sound of glass shattering reaches his ears from Shige's room. He hopes it's just another light bulb and not the window. Shortly after, an oil slick of yellow and teal makes itself known, a tiny swirl in amongst the rainbow hues that have been tinting his home for the past three days.

Teruki has stubbornly stuck around to be with Shige throughout the whole ordeal, taking him back and forth to the hospital for visiting hours and cleaning up messes every time his aura lashes out. Ritsu is grateful for it when he's not steeping in pettiness. Because Teruki has never been afraid to navigate that minefield. He's never hesitated to get close or to touch. He's never been Haunted by visions of a figure fully wreathed in black, giving off unfathomable amounts of energy and instilling paralyzing dread...

Footsteps out in the hallway. Ritsu holds his breath as he pulls his covers tighter around himself.

The soft padding sounds recede and Ritsu let's himself breathe again.

A light flickers somewhere in his room. Or maybe it doesn’t. It's getting hard to tell what's happening and what he's imagining.

...He wants Shou.

He wants someone who has even an inkling of what he's feeling right now. At least Shou already knows what he's been through. He's the only one Ritsu has opened up to about the equal measures of love and fear and the blurring line between them.

When he checks his phone, it says...something fuzzy and illegible. Ritsu squints his eyes until the letters and numbers stop overlapping. Friday, ten at night. He just needs to make it a couple more days. On Monday, Shou will hopefully be back from whatever Claw-related misadventures he's been having for the last week. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.

Ritsu blinks. A shadowy form appears in front of him. It's gone again before he can scream.

Just a little longer.

It's somewhere between two minutes and two hours later that he Feels a familiar aura carefully approach his balcony. It's not Monday yet, is it? Is he losing track of time?

The glass slides open and a head of wild red hair peeks around the curtain. Ritsu feels his heart rate finally slow. Shou grins and waves before pulling the door shut behind him, tiredly crawling into his waiting boyfriend's lap.

"Ritsu, I missed you!" As soon as he's settled in, Shou starts nuzzling and touching everywhere that he can reach. He tends to act like they haven't seen each other in months, even when it's only been a few days.

"Is it Monday already?"

"I came back early, you're more important. Pops and Joseph can handle the rest without me. Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye, it-" Shou stops his rambling to stare. Ritsu's not sure what it is he sees, but he is sure that he looks like shit.

"Are you ok? You look like shit." Ah, there it is. "You told me about Reigen. How is Shigeo taking it?" Ritsu just shakes his head. He's pretty sure Shou can already guess what's been going on. "...When was the last time you slept?"

"...Not since it happened." Shou frowns up at him and for the first time, Ritsu notices the pink and red under his eyes. He hasn't been sleeping well, either.

"Shou...what was this branch like? Was it bad?"

"...Yeah. Child Awakenings. We didn't know until we were already there."

He doesn't say anything after that. Shou's eyes take on the same Haunted look that Ritsu's been seeing in the mirror lately.

He looks off to the side for a moment and feels his breath hitch. Something is flickering again.

"Hey. You're ok, there's nothing there." Shou's freckled hands come up and gently push until Ritsu is facing him again. He supposes if anyone would know about the effects of sleep deprivation, it would be Shou. He's had to be on the run for days at a time before. Ritsu has heard the stories.

The exhaustion is starting to weigh him down, but the fear and the paranoia refuse to let him sink. He sits and stares blankly until Shou finally decides to pick him up and physically throw him down onto the bed.

"C'mon, Ritsu, time for bed. You sleep. I'll take first watch." He doesn't even fight it or give any lip as Shou tucks him in in a way that's just motherly enough to be mocking. What on earth does he mean by first watch?

Ritsu gets his answer when Shou sits criss cross on the edge of the mattress, faced to watch the door. Calloused fingers play with his dark hair, combing through the fine strands. Ritsu closes his eyes by reflex when a palm sweeps over them, only to find his eyelids are too heavy to open again.

"I'll stay up, so you don't have to be paranoid. You know I would get you out of here if anything happened, right?" He does. He can't answer right now, but he does know. Shou is reliable and responsible where it counts.

Hours later, when he's jolted out of sleep by the mirror image of his brother that Haunts his dreams, Shou is still sitting in the same spot. He splutters just a little when Ritsu lays his head in his lap, but then goes back to petting his hair. His fingertips occasionally trace along the jagged pink scar peeking out of his bangs.

It's the first time Ritsu's ever been able to go back to sleep after a nightmare.

[oracleofthegods-archive-blog]

@r1trigger

She has never felt the heat madness before, never seen the visions that twist the mind and dangle illusions of imaginary places and people before her eyes. Promises, threats, of the things she wants the most, and often, the things she wishes she could forget. Some days she sees the Chancellor beckoning her home, to a cave she lived most of her life in, welcoming her to the dark chill away from the sun and into the comfort of soft blankets instead of the coarse sand; some days, she sees death in the form of the gods she had been forced to worship, hands reaching for her, cruel smiles twisting their faces and promising her a drawn out demise.

Most times, she cannot decide which is worse.

There are times, though, when she sees water, fruit, plants, things she has heard of but never seen, images made up in her mind as a child and held fast to as she grew older. She did not know what these plants looked like, and when she stumbles gratefully into these pockets of paradise, only to find them nothing more than pits of sand and despair, she realizes that she still does not know what they look like. It is in these moments, when she has fallen to her knees and is holding the sand that should have been water, watching it drain through her fingers, that she realizes she truly does not know the world she had been kept away from.

Her entire life had been spent tucked away from the harsh light of the sun, only allowed outside once every twenty-eight nights. “The full moon keeps you untainted from the scourge of our world,” the Chancellor used to tell her as he would guide her to stand beneath the moon that she has been named for. He took her to where people gathered to see her. Her, somehow made mythic to these people who were told only the same things she was: She is pure, she is untouched by the disease, she is to be protected – she does not know what any of this means, or why; she has only been told that the people who stand before her, so far below her that she cannot make out how many individual faces have come to see her yet again, how many new faces have shown up, how many have been lost since the last full moon – she has only been told that these people are sick, unable to be saved, and that she is important to them.

When she was younger, his answers satiated her curiosity surrounding her entrapment, and she believed what he told her of the gods and their touch keeping her from getting the sickness. Fear had been instilled in her by the man, poisoned her mind and wrapped barbed tendrils around her heart, and so tightly had she once clung to the Chancellor as a child, as she grew into adolescence, afraid of the world and the sun and the sickness. What lay beyond the walls of her chamber frightened her once. Fear kept her skin soft and her heart bent towards the men who held her captive. They told her it was to keep her safe, and safe she was, though she did not realize that she was not free.

It was not until the full moon at the beginning of her fifteenth planting season that the idea of freedom was a thought she allowed herself. Spurred on by a singular woman in the crowd standing below, the words, “Let her go free!” echoed up the canyon walls and into her ears, surprising her in ways she had not thought possible. Quickly she had been rushed back to her room, but already it was too late, the idea had already started taking root in her mind. She could not speak it aloud to the Chancellor as he helped her back behind the heavy door with multiple locks, white dress gripped tightly in her fist to keep from tripping on it as she walked. She could not ask him about what the woman had shouted, could not ask about the world beyond, and she doubted that the woman herself would survive to see dawn. That night found her awake, listening to the silence of her chambers as she imagined the people below pointing out the woman to the executioners. The fate of those who questioned the Chancellor was well known. She would be no exception.

So wholly had she believed what she had been told of the gods and her purity, that she didn’t question the way he ran things. She didn’t like the death and the murder, the strict hand with which he kept his rule, but at the time, she convinced herself she understood it. This was for the protection of her and the people who lived there, a firm hand in a harsh world. It was only to be expected. Her thoughts of the world beyond her walls were limited in scope, with no desire to leave the safety of her home. And yet, that one woman’s words resounded in her ears, working into her mind, until it was all she could think about.

Within the year, she had made her first escape attempt. She had thought it was well planned, but in truth, it was clumsy, and very quickly was she caught. The Chancellor reprimanded her sternly, frightening her into a corner. She had never seen him so angry, his eyes so dark. He shouted, he raised his hand as if to strike her, then calmed himself. Reassured her that she was safe here.

“You must stay with us, darling,” he had said, gently holding her face between his hands. “Only we will keep you from harm. Others would hurt you, abuse you. The world is not a kind place to one like yourself.”

A nod, a promise not to leave him again, and he left her alone. She allowed herself to cry when she heard the heavy locks sliding into place.

He assigned her a new permanent guard after that. A woman older than her named Crowe who looked at Luna with something akin to understanding. Maybe pity. Was she here against her will? Or was she loyal to the Chancellor? Luna wanted to trust her, but she was wary of her. Didn’t let her get close. She continued to think of a way to escape.

Her second and third attempts went only slightly better, each time learning something new about the route to get out, but getting caught each time. They let her out a couple times a day to move around, to walk, to hold her head high the way the Chancellor instructed her to while others would lower themselves to their knees or bow their heads at her passing. She learned the layout of the twists and turns of the caves, where the bigger rooms were, which hallways seemed the busiest. The small paths that were rarely used branching off the main ones. Which guard walked where, when the shift changed, the busiest times of the day. She began committing it all to memory with each day that passed.

She only hoped Crowe didn’t notice how her eyes moved around the rooms, how she studied every detail of the place with careful scrutiny. It wouldn’t do for someone as close to the Chancellor as she was to report something like this back to him. She wanted her next escape to be the one that worked.

Her fourth attempt was almost successful, somehow managing to slip past Crowe, to make her way through the shadows of the winding halls, ducking into small coves and empty rooms when someone got too close. The light of a sliver moon beckoned her to the outside of the first exit she found – and when she was caught, it ended in the worst punishment yet. Whereas before she had understood the tight grip the Chancellor kept on the people here, she now found herself victim to it, and she didn’t understand it any longer. She resented it. She resented him.

“It is for your own good,” he had spoken softly to her, one finger turning her face towards him, and she wished he’d meant the locks on her door, or the collar he’d fastened around her neck. Instead, he meant the bindings on her wrist holding her against the wall, her back bare and exposed to the people in the room.

“It pains me to do this, darling,” he said with what might have sounded like sympathy, but it was lost on her ears when the first strike came, the sharp crack against her back breaking skin. She cried out sharply and tried to move away, neck straining against the leather around her neck and wrists, but it was too tight. She pulled, but she couldn’t move. “But you have disappointed the Gods.”

In the time between the first strike and the second, when tears stung her eyes and her jaw clenched tightly against the pain, she imagined that, if this had been happening when she was younger, she would have been begging forgiveness, promising to never to do it again. Luna of even just two years ago would have been reaching for the Chancellor and swearing it would never happen again, that she would be good, she would stay put. Now, she said nothing, promised nothing, the only sounds from her the sharp cries of being struck five times against her back.

“You need only listen to us.” His words were soft against her ear, threats dripping from his voice, as he removed the straps around her wrist and helped lower her to the blankets, lying her on her stomach to keep the fresh wounds from touching anything. He brushed her hair back, looked down at her with a look she’d only seen him give to traitors. “You could have avoided this, and I trust you will in the future.” He watched her, waiting for her to agree. She merely turned her head away from him, trying not to whimper from the pain that simple motion caused.

Crowe came in later to help clean the blood from her back and wrap bandages around her. Luna had wanted to tell her how much she hates the Chancellor now, not knowing how he could hurt her in this way when once he had promised that only he could keep her from harm. She may have blamed the gods, but they had never felt as distant from her as they did now. Tears stained her cheeks, her lips trembled, and as she inhaled sharply with each press of cloth to the wounds, she swore she would escape. There was no room for argument in her mind that she brought this on herself, that this was her own doing. She deserved freedom, and the Chancellor refused it to her. Her only crime was getting caught.

Next time, she wouldn’t.

And next time, she didn’t.

At least, not by the Chancellor.

The sun beats down on her, frying her skin and draining her of all her energy. The sand coats her mouth, and she tries to cough to get it out, but each inhale brings with it more sand, more dry air. The oases offer nothing but mirages, and her throat aches for water, even if it’s hot. At the Citadel, she had water and shade, as much food as she could want and no exposure to the harsh elements of this world. The Chancellor kept her protected from this, and-

“No,” she says aloud, forcefully, voice cracking. She wouldn’t allow herself to follow that train of thought. It’s been just over two years since her last escape attempt, yet even now, the mere thought of going back to the Chancellor, asking to be let back in, knowing that the punishment awaiting her may be worse than what she has already endured – it’s enough to make the scars on her back ache. They had never healed well, twisting with scar tissue, forming jagged lines over her spine and shoulder blade, and there were some nights when they would throb terribly. She’d been assured they weren’t infected, but they hurt even after they healed.

And there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do more to her than that if she went back. No, she would sooner die under the sun’s burning gaze than go back there.

And die she might, if she can’t find some sort of reprieve. She hadn’t known what to expect from life outside the Citadel, had only seen glimpses of neighboring towns under the moonlight, too dark to see far enough to know what was out there, and nighttime disguised the heat and the sand as something much calmer than it is. So long has she been sheltered and hidden away from anything that could hurt her – save the Chancellor himself – that she could feel her skin baking in the heat, her lips cracking and bleeding, eyes painfully dry.

It feels impossible to fight the weariness in her limbs. The Chancellor has most likely sent hunters after her, to track her down and bring her back, and even that thought can’t inspire her to go faster. Beginning in the night was easier. She had wrapped a blanket around herself and found warmth with her movements. Staying warm in the cold nights was simpler. Yet as night waned and gave way to the sun, she shed the blanket, finding its heat unbearable on her skin. She walked only in her long dress, lightweight and billowing in the wind, but even that felt like too much, and yet also not enough. Too hot, but not protected enough, and she had done this wrong.

She does not know how to survive this world, and she will die because of her desire to leave. ‘At least I will die free,’ she tells herself as she struggles another step forward.

The collar still around her neck drags her down further, feeling heavier than the thick leather and metal rings actually are. The metal is hot and burns her neck, the leather chafes and rubs her skin raw, and it feels another struggle towards freedom she swears she is losing. Everything binds her back to the Chancellor, and each step is harder than the last, but she persists, she must move forward.

She must.

She must.

It’s a losing battle against the heat, but she will win against the Chancellor. She will be found dead, or, by some miracle, she will find a safe haven and get away from him forever. Either way, she will die free and away from her captivity.

She hopes for safety. Real safety. But in truth…she doesn’t even know if there is anyone else out here. The Chancellor spoke of outsiders and other people that would do her harm, but not once had she seen any visitors, no one coming in from beyond their borders, except from the neighboring towns. And in the time she has been wandering here, she has seen no one. What if the world is dead? What if they are all that’s left, and she has abandoned the only safety to be had simply because she let the idea of one lone woman shouting for freedom get to her?

And now she, a woman revered by her people, held high before them as a symbol of hope for the future, for purity from the sickness, has selfishly left them behind?

She stops and looks back to where she came from. Already, the wind has blown her tracks away and she can’t see any sign of the Citadel in the distance. The horizon is bare, sand meeting sky in ever-shifting dunes, kicking up the occasional small sandstorm, but no traces that she had even passed. No sign of how far she has gone. Even if she turns back and tries heading home, she is lost, no guarantee that she would ever make it. For a moment, panic grips her.

Perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind, she had thought that she may have had that option open to her. No matter how she resisted going back, swearing not to endure anything more at the hands of the Chancellor, at least it had been an option in her mind. But now, it isn’t.

Were her eyes not so dry, tears might have stung them at the sudden feeling of loss.

“No,” she says again, softly, shaking her head. “I will die free.”

Trying to take steadying breaths, but ending up coughing, she turns back towards whatever path she had been walking away from the Citadel and keeps on. Keeps going forward. One step in front of the other, bare feet tender and sore and aching, but still she presses on.

Until she can no longer move. She is a long way from the Citadel, and there is nothing but sand and sun before her. The day is beginning to wane, but it will not come soon enough, will not bring water with it. Only the cold, and she has left her blanket far behind her. So meticulously did she plan her escape from the Citadel, but with no idea of how to make it through the world. And now she will fall victim to it.

Her feet refuse to go any farther. Her knees buckle. She collapses to the ground. 

The sand is rough against her face, the sun hot against her skin. She has enough energy to pull part of her ridiculously long dress up to cover her mouth and nose. It isn’t beautiful, the way the Chancellor had always made her life out to be; her death is ugly. Burnt and dry, weak and breathless. But it is on her terms.

Her eyes are heavy, growing more so with each blink. Vision blurring against the dimming sky.

There is nothing here except for her. Isolated. Alone. Dying as she lived, yet this time free.

Perhaps that’s beautiful.

She exhales once more. Lets her eyes linger closed before opening them again.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Another blink, and maybe this will be her last. It’s peaceful, in a way.

Nothing.

The wind tousles her hair. It’s the gentlest thing she’s felt since she left. Maybe the world isn’t so harsh after all. Maybe it has some softness. She just had to look for it.

She attempts a smile, and her lips crack, blood dripping down her cheek.

Beautiful.

Silence.

Stillness.

And a silhouette against the darkening sky.

Is it him?

Fear curls slowly in her chest. Is it the Chancellor? Crowe, maybe? One of their men? She had hoped her life would be ended by now, and yet she has been found. Somehow, they tracked her. Found her. They’re taking her back.

“No,” she whimpers, her voice weak. As strong hands try to turn her over and sit her up, she raises her arms to block them. She has no energy left to fight, but she will not go willingly. She pushes at the figure, so much sturdier than she is, even at her best, and their arms grip her tightly. She tries again, tries pushing away, barely managing to find her legs enough to resist the other person.

“No,” she says again, but it is a cry of desperation. She can’t fight. She can’t win. She reaches for their face, maybe to take an eye out, but instead she finds goggles and a scarf covering their face. She grabs anyway, pulls, attempts to dig her nails in, though her grip is weak.

The scarf slips from their face, and she still can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, or maybe one of the Gods come down to inflict punishment upon her. “Don’t take me back there,” is the last words she can work past her dry lips before her energy gives out on her. She cannot move.

She cannot fight.

There is no more resistance.

All she hopes is that, whoever this is, sees her die before getting her back to the Citadel.

[dariusrufus-blog]

Lucky Ones

Tagging: Camilo & Niko Location: NYC Pride Parade, Manhattan Time Frame: Sunday, June 25, 2017 General Notes: Nikolai and Camilo get to know each other more

Camilo was nervous. He didn’t want to ruin this event for Nikolai especially after being told how important it was for him. Truth of the matter was that Camilo feared there would be someone that would try to act up leaving him no choice but to lash out. He had been avoiding large crowds for that very reason. If this was going to be their first outing as whatever they were, Camilo didn’t want to show Nikolai a side of him he preferred remained hidden. He ran his hand through his hair one last time in front of the bathroom mirror of the event space before making his way towards where his future fiance had told him he’d be. After a few minutes of looking around, Camilo caught Niko but noticed he was working. A smile pulled at his lips as he watched and he quickly looked away, opting to assist a woman that was carrying some boxes. “Here.Let me help.” He followed her to where they needed to be stacked up and when he turned around, the blonde he had come here for was before his eyes. “Hey.” He chuckled slightly nervous and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “I made it. As promised. How can I help?”

Nikolai recognized that voice, turning on his heels just in time to see his fiance shuffling boxes around. He knew that his coworkers were following his gaze, their eyes moving between Camilo and the growing smile on the blonde’s face, but he couldn’t have cared less.;“ Hey.“ He echoed, voice easily giving away his excitement. The crowd was filing in around them, the sound system crackling to life.“ Absolutely nothing. I’m technically off the clock unless they page me in,“ ( He did a lot of the behind the scenes stuff; scheduling performers, making sure things got printed, creating ribbons, etc etc. ) “ So we’re free to have fun. – That’s okay, right? I mean, if you’d rather work I’m sure we could shove you in with the volunteers. “ He teased.

Camilo could feeleveryone’s gaze burning into them and it was almost laughable. Did they want a show? Camilo could do shows. “Hey.” he repeated himself and looked around as others went back to their designated assignments. A soft laugh escaped his lips and he leaned in to whisper into Nikolai’s ear, “I think we’re being watched. Just putting it out there. I have suspicions.” He pulled back with a smirk and then cleared his throat, sliding his hand into Nikolai’s and threading their fingers together.”Yes. That’s totally okay. Actually, I was hoping you’d be off the clock so you can show me around? This is actually my first Pride as embarrassing as it sounds. I just never got around to it and my friends in school were lame and I’m one of those people that can’t do events by myself. God, I’m just a winner aren’t I?” He laughed and looked over to his fiance. “I saw a couple of protesters out there. If they give you any trouble, you’ll let me know, right?” He wanted this event to run smoothly for Nikolai and his co-workers. Camilo didn’t have the patience nor the creativity to pull something like this off so he respected them for what they were doing. Those protesters needed to find somewhere else to spread their hate.

Nikolai’s heart stalled as Camilo leaned into him, so close that he could feel the boy’s breath on his skin. “O-Oh?” He asked, playing dumb. Most of his coworkers had already sat through the whole ‘I met my match and he’s adorable’ story at least two times. They were probably just amused and curious to see the face that their little Niko was apparently so fond of. Feeling Camilo’s hand in his, the taller boy couldn’t help but to give his future fiance a look that screamed ‘is this okay?’, because frankly, he wasn’t sure. His face felt warm, eyes purposely avoiding all of his friends and instead staying on Camilo. “That’s not embarrassing. A lot of people don’t get to go until their older or, ya know, confident enough and all that. .” Unconsciously, he gave the other’s hand a little squeeze as he spoke. The idea of protesters causing trouble and making everyone uncomfortably, frankly, made Nikolai feel the slightest bit sick. This was meant to be safe and fun.. and he couldn’t deal with that many people being awful at once. “Yeah.” He managed, before trying to swiftly change the topic. “Will do. – Let’s, uh, let’s do something yeah? Where do you want to start?”

Camilo couldn’t believe how adorable he found Nikolai to be. They had met once, talked on the phone a couple of times here and there and sent each other goofy texts and just like that, he found himself smiling more and looking forward to the next text message. Why everyone was so hell bent on making the worst out of this marriage situation was beyond him but for now, Camilo had nothing to complain about. A part of him–that pragmatic side of him–made him wonder if it was all too good to be true. For that, he had his mother to blame, always instilling doubt into him when things were too happy. She wasn’t awful or anything like that but she was afraid to dream unlike his dad and often Camilo found himself struggling between being one or the other. WIth Nikolai however, he was genuinely carefree and he enjoyed it too much to overthink it now. Catching the reaction on his fiance’s face, Camilo reassured him with a soft smile before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You have a way of making me feel less self conscious about things by the way. First complement of the day. There are probably more where that came from.” He nodded, taking note of the change in subject but keeping those protesters in mind just in case. “Um. Well…show me where the live music sets up. Can you get that close? Do you have like VIP backstage passes or something? Please stop me, I know I sound like a dork but I have no idea what I’m doing. Also…the floats. Show me the floats. Anything to get you to myself honestly. That’s all I want right now.”

Nikolai genuinely liked being around Camilo. Everyone at work simply said that it was because they were still in their ‘honeymoon’ phase, that the idea of being together was still so new and because they got along so swimmingly, the whole deal was just blown up. The younger hardly believed that this was a phase though, soon to blow over once reality settled in and soon they’d be just as bitter as everyone else involved with the law. But Niko refused to believe it. He refused to think that all of these happy feelings would just vanish at the drop of a hat come their wedding day. “Careful, too many of those and my ego will swell. “ He replied, easily returning the boy’s gentle smile. “Both of those can easily be arranged. My pass will get us in wherever you like- backstage included.” He did his best to play off the fact that he’d just said that he wanted to be alone with Nikolai, ignoring how nice that sounded to him as well. Just the two of them alone together. – The activist waved his friends goodbye and began to lead the way. Toward the source of all the noise and static were the mics were going through their final tests.

Camilo looked down at their joined hands and smiled to himself mostly. What was this feeling? It was too easy but he was thankful for it. All the concerns he had of Nikolai not liking him or thinking he was too distant or too strange melted away the moment they began talking the other night and since then, they haven’t been able to stop. Each conversation was a new topic on their upbringing, their lives, the things they enjoyed doing or just run of the mill, trivial things. If Camilo was being honest with himself,he’d say he was impressed by it all. “I’m gonna have to be careful then. Limit you to three compliments per day maybe.” He chuckled, following him towards the stage and listening to the other intently. He was in such awe of what he had learned about Nikolai’s occupation thus far. For Camilo, it was always easy to use his fists to get a point across but Niko was doing the opposite. Niko was doing a lot of good and he was using his words–something Camilo struggled with. “So…do they think I’m your boyfriend or are they aware that we’ve been matched?” He looked over his shoulder towards the waving friend and he waved too to help give off a good impression. These were Nikolai’s friend after all. That alone spoke volumes for how different they were. When they approached the stage, Camilo smiled as he looked everything over, choosing to sit at the edge and pull Niko gently towards him to sit beside him. He looked out to the closed street and sighed. “To think this will be crowded with people in no time.” He glanced over to Niko. “Ever get nervous? Is it ever too much? I know why you do it and I wish I had an ounce of your courage but does your heart beat so much it feels like it’s going to jump out of it’s chest?”

Nikolai couldn’t help but laugh sweetly when he glanced over to see Camilo waving as well. He was trying so hard to ensure that everyone liked him and Niko couldn’t help but find it adorable. “They know we’re matched.” He explained, “After all, my letter was delivered to the office instead of my apartment. So that all got to see my expression when it arrived. Granted, it was closed the entire time, but.” He shrugged. It made little difference. Just so long as Niko was happy ( and that happiness was genuine ) they’d support him. Even if the marriage was made by the government. The blonde let out a tiny ‘oof’ as he was tugged in the direction of the stage, then led to sit beside Camilo. He had to admit, it was a good spot to watch everyone from. – — For a moment, he sat quietly. Trying to think back to a time that he genuinely felt afraid and overwhelmed because of his job. “Sometimes me and a couple of the other younger activists in our company will be asked to speak in high schools.” He admitted, not daring to look back at Camilo. “They ask us to say our life stories and end it with ‘it gets better’. – Like, I get it. It gives them something to relate to. But.. I dunno. I always feel like my heart’s going to explode or someone too close to the situation is going to be listening or.. I dunno.” He took his fiance’s hand into his lap, playing with it absentmindedly. “So, yes- sometimes I feel that way. Like during those speeches or when there’s a lot of anger in a crowd. I’m not good with large amounts of protesters. But no, not at times like this. “

Camilo turned his attention back on Nikolai, listening to his explanation of what his friends knew about who he was. “Delivered to your office, huh? So you had quite the spectators. Poor you.” He chuckled, glad that he was alone and in the privacy of his apartment for his. Camilo pushed himself back so he was sitting more comfortably, taking in the silence and looking up at the sky. No signs of rain and he felt incredibly relieved that Nikolai would have good weather for this event. “If it’s worth anything? I think what you do is incredibly brave. I could never do it. I would just stand there, wide eyed and stammer for the majority of the discourse. And the fact that you care enough to try and make a difference is also amazing in itself. I could have used a public speaker like you or your group. Maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe I would have been less angry.” He slides an inch so that the gap is closed between them. His thumb manages to graze over Nikolai’s knuckles before he allows his hand to stay on the other’s lap. “I never understood why people think it’s okay to crash these events with their own agenda. Everything you do…all of this? It’s about love and they have no problem spreading that hate. It’s just…I’m sorry that happens.” He felt himself getting slightly riled up, thinking back at the small group of people protesting and spouting homophobic slurs. He can still hear them despite being far away. It was enough to make his blood boil but he didn’t want Nikolai seeing that side of him. Sure they were supposed to be getting married in just a few short weeks but it didn’t mean he didn’t have his reservations. Nikolai was pure. He was good–everything Camilo probably didn’t deserve and Nikolai needed Camilo to be the closest thing to that to make this work. “Show me the floats.” He murmured, biting his bottom lip and glancing towards Nikolai once more. This was so strange–feeling already so comfortable with him. It was like an ongoing first date and that fluttery feeling you get when it’s going amazingly well. Camilo had never been in a long term relationship mostly because he never found the right person and now being in this situation, it made him wonder how he got here and so quickly. He’d have to tell Tony about it later. He definitely liked Nikolai and playing with that feeling and what it meant for the two of them was something he intended to do. “I saw some over there. Really impressive work. I thought I’d see them up front before it gets packed out here.” Of course it meant walking closer to the protesters but Camilo’s protective side was already on full force.

Nikolai leaned into the boy as the space was closed between them, shoulders and knees brushing each other. If this were a normal date, he would have shyed away. Put some distance between them out of discomfort. – But that was just the thing. Even when they were this close, Niko didn’t feel pressured or out of place.. He just felt warm. “You’re just saying that,” He mused lightly, admiring the way the way their hands fit together just right. “But thank you.” It was hard to imagine Camilo being afraid of anything ( especially something as mundane as public speaking ) but he played along, because in some ways it did actually make him feel better about being a sheepish dork. “Some people just don’t like this.” He admitted, giving the boy’s hand a little squeeze before glancing his way. “They just don’t see it as love. They think they’re going to scare us straight.” The older boy probably wasn’t around it enough to realize that people like them were a common occurrence. They didn’t just show up at big events like pride, they were everywhere. Nothing really shocked him anymore. “Okay,” They replied, carefully slipping off he edge of stage and leading the way once again. The crowd had filled in so he kept his fiance close, careful not to get exasperated as they weaved between so many happy, bouncing people. Of course this was just the beginning of the crowd, but still a lot to walk through. Nikolai didn’t realize how close they were to protesters until he could hear them, their voices raised just above the music and commotion. “–Maybe we should go the other way.” He mumbled, “I’ll tell the others to call the cops and get them further off the ground or something..” Niko pretended like he couldn’t hear them, lightly tugging at Camilo’s hand to go the long way.

Camilo smirked at nothing in particular except for his thoughts. Had someone told him a week ago that he’d be out getting to know his fiance, he’d be in disbelief for sure. They were doing things out of order of course. First comes love then comes marriage, etc but he didn’t really mind this if it meant they’d end up in the right direction. If there was something Camilo enjoyed it was comfort and already he felt that with Nikolai whether it meant he viewed him as good friend and or a potential mate would soon be determined. Eight now seven weeks wasn’t exactly ideal but what choice did they have? Nikolai was being pushed into this too. He listed intently, giving Niko’s hand a gentle squeeze as well. “I know. I dealt with my fair share of bullies. It was rough growing up latino in such a strict and rigid household but I was pleasantly surprised at how accepting my parents were. I realized I liked boys when I was pretty young. I think I was 11. Anyway…I was afraid to talk to them about it but they were amazing. It wasn’t easy dealing with the opposite of that from people I met out in the world. As they made their way through the crowd, Camilo was met with a lot of acceptance. Tons of people smiled in their direction or made comments of how cute they were. One couple told them they made a nice pair and while typical Camilo would correct them, it was nice to hear so he kept to himself. When they stopped at the end of one path, Camilo glared at the protesters holding up their signs and starting trouble with the event guests. He was about to say something but Nikolai’s voice served as an anchor. The other was visibly upset and it bothered Camilo knowing these people were responsible for it. “Hey guys, just…don’t listen to them.” He spoke to the others surrounded them but the protesting continued even louder. The crowd was doing a good job at ignoring but it was Niko’s tone of voice dripping with concern and fear that really rattled Camilo. When he felt his hand being tugged, Camilo shook off the frustration and began following his fiance when he heard the derogatory terms thrown in their direction. It was clear as day and Camilo squeezed Niko’s hand to let him know he was going to let go for a minute. “What did you say?” he turned to face the only man who had the audacity to step up to him while the rest of his crew stepped away. Again, the man repeated the words and Camilo was ready to go when his guilt stopped him. He clenched his fists instead, shielding Niko by standing in front of him. “If you don’t leave now, the cops will be called and surely you don’t want to spend the night in jail.” He practically sneered and was ready to turn around when the protester shouted out to Niko referring him to him as the ‘blonde’, spewing the derogatory term at him this time and just like that, Camilo lost it, marching back towards the older man, curling his fingers around his collar and removing him from the scene. He hailed one of the cops that was working the parade over to where they were but not before grilling the man. “Apologize to him. Apologize to him and we’ll think about NOT pressing charges for a hate crime. Tell him you’re sorry. DO IT!” He had a few seconds before the cop approached them and Camilo put the protester down on his feet as he angrily apologized for his behavior. It wasn’t genuine and so Camilo let the officer know that this man had been bothering a peaceful event. “He insulted my boyf–fiance.” He corrected, surprised at his own damn self for saying that outright. “I was only removing a threat from the premises.” He felt oddly proud of himself for not escalating the issue in a violent way. Typical Camilo would be getting arrested as well. Once he was clear to go, he turned around to face Nikolai, horror stricken at his own behavior and he ran a hand through his hair. “Hey…I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. That was…pretty tame compared to what I usually get myself into and I can’t be exposing you to that. Not on your day. You planned this. It’s not fair to you.” The others around them were cheering Camilo on which only made him feel more sick about the whole thing. “I’m so sorry, Niko.”

Nikolai couldn’t help but feel as though this relationship (??) had the potential to work out. They’d only just met days ago, a few conversations serving as fillers, but already he was so comfortable and fond of the boy who now fit so perfectly by his side. It made him wonder why so many complained about the law. “Your parents must have really loved you.” He breathed, trying to picture in his mind what that would have felt like. To have a family who supported him no matter what. Inwardly, he wished he could met Camilo’s parents before they passed away. — — It all went downhill so quickly. Nikolai tried to tell the other to calm down, that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t gotten before and that he would be okay, but his voice was barely audible. Before he knew it Camilo’s hand was gone from his and he was standing in front of him. Protecting him from all of this. That hand squeeze meant that everything was fine, but he didn’t feel fine. His heart was racing as though he knew something bad was about to happen. And surely enough, it did. Niko made an attempt to reach out to Camilo, to stop him from approaching the man, but it was too late and his hands were already on him. The younger was absolutely stunned; glued in place while Camilo removed the man from the premises and toward one of the off-site cops. They were too far to eavesdrop on, just the sound of muffled raised voices among everyone else. Someone asked if he was alright but he barely noticed, removing himself from the crowd and more off to the side toward a building. Hey. Nikolai glanced up to find Camilo still in one piece and he’d never felt so relieved in his life. The man was a fighter, and yet, he had been so afraid for him. And it wasn’t like Niko could have done anything to help if he had gotten hurt.. He’d just stood there. Stupid and helpless. Everything his fiance was saying fell on deaf ears, tears starting to swell up as Niko reached out for him. There was so much he wanted to say but his mind was swimming, so he just wrapped his arms around his fiance’s neck and hid his face among the fabric of his shirt.

Camilo was stunned by Nikolai’s reaction. Not the tears. The tears were literally destroying him. It was the embrace. By now, anyone with half a mind would have left or argued with Camilo on his reaction. He knew he was in the wrong. Not completely, of course. The protester deserved to be apprehended but Camilo needed to learn to control that temper. He had gotten better after years of therapy but there was still a fire with him that once it’s ignited, he only sees red. Everyone has a tipping point in a given situation and today’s, Camilo’s was the insult directed at Nikolai. It was wild. When had he developed a sense of protection over the other man? They were just getting to know each other after all. His hands remained at his side for a brief moment before he raised one to settle against the back of Niko’s head. “C’mon…don’t cry. I’m sorry.” Instinctively, he kissed the top of the blonde’s head and rested his cheek against it. “I didn’t mean for it to get so bad so quickly. I couldn’t stand it when he said that stuff towards you. Are you alright?”

Nikolai didn’t mean to tear up so easily. The event just left him so overwhelmed and with a million different things filling his head that it just sort of happened regardless of if he wanted them to spill over. “Stop apologizing,” He mumbled against the other’s skin, grateful that he couldn’t see his face when such a gentle kiss was pressed to his head. There was no sobbing, no gross sniffling. He wasn’t upset- just stunned. And frankly, now embarrassed for clinging to the man so quickly. “M’not crying.” Niko lied, pulling back just the tiniest bit, his eyes looking over Camilo’s face as though searching for some kind of scratch for bruise. “I’m fine.. Are you though?? –I thought.. Shit, Camilo. That was dangerous. You could have gotten yourself hurt.”

Camilo suddenly felt foolish for the entire thing which was usually the case. It was a lot worse when he was younger. He was more reckless and with less guidance. One bar fight after the other with no remorse and often no recollection of what had occurred the night prior. “You’re not?” He asked with a soft smile and pulled away reluctantly. He knew he was about to be scrutinized and Camilo smiled again as Nikolai examined his face. “I’m fine. I told you what I do for a living. That guy didn’t stand a chance.” He knew he sounded cocky and perhaps he should learn to tone it down but as long as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, Camilo was on some other level. Still, he was learning to be calmer which he was glad for now that he had an actual relationship to nurture. Sort of. “I mean…I’m fine. I honestly just hate that kinda thing and I know that the world is full of people like that guy but God, it was instant. I saw red the moment he said something to you. I’m not allowing it. I’d never allow it.” He mumbled the last part, feeling very conflicted with how much he already cared. “Do you want me to go? I can go…I’m a menace to society.” He chuckled softly and sighed. “BUT…And I’m not trying to bribe you but I did bring my bike and maybe when this is all over, I can give you a ride back? I promise it’s better than the train.”

Nikolai almost didn’t want to let him go when he pulled away. “I know.” He breathed, “I know it’s what you do. But still. Getting hurt because of me isn’t worth it. I’d rather my feelings get hurt and you be safe than you go out and get a black eye, or cut or..” Nikolai sighed, folding his arms over his chest. He wasn’t used to this. Being protected and watched over. Like, sure, people at work would stick up for him if they were targeted at events and whatnot but that was different. They were doing it because it was their job and they were friends. But Camilo… He didn’t owe the boy a thing. “I’m just not used to this.” The words escaped his lips before he could stop them, “People going to such extremes just because someone called me-” He stopped short, not daring to repeat the word that made him inwardly cringe. Bad memories attached to such a phrase. “You’re not a menace. What I’m trying to say it– Thank you. For sticking up for me. I was scared to death, but still. You meant well.” It came out more like he was trying to convince himself, than Camilo. “Please. Don’t go. I’ll let you take me home, but stay. Just for a little bit longer.” Even if it was just the two of them pressed against this wall, he wanted to be with him. Just a few more minuets.

Camilo pressed his lips together as Nikolai spoke. It bothered him knowing that he never had any sort of protection. What about his family? People that were supposed to care after him? “Well, get used to it.” He grumbled almost childishly. “It was nothing. Really. I’d do it for… “ He stopped himself before he was caught in some blatant lie. Truth be told, Camilo wouldn’t do this for just anyone. There were few people that held his loyalty. Friends, family and most recently AJ but Camilo felt immediately drawn to Nikolai and it was more than just the attraction that made him want to do this for him but it wasn’t something he had a name for. It would be too soon to attach any sort of label to what he was feeling. He knew that. The pragmatic part of him was what kept him at bay sometimes. “You’re welcome, Nikolai. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. And I’m doing it because I want to. I enjoy looking after the people that I care for so don’t take that away from me, deal? I’ll be more careful though. No black eyes. No cuts. Our future wedding photographer will hurt me.” He chuckled, the crowed turning away from them and now enjoying the band on the stage. “Okay. I’ll stay.” He wondered how much longer he had with Niko now. Was he officially off the clock or would he have to run back to help out with the event. “Are you done now? With work? Do you get to enjoy the rest of the afternoon?” He was asking almost selfishly and pressed closer against Niko when someone asked Camilo to let them through. A bashful smile pulled at the corner of his lips as his eyes flickered up to meet the blonde’s gaze. Striking blue eyes that Camilo hadn’t noticed the first time they met left him almost speechless. “Huh.” He then chuckled. “Is it cheesy if I tell you your eyes are beautiful? Yeah. That’s very cheesy. Super cheesy. Wow. i’m batting a thousand, huh?” He grinned and leaned in to kiss Niko’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting me, kjekk” He murmured against the other’s skin and pulled back only slightly before sliding his hand back into his fiance’s.

Nikolai smiled softly, allowing his arms to unfold and fall by his sides once again. Truth be told he wasn’t sure that being looked out for and protected by someone was something he could get used to. But he liked the sound of it. It made him feel less alone in the world. “— Deal.” He quietly agreed, chuckling at the mention of a wedding photographer. “Not just them, I’ll kick your butt too.” His voice was playful but deep down, he knew he’d be tempted to get after the boy if Camilo got hurt doing something as goofy as protecting the younger. “– Yup. If they needed me they would have said something by now. – I’m all yours until you get sick of me. “ He replied, trying to assist in letting the person slip past them though all he really did was press his back to the wall. They were so close, gaze locked on each other, that their really wasn’t anywhere else he could go. A beat passed and Nikolai was absolutely baffled, trying to figure out what Camilo was so interested by. He began to ask if something was wrong or on his face but was cut off by the other’s remark on his eyes. At first he didn’t know what to say; Parting his lips as though he knew, but no sound would come out. Instead he just stood there, blushing for what felt like the millionth time. ( Apparently he’d just have to get used to looking like a tomato in front of his husband-to-be since it was happening so often now. ) “Cheesy, yeah.” He managed, “But sweet. Unbelievably so. I-I, uh. Thank you.” The kiss was enough to make his stomach swarm with butterflies, turning this way and that. He felt like a child, learning how to date and behave all over again. Because this… this was all so new. And yet, he felt so unbelievably happy. “You missed.” He replied, a sheepish smile tugging the corner of his mouth upward. Fingers lacing together, Nikolai closed the space between them and gently pressed their lips together.

Camilo hadn’t dated someone in quite some time. It was mostly because of personal choice. Too busy or too many excuses to get on any sort of relationship track. This was nice and refreshing to him. The witty banter, the playful tone, the mindless flirtations…it all brought him back to why he enjoyed this part of embarking on something new with someone else. “All mine, huh? Those are some dangerous choice of words there. I might take advantage of that.” Already, the concerns her had coming into this were distant and the anger he felt towards the protester was mostly gone. “Just being honest.” And he was. He couldn’t imagine how it was possible that no one had ever told Nikolai that. As a matter of fact, Camilo was sure that he had heard that plenty of times before. As he was pulling away and as Nikolai spoke, he arched a brow in response to the blonde’s words. “Missed?” And before he could say anything further, his lips had been captured. Now kissing was something else that Camilo had missed and God, did he miss it. With his free hand, he cupped Nikolai’s face, pressing against him and completely forgetting for the time being where they were. Not like anyone would notice. The crowd seemed incredibly pleased with the entertainment anyway. It was like he had allowed himself to get lost in something that made him happy for once. He had lived a life that often times was too rigid and despite his desire to constantly go against the norm, he still found himself possessing his mother’s traits. For the first time in quite some time, Camilo allowed himself to relax and he tilted his head to deepen their kiss, closing his eyes as his thumb caressed Niko’s face. It was unconventional. Everything was backwards. It was supposed to be date first, kiss second, propose third, end up in marriage with kids but this was completely backwards and he couldn’t help but think that maybe that’s what made it exciting. He pulled away only slightly, making sure to remain close to his future husband and he brushed Niko’s hair to the side as a grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “Remind me never to miss again.”

Nikolai usually wasn’t this brave. In previous relationships he’d steal tiny kisses when he knew people weren’t particularly looking at them or put his arms around his date if the situation allowed. Never had he just pulled someone toward him and kissed them like a teenager in the middle of a crowded space ( PDA was never his shtick. Nor was he that daring. ) But with Camilo, he knew that if he didn’t kiss this boy he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Their eyes glued to each other, Niko’s mind floating- He couldn’t help but want to close the distance between them. To kiss him until they were both pink and out of breath. So that’s exactly what he’d done. – And imagine his delight when his fiance kissed him back !! The blonde smiled into the buss, his free hand ( the one that wasn’t holding his husband-to-be’s ) moved to the small of the male’s back. All the voices and music around them seemed to fade into the background. “I can do that,“ He breathed as they separated ever so slightly, pale blue eyes fluttering open to meet the other’s. Niko saw Camilo’s smile and couldn’t help but mimic it, expression splitting into a childish grin. “ –Stop that.” He chuckled, still somewhat out of breath. “Being cute and knowing what to say. It’s hard to compete.”

Camilo leaned in to press soft kisses along Niko’s jaw, grinning at his words and stopping to look up at him again. “I’m not the cute one here.” He muttered and snaked an arm around his waist. “No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to compete with you, Niko.” He pressed another kiss against his lips and another before letting out a soft chuckle. It truly tickled him how quickly he had grown to feel this into someone. Intimacy wasn’t something Camilo struggled with and he wasn’t going to fight against the instant attraction he felt towards Nikolai. It was as if he was getting to know someone after meeting them for the first time with the only difference being he supposed to wed Niko in about seven weeks. There was still a lot of nerves there and definitely a lot of questions. It had only been a week since they met and sure he felt a lot more comfortable now but Camilo had a lot to learn about his fiance. Fiance. Just thinking about the title filled him with a combination of emotions. He knew it was crazy. Years ago had someone told him this would be how he met the man he was going to marry, Camilo would have laughed and incredulously so. Aware that he really had no choice now, he was starting to care less about that part and focus more on getting to know Nikolai. “After the first act, do you want to find see if we can get dinner somewhere in the city? Or we can go back to my place?” A devilish grin pulled at his lips. “I can ‘throw down’ in the kitchen as promised and we can watch a movie or something. Up to you.”

Niko couldn’t believe that this boy was his. He’d heard all of the horror stories; people meeting their government assigned match and hating their guts, sleeping separate bedrooms, putting on fake smiles for their children.. There were so many things that could go wrong. And yet watching Camilo smile and kiss at him, he couldn’t help but feel like everything was okay. That maybe, just maybe, it didn’t bother him that the law had picked out his husband for him. “That’s such bull and you know it.” He replied, playfully rolling his eyes upward toward the sky. As much as he loved it, Niko wasn’t used to getting so much praise. Not on his eyes, his appearance, or anything else. It was borderline shocking to hear that someone (anyone) even thought these things. “I vote for the later,” Niko replied, eyes lighting up at the idea. Perhaps he was pushing it a bit, inviting himself over to his fiance’s house after their first date.(… Wasn’t that a bit cliche?) But the idea of watching Camilo cook and the two of them getting all cozy with a movie.. It was too perfect to pass up. He laughed at the mention of ‘throwing down’, leaning into his fiance’s touch with a coy smile. “– Sounds perfect.” A gentle kiss was pressed to his lips, grin ever present. “I did say I was yours until you got sick of me, didn’t I?”

Camilo chuckled and then bit his lip. He couldn’t help but think how he was one of the lucky ones. Nikolai was everything Camilo thought he’d never find in a partner mostly because of his own setbacks. “It’s not!” His grin widened despite being honest in that response. Niko was definitely the kinder, cuter, sweeter of the two of them but Camilo wasn’t about to disagree or fight his opinions. “The latter was what I was hoping for.” His smile remained as he began thinking about what he’d make him. Maybe something traditional and Colombian so that he could show off his skills. The truth was that Camilo was ecstatic to do this one thing for Niko Smiling onto his fiance’s kiss, Camilo pressed another kiss against the other’s lips and chuckled. “You did say that. And I don’t think I’ll be getting sick of you anytime soon by the way.” It was all so exciting to him; giving himself the chance to break out of his usual mold and letting himself have this one thing. Maybe this law wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. “Mine.” He smirked before claiming Niko’s lips once more, the vibrations of the music in the background thumping hard in his chest as he pulled him close one more time. He couldn’t get enough of the blonde and maybe it was because this was all new but he was enjoying himself too much to overthink it right now. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend Pride Sunday.

Niko could feel eyes on the back of his head, parade goers glancing at the close and cozy couple as they passed by. But still, he made no effort to detangle himself from his fiance. He was happy and… Well, not ‘in love’ but something was definitely there; A spark every time they touched or their lips brushed against each other. Some of his relationships prior (self-chosen ones of course) didn’t even get that kind of reaction. So this – It was something else. Camilo made him genuinely happy. “Good.” The boy smirked, fingers playing the hem of the other’s shirt. “Cause I’m not ready to let you go yet.” Texting was nice, but actually having him in his grasp, being able to hold and kiss him, was so much better. And he was just getting used to this feeling.. Selfish as it might be, he didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.— – ‘Mine’. Such a simple word, and yet it made his heart feel as though it skipped a beat. “All yours,” he mumbled between kisses, the phrase barely audibly above the commotion going on around them.

[oraculideluna]

@r1trigger

She has never felt the heat madness before, never seen the visions that twist the mind and dangle illusions of imaginary places and people before her eyes. Promises, threats, of the things she wants the most, and often, the things she wishes she could forget. Some days she sees the Chancellor beckoning her home, to a cave she lived most of her life in, welcoming her to the dark chill away from the sun and into the comfort of soft blankets instead of the coarse sand; some days, she sees death in the form of the gods she had been forced to worship, hands reaching for her, cruel smiles twisting their faces and promising her a drawn out demise.

Most times, she cannot decide which is worse.

There are times, though, when she sees water, fruit, plants, things she has heard of but never seen, images made up in her mind as a child and held fast to as she grew older. She did not know what these plants looked like, and when she stumbles gratefully into these pockets of paradise, only to find them nothing more than pits of sand and despair, she realizes that she still does not know what they look like. It is in these moments, when she has fallen to her knees and is holding the sand that should have been water, watching it drain through her fingers, that she realizes she truly does not know the world she had been kept away from.

Her entire life had been spent tucked away from the harsh light of the sun, only allowed outside once every twenty-eight nights. “The full moon keeps you untainted from the scourge of our world,” the Chancellor used to tell her as he would guide her to stand beneath the moon that she has been named for. He took her to where people gathered to see her. Her, somehow made mythic to these people who were told only the same things she was: She is pure, she is untouched by the disease, she is to be protected – she does not know what any of this means, or why; she has only been told that the people who stand before her, so far below her that she cannot make out how many individual faces have come to see her yet again, how many new faces have shown up, how many have been lost since the last full moon – she has only been told that these people are sick, unable to be saved, and that she is important to them.

When she was younger, his answers satiated her curiosity surrounding her entrapment, and she believed what he told her of the gods and their touch keeping her from getting the sickness. Fear had been instilled in her by the man, poisoned her mind and wrapped barbed tendrils around her heart, and so tightly had she once clung to the Chancellor as a child, as she grew into adolescence, afraid of the world and the sun and the sickness. What lay beyond the walls of her chamber frightened her once. Fear kept her skin soft and her heart bent towards the men who held her captive. They told her it was to keep her safe, and safe she was, though she did not realize that she was not free.

It was not until the full moon at the beginning of her fifteenth planting season that the idea of freedom was a thought she allowed herself. Spurred on by a singular woman in the crowd standing below, the words, “Let her go free!” echoed up the canyon walls and into her ears, surprising her in ways she had not thought possible. Quickly she had been rushed back to her room, but already it was too late, the idea had already started taking root in her mind. She could not speak it aloud to the Chancellor as he helped her back behind the heavy door with multiple locks, white dress gripped tightly in her fist to keep from tripping on it as she walked. She could not ask him about what the woman had shouted, could not ask about the world beyond, and she doubted that the woman herself would survive to see dawn. That night found her awake, listening to the silence of her chambers as she imagined the people below pointing out the woman to the executioners. The fate of those who questioned the Chancellor was well known. She would be no exception.

So wholly had she believed what she had been told of the gods and her purity, that she didn’t question the way he ran things. She didn’t like the death and the murder, the strict hand with which he kept his rule, but at the time, she convinced herself she understood it. This was for the protection of her and the people who lived there, a firm hand in a harsh world. It was only to be expected. Her thoughts of the world beyond her walls were limited in scope, with no desire to leave the safety of her home. And yet, that one woman’s words resounded in her ears, working into her mind, until it was all she could think about.

Within the year, she had made her first escape attempt. She had thought it was well planned, but in truth, it was clumsy, and very quickly was she caught. The Chancellor reprimanded her sternly, frightening her into a corner. She had never seen him so angry, his eyes so dark. He shouted, he raised his hand as if to strike her, then calmed himself. Reassured her that she was safe here.

“You must stay with us, darling,” he had said, gently holding her face between his hands. “Only we will keep you from harm. Others would hurt you, abuse you. The world is not a kind place to one like yourself.”

A nod, a promise not to leave him again, and he left her alone. She allowed herself to cry when she heard the heavy locks sliding into place.

He assigned her a new permanent guard after that. A woman older than her named Crowe who looked at Luna with something akin to understanding. Maybe pity. Was she here against her will? Or was she loyal to the Chancellor? Luna wanted to trust her, but she was wary of her. Didn’t let her get close. She continued to think of a way to escape.

Her second and third attempts went only slightly better, each time learning something new about the route to get out, but getting caught each time. They let her out a couple times a day to move around, to walk, to hold her head high the way the Chancellor instructed her to while others would lower themselves to their knees or bow their heads at her passing. She learned the layout of the twists and turns of the caves, where the bigger rooms were, which hallways seemed the busiest. The small paths that were rarely used branching off the main ones. Which guard walked where, when the shift changed, the busiest times of the day. She began committing it all to memory with each day that passed.

She only hoped Crowe didn’t notice how her eyes moved around the rooms, how she studied every detail of the place with careful scrutiny. It wouldn’t do for someone as close to the Chancellor as she was to report something like this back to him. She wanted her next escape to be the one that worked.

Her fourth attempt was almost successful, somehow managing to slip past Crowe, to make her way through the shadows of the winding halls, ducking into small coves and empty rooms when someone got too close. The light of a sliver moon beckoned her to the outside of the first exit she found – and when she was caught, it ended in the worst punishment yet. Whereas before she had understood the tight grip the Chancellor kept on the people here, she now found herself victim to it, and she didn’t understand it any longer. She resented it. She resented him.

“It is for your own good,” he had spoken softly to her, one finger turning her face towards him, and she wished he’d meant the locks on her door, or the collar he’d fastened around her neck. Instead, he meant the bindings on her wrist holding her against the wall, her back bare and exposed to the people in the room.

“It pains me to do this, darling,” he said with what might have sounded like sympathy, but it was lost on her ears when the first strike came, the sharp crack against her back breaking skin. She cried out sharply and tried to move away, neck straining against the leather around her neck and wrists, but it was too tight. She pulled, but she couldn’t move. “But you have disappointed the Gods.”

In the time between the first strike and the second, when tears stung her eyes and her jaw clenched tightly against the pain, she imagined that, if this had been happening when she was younger, she would have been begging forgiveness, promising to never to do it again. Luna of even just two years ago would have been reaching for the Chancellor and swearing it would never happen again, that she would be good, she would stay put. Now, she said nothing, promised nothing, the only sounds from her the sharp cries of being struck five times against her back.

“You need only listen to us.” His words were soft against her ear, threats dripping from his voice, as he removed the straps around her wrist and helped lower her to the blankets, lying her on her stomach to keep the fresh wounds from touching anything. He brushed her hair back, looked down at her with a look she’d only seen him give to traitors. “You could have avoided this, and I trust you will in the future.” He watched her, waiting for her to agree. She merely turned her head away from him, trying not to whimper from the pain that simple motion caused.

Crowe came in later to help clean the blood from her back and wrap bandages around her. Luna had wanted to tell her how much she hates the Chancellor now, not knowing how he could hurt her in this way when once he had promised that only he could keep her from harm. She may have blamed the gods, but they had never felt as distant from her as they did now. Tears stained her cheeks, her lips trembled, and as she inhaled sharply with each press of cloth to the wounds, she swore she would escape. There was no room for argument in her mind that she brought this on herself, that this was her own doing. She deserved freedom, and the Chancellor refused it to her. Her only crime was getting caught.

Next time, she wouldn’t.

And next time, she didn’t.

At least, not by the Chancellor.

The sun beats down on her, frying her skin and draining her of all her energy. The sand coats her mouth, and she tries to cough to get it out, but each inhale brings with it more sand, more dry air. The oases offer nothing but mirages, and her throat aches for water, even if it’s hot. At the Citadel, she had water and shade, as much food as she could want and no exposure to the harsh elements of this world. The Chancellor kept her protected from this, and-

“No,” she says aloud, forcefully, voice cracking. She wouldn’t allow herself to follow that train of thought. It’s been just over two years since her last escape attempt, yet even now, the mere thought of going back to the Chancellor, asking to be let back in, knowing that the punishment awaiting her may be worse than what she has already endured – it’s enough to make the scars on her back ache. They had never healed well, twisting with scar tissue, forming jagged lines over her spine and shoulder blade, and there were some nights when they would throb terribly. She’d been assured they weren’t infected, but they hurt even after they healed.

And there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do more to her than that if she went back. No, she would sooner die under the sun’s burning gaze than go back there.

And die she might, if she can’t find some sort of reprieve. She hadn’t known what to expect from life outside the Citadel, had only seen glimpses of neighboring towns under the moonlight, too dark to see far enough to know what was out there, and nighttime disguised the heat and the sand as something much calmer than it is. So long has she been sheltered and hidden away from anything that could hurt her – save the Chancellor himself – that she could feel her skin baking in the heat, her lips cracking and bleeding, eyes painfully dry.

It feels impossible to fight the weariness in her limbs. The Chancellor has most likely sent hunters after her, to track her down and bring her back, and even that thought can’t inspire her to go faster. Beginning in the night was easier. She had wrapped a blanket around herself and found warmth with her movements. Staying warm in the cold nights was simpler. Yet as night waned and gave way to the sun, she shed the blanket, finding its heat unbearable on her skin. She walked only in her long dress, lightweight and billowing in the wind, but even that felt like too much, and yet also not enough. Too hot, but not protected enough, and she had done this wrong.

She does not know how to survive this world, and she will die because of her desire to leave. ‘At least I will die free,’ she tells herself as she struggles another step forward.

The collar still around her neck drags her down further, feeling heavier than the thick leather and metal rings actually are. The metal is hot and burns her neck, the leather chafes and rubs her skin raw, and it feels another struggle towards freedom she swears she is losing. Everything binds her back to the Chancellor, and each step is harder than the last, but she persists, she must move forward.

She must.

She must.

It’s a losing battle against the heat, but she will win against the Chancellor. She will be found dead, or, by some miracle, she will find a safe haven and get away from him forever. Either way, she will die free and away from her captivity.

She hopes for safety. Real safety. But in truth…she doesn’t even know if there is anyone else out here. The Chancellor spoke of outsiders and other people that would do her harm, but not once had she seen any visitors, no one coming in from beyond their borders, except from the neighboring towns. And in the time she has been wandering here, she has seen no one. What if the world is dead? What if they are all that’s left, and she has abandoned the only safety to be had simply because she let the idea of one lone woman shouting for freedom get to her?

And now she, a woman revered by her people, held high before them as a symbol of hope for the future, for purity from the sickness, has selfishly left them behind?

She stops and looks back to where she came from. Already, the wind has blown her tracks away and she can’t see any sign of the Citadel in the distance. The horizon is bare, sand meeting sky in ever-shifting dunes, kicking up the occasional small sandstorm, but no traces that she had even passed. No sign of how far she has gone. Even if she turns back and tries heading home, she is lost, no guarantee that she would ever make it. For a moment, panic grips her.

Perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind, she had thought that she may have had that option open to her. No matter how she resisted going back, swearing not to endure anything more at the hands of the Chancellor, at least it had been an option in her mind. But now, it isn’t.

Were her eyes not so dry, tears might have stung them at the sudden feeling of loss.

“No,” she says again, softly, shaking her head. “I will die free.”

Trying to take steadying breaths, but ending up coughing, she turns back towards whatever path she had been walking away from the Citadel and keeps on. Keeps going forward. One step in front of the other, bare feet tender and sore and aching, but still she presses on.

Until she can no longer move. She is a long way from the Citadel, and there is nothing but sand and sun before her. The day is beginning to wane, but it will not come soon enough, will not bring water with it. Only the cold, and she has left her blanket far behind her. So meticulously did she plan her escape from the Citadel, but with no idea of how to make it through the world. And now she will fall victim to it.

Her feet refuse to go any farther. Her knees buckle. She collapses to the ground.

The sand is rough against her face, the sun hot against her skin. She has enough energy to pull part of her ridiculously long dress up to cover her mouth and nose. It isn’t beautiful, the way the Chancellor had always made her life out to be; her death is ugly. Burnt and dry, weak and breathless. But it is on her terms.

Her eyes are heavy, growing more so with each blink. Vision blurring against the dimming sky.

There is nothing here except for her. Isolated. Alone. Dying as she lived, yet this time free.

Perhaps that’s beautiful.

She exhales once more. Lets her eyes linger closed before opening them again.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Another blink, and maybe this will be her last. It’s peaceful, in a way.

Nothing.

The wind tousles her hair. It’s the gentlest thing she’s felt since she left. Maybe the world isn’t so harsh after all. Maybe it has some softness. She just had to look for it.

She attempts a smile, and her lips crack, blood dripping down her cheek.

Beautiful.

Silence.

Stillness.

And a silhouette against the darkening sky.

Is it him?

Fear curls slowly in her chest. Is it the Chancellor? Crowe, maybe? One of their men? She had hoped her life would be ended by now, and yet she has been found. Somehow, they tracked her. Found her. They’re taking her back.

“No,” she whimpers, her voice weak. As strong hands try to turn her over and sit her up, she raises her arms to block them. She has no energy left to fight, but she will not go willingly. She pushes at the figure, so much sturdier than she is, even at her best, and their arms grip her tightly. She tries again, tries pushing away, barely managing to find her legs enough to resist the other person.

“No,” she says again, but it is a cry of desperation. She can’t fight. She can’t win. She reaches for their face, maybe to take an eye out, but instead she finds goggles and a scarf covering their face. She grabs anyway, pulls, attempts to dig her nails in, though her grip is weak.

The scarf slips from their face, and she still can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, or maybe one of the Gods come down to inflict punishment upon her. “Don’t take me back there,” is the last words she can work past her dry lips before her energy gives out on her. She cannot move.

She cannot fight.

There is no more resistance.

All she hopes is that, whoever this is, sees her die before getting her back to the Citadel.