#but when she came home and layed down she's never purred louder .. i hope its a good sign ..

[yoshistory]

hate how both doctors i talked to gave me conflicting information on how to care for them post-op. one doctor called and on the phone told me that Olive had no external stitches and wouldnt need a followup because they're meant to dissolve, and that only Olive needed to be on wet food for 10 days, Hope could go straight to regular dry food again, and that they'd need no post-op pain medicine

and when i pick them up a different doctor goes over post-op care and says to schedule a 14-day followup to get Olive's external stitches removed, and that both cats needed to eat wet food for 14 days, and handed me pain medicine for both girls ...

also kind of sucks because both said "if any issues call us tomorrow" and didnt give me a personal line and the office is closed until monday ... -__-''

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙11

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, angry Andy, hormones, awkward dinner, y’all know what it be.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Okay, here’s an update.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You wore a black dress, barely loose enough to fit over your bump as the hem floated high in the front. Your forehead beaded with sweat as you took out the heavy glass pan from the oven and puffed. You set it down and removed the lid as steam clouded out. You heard your father’s voice from the living room and Andy’s baritone response.

The night was smooth so far. Your father was particularly impressed by the autographed baseballs on the mantle but never outspoken, the conversation didn’t stray much from sports or cars. Your mother’s posture and expression betrayed her discomfort but she masked it with a cordial tone. You were thankful for it as you didn’t need to deal with her attitude and Andy’s at once. You were too hormonal and tired for that.

You began to take down plates from the cupboard and your mother’s voice sounded from behind you. She neared and reached up next to you as she grabbed the next plate before you could. She stacked the four of them neatly and grasped them in her knobby hands.

“You’re too pregnant for that,” she said, “you grab the silverware.”

You gave a small smile and turned to open the drawer as she left you. You took out the utensils and followed her into the dining room. You set the table and she returned to the kitchen. You came after her and she used a dishcloth to lift the hot pan.

“Get the door, will ya?” she said as she angled around carefully.

She passed you as you held open the swinging door and she set the pan down on the mat in the middle of the table. She inhaled deeply and glanced over at you. 

“Stuffed peppers?” she asked.

“Your recipe,” you said, “I’ve been craving them.”

“Next time, let me make them,” she smiled, “you still don’t know the special ingredient.”

“I’ll figure it out one day,” you rubbed your lower back.

“Sit,” she pulled out a chair, “I’ll go get the men.”

You neared her and leaned on the back of the chair, “mom,” you said quietly.

“I’m trying,” she said grimly, “I’m just… not happy yet.”

You nodded and hung your head, “yeah, you don’t have to be, but thank you.”

“I don’t like that man,” she hissed, “a wife in the hospital and he’s knocking up a stranger--”

“Mom,” you warned her, “please.”

“I know, I know,” she shook her head, “but you’re my daughter and he’s… I don’t know, who knows what really happened to the wife.”

You gave her a look and she pursed her lips. She retreated and you sat down heavily and cupped your cheeks. All you had to do was get through dinner. Then you could say you were tired and hide in your room.

You heard her voice in the next room and the impending footsteps before they appeared in the doorway. Your mother and father sat across from you and Andy took the seat to your right. You waited awkwardly and he cleared his throat.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you going to serve the guests?” he intoned.

“I can do it,” your mother offered, “don’t make her work any harder than she needs to. Not in her condition.”

You were slightly taken aback by her effort but you didn’t miss how the corner of her lip twitched as she eyed Andy. She didn’t like and didn’t trust him. You couldn’t say you did either and almost for the first time in your life, you felt a kindred connection to your mother.

She stood and scooped a pepper carefully onto each plate with a generous spoonful of sauce from the bottom of the dish. She set them back carefully before each diner and returned to her chair and sat. She smiled, a forced smile, and shifted her chair closer.

“So, you have some time but… once the baby’s here, I’m sure you’ll be back to work,” you mother began, your father always content to hide in his food, “me and your dad talked, we could watch the kid once and a while--”

“She’s not going back to work,” Andy interjected, “especially not at the diner.”

“Oh,” your mother’s lips pressed together in a firm line, “she isn’t?”

“Maybe after a year?” you began as you glance at Andy, “once I get the hand of things--”

“No,” Andy said, “you’re staying home with her.”

“I guess we haven’t decided,” you offered calmly, embarrassed by Andy’s attitude, “as you said, we still have time and we’re figuring stuff out.”

“Once the kiddo’s in school, you’ll have the time to get a job,” your dad offered, “that’s what your ma did. She kept on a few hours here and there when you were real small but once you hit kindergarten, she was back to full shifts.”

“We’ll talk,” Andy threw a hand up and grabbed his fork with his other, “it’s really not your business. It’s ours.”

“Andy,” you chided, “they’re just curious--”

“And where were they for the last couple months?” he snarled, “they weren’t so curious then.”

“Alright, calm down,” you hissed, “sorry, mom, dad--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” he snipped, “they should be apologising to you. That’s why I welcomed them into my home.”

“What?” you gulped, “Andy, they don’t need to--”

“No, no, my child is gonna have at least one set of grandparents and if it’s going to be them, they’re going to respect you and me,” Andy insisted, “so they can apologise or they can leave without dessert.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you uttered.

“Don’t you tell me how to act,” he cut into the pepper, “so…” he looked across the table at your parents, “she made this delicious meal and I think she deserves at least a little appreciation from the two of you.”

You dad looked angry for once in his life as your mother’s lips curled in mortification. You gave them both a shameful look and shook your head just slightly. You mouthed an apology as Andy huffed and tapped impatiently on the table.

“We’re sorry, honey,” your mother began, “we overreacted. Just like I said earlier, I was surprised.”

“Sorry,” your dad forced out as he glared at Andy, “you know I always love and support you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, “now,” you touched Andy’s arm gently, “we can move on. It’s all good.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbled as he leaned forward to take a bike, “we can… but this doesn’t happen again.”

You wanted to shrink down and hide under the table. The tension that rose was palpable and threatened to choke you. You had false hope in the beginning that this might feel normal, that you might end the night with a new standing between you and your mother. 

You knew then that Andy’s goal had never been to bring you back together, it was only to gain another degree of control. He made it clear that no one could help you, not even your own parents.

🌙

You were almost thankful for the sink full of dishes. It kept you distracted and gave you a reason not to sit and stew with Andy. Your parents left shortly after you cut the cherry pie and you cleaned up as they bid their farewells. You were completely humiliated by Andy’s hubristic demands but you didn’t dare argue with him. Especially not in front of guests.

You scrubbed the dishes as your stomach pressed to the wet counter and placed each in the drying rack. Andy came in as you pulled the drain and you took the dish cloth from its hook.

“Here, I’ll dry,” he offered.

You stared at him and wiped the water from your hands and gave him the cloth. He went to the rack and opened a cupboard. You took out a container and began to pack up the leftovers from the pan and wrapped the top of the pie. The silence made every clink and clank louder as you moved around the kitchen.

You shut the fridge and sensed him behind you. You flinched as his hands settled on your hip and you gripped pressed your palm against the cool metal. He pulled you back against him and slid his hands around your bump as he hummed.

“Did I tell you this dress looks wonderful?” his fingers brushed the dishwater along the front.

“Andy,” you grasped his wrists, “what are you doing?”

He rocked you as one hand grazed beneath your bump and his fingers dangled over your vee. He bent and inhaled the scent of your scalp. You went rigid as he wiggled against your back, his arousal twitching tellingly.

“Andy, please--”

“Can’t knock you up a second time,” he purred.

“I… no, please, I’m tired--”

“Come on, honey, that night… wasn’t that amazing?” He turned you to face the island and you caught yourself against the edge, “that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“It was a mistake, alright? Look at us now--”

“Look at us, hmmm?” he pushed his hand down and cupped your cunt through your dress. You gasped and squeezed his wrist, “I lay in my bed thinking of you all night… and you’re just across the hall. Why are we playing this game still?”

“Get off of me, please,” you begged, “Andy--”

He pressed his fingers to your pants and pushed the cotton against your folds. You bit your lip as he found your clit and the chafing formed a pressure beneath his touch. You shook your head and leaned back into him, trying to shove him away.

“Let me go…” you breathed.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he urged, “I can feel you getting wet already. You’re lying to yourself.” He pulled your panties aside and dipped two fingers between your lips, “why do you gotta be so damn stubborn?”

You sucked in air and tensed as he played with your bud so that your thighs quivered. You tucked your chin in and bit down as you tried not to let out a moan. Your nails sank into sleeve but he kept on. You felt how powerful he truly was, his chest pressed against you as his arm remained immoveable.

He bent you slightly as he snaked his hand further and poked a finger inside of you. You squeaked and he added another, curling them as he began to rock his hand. He buried his face into your neck and his hot breath permeated your skin.

“Mmm, isn’t that nice, honey? I just wanna help you relax?” his teeth grazed your neck, “I can be nice, you see?”

Those words turned your blood to ice. You closed your eyes as you returned to those hours ago when his fist crashed into the wall. When his voice was rigid and unloving, when you were certain he would do worse than just yell. Now he was all over you, coaxing you as if it never happened, as if there hadn’t been months of this precarious tug-of-war.

“Andy, really, I’m tired,” you pleaded, “that night… I told you--”

Your voice caught in your throat as he thrust his fingers deeper and moved his hand faster. The pressure throbbed inside of you, pulsing through your veins and you kept your hand tight on the counter as you gripped his arm with the other. Your ankles threatened to bend as you shuddered and came in a sudden rush.

“Tired?” he mocked as he led you through your climax, “I’ll do all the work, honey.”

You shook your head and whined through your teeth. He kept on until you were weak and clinging to his hand. He slowly drew his fingers out of you and slid his arm out from around you. You slumped against the counter as he let you go, the subtle tinkle of his belt gleaned in your ear.

You turned to him as his belt hung open and he caught you by surprise. He wrapped one arm around your back, his other hand across your ass as he lifted you with a grunt. You threw your hands back to keep from falling across the island as he put you down on the marble. You tried to slide forward as his hands grasped your hips and held you in place.

His blue eyes burned and dilated. He reached under your skirt and pulled your panties down. You whimpered as he tugged them down. He quickly pushed your legs apart and moved between them, your knees wide around his thighs. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head back, his lips covering yours hungrily.

You clawed at the front of his shirt as his other hand danced along your pelvis. His fingers crawled down your thigh and she shifted as he fumbled blindly with the front of his pants. You pushed against his shoulders as the panic erupted from your stomach and swelled in your throat.

He brought you closer to the edge and pulled his hand back to grip himself. You opened one eye as you tried to peek down but couldn’t see beneath your bump. He leaned on you until you fell over the marble and bent over you as he slipped his tip along your cunt. His lips strayed to your cheek and down to your throat.

“Andy,” you begged one last time as he pressed against your entrance.

He purred against your neck as his hand slid past your shoulder and stretched over your tit. He pushed into you slowly and you gulped as tears pricked in your eyes. You bent your legs so your heels pressed to the side of the counter and gritted your teeth as he got deeper. 

As he bottomed out, he rasped against your skin. He stood up straight and dragged your ass over the edge of the counter. He puffed his chest as he thrust into you and his eyes rolled back. He growled as he did it again and your walls clenched around him. Your reached down and pressed on his open pants with your fingertips, trying to push him away pathetically.

“Andy,” you whimpered as he hooked his arm around your thigh, “Andy--”

His other hand flipped up your skirt and he stretched his hand over your round stomach as he rocked into you. You shook your head and covered your face with one hand as you gripped the edge of the marble with your other. Your breaths grew shallow as you fought your own body and the pleasure blooming around his intrusion.

He sped up as the wet noise filled the kitchen and you bit the heel of your hand to keep from crying out. Another orgasm flowed over you and knotted your muscles around him. His groans and grunts grew louder as his flesh slapped against yours, his fingers drawing circles on your stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Andy hissed and jerked his hips harshly.

He sank into you as deep as he could go and wiggled his hips as he flooded you. He twitched as he leaned his head back and sighed, his fingers tight on your thighs as they painfully poked your tender flesh. You moaned and trembled as you felt his release hot inside of you. 

He stilled and let your legs splay around him. You stared at the ceiling in shock as he shuddered. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked between your legs as his cum dripped out around him. You pulled off of him and shoved him away. He seemed to awaken from a trance as you did and his lashes fluttered.

You dropped down carefully to your feet and stormed away. He called your name but the vomit was already halfway up your esophagus. You weren’t going to make it upstairs. You closed yourself in the half-bath under the stairs and wretched into the sink. You held yourself up weakly until the violent ripples quelled. You looked at yourself in the mirror and winced. 

One night cost you the rest of your life. One night meant your body, your soul, your days were his. One night would be countless nights, your fate decided in a single careless act.

[nuttytani]

The flying cat & the baker

summary: you are a sorcerer who owns a bakery in new york. one day, steve discovers your abilities when he walks in on your cat flying inside the shop on a broom.

fandom: marvel

pairing: steve rogers x gn!reader

warnings: lots of mentions of baked goods and the word "horny" just once (it's not nsfw, trust me)

a/n- heya! another fic~ this was inspired by girl in red's "fell in love in october". i know it's extremely off season but yeet i dont care + my dear friend @lorei-writes / @mllorei beta read this! *gives hug to lorey* thank you so much ;-; lorey. ps: this is a non-avengers!au

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Steve to get lost in the sea of New York streets, walking along the cobblestone paths, breathing in the scent of baked goods, spice and fresh flowers. After all, it was his most favourite part of his daily routine, discovering a new place or two. He took his time looking around the nearly empty street, for it was too early for anyone to be awake except for the store owners. They were all busy preparing their shops for opening to notice his presence.

Steve looked up for a moment, noticing the light of dawn setting upon the sky, sending small beams of yellow light like blessings cast by angels. His low breathing felt warm against his chapped and cold lips. With a silent sigh, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pea coat as he resumed strolling without a set direction in mind, eyeing the buildings- the chipped off parget, showing the reds and browns of the brick underneath while moss and vines covered most of the bottom half.

They all turned into a blur once he stood by a jade coloured bakery, the sign reading “magicae et pistoria”, a silhouette of a black cat on a broom just underneath it. He stared curiously at the displayed varieties of pastries and bread, wondering if he should buy a few- would Sam and Nat like to eat them?

With hesitant fingers, he grasped the door handle and entered, instantly greeted by the bell. Barely a few seconds passed, and Steve felt immensely at ease. His body appreciated the warm cocoon provided by the bakery- in contrast to the weather outside. The interior was rustic, with brick walls and wooden fixtures. His feet lead him magnetically towards the delicacies contained in the arched display, varieties of cakes, pastries and bread placed temptingly- he didn’t know which one to pick.

“Hello! Good morning, how may I help you, sir?” A voice pulled Steve out of his reverie.

Steve looked up to see you, your hair a mess, dust covering the black apron and your forehead, a cute smile adorning your face. You looked like an ethereal being- an angel perhaps, standing before him. Somehow, a breath got stuck in his throat, and his heart started to beat rapidly. He could hear it getting louder and louder. His clothes felt too tight, and he suddenly felt suffocated.

“Sir? How may I help you?” you said again.

Steve cleared his throat, embarrassed with himself for staring at you for much longer than necessary. He muttered an apology under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to hear.

“It’s alright, sir, happens all the time. I’ve experienced many people just gawking at the pastries and not knowing what to pick, it’s understandable! I’d be confused too,” you confessed to him.

“Right, of course, glad I’m not the only one or that would’ve been embarrassing,” Steve laughed, trying to bury his awkwardness.

Only if you knew the truth, he’d personally dig his own grave and jump into it.

Steve accepted your help instead of going down the rabbit hole of confusion. You helped him to pick out a few baked goodies- which were a rage amongst your regular customers; a chocolate mousse, Japanese cheesecake and a few vanilla custard doughnuts.

“Thank you! Have a good day,” you said, as the blonde man left the store with a wave.

“Damn, I hope I didn’t look too nervous,” wiping your sweaty palms on your apron, you heaved a sigh of relief.

You usually didn't open the bakery on the weekends, but some things needed to be done, which required your presence. You were sure that no one would come along so early in the morning but were proven wrong. Although it was your fault to leave the open sign hanging, you didn't mind the blonde-haired man and maybe thought he was kinda cute.

You flipped the sign to “closed” while locking the door from inside, as to make sure no one could come in. You moved back to the counter and caught a hand wrapping around a glass jar.

You cleared your throat and glared at the man in question.

“What do you think you’re doing mister.” You folded your arms and glared at the brunette.

“What does it look like? I’m trying to eat some cookies, obviously. You should get your eyes checked if you can’t see things clearly boss,” Rajeev replied and swiftly turned to look at you.

The brunette shrunk and transformed into a black cat, looking at you with bright doe hazel eyes while purring deeply. You groaned and picked him up, placing him on your shoulder.

“There’ll be consequences if you transform like that out of nowhere, and your sister is going to kill me because you haven't been careful. So, if you don’t want me to be skinned alive and thrown into a cauldron to be boiled, stop doing that here.” Truly, nothing scared you more than Rajeev’s elder sister- she was overprotective and intimidating, you wished to never be on her blacklist.

Rajeev only meowed back at you, which frustrated you further. You hoped that he at least understood where your concerns were coming from.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot of organising to do! New stock arrived today, we don’t want cranky sorcerers waiting for us,” you said while muttering a spell and opening a red portal to an apothecary.

By the time Steve returned home, his friends were all awake and wandering about the kitchen like zombies. They all knew about Steve’s early morning walks and didn't question him but were curious as to why he came back so late.

Sam immediately rummaged through the bakery boxes when Steve placed them on the island counter.

“So...what took you so much time, hmm?” asked Sam. “Thought you just went to get some bread, dude.” He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a box, ooh-ing delightedly once he got hold of a doughnut.

“I bet it was some grandma asking for directions,” Bucky yawned, still half-asleep as he took a seat on the chair.

Natasha stole the doughnut from Sam and promptly turned to face Steve, who lay on the couch.

“Maybe, he has a secret lover! Oh Stevie, how could you hide this from us?” she said teasingly while licking away at her sugary fingertips.

Sam was distressed by her stealing and guarded the boxes with his arms, grumbling something about him not having enough coffee for this.

“Can you guys just stop- I just went to a bakery and got stuff, nothing more, nothing less!” Steve raised his voice.

All of them just shrugged.

Nat broke the silence, “Okay...But did you see any cuties?”

“NO- I mean... yes, kinda… I mean- Stop asking me these questions!” groaning with embarrassment, Steve covered his face with his palms.

Steve started frequenting “magicae et pistoria” since then to the point he became a regular customer. Not because he wanted to see your dazzling smile or anything, but because the service and baked goods were really good and his friends wanted more of that deliciousness. He became quite close to you as a result, somedays he just dropped by to say hi and spend some time with you.

Occasionally, Sam or Bucky would tag along to his trips. Even though Steve would deny it, they could clearly see he had a crush on the baker- it was obvious by their playful banter and flushed faces. They’d often tease him about it, but Steve being Steve, would just grump away and aggressively change the subject.

Another weekend rolled in, Steve was headed to the bakery as usual. It became a part of his routine to visit it during his morning walks. You, on the other hand, arrived late to the bakery and were rushing to get the place running in no time. It was just you and Rajeev today since your other employees didn't work on the weekends- it was tough but both of you managed.

While you were busy running around the place, Rajeev was playing around in his cat form, saying you didn’t really need him until later. He levitated the spare broom in the air and jumped on it, trying to balance his paws on the handle. Like a child with no care, he flew the broom back and forth across the room with an evil cat smile.

The two of you were unaware of Steve’s presence until he spoke in a startled voice.

“Why is the cat flying on a broom- what is this!”

Everything happened in a flash, Rajeev fell off the broom with a pathetic meow and you dropped your utensils on the floor. Flour and batter splattering on your shoes and creating a mess. Your scream resonating from the kitchen.

Steve’s jaw was slack with shock, his body frozen where he stood. Should he run away? Should he go and check if you’re alright? He wasn’t sure what to do, he didn't even know if what he saw was even real.

The cat was definitely real, as it stood up and rubbed its bum with its paws. How was that possible- Did he even want to know? Was he dreaming? Maybe he is still half asleep and is seeing things.

Steve grabbed a nearby stool and flopped on it, his knees were weak from shock and needed rest. His mind was still processing the situation

You came rushing from the kitchen to the scene, the mess you created all trivial compared to what had just happened right now. You didn't know what to do at this moment, should you tell the truth? Or deny everything-

“What is that thing,” Steve finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

“A cat,” you replied as a matter of factly.

“You keep a flying cat?”

You just stared at Steve with a straight face and said, “Well...firstly he’s not mine and secondly he’s not an actual cat.”

As if showing a demonstration, Rajeev transformed back into his human form, which baffled Steve further.

“What are you?” the blonde asked in confusion.

“We’re sorcerers...I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know about it, at least not in this way,” you sighed, gently placing a hand over Steve’s knee.

“But boss- we’re busted, now that he knows we gotta turn him into a toad!” Rajeev exclaimed.

“A WHAT NOW?!” Steve looked back at you with raised brows.

“We’re not turning you into anything! He’s just joking- Rajeev! Apologise to him”

The brunette sulkily grumbled an apology. He excused himself to the kitchen to clean up the mess you had made while you took a seat next to Steve.

“Are you alright? Want some water?”

“No thanks, I’m fine. Just...really really shocked- I can’t believe this is real.”

With a flick of your hand, you made two barstools twirl in the air.

“Okay- definitely real,” Steve chuckled.

Extra (few months have passed)

Steve sat on the armchair with you sprawled on his lap, tapping away at your phone while Sam, Nat and Bucky sat on the floor watching another episode of “the Bridgerton” on T.V.

“Damn kids these days be really horny huh?”

“Shh just watch the show!”

+ "-if you enjoyed reading this fic, don't forget to give a like and reblog! feedback is always appreciated

a/n-if you enjoyed reading this fic, don't forget to give a like and reblog! feedback is always appreciated + join my taglist here

[panic-based-riot]

Gilded Chapter 2

Fandom: Inheritance Cycle 

Paring: Murtagh x OC, Eragon x OC, Love Triangle 

Warnings: None

Part 2/??

Ilirea woke to the sound of distressed chirping. She sat up on her bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she looked around her home, searching for the high pitched sound. As it grew louder and more upset Ilirea turned her gaze to the small nest of blankets that held the egg. Or rather, used to hold the egg. In its place now sat a tiny dragon, chirping as it tried in vain to get a fragment of shell off its head. Moving slowly so as not to startle the small creature, Ilirea crawled over to it and gently grabbed the fragment. She smiled as she lifted  it off the baby dragon’s head. The chirping stopped, and it tilted its head to gaze at her curiously. 

A single happy chirp came from the creature, and Ilirea couldn’t help but stare in wonder. The tiny dragon was a brilliant yellow from head to tail, the underside of it a deep amber. As she stared, the dragon stared back, tilting its head as if trying to understand her. Then it reached out with its head, and she scrambled backwards. 

“No, you can’t bond with me. I’m taking you to the Queen.” 

The dragon chirped again, and lunged forward even as Ilirea lifted her hands to keep it away. The tip of the yellow nose hit her right palm and a white hot sensation ran up her arm, burning into her mind. She gasped as a bright silver light shone at the point of contact and something made contact with her mind, something powerful and ancient. 

The light faded, except for a dull glow from the oval shaped irregular patch of silver now in the center of Ilirea’s palm. She closed her hand around it and pulled back, staring in awe at the dragon as she trembled. 

Hungry

The thought, more of a feeling, drifted across her mind and she flinched. She didn’t want to be a dragon rider. She wasn’t supposed to be anything extraordinary at all, just a mistake in a small town. 

“Why? Why did you choose me?” 

She stared at the dragon, expecting an answer, but all that came was the sensation of hunger. She stood, still trembling, and moved to her small kitchen to grab the few scraps of meat that she had. She placed them on the floor by the dragon and it ate them quickly. 

A sense of gratitude flowed over Ilirea, and she sat back down on her bed, staring at the tiny yellow dragon. It chirped, looking back, and she sighed. “Well, now we definitely have to get to the queen. But how am I supposed to get you out of here? I can't just walk through town with a baby dragon on my shoulder.” 

The tiny thing wandered over to where her skirts from the day lay in a heap and it nosed at it before climbing into the pocket that she had carried the egg home in. It curled into it and let out a soft sound almost like purring. 

“Well, I guess that works.” 

Sparing a glance out the window, Ilirea gazed at the night outside. “I need to sleep more, we leave in the morning.” She lay down and curled into a ball, and the tiny dragon poked its head out of her skirts. It chirped twice, then skittered over the wood floor towards her and hopped up onto the small bed. While humming the same pitch the egg had earlier that day, the small creature circled twice before settling in the space next to her stomach. It purred and rested its head on its forelegs and the two fell asleep. 

Morning came with soft rays of warm sunshine as the sunlight fell on Ilirea’s face. The sound of soft chirping reached her as she opened her eyes and she saw the tiny dragon standing on her pillow, chirping. 

Hungry. Go, travel? 

The impressions of a rumbling tummy and trees passing overhead pulled Ilirea out of her bed. “Alright, let me get dressed.”

She quickly pulled on a new overdress and stays, tightened them, and looped her overskirt through her skirt hike again. From the same belt she also hung a small pouch of coins and a silver leaf-bladed dagger in its gold-tipped sheath, the only inheritance from the father she had never known. The tiny dragon half jumped, half flew over to where Ilirea stood, and it chirped thrice. With a smile, Ilirea bent over and scooped up the small creature and placed it into the pocket she had created. 

It poked its tiny head out, watching as Ilirea wandered around the house gathering things into a pack at the center of the room. She placed a blanket, a spare skirt, and a pair of tight trousers into it along with a hairbrush. She gathered up the blanket that the dragon had hatched in and tossed the yellow shell fragments into the fireplace, hoping to hide them. She wandered about the house a few more minutes before she gathered up the pack and looked down at the tiny dragon. 

“Well, are you ready?” 

The dragon seemed to smile and a sense of eagerness flowed through Ilirea’s mind.

 She smiled in return, “Alright then.” She reached for the door handle, but paused. All she’d ever known was this house and this village. Beyond that everything was unknown. She glanced down at the tiny dragon, now curled around itself in her pocket, and let out a sharp breath. 

The door opened to a quiet street, only a few people milled about as she closed the door to her home for the last time. Ilirea brushed her white blonde hair out of her eyes and froze as her fingers danced over the pointed tips of her ears. She quickly pulled her hair back down to cover it and moved as quickly as she could to the market. 

Along the way she smiled at a few friends, people she had known her whole life, and waved as if it were another regular day. At the market she bought a few strips of dried meat, three loaves of bread, and a new scarf, in case she were to encounter another village along her travels. As she was leaving, she passed a small stand that sold maps. 

The gentleman selling them smiled, the long scar on his balding head shining, “You seem to be off on a journey, surely you need a map to guide you?” 

Ilirea hesitated, then purchased a map of Alagaesia, stuffing it into her pack. “Thank you, sir. I’ve not seen you around this market before, may I inquire after your name?” 

He laughed, “You may, but I fear it will garner you no answers. You may call me simply Longshanks.” 

She smiled, “Well I thank you kindly, Master Longshanks. This will be helpful in my travels.” She lifted her hand in farewell, and the mapmaker’s smile fell. He reached out and gripped her wrist, tugging her forward. 

He turned her hand to show the silver brand on her palm, and Ilirea felt the tiny dragon stir in her pocket. 

“You would do well to hide this, Elf-child Dragon Rider. There are many who would take less than kindly to you walking brazenly in their midst.” 

Ilirea pulled her hand back, closing a fist around the mark and reached up with her other hand to make sure her pointed ears were still covered. “How did you-”

“The gedwëy ignasia is the most telling sign of a rider, young one. Hide it, and hide it well until you reach your destination.” Longshanks smiled.

“Thank you. I will. How do you know so much?” Ilirea nodded.

Longshanks simply winked and leaned back in his chair, speaking no more. Ilirea waited a moment, and when it became apparent that the merchant would share no more, she left, keeping her right hand close to her, hiding the Gedwëy Ignasia. She walked quickly through town into the dense green forest she knew so well and stopped only when she was far enough away to not be heard. 

Once she was deep into the forest, she knelt and lifted the tiny dragon from her pocket. She also unshouldered her pack, dropping a few of the meat strips on the ground for the dragon. She unrolled the map, looking over it. She had never been more grateful that her mother saw fit to teach her to read. The dragon gulped down the last of the meat strips and placed its front paws on the map, looking at it with Ilirea. 

“Ok, the capitol is here,” She placed a finger on Ilirea, the newly renamed capitol that shared her name, formerly Uru'Baen,  “all the way across the desert. But if we go this way,” She traced a finger along the edge of Du Weldenvarden and down through Lake Isentar and the Ramir River. “Then we can avoid the desert, and most cities except for Bullridge, until we get to Ilirea.” 

The dragon hummed, and Ilirea looked down at it, “I don’t know how fast you grow, but this is going to be a long trip. I’m talking months, so I hope you know how to hunt already. I can't buy us both food for that long.” The dragon looked up at her, its golden eyes blinking, and Ilirea sighed. 

“I suppose I should also give you a name. But I don’t know if you are a boy or a girl.” She looked at the slender dragon and mentally compared it to the other dragon’s she had seen. It seemed to fit the proportions of Saphira more than Firnen, at least from what she had seen from them both flying overhead, for Firnen was far stockier. “Are you a girl?” The dragon hummed excitedly, twitching its, or rather her, tail. 

Ilirea studied the tiny dragon, looking over her pretty yellow and amber scales. “What about Amber?” The tiny dragon snorted, looking almost affronted at the thought. “Ok, well…” She trailed off, thinking of an old word in an old human language that her mother had taught her. 

“Do you like Halcyon? It means golden.”

She flapped her wings and crowed, nudging Ilirea. 

“Ok, Halcyon it is then.'' She rolled up the map, placing it back in her pack, and shouldered it. She also grabbed a large handful of moist soil and rubbed it into her right palm, concealing her Gedwëy Ignasia. As she stood she held out an arm for Halcyon and she raced up Ilirea’s arm, sitting on her shoulder. She nuzzled her face, humming, and settled as Ilirea started walking away from Ceris, deeper into the forest.

Taglist:  @raiikuiii @gilded-moon @thebluemoonwolf @overlordspirit18 @nightsshadow1 

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Harmonized Souls

So I was blessed with getting to create a story for the @wincestsoulmateszine  Pairing: Wincest Author Notes: Soulmates, soul songs, au no Angels, Sam’s powers.  Summary:  Everyone is born with a tune one that grows as you do until it becomes your very own song waiting to find its matching one. You can also read it on AO3

Dean felt himself go hollow as Sam's matching cords went silent. He couldn't breathe it was as if part of his soul, part of him had withered up and died the moment Sam took his final breath in his arms.

He couldn't live like this.

If it could even be considered living.

He had seen firsthand what losing a soulmate could do to someone, his dad, Bobby and Rufus just to name a few. Dean didn't want to live like that, hollow and waiting for death to claim him so he could join Sam.

"So let it end!" Dean heard himself shut at Bobby when he said something about the world ending. It was like he was underwater hearing things muffled and he didn't care about the world not when his had just ended.

There was nothing left that mattered to him.

He wanted others to feel the agony that was ripping his soul apart at this moment staring at the lifeless body of his soulmate Dean let himself be pulled into his memories anything was better than this.

Everyone is born with a tune one that grows as you do until it becomes your very own song waiting to find its matching one.

At four years old Dean Winchester didn't care much about soulmates or soul songs. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of that. He had much more important things to focus on like his new baby brother.

Samuel Winchester was a happy baby but there was no missing that he was happiest when being held by his big brother.

There were nights though, rare nights when Sam would act up and cry and until he was placed in Dean's arms and Dean began to hum the song that only he could hear, his soul song.

Sam would stare up at Dean completely entranced as he sang softly and Dean felt like nothing could top this moment.

Sam was four when he finally began understanding the tune he was hearing, the one that grew louder when Dean was around.

Still, at that innocent age, Sam began humming the tune under his breath as he pranced his teddy bear, that Dean had given him, across the sheets of the bed in Pastor Jim's house in the room that he and Dean shared.

"Sammy, where did you hear that song?" Dean asked as he stared at Sam wondering if he remembered him humming that tune all those years ago.

Lifting his head Sam studied his brother and Dean knew if it had been anyone else that had interrupted Sam's playtime he would be pouting and giving them his full puppy dog eyes but when it came to Dean Sam would give him his full attention.

"It is the song I hear in my head." A thoughtful look appeared on Sam's face, "It gets louder when you are around."

Dean didn't understand how could Sam hear his heart song, the only other one who was supposed to hear it was his soulmate. At the age of eight going on nine staring into the beaming face of his baby brother, the one person that Dean loved more than anyone on Earth was his soulmate and when he accepted that knowledge something seemed to settle in him and he felt whole for the first time.

Taking a seat beside Sam he began to hum his song and it didn't take long for Sam to join in and the room was soon filled with the joyous music of two soulmates finding one another.

+*****+

Dean was Sam's first.

His first kiss. Sam remembers how shy and awkward he was when Dean smiled that smile that is just for him as he stroked Sam's lower lip with his thumb before lowering his head and pressed his lips against Sam's.

Sam felt his song burst to life as it entwined with Dean's, the two of them moving in complete harmony.

That first kiss leads to their first night where Dean laid Sam out beneath him and took his time worshiping every inch of Sam's body, laying claim to his soulmate and making sure that no one could ever doubt that they were meant to be.

Whispered I love you were exchanged as their jointed bodies moved in time with the song that they could only hear, the song of their two souls confirming they are one.

Now just because one finds their soulmate doesn't mean that everything is perfect, it doesn't work like that. Soulmates still have their fights, their doubts and worries. Sam and Dean had their fair share of them.

Time and time again their bond was tested but never was great as when Sam went to Stanford.

Sam wanted out of the hunting life but it was everything to Dean. Stanford was Sam's dream school but as he looked at the acceptance letter he knew he wouldn't go if it meant giving up Dean.

Slowly closing his fist and crumpling the letter Sam chose to let that dream go only for another hand to wrap around his own and Sam found himself staring into the green eyes of his world.

"Where you ever going to tell me?" Dean asked in a low voice as he took the letter from Sam's hand and began smoothing it out.

Sam could hear the hurt among their soul cords and his heart ached for the pain he caused Dean. "I was. I wanted to tell you. I did!" Sam cried when he saw the disbelief mixing with the hurt in Dean's eyes and he needed to make things right, "I just didn't know how."

"Were you planning on leaving me, Sammy?" Dean hated how hurt he sounded as he asked that question but he needed to know the answer.

Sam moved with all the skills he had learned as a hunter and before Dean could register what was happening Sam had him pinned to the wall, "Never." Sam hissed out his sunflower eyes shining with unshed tears. "I could never leave you, Dean, you are my everything. I had this foolish dream where we could leave the hunting life behind, I could go to school and you could follow your own dreams. Where we could settle down as normal people and just be us."

Pressing his forehead against Dean's, "But that wouldn't be us. I know how deeply you love being a hunter and I couldn't take that away from you. I couldn't rip something you away from the life you love for my selfish wants."

"They aren't selfish Sam," Dean whispered. He loves hunting it is a part of his life but he loves Sammy more and the fact that Sam was willing to give up his dream because he loves him more made Dean fall deeper in love with Sam. "You know there are probably hunts in California." Dean drawled out.

Sam's head snapped up and he stared at Dean in pure awe and a little bit of hope, "Dean are you saying what I think you are saying."

"I am Sammy, if you want to go to Stanford then I am coming with you. After all, we are a package deal." Dean reminded him before he pressed his lips against Sam's in a deep kiss.

It hadn't been easy telling their dad but in the end, John understood, he didn't want his sons to go through the pain of living without a soulmate.

Jessica Moore had been sunshine on a cloudy day and in another life, another time Sam might have fallen completely in love with her but even though they were apart their heart songs still hummed in the back of his mind a part of Dean was always with Sam.

Of course, that didn't stop their friends from talking and hinting about when they were going to start dating.

Sam felt himself panicking he didn't know where he gave them any idea he was interested in Jess, he talked about Dean all the time.

Jess could see the panic in Sam's eyes, "I like you Sam Winchester but I can see that your heart is taken and I am still waiting for my soulmate. I'll make sure our nosy friends remember that you have a soulmate." Sure Jess thought Sam was hot but he was so deeply in love with Dean, she could hear it when he talked about him, it shone off of him and his Dean smile outshone the sun.

+*****+

Tossing his keys into the small bowel by the door of the apartment Sam shared with Dean he let out a small sigh he missed Dean something fierce but Dean was on a hunt and he wasn't sure when he would be back. Sam was just glad that Cabal was free to go with him.

Moving throughout the dark room, he couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights Sam sensed he wasn't alone, he might have taken a step back from hunting but he remembered everything he had been taught.  

Sam waited until the other person was in the room then he struck soon two bodies were dancing a familiar waltz.

The moment he heard his song cords burst to life Sam knew who he had pinned under him before the cocky voice drawled out, "Whoa there tiger."

"Dean." Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest, Dean was here, at last, he was once again reunited with his soulmate he finally felt whole.

"I missed you too baby boy." Dean purred before kissing Sam deeply on that Sam happily returned it had been too long since they felt each other's bodies. Even if Dean had only been gone for a week.

Once they were the desire to relearn each other's bodies was sedated Dean uttered a sentence that would drag Sam back into the hunting world, "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home for a while."

+*****+

Pulled out of his memories Dean knew what he had to do. "I know you are going to hate me for this but I can't live without you, Sam. If I can't have you back I am going to end up joining you." Dean knew it was the truth without Sam there was no point in him living.

+*****+

Azazel the monster that had destroyed their family was finally dead.

"How long did you get?" Sam asked in a broken voice.

"One year and it was worth it. I couldn't live without you." Dean knew that Sam wasn't happy with the deal he had made with a demon.

"And you expect me to be able to live without you? To know that you are trapped in hell, being tortured because you sold your soul to bring me back!" Sam could understand why Dean did what he did because if it had been Dean he would have done the same thing. But he only had a year, one year to save Dean from his deal and if he had to he would walk into hell itself and pull Dean out.

"I'm going to find a way to save you, Dean, no matter what," Sam vowed and Dean could feel it across their bond Sam meant every word.

"Just don't do anything that would damn you, Sam." Dean pleaded.

Sam's eyes blazed, "Then I will happily damn myself if it meant saving you."

+*****+

One Year Later

Sam felt the matching cords growing stronger the deeper into hell he went. He nearly crumpled at the sheer pain Dean was going through at that very moment and it filled him with even more rage.

He had failed. He hadn't been able to break the demon deal even with the help of Ruby and her training. He had been powerless as he watched Dean be torn to shreds by hell hounds, hearing him scream.

Something powerful in him had awakened as Lilith stood above him gloating about Dean's fate and Sam had enjoyed pulling her essences out of her host body and ripping her to shreds until there wasn't even a wisp of her left.

He had lost count of the crossroad demons he had summoned forth to make a deal only for them to end up the way Lilith had. Sam had felt nothing as he tortured demon after demon to find a way into Hell. He saved their host but each demon met the same end.

It wasn't long before word reached even the deepest part of hell that Azazel's chosen Boy King had embraced his powers completely and was on a vengeance-filled one-man war on all demons until he was allowed into hell.

Demons always thought of themselves first and there were those who didn't want to feel the wrath of the Boy King of Hell and they helped him find away if only to gain mercy from Sam.

Sam, who had felt Dean's pain along their bond, whose song was filled with nothing but agony and pain, had no mercy left and they met the same fate as all of those who crossed Sam's path.

Even the mighty Alistair, head torture of Demons and breaker of souls was no match for Sam. He knew that this was the one responsible for Dean's suffering.

"S...Sammy?" Dean managed to get out as he stared into Sam's smiling face, "Please no. Don't use him." Dean didn't think he would survive if Alistair used Sam to torture him.

Sam's heart ached at the fear in Dean's voice and the fact that Dean was begging, Dean never begged - well unless they were in the middle of some fun times - Sam wanted to bring Hell down around them and make sure that no other innocent soul went through pain like this. "I'm real Dean. I am here and I am getting you out. I promise." Sam vowed.

With utter gentleness, Sam gathered Dean's soul into his arms and a piece of his heart unfroze as Dean snuggled into his hold and he spotted the amulet around Dean's neck. Even in Hell Dean carried the symbol of their bond.

Demons and souls cowered away from the power coming off of Sam in waves, not since Lucifer himself had they felt anything like this. Like the Red Seas, the demons parted as Sam moved towards the entrance.

Just as he reached the entrance Sam stopped and looking over his shoulder he announced, "All innocent souls here because of the demon deals they made are to be released and never again shall an innocent be brought here."

The demons could only nod they didn't dare go against one of Azazel's chosen, they were powerless against the likes of Sam Winchester.

+*****+

Touches full of tenderness and love were what Dean awoke to.

"Sammy?" Dean didn't want to believe it, didn't want to open himself to a new trick from Alistair.

Then he heard it the soft humming of a tune only he and one other knew. He had tucked his soul song deep within him, in a place that no demon could reach.

"Sammy, is this real?" Dean asked in a hoarse voice.

Sam's beautiful face came into view and his eyes were full of love as he wrapped Dean's hand around the amulet. "It's real Dean. I told you I would save you and we never have to worry about demons coming after us again." Sam promised.

Using what little strength he had Dean tugged Sam down onto the bed, it had been so long since he last held Sam. Nuzzling his nose into Sam's neck Dean breathed in the scent that was distinctly Sam, he felt Sam's song cords wrap around his and once again they merged and sung in harmony.

"I think we have earned a long vacation," Dean commented and Sam's laughter filled him with warmth, it would be a long time before the memories faded but he had Sam by his side and that would help in the healing.

Smiling Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair as he hummed their soul song out loud just for them.  

[scapegrace74-blog]

Now or Never Now

A/N  Really more of a PSA: drunkenness and unrequited (or unacknowledged) feelings for your roommate aren’t the best of bed fellows.

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

May 1, 2018, The Pride of Spitalfields, London, England

If he were forced to account for his twenty-eight years of life, he reckoned he’d made a decent start of things.  It helped to have been born into a loving, boisterous family, cradled in the bucolic nursery garden of the Scottish Highlands.  A good education, good values, a strong sense of duty: these he owed to his parents.  

Since moving to London at twenty-two, he’d begun to weave the advantages of youth into the intentions of adulthood, with varied results.  Failed relationships, the struggles of establishing a career in his uncle’s shadow and the cataclysm of his accident were setbacks, to be sure, but they forged his character in the blast furnace of adversity.  He enjoyed the comradeship of a tight-knit group of colleagues and friends.  Only three months ago, he’d been promoted to Crew Manager at the Bethnal Green station, and he had his eye on a Station Officer post before he turned thirty-five, his ambition to finally break free of Dougal’s influence.  And Claire.  He couldn’t count his blessings without numbering his Sassenach among them.

He performed this annual stock-taking as he walked to his local pub.  It was his birthday, and he was meeting some friends for a celebratory drink.  To absolutely no-one’s surprise except her own, Claire had finished her first year of medical school at the top of her class, and he’d convinced her to join them.

The air was warm and sweet with blossoms as he entered the pub to a rowdy cheer.  His mates had secured two tables near the tiny stage where a three-piece band were setting up.  The party was well underway, and a pint of lager was thrust into his hand before he’d even taken his seat.

He thought he’d been rather surreptitious in checking the door each time it opened, but Hamish slapped him hard on the back and commented in a voice the whole table could hear.

“Yer Sassenach missus willna get here any faster wi’ yer eyes glued tae the door, lad.  Christ, has she got ye whipped!”

He felt the tips of his ears grow warm as the rest of the table laughed and joined in on the good-natured ribbing.  When he looked back up, Claire was standing there shedding her coat.  He momentarily forgot to breathe.  She was wearing black tights and the jean mini-skirt from their first meeting in this very pub, along with a sleeveless, cropped, ruffled confection that he’d definitely never seen before.  She was, quite simply, stunning.  The momentary lull from the rest of the table told him he wasn’t the only one who thought so.  He stood and hastened to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Jamie!” she cried.  “Happy birthday!”  Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned in to return his kiss, barely missing his lips.  He could smell whisky on her breath.

“Did ye get a headstart on yer celebratin’, Sassenach?” he asked, both amused and confounded.  Claire hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and it wasn’t like her to drink alone at their flat.

“Aye, I have,” she giggled. “I had a partner in crime.  Look who’s here!”

Claire gestured towards the coat check, where a familiar redhead was flirting with the attendant.  His wame plummeted towards his shoes.

“Geillis,” he greeted as she approached.  “Welcome back tae London.  I didna realize ye were visiting.”

“Aye, we just arrived yesterday.  Happy birthday, fox cub.  Ye look well,” she commented with a smirk.

“As do ye,” he replied politely, glancing quickly at Claire to gauge her reaction, but she was observing the band, who had just begun to play.

“Och, mince,” Geillis replied.  “My arse needed its own baggage allowance, but at least my tits are huge.  Ferget about the bairns, I hadta pry Juan Carlos off ‘em so I could join in yer wee festivities!”

It was comforting to see motherhood hadn’t dampened Geillis’ spirit in the slightest.

“I see the lads are all here,” Claire segued quickly.  “What are we drinking?”

Jamie slid his chair over to make room for the two newcomers.  Before she’d even sat down, Geillis bought a round of shots for the table, to the general delight of his mates.  It was going to be an interesting night.

***

“Com’ dance wit’ me!” Claire yelled in his ear louder than was absolutely necessary.  Several hours had passed, and he’d lost track of the number of pints and shots she’d consumed.  Realizing one of them would need to stay relatively sober, he’d been nursing the same ale for the past hour.

“Claire, I really dinna dance o’ermuch,” he stalled as she dragged him towards the small area between tables where a few other couples were rocking together to a slow ballad.

“Neveryouworry, lad.  I’ll lead.”  Of course you will, he thought fondly.

Instead of leading, Claire literally fell against his chest, allowing his bulk to catch her.  Chilly hands met behind his neck and began teasing his curls where they lay against his nape.  He couldn’t’ help it.  He shuddered.  Drunk, he reminded himself.  She is drunk, she is yer roommate, and she trusts ye.

“Are y’ havin’ a good birthday, Jamie?” she murmured into his clavicle, where her forehead was resting.  He couldn’t help smiling.  He’d once compared her to a lioness, but right now she was doing a fair impression of a dozy kitten, allowing him to sway their bodies side-to-side in complete contradiction to the music’s rhythm.

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  And ye, Sassenach?  Did I mention how proud I am of ye fer acing yer exams?”

The moist air of her chuckle seeped through his shirt.  “Only a dozen times.  Thanks for keepin’ me fed and caffeinated whilst I studied.  I couldinit have done it wi’out you.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach.  We make a braw team.”

He said it offhandedly, but Claire stilled in his arms, leaning back to peer up into his face.  There was something there, behind her slightly glazed eyes, that he’d given up hope of ever seeing.

“We do, don’t we?” she whispered, gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips, before skittering away.  The humid air of the pub seemed to press in on him from all sides, making it difficult to draw a solid breath.  A warning bell began to peel somewhere in his mind, alerting him to the fact he was in very grave danger of making an ass of himself.

She’s no’ yours, lad, he coached himself.  No’ unless she wills it, and she canna know her own mind when she’s hammered.  He tried to divert the conversation to safer territory.

“Tis good tae see Geillis again.  Ye must have missed her somethin’ fierce.”

“Mmmm,” Claire hummed noncommittally.  One of the hands that had been resting behind his neck began to thread through his hair, fingernails scraping lines of pleasure into his scalp.  Christ, that wasn’t helping his cause at all.

“Claire...” he entreated into the scant space between them.  Her long legs had somehow become entangled with his own.  She was practically riding his thigh.  Another few inches, and she was going to come into contact with the only part of him that was enthusiastic about dancing with a beautiful lass.

“I think iz time y’ take me home, James Fraser,” the limpet formerly known as his roommate purred in his ear.  Thank Christ.  Another few minutes of that sultry upright writhing, and he might have taken her right there on the beer-stained table in front of the darts board.

Navigating Claire’s increasingly pliant body towards the door and the salvation of the cool night air, Jamie ran directly into the diminutive roadblock of her best friend.  Pulling him aside, she grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged his head down to her level.

“I ken she’s yer roommate and ye look at her as though she’s the sun after a thousand days o’ rain, but she’s my best friend an’ I love her.  She’s scared, but she trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.”

Without awaiting a reply, Geillis spun around and returned to their table.  When he turned towards Claire, she was giving him a peculiar look.  He shrugged it off as nothing more than inebriation, and started the short three-legged stumble back to their flat.

“Ye know, Sassenach, this is twa times I’ve had tae practically carry ye home from tha’ pub.  Ye’re a verra predictable drunk.”  They were navigating Brick Lane with a heavy list to starboard, where Claire leaned heavily into his side.

“First of all, milad, I am. Not. Drunk.  You canned be drunk if y’ can shtill walk upright.  Thas your rule, may I remind you.”  Mid-lecture, the heel of her boot caught between two cobbles. She would have gone down in a heap were he not already bearing most of her weight.  “Ooops!”

“An’ second of all,” she continued undaunted, “when didyu carry me again? Since? Fuck!  Before?”

He chuckled.  If nothing else, Claire was a very amusing drunk.

“Twas the first night we met, actually.  Ye were shipping out tae Afghanistan the verra next day.”

They’d reached their front door.  He was fumbling for his keys when he noticed Claire had gone remarkably silent.  Even in the yellow glow of the hallway, her face was incredibly pale.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?  Are ye gonna be sick?”

What came out of her mouth next was even worse.

“You fucked Geillis.  That night.  In our shower.”

Golden eyes interrogated him, tearing away any hope of evasion.  Gone was the cuddly kitten, and the lioness was on the hunt for blood.  Christ, he was going to kill Geillis for sharing intimate details of their one-night stand.  Assuming he lived to see tomorrow.

She trusts ye.  Dinna fuck it up.

His father had an aphorism he was fond of repeating.  Being an adult has little to do with your actions, he would say, and everything to do with living with the consequences of those actions.   Any callow lad could stick his cock in a lass, but it took a man to live up to his responsibilities thereafter.

“Aye.  I did. Twasn’t planned, nor somethin’ I’m particularly proud of, but thas’ the truth of it.  It didna mean anything, Sassenach.  Twas jus’ sex.”

They were inside the flat now.  He was mentally trying to evaluate whether it was safe for Claire to shower, or if he should simply tuck her into bed with a basin and some Gatorade.  She wasn’t moving, though.   She stood in the streetlight that illuminated their living space, a disheveled, beautiful mess.

“It’s my turn.”  She sounded sober, all of a sudden.  He poured a tall glass of cold water from the sink for her, regardless.

“Yer turn fer what, Sassenach?”

“My turn for you to fuck me.”

There was a hollow thunk and the cool splash of water against the cuffs of his trousers as the glass he had been holding hit the floor.  His chest felt like he was trying to suck cake batter through a straw.  To make matters worse, while he was in the kitchen she had shed her top and was standing in a sheer black bra, the peaks of her nipples cast in silvered shadow.

“Claire...” he breathed out.

She approached slowly, extending a hand to lay over his sprinting heart.

“Don’t you want me?”  Asked by any other woman, the question would be coy, but he heard the truth behind her query.  She really didn’t know.  Either he was a better actor than he gave himself credit for, or she was still seeing him through the filter of her past mistreatment.

“So much tha’ it hurts tae breath, lass.  But ye dinna want this, Claire.  No’ now.” His body was already protesting his declaration, a pulsing ache centered in his balls, but rooted in his heart.

“It’s now or never now, Jamie.  This is all that I have to give.  Isn’t it enough?”

She took his hand and placed it over the scalloped seam of her breasts.  Without volition, his fingers curled, testing the pliant firmness beneath them.  His muscles ached from holding himself in check.

“Tis far more than I deserve, Sassenach.  But the answer is no.” He pulled his hand away, his fingertips still tingling from the velvet of her skin.  “Ye should get some sleep.”

Her glass face showed every emotion, each more painful to witness than the last: hurt, anger, embarrassment, spite, and finally betrayal.  Mumbling a hasty goodnight, she practically ran to her own room.  He could hear her there now, sobs muffled by the wall he placed between them.

Dinna fuck it up.

He cradled his throbbing head in his hands.  How could doing the right thing turn out so horribly, spectacularly wrong?

***

May 21, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

It has been twenty days since Claire’s drunken proposition, and they’d barely spoken a word to each other in that time.  As much as he was prepared for  awkwardness to descend upon their once-easy relationship, he was shocked by how much her avoidance pained him.  Couldn’t she see that he’d acted out of affection, and as her friend, ignoring the very great temptation she’d lain at his feet?

His first strategy had been to give her space.  He snatched at any excuse to be out of the flat: long runs, a pint after work with the lads, and even a long weekend with his family at Lallybroch.  Each day his phone was a constant weight in his hand, waiting for the moment she would text him about something bizarre she’d read, or call to ask where he’d hidden the olive oil.  She never rang.

Next he tried haunting their flat, planning to bump into her and force that first, clumsy conversation.  He was certain that once they got past that hurdle, they could begin to rebuild their rapport.  Almost certain.  Desperately certain.  She didn’t come home, working double shifts at the hospital and timing her visits for a shower, nap and change of clothes to coincide with his work shifts.  One night he fell asleep on the couch listening for the sound of her key in the door.  He woke the next morning covered in the plaid from his bed, but once again alone.

He sat in an outdoor cafe, watching London unfold under the warming sun like a rose, and considered what he knew about Claire that would help mend the breach.  She was stubborn.  The past twenty days were testimony of that.  She was proud.  She would sooner suffer than accept help.  She held herself to incredibly high standards, and hated to fail at anything.  She would have taken his rejection in the worst possible light.  She’d been badly hurt and deceived.  Their relationship had been one cautious step after another across the tightrope of trust strung between them.  Fueled by drunken emotion, she’d leapt forward, and he had not been there to catch her.

He opened his phone and stared at her photo in his contacts.  She’d been furious with him the day he snapped it.  He’d dragged her to a park on her day off to play rugby, only to find out the match had been cancelled on account of the heavy rain.  Heavy ringlets hung over a soaking jersey, and her glowing eyes promised swift revenge.

A dozen flowery or flippant texts were considered and abandoned before he opted for the simple and true.

I’m sorry.  I know I hurt you, and I want to make it better.  Please tell me how.

He pocketed his phone and crossed the road to the fire station for his evening shift.  If she hadn’t answered by the morning, he’d try again, and keep trying until she finally responded.

Twelve hours later, dawn was just cracking the sky as he prepared to walk home.  The station alarm rang out, but the day crew would take the call.  Even now, they were throwing on their gear and firing up the engine.  

“Corbet Place.  Isn’t that your neighbourhood, Fraser?” the driver commented as he hastened past.

Ice water flushed into his veins.  There were exactly two buildings on Corbet Place, and one of them contained a flat where a beautiful Sassenach was currently sleeping off a double shift.  A beautiful Sassenach who could sleep through a fire alarm.

He hoisted himself into the cab of a departing engine.

“Hey lad, this isn’t a taxi!” one of old hands joked, but sobered when he saw Jamie’s face.

The streets were empty.  They made the trip in record time that felt like an eternity to his racing heart.  As they drew near, the reek of a burning structure filled the air.  A half dozen other engines were parked haphazardly in the adjacent lot, their booms extending like insect antennae towards a cruelly familiar five-story brick building.  Flames licked the corner of one of the lower levels, punctuated by the pop of shattering glass and the skeletal groan of old beams giving way.

Grabbing a spare coat, hat and respirator, he ran towards his building, ignoring every professional protocol and ounce of common sense he possessed.  Claire was in their flat, and there wasn’t a power under the sun that would keep him from getting to her.

“Jamie!”

He spun towards her voice, thinking he might be hallucinating.  But no, sitting on a picnic table, wrapped in his Fraser plaid, was his beautiful Sassenach.   His knees turned to water and he sank to the bitumen at her feet.

“Claire...” he wheezed, adrenaline still coursing through his limbs.

“Were you on your...”

“How did ye...”

They both spoke, then lapsed back into stunned silence.

“Ye’re safe.” He said it as much to himself as to her.  “Ye’re here.  I thought.. when I heard the call... Christ, Sassenach.  I’ve never been sae scared in my entire life.  How did ye get out?”

“I got your text.  I was dozing on the couch, waiting for you to come home so we could talk.  The fire alarm woke me.  There was already so much smoke.  I used your plaid to cover my nose and mouth and ran down the fire escape.  Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry.”

Claire’s chin fell towards her chest, a lone tear streaking through the soot that marked her cheek.  He ran a shaking hand through her unbound hair.

“Why are ye sorry, Sassenach?”

“All your things.  Your memories.  They were all in that flat.”

He tilted her up by the chin.

“Claire, look at me.  There isn’t a feckin thing in tha’ flat that I care about that isna sitting in front of me right now.  Jesus, woman, do ye no’ ken the thought of losing ye tears out my guts?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, peering into his very soul.  For once, he did not think to hide behind a mask.  Let her see how she utterly destroyed and remade him.  All around them, the world faded to smoke.

“You... you love me?”

Nownownow.

“Aye.  I do.”

[malereaderinsert]

Wildfire - Part One

Fandom: Game of Thrones.

Pairing: Jon Snow x Male Targaryen Reader

Warnings: I tried to get the most accurate translations for this chapter, but it`s not 100% perfect sorry. Italic words: Dothraki and High Valyrian. Bold Words: Translations.

Aside from that there are no warnings (I know, shocking).

Word Count: + 7.000

Summary: (Y/n) Targaryen, was separated from his twin sister Daenerys on birth for their own safety. He eventually found his way back to Westeros in search of his destiny. But, will his growing affection towards the Stark bastard get in the way? 

Set on the beginning of Season 07, but I plan on writing until the end of Season 08.

Sub: (Y/n) your name. (Y/D/N) your dragon’s name. (Y/D/C) your dragon’s color. There are no options for choosing your eye and hair color cause you know, pure blood Targeryen, so white hair and purple eyes it is.

-

“Dany, you're doing it again.” (Y/n) spoke after taking another bite from the apple in his hand. His sprawled limbs occupied the entire throne, that was rather uncomfortable since it was made of stone.

Daenerys’s only answer was to give her brother an eye roll while resuming her pacing in the throne room.

“Don't speak with your mouth full.” It was (y/n)'s turn to give his twin sister an eye roll that was considerably more dramatic than her's. “You know I can't sit still when I'm nervous brother.”

“I still don't know the motive of your unease, dear sister.” At that the woman stopped pacing and gave her brother an incredulous look. “We both know the white wolf needs our help. The people from the North can be quite headstrong and I heard this Jon “Snow” is rather stubborn too, but he needs something from us and we can use that in our favor.”

(Y/n) rose from the throne and started lazily walking towards Daenerys with a smirk. “And I heard whispers that he's still unmarried and is quite the charming.” The man knew his sister was in need of a distraction. All she could think about was the damned iron throne. She deserved the best and (Y/n) knew more about Jon than he was letting on.

The northerner was indeed headstrong and stubborn, but the way he fiercely defended his family and men was something you didn't see every day. That, certainly, made him a great man and an admirable leader.

“You know I'm not interested in romance.” (Y/n) knew his sister was clinging to her past, to the love that was taken from her and to the son she could never have. And seeing the mournful look in his sister's face made his heart ache.

“I'm sorry. I'm just trying to look out for my little sister, huh?” The male reached out and tucked a stubborn strand of white hair behind his sister's ear while giving her a teasing smile.

“You were born ten seconds before me, ten! There's barely any age difference between us.” Daenerys had an indignant expression on her face but an easy smile graced her lips.

Missandei chose that moment to arrive in the throne room and the attention of the twins were draw to her.

“I apologize for the interruption my king, my queen. Your guest has arrived. Tyrion is greeting him at the beach as we speak.” The interpreter gave a slight bow after delivering the message and narrowed her eyes when (Y/n) started laughing.

“That's great news!” The man begun walking towards the door before being stopped by Daenerys's voice.

“Where are you going?” Her voice held doubt and apprehension at what (Y/n) was about to do.

“Well dear mandia, I'm going to greet our guest of course. The king in the North deserves a proper reception, don't you think?” Mandia = Sister

“He's not the king in the north, lēkia. At least not yet.” Daenerys tone were reprimanding, a tone she used a lot when speaking to her brother. lēkia = Brother.

The white-haired man’s only response was to chuckle and turning his back on the two woman that looked at each other with knowing looks.

“The king is going to ride (Y/D/N), isn't he?” Missandei asked her queen which responded with an amused and exasperated smile.

“You know how he loves dramatic entrances. I just hope he doesn't scare our guest to death and causes another war.” At the mention of Jon Snow the interpreter remembered something.

“Your brother has been very interested in the bastard, don't you think?” The ex-slave was trusted enough by her queen to have that kind of conversation.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys asked while eyeing her friend with interest.

“He's been asking for many whispers about the man, and a lot of them aren't about politics.” Missandei grinned when her queen understood the implications of the information. “And if I might say, he is indeed very handsome.” The woman gave a shy smile which was responded with a curious and surprised one from Daenerys.

“Come, you must tell me everything. Is he as short as they say…?” The queen and her interpreter proceeded with linked arms out of the throne room.

The mother of dragons was very protective of her “older” brother, as he liked to put it. As a matter of fact, they hadn't even grow up together.

(Y/n) came back to Westeros after spending almost all his life back at what was left of the home land of the Targaryen’s, Valyria. But his identity was known to Daenerys, so when a man with white hair and purple eyes came riding on the back of a (Y/D/C) dragon she knew what to expect, but the moment still came as a surprise.

(Y/n) was a laid-back guy, with a sassy and cheeky attitude. He was instantly liked and disliked by many. Most men envied the king due to his swordsmanship and physique while the women would swoon every time he spoke.

The striking similarity between the twins was proof enough of (Y/n)'s heritage. They were quick in warming up for each other and soon became inseparable.

Daenerys made the decision to share the rule of the seven kingdoms with her brother, after he proved to have a sharp mind and “unusual abilities” that made him invaluable to their success. And she needed someone she could trust by her side and the queen knew she wouldn't find that in any other man.

So, it was only natural for Daenerys to know everything about the man her brother seemed to be infatuated with. She could only hope the situation didn't came between them and the iron throne.

(Y/N) strode confidently across the many stone halls of the castle until he reached the side exit. His crimson cloak was blowing in the strong wind that was coming from the sea, and the family crest embed in the metal of his armor, right above his heart, shone in the pale morning light.

The winds were getting colder by the day, but the young dragon had fire in his blood, it warmed his body and soul against the freezing air.

(Y/n) crossed rocks and grass until he reached the dragon nest.

On a burned patch of stone, surrounded by bones and other animal remains, stood four dragons. Two smaller ones, Rhaegal and Viserion. And two bulkier ones, Drogon and (Y/D/N), the latter being the bigger of the four.

Dany was afraid at first that Drogon would get too territorial and would eventually try to kill her brother's dragon, but the opposite happened. Both dragons turned out to be best buddies, if you could explain their relationship the same way humans do.

The four giant beasts turned to look at the man as he approached, raising and flaring their frills in excitement. Drogon got closer and gave the young rider a small bump on the sides with his giant head, his way of greeting.

“Is good to see you too, you rascal.” (y/n) gave the dragon a teasing smile and a few head rubs, then after getting what he wanted, Drogon turned back the way he came.

The giant beast bumped its head on the other dragon's neck and went to lay down not too far away.

It was (Y/D/N)'s turn to come closer to the man, lowering himself and silently asking for a head rub, just like Drogon.

“Someone's feeling needy today, huh?” (Y/n) reached with both hands and started scratching the hard scales. The dragon let out a puff of hot air that warmed the man's skin.

The dragon rider gently touched their foreheads together as they often did, and the beast made a purring noise similar to a cat, tough much louder.

(Y/n)'s magical bond with his and Dany's dragons was deeper than the one between parents and their children. He could feel their spirit and the fire essence running through their veins. Five consciences melding into one, becoming hard to determine when one ends and other begins.

The peaceful silence was broken by the young man that remembered why he came to see his dragon in the first place.

“Let's greet our new guest (Y/D/N). He deserves a proper welcoming committee.” The dragon let a sound that looked awfully like a chuckle.

The stories about dragons that mimicked their rider's personalities were very much true. While (y/n)'s dragon was playful and mischievous, Drogon could be as brooding and frightening as Dany in a bad day.

The young rider moved easily when climbing his dragon's shoulder, the action almost automatic.

The beast's huge horns served as a make shift ladder and soon the rider were positioned on the dragon's back.

“Sōvēs!” “Fly!” At the command, (Y/D/N) arced his back and extended his wings, each as brilliant as stained glass, and with a powerful movement they took off.

Tyrion and Grey Worm stood by the beach, the former had just greeted the bastard of Winterfell and his advisor Ser Davos Seaworth.

Dothraki men surrounding the four figures regarded the visitors with wary curiosity, they trusted their khal and khaleesi, but one could never be too careful.

“Come now Snow, it's time for you to meet the rightful rulers of Westeros.” Tyrion remarked while leading the two men through the stone staircase.

After a few seconds of hesitation, the Onion knight and the bastard followed the dwarf, with the Dothraki men right behind them.

“If you don't mind me asking Lord Tyrion, but when did the Queen's brother arrived in Westeros?” Jon asked while eyeing his surroundings. The topic of the male Targaryen was one that came in many conversations between him and Sansa.

Since his appearance rumors were quickly spreading to all the seven kingdoms, but what Jon and his half-sister knew was probably just that, rumors.

He couldn't deny his curiosity anymore, the man intrigued him.

“Oh, he arrived a few days before Daenerys and the Unsullied took the city of Meereen. He was actually detrimental to their victory that day. If you're concerned about his heritage, don't be. They're very much alike, frightening so. And something tells me you'll be meeting soon.” Tyrion had his eyes set on the horizon, right above the man's right shoulder.

Jon had just followed the dwarf's gaze when he heard a loud roar and a pair of giant (Y/D/C) wings blocked his sight. He could barely dive in time before being decapitated by huge sharp talons.

The winged monster took another turn, and Jon could only gape and stare at the creature with wide eyes.

The dragon finally landed on the staircase making the whole structure shake and blocking the way.

Jon's attention that until now was set on massive black teeth, each the size of a man's arm, snapped towards the dragon's back where an armored man sat.

Brown eyes met purple ones. The man on the dragon's back had white snow hair, tied in a single long braid that went past his waist and a playful smile graced his lips when he looked at Jon, sprawled on the ground.

“Aena Shekhikhi. Qhono!” “Good Morning.” (y/n) greeted his men, the Dothraki, and called the attention of the taller one that stepped as closer to the dragon as he could. “Zhey qoy qoyi! Hash yer dothrae chek asshekh? Chek?” “Blood of my blood! How are you feeling today? Better?” The dragon rider asked the man, that bowed respectfully. 

“Anha dothrak chek asshekh, Khal vezhven.”  “I feel well today, great Khal.” Since arriving on the island, a large number of riders were getting sick, their bodies were not accustomed to such cold weather. (Y/n) was paying close attention to them and did what he could to speed their recovery using his medical knowledge, and other means.

“Akka zhey Moro?”  “And Moro?” The male inquired about the other rider.

“Mae's davra ale, khal. Vo afazh asshekh. Anha tih mae dothralat disse ajjin.” “He’s better, Khal. Not hot anymore. I saw him riding just now.” The rider's mouth twitched and (y/n) was pretty sure the man was fighting a smile, happy that he's fellow rider was finally getting better no doubt.

“Hazi davrae. Hezi davrae.” “That’s good. That’s good.” Sighted in relief. He had been worrying sick, and the good news were definitely welcome. “Astat mae tat jadat tihat anna. Haje? Akka zhey Qhono, zhorre yeri mahrazhi akka mithri. Yer tat davra.” “Tell him to come see me later. Okay? And Qhono, take your men and rest. You deserve it.” The young dragon spoke respectfully with his bloodrider.

“Ven yer astat, zhey Khal vezhven.”  “As you wish, great Khal.” The dothrak then spoke with the rest of his men and they began descending the staircase.

Only when the last Dothraki was out of ear shot did (Y/N) spoke, eyeing the man that yet had to get up from the ground.

“Lord Stark, it's an honor to finally put a face to the name. I promise the view is much better when you are standing up.” Jon seemed to come out of his haze when Tyrion came close and offered his hand.

“I'd say you get used to seeing them. But you never really do.” The dwarf shared his mind while giving the dragon rider a knowing and amused look.

Jon was able to recollect himself pretty quick and greeted the male Targaryen.

“Your grace, it's an honor to finally meet you too.” The white wolf gave a slight nod while looking from the dragon to his rider.

“If you don't mind me interrupting your grace.” Ser Davos came forth and spoke directly with the king. “You addressed Jon Snow as Lord stark, but that's incorrect. He never took his deceased father's family name and Jon is a king not a Lord.”

“With all due respect Ser Davos, from where I come from we never punished the child of the unfaithful. We punish the unfaithful. And we shall see about the king situation soon enough.” (Y/N) said the next words to Jon, and the intensity of his gaze almost made the man squirm. “You have the blood of the first men running through your veins Jon, you have every right to be called a Stark. And if that wasn't enough, your actions in protecting the north and your house speak for themselves.” Only the strong wind could be heard while the two men stared at each other's eyes.

(Y/N) could see that his words pleased Jon in a deeper level, maybe the man was just seeking approval and the young rider was happy to oblige.

“What happened to the unfaithful in Valyria, if you don't mind me asking your grace.” Tyrion spoke breaking the uncomfortable silence. The dwarf had an insatiable curiosity about everything related to Old Valyria.

“Well Lord Tyrion, let's just say there was amputation of certain limbs involved and leave it at that.” (Y/n) was the only one smiling at what he just said while the other three men looked at each other and gulped.

Suddenly (Y/D/N) advanced towards Jon. The man was caught by surprise, but still held his ground. It took every ounce of courage for him not to cower in the face of such monster.

(Y/n) could only look in surprise at the scene unfolding beneath him. He didn't detect any violent thoughts coming from his dragon just curiosity, so he only watched.

The dragon's massive head got closer enough to touch. He took his time inhaling the man's scent. Big and slitted orbs perused every inch of skin it could find before focusing on auburn colored eyes.

Jon did not blink or moved while the other three men watching could only gawk at the scene. (Y/n)'s expression was one of pure amazement and awe when suddenly an idea popped in his head.

Dany would probably ground him for life for even having this idea in the first place, but when did that prevented him from doing anything.

“Lord Tyrion, Aegon's Garden at this time of day is strikingly beautiful if I recall, and it has a lovely piney scent that I'm sure Ser Davos would find quite pleasing.” (Y/N) had a sweet innocent smile on his face, however Tyrion could see right through it, but knew better then questioning the king's motives so he simply nodded.

“I don't think that's wise Jon.” The old knight was quickly interrupted by the man.

“I'm going to be fine for now Ser Davos, you may accompany Lord Tyrion.” Jon removed his eyes from the dragon rider just enough to dismiss the knight from his services.

The dwarf went first to guide the way and soon the old man reluctantly followed.

When both men were far enough the young rider started to climb down from the dragon. His agile limbs made quick work and he was on the ground in a few seconds.

(Y/N) lazily walked towards Jon while caressing his dragon's scaled neck. Heat radiated through the thick plates, warming his hand.

“(Y/D/N) seems to really like you my lord.” The male Targaryen got closer to the man and was surprised that Jon stood a few inches shorter than him, a fact that brought a predatory smile to his lips.

The white wolf would be disturbed if someone else looked at him like that, but he just felt a heat spreading through his body that only worsened when the young rider started to circling him.

(Y/n)'s violet eyes roamed every inch of armor, leather and skin. His intense gaze focused on the slight blush on the other man's cheeks and ears, making them even more vivid. Inching his nose a little closer to the man, (y/n) breathed his scent in, which was earthy and reminded him of freshly cut wood, like the damp forest after a snowy day.

Jon finally was able to fight through the intense heat coiled in his belly that was clouding his mind and making his whole body ablaze. He cleared his throat before attempting speaking.

“Y-your grace, you've said earlier that you're from Old Valyria. Wasn't Valyria destroyed millennia ago?” As soon the words left Jon's mouth the man wished he could take them back.

(Y/N)'s face once joyful became full of sorrow and hard as stone. The man turned his back to Jon and looked up, meeting his dragon's slitted eyes. The immense creature stared down at him. Whatever he saw in those big orbs made up his mind.

He would trust a piece of his past to a man that he knew nothing about, or only knew what his dreams had shown him, and what his spies had uncovered. The bastard could turn out to be the enemy depending on the reason of his visit, but a feeling from deep down told him that he could trust the white wolf, the same gut feeling that led him to his sister all those years ago. The feeling he learned to follow without question.

The truth was, (Y/N) had already fallen for the man, a man he didn't met until that day. But he knew Jon to be compassionate, brave and stubborn. A man that refused to stay dead when his people still needed him. A man that would sacrifice himself to protect the family that never returned his love.

Jon was about to apologize for his lack of manners when the white-haired man started talking.

“You probably already know of when I came to be. The story goes about a great storm, that wrecked ships and shook the very foundations of this island. Me and Dany were born during that storm, hence her title, Stormborn.” Now that the gates were open the words came flowing. “My mother, gods bless her, had what the Dothraki calls a bloodrider, dothrakhqoyi, as said in dothraki language. He would kill and die for her without a second thought.” (Y/n) finally mustered the courage to turn back around. His piercing eyes focusing on Jon's brown orbs.

“That Dothrak warrior I talked to a few moments ago is one of those, my bloodrider, Qhono. Every respected Khal and khaleesi have a few warriors that had pledge their life and service to them. I'm really lucky to have two of those warriors, Moro and Qhono. We didn't come from the same womb, but they're blood of my blood nonetheless.”

“It amazes me how the Dothraki followed you and your sister here, your grace. From what I've heard they are not very fond of the sea.” After the north proclaimed him as King, Jon was set on a quest to know everything he could about his potential “enemies”, and that included the Horse Lords.

“They are not. But they are a strong people that value strength above all. When I arrived things were hard, they were wary of the new comer which is understandable.” (y/n) talked about those times with fondness, his eyes became distant probably remembering something from the past. “In time, after many battles fought, I proved my worth. Some of them died in the process, as their culture dictate, but then I became their Khal. My greatest honor. A day I'll never forget.” The man's purple eyes were glistening in the pale light of the rising sun, but he quickly wiped the tears away.

“Your grace seems to really care about the Dothraki.” The, even though they are not really your people part was left unsaid by Jon.

“They are my people. Dany tends to forget that they are her's too. I would give up everything for them, even my own life.” (Y/n) stated with such raw honesty that the bastard had no doubt the man was telling the truth. Jon felt his stomach fluttering and his heart swelled in admiration.

The bastard didn't know from where those feelings were coming from, but he smiled through the confusion making the other man frown.

“As a true king should do.” (y/n) stared into the man's eyes, that were a deep, earthy brown — the color of earth after torrential rains.

“I'm right to assume you would do the same for the north, Lord Stark?” The young rider asked, his soft lips stretching into a smile that didn't quite reach his violet eyes. The bastard thought he would never get used to be called like that, but it would be a lie if the man said he didn't like it.

“Without a second thought.” Jon answered with no hesitation and (y/n) had no choice but believe him.

“I hope we never come to that.” The king replied giving Jon a sad smile, one the man mirrored.

(Y/n) started climbing the stone steps that would eventually lead them to the castle. Jon followed close behind and soon they were faced with a giant (Y/D/C) dragon. The young rider gently caressed the smooth and hard scales.

“Jikagon hae se jelmio.” “Go like the wind.” The words were said to the dragon that after nuzzling his rider's hand took off towards the cliff. The two men stood there, silently watching the immense beast flying away, well (Y/n) was at least. Jon's eyes were admiring the man's profile. The dragon rider had a soft expression, making his eyes less intense and more peaceful. This look suited him better, Jon thought.

It was time for the bastard to blush again when the male Targaryen realized the man was staring. With a soft and teasing smile (Y/N) got closer. 

“It's amazing how a man that faced the frozen hard winter of the north, can blush with just a cold breeze.” The young rider reached with his fingers, caressing the other man's cheek that was like ice to the touch.

Jon closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him without ill intentions. And the ones who actually did it caused him great pain, physically and otherwise, and he had the scars to prove it.

But (Y/n) touch, despise his teasing tone, was gentle and radiated warmth. A warmth that Jon didn't know he craved until he had a taste of it.

“Or maybe is something else entirely.” Jon felt the warmth leaving his cheek and for just a second he chased after it before snapping back to reality. 

Jon couldn't look (Y/n) in the eyes so he focused on a very interesting patch of stone close to his feet. The bastard could feel the other man stare a hole in his head, which made him even more embarrassed. He was regretting ever letting Ser Davos leave with Tyrion.

(Y/n) didn't know Jon would react the way he did, but it was a nice surprise. The lord commander,  the man rumored to have come back to life, the king in the North, and he was blushing to the tip of his ears and all it took was a slight brush of his fingers. (Y/n) could only imagine how the man would react to a real touch, or maybe something more.

The young rider finally took pity of Jon and diverted his eyes towards the horizon. The bastard looked up when (Y/n) started speaking again.

“As I was saying, my mother's knight sailed to the continent of Essos a few months before my birth, in search of what was left of the Valyrian Freehold, now known as Old Valyria. He found great many things. One of those being, the stone men were not the only living beings residing in the ruins of my city. My people still lived, a few of them at least, and our culture lived with them.” Jon could only listen to the man. What he described should be impossible. Every tale he had ever heard about Valyria depicted the city to be nothing but ruins. Nothing could leave there.

 “He stayed in the city for a few weeks. Helping where he could, building trust with the locals, and making connections. When he returned to Westeros the war was already happening. The War of the Usurper, primarily instigated by Eddard Stark, your father.” (y/n)'s expression didn't betray any emotion as the words left his mouth, and Jon stared in confusion. “What wouldn't we do for the ones we love, huh? If I were in his place I might have done the same thing. The world would burn before anyone could laid a hand on my sister.”

“I know the story. It seems our families have quite a history.” Jon stated, giving a smile that looked more like a grimace than anything. The topic wasn't a pleasant one.

“Indeed we have. Much blood was spilled between our houses, but that's in the past. The sons shouldn’t be blamed on the mistakes of their fathers. I hope we can agree that our real enemy are one and the same.” (y/n)'s eyes were holding the wisdom of the words he left unsaid, and Jon could swear the man knew more about the reasons of his visit than he was letting on.

(Y/n) diverted his eyes before the bastard could decipher the information they held.

“Needless to say, my mother died giving birth to me and my sister. But before that, she instructed her trusted knight to protect me with his life, and they knew I wouldn't be safe in Westeros. The Targaryen twins would draw to much attention if we stayed together, making us easy targets.” (y/n) started climbing the stone steps once again, in a lazy pace.

“So, your mother's knight took you to Essos?” Jon inquired, walking side by side with the taller man.

“Yes, he did. Ser Willem Darry, the former master-of-arms of the red keep, led four other loyalists in smuggling my brother Viserys and Dany from this island in the middle of the night. They ultimately sailed to Braavos across the Narrow sea. I went next, with only my protector and a wet nurse. We took the route south towards the summer sea, arriving at our final destination weeks later, the Valyrian Peninsula.” Of course (y/n) didn't remembered any of those facts, but his caretaker told him all about those early years.

Jon couldn't wrap his head around what he was hearing, but something told him he should trust the man walking beside him, and that had nothing to do with his growing feelings towards the male, he told himself.

“How was it? Growing in such place, I mean.” Jon's curiosity wasn't academic like Tyrion's, he wanted to know (y/n) and for that he needed to understand his upbringing.

The man gave a humorless chuckle before responding.

“It was no place for a child to grow. But it was better then death, that's certain.” (y/n) joked, and this time both men laughed.

Jon's laugh was followed by small giggles that made his whole face flush. The laughter created a small vacation for both men, a blessed relief from all the distress that didn't seem to have an end. For a single moment Jon forgot about the night king, the white walkers and all the people depending on him. He lost the tightness in his chest. The muscles in his neck relaxed, and his shoulders sagged. He couldn't remember the last time he felt that good.

(Y/n) lost all sense of his surroundings. Staring wasn't quite the word for what the male was doing. His eyes rested, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft and inviting instead of harsh.

(Y/n)'s violet eyes focused on Jon's figure and everything about him. His hair, black and tied in bun, seemed to engulf every ray of sunlight. The male knew that underneath all the thick clothes was a powerful and strong body, able to withstand the cruel and harsh life of the north, and certainly marred with scars. (Y/n) never wanted more to strip the man bare, to break him apart just to… The male snapped back to reality.

“Ao mittys, ao mittys.” “You fool, you fool.” The white-haired man whispered over and over again between gritted teeth, cursing himself. He had done it again. A stupid thing, letting his feelings cloud his judgement. Tyrion always said he had too much heart, a growing rarity those days.

“Is everything all right, your grace?” Jon asked while his hand hovered above the man's shoulder, uncertain if the touch would be welcome or not.

“I'm fine my lord. It's just, I have a lot on my mind right now.” (y/n) answered with a fake smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Jon let his hand drop while giving the man a slight nod, his brows squished together in a concerned frown, but it was not his place to call the king out of his lie.

 “Where were we?” (Y/n) asked no one in particular.

“Your upbringing, your grace.” Jon responded after a few seconds of silence; the man seemed lost in thought.

“Right, how death can be compared to my childhood days. Gods how I can be morbid sometimes.” The king gave a humorless chuckle. His past wasn't a pleasant memory but it had its good moments. For the most part he chose to focus on those times, the happy ones. And yet his mind had other plans.

“Isse iā dārion hen perzys ānogār, mērī se quba kostagon umbagon paktot.” The words came flowing from his mouth, as it did years before from his protector's.

“What does it mean?” The bastard inquired in a soft tone. He knew the topic wasn't a pleasant one for the man.

“In a kingdom of fire and blood, only the wicked can stay sane.” (y/n)'s face was hard as steel, his eyes grew dark and haunted, but he forced the words out. “My guardian told me those words when I killed my first man. I had no choice, it was me or him, and I didn't take pleasure doing it. For me life is important, more than anything, but sometimes death it's the only way.”

“I learned great many things from him, my protector, particularly the best way to swing a sword. But to survive in Old Valyria one needed more than a metal stick.” (y/n) responded while taking a detour, so instead of going towards the castle, both men were heading to the other side of the island.

Jon realized this and almost told the king he had taken the wrong path, but decided against it. If anyone knew how to navigate the island was him.

“Do you believe in magic, my lord?” The white-haired man asked while taking careful steps between the rocks that littered the ground close to the cliff. The question caught Jon by surprise, but he answered after a few seconds of thinking.

“Well, I heard old stories. Warlocks on Qarth, red priests capable of seeing the future by gazing into flames and pyres. Men who are able to control untamed beasts by entering their minds. There was an old woman in Winterfell that used to tell all sorts of crazy stories, and I've seen things that I can't explain too.” At that Jon stops talking. His memories flashing back to what he saw during his time beyond the Wall. White walkers, the wights and the night king. He knew that that was true, because he had seen it with his own two eyes. The same couldn't be said about the rest.

“A skeptic, my lord? I understand. You can't believe in everything you hear, you need evidence. I like that.” (y/n) nodded his approval as a slight smile tugged his lips. “When I was a child, I used to believe in all sorts of fairytales that my wet nurse used to tell me. As I grew older I discovered that some of those tales were false while others were very much real. All proved to be true: blood magic, fire magic, greensight, skinchanging and finally, the darkest of them all, necromancy.” At the last word the white-haired man gave Jon a dark look, a look that made his skin crawl and the fine hairs covering his body to stand on end. Could the king be talking about the army of the dead? That was the reason Jon had come to Dragonstone in the first place. But how could (y/n) know about what happened beyond the Wall, the Targaryen’s never ventured so up north.

“What your grace meant about necromancy?” Jon asked when he was finally able to move his mouth again.

“Patience my lord. I have a feeling that all your questions will be answered soon.” The male twin replied giving Jon an enigmatic grin.

Soon they stopped at the edge of a cliff, and both men admired the sight before them.

Four giant beasts flying in front of the rising sun. The dragons had a way about them, a slowness and grace. Their immense leathery wings, each as brilliant as stained glass, blocking the pale rays of sunlight, casting the island in a dragon shaped shadow.

“They are beautiful, aren't they? How can you not believe in magic when the proof of its existence is right in front of you?” (y/n) asked the man beside him. Jon stared at the flying creatures in amazement and scoffed.

“With all due respect your grace, I don't even know how dragons are born, or created for that matter. All I know is that they went extinct hundreds of years ago and then suddenly they were back.” The bastard replied with crossed arms and a sarcastic expression, one that (y/n) couldn't help but laugh of. And damn it if Jon didn't want to hear that laugh many times more.

“So allow me to educate you my lord. Dragons lay clutches of eggs that are roughly the size of a human child's head, but much heavier. The spark of life inside these eggs can last for decades or even centuries, no one really knows. But the secret key to hatch a dragon's egg is made very obvious in my house words. Fire and blood.” The king then returned his gaze towards the flying dragons, while Jon took the opportunity to marvel at the man's profile.

“So you see, to give birth to a dragon one must have magic in their blood. The connection between rider and dragon can't be explained, it goes beyond our flesh. I would die for my ride Jon, as a mother would for her children. Do you understand?” (y/n) searing purple eyes focused on Jon, the man felt as if his feet were rooted to the ground, unable to move, he could only stare back. Whatever the king saw in those earthy brown orbs convinced him. Convinced him to show the bastard another piece of his past. “I want to show you something.” 

(Y/n) closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh, emptying his lungs. He focused on his dragons, their connection, and in their shared spirits. The man was able to feel every inch of scales and every shift of the powerful muscles underneath them. He watched from their eyes and heard from their ears. At that moment they were one. The same fire that burned in him burned inside of his children.

When he felt that their connection was complete (y/n) finally opened his eyes, and they were milky white. If Jon wasn't so engrossed at what he was seeing he might had fallen from the precipice. The sight scared him to his core, but it also amazed him. Of course, he had seen the same thing when he was beyond the wall, but this time it felt more powerful, more raw.

Jon could only gawk and hope the man couldn't see how much he was shaking.

“Māzigon.” “Come.” (y/n) whispered. If the bastard wasn't so captivated by the whole thing, he surely would've missed the moment when the four dragons started flying towards them. When the creatures were close enough to the cliff they dived towards the sea, dipping their tails and huge talons into the water. When Jon was sure the dragons would hit the rocky side of the island they extended their leathery wings, gaining speed towards the sky, only a few inches from where the bastard and the king stood.

If it wasn't for (y/n)'s good reflexes, Jon would had fallen face first on the ground. The king maintained a strong hold on the man's arm, keeping them both on their feet. Each dragon gave another turn before landing right in front of the two men, making the ground shake.

“Careful where you step my lord.” Jon looked at the man startled, half expecting to see eyes glazed white, but the foreign violet orbs were back and they were looking at him in amusement. “And now I scared you to silence. Great.” (y/n) chuckled while Jon diverted his eyes between him and the dragons, his mouth kept opening and closing like a stranded fish.

“H-how did you…? Were you controlling them?” The bastard spoke, after finally being able to form coherent words.

“Controlling? No. I was part of them, as they were part of me. I can control them if the situation requires, but is not something I would like to do. They are intelligent creatures my lord, more than certain men I know.” The snark comment drew a laugh from the bastard, that was watching the male twin caress the scaled head of his dragon. “They have affection for their friends and fury for their enemies. They grieve for the dead and rejoice at every victory.”

(Y/n) still had his hand around Jon's biceps. The male twin slid his fingers down the bastard's arm that was covered by hard clothing, the rough fabric was definitely made to protect the wearer from the cold.

Jon's breath hitched, all of his attention was focused on the soft feeling of the other man's touch, that radiated warmth even through the thick leather.

When their hands touched the world around them seemed to fade. (Y/n)'s hand was calloused but not as Jon's. His felt more like sandpaper, or perhaps stone, rough, unfinished and cold as if all heat had been sucked out of it. It suited him, the king thought, looking into his deep brown eyes, that held a gentle glint that seemed to reflect the corners of his mouth, which were fighting a shy smile. The male Targaryen brought Jon's hand up to his lips, the warm breath graced the man's fingers and goosebumps flooded his skin.

(Y/n) marveled at the harsh feeling of the man’s palm. A hand of a warrior. His lips caressed every callus and rough patch of skin, without taking his eyes off the bastard that had become a blushing mess. The king then took Jon’s hand, guiding it towards the awaiting dragon, that was still close. The irregular scales were warm to the touch, more so than the king’s hand, that was still on top of his, the bastard realized. (Y/D/N) nuzzled at the two hands in an affectionate manner, making both men chuckle, Jon in amazement and (y/n) in relief that his dragon accepted the man that he was, probably, in love with.

They were so immersed in the moment that Tyrion was able to sneak up on them. The only warning been the sounds of protest coming from the three dragons. Jon reluctantly removed his hand from the dragon’s warm scaled snout when he saw the dwarf making his way towards them.

“I’m sorry for the interruption your grace, but the queen awaits.” Missandei spoke while bowing in respect.

“Certainly. I think I kept you to myself for long enough, my lord. Believe me, you don’t want to leave my sister awaiting.” (y/n) said, giving the man a fake  frightened look, for which Jon responded with a chuckle. Missandei only eyed the interaction with amusement. “I trust Missandei to show you the way. I’ll be there momentarily.”

Jon gave the king one last lingering look and an awkward bow before following the ex-slave towards the castle. 

(Y/n)’s eyes followed Jon’s retreating figure for a few seconds before looking at his dragon and saying.  “Issa, kesi gaomagon bisy.” “Yep, we'll keep this one.”

[rinthehufflepuff]

Agent M pt. 1

Parings: Clintasha x Reader

Summary: You’ve been on the run for four years, never staying in one place too long, until you stumble across an abandoned house that seems the perfect place to bunker down in for the winter.  Just as you’re getting comfortable, however, and the seasons start to change, the homeowners appear and they are far different from anything you could have expected.

Warnings: Nothing but some mild panic and language in this part.

Word Count: 1983

A/N: So I’ve decided to try my hand at posting fanfics on here.  I’ve written on other websites, but never Tumblr and never with reader inserts.  I will have little warning tags at the start of each chapter when applicable (part six is written and edited and it’s gonna be marked to hell) so just keep an eye on those and hopefully, we can avoid any incidents.  Oh, and if you don’t have it already, I would suggest getting the InteractiveFics extension, it’ll make it just a bit easier when reading through.

You thought you had found the perfect place when you stumbled across the run-down farmhouse.  It was nearly half-an-hour away from the nearest town and situated on a fair amount of land with plenty of surrounding forest to disappear in if need be.  The house and land looked abandoned, though you couldn’t imagine why it would be when it looked like such a wonderful place.  Well, it would be wonderful once it was fixed up.

The cream paneling was more beige from the weather and was cracked in places.  The green-tiled roof had places where birds and other critters had nested and damaged the structure.  A few green window shutters limply hung where they should, but most of the windows were shattered or cracked and were missing their shutters.  The wrap around porch you had always dreamed of having had collapsed in places from rotted wood and the rickety stairs had rusted nails sticking out in the oddest places.  Nearly half the exterior had some sort of plant growing against it in some manner or another.

Inside wasn’t much better.  It looked like whoever the house had belonged to before being abandoned had gutted the place, tearing up whatever they had owned with no regard for the damage they had left behind.  Stray hooks and wires littered the wall along with random holes that you couldn't be sure the origin of.  Mold had taken a firm hold in what had probably once been the kitchen as well as the bathrooms.  The paint was chipped and peeling in every room, and there were some very odd-looking stains on the floor.  The only furniture in the house was a lumpy couch with exposed springs and a wire bed frame that looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.  The whole place smelled too, making it obvious that animals and the elements had been claiming the interior just as much as the exterior.

Still, it was better than sleeping on the ground outside with a tarp that tended to not completely shield you from the wind and rain.  With the November air becoming colder by the day, you were becoming desperate and the house was big enough you were sure you could find someplace to curl up and sleep without freezing to death.  

It took all of three days for you to decide that the house was less of a temporary situation and more of a semi-permanent situation.  You were running low on money and after finding a bike in the battered barn behind the house, you rode into town and found a job as a mechanic that would pay cash without too many questions asked.  It wasn’t the best job, your pay was lower than it should have been and you worked irregular hours because you were an unknown commodity in this town, but it paid for the bare essentials to keep you clean, fed, and warm.  Most of the money, though, you squirreled away for an emergency.  What you could afford to go without you adamantly avoided.  Most of your food came from setting up small traps around the house’s land, which also meant you could get a little more money off the pelts you skinned, out of dented cans from the dollar store, and discarded food you fished out of the dumpsters of grocery stores or restaurants.  It wasn't the most pleasant way to live, or the most comfortable, there were plenty days you had nearly nothing to eat, but it was far better than the life you had been living before.  Leaps and bounds better, and you wouldn’t change how you were living if it meant going back to that life.

When you weren’t working at the garage or scrounging for food, you were slowly repairing the house.

It had not been your intention to repair anything major, just the room you were staying in, but there was something so satisfying about fixing the dilapidated home that you found yourself doing random repairs for anything you could do without spending too much money.  At least, at first.  By January you were spending more on the house repairs than yourself and if you were in the house you were working on repairing it.  You didn’t bother to buy furniture or paint the walls or make it any more of a home, but you spent hours upon hours working on the main structure, making the fireplace functional, replacing the window panes one at a time, and fixing what you could of the roof from inside the house.  By February, the mold was gone as well as the wires and critters.  It still was not a place most people would want to live, but it looked worlds better than when you had first crept inside.  Without meaning to, you became attached to the house and you found yourself dreading the day you would have to leave and go back to camping in the woods.  At least no one else had appeared on the property while you were squatting there. 

Until one afternoon in the middle of March.

You were making your way back to the house from the river nearby when you felt like someone was watching you.  Shrugging it off and blaming the feeling on your near-constant paranoia, you left the safety of the woods and used the back door to get into the kitchen.  You hadn’t caught much, living on your own and being used to eating very little, you didn't need to, but you had managed to catch two catfish that would serve as lunch and dinner for the day.  Just as you were skinning it, you heard a creak from behind you and a smooth female voice.

“So, catfish for lunch?”  Gripping the knife, you spin to come nearly nose to nose with a very pretty, and slightly annoyed looking, redhead.  “I hope you’re making enough for all of us.”

You squeaked and tried to back up, but you just bumped into the counter where you had been working and you realized that you were effectively trapped unless you could dart to one side and run like hell.  But then you would lose all your belongings, meager as they were.  This wasn’t something you were prepared for.  Living in the woods?  Uncomfortable but doable.  Squatting in empty buildings when you thought you could get away with it?  Better than the woods when it was cold, but not by much.  Fixing things?  It didn’t matter what it was, you could make it better than before - somehow you could fix anything you touched.  A masters degree in electrical engineering and doctorate in mechanical engineering from Stanford helped.  Confrontation?  You were useless.  If it weren’t for the counter you were currently clinging to you would probably be on the floor.

“Awe, come on now, got nothing to say?  How about an introduction.”  When you don’t say anything, she grins.  It’s all teeth and harsh angles, and the woman looks like she could very easily tear you to sheds.  “Are we shy, or do we not speak English,” she purred, enjoying how your eyes darted around the space, desperately trying to find a quick exit to where you were keeping your things.

At the front of the house, you could hear the door open and close, something heavy hitting the floor, and the jangle of metal.  Chains?  Handcuffs?  She wasn’t wearing a police uniform, but that didn’t mean anything.  

“Nat, you camping in the living room?”  You flinched at the deeper voice as it echoed off the walls.

“No, it looks like we have a guest,” the woman - Nat - called back, not breaking eye contact with you.

“What do you mean- who the fuck are you,”  a man yelled,  rounding the corner, clad in combat clothing that has been torn and stained.  You did not recognize the emblem on his vest, but that didn’t mean anything either.  Burn marks and what looked like sutured stab wounds were littered across his muscular arms making him look even more intimidating.  The yelling did you in.  The boning knife you had been clutching in your hand clattered to the ground and you slid down and cowered against the cupboard, a ringing sound drowning out everything as your breathing went from a little quick to fast and shallow all at once.  The woman frowned and took a step back, yelling something in a language you didn’t understand, but it sounded harsh.  You screwed your eyes shut as a freezing feeling settled in your stomach and your throat felt like it closed off.  As the ringing got louder you clamped the heels of your hands over your ears.  But it was still there.  Ringing.  Yelling.  Screaming.  Crying.  The cold spread across your whole body as you shook.  Banging.  Crashing.  Smashing.  So cold.

And then you felt warm.  

Something heavy and warm pushed at your side and your legs, making you unfold a bit.  As soon as there was enough space, you felt the heavy warmth settle in your lap and nuzzle your face and arms.  It was soft.  Slowly, the noises subsided until you were left in silence and the numbing cold retreated.  You were still scared though.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay.”  Your eyes were still closed, but you knew it was the same male who had spoken, except his voice was much softer, barely above a whisper. 

Opening your eyes, you found both the redhead and the man crouched in front of you while a large golden retriever lay on your lap with his tongue lolling out of its mouth.

“That was one nasty attack,” the man said, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  “I promise we aren’t gonna hurt you, you just surprised me is all.  I kinda expected this place to be empty.  My name’s Clint, and this is my...friend Natasha.  That great lump there, in your lap, is Lucky.”

“This...this is your house.  Isn’t it,” you asked, focusing on the dog in your lap.  Lucky nudged his head into your hand, not so subtly asking for you to pet him.  Tentatively, you scratched his ear a little and he leaned into it.

“Yeah, though I’m guessing it’s more your place than mine by now.  How long’ve you been here?  I won’t be mad, it’s not like I’m here all that often.”

“Few months,” you whispered.  “Needed - needed someplace to keep warm.”

“So you’re homeless then,” Natasha asked, the bite gone out of her voice.  You nodded and she huffed, standing and leaving the room.  

“I’ll leave, it’s gettin’ warm out again,” you mutter, looking up a little so your eyes were trained on the bird emblem on Clint’s uniform.  “Promise I will - just don’t call the cops.  They...they…”

“Hey, I won’t call anyone,” Clint said, sitting fully on the floor and taking a quiver of arrows and a collapsed bow off his back.  “Natasha and I try to avoid local law enforcement whenever we can, makes a bit of a mess if we don’t.  Plus, as far as I’m concerned, you can stay.  Like I said, I’m not here much.  I’d have to talk to Natasha, and you’d have to, erm, agree to some terms, probably learn a thing or two while we’re here to teach you, but I’m more than fine with you keeping this place standing while I’m gone.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” you frowned.  

“Maybe not, but you look like you’re comfortable here and I’d be a dick if I kicked you out.”

“You’re already a dick, Clint,” Natasha yelled from somewhere, obviously having been listening to the conversation.  “She can stay, but she’s gotta help clean this dump.”

“Well, I guess that settles that then,” Clint chuckles.  “So, first things first, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N.  Now, Nat said something about catfish…”

Tags are open!  Message me to be added.

Part 2!

[ximaginedreamsx]

Unbound

Chapter 5: Strange Dreams, Bleak Reality

Takuya had no idea how long she'd been walking, or where exactly it was that she was going. She didn't even know where she was at the present moment, or how she had gotten there. All she knew was that there was someone...or something...out there, amongst the snow-laden trees, calling out to her...summoning her.

"Takuya..."

There it was again, that whispering voice that had drawn her out into the winter cold, away from the warmth and protection of her home, with the strangest compelling force she had ever known. It was as if her body was moving on its own accord, ignoring all of her mind's reasoning and her heart's better judgement; even in her current wearied state, she pressed on without a moment's rest. Her curiosity had been piqued...there was no turning back now.

The sight of a break in the seemingly unending horde of trees compelled her to move a little faster, more anxious than ever to reach the significantly brighter clearing.

"Takuya..."

The voice was louder now, and she hoped against hope that she was nearing the end of this aimless journey. She finally came to a stop when she reached the break in the trees, and took a moment to glance around the vast clearing. A sea of undisturbed, powdery snow lay before her, surrounded on all sides by trees, the darkness of their bark a stark contrast to the whiteness of the fluffy ice that decorated their barren branches. Snowflakes fell lightly from the sky, dancing on a gentle whisper of a breeze as they made their way to the earth. A gasp of absolute awe escaped the ebony-haired girl as she beheld the surreal sight. It was like gazing upon a winter wonderland! After a few more seconds of taking in the absolute beauty of the clearing, she began to move forward once again. However, after only taking exactly five steps, she stopped in her tracks by yet another sight.

Two white tigers suddenly came into view near the center of the clearing...and they were making their way toward her. A shuddering gasp escaped her then, as awe turned to slight fear. She moved to head back into the cover of the trees, only to find that her body had once again lost connection with her mind's will.

"Takuya..."

The voice rang through the vastness of the clearing, no longer a hushed whisper but a clear, distinctly female voice. Her eyes darted across the open space, searching intently for anyone or anything that she could possibly label as the voice's source.

"Where...? Where are you?" she spoke into the air, her voice not loud enough to carry throughout the space as the other had been.

At that moment, something soft brushed under her palms, drawing her attention to her hands. Her heart skipped at least three beats when she discovered the two tigers has already closed the distance between them; her fear quickly evaporated into nothing, however, when she heard what could be recognized as purring. A tiger sat on either side of her now, nuzzling her hands with their large heads, their warm breath tickling her fingers. The smallest of smiles formed on her lips then.

"Could it be...that you were the ones calling out to me?" she asked, running her fingers through the snow white fur atop their heads. "If so, then what is it that you want? Why did you bring me to this place?"

The padding of feet in the snow drew Takuya's attention away from the tigers once more. Directly in front of her now was yet another white tiger...only this one was much larger than the two presently sitting on either side of her, and had the most stunning sapphire-colored eyes she had ever seen. Her gray eyes widened at the sight, a sudden realization washing over her at that moment.

"It...was you..."

The tiger bowed its head, almost as if to nod. "Yes...I am the one who brought you to this place."

The sudden response had almost shocked Takuya to speechlessness. After a second or so, she found her voice again.

"Why...?" she asked shakily.

"They are yours." the tiger spoke again, looking at the two tigers on either side of her. "These tigers...they belong to you. They were, are, and always will be...your trusted companions throughout the endless cycles of time."

"...Who...or what...are you?"

"I, Takuya Hokkaido, am you." the tiger answered, almost in declaration. "I am the essence of your true nature...and the embodiment of your true power."

Takuya stared wide-eyed at the tiger sitting before her. "I...I don't understand..."

"You will in time, young one." the tiger said as it rose to its feet. "It is time for us to part ways for now; when the time is right, we will meet again, Takuya."

At that moment, a bright flash filled the entirety of the clearing, encompassing everything in a blinding beam of light...

Takuya's eyes snapped open, and she shot upright in her bed. Her heart raced in her chest, and she was breathing as if she'd just run two miles without pause. She immediately began to calm down, however, after she quickly glanced around herself and found that she was still in her room.

It was just a dream... Even so, it seemed...so real...

She pondered on it for only a minute or so before pushing it to the back of her mind; deciding that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep after that, she got up to get ready for the day.

There will be plenty of time to ponder on my strange dreams later. As for right now, I need to go and prepare breakfast. Everyone will be waking up soon...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grimmjow's eyes slowly blinked open that morning. Warm rays of sunlight filtered through the room's one window, greeting him as he waited for the rest of his body to wake up. Shifting slightly, he groaned at the sore stiffness of his body, and a string of curses hissed past his lips as he struggled to sit up. Amidst his struggling, the room door slid open, revealing Hanataro, Urahara, and Tessai.

"Top of the morning to ya! It's good to see you're finally awake." Urahara greeted, his voice overly cheery as the three men entered the room.

Hanataro immediately sat down and got to work on the Espada's bandages, while Urahara and Tessai moved to sit down on the floor at the opposite side of the bed. Grimmjow watched the two men as they situated themselves, scowl already in place. With a slight growl, he shifted his gaze straight ahead, glaring at nothing in particular.

"So, are you feeling any better? I certainly hope you rested well." Urahara said as he opened his fan, this time to actually fan himself.

"What do you want?" Grimmjow muttered.

The sudden question caught the shopkeeper off guard. "Pardon me?"

"I know you didn't come in here just to see how I was doing. I'm not so stupid as to assume shit like that." Grimmjow said flatly; he looked back at Urahara. "What do you want?"

Urahara smiled slightly, closing his fan. "You're quite the shrewd one, Mr. Jaegerjaquez." he commented, adjusting his hat. "Now don't get me wrong; I am genuinely concerned about your wellbeing. But there is one question in particular that I would like to ask you...and I need an honest answer."

At that moment he looked up, his gaze immediately locking with an intense cerulean blue glare.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez...how loyal are you to Sōsuke Aizen?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ichigo rubbed his semi-tired eyes as he and the others made their way to Urahara's shop. He looked down at his watch. 9:33 a.m. He muttered incoherently under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as he trudged forward.

"Wow, Ichigo, you're sure looking fresh and rejuvenated this morning." Uryuu commented sarcastically.

"Shut up." Ichigo grumbled. "It's Saturday for crying out loud...who the hell gets up this early on the weekends anyway?"

"Come now, Ichigo, it's always good to get an early start on things." Rukia said, the slightest bit of spite detectable in her voice. "After all, you are part of the reason we have to make this visit in the first place."

"It's 9:33 in the morning. We weren't supposed to be there until noon!" Ichigo snapped. "Remind me, will ya...who's idea was it to "get there ahead of time?!" You must be more excited about this than the rest of us are!"

"That's enough, Ichigo." Uryuu chided. "It's too early for bickering, and besides that fact, I believe Urahara's words were "noon, at the latest." Let's just get there and do what we have to do."

A few minutes later, the group came into view of Urahara's shop. Ururu and Ginta, who were outside sweeping around the front of the shop, looked up when they heard the group approaching.

"Tch, it's about time you people showed up." Ginta scoffed as he walked up to Ichigo. "What the heck took you so long anyway?"

Ururu looked at Ginta, and then at Ichigo. "That's just his way of saying he's glad you're here. He's kinda scared to be in the shop with Mr. Grimmjow."

Ginta blushed immediately, completely embarrassed by Ururu's comment. He quickly rushed over to her and hit her across the back of her head, eliciting a yelp from the girl.

"Idiot, I am NOT scared of that guy! I just came out here to help you with your chores!"

"Oh how noble of you." Renji's sarcastic remark drew everyone's attention to the red-haired man, who'd appeared in the shop's doorway. "So, do you plan to do that everyday, or just the days that the Espada is here in the shop with us?"

"Hey! You shut up ya moocher!" Ginta yelled, his face now beet red.

Effectively ignoring the boy, Renji looked toward Ichigo and the others. "You guys come on inside." he said, ushering the group into the building.

Urahara looked up from his breakfast as Renji walked into the dining area, followed by Ichigo and the others.

"Ah, welcome back!" he greeted. "I hope you're all hungry. Takuya has prepared enough breakfast for everyone."

"How's that? You guys knew that we'd be here this early?" Ichigo asked curiously.

"Well...no. But hey, it never hurts to be prepared, right?" Urahara quipped, chuckling lightly.

Ichigo merely rolled his eyes as he and everyone else sat around the table. A second later, Takuya emerged from the kitchen carrying a large tray of food.

"Good morning, everyone." she chimed as she set the tray on the table. "Here's breakfast for you. I hope you enjoy it."

A collective "thanks" echoed from the group as they began to dig in.

Takuya smiled at the sight. "I'll be right back with some tea for all of you." she said as she moved to return to the kitchen.

"Oh, Takuya, before you do that...I have something for you." Orihime spoke up, standing from her place at the table and walking over to the ebony-haired girl.

From her pocket, she produced a small, rectangular black box. "It's a gift; you can wear it when you start school." she said cheerfully, handing the box to Takuya.

A genuine smile lit Takuya's face as she took the box from the Orihime's outstretched and opened it. A sharp gasp escaped her, however, when she saw what was inside. A necklace and two shiny hair pins glimmered against the black velvety fabric of the box, each with silver-toned pendants shaped like...

"...little tigers with little sapphire-colored eyes." she barely managed to hear Orihime say. "I saw them and I instantly thought about you, so I bought them as a good fortune charm for you since your first day of school is Monday. Aren't they the cutest?"

Takuya's gaze never lifted from the jewelry in her hand; she opened her mouth to respond, but her voice was lost with the absolute shock and unexpected irony. Memories of her dream swirled around in her mind, playing and replaying over and over again.

The tigers from my dream had sapphire eyes. And now...I'm seeing the again. Tigers with sapphire eyes... Was...was that really just a dream...?

Takuya...are you ok?"

Orihime's voice snapped Takuya out of her trance, and she immediately looked up to meet her gaze. A slightly worried expression had settled on the auburn-haired girl's facial features.

"Oh...forgive me...i-it's just that no one's ever given me anything like this before." Takuya said, allowing a smile to creep back onto her lips. "These are truly very beautiful. Thank you so much, Orihime."

The worried expression quickly evaporated from Orihime's face, giving way to a bright smile. "You're very welcome!" she chimed as she returned to her place at the table.

A few seconds later, tea was served, and a collective silence fell among the group as they ate their breakfast with gusto. After a few minutes, Ichigo looked up from his plate and glanced around the room.

"So, where is he?" he finally asked when he failed to find the Espada anywhere in the vicinity.

"Grimmjow is still back in the spare room." Urahara replied. "Actually...speaking of said Espada, I have something incredibly interesting to share with you all."

Everyone waited expectantly as the shopkeeper stood to his feet and cleared his throat. "This morning, I had what I guess would pass as a "reasonable conversation" with Grimmjow…"

- FLASHBACK -

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez...how loyal are you to Sōsuke Aizen?"

The Espada's expression visibly darkened at the mention of the ex-captain's name, something that did not go unnoticed by the shopkeeper.

"Fuck Aizen."

The bluntness of the statement stunned Urahara and Tessai to speechlessness; even Hanataro momentarily halted his task to look up at the Espada in surprise.

"That arrogant Shinigami son of a bitch is not my fucking leader. Tch...the very thought of having to bow down before my natural enemy makes me fucking sick to my stomach. I'd no sooner kill myself be having to follow any of his stupid orders."

Urahara remained silent for a moment, absorbing everything the Esapda said.

"Interesting..." he finally said with a stroke of his chin. "Yes...very interesting indeed..."

His eyes found the Espada once more. "So...can I take that to mean that you would be all for attacking and killing him at the earliest presented opportunity?"

"Absolutely." Grimmjow answered almost immediately, a sadistic grin replacing his usual scowl as his hands instinctively tightened into fists. "I'll admit my power's not yet where it needs to be to beat him, but soon it will be. And when that day comes, the only thing that infernal bastard will be able to hear is his god-forsaken blood gushing out of every orifice in his body...and me, laughing over his pathetic corpse."

Urahara couldn't help but smile at this. "Excellent."

- END FLASHBACK -

"Wow...that's a shockingly refreshing change of pace." Ichigo said. "So there's already discord within Aizen's own ranks..."

"It's not too surprising." Uryuu said. "He is a shinigami attempting to reign over a bunch of hollows after all. It was only a matter of time."

Ichigo chuckled lightly at the quincy's comment. "Yeah well, surprising or no, any misery brought upon that bastard brings a smile to my face. I'll take it any way I can get it."

"You two are giving this Espada way too much credit." Rukia interjected. "Have you even considered the fact that he could have been order by Aizen to say all that...that this could all be some big, elaborate ruse to draw us in and get us to drop our guard? He could be playing us all, and none of you would even know it until it's too late to do anything."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at Rukia. "Since when did you become the world's largest buzzkill?"

"Since the moment I became the only one in this group with a functioning brain!" Rukia shot back, earning her a leveling look from everyone.

"Aside from all that, has anyone noticed that his spiritual pressure still hasn't risen back to normal?" Renji mentioned. "He's certainly healed up enough for it to at least be approaching normalcy, but even now, it doesn't even seem to be fluctuating..."

"That's because he's suppressing it."

Everyone looked to the hallway entrance where Hanataro now stood. At his side was none other than Grimmjow himself, who stood leaning against the door post for support more than anything else.

Urahara smiled. "I'm glad you two could finally join us. Please, come have a seat."

Once the two were seated - Hanataro sat near Tessai, and Grimmjow sat against a wall furthest away from everyone - Urahara began to speak again.

"Alright, let's recap our current situation... A hollow of significantly destructive power has turned up here in the world of the living...one that we have ultimately decided to harbor here. Because of this decision, we can assume with absolute surety that life from this point on is gonna be a lot more difficult for all of us. A lot of precautions must be taken for the sole purpose of avoiding immediate detection, one in particular being - Renji - the suppression of Grimmjow's spiritual pressure. Soul Society's actions will be more or less predictable should if...or rather, when they become privy to what's happening here. Hueco Mundo's actions, on the other hand, will be inherently difficult to determine. Even though they cannot detect Grimmjow's presence, they know that he's here...and have likely assumed that he's made contact with us in some way, shape, or form. Aizen's forces could show up looking for him at any given time without any warning. As such, we must always be prepared for anything."

Everyone nodded in understanding.

"There's something else you should know." Grimmjow suddenly spoke up, drawing everyone's attention to him. "Right after Ulquiorra and Yammy returned from their pointless little battle with you, Aizen called a meeting...during which time that emo clown showed us everything that occurred during said battle. By the end of everything, Aizen had completely blown off the battle itself; instead, he began declaring his extreme interest in the "highly unusual, yet incredibly remarkable power" of the girl that was there in the fray that day, going on and on about how much he thought it would aid him in reaching his goals."

The Espada's gaze shifted over to the shopkeeper then. "In other words...I ain't the only one who needs to watch my back."

Producing a look of shock, Urahara immediately shifted his own gaze to a rapidly paling auburn-haired girl.

"Orihime…"

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

[cityveinlights]

“Is It Teatime, Darling”

A window is a great place to lose yourself.

So pondered Gilda as she gazed out across her poor excuse of a lawn, all scattered tree trunks and mushroom clusters.

Some thought her mad to allow her home to become encased with the foliage of a forest, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she envied the fauna of her backyard, often losing thought imagining herself a lost doe wandering through the forest in hiding.

That seemed better to her, she thought, the place where a woman like her should live.

Secluded.

So, on the sun fall of the third Friday of October, she sat at her worn oak table. The wisps of steam from her fresh cuppa played with her nostrils, almost begging her to take a step outside to join their brethren.

It was a foggy evening.

She ran her fingers down the wood's bumps. The table had been in her family for generations.

There’s something about familial history that passes leaves from one branch to another.

“What are we in for tonight?” She asked to herself. If anyone were to peek into her kitchen, they would have laughed and felt delighted that poor old Gilda was as loony as the town rumored, talking to herself in the company of a black cat.

But, alone she was not.

Unbeknownst to the town, Gilda wasn’t mad, but she was something of the like.

“I reckon ol’ Davy from Down the Way will make a stop tonight, to check on the Wicked Witch of Number Three,” replied the cat.

“Right you are, Silla. And we’ll be ready. Can I fancy you a bite for dinner?”

“I'll take a warm bowl of milk, if it isn't too much of an ask,” purred Silla, tail swaying gently with pleasure.

Gilda stood up and hobbled her way to the cauldron hung above her fireplace. Although most of her neighbors from Down the Way had come around to modern ovens and refrigerators, Gilda thought these devices dampened the magic in the air. Something about the unknown and uncontrolled variables that stopped Gilda from upgrading her abode.

From the mantle, she took a glass bottle of whole milk and poured a little into the cauldron. She added a bit of honey for sweetness; she knew Silla's taste for sweets in the evening. With the cat’s back to her, she quickly added a sliver of vanilla bean and a dash of This and That, but only enough to remain untraceable.

Her eyes gleamed in the warm light of the hearth, cheeks dimpled in pleasure as she took her large spoon from its place on the wall and began to stir her milk potion.

“You know, nights like tonight make me appreciate your company,” said Gilda.

Silla, turning now to face her, noticed a speck of dirt on his left paw and began to clean himself.

“And why… do you… say… that?” Silla said in-between tongue licks.

Gilda shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno, I guess after seventy years of solitude, one does begin to admire the rhythms of another heartbeat.”

Silla took his paw and began to rub it against his ear. “Seventy years? That’s nothing. I had a fourth cousin whose entire family was taken by some young girl off wandering in the middle of the wood. He went off to find a field mouse for a midday snack and came back to an empty nest and the distant scent of a child’s sweaty hands. He never did find them, and its family legend that he remained in the wood for the rest of his life. I think at last check he lived to be over a hundred.”

Gilda took a sharp inhale and raised her hand to cover her open mouth. “You don't say… and what was your cousin's name, if I might ask?”

“Oh, his name was Wally.”

Another quick inhale. “You don’t mean Wally.. Wally of the Wood?”

Silla nodded his head. “The one and only.”

“You mean to tell me that I’m friends with someone who has a legend for a relative?”

The cat made a sound somewhere between a purr and a deep laugh. “Well, I can’t lie that I’m a direct relative, we are fourth cousins and all, but I guess you could say that.”

“Blimey. And after all this time, you didn’t think to tell me?”

Silla tilted his head slightly to the left. “I didn’t think it was of utmost importance. I mean, it is Wally of the Wood. It isn’t like I’m a brother to Nicholas the Naif.”

Gilda chuckled. “I don’t expect you to be related to a toad, Silla. What do you take me for?”

Silla hopped from his place on the table and made his way to the pillow sat next to the fire.

“I suppose I’ll take you as you are.”

Gilda smirked, eyes squinted with curiosity. “And what might that be?”

“I guess what the rest of the town thinks.”

Gilda laughed. “Ha, the town doesn’t know much of anything.”

Silla, again, turned his head, only to the right this time, eyes blinking ever so slowly.

“They might not know much, but I’m almost certain they know that a secluded lady with a hodge-podge lawn and a cat as a friend sums up to be quite the story.”

Still stirring her mixture, Gilda sighed her shoulders. “I won’t deny that my best friend is a feline, Silla.”

Silla raised his paw and extended the claw of what would have been his index finger. “Ah, I think you meant a fine feline.”

Gilda rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “Of course, you cat.”

“’S what I thought,” said Silla.

The two remained in their places for a spell, Gilda warming the milk potion and Silla kneading the pillow.

Then, a rasp came from Gilda’s front door.

“Just as I suspected, Davy from Down the Way has arrived right on time,” said Silla, confidently.

Gilda took the cauldron from its hook and poured the milk into Silla's bowl. “Let's hope it's only him and no one else,” she said, sounding a bit worried.

As she made her way to the door, Silla jumped off his perch and began to lap in his bowl. It tasted as he expected, sweetened milk, but it also had an unfamiliar flavor that his pallet had not encountered before. It reminded him of milk candy the Vietnamese woman next door threw out. He noted to ask Gilda what she added to it when she came back from the door.

Gilda, having reached the entryway by the time Silla had tasted the unfamiliarity, opened the door ever so slightly as to only allow one eye to peer into the faint light of the late evening.

“Hullo,” said a bent-over figure with a round outline under a tophat.

“Hi,” said Gilda, tone ending higher than it started, a bit nervous that this stranger could mean trouble. Worry was lost as she began to examine further the figure resting outside her doorstep. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Gilda noticed the misshapen gray hair hidden by the tophat and the large nose and larger belly. Davy was a hard person to miss.  

“Miss Gilda,” said Davy.

“Davy,” responded Gilda. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could come in for a minute? I locked myself out of my house, and the locksmith won't be here for another hour or so. Everyone else has gone.”

The stupidity of men, Gilda thought to herself.

“Sure, come in. I just warmed the cat some milk.” She opened the door, and Davy made his way into the foyer, or, the room that made do as a foyer.  

Stacks of books lay here and there and everywhere. What seemed to be a hundred coats hung from a coat rack. A wooden broom leaned against the wall nearest the doorway.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” asked Gilda.

“I would love one. What kind do you have?”

Gilda’s eyes beamed. Tea was her second favorite pastime.

“Why don’t I show you. Here, let me take your coat and hat.”

Gilda, taking Davy’s articles, rested them on top of the overburdened coat rack, which now leaned heavily to the right.

They made their way to the kitchen, passing Silla, who meowed in delight.

“What a darkly colored cat!” Examined Davy.

“Yeah, he is quite black. It looks like he rolled in an oil barrel. The only problem with that is he wouldn't dare leave this house.”

Silla made a soft growl of slight displeasure.

“Oh, don’t mind him, Davy. He knows I’m teasin’.”

Davy thought it odd that a woman would refer to her cat as one would a human, but he reminded himself he was in the company of Gilda the Goetia. This animal was probably a demon she’d summoned from the underworld. Best to watch his footing while under her roof.

Silla made his way to Davy and swept his slender body against his leg, vibrating with a deep purr.

Gilda opened a cabinet and unearthed a simple tin box with grids housing various types of loose-leaf teas. She pointed to the top left box and began describing the different mixes of teas.

“This one is mint lavender, great for calming an anxious mind. Or, this one here is orange vanilla, perfect with a dry biscuit in the evening. Or, of course, I do have a bit of the ol’ Earl Grey. What can I get you?”

Davy, worried that she'd laced them with some sort of poison or mushroom spore that would turn his toenails to stone, opted for the simplest.

“I’ll take a small cuppa’ Grey, please. With sugar, if you don’t mind.”

“I don't have any sugar cubes, but does honey suffice? I have a bit leftover from this fall’s harvest. I house my own bees in the back garden. This batch tastes a bit like hibiscus. The cat adores it, I even mixed some in his milk, but that's just between you and I.' S that alright?”

“That sounds delightful. Might I try a dab first?”

Gilda smiled, grabbing a spoon from the drawer nearest her and a jar of thick, amber-colored syrup. She poured the slightest drop onto the spoon and handed it to Davy, who took it with hesitation.

“Oh, come on. It won’t bite you, silly goose,” joked Gilda.

“I know that, Gilda, it’s just… er..,” murmured Davy.

Gilda sat the jar of honey down, a touch louder than she intended. Silla, having sat on the stool next to Davy, arched his back in anticipation.

“A bit what, Davy?”

Davy seemed to scan the room for something to focus his eyes on, almost as if he searched for some real reason why he couldn't try Gildas homegrown honey.

“Eh-eh-err… weh-well you know, the town talks, and its not like its old hat that you have a reputation. I’m just a little… er… wary that you might… um…”

Gilda, still holding the jar, tightened her grip so that her knuckles grew as white as bone.

“I. Might. What?” She huffed.

“…. Well, Gilda, it isn’t a secret that you deal in… cultish arts.”

Gilda scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“And might I ask, Davy, what exactly a cultish art is?”

Davy scanned the room, taking in the various mismatched furniture pieces and the cauldron hanging from the fire hearth.

“Gilda, please. You have a cat as black as night and a cauldron hanging from your fireplace. It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

Gilda began to fidget in anger. Silla’s hair stood straight, and if someone were to look into the window and see this confrontation, they would have thought these two were fighting as a porcupine stood witness to their banter.

“Well Davy, if all you came here to do is accuse me of having a cultish fetish, I ask you to leave me to my own devices. Come, Silla. Let’s see our guest out.”

Davy looked several times from cat to Gilda, wondering why she spoke to the beast as if it were her child.

Was she the conjurer that his neighbors coined her? Even though the atmosphere of her home screamed in affirmation, the hidden details proved to be a different truth. If she were a summoner, where did she hide her altar? From what he’d seen in the short time he’d been in her home, there only seemed to be a kitchen, a small bedroom directly adjacent to the entryway that appeared mundane, and a dining room fixed with a table and a lit candle smelling of cardamom and cedarwood.

Was Gilda the Goetia really an inverse, an opposition of his understood truth?

This had to be some trap. Soon he would find himself hung upside down with a knife to his throat, chicken’s blood smeared across his breast as she mumbled ancient tomes under her breath.

But, why wait this long? And this honey he held in his hand, she’d tasted it herself and mentioned she’d fed it to the cat in his milk, and he seemed perfectly normal.

Maybe some people, when dissected in the eye of the public, lived normal lives while others deemed them a cultist.

Does this make me a blasphemer?

Davy looked at Silla again, and although the cat seemed black, he looked black, like in the short time Davy had been inside Gilda’s home, the cat had expelled every hue of color from his coat so that he’d grown black as, well, nothing,

“Gilda, I apologize. I came here expecting something completely different than the hospitality that you've given me. I'd love a cup of the mint and lavender, with a good amount of this honey, if you don’t mind.”

Appearing shocked, Gilda stood still and had no words to say.

There sat a silence for several seconds, broken only by the yawn of Silla.

“I-I… I’m sorry, Davy. You know, living under the constant watch of a town tends to drive a woman mad. I’ll make you up the finest pot of tea you’ve ever tasted.”

Davy smiled, reaching over to stroke Silla’s back. The cat did the expected arched back movement as Davy glided his hand from head to tail.

While Gilda observed this spectacle of finger stroke to spine, she poured the hot kettle of water into a mug she'd placed Davy's chosen brew.

She handed Davy the cup.

“This smells wonderful,” said Davy.

Gilda, placing the tin back into the cupboard, smile and said, “I hope it tastes equally as well.”

Davy noticed a quick glance of something personal between Gilda and the cat, as if there were some inside joke he wasn't aware of.

He took a sip of the tea and adored the cooling sensation that filled his mouth,

“My lord, this tastes like chewing gum but in a hot, liquid form!”

Gilda, humbling at Davy's kind words, took a seat in her place at the table where her cuppa remained warm.

“I'm glad you think so. I grow my brews out back, and I hardly ever get to share them with another.”

Davy and Gilda sat quietly for a few minutes, each enjoying their brews.

Once Gilda had finished her cup, she moved to empty the dregs from her mug into the bin.

Davy remained quiet and reserved, taking in the welcoming atmosphere of Gilda’s home.

Silla, having pounced from his spot next to Davy and onto the counter nearest Gilda, whispered, “How much longer d’you think it’ll take?”

Davy continued to observe the still-burning fireplace.

“He seems pretty affixed to the hearth, I suspect he’s nearly there,” responded Gilda, holding her hand over her mouth so that Silla would be the only person to hear her.

Almost immediately, Davy grew slack in his stool and fell back onto the counter.

Silla perched his head up to get a better view of the now limp Davy.

“You weren’t joking.”

Gilda scoffed, “When does a witch ever spell jokes?”

Silla breathed a ha-ha and jumped from his place on the counter, moving again to his pillow for the remainder of the night.

“Just… do dispose of him properly this time. The last one you left a finger above the surface, and I had to nibble a nearly rotten corpse. Talk about ungodly.”

As Silla sunk into the shadows, Gilda thought about the coming Spring, and the bountiful flora she'd grow with a new store of fertilizer.

“It's appearances, Silla. It's all about appearances. It takes a strongly-set mind fake the part, but it's leagues more tasking to portray the role to a T.”

   days 19-25: trap, grow, bean, candy, witchcraft, blood, hiding @hiddendreamer67

[0l1v3juice]

First Impressions

There was landfall, and we felt ourselves tense. We had entered a completely new territory. As we looked around, there was almost nothing that we recognized. Trees with unnatural shapes and sizes compared to the ones we remembered, shrubs that were lacking in color (as it seemed most of the land was just...green), and most importantly, leaves that blocked the whole of the sky. We couldn't see a thing. Everyone was terrified to start moving, so I took the lead. 

“Everyone, follow me. Wherever we are, we are strangers. Do tread lightly,” I ordered.

We stuck closely together and climbed off of our ship, passing over the warm sands and onto the greenery. When we began making progress, we began to see even more peculiarities. 

Along with the strange fauna, we began to see other life similar-but-not-identical to ones we recognized. Small, rodent-like creatures bounded across the grass and scurried up the trees. Wolf-looking creatures constantly chased the small ones around trying to get their next meal. Flowers and leaves bloomed in the endless beauty of the land. It was still quite foreign, but there was a sense of familiarity in our surroundings that brought us great comfort. Though nothing was exactly the same, it was reminiscent of the blossoming forests which our village would gather honey from. Even the sunset's colors reminded us that there are things unchanging about the world we live in. We knew we had found our new home.

“I think I see a fence up ahead!” exclaimed Mao Cung as he started for it.

“Mao, wait!” Maysam shouted as she ran after him.

Soon, we were all chasing after Mao Cung while he darted straight for the fence. When he reached it, he stopped and stared. Upon catching up to him, we saw why.

“Well… which way should we go?” Maysam asked the obvious question.

Behind the fence, there was a path. The path led in two directions. One went to the left, the other, to the right. In blank confusion, we all sat unsettled for a moment. What if we went the wrong way? This was a sign of civilization, was it not? What if they were not friendly? How could we be sure it was not a trap?

“Everyone, stay calm. Let us think this through,” Mao Cung began.

“Well, Mao, I don’t believe there is a way to think this through,” Songxue interrupted him, “Both sides look the same, and there is nothing pointing us to one specific direction.”

“She's right,” Shen agreed, “Let's just pick a direction and go with it.”

Not long passed before I decided for us the direction which we would take.

“Left,” I stated.

No one questioned why, as I am sure that they knew I had no reason. Intuition would have been my excuse. What happened next, though, I had no way of foreseeing.

Just a ways down the path, I began to hear a low growling sound. Looking around, we saw nothing. Yet, the sound grew louder and louder. We became very afraid, and Maysam poised herself to fight. As Shen and I were healing folk, Maysam and Songxue were our hopes for defenses, and Mao Cung could only aid in distractions or diplomacy. We stopped, watching carefully. With Maysam and Songxue preparing themselves, Shen and I took to protection behind them. However, the source of the growling revealed itself to me instead of our fighters. 

Looking at the path ahead of me while watching Maysam's back, I saw a shadowy figure slowly tread out of the darkness, revealing a huge, cat-like creature. Terrified, I instantly screamed and fell backwards into Maysam, taking her and Songxue down with me. Shen positioned himself to protect us, and Mao Cung followed suit. But the creature did not attack. It just...stared at us. The growling even turned into more of a low and steady purr. Perplexed, Mao Cung slowly approached it, taking each step with caution. Songxue and Maysam watched as they were too petrified to move. 

The cat stood in the middle of the path, awaiting Mao Cung's slow approach. Purring in anticipation, its tail waved back and forth. We could not tell if it was hostile or docile. It almost seemed playful. But we could not let our guard down; Mao Cung was our hope. 

He finally stood face to face with the creature, letting it look him over and supposedly decide how to react. It began circling him, smelling him and watching him. Though he was most definitely experiencing sheer terror, a mask of calm adorned his face as he underwent the beast's judgement. We made silent prayers for him. He did not move.

Suddenly, the unexpected happened upon us once more. The beast, having decided it would spare Mao Cung, looked to the rest of us. Its glowing eyes fixated on each one of us as it silently padded across the path. It came toward me. 

I laid there on the ground, still too terrified to move from my position after falling. The panther approached me and gave me the same treatment as Mao Cung, although closer. When it was done, we had no idea how to respond to what happened next. 

Suddenly, the beast backed up from over me, and began to transform. It turned into a person: a tall, pink-skinned humanoid with flowing purple hair and the same glowing eyes we had seen on the panther.

“Where do you come from?” the strange woman asked us. 

Dumbstruck, we could not answer. Shen simply returned with a question. 

“Where are we?” 

The creature cocked her head at us, confused by the question. 

“What do you mean ‘where are we’? You've never been outside the city before? Or maybe you're not from there?” she asked again.

“City? What city?” Mao Cung questioned. We were afraid to tell the shapeshifter that we had arrived from Pandaria in case we were not welcome wherever we were.

Instead of returning a question again, she stood silent for a moment before coming closer to me and extending her arm. Realizing I was still on the ground, I took her hand and stood. 

“You're not from the Eastern Kingdoms, are you?” she asked me while still holding my hand. Her tone was accusatory, but not hostile. Probably, she was just irritated that we had not been giving her answers - just questions.

“No, miss, we are not from here. We…” I started and looked to the group. I felt that we would only make progress if we told the mysterious person our origin. The group seemed frightened. Should I tell her where we were from?, I thought.

“...are refugees,” I finished. The tension was still there, but eased just so. Yet, she had figured it out herself. Her eyes filled with bright excitement, and she gasped and said:

“You all are from Pandaria!”

We stiffened. Our breaths hitched. How did she know? What gave it away? Would we be okay?

“My lady,” Mao Cung began to speak hesitantly. “Would you kindly tell us where we are?” I was unsure why he still asked the question.

“Of course, my apologies. We're in Elwynn Forest! How did you make it here? Why are you here?” she spoke that last question with an unsettling tone. The rest of our exchange seemed to have honest affability behind it. The last question, however, seemed like it would be the difference between a favorable or unfavorable experience with the cat lady. We observed our settings and chose our words carefully. 

“We came here on a ship, guided by our fallen companion. Our only goal here is to seek refuge from our war-torn homes,” Maysam spoke.

The woman seemed unsatisfied with that answer, but moved on to the question of why we were wandering around at night and headed up the path.

“It has been weeks since we have seen civilization or even land, my lady. We seek the warmth of a safe place to lay our heads for the night,” I told her. 

She studied my face as I spoke, scrutinizing everything. I am certain she analyzed my breathing too, but she insists that she did not. Following her analysis, she asked me a simple question. 

“What is your name?”

I froze. Her eyes stayed fixated on mine while mine frantically searched her for signs of attack. Glancing at the familiar scenery around me, I took a deep breath to calm down.

“Hunjun,” I said, eyes on hers. “My name is Hunjun, miss.”

After a short moment, she simply replied,

“I believe you.”

We smiled at each other, and, after realizing that we shared a genuine moment, we smiled again. The woman trusted me, and so I trusted her. 

“If you don't mind my asking, what is your name, my lady?” Mao Cung interjected. 

The lady watched all of us intensely before deciding to share her name with us.

“Jalvia.”

I nodded at her in acknowledgment. My group stepped forward one by one, offering their names as a show of trust. Finally, Songxue asked the important question. 

“Do you...do you think, Jalvia, that you could show us up this path?”

She thought for a moment, processing the idea. She seemed to go back and forth deciding on pros and cons. Eventually, she decided she would show us. But we had to follow her rules.

“You are to stay in front of me where I can watch you, and you do not speak to anyone, understand?” Jalvia ordered.

We all agreed to comply, and we headed off up the path. There was no talking, no lagging behind, and no fooling around. It seemed that Jalvia knew what was ahead of us up the path. In my head, I wondered if I chose the right direction. Was she leading us to a trap? What would have happened if we went the other way?

“Not to worry, Hunjun. All that's behind us are logging camps and bandit groups. You chose the right way,” Jalvia assured me, noticing that I had been constantly looking behind me at the path. “I guess that clears my suspicions, then,” she said with a relieved sigh.

Songxue turned around as soon as Jalvia finished speaking and asked “Why were you so suspicious of us? Do we appear as a threat somehow?”

“It was definitely obvious that you were hiding something,” Jalvia replied nonchalantly. “I just wasn't sure what.”

As she said that, I felt just a twinge of guilt. This Jalvia, however strange and wonderful she seemed, was offering us help. We thanked her by hiding our motives and origins? It didn’t seem right to me. I stopped walking to confess our story, and I believe the others knew my intention as Maysam shook her head. 

“Actually, Jalvia, we are hiding something,” I sighed. “While it was true that we are from Pandaria - as you correctly guessed - we were actually looking for a new place to call our own. Not just someplace to rest ourselves, but a new place we could continue on the legacy of our village in,” I finished. As I spoke, I could not look her in the eyes. I felt so guilty for lying to her even though I barely knew her. When I finished speaking, I finally looked up at her with hope that she would not be angry with us. In actuality, she appeared to be feeling quite sorrowful. She looked at me like she shared my pain and felt what I felt.

“It's okay. I know,” Jalvia said. 

Shocked and confused, Mao Cung immediately tried to discredit her. “How could you possibly know? That does not make any sense. Why are you so calm?”

Shen tried to calm him as Jalvia sighed heavily and shared with us what gave it away.

“Mao Cung, your belt. I've seen that symbol before. That's the crest of your family, right? The ones who lead the village? I've been there before. My best friend is an Alliance commander, and her first assignment a few years ago was a small peacekeeping operation in your part of the country. She established trade with the bigger cities of the system you were a part of, but she made sure to visit all the neighboring small villages. Your people were very sweet. They let us taste the honey they used for the liquor you brewed. I didn't want to believe that your kind little village was war-torn. So torn, you ran from it…” she trailed off and became silent before continuing. “If you were refugees fleeing a war-zone, I didn't want to believe you were from where your apparel indicates you are. And...I didn't want to believe that my people were the ones responsible.” Her eyes began to well up with tears, and the light in her eyes seemed to grow dimmer. 

“If...if it is any consolation, I did not see any people that appeared as you do. They were different. Shorter, louder, and they did not shapeshift. It was them, adorned in the colors you wear, against a louder group of people with green skin and sharp teeth,” Shen recounted.

Jalvia's expression shifted from disappointed to agitated.

“Of course. It always comes back to those reckless humans and orcs,” she began, intensely frustrated. “When will they understand that their war is pointless and must end? They're fighting over land that's already inhabited! What kind of self-serving, spineless--”

“Jalvia!” Maysam exclaimed. “Please, calm yourself.”

“Thank you for being outraged at these tragic events, but we must look only forward,” I thanked her and hugged her. She squeezed me tightly, breathing in slowly and letting herself be calm. 

“For now, there is someone I must introduce you to. Remember that friend that I was talking about?” Jalvia asked us.

“The Alliance commander?” Songxue recalled. “Why would she want to see us?”

“Well, she would want to know what's become of your people. Also, she’s not a human. She's like me!” Jalvia beamed. 

 “And you are…?” Shen cautiously inquired.

“My sweet pandaren, I am of the kaldorei. I'm a night elf, in the common tongue. I suppose you've never seen one of my kind,” she gleefully informed us. 

“What does your friend look like?” Mao Cung asked.

“Oh, you'll meet her soon enough. While I wish it were under better circumstances, I can’t wait to bring you to her. She’ll probably want to offer you all a place to stay with her,” Jalvia giggled.

“Well, she sounds very nice, but, uh…” Shen chimed in again but trailed off, afraid to finish his sentence. “Is she…you know...like you?” 

Jalvia's smile faded slightly, and she cocked her head to the side. You could tell she was trying not to be offended and instead trying to understand. “What do you mean by that?” she asked. 

Mao Cung stepped forward before Shen could dig himself a bigger hole. “I think what he means, miss Jalvia, is if your friend is able to...shapeshift as you do. It was quite fantastical to witness. Do all night elves do that?” he politely questioned.

Her smile returned and she shook her head. “I see. No, she cannot shapeshift. I can only do that because I’m a druid. My bond with the nature of my home is so strong that I am able to take her forms at my will. I use it to protect Her, myself, and others. Just then, I used it to protect the people up this path which leads to the castle. Guards patrol this path, but they have a longer route to survey at this time of night. My friend, on the other hand, is merely a hunter. But, make no mistake - she's the best hunter I know! I’ve never seen her miss a shot or meet an animal she couldn’t tame. It truly is a gift.”

“She sounds amazing,” I said. “When will we get to meet her?”

“Soon, my dear, soon. First, we have to find you all someplace to rest for the night. If my memory serves me, there is an inn up ahead. It's been a while since I've visited, but I'm sure they remember me.” Jalvia giggled to herself on the last comment. The rest of us shrugged our shoulders and continued up the path. 

Eventually, when the moon hit its peak, we began to see buildings ahead of us. We became excited and scared at the same time. Finally, civilization of some sort, however small. Jalvia hushed our excitement before we could get carried away, though, reminding us to watch our tongues around the travelers and adventurers passing through. 

Soon enough, we arrived at the inn. There were two buildings; one held a pen with livestock in the front, while the other appeared to house a forge. Jalvia lead us into the building with the pen in front had us sit down while she talked to the innkeeper. He kept glancing at us and muttering things to Jalvia with a worried expression. But I could tell that Jalvia was good at vouching for our intentions. He nodded and smiled at us, and she headed back over with her arms spread wide. 

“Welcome to Goldshire!” she announced and threw her arms around us. 

[kee-writestrashh]

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary:  You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

**self-mutilation mention

Chapter 50: Beautiful Day

Ramsay rose from his chair as you finished eating. He pulled out your chair and offered his hand to you with a wide smile.

You offered your own small smile and took his hand. His hand was warm. It was comfortable, as your fingers were cold. It was cold in this dining room.

"I thought you mighta grown tired of your boring company and could use a bath before bed." He said, leading you up the stairs to his room. "And I hope you don't mind sleeping in this room tonight. I'm having the master bedroom redone tomorrow for us."

"This is fine, baby." You said quietly. As if you were going to say 'no'. Ha.

"Why are you so quiet? I thought you would be excited? The Dreadfort is finally ours. Little Damon is far enough out of the city now where he can hunt and fish and all those others things you miss. I did this for you, baby girl." Ramsay said, his smile faltering slightly as you both entered the room.

"Oh, baby, don't think I'm not excited! I am so excited! I'm just tired. You kinda forced a lot on my body today... and it's made me very tired." You said. It was half true. But you were also in shock and... angry with your husband for subjecting you to possible harm and deep humiliation.

"You don't have to get out of bed tomorrow if you don't want." He said gently, leading you through the door to the bathroom.

"Will you stay in bed all day with me?" You asked as you let him undress you, realizing you were shaking slightly.

"I'm afraid I cannot. It will be a busy day. I'll have press conferences, and building plans to set up, and a million other things now that I am the Bolton in charge. Weapons business, Red Kings, Bastard's Boys. I've got my hands full tomorrow." He said, stepping away from you to turn the shower on.

"What did you do with your father?"

"Oh, he's still alive. For now. And nobody needs to know that. You're good at keeping secrets... so keep that to yourself. Now, shower and crawl in bed. I will be with you shortly." He said, kissing your forehead and leaving, the door snapping sharply behind him.

You were curled up under the blankets, rubbing your belly, and humming a lullabye, when Ramsay came in. He said nothing as he crossed the room to the bathroom door, closing it quietly.

You laid there listening to him sing in the shower and smiled as you continued to rub your belly until your son must have finally fallen asleep and quit moving around like a wild child.

Ramsay crawled into bed a few minutes later and pulled you in as close as he could. Your back pressed flush to his chest. He kissed along the nape of your neck, and ran his hand along your thigh. A deep warmth and wet spreading between your legs as you longed for him and his soft touches.

"Do you have any idea how perfect you were today, my queen?" He purred, pushing himself up on his elbow to lean forward to kiss and bite at your neck and jaw.

"No. But I am glad to have pleased you, daddy." You replied, closing your eyes tight and shifting slightly to lay more on your back.

"I keep falling further in love with you. It's making me stupid." He hummed, sliding his hand between your legs.

"I'm sorry I've upset you and hurt you, baby." You said with a small sigh, relaxing into his touch.

He made a small noise but said nothing as he traced his fingers over your folds and pressed his body firmer against you.

"You tasted different today, why?" He asked, as if you had a reason.

"Um, I dunno baby? Maybe it's just because it's been a few days?" You replied, shifting your head so you could kiss him.

"Well then come sit on my face. You haven't sat on my face in months." He purred, pushing away from you to lay on his back.

"But I'm fat and heavy now. I don't wanna suffocate you." You giggled, rolling over and straddling him.

"Suffocate away, baby girl." He smirked, looking up at you through a primal glare.

You gave a grin, climbing up his body, and positioning yourself, grabbing onto the headboard to distribute your weight evenly on your knees.

He made a deep noise of longing as he buried his face between your legs. You drew a tiny gasp as he slid his tongue inside you and grabbed onto your thighs with a tight grip that would likely leave bruises.

He hummed in pleasure as he pulled you closer into him with one hand, letting his other hand wander your body, until he cupped one of your breasts, taking your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

You moaned, dropping a hand from the headboard to tangle in his damp hair, pulling slightly.

He bit, lapped, and sucked harder, the harder you pulled at his hair. The hot desire at your core reaching boiling point.

"Daddy." You panted, pulling his hair harder, struggling to breath.

He gave your thigh a nudge and you climbed off. He pushed himself up, grabbing your leg and placing your knee against his chest as he buried himself inside you.

You drew a sharp gasp, clawing at his arm, as he thrust harder. You dug your nails into his arm, feeling him shake as he held himself up.

You pushed your head back into the mattress with a loud moan.

"Louder." He panted, thrusting harder.

You gripped his arm harder and pushed your hips into him as hard you could, moaning and gasping loudly.

"Harder daddy!" you cried.

You found a sloppy rhythm with him and felt the warmth of your high forming.

He let deep noises escape him, and ploughed into you without relent until his breathing was so heavy he had to gasp for air.

You quaked and your whole body went weak as your high hit you from nowhere it seemed as he pushed his whole weight into you.

You screamed out as you never had before, your whole body tingling and shaking.

He roared in ecstasy as he felt your high hit you, his grip on your leg painful as he held himself steady, trying to keep himself from falling into you, as your belly was now too round to lay on completely.

Both of you were still, drawing shaky, wheezy kinds of gasps. He leaned forward, placing his lips between your breasts and inhaling deeply.

"I love the way you smell." he whispered, placing a gentle kiss to your skin as he pulled away from you.

You lay there, watching him clean himself.

"You smell better." You said with a small smile.

"No. Together we smell... Oh baby girl, I love the smell of our fuck. If I could bottle this smell." He said, inhaling deeply again, wiping his brow on his arm and falling into the bed.

Slowly you sat up, pulling your hair into a loose braid and taking the discarded shirt he held out to you, "and what would you call it?"

He stared up at the celiling, thinking.

"Eden." he said after a few moments.

You gave a warm smile, "Eden." you repeated, crawling under the blanket.

×××

"Alright, doll. I'm out of here. I will try to be home for dinner, but Ben has already informed me I have multiple interviews and conferences set up about the fire yesterday and becoming the new owner of our business. If you need anything, the help are at your command." Ramsay said, fixing his tie clip and leaning in to kiss you.

"Of course baby." You hummed, kissing him back. You gave him a quick glance over as he pulled away. "Oop. Wait a second, baby." You said, grabbing his tie, pulling him closer to you, and sweeping his hair to the side. "Now you look like a sexy murder king."

He gave you a smirk and a wink. He gave you a quick air kiss before closing the door behind him. You sat up looked around, finding the suitcase of clothes you had packed the night before last on the floor, along with your purse.

You dressed slowly, opening the bathroom window. It was warm today and the sky was a brilliant forget me not blue. A perfect day. Maybe you would take breakfast on the patio and enjoy the fresh and warm sun for the day. You had nothing else to do.

You picked up your phone from your purse, left the room, and headed straight to the patio.

"Breakfast, ma'am?" A woman asked.

"Just a bowl of oatmeal is fine." You said, glancing down at your phone. No new calls or texts. Seems word hadn't gotten out yet. For that you were thankful. You were too tired to deal with nosey, worried family this morning.

You sat, basking in the sun, half dozing when little arms encased you. You peeked your eye open to see Kaden.

"Aunt (y/n)!" He beamed.

He released you and you sat up straight, smiling at him. You set your magazine aside and pulled him in for a hug.

"Hey, trouble. Why are you here?" You asked, pressing your finger to the tip of his nose.

"Looks like we are to be roomies." A female voice behind you said.

You turned quickly to see Liz. You practically cried in excitement, rising as quickly from your seat as your pregnant belly would let you, hugging Liz tight.

"Look at you!" You smiled, pulling away from her.

"And you. Look at this belly!" She laughed, placing her hand on your belly.

You took Liz in. She had lost so much weight. It made you sad. Ben always talked so much about her curves and "that ass". She had paled, and her eyes looked tired. But she wore a bright smile, as she slid her sunglasses to sit on the bandanna she wore to cover her head.

"I'm tired of this belly. Is it June yet?" You laughed, "but you, how are you?"

"I'm starting to feel better. Now that the cold is leaving and I've spent time in the sun I feel much better. I'll be done with chemo end of next month." Liz shrugged.

An aged, severe looking woman stopped behind Liz. This must have been the hateful mother in law Ben complained about.

"(Y/n), this is my mother, Carmen." Liz said, nodding at her mother.

"Abuela is funny. She likes to make daddy mad." Kaden giggled behind his hand.

"Well, someone needs to keep him check." Carmen said.

"Oh my God! You speak English?!" You cackled, covering your mouth with a hand.

"Mhm. For thirty years now." The old woman hummed, examining you closely, "What is your ailment?"

"Mother is very blunt." Liz said in an undertone as Carmen stepped forward and looked at you through beady eyes.

"Boys. Always harder on the body. Come on child, I will have you fattened up in no time." She tutted, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You wondered how Ramsay would react to this woman. That would be fun.

"Kaden, stay away from that pool or I will have your daddy get you." Liz called to Kaden who was running rampant in the yard with Moose and his puppy, Boss.

"Yes mama!"

"Kitchen?" Carmen asked, glancing around.

"Allow me." You said, taking the lead and pushing through a door at the end of the hall.

"Sit. Sit." Carmen demanded, walking straight past you to the pantry.

You sat at the bar, tapping your nails on the counter, as Liz took a seat beside you.

"So you're moving in, huh?" You asked.

"Apparently so. Ben says all the Boys are. Until Ramsay is sure he has control of the reins and can be sure they are all safe." Liz nodded.

"Well, I am glad I won't have to be alone in this empty house. But uh..." You said.

"Everything has been thoroughly cleaned. Ben told me this morning before we left." Liz cut across you as if reading your mind.

You gave a tiny sigh of relief. The last thing you wanted was for Kaden to see such a brutal murder scene. You hadn't checked. Even though this was now your house, you didn't want to snoop. Mostly afraid of making Ramsay mad.

"This is like the most amazing thing I have ever eaten!" You exclaimed, tearing into the food Carmen set before you.

Liz and Carmen laughed at you, but you didn't even care.

"So, Damon, huh?" Liz finally said after you set your fork down.

"Yeah. Damon Cain. I respect it. And maybe it will help Rams cope." You said, glancing down at your belly.

"Ironic." Carmen chimed in.

"Huh?" You asked, looking up at the woman.

"Damon. It means gentle. To tame. You know, Damon and Pythias?" She said.

You stared at her, not understanding.

"Google it."

You laughed, "yes ma'am."

×××

"Dude, you killed him." Ben said, straightening a stack of papers.

Ramsay groaned, resting his head on the smooth surface of the dining room table with a small thud, "What about the guy under him?"

You walked over, quietly, running a nail gently up the back of Ramsay's neck before running your nails over his scalp.

"Yeah, you killed him too." Ben said, biting back a grin.

Ramsay picked his head up and glared at Ben, "think it's funny, do ya?"

Ben gave an innocent shrug and laughed, "a bit. I mean... yeah. It's fucking funny."

Ramsay wrapped his arm around your waist and you sat in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What's wrong baby?" You asked, with a small pout.

"It would seem I have killed all the men responsible for passcodes, files, money management, and stupid tedious fucking things I need to get shit straight. And my hacker is a dumbass, and father was old fashioned." Ramsay sighed, burying his face between your breasts and inhaling deeply.

"There is plenty of time for that, baby. Take a breather. You work too much. Take the evening off. You've been working hard all day, with no play." You said, turning in his lap to straddle him, grabbing his tie and tightening it, until he made a noise of discomfort.

"As amazing as that sounds, I still have a shit ton of work to do. I have a meeting with Matt in ten." He mumbled into your cleavage, pulling your hand away, to loosen his tie some.

"I can make it quick." You whispered in his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth.

"I don't want it to be quick." He smirked, pulling away from you to turn his attention back to Ben, "find me someone by tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes sir." Ben said, glancing down at the papers with a small frown.

"Master Ramsay, Matt is here to speak with you." An older woman said in the doorway.

"Tell him to meet me in the garage." Ramsay said, sliding you from his lap. He gave you a quick kiss and left you alone with Ben.

You sat in the empty chair, "so?"

"Damon was a hell of a man to keep up with Ramsay the way he did. Made it look so easy. Ramsay put him through shit. Dame left some big shoes to fill." Ben admitted, dropping the papers and undoing his tie.

"It'll get easier. Damon had many years to get it right." You said, offering an encouraging smile. "You should go help Liz finish settling in. I'll take Ramsay from here."

"Yes ma'am." Ben said, rising from his seat and leaving you alone in the room.

You wandered the house for awhile, running into Kaden, Moose, and, Boss.

"Don't break anything, hon! Uncle Ramsay might get you!" You called after the giggling boy.

"Yes ma'am!" Kaden shouted gleefully.

You entered the master bedroom. It was as elegant as it was big, but nothing compared to the bathroom. You fell into the mattress with a sigh. You stared up at the canopy for awhile, wondering what Ramsay had planned for his father. But you were too afraid to ask.

"What do you think, mister Damon? Think we will like it here?" You said, placing your hand on your belly, feeling your son move.

"Where is your daddy? What could he possibly be doing with Matt for an hour?" You said, getting up.

You passed a maid in the hall, "have you seen my husband?"

"No, ma'am." She said with an apologetic look.

You continued through the house, finally coming to the garage. You opened the door, always slightly taken aback by the collection of classic cars. You gave a sweeping glance across the room and spotted it.

You walked over to the '57 Bel Air and gave a knock on the window. Slowly, the window rolled down and the thick smoke rolled out the window. Ramsay stuck his head out, looking surprised to see you.

"Yes, doll?" He said, with a very stoned grin.

"What are you doing?" You asked, crossing your arms.

"Talking business with the Kid. Helping him set up the newest generation of the Bastard's Boys." Ramsay shrugged.

"Well, y'alls stoned asses should come grab some munchies. I miss you."

"Alright. I have dogs to feed anyways." Ramsay hummed, opening the door and standing with a stretch.

"What day is it? Wait... I mean time?" Matt asked looking lost and stupid.

"Seven." You replied, watching him attempt to light his cigarette but simply staring at his lighter.

Ramsay pulled his lighter and lit the cigarette. He laced his hand in yours and led you from the garage, flipping the switch, making Matt scream.

"Oh, my bad." Ramsay chuckled, flipping the switch and ushering you down the hall. "Netflix and chill?"

"It's my turn to pick." You said, holding his hand tight.

"Bleh. Fine. I'll be up in a bit." He said, kissing your cheek and dropping your hand.

You slipped into a bathrobe, laying on your bed, waiting on Ramsay. But after 45 minutes you started to worry. With a gut feeling, you walked to the cellar where you had been deposited yesterday with Roose and Walda.

You closed the door quietly, leaning against the door and taking in the scene.

Ramsay sat on the floor, picking at his nails with a knife, as he rested his elbows on his knees, cigarette hanging from his lips. He had shed his shirt and you noted his arms must be covered in his own blood as Roose was blood free, chained to his chair, looking almost bored.

"Why, father?" Ramsay murmured through his cigarette.

"Why what, Ramsay?" Roose asked with a sigh, glancing over at you.

"Why do you hate me? What did I ever do?" Ramsay said, rising slowly from the floor.

"I don't hate you, son." Roose said, again adopting his fatherly tone.

Ramsay brandished the knife at his father, "stop lying to me! You hate me and I don't understand. I was five! I looked up to you. Even after you hurt me for no fucking reason. What did I do to deserve that?"

"Nothing. You did nothing to warrant the things I did to you, Ramsay." Roose said, sounding apologetic but wearing an indifferent look.

Ramsay ran a bloody hand over his face, through his hair, and made a distressed noise.

"Remember the first time you hit me? How I screamed like a fucking beat dog? Remember how I cried and begged for you to stop?" Ramsay said with a bitter laugh and a very strangled voice.

You watched Ramsay, chewing your lip. It was almost like you could feel his pain and anger.

"Ramsay, I was drunk." Roose said. Again with the bullshit apologetic tone.

It made you angry. It made you want to take the knife from Ramsay and stab Roose in the neck.

"I hurt my wife once when I was drunk. And all I could see in that moment was the way you looked at me and how you beat me with that damn switch until I bled. How Dom just stood there watching. I couldn't fucking look at her for two days after that. It fucked me up. But I couldn't stop. Not until I had got off. Why? Why did that hurt me?" Ramsay said, back turned completely from you.

"I don't know, son. But, for what it's worth, I am sorry." Roose said, looking at Ramsay in distaste and pity.

"Sorry." Ramsay laughed, staring down at the floor. "What a stupid fucking word. I'm not. I'm not sorry for what I've been through. Because it scares you. You turned me into a fucking monster. And it was fine until you couldn't control me any longer. Molded me into this murder machine you could use to threaten others. Why did you make me kill my mother?"

Roose fixed Ramsay with a long look, ignoring your murderous glare.

"I loved your mother, son. Miller, he was my right hand for many years. He knew how in love I was with Emma. But he stole her away from me after I married Bethany. They were happy. It drove me crazy for years, into madness. So I killed him and took Emma as my mistress. She hated me for what I did. But there was no way for her to get out. And then she had you. You looked just like her. Love is a sour thing, Ramsay. It will kill you. Look at your wife," Roose shot you a venomous look, "she's already kept secrets from you. What else is she doing?"

You stood there dumbfounded. You weren't even sure what to think. Blindly, you opened the door and left as quickly as you could, running until you were leaning against the heavy door of your dark bedroom.

[reyna-elert]

Estela’s abandonment

On a bright summer morning, a young married couple sat within a nature gods temple expecting their beautiful baby to be born.  They had been expecting this day to come two weeks prior, but finally filled with joy as they knew the moment was now. As Ruth held tightly to Adam’s hand Adam kissed her head whispering that everything will be okay, that their beautiful baby would be born soon. The keeper of the temple sat at the edge of the hard bed telling Ruth to keep pushing. When the keeper spoke of seeing the baby crown after many hours, Ruth gave her final push and landed hard on the bed full of pain. But the pain she felt was different, it was a fire like burning pain around her entrance that exploded throughout her body. Ruth let out a cry of pain as the sun broke through the vines at the top of the temple. Adam held his wife with one hand snaked under her shoulders and another cupping her cheek as she started to sweat and cry drastically. As the pain slowly faded, Adam noticed she become peaceful and that the keeper of the temple had disappeared with the baby. When the keeper had heard Ruth cry out with such pain, she brought the baby to the fountain in the middle of the main entrance to wash off the blood and goo from the birth. As the keeper washed all the good and blood away, she whispered to the baby.

“Oh, my newly born child… You are beautiful, do not let anyone ever tell you anything else.”

She knew. This baby was different and the keeper was scared to return the baby as she knew the reaction that would come. She slowly wrapped the baby in a wool blanket covering as much of the baby as she could. She held the young soul tightly to her chest as she returned. She looked at Ruth and Adam as they smiled at her and the baby, she held a fake smile as her heart broke into pieces knowing what was to come. Adam walked over to grab the baby, the keeper slowly let go of the newly born baby as Adam took the baby into his embrace. He uncovered his newly born baby only to stand in shock. His face turned white as he held his infant, he wanted to let go. Adam turned to Ruth with anger and sorrow in his eyes. Ruth looked back at him with tired concerned eyes.

“What is it, Adam…” Ruth whispered. “Bring the baby to me darling I want to see our beautiful creation.” She said in a pleading tone.

Adam slowly walked to Ruth and handed her their baby. She gasped as she held her newborn. She sat there shocked as her baby opened its tiny eyes. Ruth turned white and screamed causing the baby to begin to cry out loudly. The keeper started to tear up as Ruth pushed the baby away.

“TAKE IT! TAKE THAT HIDEOUS CREATURE FAR FROM MY HUSBAND AND I!” Ruth screamed.

The keeper took the baby away and walked away, as Ruth and Adam slowly left her sight she held the baby close to her face and kissed its forehead, calming the baby instantly.

“I’m so sorry my young soul…”

The keeper walked slowly up the stairs as she held the baby. Ruth was crying in Adams' arms as he held her tightly. He was also crying. The keeper kissed the child one last time before she cleared her throat.

“It deserves its mother and father. Though you don’t want it, at least give it a fair goodbye. Give it to someone who will love it for who it is and won’t leave like you wish.”

Ruth and Adam sat in silence and disgust as the keeper stared at them.

“Fine,” Ruth spoke with hatred.

The keeper laid the baby down in a small stone bed and walked over to Ruth. The keeper began to tend to her birth wounds. Ruth held Adams hand as she winced from the aftermath pain. The pain slowly faded as the keeper casts a healing spell upon her. As the hour's pass, Ruth can walk again. She starts to dress in the clothing that Adam brought along, once she had fully dressed Ruth stared at the old firbolg.

“Let’s get this over with.” Ruth mumbles.

Ruth pulls her hood over her head as does Adam once they grab their child, who was placed in a warm basket by the keeper. All three left the temple and walked until dusk. The sun began to sink behind the large trees as the married couple struggled to find a place to leave their child. Ruth noticed the keeper kept distance from them as they were trying to find a spot. Finally, Adam found a spot under a large tree with bushes around it.

“Ruth, here,” Adam whispered in sorrow.

“Why the sadness?” Ruth asked with anger. “Don’t tell me you feel something towards this ugly demon child!?”

Ruth set the child under the bush then looked up at Adam.

“Ruth that’s not it. I just want it to have some sort of home.” Adam stated.

“It’s a Demon. It doesn’t deserve a home!” Ruth spat out.

“Every creature deserves a home Ruth, I know it isn’t what we wanted but are you sure you want to leave it. It was just born…” Adam said in a worried tone.

“I’m sure,” Ruth spoke with a final tone.

Adam stood there as Ruth walked away from there child, he looked at the sleeping newborn. It looked so peaceful, and at that moment it started to pour. Adam stayed put making sure the rain wouldn't hit the child. As Adam stood there, Ruth stood next to the keeper.

“Though she isn’t what I expected… please watch over it until someone finds it.” Ruth whispered looking the other direction from Adam. “Just as Adam wants, I want the same for it. Please stay and watch until someone finds it.” Ruth stood quietly as she waited for an answer. Adam walked up to Ruth and grabbed her hand, he wanted to go home. As the two walked away, the keeper grabbed Ruth’s hand with anger.

“What you are doing is a sin, I shall not watch it because of you two. I shall watch it because it deserves someone who will love it for itself. NOT it’s appearance. You will never forget this day Ruth, you will regret every second of leaving this child once it finds someone who truly loves it.”

Ruth stood in fear and silence.

“NOW GO, YOU do not deserve this child!” The keeper stated with anger.

Ruth and Adam looked back one last time to see their child sleeping peacefully, then silently and regrettingly walked away into the dark forest.

The keeper found a tree nearby the child and climbed up it to keep watch. She sat in that tree, for days, without sleep until finally, something had shown up. The baby had cried for hours, but the keeper couldn't do anything, she knew she would have taken the baby. She sat and stared as the creature slowly walked to the baby. Standing carefully in fear, the keeper hoped the creature would not eat the child. A few moments later, she sighed in relief as she saw the large creature call for its owner. A tall large man in dark brown robes showed up, he leaned down holding his large staff. The creature layed next to the tall large man as he sat on the ground. After setting his staff down, the man slowly reached into the basket and pulled out the crying child. Knowing that this man would take the child, the firbolg keeper left in silence.

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay my young child. It’s okay,” The man whispered to the infant. It stopped crying as the man brushed his finger across its face. “Hmm…” The tall man unwrapped the baby to find it, was a baby girl. He wrapped her bottom half back up and pulled down his hood. “Who would leave a beautiful baby girl out in a forest while it’s raining?” He spoke softly. He examined her softly to find no harm done to her. He took note of her skin, tattoos, ears, hair, and eyes. He turned to lean against the tree as he held the baby close to him. “Don’t worry my child. I will raise you as my own. I will raise you with all my love.” He held the baby close to his face when she grabbed his nose softly. “Estela…” He whispers out staring into the baby’s little silver orbs. The man’s large panther stood and came close to the baby, very gently and laid right next to her, beginning to purr loudly. The baby began to become drowsy. As the purring became louder the baby finally had fallen back asleep.

“C’mon Lucius, let’s take her home.”  The man held the baby close as he wrapped her in a bundle of blankets from the basket, the large panther named Lucius grabbed the basket in his mouth. They set off to the man’s and now Estela’s home too.

[gemma-speht]

Curing Hearts

“Morning”! Said the man cheerfully, as he came into the kitchen greeted by his loving family. The girl looked up from her bowl of cereal, straight into her daddy’s eyes. “Good Morning.” She said. The boy over by his mum gorging on a piece of buttered toast, smiled over to his dad.

“Morning darling,” said his wife as he kissed her on the cheek. Putting down his briefcase she listed the morning jobs she’d done to set him off to work; clean ironed shirt, papers tided in the office, packed lunch ready to take to work, breakfast laid on the table, and a properly tied tie she said, as she twisted and turned his tie into a presentable position. “Thank you honey”! The man exclaimed. “Do any of you know how long until we go to Florida on holiday”? He asked cheekily. “Three weeks and two days” they all chirruped eagerly! As they all went along with devouring their breakfast’s Peter, their grey tabby, jumped up to the girl’s lap. He purred loudly…

“Aww, Mum, Peter hasn’t been fed”. He rubbed up to the women’s leg and nudged his cold nose to her shin to

Kiss her in his feline way, as she lay down his bowl. Just then Buster bounded in and gave everyone in the

Kitchen a hearty “Woof”!

“Morning Buster”! Said the family laughing. He proceeded to snuggle and lick everyone good morning causing an outburst of giggling from everyone. Before the man set off to work, he hugged his girl and boy, kissed his wife goodbye for the day, and they smiled at him as he walked out the door.

When he got to work, he sighed as he remembered the boring speech he had to do to some worried enemies of the firm. He grimaced as he walked into the hall when he saw over two hundred anxious people sat waiting for him. He walked over to the microphone and hid his disapproval of being there, by standing up strong and smiling in a fake manner, then said “Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your interest in the company, I hope you had a pleasant journey. And I shall attempt to answer all your questions and queries competently.” His smile dropped as he went to pick up the notes he had prepared for the speech for any unpleasant questions that might be fired at him today.

The conference after the 20 minute speech lasted and over an hour! The man was exhausted. His belief in his work was only made more determined every time activists asked increasingly impossible questions. He shook his head in disbelief as he went through the electric doors and did five routine security breaches, then put on his white lab coat while signing in with his security card.

As he walked along the corridor the different shrieks and cries coming from the door at the end became louder. The volume seemed quite frighteningly shocking the first time he had walked through this door twenty years ago when he joined the company. Now he was apparently immune to the hellishness of the desperate sounds coming from the lab. Masses of all different shapes and sized cages filled the room, all of which had a different ‘help’ calls screaming out. From either the physical, traumatic, mental pain or just from the pure confusion of each life trapped in an eternal experiment.

Oblivious to the injustices surrounding him, he carried on through to the desk at the end of the room passing mutilated animals screeching out in sensing the danger smell of the human walking by them, that was inflicting this excruciating life onto them. Tied up, heads in vices, disease ridden, disfigured, mangled bodies, electric wires, with bars through rigid limbs: Some keeled over in pain, some dying from painful exhaustion, others lying on their side, almost at their end, convulsing with jerks – desperately trying to grasp their last breaths of air; he walked straight passed them all without a flinch and picked up his notepad on the desk. He called for Tess to bring through his most recent experiment.

 I was due to go to a girl called Mandy that week. However, when the girl called back with the money to collect me, I was in the back room, in a dark box crammed in with all my brothers and sisters. Mandy had found the hutch full of hay, but no me. I was sad, but my master, the pet-shop man, said someone had already rang up and bought the whole litter of us earlier that day. So I knew I would be going to a home soon anyway. Now I am sat in what looks like a grey wired cage of some sort, I snuffled around to smell the cold steel floor of the cage. It didn’t smell very much like hay or rabbit’s food. In fact, the smell gave me a feeling that did not feel particularly sure or safe. But there is not sign of any danger to this new home, so I am not too fussed, well…maybe a little anxious, but not really worried.

The man never looked up from his notepad; he opened the cage door and pulled the rabbit onto the operating

Table, by its neck, he took his first ever look at her.

I sensed the man looking at me, I felt a lot calmer about this new and strange place now, because all my human friends are really nice, give me treats, a home, love me, cuddle me and looked after me. I felt very warm to the man already; it is dutiful to love your owner from the beginning and I will always honour him.

 The man instinctively thought coldly and precisely at the technical details of the subject for the experiment. Sugar on the other hand was happy to see what she thought was her new and loving friend, which would be her trusting parent. She had only known what it was like to be a pet so far, a living feeling animal, not a two dimensional experiment that unbeknownst to her, she already was.

  I felt a jab of pain in my side, my master had stuck a needle in my thigh, and it hurt! But then I forgot about the pain, it went away in a few seconds. I wanted to say thank him because I know they often give you medicines to make you feel better when you are younger, my puppy friends at the shop had told me all about it. I did not get a chance to thank my owner.

Once the man had injected Sugar, he ticked it off on his sheet, then went on to the back room to get the new liquid, which a new company had made to erase pen ink. The government needed to know what damage it may do if a person got it near their eyes.  

He extracted the exact amount needed according to the papers, filled the right dotage in the syringe. Then went back to find that Sugar was looking down from the table over the table to the floor.

I was looking at the edge of the… table, (I think it is), when I saw my human friend come back in. I looked up at him, had a sniff to make sure it was him again. It was, I was pleased. I was getting hungry and I knew my owner would feed me soon. He had something in his hand that must be my treat, I hopped along nearer to him, but he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck instead.

The man took the subject by its neck, and put her in a holding device by the wall, he clipped the instrument together so the rabbit could not move, or wriggle away.

 I felt a sharp nip on every side of me, with a lot of clanging noises, it hurt! What was the man doing?

He must be helping me get better; I must have something wrong with me. I calmed down, I realised it was all

right, I could trust my friend. I sat patiently waiting for the pain to go away. But I started to get a little panicky when it didn’t. Come on master, I pleaded, make it go away…

 The man took a blood sample from the creature now. Sugar made a little squeak sound; the man didn’t pay any attention.

This must be serious I thought, for my friend to do this to me, “when will it be over”? I asked. He didn’t communicate anything back.

The man then wrote something on his notepad and told the assistant he was about to do phase one, on subject

307. The girl nodded and carried on filling in a sheet on the desk behind him.

He came at my head with a plastic thing, I could smell it, and it smelt nasty. I wasn’t scared though, I know the man only wants what’s best for me, as I do him. But then, the horror!! I screamed out painfully, my eyes had something evil squirted into them!

 I panicked like crazy, squirmed desperately trying to free myself from this thing holding me, to scratch my

eyes clean. I felt the liquid sink deeper in my eyes!

 It hurt so much!! Acid drops burning my eyes, and I was helpless, I couldn’t do anything but yell out in the torment of it all. Total blindness filled my eyes, shock waves of pain flowed all over me! Then I remembered in the middle of all this distress - the man!! He would help me!

 “Help, help”!! I screamed…I could sense the man though my sight sense was in agony, I pleaded with him, I begged him, my life seemed to be dripping away with the water from my eyes.

 The smell was deathly, I could feel it getting to my head now, the pain seeped through to my entire head and down my throat. Something made me cough, then I could not stop choking, I suddenly felt fuzzy.

I yelled out my last plea for life, my master did nothing. “Won’t you help me? Don’t you love me”? I gasped with my last breath.

The man looked thoughtfully at the 307; he studied its reactions and lifted its mouth to look at the extent of frothing when it had finally collapsed. It was still having short gasps of air; he jotted down in his pad. Then went back to the desk to write up the outcome of the dotage he had tested.

“I’ll need another 15 milligrams of alphamacha.” he said to the girl. She said “Yes, OK”.

“Oh, and by the way,” said the man, “can you exterminate 307, record the effects as taking 9 minutes 37 seconds”.

“Yes sir”. Said the girl.

The telephone rang…It set all the animals into screeching again. The girl picked up the phone.

“Yes, yes… OK, hold on I’ll get him. Mr Snide, it’s your wife on the phone”. She said wearily.

He answered, “Yes darling, everything OK? Really? Oh god, right, I’ll be right there, tell Sally not to worry. Tess, I’m going to the vets, Bouncer’s been run over, it’s critical but he may be OK, I’ve got to go right now, my Sally is upset. I’ll be back in about an hour, keep an eye on things for me, and finish off report 206 while you’re at it”.

“Yes sir”. Said the girl in a bored manner.

She glanced over at Sugar; she had just taken her last agonising breath. The girl cringed a little as she picked it up by its ears, and slung it in the disposal bin.

Its innocent eyes glared up at her.

by Gemma Speht (1998)

[lowdenfordays]

Request from anon: Could you please make an imagine about Collins? You and Collins are dating or however you want to make it. Collins leaves to go to war, and you want to help, since your a nurse, but he says no that it’s too dangerous. Then later you hear the call about going to save people at Dunkirk and decide to go anyway. You get on board with Mr. Dawson, and when Collins finds you on board he freaks out and is super worried, and maybe you get hurt or something and at the end you take the train home together.

A/N: I gave Collins the first name Andrew (Scottish name, apt for the period, also JL’s middle name). he is never actually referred to as ‘Collins’, so sorry if this throws you off a bit, but I just can’t make his girlfriend call him by his last name. ALSO I feel like this is pretty shit. it’s kinda jumpy, and not very fluid. I struggled quit a lot to make it fit with the narrative of Dunkirk, as well as believable and accurate. It’s a wee bit of a mess, so please be kind :) 

P.S. Sorry about all that gumpf you had to read through. Hope you like it x

 You lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, on an unfamiliar bed. You were staying in a house in Weymouth, with a sweet old couple who had agreed to take you in. You were from the north of England, but had been posted in Dorset. It was well known by the nurses that the boys were stranded at Dunkirk, and preparations were being made for those who returned, as there would definitely be some injured Tommys. You had been in Weymouth for almost a week now, waiting for news. That was the hardest part; the waiting. When you were in the middle of it all, it was easy to switch into practical mode. But lying in a comfortable bed, after a hot meal donated by a kindly couple, was somehow much harder than the chaos of action.  You stared at the gap in the curtains, just large enough to see the stars. The sky always gave you some small comfort, because you knew that Andrew was up there somewhere. That was his home now. His home used to be in your arms but, since the war broke out, he made a home in the arms of a Spitfire. He was a pilot in the RAF, and consequently, you hadn’t heard from him for over a month, and hadn’t seen him in almost six. You missed him desperately, the letters just weren’t enough. Every day you woke up, panicking that he hadn’t made it through a mission, that he would be lost to you forever. Every night you went to bed and lay awake, afraid you’d never see him again. Since you weren’t family, and you weren’t married, you wouldn’t necessarily find out if anything happened to him. The fear was constant, and ever present.

When he first told you he was joining the RAF, you were devastated, but understood his need to protect his country and were even proud of him. When he first came home in his uniform, with a shiny pair of silver wings pinned to his chest, your heart almost burst with pride. Though you were distressed at his leaving, you had let his kisses comfort you. You remembered vividly standing on that train platform as he brushed your hair behind your ear and dipped his head so his lips brushed your cheek so gently, before he whispered, “When I come home, when this is all over, I’m gonnae make an honest woman of ye.” Thinking back to that day usually gave you comfort, but tonight it brought tears to your eyes as the longing to see him grew exponentially in your chest, pressing painfully against your ribcage. You clutched your necklace, which held a picture of him inside, and wished on the stars that he would come home to you.

The next morning you trudged down to breakfast, functioning on very little sleep as always, and greeted Mr and Mrs Miller, the couple who were housing you, as they sat eating their breakfast.

You had your usual slice of toast with homemade jam and listened with fascination as Mr Miller told you about the call that had gone out that morning, for little vessels to travel to Dunkirk to rescue the man stranded on the beach. Without a second thought you raced to the docks to find a boat that would take you across with them to help. This was finally a chance to do something; the waiting was a far slower and more painful death than the risk of getting bombed on the channel. You walked along the dock, asking each skipper if they were going, and if they could take you. Even with your assurance that you were a nurse, all you encountered as a series of ‘no’s. Many of the boats were being requisitioned by the navy, who wouldn’t allow you aboard. Eventually you saw an older man and two boys loading life jackets onto a pleasure yacht. You saw the captain start up the engine, and eyeing the crew of naval officers. You could see in his eyes that he intended to set off alone, willing to risk everything to save the boys. If there was anyone that would take you, it was him.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called, racing towards him. the man’s head snapped round and you reached the edge of the boat, breathless. You offered him your name, and he replied that his was Mr Dawson, and the blonde boy loading lifejackets was his son, Peter.

“I’m a nurse with Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, awaiting deployment,” you said with your head held high. “Do you have room for one more?”

Mr Dawson grinned, saying, “She’s not a big boat, but we’ve always room for a nurse.” He offered you his hand and helped you clamber aboard. Before long you were off, with an extra occupant whom you learned was a friend of Peter’s, by the name of George. They were sweet boys, and always helpful. 

Your trip out was quiet for a long time, taking a good few hours to get across the channel. You sat on the prow of the boat, looking out to endless open sea, thinking about your Andrew. He would be furious if he knew where you were now. He had raged when he came home on leave once, early on in the war, to find that you were a qualified nurse. You had told him in a letter that you were training, but when he found out that you could be deployed abroad he was fuming. You could see the fear in his eyes as paced around, shouting that you were being foolish by putting yourself in danger for no reason. That had upset you, making tears sting in your eyes. You had screamed that you had a very good reason – you would be saving lives – and in any case, he had done exactly the same thing. The fight that ensued was heart-breaking for the both of you, but you knew it was only his need to protect you that drove his anger. You eventually made up, crying in each other’s arms, and when he left the next day it was harder than ever before. You sent a silent prayer to the sky to protect him, to carry him when you couldn’t, to hold him close and keep him safe when you weren’t there.

 You were distracted from your reverie when you came across a man stranded in the sea. After that, it was all a bit of a blur. The man you had saved was silent, then he raved, and George had been hurt. You instantly called on your training, bandaging his head as best you could, but you knew that it was bad. Without a medical kit there was very little you could do for him. You tried to keep Peter’s spirits up, giving him some hope to cling to, though you had little. Spitfires flew overhead making your heart race. You knew it was naïve but you couldn’t help but hope that one of them was Andrew. To have him so close, to hold him again, was all you wanted. When a plane flew low over your head, the roar of the Merlin engine invading your senses, you all shuddered. That thrum, that low satisfied purring, was strangely comfortable, despite its warning of war.

When you saw the plane go down, however, your heart leapt to your throat and you were desperate for it not to be your sweetheart. You looked for a chute, but saw none. You prayed that it was just your eyes deceiving you, but Peter’s continued insistence that there was none confirmed your fear. If that was Andrew, and he had gone down… It couldn’t be him.

 Wetness on your cheek told you that you were crying, and you were vaguely aware of Mr Dawson shouting something. You couldn’t bear to stay on deck as a raw need to run away overcame you. You wanted to hide, to flee, to find Andrew’s arms and wrap yourself in them. You hadn’t felt safe since he had gone to war and you craved the security he brought you. You went downstairs to check on George without a word, kneeling by his side and holding his hand. He had fallen asleep, which worried you somewhat, but you checked his pulse and it remained steady, if slow, and let him sleep. If he was asleep, he wouldn’t be afraid.

 You vaguely heard the slosh of water and a grunt as someone was heaved aboard. A little of the tension in your shoulders relaxed, knowing that a life had been saved. You heard voices but didn’t listen. You head was spinning, all you could think about was Andrew. Over the course of your training you had developed the ability to put him out of your mind when you had to, and focus on the task in front of you. You held George’s hand, giving yourself a physical focal point on which to direct your energy, a tangible connection to the present. Even so, all you could see was Andrew’s face: his final smile that last time he boarded the train and left you alone again. Your overwhelming fear was that smile would be his last ever.

You were aware of footstep descending the stairs, and voices getting louder. Suddenly unable to face anyone, you snuck into a side room and pulled the door closed. You leant your back on the door, chest heaving and eyes closed. You had never felt so vulnerable. Peter’s voice sounded muffled through the door. You heard another man speak, the pilot you assumed, as it wasn’t anyone else’s from The Moonstone. Tears stung your eyes, as the pilot’s Scottish lilt drifted through the door. It sounded so very much like Andrew, so much it hurt. You knew it must be your imagination playing tricks on you; surely it couldn’t be him. The odds were too slim. You heard him again and your heart seemed to rip through your chest at the sound. That voice, so familiar, had been playing in your head since he left and you dared to let yourself hope, just a little, that it might be him. You turned, and placed you hand on the knob. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door just a sliver and peeked through.

He was a little blurry from the tears in your eyes, but you had no doubt. It was him. His hair was wet and stuck limply to his forehead. He held and towel tightly in his hands as he looked down at the boy in the floor. You stood, stunned, and watched as he sniffed, before nudging his nose with the towel. Your love for him overwhelmed you, and you pushed the door open fully, revealing yourself in the doorway. Andrew’s eyes shifted lazily from George to you, and went wide when they met yours. His mouth fell agape, and you took a few steps towards him. Before you could reach your arms out to him, he backed away, cursing, “Wha’ the hell are ye doing here, Y/N?”

“I.. I came to help.”

“Are ye trying to get yerself killed?”

You tried to steady yourself, knowing that he just wanted you to be safe, but you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he wasn’t happy to see you.

“Ye’re sailing into a warzone, what’re ye thinkin’?”

“I’m a qualified nurse Andrew, I’m thinking that I might save someone’s life,” you retorted, your voice firm and rising to meet his.

“I told ye, I dinnae want ye goin’ abroad-”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I have to do my bit. I’m saving soldiers, men just like you. Men who have people at home who love them, and would miss them terribly. I’m trusting women like me to save your life if needs be, so I have to be there to do the same.”

You saw his lip tremble ever so slightly, and the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

His voice was desperately quiet when he finally spoke, “I just cannae bear to lose ye.”

You edged towards him, taking both his hand in your own, still clutching the towel.

“I know, darling. I know exactly how scary this is for you, because it’s the same fear I live with every day.”

You wiped a fallen tear from his cheek, and let him wrap you in his embrace.

You felt his chest shake with silent tears, so you stroked the back of his neck gently and bit back the tears in your own eyes.

“We’ll get through this, alright? We’ll be fine. And when it’s all over we’ll start a family together.”

You felt him pull away and before you knew it he was kissing you, hard and soft at the same time, hungry and timid. Desperate. The world fell away, all the fear and the pain. You wrapped your hands in his hair as he clutched at your waist, intertwining yourselves in each other. In that moment, that was enough.

 As you neared Dunkirk, tension on board started to build. You had explained your relationship with Andrew, and everyone commented how unlikely it was that you should happen to meet in the middle of the channel, which lightened the mood momentarily. But the heavy atmosphere soon settled over you again. You sat beside Andrew outside, letting him hold you. Though apprehension started to build in your chest, you knew he would keep you safe at all costs.

 When you saw a destroyer get bombed, you instantly leapt to action. You tried to make provisions for the men who had been saved, but kept getting distracted by Andrew. He muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the Spitfire overhead, which you found strangely attractive. You bit you lip as he hauled men over the side and into the boat, eyes glued to the sky even then. You handed out towels and life jackets, trying to wipe away the oil from the soldiers’ faces. There was panic as the German plane went down and the oil in the water was ignited. The boat began sailing away. The sudden speed caught you off balance, making you stumble and fall into the lap of a soldier. He lashed out, the stress of his ordeal making him jumpy, and instantly pushed you off him. He was strong, and you flew through the air. There was shouting and confusion and pain, and you were aware of yourself lying on the floor but you were dizzy. The world was spinning so you shut your eyes. Through the clamour you heard Andrew’s voice sooth you. He sounded distressed, but you took comfort in it nonetheless.

“Y/N! Y/N are ye alrigh’?”

You groaned your assent, but found that your head throbbed when you tried to nod. There was warmth on the side of your head, and it felt sticky when you touched it. You opened your eyes to see Andrew crouching over you, along with a lot of unfamiliar faces. You tried to sit up, but would have fallen if he hadn’t caught you. He propped you against him.

“What happened?” you mumbled.

“You hit your head,” you heard Mr Dawson say as he came into view. He bent to examine the gash. “It doesn’t look deep, you’ll be okay.”

He started to clean the wound and bandage you up, and you were constantly aware of Andrew’s heavy breathing and muttered curses.

You were sure he whispered, “I’ll kill him,” at one point.

Luckily some of the men took the soldier below decks, and you kept Andrew with you the whole time. After a drink of water you felt much better, but feigned dizziness whenever he looked like his rage would boil over.

 After a while you fell asleep, the stress of the day, coupled with a blow to the head, making you drift off almost without your permission. Your head was resting on Andrew’s shoulder, and he cradled you softly in his arms. He stroked your hair and kissed your head occasionally, making you feel at home even out on the sea. You must have slept for a couple of hours, as when you woke the sun was beginning to set. “Evenin’ sleepyhead,” Andrew muttered in your ear. You smiled at the feeling of his breath against your skin, revelling in having him so close.

You looked around, and many of the soldiers were asleep. In the quiet you noticed the sky. It was dyed a dusky indigo, with shoots of orange still scattered through it. It looked like a bruise, fresh with colour. The last rays reflected off the sea, sending ripples of light across the waves.

“How can the world be so beautiful, when we’ve come from a place of such pain?” you muttered, bitter at the thought. It felt as though the world was mocking you.

Andrew replied in a soft voice, hushed on the silent sea, “It’s a reminder, I suppose. The sun sets, everything ends, but it’s worth the fight ‘cause beauty lives on.”

You turned to him with a smile and saw the light reflected in his eyes. You were overwhelmed with love for him.

“I think that’s the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”

“War changes folk, ye know.”

You smiled sadly, pulling him into a kiss, “Not too much I hope, I love you the way you are.”

Your lips met and you felt the sun’s fire blazing in your heart.

[shxdowborn-blog]

Warning: Story below gets violent. If you are squeamish about blood, violence and the tearing of flesh do not read. 

               The Wailing Bell

To my Little Trouble Makers,

               I hope you haven’t been giving mama and papa too much trouble since I’ve been gone, you know mother can’t run after you guys like I could. There is some more money coming along with this letter to help get mama’s medicine and unfortunately only enough for one of you guys to come visit. Don’t start fighting, though I know it’s a waste of my ink telling you not to when you will anyway but try to be civil. There’s a plane leaving in a few days and you’ll have one of my boss’ employees pick you up and once you’re at the job site I’ll take you to where I live—the place I sent you photos of. I can’t wait until I can bring all of you here, it’s beautiful and I know you’ll love it!

Forever your loving bloodhound brother,

Philip.

The letter was held in petite hands, her fingers curling around the paper tightly as if she were to let it go she would lose more than just it. She was scared but full of wonder and hope. It was a long plane ride from their home to her older brother’s workplace, a few points that were terrifying being on a plane for the first time, being away from the village. It was worth it though, to see what her older brother always talked about in his letters, to meet her brother again after so long. How much different would he look?

               Autohaven Wreckers started to come into view in the clearing, a looming shadow hanging over the large grounds the place held. The girl glanced over at the man driving the car, “Are you sure this is the right place?” She frowned, looking back through the windshield, “It’s not what my brother described.”

               “Yeah,” the man hummed, sounding concerned himself, “This is the place, but that amount of dark new for bein’ the evening.” He shook his head and started to slow down as they approached the entrance. In the Evenings usually, there were at least some employees moving around, and some commotion of cars going in and out, but there was nothing now. Only a deafening silence fell in the workplace.Not a single soul was moving around, no signs of movement for a while etched into the ground.

               The car pulled up just outside of Azarov’s office, the man getting out and going to the other side of the car to open the door for her. She smiled and gave him a soft thank you before stepping out, “Where does my brother usually work?” The man waved her to follow, heading through the stacks of piled cars and dirt paths. The Crusher was where her brother worked, always talking about it in his letters how much fun he had operating it and the times he would be able to work on the cars. He loved everything about his job.

               The man stopped her, putting an arm around her shoulder, pushing her slightly behind him, “Hold on.” His voice shook slightly, his eyes wide with fear. She frowned, glancing down at the ground. Crimson red splattered on the ground, blood and viscera dripping from the clamped down crusher. A small gasp escaped from her, noticing other bodies strewn across the ground, large gashes across their torsos and limbs—their backs ripped open to expose the spine. What was the most gruesome was what she saw sticking out of the crusher: a body.

               Bits of the head lay around the machine, not a single sign of the skull or any fragment of it, “Shit.” The man curses, before giving an apologetic look to her, “Sorry didn’t mean to say that, but we need to get you out of here.”

               “I can’t leave without my brother!” She whimpered, looking at all the bodies despite nausea and fear rising in her gut. She didn’t want one of them to be her brother, they couldn’t be her brother. They were all too old, not the right body shape for him: he was thin framed and much taller than any other his age. Her brown eyes wandered to the crusher, her heart dropping into the pit of her gut. What if that was him? The man who drove her there approached the crusher, looking over the body, “Crap, who the hell did this to him? Fuck, I’m sorry Azarov.”

               It wasn’t Philip. She relaxed a bit, turning to look back towards the office of Azarov. Maybe her brother was there. She stepped forward a few paces before a sharp breath was taken in, feeling a hand grab hers and pulling her back. The man from before protectively pulled her close, taking out his pocket knife, “Stay away!” He hissed at something she couldn’t see. A thick fog had begun to roll in, covering every inch of Autohaven Wreckers in its dense mist.

               Softly, the sound of bare feet pattering against the hardened ground echoed out—slow steps accompanied by the gradual dripping of something wet. The man moved in front of her, blocking her view of the approaching man. The man hesitated for a moment before speaking again, “Ojomo?” She perked up hearing her second name. It was her brother!

               “Philip!” She called out, quickly slipping from behind the man to look at the approaching figure, feeling a tingle of dread down her spine. What she saw made that feeling worse: her brother standing there, caked in blood, holding a strange object, blood glimmering from it and his body.

               She stepped back, noticing something odd in his eyes—a darkness she never saw before: pure evil. It wasn’t her brother, a shape taking his form. The man quickly went back in front of her, glaring, “What happened here Ojomo?”

               Philip tilted his head, letting a wicked smirk spread to his lips, “Everything’s fine Adam. . .” his tone didn’t speak that it was all fine, “There was just an accident,” he stepped closer into the light, more of the glimmering blood shown—and the visceral weapon coming into focus. It was gruesome, jagged metal parts strapped to a fragmented skull. It falls back into something that looks like a spine, all dripping with blood and bits of flesh. Flecks of red-orange rest on the weapon, some fading away slowly.

               “An accident?” Adam growled, “How the hell did Azarov end up in the crusher?” he pointed the knife at Philip, trying his best not to shake, “What happened?”

               “He deserved it,” the voice that came from Philip was darker, unnatural for him, “For the lives he has taken, the lives he forced me to take!” He kept coming forward, his head lowered, “all of them deserved it!”

               “Philip!” The voice caught his attention turning to look at her. She stood her ground, staring at her brother, “Please, what’s going on?”

               He hesitates for a moment, staring at her—his old look returning to his eyes, “Sade. . .” That moment quickly changed, seeing in the corner of his eye Adam start moving forward, “You shouldn’t have come here.” The shape of her brother moved quickly, for a moment almost vanishing before appearing in front of Adam, driving the metallic blades into his shoulder.

The screams became louder as Philip dragged the weapon down Adam’s chest, tearing through flesh, cutting through bone with ease. He pulled it out, blood and intestine falling out onto the ground as the gurgling breaths became silent. The once full of life body fell to the floor with a splat, onto the guts that once were internal.

               Sade stood there in a petrified fear, “B-brother. . .?” Her body shook, feeling her blood go cold as he looked at her. His eyes had a glow to them, a ghostly white, “W-what’s going on? Pl-please you’re scaring me.”

               “We’re playing,” he chuckled, pointing a bloody finger towards her, “Just like we did before with our sisters. You need to hide,” His voice changed for a moment, fear flickering in his normal tone before being consumed by the gruff darkness, “because the hunter is on the prowl, and you’ll end up like the others if you don’t hide.”

               Sade didn’t hesitate, not wait to see what was meant before running. Tears streamed down her face as she ran, trying to find any place to hide, to get away from the monster that took the form of her brother. Something was wrong, horribly wrong! It couldn’t be him!

               She found a small place nestled between cars, keeping her body pressed against the dusty ground. It took a lot of effort for her to keep her breath calm, sucking in a large gulp of air when she heard those footsteps again.

               “You shouldn’t run Sady,” Philip purred darkly, stopping right by where she was hiding, “You are too easy to track,” he breathed in before looking over to the cars, “A trail right to where you are.” She held her hand over his mouth and nose, trying to quiet her breathing.

               A screech of terror slipped from her when she felt something grab her ankle, starting to drag her out from her hiding spot, “Found you,” Philip’s cooing voice echoed in her skull as she clawed uselessly at the dusty ground, trying to crawl away.

               “Please! Please, Philip no!” Sade screamed, still trying to move away from him. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to face whatever happened to her sweet brother. It wasn’t one of their games of Hunting, this was real. She was the prey, trapped in the grasp of the hunter, waiting to be torn apart and feasted on, “Please! Don’t do this!”

               She glanced over her shoulder, seeing that weapon held close to her, “There is no choice,” his voice continued to be low, almost inhuman as growls began to mix with it—a low crackling sound echoing not only with his words but all around them, “You have been caught, and you know the consequences.” He pulled her back towards him a bit more before letting go of her ankle.

               Sade tried to move, tried to crawl away only to feel the jagged blades dig into her back, deeper through the flesh reaching to the spine. Her screams are loud, echoing through the whole yard of Autohaven Wreckers, “Game over!” Philip cruelly laughed, pulling the blade out and placing the weapon on his side, “It’s time I took my trophy for my victory.”

               He stepped to being in front of her, kneeling. She weakly looked up, seeing the white completely consuming the once tender brown eyes beneath all the blood and mud. He gently ran his fingers along her cheek, lifting her head with the other hand. Philip leaned in, kissing her forehead like he did before setting her and her sisters to sleep and before he left to start his new job. A tender kiss that was torn away when she felt a pain at the base of her skull, the makeshift knife given to him by Jaiy jabbing into her neck.

               It tore through skin, leaving an open wound all the way up the base of her skull to the top, splitting open skin and what protected the skull beneath. He continued until it went all the way down her face, all the way to the base of the front of her neck, “You’ll always be with me my dear Sady,” he purred, moving his thumbs to rest against the new line of wood down the middle of her face, “I love you.” Then, his thumbs shifted, fingers curling into the wound—and pulled. Tearing flesh mixed with the screams of pain from her, slowly becoming a garbled mess of screams and breaths, until the last bit of torn flesh was removed.

               Bare skull, attached to a covered spine, eyes still in contact and tongue barely holding onto the mandible. Philip tugged gently at first, before severing the skull from the spine in a rough yank. He stared at the bare skull, letting his free hand run along the side of it, “Always together my little sister, you and I.”He stood up, glancing towards the graveyard of bodies, all bodies he had made. The skull was put into one of the satchels he carried before picking up his sister’s headless corpse. She deserved a better end than these wretched scumbags. He would bury her outside of the yard, in a proper grave.

                 “Hey, Philip,” the ghostly white eyes glanced up, looking to Evan as he spoke, “Why do you keep that bell clean and just like your weapon stay bloody?” The banshee glanced at the bell then back to Evan, giving a small shrug. 

              “Not going to say huh?” Evan shook his head before looking back to his traps that had been sabotaged by the saboteur after his most recent trial, “Guess I’ll add that to another thing you’ll one day tell me when you open those sealed lips of yours.”